Mr. and Mrs. Fogg,

Who lived like cat and dog,

Were shocked for once into each other's arms.
Miss M. the milliner her fright so strong,
Made a great gobble-stitch six inches long;

The veriest quakers quaked against their wish:
The "Best of Sons" was taken unawares,
And kicked the "Best of Parents" down the

stairs:

The steadiest servant dropped the China dish;
A thousand started, though there was but one
Fated to win, and that was Mister Dunn,
Who struck convulsively, and hooked a fish!

Miss Wiggins, with some grass upon her fork,
Tossed it just like a haymaker at work ;
Her sister not in any better case,

For, taking wine,

With nervous Mr. Pyne,

He jerked his glass of Sherry in her face.
Poor Mistress Davy,

Bobbed off her bran-new turban in the gravy;
While Mr. Davy at the lower end,
Preparing for a Goose a carver's labour,

Darted his two-pronged weapon in his neighbour,
As if for once he meant to help a friend.

The nurse-maid telling little "Jack-a-Norey," "Bo-peep" and "Blue-cap" at the house's top, Screamed, and let Master Jeremiah drop

From a fourth story!

Nor yet did matters any better go

With Cook and Housemaid in the realms below; As for the Laundress, timid Martha Gunning, Expressing faintness and her fear by fits

And starts,

she came at last but to her wits, By falling in the ale that John left running.

Grave Mr. Miles, the meekest of mankind, Struck all at once, deaf, stupid, dumb, and blind, Sat in his chaise some moments like a corse, Then coming to his mind,

Was shocked to find,

Only a pair of shafts without a horse.

Out scrambled all the Misses from Miss Joy's! From Prospect House, for urchins small and big, Hearing the awful noise,

Out rushed a flood of boys,

Floating a man in black, without a wig;
Some carried out one treasure, some another,—
Some caught their tops and taws up in a hurry,
Some saved Chambaud, some rescued Lindley
Murray,-

But little Tiddy carried his big brother!

Sick of such terrors,

The Tunbridge folks resolved that truth should dwell

No longer secret in a Tunbridge Well,

But to warn Baker of his dangerous errors;

Accordingly to bring the point to pass,

They called a meeting of the broken glass,
The shattered chimney pots, and scattered tiles,
The damage of each part,

And packed it in a cart,

Drawn by the horse that ran from Mr. Miles; While Doctor Babblethorpe, the worthy Rector, And Mr. Gammage, cutler to George Rex,

And some few more, whose names would only

:

vex,

Went as a deputation to the Ex
Powder-proprietor and Mill-director.

Now Mr. Baker's dwelling-house had pleased
Along with mill-materials to roam,
And for a time the deputies were teased,
To find the noisy gentleman at home;

At last they found him with undamaged skin,
Safe at the Tunbridge Arms not out — but Inn.

The worthy Rector, with uncommon zeal,
Soon put his spoke in for the common weal
A grave old gentlemanly kind of Urban,-
The piteous tale of Jeremiah moulded,
And then unfolded,

By way of climax, Mrs. Davy's turban;
He told how auctioneering Mr. Pidding

Knocked down a lot without a bidding,—
How Mr. Miles, in fright, had given his mare,
The whip she wouldn't bear,-

At Prospect House, how Doctor Oates, not Titus,

Danced like Saint Vitus,·

And Mr. Beak, thro' Powder's misbehaving,
Cut off his nose whilst shaving;

When suddenly, with words that seemed like swearing,

Beyond a Licenser's belief or bearing ·

Broke in the stuttering, sputtering Mr. Gam

mage

Who is to pay us, Sir — he argued thus, "For loss of cus-cus-cus-cus-cus-cus-cus Cus-custom, and the dam-dam-dam-dam-damage?

Now many a person had been fairly puzzled
By such assailants, and completely muzzled ;
Baker, however, was not dashed with ease
But proved he practised after their own system,
And with small ceremony soon dismissed 'em,
Putting these words into their ears like fleas ;
“If I do have a blow, well, where's the oddity?
I merely do as other tradesmen do,

You, Sir,

and you

and you!

I'm only puffing off my own commodity!"

THE GHOST.

A VERY SERIOUS BALLAD.

"I'll be your second."— LISTON.

IN Middle Row, some years ago,
There lived one Mr. Brown;
And many folks considered him
The stoutest man in town.

But Brown and stout will both wear out,
One Friday he died hard,

And left a widowed wife to mourn
At twenty pence a yard.

Now widow B. in two short months
Thought mourning quite a tax;
And wished, like Mr. Wilberforce,
To manumit her blacks.

With Mr. Street she soon was sweet;

:

The thing thus came about:

She asked him in at home, and then

At church he asked her out!