Chapter I: MADE him quite at home,

In a villa just by Rome,--
An Italian, of the antient noble style,--
But I saw him 'neath a star,
And the tink of his guitar,
Was an irritating thing, that made me smile,
His object, was my spouse for to beguile,
But when he caught it hot,
With sporting gun, and shot,
He took a flying spring, across a stile!
His object, was my spouse for to beguile.

"I'M the Mate," quoth he, "Of the 'Mary Anne,'"
As she opened the door to him,
And I'm all the way from the state of New York,
With a present, I've got from Jim!"

"O dear!" said she, "It's a pleasure to see
A friend, who has known my son,
We've a party, enjoying the evening tea,
And you're just in time for fun."

"Ah! thank you," said he, "I would like to explain,
The chest, is a cumbersome weight,
I'd have brought it myself; but I hadn't the dimes,
To cover the cost of the freight.

"It's a matter of seventeen shillings and six,
But you see, I am one of the crew,
I'd have paid it myself, for sake of your son,
If I could have lifted my screw."

"Ah! Jim was the very best pal that I knew,"
She got out the cash for him,
"Now hang up your hat, and come in to the tea,
And tell us a lot about Jim."

He hung up his hat, and went in to the tea,
Said he to a girl, who was there,
"You're the livin' dead image of my chum Jim,
Regardin' yer figure, and hair."

Said he to another, "Yer like yer mother,
But still the expression of Jim,
Is a playin' around yer beautiful smile,
A perfeck sister of him.

"I guess you are soft, on the ring that I wear,"
And he 'splayed his horney fist,
"I'd like you to wear it, for honor of Jim,
'Twould almost bangle your wrist!

"For savin' his wife, from a shark, I got
The trinket, at Scooperaboo,
From a Monarch, who gave it me, out of his nose,
I'm proud to present it to you.

"The ring is too grand, for my tanned hand,
It's a valuable old gew gaw,
I'm skeered, I'd be robbed o' the thing some night,
In the grip of a lawless claw.

"It's a putty gay keepsake, that you've got there,
I'd be glad for sake of poor Jim--"
And he paused, "O yes you may have it," said she,
"Ah! thanks! when I'm back with him.

"I guess he'll be proud to see it, and hear,
That I have presented to you,
The ring that I got, for savin' the wife,
Of the Monarch of Scooperaboo.

"I've a bauble that's here, on a link of my chain,
It's made of a nugget I got,
I never can know it, I'll maybe be darned!
Or drowned! or skivered! or shot!

"It's a nugget to waste, with a fellow like me,
To be sportin' it out of the shop,
Here! take it by gum! you're the mother of Jim!
Or maybe I'd put it in pop."

"Ah! Sir" said the mother "You're far too kind!"
As he fastened it on to her chain,
"Will you keep this locket in place of it? there,
I will never require it again,"

"Aha!" said he, "It's a moral, to see
You're the spirit of Jim all out,
I'll have it, and wear it, for honour of Jim,
Without no manner of doubt.

"Eh! what's the time, I am bound to an hour,
I'd like to remain, if I can,
But the captain's keepin' the cable taut,
On the men of the 'Mary Anne.'

"Let somebody travel with me to-night,
Who will carry the luggage ashore,
I'll bring all your compliments out to Jim,
If I may not see you no more."

Said a girl, who was there, with auburn hair,
Who hadn't been talking free,
"The weather is dark, and you say the ship,
Is out some yards at sea,

"It's better that two, should travel with you,
The journey's a little too far,
And one'll take charge of the present from Jim,
The other, can go for a car."

So two of the gentlemen, offered to go,
Who had been at the evening tea,
And they all shook hands, and the three took tramp,
To the wall, by the wailing sea.

"I guess that we ought to be havin' a quench,"
Said the Mate, "For I always do,
I never go thirsty, aboard at night,"
So he went, and treated the two.

They sat in a room, at the back of the bar,
Discussing three tumblers hot,
"I'm darned, if we won't have a couple of smokes!"
Said he, "And I'll settle the shot."

"You'll pull a cigar with me, by gum!
I'll get them 'and jest you set,'"
He went with his purse, to the bar to pay,
And they have not seen him yet!

