“That vulgar lady’s standing there That every one may view her;”-- “Sir, that’s my daughter;”--“No, not her; I mean the next one to her:” “Oh, that’s my niece,”--“Oh no, not her,”-- “You seem, sir, quite amused;” “Dear ma’am,--heyday!--what shall I say? I’m really quite confused.” With a “How do you do, Ma’am?” “How are you? How dear the things all are!” Throughout the day You hear them say, At fam’d Soho Bazaar. Thus beaux and belles together meet, And thus they spend the day; And walk and talk, and talk and walk. And then they _walk_ away. If you have half an hour to spare, The better way by far Is here to lounge it, with a friend, In the Soho Bazaar. With a “How do you do, Ma’am?” “How are you? How dear the things all are!” Throughout the day You hear them say, At fam’d Soho Bazaar. * * * * * ~Omniana.~ THE SEASON OUT OF TOWN. _For the Table Book._ The banks are partly green; hedges and trees Are black and shrouded, and the keen wind roars, Like dismal music wand’ring over seas, And wailing to the agitated shores. The fields are dotted with manure--the sheep In unshorn wool, streak’d with the shepherd’s red, Their undivided peace and friendship keep, Shaking their bells, like children to their bed. The roads are white and miry--waters run With violence through their tracks--and sheds, that flowers In summer graced, are open to the sun, Which shines in noonday’s horizontal hours. Frost claims the night; and morning, like a bride, Forth from her chamber glides; mist spreads her vest; The sunbeams ride the clouds till eventide, And the wind rolls them to ethereal rest. Sleet, shine, cold, fog, in portions fill the time; Like hope, the prospect cheers; like breath it fades; Life grows in seasons to returning prime, And beauty rises from departing shades. _January, 1827._ P. * * * * * THE SIEGE OF BELGRADE. _Addressed to the Admirers of Alliteration, and the Advocates of Noisy Numbers._ Ardentem aspicio atque arrectis auribis asto.--_Virgil._