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Who said my mother was a Turk,

And took me home-and made me work,
But managed half my meals to shirk?
My Aunt.

Who "of all earthly things" would boast,
"He hated other's brats the most,"

And therefore made me feel my post?
My Uncle.

Who got in scrapes, an endless score,
And always laid them at my door,

Till many a bitter bang I bore?

My Cousin.

Who took me home when mother died,

Again with father to reside,

Black shoes, clean knives, run far and wide?

My Stepmother.

Who marred my stealthy urchin' joys,

And when I played cried "What a noise!—

Girls always hector over boys

My Sister.

Who used to share in what was mine,

Or took it all, did he incline,

'Cause I was eight, and he was nine?

My Brother.

Who stroked my head, and said “Good lad,”

And gave me sixpence, "all he had;'

But at the stall the coin was bad?

My Godfather.

Who, gratis, shared my social glass,
But when misfortune came to pass,
Referr'd me to the pump? Alas!
My Friend.

Through all this weary world, in brief,
Who ever sympathised with grief,

Or shared my joy-my sole relief?

Myself.

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THE LARK AND THE ROOK.

A FABLE.

"Lo! hear the gentle lark !"-SHAKESPEARE

NCE on a time-no matter where—
A lark took such a fancy to the air,
That though he often gazed beneath,
Watching the breezy down, or heath,
Yet very, very seldom he was found

To perch upon the ground.

Hour after hour,

Through ev'ry change of weather hard or soft,
Through sun and shade, and wind and show'r,
Still fluttering aloft ;

In silence now, and now in song,

Up, up in cloudland all day long,

On weary wing, yet with unceasing flight,
Like to those Birds of Paradise, so rare,
Fabled to live, and love, and feed in air,
But never to alight.

It caused, of course, much speculation
Among the feather'd generation;

Who tried to guess the riddle that was in it-
The robin puzzled at it, and the wren,

The swallows, cock and hen,

The wagtail, and the linnet,

The yellowhammer, and the finch as well-
The sparrow ask'd the tit, who couldn't tell,
The jay, the pie—but all were in the dark,
Till out of patience with the common doubt,
The Rook at last resolved to worm it out,
And thus accosted the mysterious Lark :-

"Friend, prithee, tell me why

You keep this constant hovering so high,
As if you had some castle in the air,
That you are always poising there,

A speck against the sky

Neglectful of each old familiar feature

Of Earth that nursed you in your callow state-
You think you're only soaring at heaven's gate,
Whereas you're flying in the face of Nature !"

"Friend," said the Lark, with melancholy tone,
And in each little eye a dewdrop shone,
"No creature of my kind was ever fonder
Of that dear spot of earth
Which gave it birth—

And I was nestled in the furrow yonder!
Sweet is the twinkle of the dewy heath,

And sweet that thymy down I watch beneath,
Saluted often with a living sonnet :

But Men, vile Men, have spread so thick a scurf
Of dirt and infamy about the Turf,

I do not like to settle on it!"

MORAL.

Alas! how Nobles of another race
Appointed to the bright and lofty way
Too willingly descend to haunt a place
Polluted by the deeds of Birds of Prey!

A NOCTURNAL SKETCH.

VEN is come; and from the dark Park, hark,
The signal of the setting sun-one gun!

And six is sounding from the chime, prime time
To go and see the Drury-Lane Dane slain, hat

Or hear Othello's jealous doubt spout out,-
Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade,
Denying to his frantic clutch much touch;—
Or else to see Ducrow with wide stride ride
Four horses as no other man can span;
Or in the small Olympic Pit, sit split
Laughing at Liston, while you quiz his phiz.

Hamlet?

Anon Night comes, and with her wings brings things,
Such as, with his poetic tongue, Young sung;
The gas up-blazes with its bright white light,
And paralytic watchmen prowl, howl, growl,
About the streets and take up Pall-Mall Sal,
Who, hasting to her nightly jobs, robs fobs.

Now thieves to enter for your cash, smash, crash,
Past drowsy Charley, in a deep sleep, creep,
But frighten'd by Policeman B 3, flee,

And while they're going, whisper low, "No go!"

Now puss, while folks are in their beds, treads leads,
And sleepers waking, grumble-" Drat that cat!"
Who in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, mauls
Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill-will.

Now Bulls of Bashan, of a prize size, rise
In childish dreams, and with a roar gore poor
Georgy, or Charley, or Billy, willy-nilly;-
But Nursemaid in a nightmare rest, chest-press'd,
Dreameth of one of her old flames, James Games,

And that she hears-what faith is man's-Ann's banns
And his, from Reverend Mr. Rice, twice, thrice:
White ribbons flourish, and a stout shout out,

That upward goes, shows Rose knows those bows' woes!

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DOMESTIC ASIDES; OR, TRUTH IN PARENTHESES.

REALLY take it very kind

This visit, Mrs. Skinner!

I have not seen you such an age-(The wretch has come to dinner!)

"Your daughters, too, what loves of girls

What heads for painters' easels!

Come here and kiss the infant, dears,

(And give it p'rhaps the measles!)

"Your charming boys I see are home From Reverend Mr. Russel's;

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'Twas very kind to bring them both, (What boots for my new Brussels!)

"What! little Clara left at home? Well, now, I call that shabby:

I should have loved to kiss her so,(A flabby, dabby babby!)

"And Mr. S., I hope he's well; Ah! though he lives so handy,

He never now drops in to sup,— (The better for our brandy!)

"Come, take a seat-I long to hear

About Matilda's marriage;

You're come of course to spend the day!

(Thank Heav'n, I hear the carriage!)

"What, must you go? next time I hope You'll give me longer measure;

Nay-I shall see you down the stairs(With most uncommon pleasure!)

"Good-bye! good-bye! remember all,
Next time you'll take your dinners!
(Now, David, mind I'm not at home
In future to the Skinners!")

JOHN DAY.

A PATHETIC BALLAD.

"A Day after the Fair."-OLD PROVERB.

Something like

the

JOHN DAY he was the biggest man

Of all the coachman-kind,

read

Food

With back too broad to be conceived
By any narrow mind.

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