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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 werry brown," and nicely "stowed 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 severa! vulgar boys about."

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

My Macintosh, my sugar-tongs, my spoons and carpet-bag;

He promised that the New Police should all

their powers employ,

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

MORAL.

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That particular day,

As I've heard people say,

Mr. David Pryce had been soaking his clay,
And amusing himself with his pipe and cheroots,

Remember, then, what when a boy I've heard The whole afternoon at the Goat-in-Boots,

my Grandma tell,

"BE WARNED IN TIME BY OTHERS' 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 blowed!"

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!

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With a couple more soakers,
Thoroughbred smokers,

Both, like himself, prime singers and jokers;
And, long after day had drawn to a close,
And the rest of the world was wrapped in re-

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Old "Goat-in-Boots" showed them the door; And then came that knock, And the sensible shock

David felt when his wife cried, "Look at the Clock!"

For the hands stood as crooked as crooked might be,

The long at the Twelve, and the short at the Three!

That self-same clock had long been a bone Of contention between this Darby and Joan; And often, among their pother and rout, When this otherwise amiable couple fell out, Pryce would drop a cool hint With an ominous squint

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Perhaps in its use he might mean to be lenient, Takes his hat and great-coat off their several But walking just then was n't very convenient,

So he threw it, instead,
Direct at her head;

It knocked off her hat;
Down she fell flat;

Her case, perhaps, was not much mended by

that;

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pegs,

With his President's hammer bestows his last

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Through the motley rout,

That little Jackdaw kept hopping about:
Here and there,

Like a dog in a fair,
Over confits and cates,
And dishes and plates,

Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall!
Mitre and crosier! he hopped upon all.
With a saucy air,

He perched on the chair

The whole day, discussing the case and gin- Where, in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat, toddy,

Returned about half-past eleven at night
The following verdict, "We find, Sarve her
right!"

Mr. David has since had a "serious call,"
He never drinks ale, wine, or spirits, at all,
And they say he is going to Exeter Hall

To make a grand speech,
And to preach and to teach
People that "they can't brew their malt liquor
too small!"

In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat;
And he peered in the face
Of his Lordship's Grace,
With a satisfied look, as if he would say,
"We Two are the greatest folks here to-day!"
And the priests, with awe,
As such freaks they saw,
Said "The Devil must be in that little Jack-
daw!"

The feast was over, the board was cleared,
The flawns and the custards had all disappeared,

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The Cardinal drew

Off each plum-colored shoe,

And left his red stockings exposed to the view; He peeps, and he feels

In the toes and the heels.

They turn up the dishes-they turn up the plates-
They take up the poker and poke out the grates,
-They turned up the rugs,

They examine the mugs,
But, no-no such thing-
They can't find THE RING!

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The mute expression

And, being thus coupled with full restitution, The Jackdaw got plenary absolution! -When those words were heard, That poor little bird

Served in lieu of confession,

And the Abbot declared that "when nobody Was so changed in a moment, 'twas really ab

twigged it,

Some rascal or other had popped in and prigged

it !"

The Cardinal rose with a dignified look,

He called for his candle, his bell, and his book!
In holy anger and pious grief

He solemnly cursed that rascally thief!
He cursed him at board, he cursed him in bed;
From the sole of his foot to the crown of his
head;

He cursed him in sleeping, that every night He should dream of the devil, and wake in a fright.

He cursed him in eating, he cursed him in drinking,

He cursed him in coughing, in sneezing, in winking;

VOL. II.-44

surd;

He grew sleek and fat;

In addition to that

A fresh crop of feathers came thick as a mat! His tail waggled more

Even than before;

But no longer it wagged with an impudent air,
No longer he perched on the Cardinal's chair.
He hopped now about
With a gait devout;

At Matins, at Vespers, he never was out;
And, so far from any more pilfering deeds,
He always seemed telling the Confessor's beads.
If any one lied, or if any one swore,

Or slumbered in prayer-time and happened to

snore,

That good Jackdaw

Would give a great "Caw!"

