Alas! when in Brook Street the Upper, In comfort I lived between walls, I’ve gone to a dance for my supper; But now I must go to Three Balls! Folks talk about dressing for dinner, But I have for dinner undrest; Since Christmas, as I am a sinner, I’ve eaten a suit of my best. I haven’t a ram or a mummock To fetch me a chop or a steak; I wish that the coats of my stomach Were such as my uncle would take! When dishes were ready with garnish My watch used to warn with a chime-- But now my repeater must furnish The dinner in lieu of the time! My craving will have no denials, I can’t fob it off, if you stay, So go,--and the old Seven Dials Must tell me the time of the day. Your chimes I shall never more hear ’em, To part is a Tic Douloureux! But Tempus has his edax rerum, And I have my Feeding-Time too! Farewell then, my golden repeater, We’re come to my Uncle’s old shop-- And Hunger won’t be a dumb-waiter, The Cerberus growls for a sop! THE LIFE OF ZIMMERMANN. (BY HIMSELF). “This, this, is solitude.”--LORD BYRON. I was born, I may almost say, an orphan; my Father died three months before I saw the light, and my Mother three hours after--thus I was left in the whole world alone, and an only child, for I had neither Brothers nor Sisters; much of my after passion for solitude might be ascribed to this cause, for I believe our tendencies date themselves from a much earlier age, or rather, youth, than is generally imagined. It was remarked that I could go alone at nine months, and I have had an aptitude to going alone all the rest of my life. The first words I learnt to say, were “I by myself, I”--or thou--or he--or she--or it--but I was a long time before I could pronounce any personals in the plural; my little games and habits were equally singular. I was fond of playing at Solitary or at Patience, or another game of cards of my own invention, namely, whist, with _three_ dummies. Of books, my favourite was Robinson Crusoe, especially the first part, for I was not fond of the intrusion of Friday, and thought the natives really were Savages to spoil such a solitude. At ten years of age I was happily placed with the Rev. Mr. Steinkopff, a widower, who took in only the limited number of six pupils, and had only me to begin with; here I enjoyed myself very much, learning in a first and last class in school hours, and playing in play time at hoop, and other pretty games not requiring partners. My playground was, in short, a garden of Eden, and I did not even sigh for an Eve, but, like Paradise, it was too happy to last. I was removed from Mr. Steinkopff’s to the University of Göttingen, and at once the eyes of six hundred pupils, and the pupils of twelve hundred eyes, seemed fastened upon me: I felt like an owl forced into day-light; often and often I shammed ill, as an excuse for confining