He laughed-only think!-when I told him
How we cried o'er Trevelyan last year;
I vow I was quite in a passion;

I broke all the sticks of my fan;
But sentiment's quite out of fashion,
It seems, in a talented man.

Lady Bab, who is terribly moral,
Has told me that Tully is vain,
And apt-which is silly—to quarrel,
And fond-which is sad-of champagne.
I listened, and doubted, dear Alice,
For I saw, when my Lady began,
It was only the Dowager's malice ;-
She does hate a talented man!

He's hideous, I own it.

But fame, love,

Is all that these eyes can adore;

He's lame, but Lord Byron was lame, love,
And dumpy,-but so is Tom Moore.

Then his voice,-such a voice! my sweet creature,

It's like your Aunt Lucy's toucan:
But oh! what's a tone or a feature,
When once one's a talented man?

My mother, you know, all the season,
Has talked of Sir Geoffrey's estate;
And truly, to do the fool reason,

He has been less horrid of late.

But to-day, when we drive in the carriage,
I'll tell her to lay down her plan ;-
If ever I venture on marriage,

It must be a talented man!

P.S.-I have found on reflection,

One fault in my friend,-entre nous ;

Without it, he'd just be perfection;—
Poor fellow, he has not a sou!
And so, when he comes in September
To shoot with my uncle, Sir Dan,
I've promised mamma to remember
He's only a talented man!

PLUS DE POLITIQUE.

(1832.)

No politics!-I cannot bear
To tell our ancient fame;
No politics !—I do not dare
To paint our present shame!
What we have been, what we must be,
Let other minstrels say;

It is too dark a theme for me:
No politics to-day!

I loved to see the captive's chain
By British hands burst through;
I loved to sing the fields of Spain,
The war of Waterloo :

But now the Russians' greedy swords
Are edged with English pay;

We help, we hire, the robber hordes :
No politics to-day!

I used to look on many a home
Of industry and art;

I gazed on pleasure's gorgeous dome,
On labour's busy mart:

From Derby's rows, from Bristol's fires,
I turn with tears away;

I can't admire what Brougham admires :
No politics to-day!

Let's talk of Coplestone and prayers,
Of Kitchener and pies,
Of Lady Sophonisba's airs,

Of Lady Susan's eyes;

Let's talk of Mr. Attwood's cause,
Of Mr. Pococks's play,

Of fiddles, bubbles, rattles, straws!
No politics to-day !

TALES OUT OF SCHOOL.

A DROPPED LETTER FROM A LADY,

YOUR godson, my sweet Lady Bridget,
Was entered at Eton last May;
But really, I'm all in a fidget

Till the dear boy is taken away;

For I feel an alarm which, I'm certain,

A mother to you may confess,

When the newspaper draws up the curtain,

The terrible Windsor Express.

You know I was half broken-hearted

When the poor fellow whispered "Good bye!"

As soon as the carriage had started

I sat down in comfort to cry.

Sir Thomas looked on while I fainted,
Deriding-the bear !-my distress;
But what were the hardships I painted
To the tales of the Windsor Express?

The planter in sultry Barbadoes
Is a terrible tyrant, no doubt;
In Moscow, a Count carbonadoes

His ignorant serfs with the knout;
Severely men smart for their errors
Who dine at a man-of-war's mess;
But Eton has crueller terrors

Than these,—in the Windsor Express.

I fancied the Doctor at College

Had dipped, now and then, into books; But, bless me! I find that his knowledge Is just like my coachman's or cook's: He's a dunce—I have heard it with sorrow ;'Twould puzzle him sadly, I guess,

To put into English to-morrow

A page of the Windsor Express.

All preachers of course should be preaching
That virtue's a very good thing;

All tutors of course should be teaching
To fear God, and honour the King;
But at Eton they've regular classes
For folly, for vice, for excess;
They learn to be villains and asses,
Nothing else in the Windsor Express.

Mrs. Martha, who nursed little Willy,
Believes that she nursed him in vain :

Old John, who takes care of the filly,

Says "He'll ne'er come to mount her again!" My Juliet runs up to her mother,

And cries, with a mournful caress,

"Oh, where have you sent my poor brother? Look, look at the Windsor Express!"

Ring, darling, and order the carriage;

Whatever Sir Thomas may say,

Who has been quite a fool since our marriage,-
I'll take him directly away.

For of all their atrocious ill-treating

The end it is easy to guess;

Some day they'll be killing and eating

My boy-in the Windsor Express !

STANZAS TO THE SPEAKER ASLEEP.

(1833.)

SLEEP, Mr. Speaker; it's surely fair

If you don't in your bed, that you should in your chair, Longer and longer still they grow,

Tory and Radical, Aye and No;

Talking by night, and talking by day ;

Sleep, Mr. Speaker; sleep, sleep while you may !

Sleep, Mr. Speaker; slumber lies
Light and brief on a Speaker's eyes;
Fielden or Finn, in a minute or two,
Some disorderly thing will do ;
Riot will chase repose away;—

Sleep, Mr. Speaker; sleep, sleep while you may !