A WINDY CORNER AT BRIGHTON.

Old lady first, with hair like winter snows,

Makes moan.

And struggles. Then, with cheeks too richly rose,

A crone,

Gold hair, new teeth, white powder on her nose;

All bone

And skin; an "Ancient Mystery," like those

Of Hone.

Then comes a girl; sweet face that freshly glows!

Well grown.

The neat cloth gown her supple figure shows,

Now thrown

In lines of beauty. Last, in graceless pose,

Half prone,

A luckless lout, caught by the blast, one knows

His tone

Means oaths; his hat, straight as fly crows,

Has flown.

I laugh at him, and —— Hi! By Jove, there goes

My own!

Motto for Lady Champagne Drinkers.—"Sweetness and light!"