Who'd have thought that while Cupid was playing these tricks Ten years had elapsed, and — I'd turned twenty six ? "I care not a whit, He's not grown a bit," Says my Aunt; "it will still be a very good fit." So Janet and She, Now about thirty-three, (The maid had been jilted by Mr. Magee,) Each taking one end of "the Shirt" on her knee, Again began working with hearty good-will, "Felling the Seams," and "whipping the Frill,"– For, twenty years since, though the Ruffle had vanished, A Frill like a fan had by no means been banished; People wore them at playhouses, parties, and churches, Like overgrown fins of overgrown perches. Now, then, by these two thus laying their caps Together, my "Shirt" had been finished, perhaps, But for one of those queer little three-cornered straps, Which the ladies call "Side-bits," that sever the "Flaps"; Here unlucky Janet Took her needle, and ran it Right into her thumb, and cried loudly, “Ada cuss it! I've spoiled myself now by that 'ere nasty Gusset!" And the ostrich plume worked on the corps' Was in that sort of state vulgar people call "Rum." To her grief and dismay She discovered one day Cornet Jones of the Tenth was a little too gay; For, besides that she saw him- he could not say nayWink at one of the actresses capering away In a Spanish bolero, one night at the play, She found he'd already a wife at Cambray; One at Paris, a nymph of the corps de ballet; And a third down in Kent, at a place called Foot's Cray. Ten years, or nigh, Had again gone by, was accepted,— When Fan, accidentally casting her eye He was "viler than dirt!" All her powers to forget him, I still hear her cry, "I wish I may die The gloom upon your youthful cheek speaks anything but joy"; If here is n't Tom's Shirt, that's been so long Again I said, "What make you here, you little MISDAVENTURES AT MARGATE. A LEGEND OF JARVIS'S JETTY. I WAS in Margate last July, I walked upon the pier, He had no little handkerchief to wipe his little nose! “Hark! don't you hear, my little man? — it's striking Nine," I said, "An hour when all good little boys and girls should be in bed. Run home and get your supper, else your Ma will scold, O fie! It's very wrong indeed for little boys to stand and cry!" The tear-drop in his little eye again began to spring, His bosom throbbed with agony, he cried like anything! I stooped, and thus amidst his sobs I heard him murmur, "Ah! I have n't got no supper! and I haven't got no Ma!". Perhaps your neck, then Bogey'd have you, sure as eggs are eggs! "Come home with me, my little man, come home with me and sup; I saw a little vulgar Boy, I said, "What make My landlady is Mrs. Jones, you here? - her up, we must not keep There's roast potatoes at the fire, - enough for | I rang the bell for Mrs. Jones, for she was down below, me and you, Come home, you little vulgar Boy, I lodge at Number 2." I took him home to Number 2, the house beside "The Foy," I bade him wipe his dirty shoes, that little vulgar Boy, “O Mrs. Jones, what do you think ? — ain't this a pretty go? That horrid little vulgar Boy whom I brought here to-night He's stolen my things and run away!" Says she, "And sarve you right!" And then I said to Mistress Jones, the kindest of Next morning I was up betimes, I sent the her sex, Crier round, "Pray be so good as go and fetch a pint of All with his bell and gold-laced hat, to say, I'd double X!" But Mrs. Jones was rather cross, she made a little noise, She said she "did not like to wait on little vulgar Boys." She with her apron wiped the plates, and, as she rubbed the delf, Said I might "go to Jericho, and fetch my beer myself!" I did not go to Jericho, - I went to Mr. Cobb,I changed a shilling (which in town the people call a Bob,) give a pound To find that little vulgar Boy, who'd gone and used me so ; But when the Crier cried, "O Yes!" the people cried, "O No!" It was not so much for myself as for that vulgar That Sailor-man, he said he'd seen that morning child, I could not see my sugar-tongs, my silver I did not understand him well, but think he meant watch, O, dear! My carpet-bag, my cruet-stand, that holds my A landsman said, "I twig the chap, - he's been upon the Mill, My roast potatoes! all are gone! - and so 's And 'cause he gammons so the flats, ve calls him that vulgar Boy! Veeping Bill!" |