TO C. DICKENS, ESQ.,

ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR AMERICA.

PSHAW! away with leaf and berry,
And the sober-sided cup!
Bring a goblet, and bright sherry,
And a bumper fill me up!
Though a pledge I had to shiver,
And the longest ever was!
Ere his vessel leaves our river,
I would drink a health to Boz!

Here's success to all his antics,
Since it pleases him to roam,
And to paddle o'er Atlantics,
After such a sale at home!
May he shun all rocks whatever,
And each shallow sand that lurks,

And his passage be as clever

As the best among his works.

NOVEMBER.

No sun-no moon!

No morn-no noon

No dawn—no dusk—no proper time of day—
No sky-no earthly view—

No distance looking blue

No road-no street-no "t'other side the way"— No end to any

Row

No indications where the Crescents go-
No top to any Steeple-

No recognitions of familiar people—

No Courtesies for showing 'em

No knowing 'em!

No travelling at all-no locomotion,

No inkling of the way-no notion-
"No go"-by land or ocean-
No mail-no post-

No news from any foreign coast

No park-no ring-no afternoon gentility-
No company-no nobility—

No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease,
No comfortable feel in any member-

No shade, no shine, no butterflies, no bees,

No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds-
November!

PITY the sorrows of a class of men,

Who, though they bow to fashion and frivolity, No fancied claims, or woes fictitious, pen,

But wrongs ell-wide, and of a lasting quality.

Oppressed and discontented with our lot,

Among the clamorous we take our station; A host of Ribbon Men, yet is there not

One piece of Irish in our agitation.

We do revere Her Majesty the Queen,
We venerate our Glorious Constitution,
We joy King William's advent should have been,
And only want a Counter Revolution.

'Tis not Lord Russell and his final measure, 'Tis not Lord Melbourne's counsel to the throne, "Tis not this bill or that gives us displeasure, The measures we dislike are all our own.

The Cash Law the "Great Western" loves to name, The tone our foreign policy pervading;

The Corn Laws,

none of these we care to blame,

Our evils we refer to over-trading.

By Tax or Tithe our murmurs are not drawn; We reverence the Church,—but hang the cloth! We love her ministers, but curse the lawn!

We have, alas! too much to do with both!

We love the sex; to serve them is a bliss!
We trust they find us civil, never surly;
All that we hope of female friends is this,
That their last linen may be wanted early.

Ah! who can tell the miseries of men

That serve the very cheapest shops in town? Till, faint and weary, they leave off at ten, Knocked up by ladies beating of 'em down!

But has not Hamlet his opinion given, O Hamlet had a heart for Drapers' servants! "That custom is " say custom after seven "More honored in the breach than the observ ance."

O come, then, gentle ladies, come in time, O'erwhelm our counters, and unload our shelves;

Torment us all until the seventh chime,

But let us have the remnant to ourselves!

We wish of knowledge to lay in a stock,
And not remain in ignorance incurable;
To study Shakspeare, Milton, Dryden, Locke,
And other fabrics that have proved so durable.

We long for thoughts of intellectual kind,

And not to go bewildered to our beds; With stuff and fustian taking up the mind, And pins and needles running in our heads!

For O, the brain gets very dull and dry,

Selling from morn till night for cash or credit; Or with a vacant face and vacant eye,

Watching cheap prints that Knight did never edit.

Till sick with toil, and lassitude extreme,

We often think, when we are dull and vapory, The bliss of Paradise was so supreme,

Because that Adam did not deal in drapery.

"UP THE RHINE."

WHY, Tourist, why

With Passports have to do?
Prythee stay at home and pass
The Port and Sherry too.

Why, Tourist, why

Embark for Rotterdam?
Prythee stay at home and take

Thy Hollands in a dram.

Why, Tourist, why

To foreign climes repair?