THERE lived an honest fisherman-
I knew him passing well-
Who dwelt hard by a little pond,
Within a little dell.
All day that fisherman would sit
Upon an ancient log,
And gaze into the water, like
Some sedentary frog.
A cunning fisherman was he:
His angles all were right;
And, when he scratched his aged poll,
You'd know he'd got a bite.
To charm the fish he never spoke,
Although his voice was fine;
He found the most convenient way
Was just to "drop a line."
And many a "gudgeon" of the pond,
If made to speak to-day,
Would own, with grief, this angler had
A mighty "taking way."
One day, while fishing on the log,
He mourned his want of luck,-
When, suddenly, he felt a bite,
And, jerking-caught a duck!
Alas! that day the fisherman
Had taken too much grog;
And being but a landsman, too,
He couldn't "keep the log."
In vain he strove with all his might,
And tried to gain the shore ;-
Down, down he went, to feed the fish
He'd baited oft before!
The moral of this mournful tale
To all is plain and clear ;—
A single "drop too much" of rum
May make a watery bier.
And he who will not "sign the pledge,"
And keep his promise fast,
May be, in spite of fate, a stark
Cold-water man at last.
16. YOUTHFUL PRECOCITY.
HAPPY the youth, in this our golden age,
Condemned no more to con the prosy page
Of Locke and Bacon, antiquated fools,
Now justly banished from our moral schools.
By easier modes philosophy is taught,
Than through the medium of laborious thought.
Imagination kindly serves in stead,
And saves the pupil many an aching head.
Room for the sages!-hither comes a throng
Of blooming Platos trippingly along.
In dress how fitted to beguile the fair!
What intellectual, stately heads-of hair!
Hark to the oracle !-to Wisdom's tone
Breathed in a fragrant zephyr of cologne.
That boy in gloves, the leader of the van,
Talks of the "outer" and the "inner man,"
And knits his girlish brow in stout resolve
Some mountain-sized "idea" to "evolve."
Delusive toil!—thus in their infant days,
When children mimic manly deeds in plays,
Long will they sit, and eager, "bob for whale,"
Within the ocean of a water-pail !
The next, whose looks unluckily reveal
The ears portentous that his locks conceal,
Prates of the " orbs" with such a knowing frown,
You deem he puffs some lithographic town
In western wilds, where yet unbroken ranks
Of thrifty beavers build unchartered "banks,"
And prowling panthers occupy the lots
Adorned with churches on the paper plots!
In other times,-'twas many years ago,-
The scholar's course was toilsome, rough, and slow,
The fair Humanities were sought in tears,
And came, the trophy of laborious years.
Now Learning's shrine each idle youth may seek,
And, spending there a shilling and a week
(At lightest cost of study, cash, and lungs),
Come back, like Rumor, with "a thousand tongues!”
What boots such progress, when the golden load
From heedless haste is lost upon the road?
When each great science, to the student's pace,
Stands like the wicket, in a hurdle race,
Which, to o'erleap, is all the courser's mind,
And all his glory, that 'tis left behind!
17. THE CONFLAGRATION.
As Chaos, which, by heavenly doom,
Had slept in everlasting gloom,
Started with terror and surprise,
When light first flashed upon her eyes—
So London's sons in nightcap woke,
In bed-gown woke her dames;
Sor shouts were heard 'mid fire and smoke
And twice ten hundred voices spoke-
The playhouse is in flames!"
the summoned firemen woke at call,
And hied them to their stations all:
Starting from short and broken snooze,
Each sought his pond'rous hobnailed shoes;
And one, the leader of the band,
From Charing Cross along the Strand,
Like stag by beagles hunted hard,
Ran till he stopt at Vin'gar Yard.
The burning badge his shoulder bore,
And belt and oil-skin hat he wore,
The cane he had, his men to bang,
Showed foreman of the British gang-
His name was Higginbottom.
E'en Higginbottom now was posed,
For sadder scene was ne'er disclosed;
Without, within, in hideous show,
Devouring flames resistless glow,
And blazing rafters downwards go,
And never halloo, "Heads below!"
Nor notice give at all.
The firemen, terrified, are slow
To bid the pumping torrent flow
For fear the roof would fall.
Back, Robins, back! Crump, stand aloof!
Whitford, keep near the walls!
Huggins, regard your own behoof,
For lo! the blazing, rocking roof
Down, down, in thunder falls!
An awful pause succeeds the stroke,
And o'er the ruins volumed smoke,
Rolling around its pitchy shroud,
Concealed them from th' astonished crowd.
At length the mist awhile was cleared,
When, lo! amid the wreck upreared,
Gradually a moving head appeared,
And Eagle firemen knew
'Twas Joseph Muggins, name revered,
The foreman of their crew.
Loud shouted all in signs of woe,
"A Muggins! to the rescue, ho!"
And poured the hissing tide:
Meanwhile the Muggins fought amain,
And strove and struggled all in vain,
For, rallying but to fall again,
He tottered, sunk, and died.
Did none attempt, before he fell,
To succor one they loved so well?
Yes, Higginbottom did aspire
(His fireman's soul was all on fire)
His brother chief to save;
But ah! his reckless, generous ire
Served but to share his grave!
'Mid blazing beams and scalding streams,
Through fire and smoke he dauntless broke,
Where Muggins broke before.
But sulphury stench and boiling drench,
Destroying sight, o'erwhelmed him quite,
He sunk to rise no more.
Still o'er his head, while Fate he braved,
His whizzing water-pipe he waved;
"Whitford and Mitford, ply your pumps,
You, Clutterbuck, come, stir your stumps,
Why are you in such doleful dumps?
A fireman, and afraid of bumps !—
What are they fear'd on? fools! 'od rot 'em ""
Were the last words of Higginbottom.
KIND friends, at your call I'm come here to sing,
Or rather to talk of my woes;
Though small's the delight to you I can bring,
The subject's concerning my nose.
Some noses are large, and others are small,
For nature's vagaries are such,
To some folks, I'm told, she gives no nose at all,
But to me she has given too much.
Oh, dear! lauks-a-daisy me!
My cause of complaint, and the worst of my woes,
Is, because I have got such a shocking long nose.
Some insult or other, each day I do meet,
And by joking, my friends are all foes;
And the boys every day, as I go through the street,
All bellow out" There goes a nose !"
A woman, with matches one day, I came near,
Who, just as I tried to get by her,
Shoved me rudely aside, and asked, with a leer,
If I wanted to set her o'fire?
Oh, dear! lauks-a-daisy me!
Each rascal, each day, some inuendo throws,
As, my nose isn't mine, I belongs to my nose.
I once went a courting a wealthy old maid,
To be married we were, the next day;
But an accident happened, the marriage delayed,
My nose got too much in the way.
For the night before marriage, entranced with my bliss
In love, e'er some torment occurs
I screwed up my lips, just to give her a kiss,
My nose slipped, and rubbed against hers!
Oh, dear! lauks-a-daisy me!
The ring that I gave, at my head soon she throws,
And another tipped me, 'twas a w-ring on the nose.
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