"The _dyer_ who by _dying_ lives, a _dire_ life maintains; The glazier, it is known, receives--his profits from his _panes_: By gardeners _thyme_ is _tied_, 'tis true, when spring is in its prime; But _time_ or _tide_ won't wait for you, if you are _tied_ for _time_. "Then now you see, my little dears, the way to make a pun; A trick which you, through coming years, should sedulously shun. The fault admits of no defence; for wheresoe'er 'tis found, You sacrifice the _sound_ for _sense_: the sense is never _sound_. "So let your words and actions too, one single meaning prove, And, just in all you say or do, you'll gain esteem and love: In mirth and play no harm you'll know, when duty's task is done; But parents ne'er should let ye go un_pun_ish'd for a _pun_!" FASHIONABLE PARTIES.[57] The season of festivities is arrived--the balmy breath of Spring has called the dormant vegetation into life--the flowers are bursting from their buds, the blossoms hang on every tree--the birds sing melodiously, and the sun shines brightly over the fresh foliage; in consequence of the completion of which arrangements, everybody is coming to London, in order to take the dust in the Parks, or pace the burning pavement in the streets. Such is the order of things, and shady groves and cooling grots are abandoned for drawing rooms at ninety-six, and half-a-score sickly orange-trees tubbed on the top of a staircase. Thursday last was a fruitful day in the annals of our town. Lord Dudley had a grand dinner--so had the Bishop of London--so had Lady Sykes--so had Mrs. Bethel, and so had half a score of the leaders of Ton. The Society for the Relief of Foreigners in Distress (to which his Royal Highness Don Miguel borrowed fifty pounds of Lord Dudley to subscribe) had their anniversary feast at the City of London Tavern; and the Chimney Sweepers of the metropolis held theirs--contrast is every thing--at the White Conduit House!