* 'Mary! soft in feature, I've been at dear Vauxhall; No paradise is sweeter, Not that they Eden call. At night such new vagaries, Such gay and harmless sport; All look'd like giant fairies, At this their monarch's court. Methought when first I enter'd, Such splendours round me shone, Into a world I ventured Where rose another sun: Whilst music, never cloying, As skylarks sweet I hear; The sounds I'm still enjoying, They 'll always soothe my ear. Here paintings, sweetly glowing, Where'er our glances fall, Here colours, life bestowing, Bedeck this green-wood hall! The king there dubs a farmer, There John his doxy loves;* But my delight's the charmer Who steals a pair of gloves! As still amazed, I'm straying O'er this enchanted grove; I spy a harper playing All in his proud alcove. I doff my hat, desiring He'd tune up Buxom Joan; But what was I admiring? Odzooks! a man of stone. But now the tables spreading, They all fall to with glee; Not e'en at Squire's fine wedding Such dainties did I see! I long'd (poor starveling rover!) But none heed country elves; These folk, with lace daub'd over, Love only dear themselves. Thus whilst,'mid joys abounding, As grasshoppers they're gay; At distance crowds surrounding The Lady of the May. The man i' th' moon tweer'd slily, Soft twinkling through the trees, As though 'twould please him highly To taste delights like these.” ** But its days are numbered. The axe shall be laid to the roots of its beautiful trees; its green avenues turned into blind alleys; * Alluding to the three pictures in the Pavilions,--viz. the King and the Miller of Mansfield,--Sailors in a tippling house in Wapping,--and the girl stealing a kiss from a sleepy gentleman. ** The statue of Handel. its variegated lamps give place to some solitary gas-burner, to light the groping inhabitants to their dingy homes; and the melodious strains of its once celebrated vocalists be drowned in the dismal ditty of some ballad-singing weaver, and the screeching responses of his itinerant family. What would the gallant Mr. Lowe and his sprightly Euphrosyne, Nan Catley, say, could they be told to what “base uses” their harmonious groves are condemned to be turned? * Her Royal Highness the Princess of Wales sitting under her splendid Pavilion. Truly their wonder would be on a par with Paganini's, should ever that musical magician encounter on the other side Styx “My Lord Skaggs and his Broomstick!” *