Or with coarse linens made the fractions good,
Stanching the wind in all the wounded panes,-
Or, holding candles to the panes, in doubt:
The wind resolved-blowing the candles out.

No house was whole that had a southern front,-
No green-house but the same mishap befell;
Bow-windows and bell-glasses bore the brunt,-
No sex in glass was spared! -For those who dwell
On each hill side, you might have swam a punt
In any of their parlours;-Mrs. Snell

Was slopp'd out of her seat, and Mr. Hitchin
Had a flow'r-garden wash'd into a Kitchen.

But still the sea was mild, and quite disclaim'd
The recent violence.-Each after each
The gentle waves a gentle murmur framed,
Tapping, like Woodpeckers, the hollow beach
Howbeit his weather eye the seaman aim'd
Across the calm, and hinted by his speech
A gale next morning-and when morning broke,
There was a gale-"quite equal to bespoke."

Before high water-(it were better far
To christen it not water then, but waiter,
For then the tide is serving at the bar)
Rose such a swell-I never saw one greater!

With lots of froth upon the shingle shed,
Like stout pour'd out with a fine beachy head.

No open boat was open to a fare,

Or launch'd that morn on seven-shilling trips,
No bathing woman waded-none would dare
A dipping in the wave-but waived their dips,
No seagull ventured on the stormy air,
And all the dreary coast was clear of ships;
For two lea shores upon the river Lea
Are not so perilous as one at sea.

Awe-struck we sat, and gazed upon the scene.
Before us in such horrid hurly-burly,-
A boiling ocean of mix'd black and green,
A sky of copper colour, grim and surly,-
When lo, in that vast hollow scoop'd between
Two rolling Alps of water,-white and curly!
We saw a pair of little arms a-skimming,
Much like a first or last attempt at swimming!

Sometimes a hand-sometimes a little shoe-
Sometimes a skirt-sometimes a hank of hair
Just like a dabbled seaweed rose to view,
Sometimes a knee, sometimes a back was bare-
At last a frightful summerset he threw
Right on the shingles. Any one could swear
The lad was dead-without a chance of perjury,
And batter'd by the surge beyond all surgery!

However we snatch'd up the corse thus thrown,
Intending, Christian-like, to sod and turf it,
And after venting Pity's sigh and groan,
Then Curiosity began with her fit;

And lo! the features of the Small Unknown!
'Twas he that of the surf had had this surfeit !-
And in his fob, the cause of late monopolies,
We found a contract signed Mephistophiles!

A bond of blood, whereby the sinner gave
His forfeit soul to Satan in reversion,
Providing in this world he was to have
A lordship over luck, by whose exertion
He might control the course of cards, and brave

All throws of dice,-but on a sea excursion

The juggling Demon, in his usual vein,

Seized the last cast-and Nick'd him in the main !

Go where the waves run rather Holborn-hilly,
And tempests make a soda-water sea,
Almost as rough as our rough Piccadilly,

And think of me!

Go where the mild Madeira ripens her juice,A wine more praised than it deserves to be! Go pass the Cape, just capable of ver-juice, And think of me!

Go where the Tiger in the darkness prowleth,
Making a midnight meal of he and she;
Go where the Lion in his hunger howleth,
And think of me!

Go where the serpent dangerously coileth,
Or lies along at full length like a tree,
Go where the Suttee in her own soot broileth,
And think of me!

Go where with human notes the Parrot dealeth
In mono-polly-logue with tongue as free,
And like a woman, all she can revealeth,
And think of me!

Go to the land of muslin and nankeening,
And parasols of straw where hats should be,
Go to the land of slaves and palankeening,
And think of me!

Go to the land of Jungles and of vast hills,
And tall bamboos-may none bamboozle thee!
Go gaze upon their Elephants and Castles,
And think of me!

Go where a cook must always be a currier,
And parch the pepper'd palate like a pea,
Go where the fierce musquito is a worrier,
And think of me!

Go where the maiden on a marriage plan goes,
Consign'd for wedlock to Calcutta's quay,
Where woman goes for mart, the same as mangoes,
And think of me!

Go where the sun is very hot and fervent,

Go to the land of pagod and rupee,

Where every black will be your slave and servant,

And think of me!

19

66

A SOW-WESTER OFF THE CAPE-PIGS IN THE TROUGH OF THE SEA.

THE NELSON.

This here, your honour, upon wheels, is the true genuine real Nelson's Car.
GUIDE TO GREENWICH HOSPITAL.

"THE Nelson," I repeated to myself, as I read that illustrious name on the dickey of the vehicle-"the Nelson." My fancy instantly converted the coach into a first-rate, the leaders and wheelers into sea-horses, the driver into Neptunus, brandishing a trident, and the guard into a Triton blowing his wreathed shell. There was room for one on the box, so I climbed up, and took my seat beside the coach"Now, clap on all sail," said I, audibly, "I am proud to be one of the crew of the great Nelson, the hero of Aboukir.”

man.

"Begging your pardon," Sir, said the coachman, "the Hero an't a booker at Mrs. Nelson's: it goes from some other yard." Gracious powers! what a tumble down stairs for an idea! As for mine, it pitched on its head, as stunned and stupefied as if it had rolled down the whole flight at the Monument. "I have made a Bull, indeed,” I exclaimed, as the noted inn at Aldgate occurred to my memory; "but we are the slaves of association," I continued, addressing the coachman, "and the name of Nelson identified itself with the Union Jack."

"I really can't say," replied the coachman, very civilly, "whether the name of Mrs. Nelson is down to the Slave Associations or not: but as for Jack, if you mean Jack Bunce, he's been off the Union these six months. Too fond of the Bar, Sir" (here he tipped me the most significant of winks), "to keep his seat on the Bench."

"I alluded, my good fellow, to Nelson, the wonder of the maritime world-the dauntless leader when yard was opposed to yard, and seas teemed with blood."

"We're all right—as right as a trivet," said the coachman, after a pause of perplexity; "I thought our notions were getting rather wide apart, and that one of us wanted putting straight; but I see what you mean, and quite go along with your opinion, step for step. To be sure, Mrs. Nelson has done the world and all for coaching; and the Wonder is the crack of all the drags in London, and so is the Dauntless, let yard turn out agin yard, as you say, any day you like. And as for leaders, and teams full of blood, there's as pretty a sprinkling of blood in the tits I'm now tooling of—"

"The vehicles of the proprietress, and the appearance of the animals, with their corresponding caparisons," said I, "have often gratified my visual organs and elicited my mental plaudits."

"That's exactly what I says," replied the coachman, very briskly, "there's no humbug nor no nonsense about Mrs. Nelson. You never

see her a standing a-foaming and fretting in front o' the Bank, with a regular mob round her, and looking as if she'd bolt with the Quicksilver. And you never see her painted all over her body, wherever there's room for 'em, with Saracen Heads and Blue Boars, and Brown Bears, from her roller bolts to her dickey and hind boot. She's plain