But whether he's shot, or whether he's drowned,
Or darned, the Host did say,
Behind the bar, as he pulled a pint,
That "the drink was still to pay!"

* * * * *

She laughed a laugh, when the twain returned,
"You're a mighty discerning pair!"
And she posed her nose, with a tilted tip,
Did the girl, with the auburn hair.

They all suggested, a different way,
Of finding the missing Mate,
"Put out your brains," said the auburn hair,
"On a clean, blue pattern plate.

"And twig a few of the cobwebs off,
From Scooperaboo, look there!
We've Brumagem trinkets, of glass, and brass!"
Said the girl, of the auburn hair.

I saw a dress! 'twas of my wife,
She stepped along with frivol rife,
And by her side, a man of strife
A guardsman of the line.

Ha ha! So ho! was here a cause,
To agitate the Probate laws,
For a divorce, I did not pause,
With guardsman of the line,

I had an umbrella stout,
I lifted it, I flung it out,
In semicircle, with a shout,
At guardsman of the line!

Ah! me, for an unlucky wight!
Beneath the sick electric light,
She turned, O shock unto my sight!
She was no wife of mine!

He didn't draw, I wasn't slain,
But of that blow, he did complain,
And made me wipe away the stain,
With legal brief, and twine.

A Story TOLD BY JONES

ONE evening, as in troubled mood,
I sampled Rotten Row,
Across my scapula, I got
A sharp conclusive blow!

A flat concussion of a palm,
Was quick, and deftly laid,
With rude familiar frowardness,
Against my shoulder blade!
The impact curled up my blood;
And almost in a thrice,
My heart refrigerated, to
An imprompt lump of ice!

I feared it was a bailiff, and
I sprang from off the sod!
"I'm but a ghost!" said he, "you need
Not start" said I "thank God!
"I must confess, that I eschew
A bailiff's companie,
"A ghost, is much more welcome, to
A person fixed like me."

Thus into swift acquaintanship,
Familiarly did glide,
The spook of Rotten Row, and I,
And walking side by side,
We chatted in a varied way,
And slowly sauntered round,
Until we came upon a lone,
And sparsy plot of ground,

Then halting there, the spectre cried,
In accents like a knell,
"T'was here I fought a duel once,
And there it was I fell!
Behold a thistle growing there,
And yon a shamrock too,
And there in every season past,
A little wild rose grew,
A nursery in miniature,
Of sign of Kingdoms three,
That sprang spontaneous thro' the sod,
From blood, that flowed from me,
For lo! my sire was Rupert Smith,
My mater was a Lynch;
My grandmother per pater, was
A Flora Jane Mac Tinch,
An uncle, on the mother's side,
A Belfast Macinfee,
This made the union perfect,
And embodied thus in me,
Was typed the British Empire,
Per my consanguinitee.
And it's an interesting fact,
That Wales can share the fame,
And pride, of my nativity,
For, Jones, it was the name,
My mother first accepted, as
A matrimonial claim;
But Jones was testily inclined,
And all about a myth,
In jealous hate, he fell before
The blade, of Rupert Smith!
Then Rupert Smith, he minded of
The widow's wail, and tear,
And in remorse, he married her,
As consequence, I'm here!
The record of my gallant sire,
To hot complexion grew,
In me, till I was minded of
A cause, for fighting too.
I knew a maid, and for her sake,
My daily life was fuss,
It is not always for a maid,
A man's affected thus;
But when she wasn't by my side,
I felt how lonely, space
Would be, if man could not behold,
A single woman's face.
And so I fondled, petted her,
And worried, wrote some rhymes,
And even got them published, in
A small, suburban times,
I took some pestilential pains,
To learn the minuet,
And trained my voice, to harmonise,
With her's, in the duet.

