About half a score R's and some W's follow, Well-the moon shone bright Upon "PEN" that night, When Pryce, being quit of his fuss and his fright, With that sort of stride A man puts out when walking in search of a bride He began to perspire, Till, finding his legs were beginning to tire, By a pain in his chest, He paus'd, and turn'd round to take breath, and to rest; A walk all up hill is apt, we know, To make one, however robust, puff and blow, So he stopp'd, and look'd down on the valley below. O'er fell, and o'er fen, Over mountain and glen, All bright in the moonshine, his eye roved, and then So brave and so bold, Of her Bards with long beards, and harps mounted in gold Of King Edward the First, Of memory accurst; And the scandalous manner in which he behaved, Killing Poets by dozens, With their uncles and cousins, Of whon: not one in fifty had ever been shaved- Successfully woo'd her, Till the Dowager put on a new wedding ring, He thought upon Arthur, and Merlin of yore, As he cried out "What's that?" That very queer sound?— Does it come from the ground? Or the air,-from above, or below, or around ?— It is not like Walking, It's not like the clattering of pot or of pan, Or the tramp of a norse,-or the tread of a man,— Not unlike a cart's,-but that can't be;-for when Pryce, usually brimful of valor when drunk, On the whole of the track He had traversed; a thick cloud, uncommonly black, At this moment obscured the broad disc of the moon, And did not seem likely to pass away soon; While clearer and clearer, 'T was plain to the hearer, Be the noise what it might, it drew nearer and nearer, Mr. Pryce had begun To "make up" for a run, As in such a companion he saw no great fun, Shone out on the way He had passed, and he saw, with no little dismay, Coming after him, bounding o'er crag and o'er rock, The deceased Mrs. Winifred's "Grandmother's Clock! 'T was so !-it had certainly moved from its place, Like two coals of fire; And the "Name of the Maker" was changed to a Lip, No! he could not mistake it,—'t was SHE to the life! One glance was enough Completely "Quant, suff." As the doctors write down when they send you their "stu"Like a Weather-cock whirled by a vehement puff, David turned himself round; Ten feet of ground He clear'd, in his start, at the very first bound! I've seen people run at West End Fair for cheeses- And I've seen (that is, read of) good running in Spain; Of, or witness such speed As David exerted that evening.-Indeed All I have ever heard of boys, women, or men, Falls far short of Pryce, as he ran over He reaches its brow,— He has past it,—and now PEN !" Having once gained the summit, and managed to crowe i be Rolls down the side with uncommon velocity; But, run as he will, Or roll down the hill, That bugbear behind him is after him still And close at his heels, not at all to his liking, He can't run any more, But falls as he reaches Miss Davis's door, And screams when they rush out, alarm'd at his knock, "Oh! Look at the Clock !-Do !-Look at the Clock! {" Miss Davis look'd up, Miss Davis look'd down, She said, "It was horrid A man should come knocking at that time of night, About nothing at all!" She begg'd "he'd not think of repeating his call; By no means had past her," She'd "have him to know she was meat for his Master " Then regardless alike of his love and his woes, She turn'd on her heel and she turn'd up her nose. Poor David in vain He “dared not,” he said, "cross the mountain again." None knows,-to be sure it Was said she was setting her cap at the Curate;- Pryce found to creep into that night was the Coal-hole! With nothing to eat And with very bruised limbs, and with very sore feet, All night close he kept; I can't say he slept; But Le sigh'd, and he sobb'd, and he groan'd, and he wept; Lamenting his sins, And his two broken shins, Bewailing his fate with contortions and grins, Mr. David has since had a "serious call," And to preach, and to teach People that "they can't brew their malt liquor too small! Is for Man's belly meant !" And that Gin's but a Snare of Old Nick the deluder! And "still on each evening when pleasure fills up," Will get into "The Chair," And make all his quondam associates stare The dial he constantly watches; and wher The long hand's at the "XII.," and the short at the "X" He gets on his legs, Drains his glass to the dregs, Takes his hat and great-coat off their several pegs, LOOK AT THE CLOCK!!!" THE BAGMAN'S DOG. R. HARRIS BARHAM Stant littore Puppies!-VIRGIL Ir was a litter, a litter of five, Four are drown'd, and one left alive, He was thought worthy alone to survive; And the Bagman resolved upon bringing him up, |