SIR CHARLES D'OYLEY.
The Qui hi paused,—the pause was long and dreary,
He'd nothing more to ask, nor Tom to say.
He yawned—stretched out his limbs, and seemed most weary,
The youth with no encouragement to stay.
Twirled round his Bicknell's hat in every way:
Hope had bespoke him quarters where he was,
But "taza Chillum" dimmed its lively ray.
And soon it suffered a negation poz,
When from his chair the thin old Indian stiffly rose;
With "sorry can't invite you to my house,
"But hope you'll come to-morrow, here, to dinner;
"Just now there's Major Flask and Mrs. Grouse,
"And I expect from Meerut—Colonel Skinner.
"Your ship's come up—I hope you're not still in her;
"My breakfast hour is, always, half past eight,
"You'll then see Mrs. A.—You've not yet seen her?
"We dine at seven,—take care you're not too late,"
And then he bowed our hero fairly to the gate.