SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS.

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THE LORD MAYORS DAY.


"Spirit of Momus! thou'rt wandering wide.
When I would thou wert merrily perch'd by my side,
For I am sorely beset by the _blues_;
Thou fugitive elf! I adjure thee return,
By Fielding's best wig, and the ashes of Sterne,
Appear at the call of my muse."

It comes, with a laugh on its rubicund face;
Methinks, by the way, it's in pretty good case,
For a spirit unblest with a body;
"On the claret bee's-wing," says the sprite, "I regale;
But I'm ready for all--from Lafitte down to ale,
From Champagne to a tumbler of toddy.

"Then I'm not over-nice, as at least _you_ must know,
In the rank of my hosts--for the lofty or low
Are alike to the Spirit of Mirth;
I care not a straw with whom I have dined,
Though a family dinner's not much to my mind,
And a proser's a plague upon earth.