We married were, I faith! it was
A festal day, for hope,
To care we gave the congè, and
To pleasure, extra scope,
Until one day, my joy was washed
Away, like scented soap!
'Twas on this wise,--
In Rotten Row,
Midst fashionable life,
I found a promenader there,
In converse, with my wife!
I parleyed not a moment, but
Asserting manhood's law,

I tweaked him by the nose, and cried,
"Defend thyself and draw!"
Resenting my impetuous way,
The old command, to teach,
He roused him to impromptu fire,
Of indignation speech,
And with a sneer, that galled my quick,
He swore me, I must die!
But with a rough right royal oath,
I sneered him back the lie!
"Thy name?" quoth I, "I am," said he,
"A man of Deeds, and Loans,
And auction sales,
I come from Wales,
My name is Mervyn Jones!"
"What?
Mervyn Jones of Pontypridd?"
"Exactly so, the same,"
Said he,--I heard of him before,
And quivered at his name!
For 'twas the name, thro' which the world
Had come to hear of me,
By pruning blade of Smith, on Jones;
His genealogic tree,
"Yes I am Jones!"
Quoth he, "By loans,
And mortgaged, for her life,
Thro' debts to me, attorney's power,
I hold upon thy wife,
So skin thy blade, I'll give thee cause,
To tweak my nose!" he saith,
"I'll auction thee, unto the bid,
Of good old broker death!"--
Hereditary fate it seemed,
That I must fight with Jones,
I would have shirked it, but for those,
His irritating tones,
I feared a compensating fate,
Might strike an even deal,
Betwixt the house of Smith, and Jones,
But skinning forth my steel,
I smote at him, by hip, and thigh,
By carte, and aye by tierce,
I held him to his guard, with quick,
Aggressive strokes, and fierce,
But lo! the cunning of my wrist,
A moment lapsed! with art
Of subtle fencer, past my guard,
He pinked me, in the heart!
It skivered me, just like the fork,
That spoils a grilling steak,
I shivered, with a yell, and then,
A woman's cry,--and crake
Of joy from him, with mighty pang,
I leaped in air, and fell!
A muffled music thrilled my brain;
For me, the passing knell,
From numbing toe, and finger tip,
The graduating thrill
Of life's collapse, crept over me,
I wriggled, and lay still!
Then, from the chrysolid of flesh,
Light spirited I rose,
And gazed upon my corse, as on
A suit of cast off clothes,
My widow shrieked, and fainted, but
A golden vinagarette,
My slayer lifted from his fob,
And to her nose, he set
The bauble, while he pinched her, slapped
Her hands, and brought her to,
Then speaking to my mortal wreck,
Said he, "Now as for you,
I have avenged the slur upon
My nose, thy tweak hath wrought,
Thou art the loser, in the game
Of combat, that thou sought,
But lo! thy widow, will not weep
It long, for I may say,
She'll shed her weeds, and she will wed
With me, the first of May!
Then, with my spouse upon his arm,
He turned, and sneaked away,
And left me here, a widowed ghost,
Aye, even to this day!"
My indignation at his wrongs,
I told the grateful spook:
"Gramercy!" cried he, as with misty
Fist, my hand he shook,
And charged me thus, with eager verve,
Of deep revengeful tones,
"If ever thou dost meet a man,
Who deals in deeds, and loans,
Who bears the patronymic, and
The shield, of Mervyn Jones,
I care not how, by forgery!
By fist, or aye by knife!
By sneaking of his fiancée,
Or mayhap of his wife!
By burgling of his premises,
Or pelting him with stones!
Avenge me, on the offspring, of
The man, called Mervyn Jones!"
I sware him, if such christened man,
Did ever dare my sight,
In widest open day, or from
The nooks, of darkest night!
It mattered not, if extra tall,
Or what his weight, or width,
_I'd borrow from him_, to avenge
The wrongs, of Rupert Smith!
"I thank thee well!" the spectre cried,
With chuckle, sad, and grim,
"Adieu!"
And lo! he vanished thro'
The hazy gloaming dim:
He vanished, and I thanked my luck,
He left no aching bones!
For I'm a male descendant, of
The man, called Mervyn Jones!
And Mervyn, haps my christian name,
A broker, I am he,
A windfall fructifaction, of
That genealogic tree.

