"Well, I own," said the Fiend, "they are not well-behaved, But you're certainly one of the flat sort If you fancy that Christians who hope to be saved Would be partial to music of that sort!" THE VISION OF THE ALDERMAN. AN Alderman sat at his festive board, Quaffing the blood-red wine, And many a Bacchanal stave outpour'd Pippins and cheese were there; And the bibulous Alderman wink'd his eye, For the sherris was old and rare. But a cloud came over his gaze eftsoons, He bow'd his head on the festive board, By the gaslight's dazzling gleam: He bow'd his head and he slept and snored, And he dream'd a fearful dream. M For, carried away on the wings of Sleep, His spirit was onward borne, Till he saw vast holiday crowds in Chepe Guns were booming and bells ding-dong'd, And still, wherever the burghers throng'd, Brisk jongleurs drove their trade. Scarlet Sheriffs, the City's pride, The whole of the courtyard just outside And, in front of the central gateway there, (Like gingerbread at a country-fair 'Twas cover'd with blazing gold.) And a being array'd in pomp and pride THE VISION OF THE ALDERMAN. But, oh! he was fat, so ghastly fat Was that being of pomp and pride, That, in spite of many attempts thereat, He couldn't be push'd inside. That being was press'd, but press'd in vain, The gilded vehicle rock'd again, And the springs began to creak. The slumbering alderman groan'd a groan, For in vision he seem'd to trace Some horrible semblance to his own, In that being's purple face. And "Oh!" he cried, as he started up; "Sooner than come to that, Farewell for ever the baneful cup And the noxious turtle fat!"— They carried him up the winding-stair; They laid him upon the bed; And they left him, sleeping the sleep of care, With an ache in his nightcapp'd head. 171 EVENING DRESS. LIKE to spend an evening out I think a party is about The finest fun on earth: And if I rarely patronise The gay and giddy throng, Of going out in Evening Dress. I'm partial to the British stage; |