THE REVEREND

MICAH

TH

SOWLS

HE REVEREND MICAH SOWLS,
He shouts, and yells, and howls,
He screams, he mouths, he bumps,
He foams, he rants, he thumps.

His armor he has buckled on to wage
The regulation war against the Stage;
And warns his congregation all to shun
"The Presence Chamber of the Evil One."

The subject's sad enough
To make him rant and puff,

And fortunately, too,

His Bishop's in a pew.

SO REVEREND MICAH claps on extra steam,
His eyes are flashing with superior gleam,
He is as energetic as can be,

For there are

fatter livings in

that see.

The Bishop, when it's o'er,
Goes through the vestry door
Where MICAH, very red,
Is mopping of his head.

66

Pardon, my Lord, your SowLs' excessive zeal, It is a theme on which I strongly feel.”

(The sermon somebody had sent him down From London, at a charge of half-a-crown.)

66

The Bishop bowed his head.
And acquiescing, said,

"I've heard your well-meant rage
Against the Modern Stage.

may

A modern Theatre, as I heard you say,
Sows seeds of evil broadcast: well, it
But let me ask you, my respected son,
Pray, have you ever

The worthy Bishop said, "My friend, no doubt
The stage may be the place you make it out;
But if, my REVerend Sowls, you never go,
I don't quite understand how you're to know."

"That proves me wrong," said MICAH, in a trice;

"I thought it all frivolity and vice."

The Bishop handed him a counter plain;
"Just take this stall and go to Drury Lane."

The Bishop took his leave,
Rejoicing in his sleeve.
The next ensuing day

SoWLS went and heard a play.

For "gaunt" wast spoken "garnt,"

And

haunt transformed to 66 harnt,'

And wrath " pronounced as

And "death" was changed to

"rath,"

"dath."

For hours and hours that dismal actor walked

And talked, and talked, and talked, and talked, Till lethargy upon the parson crept,

And sleepy MICAH SOWLS serenely slept.

He slept away until

The farce that closed the bill
Had warned him not

to stay,

And then he went

away.

"I thought," said he, " I
was a dreary thing,

I thought my voice quite destitute of ring,
I thought my ranting could distract the brain,
But oh! I hadn't been to Drury Lane.

"Forgive me, Drury Lane,
Thou penitential fane,
Where sinners should be cast
To mourn their wicked past!

A DISCONTENTED

SUGAR

A

BROKER

GENTLEMAN of City fame
Now claims your kind attention ;

East India broking was his game,
His name I shall not mention :
No one of finely pointed sense
Would violate a confidence,
And shall I go

And do it? No!

His name I shall not mention.

He had a trusty wife and true,
And very cozy quarters,
A manager, a boy or two,
Six clerks, and seven porters.
A broker must be doing well
(As any lunatic can tell)
Who can employ

An active boy,

Six clerks and seven porters.

His knocker advertised no dun,
No losses made him sulky,
He had one sorrow only one-
He was extremely bulky.