* * * * *

Next evening, when I told this tale,
To Doctor Bolus Chuff,
Incredulous, and unimpressed,
With mien, erect, and tough,
Presenting a prescription, for
Some tonic tempered pills,
Said he "Thro' too much spirits, you
Have got D.T.'s and chills!"

he WROUGHT a specs, with magic rim, of strange, and subtle parts,
For by those optics made by him, he saw men's inmost hearts,
The grim old sage, 'twas of his fads, to wear those wrysome lamps,
For evermore, and find the lads, the worldly-wise, and scamps.

He saw the plottings, and the strife, he saw the woes, and tears!
The murky glooms of unknown life, the spring of hopes, and fears,
The sham of face, the sham of name, the sham of heart within;
He sifted all, and wrote for fame, record of unknown sin.

"Ho, ho!" cried he at length, "I wis, the dross of men is such,
'Tis surfeit, thus to seek for this, it palls me overmuch;
I'll seek a gem of human hearts, and find it, if I can,"--
He sought at home, and foreign parts, to meet an honest man.

In that pursuit, a year and seven, did on his labours fall;
"Heigho!" cried he, "outside of Heaven, they're masks, and faces all!
They're masks, and faces all!" quoth he, and from the world he went
To bide alone, beside the sea, in selfish self-content.

Now, this old sage, thro' many a year, had never thought of self,
Before he used the specs: in fear, his mirror, on a shelf,
He set, with face down evermore, lest by a glance, that he
Should pry into the evil store, of his own villainie.

But, fishing in a pool one day, the sage forgot his specs--
To take it from his nose,--and hey! a horror, to perplex
His soul with fear, was under him; for, in the glassy wave,
He saw his heart reflected grim! he saw his new-made grave:

He saw, that he himself was worst, of all that he had seen;
By sight of conscience, he was curst, the evil deeds, had been
Dry rotting in his blackened heart, the place he feared to search,
And self-reproach, did send a dart, that knocked him off his perch;
The rod and line, fell from his hand, the specs fell off his nose:
And he was drowned, in sight of land, in all his Sunday clothes.

ODDZOOKS! ye civil war was rough,
'Twixt cavalier, and roundhead tough,
Thence, for thy pale
Of cheek, and wail,
Now hearken, to ye curious tayle,

Ah! me.

THEY met, to meet, was cause for strife
And hunger, for each other's life!
Alack ah! me,
That such should be,
Where posies, pied beneath ye tree,

Ah! me.

IN derring do, they straightway play,
And cut, and slash, ye time away;
Ye evil grue,
This derring do,
When earth, was wide enough for two,

Ah! me.

LO! one at length, in bonds did pine,
Ye squirrel came, and nipped ye twine;
Reproof of spite,
From woodland mite,
For truce to ye fanatic fight,

Ah! me.

BUT hey alack! again they rise,
And swish their blades, in murderous wise;
'Tis pain, to sing,
Of sword, in swing,
Where butterflies, did spread ye wing,

Ah! me.

AT length, one trussed his foe, but lo!
A bat, did cut ye cord, ho! ho!
Ye moral flat,
Of gracious bat,
That men, should drop ye hate, like that--

Ah! me.

YE wrath of wrong, is still to do,
Ye loathsome vengeance, starts anew,
O pity! wrong,
Should wreak so strong,
Where birds, did pipe ye evensong,

Ah! me.

YE strife waxed hot, in air they spring,--
No fiercer fray, did minstrel sing,--
But why spill here,
Ye tender tear,
For Roundhead, or ye Cavalier?

Ah! me.

THEY scuffle, till each wig, and nose,
Fell off, and nature's truths, disclose,
Ye wild surprise,
Doth swiftly rise,
Ye brows, above ye startled eyes!

Ah! me.

FOR lo! they recognise each one,
Each was his father's other son!
Ye clasping spree,
Of filial glee,
Is here depicted, as you see,

Ah! me.

AN instance of calculating foresight and prudence is illustrated in the following verses. If men would rely on the mutual study of a spirit of equity, and enter more confidentially into the claims of each, what beautiful pictures, of repentant resignation to a just castigation, would be afforded, by certain of those who misunderstand the rights of property. An excellent lesson of this kind, is taught by the experience of the first tramp. He parted from the Farmer, with comprehensive impressions, of the farmer's energy, and application to business, a fact, which he took the earliest opportunity, of advertising in the nearest hospital. Thro' the second case, also runs a beautiful lesson, to the farmer, it may not have happed so well, as to the tramp, but the record serves to show, that an action at law, should only result, as a mutual alternative, agreeable to both parties; thereby the air of the Law Courts, would be considerably purified, of the stuffiness, that oppresses the impetuous litigant.

