But see! there's a row In the Poultry, I vow! The windows are smashing, The shutters go dash in: The mob's in a rage With poor Mister Page; Whose luminous star, With a "W. R." Has excited their wonder, And raised all this thunder. See! Page now, in tears, At the window appears; And, with uplifted hands, Their pleasure demands. "Shame! radical! traitor! Wretch! spy! agitator!" Are the sounds that arise: And at last some one cries, "What means 'W. R.' A-top of your star?" "Lawk! is that all?" cries Page, Almost bursting with rage, "Why, confound your necks! It's 'WICTORIA REX!'" [Illustration: JULY.—Flying Showers. ] JULY [1838 RAIL-ROAD TRAVELLING. I vow I'll go, and it shall be so, and I've said it, Mister Snip,— This very day, come what come may, I'll have my railway trip. There's Mistress King has been to Tring, and thinks herself so knowing— I'm tired of waiting your debating, and it's time that we were going. Well, Duck, though I never did dabble in foreign parts,—Law, Ma! how I shall squeal when the engine starts.——For shame, child! as to fear it's nothing but a notion;—I declare I always feel the better for a little motion.——Pray, mister, do you call this a first-class carriage because it goes double fast?—No, ma'am, it's because we puts it behind, to be blow'd up last.——See, they're pulling us along with a rope! very odd, upon my word.—Vy, you carnt expect the hingins to go on their own ac-cord.——But just look round at Hampstead and Highgate, while they slacken their pace,—And see, they hook on the loco-motive! What's that, Pa? A thing they've a motive for hooking on at this place.——Here's Chalk Farm, where some run down a hill, and some run up a score!—And there's the famous tunnel! It looks like a bit of a bore.——Oh, dear! Oh, dear! how dreadful dark! I think I'm going to die,—And I'm so hot I can't say my prayers! but here's the light of the sky.——See what a hole in my parasole, burnt by a red-hot spark!—I only wish I knew who it was that was kissing me in the dark.——Sare! I vonder, Sare! ven dey vill put on de horses to draw!—Oh! horses don't draw here; they're all _hors d'emploi_.——But how the hedges run past, and the trees and the bridges, and the posts, and the cattle, and the people!—This is just like ploughing the air! Yes, and there goes Harrow Steeple.——On, on we spin, with a clack and a din, like a mighty courser snorting, blowing.—Well, how do you like the railroad now? Oh! I think it's the wonderful'st