-That wandering glance and furtive kiss,
Exceedingly naughty, and wrong, I wis,
Should yet be consider'd so much amiss
As to call for a sentence severe as this!-
And I said to myself, as I heard with a sigh,
The poor lone victim's stifled cry,*

"Well, I can't understand How any man's

hand

Could wall up that hole in a Christian land!

Why, a Mussulman Turk Would recoil from

the work

And though, when his Ladies run after the fellows, he
Stands not on trifles, if madden'd by jealousy,
Its objects, I'm sure, would declare, could they speak,
In their Georgian, Circassian, or Turkish, or Greek,
When all's said and done, far better it was for us,

Tied back to back, And sewn up in a sack, To be pitch'd neck-and-heels from a boat in the Bosphorus!'

-Oh! a Saint 'twould vex To think that the

sex

Should be treated no better than Combe's double X!

* About the middle of the last century a human skeleton was discovered in a recess in the wall among the ruins of Netley. On examination the bones were pronounced to be those of a female. Teste James Harrison, a youthful but intelligent cabdriver of Southampton, who "well remembers to have heard his grandmother say that 'Somebody told her so.'"

Sure some one might run to the Abbess, and tell her
A much better method of stocking her cellar."

If ever on polluted walls
Heaven's red right arm in vengeance falls,
If e'er its justice wraps in flame
The black abodes of sin and shame,
That justice, in its own good time,
Shall visit for so foul a crime,
Ope desolation's floodgate wide,
And blast thee, Netley, in thy pride!

Lo, where it comes!--the tempest lours,

It bursts on thy devoted towers;

Ruthless Tudor's bloated form

Rides on the blast, and guides the storm ;

I hear the sacrilegious cry,

"Down with the nests, and the rooks will fly!"

Down! down they come-a fearful fall-
Arch, and pillar, and roof-tree, and all,
Stained pane, and sculptured stone,
There they lie on the greensward strown-
Mouldering walls remain alone!

Shaven crown, Bombazeen gown,
Mitre, and Crozier, and all are flown!

And yet, fair Netley, as I gaze

Upon that grey and mouldering wall,

The glories of thy palmy days

Its very stones recall!

They come like shadows, so depart"-
I see thee as thou wert-and art-

Sublime in ruin!-grand in woe!

Lone refuge of the owl and bat;

No voice awakes thine echoes now!

No sound-Good Gracious!-what was that?
Was it the moan, The parting groan

Of her who died forlorn and alone,
Embedded in mortar, and bricks, and stone?-

Full and clear On my listening ear
It comes-again-near, and more near-
Why, 'zooks! it's the popping of Ginger Beer!

-I rush'd to the door- I tread the floor,
By Abbots and Abbesses trodden before,
In the good old chivalric days of yore,

And what see I there?- In a rush-bottom'd

chair

A hag, surrounded by crockery-ware,
Vending, in cups, to the credulous throng,
A nasty decoction miscall'd Souchong, -
And a squeaking fiddle and "wry-neck'd fife"
Are screeching away, for the life!-for the life!-
Danced to by "All the World and his Wife."
Tag, Rag, and Bobtail, are capering there,
Worse scene, I ween, than Bartlemy Fair!-

Two or three Chimney-sweeps, two or three Clowns,
Playing at "pitch and toss," sport their "Browns,"
Two or three damsels, frank and free,
Are ogling, and smiling, and sipping Bohea.
Parties below, and parties above,

Some making tea, and some making love.
Then the "toot-toot-toot"
Of that vile demi-flute, -

The detestable din Of that crack'd violin, And the odours of "Stout," and tobacco, and gin. "-Dear me!" I exclaim'd, "what a place to be in!" And I said to the person who drove my "shay," (A very intelligent man, by the way,) "This, all things consider'd, is rather too gay! It don't suit my humour, -so take me away! Dancing! and drinking !-cigar and song! If not profanation, it's 'coming it strong,' And I really consider it all very wrong.-Pray, to whom does this property now belong?"

-He paused, and said, Scratching his head, "Why, I really do think he's a little to blame, But I can't say I knows the Gentleman's name!"

"Well-well!" quoth I, As I heaved a sigh,

And a tear-drop fell from my twinkling eye, "My vastly good man, as I scarcely doubt That some day or other you'll find it out,

Should he come in your way,

Or ride in your 'shay,'

(As perhaps he may,) Be so good as to say

That a Visitor, whom you drove over one day,
Was exceedingly angry, and very much scandalised,
Finding these beautiful ruins so Vandalised,

And thus of their owner to speak began,
As he order'd you home in haste,
'NO DOUBT HE'S A VERY RESPECTABLE MAN,
But I can't say much for his taste.'"*

My very excellent brother-in-law, Seaforth, late of the Bombay Fencibles (lucky dog to have quitted the service before this shocking Affghan business!), seems to have been even more forcibly affected on the evening when he so narrowly escaped being locked in at Westminster Abbey, and when-but let him describe his own feelings, as he has done, indeed, in the subjoined

FRAGMENT.

A FEELING sad came o'er me as I trod the sacred ground

Where Tudors and Plantagenets were lying all around:

* "Adieu, Monsieur Gil Blas; je vous souhaite toutes sortes prospérités, avec un peu plus de goût!"-Gil Blas.