Jackets may do to ride or race, Of course in climbing up a tree, On terra-firma, or afloat, To mount the giddy topmast, he Would doff' awhile his long-tail'd coat. What makes you simper, then, and sneer? Haven't you, too, got a long-tail'd coat? Oh! "Dick's scarce old enough," you mean, 's a ripe age for a long-tail'd coat. What! would you have him sport a chin To figure in a long-tail'd coat? Suppose he goes to France-can he Unless he's got a long-tail'd coat? Why Louis Philippe, Royal Cit, There soon may be a sans culotte, Things are not now as when, of yore, Then ample mail his form embraced, "Cribb'd and confined" about the waist, And pinch'd in like Dick's long-tail'd coat. With beamy spear or biting ax, To right and left he thrust and smote-- More changes still! now, well-a-day! Prates of the "March of Intellect"- Alack! alack! that every thick Skull'd lad must find an antidote But lo! my rhyme's begun to fail, Thus rhyme and time cut short the tale, The long tale of Dick's long-tail'd coat. THE SUNDAY QUESTION. THOMAS HOOD. "It is the king's highway that we are in, and in this way it is that thou hast placed the lions."-BUNYAN. WHAT! shut the Gardens! lock the latticed gate! And hang a wooden notice up to state, On Sundays no admittance at this wicket! The Gardens-so unlike the ones we dub Of Tea, wherein the artisan carousesMere shrubberies without one drop of shrubWherefore should they be closed like public-houses? No ale is vended at the wild Deer's Head No rum-nor gin-not even of a Monday- And does not send out porter of a Sunday— The Bear denied! the Leopard under locks! As if his spots would give contagious fevers! The Beaver close as hat within its box; So different from other Sunday beavers! The Birds invisible—the Gnaw-way Rats— The Seal hermetically sealed till MondayThe Monkey tribe-the Family of CatsWe visit other families on Sunday— But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy? What is the brute profanity that shocks To bend his legs, the way he does, in kneeling? What feature has repulsed the serious set? One thing is plain-it is not in the feeding! For they all eat cold dinners on a Sunday- What change comes o'er the spirit of the place, Turns fell Hyena of the Ghoulish race? The Snake, pro tempore, the true Satanic? Do Irish minds-(whose theory allows That now and then Good Friday falls on Monday)— Do Irish minds suppose that Indian Cows Are wicked Bulls of Bashan on a Sunday?- There are some moody Fellows, not a few, And think when they are dismal they are pious: Has sent the brutes to Coventry till Monday?— What dire offense have serious Fellows found To raise their spleen against the Regent's spinney? Were charitable boxes handed round, And would not Guinea Pigs subscribe their guinea? Perchance, the Demoiselle refused to molt The feathers in her head-at least till Monday; Or did the Elephant, unseemly, bolt A tract presented to be read on Sunday?— At whom did Leo struggle to get loose? Who mourns through Monkey-tricks his damaged clothing? Who has been hissed by the Canadian Goose? As certain wild Itinerants on Sunday- To me it seems that in the oddest way Our would-be Keepers of the Sabbath-day About the grounds from Saturday till Monday, As any harmless man to take a walk, If Saints could clap him in a cage on SundayBut what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy? In spite of all hypocrisy can spin, As surely as I am a Christian scion, I cannot think it is a mortal sin (Unless he's loose)—to look upon a lion. I really think that one may go, perchance, To see a bear, as guiltless as on Monday- In spite of all the fanatic compiles, I can not think the day a bit diviner, That what we christen "Natural" on Monday, Whereon is sinful fantasy to work? The Dove, the winged Columbus of man's haven? The tender Love-Bird-or the filial Stork? The punctual Crane-the providential Raven? The busy Beaver-that sagacious beast! The horned Rhinoceros-the spotted Leopard |