But the King turn'd a Monk, And Lagardie got drunk,

As much as to say, "Don't do so any more!" While many remarked, as his manner they saw,

66

That they never had known such a pious Jack-And said to the Lady with a deal of ill-breeding, daw!" "You may go to the d-1 and I'll go to Sweden." Thus between the two stools, Like some other fools,

He long lived the pride

Of that country-side,

And at last in the odor of sanctity died;

When, as words were too faint

His merits to paint,

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score;

They sent squills, And pills, And very long bills,

And all they could do did not make him get well, He sounded his M's and his N's like an L.

A shocking bad cough At last took him off,

And Mister Lagardie, her former young beau,
Came a-courting again the Widow Modeau.

Mister Lagardie, to gain him éclat,
Had cut the Cook's shop, and follow'd the law;
And when Monsieur Modeau set out on his
journey,

Was an Articled Clerk to a Special Attorney.

He gave her a call On the day of a ball, To which she'd invited the court, camp, and all; But "poor dear Lagardie" Again was too .tardy,

For a Marshal of France Had just ask'd her to dance;

In a twinkling, the ci-devant Madame Modeau
Was wife of the Marshal Lord Marquis Dinot.

Mister Lagardie was shocked at the news,
And went and enlisted at once in the Blues.

The Marquis Dinot Felt a little so-soTook physic, grew worse, and had notice to goHe died, and was shelved, and his Lady so gay Smiled again on Lagardie now placed on full pay, A Swedish Field-Marshal with a guinea a day; When an old Ex-King Just showed her the ring:

To be Queen, she conceived, was a very fine thing;

Her Ladyship found Herself plump on the ground;

So she cried, and she stamp'd, and she sent for a hack,

And she drove to a convent, and never came back.

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ACT II.

Sir Walter has dress'd himself up like a Ghost, And frightens a soldier away from his post; Then, discarding his helmet, he pulls his cloak higher,

Draws it over his ears, and pretends he's a Friar. This gains him access to his sweetheart, Miss Faucit;

But, the King coming in, he hides up in her closet;

Where oddly enough, among some of her things, He discovers some arrows he's sure are the King's, Of the very same pattern with that he had found Sticking into his father when dead on the ground!

Forgetting his funk, he bursts open the door, Bounces into the Drawing-room, stamps on the

floor,

UNSOPHISTICATED WISHES.

BY MISS JEMIMA INGOLDSBY, AGED FIFTEEN.

(Communicated by her Cousin Tom.)

OH, how I should like in a coach to ride,
Like the Sheriffs I saw upon Lord Mayor's day,
With a Coachman and little Postilion astride
On the back of the leader, a prancing bay!

And then behind it, oh! I should glory

To see the tall serving men standing upright, Like the two who attended Mr. Montefiore, (Sir Moses I should say) for now he's a Knight. And then the liveries, I know it is rude to Find fault-but I'll hint as he can't see me blush,

With an oath on his tongue, and revenge in his That I'd not have the things I can only allude

eye,

And blows up King William the Second, skyhigh;

Swears, storms, shakes his fist, and exhibits such airs,

That his Majesty bids his men kick him downstairs.

ACT III.

King Rufus is cross when he comes to reflect, That, as a King, he'd been treated with gross disrespect;

So he pens a short note to a holy physician,
And gives him a rather unholy commission,
Viz., to mix up some arsenic and ale in a cup,
Which the chances are Tyrrel may find and

drink up.

Sure enough, on the very next morning, Sir Walter

Perceives, in his walks, this same cup on the altar.

As he feels rather thirsty, he's just about drinking, When Miss Faucit in tears comes in running like winking.

He pauses of course, and as she's thirsty too,
Says very politely, "Miss, I after you!"
The young lady courtesies, and being so dry,
Raised somehow her fair little finger so high,
That there's not a drop left him to "wet t'other
eye;"

While the dose is so strong, to his grief and surprise,

She merely says," Thankee, Sir Walter," and dies.
At that moment the King, who is riding to cover,
Pops in en passant on the desperate lover,
Who has vow'd not five minutes before, to trans-

fix him,

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While dear Ensign Brown, of the West Kent Militia

Solicits my hand for the "Supper" Quadrille !

With his fine white teeth and his cheek like a rose, And his black cravat and his diamond pin, And the nice little mustache under his nose,

And the dear little tuft on the tip of his chin.

And how I should like some fine morning to ride In my coach, and my white satin shoes and

gown,

To St. James's Church, with a Beau by my side, And I shouldn't much care if his name was

Brown!

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