There the passions, cramped no longer, shall have space to breathe, my cousin! I will wed some savage woman--nay, I'll wed at least a dozen. There I'll rear my young mulattoes, as no Bond Street brats are reared: They shall dive for alligators, catch the wild goats by the beard-- Whistle to the cockatoos, and mock the hairy-faced baboon, Worship mighty Mumbo Jumbo in the mountains of the moon. I myself, in far Timbuctoo, leopard's blood will daily quaff, Ride a tiger hunting, mounted on a thorough-bred giraffe. Fiercely shall I shout the war-whoop, as some sullen stream he crosses, Startling from their noonday slumbers, iron-bound rhinoceroses. Fool! again the dream, the fancy! But I know my words are mad, For I hold the grey barbarian lower than the Christian cad. I the swell--the city dandy! I to seek such horrid places,-- I to haunt with squalid negroes, blubber lips, and monkey-faces! I to wed with Coromantees! I who managed--very near-- To secure the heart and fortune of the widow Shillibeer! Stuff and nonsense! let me never fling a single chance away, Maids ere now, I know, have loved me, and another maiden may. * * * * * That's the sort of thing to do it. Now I'll go and taste the balmy,-- Rest thee with thy yellow nabob, spider-hearted cousin Amy! BON GAULTIER BALLADS. VAUXHALL. Cabman, stop thy jaded knacker; cabman, draw thy slackened rein; Take this sixpence--do not grumble, swear not at Sir Richard Mayne! 'Tis the place, and all around it, as of old the cadger's bawl-- Sparkling rockets, squibs and crackers, whizzing over gay Vauxhall. Gay Vauxhall! that in the summer all the youth of town attracts, Glittering with its lamps and fireworks, and its flashing cataracts. Many a night in yonder gilded temple, ere I went to rest, Did I look on great Von Joel, mimicking the feathered nest; Many a night I saw Hernandez in a tinsel garb arrayed, With his odorif'rous ringlets tangled in a silver braid; Here about the paths I wandered, chaffing, laughing all the time, Laughing at the piebald clown, or listening to the minstrel's rhyme; When beneath the business-counter linendraper's men reposed, When in calm and peaceful slumber, sharp maternal eyes are closed; When I dipt into the pewter pot that held the foaming stout, When I quaffed the burning punch, or wildly sipped the "cold without." In the spring a finer cambric's wrapped around the lordling's breast; In the spring the gent at Redmayne's gets himself a Moses' "vest;" In the spring we make investment in a white or lilac glove; In the spring my youthful fancy prompted me to fall in love.