I. Mr. and Mrs. Fitzroy Timmins live in Lilliput Street, that neat little street which runs at right angles with the Park and Brobdingnag Gardens. It is a very genteel neighborhood, and I need not say they are of a good family. Especially Mrs. Timmins, as her mamma is always telling Mr. T. They are […]

I.–FROM RICHMOND IN SURREY TO BRUSSELS IN BELGIUM . . . I quitted the “Rose Cottage Hotel” at Richmond, one of the comfortablest, quietest, cheapest, neatest little inns in England, and a thousand times preferable, in my opinion, to the “Star and Garter,” whither, if you go alone, a sneering waiter, with his hair curled, […]

We, who can recall the consulship of Plancus, and quite respectable, old-fogyfied times, remember amongst other amusements which we had as children the pictures at which we were permitted to look. There was Boydell’s Shakspeare, black and ghastly gallery of murky Opies, glum Northcotes, straddling Fuselis! there were Lear, Oberon, Hamlet, with starting muscles, rolling […]

Author: Charles Dickens and William Makepeace Thackeray Warning to the Public CONCERNING THE LOVING BALLAD OF LORD BATEMAN. In some collection of old English Ballads there is an ancient ditty which I am told bears some remote and distant resemblance to the following Epic Poem. I beg to quote the emphatic language of my estimable […]

The noble King of Brentford Was old and very sick, He summon’d his physicians To wait upon him quick; They stepp’d into their coaches And brought their best physick. They cramm’d their gracious master With potion and with pill; They drench’d him and they bled him; They could not cure his ill. “Go fetch,” says […]

No more, thou lithe and long-winged hawk, of desert-life for thee; No more across the sultry sands shalt thou go swooping free: Blunt idle talons, idle beak, with spurning of thy chain, Shatter against thy cage the wing thou ne’er may’st spread again. Long, sitting by their watchfires, shall the Kabyles tell the tale Of […]

PART I. At Paris, hard by the Maine barriers, Whoever will choose to repair, Midst a dozen of wooden-legged warriors May haply fall in with old Pierre. On the sunshiny bench of a tavern He sits and he prates of old wars, And moistens his pipe of tobacco With a drink that is named after […]

On deck, beneath the awning, I dozing lay and yawning; It was the gray of dawning, Ere yet the sun arose; And above the funnel’s roaring, And the fitful wind’s deploring, I heard the cabin snoring With universal nose. I could hear the passengers snorting– I envied their disporting– Vainly I was courting The pleasure […]

But yesterday a naked sod The dandies sneered from Rotten Row, And cantered o’er it to and fro: And see ’tis done! As though ’twere by a wizard’s rod A blazing arch of lucid glass Leaps like a fountain from the grass To meet the sun! A quiet green but few days since, With cattle […]

Riding from Coleraine (Famed for lovely Kitty), Came a Cockney bound Unto Derry city; Weary was his soul, Shivering and sad, he Bumped along the road Leads to Limavaddy. Mountains stretch’d around, Gloomy was their tinting, And the horse’s hoofs Made a dismal clinting; Wind upon the heath Howling was and piping, On the heath […]

“A surgeon of the United States’ army says that on inquiring of the Captain of his company, he found that NINE-TENTHS of the men had enlisted on account of some female difficulty.”–Morning Paper. Ye Yankee Volunteers! It makes my bosom bleed When I your story read, Though oft ’tis told one. So–in both hemispheres The […]

Special Jurymen of England! who admire your country’s laws, And proclaim a British Jury worthy of the realm’s applause; Gayly compliment each other at the issue of a cause Which was tried at Guildford ‘sizes, this day week as ever was. Unto that august tribunal comes a gentleman in grief, (Special was the British Jury, […]

A street there is in Paris famous, For which no rhyme our language yields, Rue Neuve des Petits Champs its name is– The New Street of the Little Fields. And here’s an inn, not rich and splendid, But still in comfortable case; The which in youth I oft attended, To eat a bowl of Bouillabaisse. […]

WRITTEN IN A LADY’S ALBUM. “Coming from a gloomy court, Place of Israelite resort, This old lamp I’ve brought with me. Madam, on its panes you’ll see The initials K and E.” “An old lantern brought to me? Ugly, dingy, battered, black!” (Here a lady I suppose Turning up a pretty nose)– “Pray, sir, take […]

“I am Miss Catherine’s book,” the album speaks; “I’ve lain among your tomes these many weeks; I’m tired of their old coats and yellow cheeks. “Quick, Pen! and write a line with a good grace: Come! draw me off a funny little face; And, prithee, send me back to Chesham Place.” PEN. “I am my […]

Seventeen rosebuds in a ring, Thick with sister flowers beset, In a fragrant coronet, Lucy’s servants this day bring. Be it the birthday wreath she wears Fresh and fair, and symbolling The young number of her years, The sweet blushes of her spring. Types of youth and love and hope! Friendly hearts your mistress greet, […]

In tattered old slippers that toast at the bars, And a ragged old jacket perfumed with cigars, Away from the world and its toils and its cares, I’ve a snug little kingdom up four pair of stairs. To mount to this realm is a toil, to be sure, But the fire there is bright and […]

LINES WRITTEN TO AN ALBUM PRINT. As on this pictured page I look, This pretty tale of line and hook As though it were a novel-book Amuses and engages: I know them both, the boy and girl; She is the daughter of the Earl, The lad (that has his hair in curl) My lord the […]

“Quand vous serez bien vielle, le soir a la chandelle Assise aupres du feu devisant et filant, Direz, chantant mes vers en vous esmerveillant, Ronsard m’a celebre du temps que j’etois belle.” Some winter night, shut snugly in Beside the fagot in the hall, I think I see you sit and spin, Surrounded by your […]

The rose upon my balcony the morning air perfuming, Was leafless all the winter time and pining for the spring; You ask me why her breath is sweet, and why her cheek is blooming, It is because the sun is out and birds begin to sing. The nightingale, whose melody is through the greenwood ringing, […]