Well-the moon shone bright When Pryce, being quit of his fuss and his fright, With that sort of a stride A man puts on when walking in search of a bride, He began to perspire, Till, finding his legs were beginning to tire, By a pain in his chest, He paus'd, and turn'd round to take breath, and to rest; As he cried out "What's that?" That very queer sound? Does it come from the ground? Or the air, from above, or below, or around?- It is not like Walking, It's not like the clattering of pot or of pan, Or the tramp of a horse,—or the tread of a man,— Mr. Pryce had begun To "make up" for a run, As in such a companion he saw no great fun, Shone out on the way He had passed, and he saw, with no little dismay, 'Twas the very same Head, and the very same Case, Like two coals of fire; And the "Name of the Maker 22 was changed to a Lip, And the Hands to a Nose with a very red tip. No! he could not mistake it,-'twas SHE to the life! One glance was enough, As the doctors write down when they send you their "stuff," Like a weather-cock whirled by a vehement puff, David turned himself round; Ten feet of ground He clear'd, in his start, at the very first bound! All I ever heard of boys, women, or men, He now reaches its brow, He has past it,—and now PEN!" Having once gained the summit, and managed to cross it, he Rolls down the side with uncommon velocity But, run as he will, Or roll down the hill, That bugbear behind him is after him still ! And close at his heels, not at all to his liking, Till, exhausted and sore, He can't run any more, But falls as he reaches Miss Davis's door, And screams when they rush out, alarm'd at his knock, Mr. David has since had a serious call," He never drinks ale, wine, or spirits, at all, And they say he is going to Exeter Hall To make a grand speech, And to preach and to teach People that they can't brew their malt liquor too small!" And "still on each evening when pleasure fills up," Will get into "The Chair," And make all his quondam associates stare The long hand's at the "XII," and the short at the "X" Drains his glass to the dregs, Takes his hat and great-coat off their several pegs, "LOOK AT THE CLOCK!!!" THE MARCH WIND.-ANNE P. ADAMS. OVER the earth, In frolicsome mirth, The March wind goes careering; By a compass invisible steering. List to his song, You'll hear it ere long, Down through the chimney he'll whistle, Now it is shrill, Anon, he is still, As if stealing down from a thistle. "From caves of the north Where the storm-king comes forth, I come in search of new pleasures; Frolic and play, I ask for to-day, To-morrow I'll open my treasures. Ha! see the curls Of these merry girls ; What fun it will be to untwist them! He'll think it no joke But in taking it off I'll assist him! I've found out a crack In this cabin, good lack ! I plainly can see, Never need knock for admission. How cold they must be, Those poor women, three, When I play hide and seek thro' their dwelling Their fire burns low, They are hungry, I know, What a tale their pale faces are telling! A CIRCUMSTANCES ALTER CASES.-ALLINGHAM. ROBIN ROUGHHEAD, SNACKS AND VILLAGERS. (Robin Roughhead discovered raking hay) Robin. Ah! work, work, work! all day long, and no such thing as stopping a moment to rest! for there's old Snacks, the steward, always upon the lookout; and if he sees one, slap he has it down in his book, and then there's sixpence gone, plump. (Comes forward.) I do hate that old chap, and that's the truth on't. Now if I was lord of this place, I'd make one rule-there should be no such thing as work: it should be one long holiday all the year round. Your great folks have strange whims in their heads, that's for sartin. I don't know what to make of 'um, not I. great park there, kept for his lordship to ship has not seen it these twelve years. I'd let all the villagers turn their cows in there, and it should not cost 'em a farthing; then, as the parson said last Sunday, I should be as rich as blessings of the poor. Now there's all yon look at, and his lord Ah! if it was mine, any in the land, for I should have the Dang it! here come Snacks. Now I shall get a fine jobation, I suppose. (Enter Snacks, bowing very obsequiously-Robin takes his hat off, and stands staring at him.) I be main tired, Master Snacks; so I stopt to rest myself a little; I hope you'll excuse it. I wonder what the dickens he's a grinning at. (Aside.) Snacks. Excuse it! I hope your lordship's infinite goodness and condescension will excuse your lordship's most obsequious, devoted, and humble servant, Timothy Snacks, who is come into the presence of your lordship, for the informing your lordship purpose of Rob. Lordship! he, he, he! Wall I never knew as I had a hump before. Why, Master Snacks, you grow funny in your old age. Snacks. No, my lord, I know my duty better; I should never think of being funny with a lord. |