Apropos--our friend A. chanced this morning to meet The accomplish'd Miss B. as he pass'd Contoit's Garden, Both in town in July!--he cross'd over the street, And she enter'd the rouge-shop of Mrs. St. Martin. Resolved not to look at another known face, Through Leonard and Church streets she walked to Park Place, And he turn'd from Broadway into Catharine-lane, And coursed, to avoid her, through alley and by-street, Till they met, as the devil would have it, again, Face to face, near the pump at the corner of Dey-st. Yet, as most of "The Fashion" are journeying now, With the brown hues of summer on cheek and on brow, The few "_gens comme il faut_" who are lingering here, Are, like fruits out of season, more welcome and dear. Like "the last rose of summer, left blooming alone," Or the last snows of winter, pure ice of _haut ton_, Unmelted, undimm'd by the sun's brightest ray, And, like diamonds, making night's darkness seem day. One meets them in groups, that Canova might fancy, At our new lounge at evening, the _Opera Français_, In nines like the Muses, in threes like the Graces, Green spots in a desert of commonplace faces. The Queen, Mrs. Adams, goes there sweetly dress'd In a beautiful bonnet, all golden and flowery: While the King, Mr. Bonaparte, smiles on Celeste, Heloise, and Hutin, from his box at the Bowery. For news, Parry still the North Sea is exploring, And the Grand Turk has taken, they say, the Acropolis, And we, in Swamp Place, have discover'd, in boring, A mineral spring to refine the metropolis. The day we discover'd it was, by-the-way, In the life of the Cockneys, a glorious day. For we all had been taught, by tradition and reading, That to gain what admits us to levees of kings, The gentleness, courtesy, grace of high breeding, The only sure way was to "visit the Springs." So the whole city visited Swamp Spring _en masse_, From attorney to sweep, from physician to paviour, To drink of cold water at sixpence a glass, And learn true politeness and genteel behaviour. Though the crowd was immense till the hour of departure, No gentleman's feelings were hurt in the rush, Save a grocer's, who lost his proof-glass and bung-starter, And a chimney sweep's, robb'd of his scraper and brush. They linger'd till sunset and twilight had come, Then, wearied in limb, but much polish'd in manners, The sovereign people moved gracefully home, In the beauty and pride of "an army with banners."