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In ordering dinner, therefore, 'tis no wonder
That they should make a blunder.
Whether the landlord knew, or no,
The sequel of my tale will show-
He blunder'd, and it cannot be denied,
To some small disadvantage on his side.
The order seemed immense to Boniface,

But more the expense, to him the greater fun ;
For all that from the order he could trace,

Was— “Monsieur Bull, you lette me have, I say, Vich for, vid cash I sal you pay;

Fifteen of those, vid vich the sheep do run !'' From which old Tapps could only understand

(But whether right or wrong, cared not a botton) That what Monsieur desired, with air so grand,

Was fifteen legs of mutton ! 66 A dinner most enormous !” cried the elf; “Zounds ! each must nearly eat a leg himself !”

However, they seemed a set of hungry curs ;
And so, without more bother or demurs,
Tapps to his cook his orders soon expressed,
And fifteen legs of mutton quick were dressed.

And now around the table all elate,
The Frenchman's friends the dinner doth await;
Joy sparkled in each hungry glutton's eyes,
When they beheld, with glad surprise,
Tapps quick appear with a leg of mutton hot,
Smoking, and just ejected from the pot;
Laughed, stared, and chuckled more and more
When two they saw, then three, then four !
And then the fifth ! their eager glances blest,
And then a sixth! larger than all the rest !

But soon the Frenchman's countenance did change,

To see the legs of mutton on the table ;

Surprise and rage, by turns,

In his face burns,
While Tapps the table did arrange,

As nice as he was able ;
And while the Frenchmen for the feast prepared,
Thus, in a voice, that quite the landlord scared,

Our hero said :-
"Mon Dieu ! Monsieur, vy for you

make Dis vera grande blunder and mistake? Vy for, you bring to me dese mouton legs?” Tapps, with a bow, his pardon begs : “I've done as you have ordered, sir,” said he ; “Did you not order fifteen legs of me? Six of which before your eyes appears, And nine besides are nearly done down stairs ! Here John !” “Got tam, sare ! Jean ! you fool!

you ass !

You von great clown to bring me to dis pass.

dis meat, for vich I sal no pay,
I did no order dat- "What's that you say ?”
Tapps answer’d, with a frown and with a stare,
"You ordered fifteen legs of me, I'll swear-
Or fifteen things with which the sheep do run,
Which means the same—I'm not so easy done."

"Parbleu ! Monsieur, vy you no comprehend ?
You may

take back de legs unto the pot;
I telle you, sare, 'tis not de legs I want,
But dese here leetel tings vid vich de sheep do trot!"

“Confound it !"' cried the landlord, in a rage,
(Which Monsieur vainly tried to assuage)
“Why, zounds !” said he. as to the door he totters,

“Now, after all the trouble that took
These legs of mutton both to buy and cook,

I seems, instead of fifteen legs,
You merely wanted fifteen poor sheeps' trotters!''




WELL, the country's a pleasant place, sure enough, for people's that's country

born, And useful, no doubt, in a natural way, for growing our grass and our corn, It was kindly meant of my cousin Giles, to write and invite me down, Though, as yet, all I've seen of a pastoral life only makes one more partial to


At first I thought I was really come down into all sorts of rural bliss,
For Porkington Place, with its cows, and its pigs, and its poultry, looks not much

There's something about a dairy farm, with its different kinds of live stock,
That puts one in mind of Paradise, and Adam and his innocent flock;
But somehow the good old Elysium Fields have not been well handed down,
And, as yet, I have found no fields to prefer to dear Leicester Fields up in Town.
To be sure it is pleasant to walk in the meads. and so I should like for miles,
If it wasn't for clodpoles of carpenters that put up such crooked stiles ;
For the bars jut out, and you must jut out, till you're almost broken in two ;
If you clamber, you're certain sure of a fall, and you stick if you try to creep

through, Of course, in the end, one learns how to climb without constant tumbles down ; But still as to walking so stylishly, it's pleasanter done about Town. There's a way, I know, to avoid the stiles, and that's by a walk in a lane ; And I did find a very nice shady one, but I never dar'd go there again ; For who should I meet but a rampaging bull, that wouldn't be kept in the pound, A-trying to toss the whole world at once, by sticking his horns in the ground. And that, by-the-bye, is another thing that pulls rural pleasures down Ev'ry day in the country is cattle-day, and there's only two up in Town.

Then I've rose with the sun, to go brushing away at the first early pearly dew,
And to meet Aurory, or whatever's her name—and I always got wetted through ;
My shoes are like sops, and I caught a bad cold, and a nice draggle-tail to my

That's not the way that we bathe our feet, or wear our pearls, up in Town !
As for picking flow'rs—I have tried at a hedge, sweet eglantine roses to snatch,
But, mercy on us! how nettles will sting, and how the long brambles do scratch!
Besides hitching my hat on a nasty thorn that tore all the bows from the crown;
One may walk long enough without hats branching off, or losing one's bows,

about Town. But worse than that; in a long rural walk, suppose that it blows up for rain. And all at once you discover yourself in a real St. Swithin's Lane; And while you're running, all duck'd and drown’d, and pelted with sixpenny

drops, “Fine weather," you hear the farmer's say—"a nice growing show'r for the

crops !”