SAID one tramp, to the second tramp,
"The dark is comin' on the sun,
Do you prowl in to this 'ere barn.
And I'll dodge on to yonder one.
"I allus likes to sleep alone,
Besides you see, it runs' em tight,
The Varmers, when a pair o' tramps
Turns up, so Bill, I'll say good night."

The chanticleer, did early trump,
A tonic note, upon his pipe,
And woke the husbandman, to view,
How thick, and tall, his crops, and ripe.

And in his barn, he found a tramp!
"Ho, trespasser, what shall I do?"
He cried "Shall I evict by Law?
Or take the Law myself, on you?"

"Well Varmer, I have had with cranks,
Of legal jaw, too much," said he,
"So with your leave, I'd rather you,
Would take the law, yourself on me."

"Ha! that's exactly to my form!"
He gripped him by the neck, "Here goes!
Whew! now take this! and that, and this,"
With that, he gave him all his toes.

He kicked him, thro' the barn door,
He rolled him, in the grunty stye,
And up, and down, and round the yard,
And then, he bunged him in the eye!

He ducked him, in the horses' pond,
He slung him, right across a load
Of dung, he kicked him thro' the gate,
And wiped him up and down the road!

He kicked him black! He kicked him blue!
He kicked him green! and red and white!
He kicked him, till he could not kick,
For then the tramp was out of sight!

That tramp did never more appear
Around that neighbourhood, he passed
Away, just like a whiff of smoke,
That scuds before the autumn blast!

* * * * *

A second husbandman that morn,
Was quick astir, he fancied he
Did hear, a wailing in his barn,
A moan, as of the wild banshee!

He thought to catch the female sprite,
For truth, he was a festive scamp,
But got a sort of snub, when he,
Discovered but a snoring tramp!

The sleep was deep, for with his foot,
He had to supplement the blow,
Or box, he gave him on his ear,
And shouted in that ear "Hello!

You'll pardon me, my friend, but 'ere,
I thought, this barn belonged to me!
Now shall I chuck you out myself,
Or seek injunct, from Chancerie?"

The startled tramp, did rub his nose,
And stared that farmer, in the eye,
Then stretched himself, and spoke as he,
Would fain enjoy a longer lie.

"Well Boss, I've been so often chucked,
That it would be relief to stay,
And in the Court of Chancerie,
Arrange it in a friendly way."

They took the case to chancerie,
And argued it, from every point,
But in the end, they always found,
The arguments, were out of joint!

The prosecuting counsel, cranked
The cogs of all the tramp's defence,
And also in his turn, was spanked,
And thus, they cribbed the farmer's pence.

They argued it, on every side,
With judge's whim, and lawyer's yarn.
But still the tramp, remains at home,
His home, is in the farmer's barn!

The case, has not been ended yet,
It crops up now, and often then,
You cannot tell, when it may crop,
It might crop up, next week again,

But when that tramp, will have to go,
I cannot tell it, nor can he,
The farmer cannot, nor can they;
The lawyers of the Chancerie.

Thus tho' we may not take the law,
Into our hands, it's often meet,
To serve extemporaneous writ
By sharp eviction, from the feet.

TWAS in the Daisy Bell,
I met him, quite a swell,
His style, was very taking, and off hand,
"No thanks!" said he "I think
We'll toss up, for the drink,
I'm independent, as there's in the land!"

I tossed him, and I lost,
Said he "That was a frost,
I'll toss you now, a consolation toss,
I'll toss you, for a bob"
I lost! "I wouldn't rob"
Said he "I wouldn't see you, at a loss.

"By gum! here's what I'll do,
I'll toss you now for two,
It's double now, or quits, that we will try,"
Again I lost; 'twas queer,
Again, said he, "look here,
Your fortune, will be lifting by and by."

