h front commands a fine sloping lawn, with a broad sheet of water,
formed by Brown, together with some interesting park-scenery; the
western side has nearly the same views, with the advantage of distant
objects in Rutlandshire, Lincolnshire, and the spires of Stamford. From
the north front the ground gradually slopes to the river Welland. A
complete list of the pictures and valuable curiosities of Burleigh will
be found in a Guide published by the ingenious Mr. Drakard, bookseller,
of Stamford, as well as in that gentleman's excellent _History of
Stamford_.

About two miles west of Burleigh, are the ruins of Wothorp, or Worthorp
House. According to Camden, a mansion of considerable size was erected
here by Thomas Cecil, the first Earl of Burleigh, who jocularly said,
"he built it only to retire to out of the dust, while his great house at
Burleigh was sweeping." After the Restoration the Duke of Buckingham
resided here for some years.

* * * * *

THE LION'S ROAR.

(_For the Mirror_.)

Sad is my grief, and violent my rage,
Furious I knock my head against the rail,
That damns me to this miserable cage;
Fierce as a Jack Tar with his well chew'd tail,
I dash my spittle on the ground, and roar
Loud as the trump to bid us be no more.

I am the doughty, the illustrious beast,
Called Leo, father of the Panther young,
Tho' last begotten, not belov'd the least,
You all know I have a roast beef tongue:
Then, hear my John Bull clamour, hear my shout!
Why, why the d----, roust we all tarn out?

Did I not keep a beef-eater below
To show the ladies to my monarch cave?
I kept a constant levee day of show,
And seldom monarchs so polite behave!
You paid far less for seeing me, I ken,
Than _porterage_ for seeing noble men.

Did I not eat my supper in your presence.
And gnaw the beef bone with a greedy tusk?
Did you not shudder at the marrow's essence,
Not quite so beautiful or sweet as musk?
Did I not ope my lion fauces wider
Than is the difference 'twixt Moore and Ryder?

Then, why the d----?--I'm obliged to swear!
Must we turn out, to grace the monarch's mews,
From the thronged Strand which seemed our native air,
And, where as thick as piety in pews,
We growl'd within our dens, nor hop'd to change,
Nor wish'd, Instead of Exeter, a change.

Sweet lovely corner, neighb'ring the Lyceum,
Lord of wh