But who's to crop me another new hat, or grow me another new gown?
For you can't take a shilling fare with a plow, as you do with the hackneys in

Then my nephews, too, they must drag me off to go with them gathering nuts,
And we always set out by the longest way, and return by the shortest cuts.
Short cuts, indeed! But it's nuts to them, to get a poor lustyish aunt
To scramble through gaps, or jump over a ditch, when they're morally certain she

can't; For whenever I get in some awkward scrape (and it's almost daily the case,) Though they don't laugh out, the mischievous brats, I see the hooray! in their face. There's the other day, for my sight is short, and I saw what was green beyond, And thought it was all terry firmer and grass, till I walk'd in the duck-weed pond. Or perhaps when I've pully-haul'd up a bank, they see me come launching down, As none but a stout London female can do as is come a first time out of Town. Then how sweet, some say, on a mossy bank a verdurous seat to find, But, for my part, I always found it a joy that brought a repentance behind; For the juicy grass, with its nasty green, has stain'd a whole breath of my gownAnd when gowns are dyed, I needn't say it's much better done up in Town. As for country fare—the first morning I came, I heard such a shrill piece of work! And ever since, and it's ten days ago—we've lived upon nothing but pork, One Sunday except, and then I turned sick--a plague take all countrified cooks ! Why didn't they tell me, before I had dined, they made pigeon pies of the rooks? Then the gooseberry wine, though it's pleasant when up, it doesn't agree when it's

down; But it serv'd me right, like a gooseberry fool, to look for champagne out of Town ! To be sure cousin G. meant it all for the best, when he started this pastoral plan ; And his wife is a worthy domestical soul, and she teaches me all that she canSuch as making of cheese, and curing of hams—but I'm sure that I never shall

learn ; And I've fetched more back-ache than butter, as yet, by chumping away at the

churn : But in making hay, though it's tanning work, I found it more easy to make, But it tries one's legs, and no great relief, when you're tired, to sit down on the rake. I'd a country dance, too, at harvest home, with a regular country clown, But, Lord ! they don't hug one round the waist, and give one such smacks, in

Town !

Then I've tried to make friends with the birds and the beasts, but they take to such

curious rigs, I'm always at odds with the turkey-cock, and I can't even please the pigs. The

very hens pick holes in my hands when I grope for the new-laid eggs, And the gander comes hissing out of the pond on purpose to flap at my leg ; I've been bump'd in a ditch by the cow without horns, and the old sow trampled

me down : The beasts are as vicious as any wild beasts—but they're kept in cages in Town.

Another thing is the nasty dogs; through the village I hardly can stir
Since giving a bumpkin a pint of beer, just to call off a barking cur;
And now you would swear all the dogs in the place were set on to hunt me down :
But neither the brutes nor the people, I think, are as civilly bred as in Town.


Last night about twelve I was scar'd broad awake, and all in a tremble of fright, But instead of a family murder, it proved an owl that flies screeching at night. Then there's plenty of ricks and stacks all about, and I can't help dreaming of

Swing : In short, I think that a pastoral life is not the most happiest thing ; For, besides all the troubles I've mention'd before as endur'd for rurality's sake, I've been stung by the bees, and I've sat among ants, and once—ugh! I trod on a

snake ! And as to mosquitoes—they tortured me so, for I've got a particular skin ; I do think it's the gnats coming out of the pond that drives the poor suicides in ! And after all, ain't there new-laid eggs to be had upon Holborn Hill? And dairy-fed pork in Broad St. Giles's, and fresh butter wherever you will? And a cover'd cart that brings cottage-bread quite rustical-like and brown? So one isn't so very uncountrified in the very heart of the Town. Howsomever, my mind's made up, and although I'm sure cousin Giles will be

vexed, I mean to book me an inside place up to town upon Saturday next, And if nothing happens, soon after ten, I shall be at the Old Bell and Crown ; And perhaps I may come to the country again—when London is all burnt down!


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RIENDS, Romans, countrymen ! Lend me your ears ;

I will return them next Saturday. I come
To bury Cæsar,-because the times are hard,
And his folks can't afford to hire an undertaker.
The evil that men do lives after them,-
In the shape of progeny, who reap the
Benefit of their life insurance,
So let it be with the deceased.
Brutus hath told you Cæsar was ambitious,
What does Brutus know about it?
It is none of his funeral. Would that it were !
Here under leave of you I come to
Make a speech at Cæsar's funeral.
He was my friend, faithful and just to me,
He loaned me $5 once when I was in a pinch,
And signed my petition for a post-office,-

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But Brutus says he was ambitious.
Brutus should wipe off his chin.
Cæsar hath brought many captives home to Rome,-
Who broke rock on the streets until their ransoms
Did the general coffers fill.
When that the poor hath cried, Cæsar hath wept-
Because it didn't cost anything and
Made him solid with the masses.
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff ;
Yet Brutus says he was ambitious.
Brutus is a liar, and I can prove it.
You all did see that on the Lupercal
I thrice presented him a kingly crown,
Which he did thrice refuse, because it did not fit him quite.
Was this ambition? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious.
Brutus not only the biggest liar in the country,
But he is a horse thief of the deepest dye.
If you have any tears, prepare to shed them now.
You all do know this ulster.
I remember the first time Cæsar put it on ;
It was on a summer's evening, in his tent,
With the thermometer registering 90 in the shade.
But it was an ulster to be proud of,
And cost him $7 at Marcaius Swartzmeyer's
Corner Broad and Ferry streets, sign of the red flag.
Old Swartz wanted $40 for it,
But finally came down to $7, because it was Cæsar !
Was this ambitious ?. If Brutus says it was
He is a greater liar—than any one present.
Look! in this place ran Cassius' dagger through,
Through this the son of a gun of a Brutus stabbed,
And when he plucked his cursed steel away,
Marc Antony, how the blood of Cæsar followed it!
I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts;
I am no thief, as Brutus is.
Brutus has a monopoly on all that business,
And if he had his deserts he would be
In the penitentiary, and don't you forget it.
Kind friends, sweet friends, I do not wish to stir you up
To such a flood of mutiny.
And as it looks like rain,
The pall bearers will please place the coffin in the hearse,
And we will proceed to bury Cæsar,
Not to praise him.

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