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And then I said to Mistress Jones, the kindest of her

sex,

"Pray be so good as go and fetch a pint of double X!"

But Mrs. Jones was rather cross, she made a little noise,

She said she "did not like to wait on little vulgar boys,"

She with her apron wiped the plates, and, as she rubb'd the delf,

Said I might "go to Jericho, and fetch my beer myself!”

I did not go to Jericho-I went to Mr. Cobb

I changed a shilling-(which in town the people call " a bob")

It was not so much for myself as for that vulgar child

And I said, "A pint of double X, and please to draw it mild!"

When I came back I gazed about-I gazed on stool and chair

I could not see my little friend-because he was not there!

I peep'd beneath the table-cloth-beneath the sofa

too

I said, "You little vulgar boy! why what's become of you?"

I could not see my table-spoons-I look'd, but could

not see

The little fiddle-pattern'd ones I use when I'm at tea; I could not see my sugar-tongs-my silver watch-oh,

dear!

I know 'twas on the mantel-piece when I went out for beer.

I could not see my Macintosh-it was not to be seen!Nor yet my best white beaver hat, broad-brimm'd and lined with green

My carpet-bag-my cruet-stand, that holds my sauce

and soy,

My roast potatoes!-all are gone!—and so's that vulgar boy!

I

rang the bell for Mrs. Jones, for she was down below, "Oh, Mrs. Jones! what do you think?—ain't this a pretty go?—

That horrid little vulgar boy whom I brought here to-night,

He's stolen my things and run away!!"-Says she, "And sarve you right!!"

Next morning I was up betimes-I sent the Crier round, All with his bell and gold-laced hat, to say I'd give a

pound

To find that little vulgar boy who'd gone and used me

so;

But when the Crier cried, "O Yes!" the people cried, "O No!"

I went to "Jarvis' Landing-place," the glory of the

town,

There was a common sailor-man a-walking up and

down,

I told my tale-he seem'd to think I'd not been treated

well,

And call'd me "Poor old Buffer!"-what that means I cannot tell.

That sailor-man, he said he'd seen that morning on the

shore,

A son of something-'twas a name I'd never heard before,

A little "gallows-looking chap"-dear me, what could he mean?

With a "carpet-swab" and "muckintogs," and a hat turned up with green.

He spoke about his "precious eyes," and said he'd seen him "sheer"

It's very odd that sailor-men should talk so very queer— And then he hitch'd his trousers up, as is, I'm told, their use

It's very odd that sailor-men should wear those things so loose.

I did not understand him well, but think he meant to

say

He'd seen that little vulgar boy, that morning, swim

away

In Captain Large's Royal George about an hour before, And they were now, as he supposed, "somewheres” about the Nore.

A landsman said, "I twig the chap-he's been upon the

mill

And 'cause he gammons so the flats, ve calls him Veeping Bill!"

He said, "he'd done me wery brown," and nicely "stow'd the swag,"

That's French, I fancy, for a hat-or else a carpet-bag.

I went and told the constable my property to track; He asked me if "I did not wish that I might get it back?"

I answered, "To be sure I do!-it's what I'm come about,"

He smiled and said, “Sir, does your mother know that you are out?"

Not knowing what to do, I thought I'd hasten back to

town,

And beg our own Lord Mayor to catch the boy who'd

"done me brown."

His lordship very kindly said he'd try and find him out, But he "rather thought that there were several vulgar boys about."

He sent for Mr. Withair then, and I described "the

swag,

My Macintosh, my sugar-tongs, my spoons, and carpetbag;

He promised that the New Police should all their powers employ !

But never to this hour have I beheld that vulgar boy!

MORAL.

Remember, then, that when a boy I've heard my grandma tell,

BE WARN'D IN TIME BY OTHER'S HARM, AND YOU SHALL DO FULL WELL!"

Don't link yourself with vulgar folks who've got no fixed abode,

Tell lies, use naughty words, and say they "wish they may be blow'd!"

Don't take too much of double X!—and don't at night go out

To fetch your beer yourself, but make the potboy bring your stout!

And when you go to Margate next, just stop, and ring the bell,

Give my respects to Mrs. Jones, and say I'm pretty well!

(By permission of Richard Bentley, Esq.)

RIGHT DEVELOPMENT OF MAN'S FACULTIES.

JOHN RUSKIN.

[As an Art-critic Mr. Ruskin

place among his contemporaries.

occupies, perhaps, the highest To point out and insist upon

the merits of a great master is, but too often, to awaken the

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animosity of the mediocrities, and Mr. Ruskin has not been without his opponents. He is, however, an original thinker and a most graceful writer, and, apart from what he has written upon art, there are scattered throughout his numerous works very many sage remarks upon men and manners, life and character, &c., which are well deserving the thoughtful consideration of the masses outside the ranks of the professional artist. We are glad to find these brief essays have been published, by Messrs. Smith and Elder, in a very available form; viz., a neat 8vo volume entitled "Selections from the Writings of John Ruskin," and which contains the very pith and marrow of his works.

Mr. Ruskin was born in London in 1819; he was educated at Oxford, and studied the pictorial art under Copley Fielding and J. D. Harding. A pamphlet in defence of Turner and the modern English school of landscape painting was his first literary effort; it attracted great attention, and eventually swelled into his now standard work, the "Modern Painters." After a lengthened tour in Italy, Mr. Ruskin published (1849) his "Seven Lamps of Architecture," which was followed in 1851 by the "Stones of Venice." He has also contributed many papers to the "Quarterly,” and other high-class periodicals.]

THE modern English mind has this much in common with that of the Greek, that it intensely desires, in all things, the utmost completion or perfection compatible with their nature. This is a noble character in the abstract, but becomes ignoble when it causes us to forget the relative dignities of that nature itself, and to prefer the perfectness of the lower nature to the imperfection of the higher; not considering that as, judged by such a rule, all the brute animals would be preferable to man, because more perfect in their functions and kind, and yet are always held inferior to him, so also in the works of man, those which are more perfect in their kind are always inferior to those which are, in their nature, liable to more faults and shortcomings. For the finer the nature, the more flaws it will show through the clearness of it; and it is a law of this universe, that the best things shall be seldomest seen in their best form. The wild grass grows well and strongly, one year with another; but the wheat is, according to the greater nobleness of its nature, liable

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