and now, at warning signal from her finger,

the servants most reluctantly withdrew,

but list’ning on the stairs contrived to linger;

for ellen, gazing round with eyes of blue,

at last the features of her parent knew,

and summoning her breath and vocal pow’rs,

“oh, mother!” she exclaimed—“oh, is it true—

[pg 315]

our dear lorenzo”—the dear name drew show’rs—

“ours,” cried the mother, “pray don’t call him ours!”

“i never liked him, never, in my days!”

[“oh yes—you did”—said ellen with a sob,]

“there always was a something in his ways—”

[“so sweet—so kind,” said ellen, with a throb,]

“his very face was what i call a snob,

and, spite of west-end coats and pantaloons,

he had a sort of air of the swell mob;

i’m sure when he has come of afternoons

to tea, i’ve often thought—i’ll watch my spoons!”

“the spoons!” cried ellen, almost with a scream,

“oh cruel—false as cruel—and unjust!

he that once stood so high in your esteem!”

“he!” cried the dame, grimacing her disgust,

“i like him?—yes—as any body must

an infidel that scoffs at god and devil:

didn’t he bring you bonaparty’s bust?

lord! when he calls i hardly can be civil—

my favourite was always mr. neville.

“lorenzo?—i should like, of earthly things,

to see him hanging forty cubits high;

doesn’t he write like captain rocks and swings?

nay, in this very letter bid you try

to make yourself particular, and tie

a tail on—a prodigious tail!—oh, daughter!

and don’t he ask you down his area—fie!

and recommend to cut your being shorter,

with brick-bats round your neck in ponds of water?”

alas! to think how readers thus may vary

a writer’s sense!—what mortal would have thought

[pg 316]

lorenzo’s hint about professor airy

and pond to such a likeness could be brought!

who would have dreamt the simple way he taught

to make a comet of poor ellen’s moon,

could furnish forth an image so distraught,

as ellen, walking regent street at noon,

tail’d—like a fat cape sheep, or a racoon!