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Tag, Rag, and Bobtail, are capering there,
Worse scene, I ween, than Bartlemy Fair!-

Two or three chimney-sweeps, two or three clowns,
Playing at "pitch and toss," sport their "Browns,"

Two or three damsels, frank and free,

Are ogling, and smiling, and sipping Bohea.
Parties below, and parties above,

Some making tea, and some making love.

Then the "toot-toot--toot"

Of that vile demi-flute,

The detestable din

Of that cracked violin,

And the odors of "Stout," and tobacco, and gin!
"Dear me!" I exclaim'd, "what a place to be in!'
And I said to the person who drove my "shay"
(A very intelligent man, by the way),

"This, all things considered, is rather too gay!
It don't suit my humor,—so take me away!
Dancing! and drinking!-cigar and song!
If not profanation, it's 'coming it strong,'
And I really consider it all very wrong.-
-Pray, to whom does this property now belong?”----
He paus'd, and said,
Scratching his head,

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Why I really do think he's a little to blame, But I can't say I knows the gentleman's name!”

"Well-well!" quoth I,

As I heaved a sigh,

And a tear-drop fell from my twinkling eye,

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'My vastly good man, as I scarcely doubt

That some day or other you'll find it out,
Should he come in your way,

Or ride in your 'shay'

(As perhaps he may),

Be so good as to say

That a Visitor whom you drove over one day,

Was exceedingly angry, and very much scandalized,

Finding these beautiful ruins so Vandalized,

And thus of their owner to speak began,
As he ordered you home in haste,
NO DOUBT HE'S A VERY RESPECTABLE MAN,
But-' I can't say much for his taste !'”

FAMILY POETRY.

R. HARRIS BARHAM

ZOOKS! I must woo the Muse to-day,

Though line before I never wrote! "On what occasion ?" do you say?

OUR DICK HAS GOT A LONG-TAIL'D COAT!!

Not a coatee, which soldiers wear

Button'd up high about the throat,

But easy, flowing, debonair,

In short a civil long-tail'd coat.

A smarter you'll not find in town,
Cut by Nugee, that snip of note;

A very quiet olive brown

's the color of Dick's long-tail'd coat.

Gay jackets clothe the stately Pole,

The proud Hungarian, and the Croat, Yet Esterhazy, on the whole

Looks best when in a long-tail'd coat

Lord Byron most admired, we know,
The Albanian dress, or Suliote,

But then he died some years ago,
And never saw Dick's long-tail'd coat;

Or past all doubt the poet's theme

Had never been the "White Capote," Had he once view'd in Fancy's dream, The glories of Dick's long-tail'd coat!

We also know on Highland kilt ·

Poor dear Glengarry used to dote,

And had esteem'd it actual guilt

I' "the Gael" to wear a long-tail'd coat!

No wonder 't would his eyes annoy,
Monkbarns himself would never quote
"Sir Robert Sibbald," "Gordon," "Ray,"
Or "Stukely" for a long-tail'd coat.

Jackets may do to ride or race,
Or row in, when one's in a boat,
But in the boudoir, sure, for grace

There's nothing like Dick's long-tail'd coat.

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?
From out your own eye pull the mote!
A pretty thing for you to jeer-

Haven't you, too, got a long-tail'd coat?

Oh! "Dick's scarce old enough," you mean
Why, though too young to give a note,
Or make a will, yet, sure Fifteen

's a ripe age for a long-tail'd coat.

What! would you have him sport a chin
Like Colonel Stanhope, or that goat
O'Gorman Mahon, ere begin

To figure in a long-tail'd coat?

Suppose he goes to France-can he
Sit down at any table d'hôte,

With any sort of decency,

Unless he's got a long-tail'd coat i

Why Louis Philippe, Royal Cit,

There soon may be a sans culotte, And Nugent's self may then admit The advantage of a long-tail'd coat.

Things are not now as when, of yore,
In tower encircled by a moat,
The lion-hearted chieftain wore

A corselet for a long-tail'd coat;

Then ample mail his form embraced,
Not like a weasel or a stoat,

"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-..
Ah! what a change! no sinewy thwacks
Fall from a modern long-tail'd coat!

More changes still! now, well-a-day!
A few cant phrases learned by rote,
Each beardless booby spouts away,
A Solon, in a long-tail'd coat!

Prates of the "March of Intellect".
"The Schoolmaster." A Patriote
So noble, who could e'er suspect
Had just put on a long-tail'd coat ?

Alack! alack! that every thick

Skull'd lad must find an antidote
For England's woes, because, like Dick,
He has put on a long-tail'd coat!

But lo! my rhyme 's begun to fail,
Nor can I longer time devote;

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!
Refuse the shilling and the fellow's ticket!

And hang a wooden notice up to state,

On Sundays no admittance at this wicket!
The Birds, the Beasts, and all the Reptile race,
Denied to friends and visitors till Monday!
Now, really, this appears the common case

Of putting too much Sabbath into Sunday-
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy?

The Gardens-so unlike the ones we dub

Of Tea, wherein the artisan carousesMere shrubberies without one drop of shrub-Wherefore 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-
The Lion is not carved-or gilt or red,

And does not send out porter of a Sunday-
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy?

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 Monday--
The Monkey tribe-the Family of Cats-
We visit other families on Sunday-
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy

What is the brute profanity that shocks
The super-sensitively serious feeling?
The Kangaroo-is he not orthodox

To bend his legs, the way he does, in kneeling?
Was strict Sir Andrew, in his Sabbath coat,
Struck all a-heap to see a Coati, mundi?
Or did the Kentish Plumtree faint to note
The Pelicans presenting bills on Sunday ?--
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy ?

What feature has repulsed the serious set?
What error in the bestial birth or breeding,
To put their tender fancies on the fret?

One thing is plain-it is not in the feeding!
Some stiffish people think that smoking joints
Are carnal sins 'twixt Saturday and Monday----
But then the beasts are pious on these points,

For they all eat cold dinners on a Sunday--
But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy?

What change comes o'er the spirit of the place,
As if transmuted by some spell organic?

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