I thought that it must turn,
But soon I had to learn,
His way was rather taking, and off hand,
A goodly sum was due,
Said he "I've made off you,
Six quid, and sixteen tanners, you will stand,"
"Your double coin," said I,
"Has just now caught my eye,
And the dust, from your jacket, I must whack!"
His jacket, with malacca, I did crack!
His hide, was very taking, at the back!

OH COLONEL I could love you,
With faithful heart," said she;
"But you are far too noble--
Too grand a man for me,
For you're Commander of the Horse,
And hardly could be higher,
While, I am only just a Cook,
Around the kitchen fire."

Said she "I could not marry you,
For you are all so grand;
I'd be a most unhappy wife--
The saddest in the land."
Said he, "I did not ask you;
But when I'm far from you,
And on the field of battle,
I'll see what I can do."

Said he, "I never thought of it,
And only now, I see--
Perhaps you are the woman,
Would suit to wed with me,
And that is just the cause of them--
The words, I said to you--
When on the field of battle,
I'll see what I can do."

The town, was all in tumult
Of women's wail alack!
For many a gallant soldier,
Would never more come back,
And even he (the Colonel)
Might fall--the first or last;
And that's the chiefest reason,
That Cook was weeping fast.

And tho' it was not proper,
To see the Colonel, look
With visage of dejection,
Upon a humble cook,
Yet nature won't be cheated,
Despite of high degree.
"Adieu; I'll come back worthy,
My love, to wed with thee."
And that is how they parted,
And those, the words he said:
And oft, when she was cooking,
It came into her head,
The promise he had uttered,
Of sweetest memory--
"Adieu; I'll come back worthy,
My love, to wed with thee."

She took a thought one morning,
And bought a copy-book;
Said she, I'll study pothooks,
They're suited for a cook.
I'll write his name, in roundhand,
A letter, I will send,
With the words "no more at present"--
My pet name, at the end.

She wrote his name, in roundhand,
A letter, she did send,
With "No more now at present,"
Her pet name, at the end.
But it never, never reached him,
And he did languish yet,
For the Cook, at home in Erin
He never could forget.

But lo! a taste for learning,
Is like a taste for drink,
While working on the pothooks,
She then began to think.
And thought, is like a snowball,
That gathers every turn;
She studied read-'em-easys,
While joints began to burn.

She studied, night and morning,
At languages, and paint,
At poetry, and musty prose,
And legends, old, and quaint.
She wrote a three-vol. novel,
And got a fancy price,
Became a photo beauty;
"Oh, this," quoth she, "is nice!"

She then appeared in drama,
While posing there, with grace
Of gauze, and limelight glowing
Upon her lovely face;
A common soldier, shouted
From the Olympian rail--
"O 'evans!" its my 'Arriet,
And turning deadly pale.

He darted for the stage door,
Her carriage grand, was there,
She was about to enter,
With all the fuss, and flare,
Of mashers buzzing round her;
And plunging forth, said he--
"I'm wot was once a Colonel, who went across the sea.
"Of course you must remember,
The words, I said to you--
'When on the field of battle,
I'd see what I could do.'
I never make a promise,
But to my word, I stick.
The man, who breaks his promise,
Is but a broken brick."
I'm wot was once a Colonel,
And for your love, I strove,
To be reduced, into the ranks,
For sake of you, my love;
I ran away in battle, I several times got drunk,
Was challenged to a duel, and purposely took funk.
They whittled my commission, into a major's rank,
And still I acted badly, and several times I drank,
I managed to get nibbled, down to a sergeant then
I stole a pint of whiskey, was put amongst the men.

"I've been all over Europe,
A lookin' out for you,
I have eschewed my grammar,
To prove my 'eart, was true;
I've parted with my surname,
That all might well combine,
Which now, I'm Private Miggins, of the Seventy-seventh Line.
"I've got a vulgar accent,
And vulgar sayin's too.
I drink, from common pewter.
It's all along of you,
And generally, my manners,
Are much about the styles,
You'll find amongst the manners,
Of the people of St. Giles.

"But here, I say, look, listen!
You have not acted straight,
But made us yet the victims,
Of a lobsided fate;
While I've been levellin' downwards,
To suit with your degree,
You've been, and gone, and levelled up,
Contrarywise to me.

