ble as any,
But our old horse can hardly crawl--
And really where there are so many,
We can't tell where we ought to call.

Pray who has seen the odd old fellow
Who took the Doctor's house last week?--
A pretty chariot,--livery yellow,
Almost as yellow as his cheek--
A widower, sixty-five, and surly,
And stiffer than a poplar-tree--
Drinks rum and water, gets up early
To dip his carcass in the sea--
He's always in a monstrous hurry,
And always talking of Bengal;
They say his cook makes noble curry--
I think, Louisa, we should call.

And so Miss Jones, the mantua-maker,
Has let her cottage on the hill?--
The drollest man, a sugar-baker,
Last year imported from the till--
Prates of his _orses_ and his _oney_,
Is quite in love with fields and farms--
A horrid Vandal,--but his money
Will buy a glorious coat of arms;
Old Clyster makes him take the waters;
Some say he means to give a ball--
And after all, with thirteen daughters,
I think, Sir Thomas, you might call.

That poor young man!--I'm sure and certain
Despair is making up his shroud:
He walks all night beneath the curtain
Of the dim sky and murky cloud--
Draws landscapes,--throws such mournful glances!--
Writes verses,--has such splendid eyes--
An ugly name,--but Laura fancies
He's some great person in disguise!
And since his dress is all the fashion,
And since he's very dark and tall,
I think that, out of pure compassion,
I'll get papa to go and call.

So Lord St. Ives is occupying
The whole of Mr. Ford's Hotel--
Last Saturday his man was trying
A little nag I want to sell.
He brought a lady in the carriage--
Blue eyes,--eighteen, or thereabouts--
Of course, you know, we _hope_ it's marriage!
But yet the _femme de chambre_ doubts.
She look'd so pensive when we met her--
Poor thing! and such a charming shawl!
Well! till we understand it better,
It's quite impossible to call.

Old Mr. Fund, the London banker,
Arrived to-day at Premium Court--
I would not, for the world, cast anchor
In such a horrid dangerous port--
Such dust and rubbish, lath and plaster,
(Contractors play the meanest tricks)
The roof's as crazy as its master,
And he was born in fifty-six--
Stairs creaking--cracks in every landing,
The colonnade is sure to fall--
We sha'n't find post or pill