The End

THE JOSS AND HIS FOLLY,

An Extract of an overland, Dispatch.

I stare at it from out my casement,

And ask for what is such a place meant.

Byron.

July 29, 1820.

--The queerest of all the queer sights

I've set sight on;--

Is, the what d'ye-call-t thing, here,

The Folly at Brighton

The outside--huge teapots, all drill'd round with holes, Relieved by extinguishers, sticking on poles: The inside--all tea-things, and dragons, and bells, t The show rooms--all show, the sleeping rooms--cells.

But the grand Curiosity 's not to be seen-- The owner himself-- an old fat Mandarin; A patron of painters who copy designs, That grocers and tea-dealers hang up for signs: Hence teaboard-taste artists gain rewards and distinction, Hence his title of 'Teapot' shall last to extinction.

I saw his great chair into which he falls--soss-- And sits, in his China Shop, like a large Joss; His mannikins round him, in tea-tray array, His pea-hens beside him, to make him seem gay.

It is said when he sleeps on his state Eider-down, And thinks on his Wife, and about half a Crown; That he wakes from these horrible dreams in a stew; And that, stretching his arms out, he screams, Mrs. Q!

He's cool'd on the M--ch-ss, but I'm your debtor For further particulars-- in a C letter.

You must know that he hates his own wife, to a failing;--

And it 's thought, it's to shun her, he's now gone out