"You had not ought to take me,
So short as this, I say;
You've worked a mean advantage,
While I was far away.
But still, we'll go to-morrow,
And make our love complete."
"Get out!" she cried, and vanished,
In her brougham, down the street.

HE was one of the middle age men I wot,
A troubadour bedight,
Who lost himself, in a lonely wood,
An exceptional sort of night,
For the moon, was only beginning to wax,
And the clouds, were muggy, and black,
And there wasn't much chance, of finding his way,
To the trail, of the beaten track.

But troubadours, were stout and strong,
Of tough, and stubborn, stuff,
And took the rough, with the sleek, and smooth,
The smooth, with the rusty rough,
So up thro' the drift, of the hummocky ruck,
Of the clouds, he searched for a star,
To serenade, with the thringumy-thrang,
Of the thrum, of his new guitar.

The glint of one, thro' a galloping cloud,
He caught, and he screwed his wire,
And gave a twist, to its patent head,
And toned the catgut higher.
Then flung the cape of his cloak aside,
And in an æsthetic strain,
He pitched his voice, to the concert key,
And twanged on the strings amain.

But having expressed himself in song,
With a quivering verse or two,
His favourite string gave out, with a bang,
And stopped his impromptu.
He muttered a satire upon that string,
And sat on a bank, close by,
When he heard the trip of a female foot,
And lisp of a female sigh!

She was one of the guardians, of the piece
Of ground, that was round him there,
An ariel spirit in azure blue,
And fluffs of auburn hair,
That framed a very attractive face,
Of cream, and strawberry pink,
And she greeted the troubadour bedight,
With a captivating wink!

"O troubadour, what brings you here,
So lone and sad?" said she,
Just throw your guitar across your back,
And wander away with me.
I'll show you the fairy dells, of mine,
All tricked around with sheen,
Of glittering gold, and sparkling gems,
With electric lights between.

"I'm a single woman, and never was once
In love, with a man, till this!"
And then she stooped to his quivering lip,
Imprinting a dainty kiss.
"Why don't you get up out of that?" she cried,
And make no longer stay.
But a spirit within, still held him down,
In a magical sort of way.

"O troubadour, you're a suitable man,
To live in the woods with me,
We'll dance to the charms of elphin song,
Down under the greenwood tree."
And she coaxed him again, with a dainty kiss,
"Oh, sweetheart, come, be gay!"
But a spirit within, still held him down,
In a magical sort of way.

"I hope, that you don't imagine," said she,
"That I am a frivolous flirt,
I'm the woman, that's new, the fashion to-day,
With rational trunks, for skirt,
I can ride, on a bicycle, made for two,
Or 'tec out the sins of town,"
But all he could do, was give her a grin,
From the spirit that held him down!

He'd have given the world, to get up out of that,
But a tantalising sprite,
Had taken possession of him, you see,
In the early part of the night.
The fact of it is, that he couldn't get up,
If she gave him a kingly crown,
And all he could do, was give her a grin,
From the spirit, that held him down!

Twas woe! to see an attractive maid,
So slurred, by a knightly bard,
A misery this, for her plaint of love,
To be grinned at, snubbed, and marred!
Yet ever again, did she give him a kiss,
And a lingering, coaxing smile,
But the spirit within, still held him down,
In a magical sort of style!

"O come get up out of that!" she cried,
And gave his collar a shake,
With a kick in the ribs, that bustled him up,
And startled him wide awake!
And her raiment shrunk to the belted blue,
Of a burly man, said he,
"Yer out very late, in a dress like that,
So track it along with me."
"Get up out of that," the constable cried,
"And don't make no delay,"
But the spirit within, still held him down,
In a magical sort of way.
The spirit within, still held him down,
But the constable bent his back,
And hooshed him up, and carried him off,
At once to the beaten track.

The troubadour, came into the dock
Next day, in a crowded court,
And the rig of his garb, to the modern herd,
Was a source of evil sport.
But the modern beak had no romance,
And the sum of a couple of crown,
He fined the unfortunate troubadour,
For the spirit that held him down!

HIS FUTURE STATE.