We vary, of course--_petits pates_ do _one_ day,
The _next_ we've our lunch with the Gauffrier Hollandais,[9]
That popular artist, who brings out, like SCOTT,
His delightful productions so quick, hot and hot;
Not the worse for the exquisite comment that follows,--
Divine _maresquino_, which--Lord, how one swallows!
Once more, then, we saunter forth after our snack, or
Subscribe a few francs for the price of a _fiacre_,
And drive far away to the old _Montagnes Russes_,
Where we find a few twirls in the car of much use
To regenerate the hunger and thirst of us sinners,
Who've lapst into snacks--the perdition of dinners.
And here, DICK--in answer to one of your queries,
About which we Gourmands have had much discussion--
I've tried all these mountains, Swiss, French, and Ruggieri's,
And think, for _digestion_,[10] there's none like the Russian;
So equal the motion--so gentle, tho' fleet--
It in short such a light and salubrious scamper is,
That take whom you please--take old Louis DIX-HUIT,
And stuff him--ay, up to the neck--with stewed lampreys,[11]
So wholesome these Mounts, such a _solvent_ I've found them,
That, let me but rattle the Monarch well down them,
The fiend, Indigestion, would fly far away,
And the regicide lampreys[12] be foiled of their prey!
Such, DICK, are the classical sports that content us,
Till five o'clock brings on that hour so momentous,
That epoch--but whoa! my lad--here comes the _Schneider_,
And, curse him, has made the stays three inches wider--
Too wide by an inch and a half--what a Guy!
But, no matter--'twill all be set right by-and-by.
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