Alas! when in Brook Street the upper
In comfort I lived between walls,
I've gone to a dance for my supper;

But now I must go to Three Balls!

Folks talk about dressing for dinner,
But I have for dinner undrest;
Since Christmas, as I am a sinner,
I've eaten a suit of my best.

-

I haven't a rag or a mummock
To fetch me a chop or a steak;
I wish that the coats of my stomach
Were such as my Uncle would take!

When dishes were ready with garnish

My watch used to warn with a chime But now my repeater must furnish

The dinner in lieu of the time !

My craving will have no denials,
I can't fob it off, if you stay,
and the old Seven Dials

So go,

Must tell me the time of the day.

Your chimes I shall never more hear 'em,

To part is a Tic Deuloureux !

But Tempus has his edax rerum,

And I have my Feeding-Time too!

Farewell then, my golden repeater,

We're come to my Uncle's old shop-
And Hunger won't be a dumb-waiter,
The Cerberus growls for a sop!

THE COMPASS, WITH VARIATIONS.

"The Needles have sometimes been fatal to Mariners." PICTURE OF ISLE OF WIGHT.

ONE close of day —'t was in the bay
Of Naples, bay of glory!

While light was hanging crowns of gold

On mountains high and hoary,

A gallant bark got under weigh,
And with her sails my story.

For Leghorn she was bound direct,
With wine and oil for cargo,

Her crew of men some nine or ten,
The captain's name was Iago;
A good and gallant bark she was,
La Donna (called) del Lago.

Bronzed mariners were hers to view,
With brown cheeks, clear or muddy,

Dark, shining eyes, and coal-black hair,
Meet heads for painter's study;

But 'midst their tan there stood one man,
Whose cheek was fair and ruddy;

His brow was high, a loftier brow
Ne'er shone in song or sonnet,
His hair a little scant, and when
He doffed his cap or bonnet,

One saw that Grey had gone beyond
A premiership upon it!

His eye

a passenger was he,

The cabin he had hired it,

His eye was grey, and when he looked

Around, the prospect fired it

A fine poetic light, as if

The Appe-Nine inspired it.

His frame was stout, in height about

Six feet

well made and portly;

Of dress and manner just to give

A sketch, but very shortly,
His order seemed a composite

Of rustic with the courtly.

He ate and quaffed, and joked and laughed,

And chatted with the seamen,

And often tasked their skill and asked

"What weather is 't to be, man?"

No demonstration there appeared
That he was any demon.

No sort of sign there was that he
Could raise a stormy rumpus,
Like Prospero make breezes blow,
And rocks and billows thump us,—
But little we supposed what he
Could with the needle compass!

When lo! full crash, with billowy dash,

From clouds of black and yellow,

Came such a gale, as blows but once

A century, like the aloe!

Our stomachs we had just prepared

To vest a small amount in ;

When, gush! a flood of brine came down

The skylight quite a fountain,

And right on end the table reared,

Just like the Table Mountain.

Down rushed the soup, down gushed the wine,

Each roll, its role repeating,

Rolled down the round of beef declared

For parting- not for meating!

Off flew the fowls, and all the game

Was "too far gone for eating!"

The lamb too broke its tether ;

Down mustard went

Salt

each condiment ·

- pepper all together!

Down every thing, like craft that seek
The Downs in stormy weather.

Down plunged the Lady of the Lake,
Her timbers seemed to sever;
Down, down, a dreary derry down,
Such lurch she had gone never;

She almost seemed about to take
A bed of down for ever!

Down dropt the captain's nether jaw,
Thus robbed of all its uses,

He thought he saw the Evil One
Beside Vesuvian sluices,

Playing at dice for soul and ship,
And throwing Sink and Deuces.

Down fell the steward on his face,
To all the Saints commending;
And candles to the Virgin vowed,
As save-alls 'gainst his ending.

Down fell the mate, he thought his fate,
Check-mate, was close impending!

Down fell the cook the cabin boy,

Their beads with fervor telling,