With a sigh from her art, as though she would have bust it, Vile hall the other passengers vent upon their vays, There they sat looking queer, for an hour or more, To that pooty sleeping Hinfnt a suckin of his Thum! What could this pore Doctor do, bein treated thus, Off he drove to a female friend, vich she was both kind and mild, That kind lady took the child instantly in her lap, And when she took its close off, what d' you think she found? Also in its little close, was a note which did conwey, Pity of this bayby many people took, It had such pooty ways and such a pooty look; And I wish with all my art, some night in my night gownd, While the Doctor pondered on this hoffer fair, To send the little Infant back to Devonshire. Lost in apoplexity, this pore meddicle man, "O Justice!" says the Doctor, "instrugt me what to do, My patients have no doctor to tend them in their ills, "I've come up from the country, to know how I'll dispose Up spoke Mr. Hammill, sittin at his desk, "This year application does me much perplesk; What I do adwise you, is to leave this babby In the Parish where it was left, by its mother shabby." The Doctor from his Worship sadly did depart He might have left the baby, but he had n't got the heart Mother, who left this little one on a stranger's knee, THE ORGAN-BOY'S APPEAL. "WESTMINSTER POLICE COURT. -POLICEMAN X brought a paper of doggerel verses to the MAGISTRATE, which had been thrust into his hands, X said, by an Italian boy, who ran away immediately afterwards. "The MAGISTRATE, after perusing the lines, looked hard at X, and said he did not think they were written by an Italian. "X, blushing, said he thought the paper read in Court last week, and which frightened so the old gentleman to whom it was addressed, was also not of Italian origin." O SIGNOR BRODERIP, you are a wickid ole man, You wexis us little horgin-boys when Harrogint and habsolute like the Hor- Likewise a place vere the henimies of O you vickid HEROD without any Sweet SAINT CICILY who first taught Soften the heart of this Magistrit that haggerywates us so! Good Italian gentlemen, fatherly and Brings us over to London here our A popping of the Veasel and a Jumpin of JIM CROW. And as us young horgin-boys is grateful in our turn We gives to these kind gentlemen hall the morey we earn, Because that they vood vop us as wery | Then like good young horgin-boys avay from there we 'll go, wel we know Unless we brought our hurnings back Blessing sweet SAINT CICILY that to them as loves us so. O MR. BRODERIP! wery much I'm surprise, Ven you take your valks abroad where can be your eyes? If a Beak had a heart then you'd compryend Us pore little horgin-boys was the poor man's friend. Don't you see the shildren in the droring-rooms Clapping of their little ands when they year our toons? On their mothers' bussums don't you see the babbies crow And down to us dear horgin-boys lots of apence throw? Don't you see the ousemaids (pooty POLLIES and MARIES), Ven ve bring our urdigurdis, smiling from the hairies? Then they come out vith a slice o' cole puddn or a bit o' bacon or so And give it us young horgin-boys for lunch afore we go. Have you ever seen the Hirish children sport When our velcome music-box brings sunshine in the Court? To these little paupers who can never pay Surely all good horgin-boys, for GOD's love, will play. Has for those proud gentlemen, like a serting B-k (Vich I von't be pussonal and therefore vil not speak), That flings their parler-vinders hup ven ve begin to play And cusses us and swears at us in such a wiolent way, Instedd of their abewsing and calling hout Poleece Let em send out JOHN to us vith sixpence or a shillin apiece. taught our pipes to blow. LITTLE BILLEE.* AIR-"Il y avait un petit navire." THERE were three sailors of Bristol city Who took a boat and went to sea. But first with beef and captain's biscuits And pickled pork they loaded she. There was gorging Jack and guzzling Jimmy And the youngest he was little Billee. Now when they got as far as the Equator They'd nothing left but one split pea. Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy "I am am extremely hungaree." To gorging Jack says guzzling Jimmy, "We've nothing left, us must eat we.' So Billy went up to the main-top I'd say, your woes were not less keen, THE END OF THE PLAY. THE play is done; the curtain drops, Slow falling to the prompter's bell: A moment yet the actor stops, And looks around, to say farewell. It is an irksome word and task; And, when he's laughed and said his say, He shows, as he removes the mask, A face that's anything but gay. One word, ere yet the evening ends, Let's close it with a parting rhyme, And pledge a hand to all young friends, As fits the merry Christmas time.* On life's wide scene you, too, have parts, That Fate erelong shall bid you play; Good night! with honest gentle hearts A kindly greeting go alway! Your hopes more vain than those of men; Your pangs or pleasures of fifteen At forty-five played o'er again. I'd say, we suffer and we strive, As erst at twelve in corduroys. We learned at home to love and pray, Pray Heaven that early Love and Truth May never wholly pass away. And in the world, as in the school, I'd say, how fate may change and shift; The prize be sometimes with the fool, The race not always to the swift. The strong may yield, the good may fall, The great man be a vulgar clown, The knave be lifted over all, The kind cast pitilessly down. Who knows the inscrutable design? Blessed be He who took and gave! Why should your mother, Charles, not mine, Be weeping at her darling's grave? * We bow to Heaven that will'd it so, That darkly rules the fate of all, That sends the respite or the blow, That's free to give, or to recall. This crowns his feast with wine and wit: Who brought him to that mirth and state? His betters, see, below him sit, Or hunger hopeless at the gate. Who bade the mud from Dives' wheel To spurn the rags of Lazarus? Come, brother, in that dust we'll kneel, Confessing Heaven that ruled it thus. So each shall mourn, in life's advance, Dear hopes, dear friends, untimely killed; * C. B. ob. 29th November, 1848, t. 42. Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance, And longing passion unfulfilled. Amen! whatever fate be sent, Pray God the heart may kindly glow, Although the head with cares be bent, And whitened with the winter snow. Come wealth or want, come good or ill, Let young and old accept their part, And bow before the Awful Will, And bear it with an honest heart, Who misses or who wins the prize. Go, lose or conquer as you can; But if you fail, or if you rise, Be cach, pray God, a gentleman. A gentleman, or old or young! (Bear kindly with my humble lays); The sacred chorus first was sung Upon the first of Christmas days: The shepherds heard it overhead The joyful angels raised it then : Glory to Heaven on high, it said, And peace on earth to gentle men. My song, save this, is little worth; lay the weary pen aside, And wish you health, and love, and mirth, As fits the solemn Christmas-tide. As fits the Holy Christmas birth, Be this, good friends, our carol still Be peace on earth, be peace on earth, To men of gentle will. VANITAS VANITATUM. How spake of old the Royal Seer? This life of ours he said is sheer O Student of this gilded Book, What theme for sorrow or for scorn! What chronicle of Fate's surprises Of adverse fortune nobly borne, Of chances, changes, ruins, rises! Of thrones upset, and sceptres broke, How strange a record here is written! Of honors, dealt as if in joke; Of brave desert unkindly smitten. How low men were, and how they rise! How high they were, and how they tumble! O vanity of vanities! O laughable, pathetic jumble! Here between honest Janin's joke And his Turk Excellency's firman, I write my name upon the book : I write my name and end my ser mon. O Vanity of vanities! How wayward the decrees of Fate are! How very weak the very wise, How very small the very great are! What mean these stale moralities, Sir Preacher, from your desk you mumble? Why rail against the great and wise, And tire us with your ceaseless grumble? * Between a page by Jules Janin, and a poem by the Turkish Ambassador, in Madame de R's album, containing the auto graphs of kings, princes, poets, marshals, musicians, diplomatists, statesmen, artists, and men of letters of all nations. |