THOMSON GREEN AND HARRIET HALE.

To be Sung to the Air of "An 'Orrible Tale."

H list to this incredible tale

Of THOMSON GREEN and HARRIET
HALE;

It's truth in one remark you'll sum-"Twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twum !"

Oh, THOMSON GREEN was an auctioneer,
And made three hundred pounds a year;
And HARRIET HALE, most strange to say,
Gave pianoforte lessons at a sovereign a day.

Oh, THOMSON GREEN, I may remark,
Met HARRIET HALE in Regent's Park,
Where he, in a casual kind of way,

Spoke of the extraordinary beauty of the day.

They met again, and strange, though true,
He courted her for a month or two,
Then to her pa he said, says he,

"Old man, I love your daughter and your daughter worships me !"

Their names were regularly banned,
The weeding day was settled, and,
I've ascertained by dint of search

They were married on the quiet at St. Mary
Abbot's Church.

Oh, list to this incredible tale

Of THOMSON GREEN, and HARRIET HALE,
Its truth in one remark you'll sum-

"Twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twum !"

That very self-same afternoon

They started on their honeymoon,

And (oh, astonishment!) took flight

To a pretty little cottage close to Shanklin, Isle of
Wight.

But now-you'll doubt my word, I know—
In a month they both returned, and lo!

Astounding fact! this happy pair

Took a gentlemanly residence in Canonbury Square!

They led a weird and reckless life,

They dined each day, this man and wife,

(Pray disbelieve it, if you please)

On a joint of meat, a pudding, and a 'ittle bit of

cheese.

In time came those maternal joys
Which take the form of girls or boys,
And strange to say of each they'd one-
A tiddy-iddy daughter, and a tiddy-iddy son !

Oh, list to this incredible tale

Of THOMSON GREEN and Harriet Hale,
It's truth in one remark you'll sum-

"Twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle
twum."

My name for truth is gone, I fear,
But, monstrous as it may appear,
They let their drawing-room one day

To an eligible person in the cotton-broking way.

Bab

Whenever THOMSON GREEN fell sick
His wife consulted DOCTOR CRICK,

From whom some words like these would come-
Fiat mist. sumendum haustus, in a cochleyareum.

For thirty years this curious pair
Hung out in Canonbury Square,
And somehow, wonderful to say,

They loved each other dearly in a quiet sort of way.

Well, THOMSON GREEN fell ill and died;
For just a year his widow cried,
And then her heart she gave away

To the eligible lodger in the cotton-broking way.

Oh, list to this incredible tale

Of THOMSON GREEN AND HARRIET HALE,
It's truth in one remark you'll sum-

Twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twaddle twum!"

B

Pab

BOB POLTER.

OB POLTER was a navvy, and

His hands were coarse, and dirty too, His homely face was rough and tanned, His time of life was thirty-two.