BOATMAN. Bill, give that sheet another haul-she'll fetch it up this reach! MRS. F. I'm getting rather pale, I know, and they see it by that speech! I wonder what it is, now, but I never felt so queer! BOATMAN. Bill, mind your luff-why Bill, I say, she's yawing-keep her near! MRS. F. Keep near! we're going farther off; the land's behind our backs. BOATMAN. Be easy, Ma'am, it's all correct, that's only cause we tacks: We shall have to beat about a bit-Bill, keep her out to sea. MRS. F. Beat who about? keep who at sea?-how black they look at me! BOATMAN. It's veering round-I knew it would! off with her head! stand by! MRS. F. Off with her head! whose? where? what with? -an axe I seem to spy! BOATMAN. She can't not keep her own, you see; we shall have to pull her in! MRS. F. They'll drown me, and take all I have! my life's not worth a pin! BOATMAN. Look out you know, be ready, Bill-just when she takes the sand! MRS. F. The sand-O Lord! to stop my mouth! how every thing is planned! BOATMAN. The handspike, Bill-quick, bear a hand! now Ma'am, just step ashore! MRS. F. What! ain't I going to be killed-and weltered in my gore? Well, Heaven be praised! but I'll not go a-sailing any more! NOVEMBER. No sun-no moon! No morn-no noon No dawn-no dusk-no proper time of dayNo sky-no earthly view No distance looking blue No road -no street no "t'other side the way No end to any Row No indications where the Crescents go- No recognitions of familiar people- No travelling at all-no locomotion, No news from any foreign coast- No warmth, no cheerfulness, no healthful ease, No fruits, no flowers, no leaves, no birds- THE BACHELOR'S DREAM. My pipe is lit, my grog is mixed, She looked so fair, she sang so well, What loving tête-à-têtes to come! The mother brought a pretty Poll- The Monkey bit-the Parrot screamed, No longer Deary, Duck, and Love, My clothes they were the queerest shape! At times we had a spar, and then The Parrot learned to call me "Fool!" My Susan's taste was superfine, Each Sunday night we gave a rout Now was not that an awful dream A PLAIN DIRECTION. "Do you ever deviate? "John Bull. IN London once I lost my way In faring to and fro, And asked a little ragged boy He gave a nod, and then a wink, I boxed his little saucy ears, But since I've found that weary path "Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square." I've read about a famous town That drove a famous trade, Where Whittington walked up and found A fortune ready made. The very streets are paved with gold; But how shall I get there? 'Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square." I've read about a Fairy Land, In some romantic tale, Where Dwarfs if good are sure to thrive And wicked Giants fail. THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. My wish is great, my shoes are strong, But how shall I get there? "Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square." I've heard about some happy Isle, Where every man is free, And none can lie in bonds for life Oh! that's the land of Liberty! I've dreamt about some blessed spot, Beneath the blessed sky, Where Bread and Justice never rise It's cheaper than the Ward of Cheap, They say there is an ancient House, Where Members always speak their minds, I'm fond of all antiquities, But how shall I get there? "Straight down the Crooked Lane, And all round the Square." They say there is a Royal Court They say there is a Temple too, Oh! that's the parish church for me! They say there is a Garden fair, I've heard there is a famous Land I've read about a fine Estate, A Mansion large and strong; A view all over Kent and back, George Robbins knows the very spot, I've heard there is a Company Will take your smallest silver coin I've heard about a pleasant Land, THE SONG OF THE SHIRT. WITH fingers weary and worn, In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch She sang the "Song of the Shirt!" "Work! work! work! While the cock is crowing aloof! Till the stars shine through the roof! Along with the barbarous Turk, Where woman has never a soul to save, If this is Christian work! "Work-work-work Till the brain begins to swim; Till the eyes are heavy and dim! Band, and gusset, and seam, Till over the buttons I fall asleep, And sew them on in a dream! "O, Men, with Sisters dear! O, Men, with Mothers and Wives! It is not linen you're wearing out, But human creatures' lives! Stitch-stitch-stitch, In poverty, hunger, and dirt, Sewing at once with a double thread, A Shroud as well as a Shirt. "But why do I talk of Death? That Phantom of grisly bone, I hardly fear his terrible shape, It seems so like my own 87 "Work-work-work! My labor never flags; And what are its wages? A bed of straw, A crust of bread-and rags. That shattered roof-and this naked floor- And a wall so blank, my shadow I thank "Work-work-work! As prisoners work for crime! Band, and gusset, and seam, Till the heart is sick, and the brain benumbed, "Work-work-work, In the dull December light, And work-work-work, When the weather is warm and bright, While underneath the eaves The brooding swallows cling As if to show me their sunny backs "Oh! but to breathe the breath To feel as I used to feel, "Oh! but for one short hour! A little weeping would ease my heart, My tears must stop, for every drop With fingers weary and worn, In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still in a voice of dolorous pitch, Would that its tone could reach the Rich! She sang this "Song of the Shirt!" The following verse appears in the original MS. of the "Song of the Shirt:" Seam, and gusset, and band, Work, work, work, Like the engine that works by steam! THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. "Drowned! drowned!"-Hamlet. ONE more unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashioned so slenderly, Young, and so fair! Look at her garments Clinging like cerements; Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing.— Touch her not scornfully; Make no deep scrutiny Past all dishonor, Still, for all slips of hers, Loop up her tresses Who was her father? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer one Still, and a nearer one Alas! for the rarity Sisterly, brotherly, |