And young beginners may as well commence With quiet cruising o’er the ocean woman; While those who are not beginners should have sense Enough to make for port, ere time shall summon With his grey signal-flag; and the past tense, The dreary ‘Fuimus’ of all things human, Must be declined, while life’s thin thread ’s spun out Between the gaping heir and gnawing gout. But heaven must be diverted; its diversion Is sometimes truculent—but never mind: The world upon the whole is worth the assertion (If but for comfort) that all things are kind: And that same devilish doctrine of the Persian, Of the two principles, but leaves behind As many doubts as any other doctrine Has ever puzzled Faith withal, or yoked her in. The English winter—ending in July, To recommence in August—now was done. ’Tis the postilion’s paradise: wheels fly; On roads, east, south, north, west, there is a run. But for post-horses who finds sympathy? Man’s pity ’s for himself, or for his son, Always premising that said son at college Has not contracted much more debt than knowledge. The London winter ’s ended in July— Sometimes a little later. I don’t err In this: whatever other blunders lie Upon my shoulders, here I must aver My Muse a glass of weatherology; For parliament is our barometer: Let radicals its other acts attack, Its sessions form our only almanack. When its quicksilver ’s down at zero,—lo Coach, chariot, luggage, baggage, equipage! Wheels whirl from Carlton palace to Soho, And happiest they who horses can engage; The turnpikes glow with dust; and Rotten Row Sleeps from the chivalry of this bright age; And tradesmen, with long bills and longer faces, Sigh—as the postboys fasten on the traces. They and their bills, ‘Arcadians both,’ are left To the Greek kalends of another session. Alas! to them of ready cash bereft, What hope remains? Of hope the full possession, Or generous draft, conceded as a gift, At a long date—till they can get a fresh one— Hawk’d about at a discount, small or large; Also the solace of an overcharge. But these are trifles. Downward flies my lord, Nodding beside my lady in his carriage. Away! away! ‘Fresh horses!’ are the word, And changed as quickly as hearts after marriage; The obsequious landlord hath the change restored; The postboys have no reason to disparage Their fee; but ere the water’d wheels may hiss hence, The ostler pleads too for a reminiscence. ’Tis granted; and the valet mounts the dickey— That gentleman of lords and gentlemen; Also my lady’s gentlewoman, tricky, Trick’d out, but modest more than poet’s pen Can paint,—‘Cosi viaggino i Ricchi!’ (Excuse a foreign slipslop now and then, If but to show I’ve travell’d; and what ’s travel, Unless it teaches one to quote and cavil?)