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"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
In praise of the fruitful vine.
Turtle and salmon and Strasbourg pie,

Pippins and cheese were there;

And the bibulous Alderman wink'd his

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eye,

For the sherris was old and rare.

But a cloud came over his gaze eftsoons,
And his wicked old orbs grew dim;
Then drink turn'd each of the silver spoons
To a couple of spoons for him.

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
On a Ninth November morn.

Guns were booming and bells ding-dong'd,
Ethiop minstrels play'd;

And still, wherever the burghers throng'd,

Brisk jongleurs drove their trade.

Scarlet Sheriffs, the City's pride,
With a portly presence fill'd

The whole of the courtyard just outside
The hall of their ancient Guild.

And, in front of the central gateway there,
A marvellous chariot roll'd,

(Like gingerbread at a country-fair

'Twas cover'd with blazing gold.)

And a being array'd in pomp and pride
Was brought to the big stone gate;
And they begg'd that being to mount and ride
In that elegant coach of state.

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,
Till the drops bedew'd his cheek;

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.

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LIKE to spend an evening out
In music and in mirth;

I think a party is about

The finest fun on earth:

And if I rarely patronise

The gay and giddy throng,
'Tis not, my friend, that I despise
The revel, dance, and song:
But I've a dread I can't express

Of going out in Evening Dress.

I'm partial to the British stage;
And-spite of its decline-
The Drama, from a tender age,
Has been a love of mine.

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