Nay, when the coachman spoke about the ’Leger, Of Popsy, Mopsy, Bergamotte, and Civet, Of breeder, trainer, owner, backer, hedger, And nags as right, or righter than a trivet, The theme his crack’d attention could not rivet, Though leaning forward to the man of whips, He seem’d to give an ear,--but did not give it, For Ellen’s moon (that saddest of her slips) Would not be hidden by a “new Eclipse.” [Illustration: THE HEAD WAITER AT HATCHETT’S.] If any thought e’er flitted in his head Belonging to the sphere of Bland and Crocky, It was to wish the team all thorough-bred, And every buckle on their backs a jockey: When spinning down a steep descent, or rocky, He never watch’d the wheel, and long’d to lock it, He liked the bolters that set off so cocky: Nor did it shake a single nerve or shock it Because the Comet raced against the Rocket. Thanks to which rivalry, at last the journey Finish’d an hour and a quarter under time, Without a case for surgeon or attorney, Just as St. James’s rang its seventh chime, And now, descending from his seat sublime, Behold Lorenzo, weariest of wights, In that great core of brick, and stone, and lime, Call’d England’s Heart--but which, as seen of nights, Has rather more th’ appearance of its lights. [Illustration: FREE TRADE.] Away he scudded--elbowing, perforce, Thro’ cads, and lads, and many a Hebrew worrier, With fruit, knives, pencils,--all dirt cheap of course, Coachmen, and hawkers of the Globe and “Currier;” Away!--the cookmaid is not such a skurrier, When, fit to split her gingham as she goes, With six just striking on the clock to hurry her, She strides along with one of her three beaux, To get well placed at “Ashley’s”--now Ducrow’s. “I wonder if her moon is full to-night!” He mutter’d, jealous as a Spanish Don, When, lo!--to aggravate that inward spite, In glancing at a board he spied thereon A play-bill for dramatic folks to con, In letters such as those may read, who run, “‘KING JOHN’--oh yes,--I recollect King John! ‘My Lord, they say five moons’--_five_ moons!--well done! I wonder Ellen was content with one! “Five moons--all full!--and all at once in heav’n! She should have lived in that prolific reign!” Here he arrived in front of number seven, Th’ abode of all his joy and all his pain; A sudden tremor shot through every vein, He wish’d he’d come up by the heavy waggon, And felt an impulse to turn back again, Oh, that he ne’er had quitted the Old Dragon! Then came a sort of longing for a flagon.