16 JULY 1831, Page 22

EXPOSTULATION AND REPLY.

A SMALL PORTION OF NARRATIVE POETRY, FROM THE PEN OF R-- 5—, P. L.

As I was walking in the Park, The other evening, after dark,

What time the far-famed London lark

Is on the wing to sup ; I saw a short man, and a tall, Discoursing up against a wall, And, as these words the last let fall, I slyly pick'd them up.

My noble friend I—my Londonderry !

Why, when alb London's monde is merry,

"Why dost thou pout and seem so very, Very sad a sinner ?

Thy panes me broken —more's the pity !

Move an amoulment, man ! the City,

When we.etl, have got a way most witty, They grieve and go to dinner.

" But alt i you cry, the Bill will pass !- It will, my friend; and then, alas !

Nor silent drone, nor voiceful ass Will fructify on pensions : Vain is the desperate hope that clings, For Reformation's mighty wings Must, if resisted, rout the things' Of loftiest pretensions 1' "Yet, sooth to say, it was provoking,

While thou wert prophesying no King,

To hear that caustic BROUGHAM joking, And making thee his sport

Thy morbid choler—mad despair—

He said, should shun the midnight air ; Thy windows mend, and drown thy care,' Quoth he, with draughts of port !'

" As ragamuffins roam the Lane,

They, scoffing, show thy want of pane, And many a glazier cries—How Vane-

This obstinate display !

Come, mend them, man—let grief be dormant ; Or, for the present, hide thy torment, Like to the strong-lung'd lordling, STORMONT, Or careless CASTLEREAGH."

Thus ELLENEOROUGH kindly spoke,

Till LONDONDERRY, yawning, woke p—

Which made me laugh, as at a joke, For ELLEN thought him listening

" The Bills, and nothing but the Bills,"

Cried LONDONDERRY, "are my ills I" " Well, since they're born, he's wise who fills " A tumbler to their christening !"

They went : and I exclaim'd, " Oh Quality, Canst thou thus. scorn all ethic polity,, And solace seek in vulgar jollity,

In grape-juiceor the craw?

Why—goodness gracious !—what is wine Or grog to Man, whose soul divine

Is- fed withlefty thoughts, like mine ?r•-•

if

I'll write to the SPECTATOR !"

A. Si.