"'But I now left the pageant--wits, worthies, and all--
And flew through the smoke to the roof of Guildhall,
And perched on the grand chandelier;
The dinner was stately, the tables were full--
There sat, multiplied by three thousand, John Bull,
Resolved to make all disappear.
"'And then came the speeches; Lord Hunter was fine--
Lord Wood, finer still--Lord Thompson, divine,
The sheriffs were Ciceros a-piece;
Lord Crowther was sick, though he managed to eat
What, if races were feasts, would have won him the plate;
But he tossed off a bumper to Greece.
"'Then all was enchantment--all hubbub and smiles--
The wit of Old Jewry, the grace of St. Giles,
The force of the Billingsgate tongue:
Till the eloquent Lord Mayor demanding 'Who malts?'--
The understood sign for beginning the waltz--
In a fright through the ceiling I sprung.'"
_Monthly Magazine_.
* * * * *
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A LANDAULET.
(_Concluded from page 302_.)
It happened to be a dull time of year, and for some months my wheels
ceased to be rotatory: I got cold and damp; and the moths found their
way to my inside: one or two persons who came to inspect me declined
becoming purchasers, and peering closely at my panels, said something
about "old scratch.
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