All other men had been unmanned
To see a coffin on each hand,

That served a skeleton to stand

By way of sentry;

In fact, Death has a very grand

And awful entry.

Throughout his dismal sign prevails,
His name is writ in coffin-nails;
The mortal darts make area rails;

A scull that mocketh,

Grins on the gloomy gate, and quails
Whoever knocketh.

And lo! on either side, arise

Two monstrous pillars-bones of thighs:
A monumental slab supplies.

The step of stone,

Where, waiting for his master, lies
A dog of bone.

The dog leaped up, but gave no yell,
The wire was pulled, but woke no bell,
The ghastly knocker rose and fell,

But caused no riot;

The ways of Death, we all know well,
Are very quiet.

Old Bones stepped in; Jack stepped behind :
Quoth Death, "I really hope you'll find
The entertainment to your mind,

As I shall treat ye

A friend or two of goblin kind,

I've asked to meet ye.”

And lo! a crowd of spectres tall,
Like jack-a-lanterns on a wall,
Were standing—every ghastly ball

An eager watcher.

"My friends," says Death-" friends, Mr. Hall, The body-snatcher."

Lord, what a tumult it produced,
When Mr. Hall was introduced!
Jack even, who had long been used
To frightful things,

Felt just as if his back were sluiced

With freezing springs!

Each goblin face began to make

Some horrid mouth-ape-gorgon-snake;

And then a spectre-hag would shake

An airy thigh-bone;

And cried (or seemed to cry), I'll break

Your bone, with my bone!

Some ground their teeth; some seemed to spit(Nothing but nothing came of it);

A hundred awful brows were knit

In dreadful spite.

Thought Jack—I'm sure I'd better quit,
Without good-night.

One skip and hop, and he was clear,

And, running like a hunted deer,

As fleet as people run by fear

Well spurred and whipped,

Death, ghosts, and all in that career

Were quite outstripped.

But those who live by death, must die;
Jack's soul at last prepared to fly;
And when his latter end drew nigh,
Oh! what a swarm

Of doctors came; but not to try
To keep him warm.

No ravens ever scented prey
So early where a dead horse lay,
Nor vultures sniffed so far away

A last convulse:

A dozen "guests" day after day

Were "at his pulse.

'Twas strange, although they got no fees, How still they watched by twos and threes: But Jack a very little ease

Obtained from them;

In fact he did not find M. D.s

Worth one D—M.

The passing bell with hollow toll
Was in his thought;—the dreary hole!
Jack gave his eyes a horrid roll,

And then a cough:

"There's something weighing on my soul I wish was off;

"All night it roves about my brains,
All day it adds to all my pains:
It is concerning my remains

When I am dead :"

Twelve wigs and twelve gold-headed canes

Drew near his bed.

"Alas!" he sighed, "I'm sore afraid,
A dozen pangs my heart invade;
But when I drove a certain trade
In flesh and bone,

There was a little bargain made
About my own.'

Twelve suits of black began to close,
Twelve pair of sleek and sable hose,
Twelve flowing cambric frills in rows,
At once drew round;

Twelve noses turned against his nose,
Twelve snubs profound.

"Ten guineas did not quite suffice,
And so I sold my body twice;
Twice did not do-I sold it thrice;
Forgive my crimes!

In short, I have received its price
A dozen times!"

Twelve brows got very grim and black,
Twelve wishes stretched him on the rack,
Twelve pair of hands for fierce attack

Took up position,
Ready to share the dying Jack

By long division.

Twelve angry doctors wrangled so,

That twelve had struck an hour ago,

Before they had an eye to throw

On the departed;

Twelve heads turned round at once, and lo! Twelve doctors started.

Whether some comrade of the dead,

Or Satan took it in his head

To steal the corpse-the corpse had fled! 'Tis only written,

That "there was nothing in the bed,

But twelve were bitten.”

JOHN TROT.

A BALLAD.

JOHN TROT he was as tall a lad

As York did ever rear;
As his dear Granny used to say,
He'd make a grenadier.

A sergeant soon came down to York,
With ribbons and a frill;

My lads, said he, let broadcast be,
And come away to drill.

But when he wanted John to list,

In war he saw no fun,

Where what is called a raw recruit
Gets often over-done.

But I have got a shoulder-knot

Imposed upon my arms.

For John he had a footman's place

To wait on Lady Wye

She was a dumpy woman, though
Her family was high.

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