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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 sear 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 :

NE

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 !

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