I am, my dear Sir, Your faithful Servant, BARNABUS BOMBRUSH. _Birchfield Academy._ [Illustration] 25 Apotheosis of Vauxhall Simpson, 1835. The glories of his leg and cane are past: He made his bow and cut his stick at last. [Illustration: DECEMBER.—Christmas-eve. ] THE QUEEN IN THE CITY. How provoking! such a choking, thick, and yellow fog No Turk or Jew would venture to turn out a Christian dog. 'Tis cruel hard, upon my word, with such a gloomy sky, To quit my down for Queen or crown, it looks so winter-lye. I'd rather keep me warm within, than go in all this rout, For it's not my creed, except in need, to take to "cold without." And I cannot see why this should be, nor the reason of it all, It's quite a job to dine with Bob and Nabob in Guildhall. —"Why, don't you see, her Majesty as yet is but a green one, She's heard of city riots, but by chance has never seen one; Tho' a king of the land once fear'd the Strand, and said it was full of sinners, And through Cheapside was afraid to ride, so they went without their dinners. But see the light is getting bright, and the streets are filled with people, And pennons gleam, in the morning beam, from turret and from steeple. The sound that swells from St. Martin's bells would please O'Connell's ear, While the Union flag does gaily wag, they're all re-pealers there. But now the crush becomes a rush, and the Black and Red Guards fright beholders, Here comes the Lancers, they're the prancers, and the Blues with their broad swords over their shoulders. And Temple Bar is the seat of war, and rags the ground bestrew, Here's a Sunday hat, and a boy squeezed flat, a purse and a satin shoe. Mister soldier! of course you'll make your horse take his foot from off my toe. I'm on duty, sir, and I dare not stir till I hear the trumpet blow.— But we've paid our guineas, and we're not such ninnies as to stand in all this riot,— Here's a lady dead, for she hangs her head, and seems so very quiet. Oh! what a jam, we can scarcely cram our heads within the door; I fear you'll find, you must sit behind, since you did not come before. Oh! that won't do—we've paid for two—myself, and here's my cousin; I'm number twenty—here's room in plenty—why, your window wont hold a dozen. 'Tis a swindling cheat, but we lose the treat while haggling here we stand, And we'll not submit to be thus bit, if a lawyer's in the land. But now stand fast, they come at last, the grooms in their cloth of gold, And Royal Dukes, you may know by their looks, so thick they can scarce be told. Here are Silver Sticks, in a coach-and-six, methinks it's rather funny, But those sticks are dear, and it's very clear they cost a deal of money.