Tag, Rag, and Bobtail, are capering there, Two or three chimney-sweeps, two or three clowns, Two or three damsels, frank and free, Are ogling, and smiling, and sipping Bohea. 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! "This, all things considered, is rather too gay! 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, 'My vastly good man, as I scarcely doubt That some day or other you'll find it out, 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, 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, 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, But then he died some years ago, 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, Jackets may do to ride or race, There's nothing like Dick's long-tail'd coat. Of course in climbing up a tree, To mount the giddy topmast, he Would doff awhile his long-tail'd coat. What makes you simper, then, and sneer? Haven't you, too, got a long-tail'd coat? Oh! "Dick's scarce old enough," you mean 's a ripe age for a long-tail'd coat. What! would you have him sport a chin To figure in a long-tail'd coat? Suppose he goes to France-can he 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, A corselet for a long-tail'd coat; Then ample mail his form embraced, "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-.. More changes still! now, well-a-day! Prates of the "March of Intellect". Alack! alack! that every thick Skull'd lad must find an antidote But lo! my rhyme 's begun to fail, 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! And hang a wooden notice up to state, On Sundays no admittance at this wicket! Of putting too much Sabbath into Sunday- 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- And does not send out porter of a Sunday- The Bear denied! the Leopard under locks! As if his spots would give contagious fevers! So different from other Sunday beavers! What is the brute profanity that shocks To bend his legs, the way he does, in kneeling? What feature has repulsed the serious set? One thing is plain-it is not in the feeding! For they all eat cold dinners on a Sunday-- What change comes o'er the spirit of the place, |