But as, in _La Sonnambula_, the man In love sings, "Still so gently o'er me stealing," Although I combat with it all I can, I find that "memory will bring back the feeling." But love, at any time, lasts but a span; And so, in "spite of all my grief revealing," I will revisit Rosherville's domain, And drown in "tea with cresses"[6] all my pain. Footnote 1: Nathan, Lord Rosherville, and Baron of Kennington, has been immortalized in _Punch_. His Terpsichorean ingenuity is remarkable. Perhaps his "Polka Hornpipe, in chain armour and handcuffs," is his most remarkable dance. Footnote 2: "_The Albert Tell of straw._"—This work of art is an appropriate mark for the archers to shoot at. It is a species of cross-breed between Guy Fawkes and a bee-hive. Footnote 3: "_Signor Gellini, amidst_," &c.—This accomplished foreigner, amongst other acquirements, speaks English equal to any native. Footnote 4: "_When Chiarini Cocoa-nuts_," &c.—The Chiarini family are a race of animated castanets; and their evident self-satisfaction at this cocoa dance has originated the saying of being "nuts" on anything. Footnote 5: Flirtations of all kinds thrive at Rosherville and Gravesend, "which it is well beknown," as Mrs. Gamp would say. Footnote 6: "_Tea with cresses_," or "Tea with shrimps," each at ninepence, forms the staple meal of Gravesend. The tea is usually the "strong rough congou," at three-and-four. One trial will prove the fact. [Illustration: SAGITTARIUS—The Archer—(Not "Venus' Son divine.") ] THINGS TO BE BORNE IN MIND IN NOVEMBER. When you come back to town do not say to what precise part of the Continent you have been, or you may be found out; "A Walking Tour in Norway" is, however, tolerably safe; and the principal objects may be read up from Murray's "Handbook." If you were seen at the aforesaid Margate, or Gravesend (as the case may be), say you were obliged to go one day to the horrid place, to see a fellow who had sold you a horse. That if you are in debt, the heavy fogs will allow you to walk past the doors of your principal creditors, which will open several new promenades to you. If you wish to pass for a fox-hunter, take a day ticket on the Birmingham rail, in the second-class carriages, in pink and leathers. Everybody will then suppose you have a horse in a box behind—an impression of which you are not bound to disabuse them. This is what in melodramas is called "joining the hunting train." That scarlet-runners may now be planted in ditches, and trained along ploughed fields in their stirrups. THE TRAFALGAR FOUNTAINS.