EXTRACT IX.

Venice.

The English to be met with every where. - Alps and Threadneedle Street.— The Simplon and the Stocks. — Rage for travelling. Blue Stockings among the Wahabees.· Parasols and Pyramids. — Mrs. Hopkins and the Wall of China.

AND is there then no earthly place,

Where we can rest, in dream Elysian, Without some curst, round English face, Popping up near, to break the vision? 'Mid northern lakes, 'mid southern vines, Unholy cits we're doom'd to meet;

Nor highest Alps nor Apennines

Are sacred from Threadneedle Street!

If up the Simplon's path we wind,
Fancying we leave this world behind,
Such pleasant sounds salute one's ear
As-"Baddish news from 'Change, my dear-
"The Funds--(phew, curse this ugly hill) –
“Are lowering fast--(what, higher still?) —

"And-(zooks, we're mounting up to heaven!)"Will soon be down to sixty-seven."

Go where we may-rest where we will,
Eternal London haunts us still.

The trash of Almack's or Fleet Ditch-
And scarce a pin's head difference which—
Mixes, though ev'n to Greece we run,
With every rill from Helicon !
And, if this rage for travelling lasts,
If Cockneys, of all sects and castes,
Old maidens, aldermen, and squires,
Will leave their puddings and coal fires,
To gape at things in foreign lands,
No soul among them understands;

If Blues desert their coteries,
To show off 'mong the Wahabees;
If neither sex nor age controls,

Nor fear of Mamelukes forbids

Young ladies, with pink parasols,

To glide among the Pyramids *.

*It was pink spencers, I believe, that the imagination of the French traveller conjured up.

Why, then, farewell all hope to find
A spot, that's free from London-kind !
Who knows, if to the West we roam,
But we may find some Blue" at home
Among the Blacks of Carolina—
Or, flying to the Eastward, see
Some Mrs. HOPKINS, taking tea

And toast upon the Wall of China!

EXTRACT X.

Mantua.

Verses of Hippolyta to her Husband.

THEY tell me thou'rt the favour'd guest*

Of every

fair and brilliant throng;

No wit, like thine, to wake the jest,

No voice like thine, to breathe the song.

* Utque ferunt lætus convivia læta

Et celebras lentis otia mista jocis ;

Aut cithara æstivum attenuas cantuque calorem.
Hei mihi, quam dispar nunc mea vita tuæ
Nec mihi displiceant quæ sunt tibi grata; sed ipsa est,
Te sine, lux oculis pene inimica meis.
Non auro aut gemmâ caput exornare nitenti
Me juvat, aut Arabo spargere odore comas:
Non celebres ludos fastis spectare diebus.

Sola tuos vultus referens Raphaelis imago
Picta manu, curas allevat usque meas.
Huic ego delicias facio, arrideoque jocorque,
Alloquor et tanquam reddere verba queat.
Assensu nutuque mihi sæpe illa videtur
Dicere velle aliquid et tua verba loqui.
Agnoscit balboque patrem puer ore salutat.
Hoc solor longas decipioque dies.

And none could guess, so gay thou art,

That thou and I are far apart.

Alas, alas, how different flows,

With thee and me the time away.

Not that I wish thee sad, heaven knows-
Still, if thou canst, be light and gay;

I only know that without thee

The sun himself is dark for me.

Do I put on the jewels rare
Thou'st always lov'd to see me wear?
Do I perfume the locks that thou

So oft hast braided o'er my brow,

Thus deck'd, through festive crowds to run,

And all th' assembled world to see,

All but the one, the absent one,

Worth more than present worlds to me! No, nothing cheers this widow'd heartMy only joy, from thee apart,

From thee thyself, is sitting hours

And days, before thy pictur'd form.

That dream of thee, which Raphael's powers

Have made with all but life-breath warm!