maintain’d, but he’s no horse to get upon;

There’s a Packe too, and only one Pusey to set upon.

Two Palmers are kept, holy men, in this ill, grim age,

To make every night their Conservative pilgrimage.

A Fuller, for scouring old coats and redressing them;

A Taylor to fashion; and Mangles for pressing them.

Two Stewarts, two Fellowes, a Clerk, and a Baillie,

To keep order, yet each call’d to order are, daily.

A Duke, without dukedom—a matter uncommon—

And Bowes, the delight, the enchantment of woman.

This house has a Tennent, but ask for the rent of it,

He’d laugh at, and send you to Brussels or Ghent for it.

Of the animals properly call’d so, a sample

We’ll give to you gentlefolks now, for example:—

There are bores beyond count, of all ages and sizes,

Yet only one Hogg, who both learned and wise is.

There’s a Buck and a Roebuck, the latter a wicked one,

Whom few like to play with—he makes such a kick at one.

There are Hawkes and a Heron, with wings trimm’d to fly upon,

And claws to stick into what prey they set eye upon.

There’s a Fox, a smart cove, but, poor fellow, no tail he has;

And a Bruen—good tusks for a feed we’ll be bail he has.

There’s a Seale, and four Martens, with skins to our wishes;

There’s a Rae and two Roches, and all sorts of fishes;

There’s no sheep, but a Sheppard—“the last of the pigtails”—

And a Ramsbottom—chip of the old famous big tails.

Now to mention in brief a few trifles extraneous,

By connoisseurs class’d, “odds and ends miscellaneous:”—

There’s a couple of Bells—frights—nay, Hottentots real!

A Trollope, of elegance le beau ideal.

Of Browne, Green, and Scarlett men, surely a sack or more,

Besides three whole White men, preserved with a Blakemore.

There’s a Hill, and a Hutt, and a Kirk, and—astounding!

The entire of old Holland this house to be found in.

There’s a Flower, with a perfume so strong ‘twould upset ye all;

And the beauty of Somers is here found perpetual.

There’s a Bodkin, a Patten, a Rose, and a Currie,

And a man that’s still Hastie, though ne’er in a hurry.

There is Cole without smoke, a “sou’-West” without danger;

And a Grey, that to place is at present a stranger.

There’s a Peel,—but enough! if you’re a virtuoso

You’ll see for yourself, and next month you may do so;

When, if you don’t say this New House is a wonder,

We’re Dutchmen—that’s all!—and at once knuckle under.

WATERFORD ELECTION.