In that he perceived, with no little surprise,
The two little winder-holes turn'd into eyes
Blazing with ire,

Like two coals of fire;

And the "Name of the Maker" was changed to a Lip,
And the Hands to a Nose with a very red tip.

No! he could not mistake it, 'twas SHE to the life!
The identical Face of his dear defunct Wife!!

One glance was enough,

Completely" Quant. Suff."

As the doctors write down when they send

you their "

stuff,"

Like a Weather-cock whirl'd by a vehement puff,

David turn'd 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,
I've seen Ladies run at Bow Fair for chemises,
At Greenwich Fair twenty men run for a hat,
And one from a Bailiff much faster than that;

At foot-ball I 've seen lads run after the bladder,
I've seen Irish Bricklayers run up a ladder,
I've seen little boys run away from a cane,

And I've seen, (that is, read of,) good running in Spain;
But I never did read

Of, or witness, such speed

As David exerted that evening.—Indeed

All I ever have 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 gain'd the summit, and managed to cross it, he 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,

The terrible Clock keeps on ticking and striking,

Till, exhausted and sore,

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!!"

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 as she turn'd up her nose.

Poor David in vain

Implored to remain,

He" dared not," he said, "cross the mountain again."
Why the fair was obdurate

None knows,-to be sure, it

Was said she was setting her cap at the Curate ;-
Be that as it may, it is certain the sole hole

Pryce could find to creep into that night was the Coal-hole!
In that shady retreat,

With nothing to eat,

And with very bruis'd limbs, and with very sore feet,

All night close he kept;

I can't say he slept;

But he 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,

And her he once thought a complete Rara Avis,
Consigning to Satan,-viz. cruel Miss Davis !

Mr. David has since had a "serious call,"
He never drinks ale, wine, or spirits, at all,
And they say he is going to Exeter Hall
To make a grand speech,

And to preach, and to teach

People that they can't brew their malt-liquor too small!”
That an ancient Welsh Poet, one PYNDAR AP TUDOR,
Was right in proclaiming " ARISTON MEN UDOR!"

66

Which means "The pure Element

Is for the belly meant!"

And that Gin 's but a Snare of Old Nick the deluder !

And "still on each evening when pleasure fills up,"
At the old Goat-in-Boots, with metheglin, each cup,
Mr. Pryce, if he's there,

Will get into "the Chair,"

And make all his quondam associates stare

By calling aloud to the landlady's daughter,

"Patty! bring a cigar, and a glass of Spring Water!"

The dial he constantly watches; and when

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,

With his President's hammer bestows his last knock,

And says solemnly,—“Gentlemen!

"LOOK AT THE CLOCK!!!"

Tappington Everard, July 24.

THOMAS INGOLDSBY.

September, 1837.

THE DOUBLE BARREL.

BY FATHER PROUT.

Duo quisque Alpina coruscat

Gæsa manu.-Æneid. lib. 8.

Παν πραγμα δυας έχει λαβας.-Epictetus.

SEPTEMBER the first on the moorland hath burst,

And already with jocund carol

Each NIMROD of NOUSE hurries off to the grouse,
And has shouldered his DOUBLE BARREL;
For well doth he ken, as he hies through the glen,
That scanty will be his laurel

Who hath not

On the spot

(Should he miss a first shot)

Some resource in a DOUBLE BARREL.

'Twas the Goddess of Sport, in her woodland court,
DIANA, first taught this moral,

Which the Goddess of Love soon adopted, and strove
To improve on the "double barrel."

Hence her CUPID, we know, put two strings to his bow;
And she laughs, when two lovers quarrel,

At the lot

Of the sot

Who, to soothe him, han't got

The resource of a DOUBLE BARREL.

Nay, the hint was too good to lie hid in the wood,

Or to lurk in two lips of coral;

Hence the God of the Grape (who his betters would ape)
Knows the use of a DOUBLE BARREL.

His escutcheon he decks with a double XX,

And his blithe October carol

GENIUS; OR, THE DOG'S-MEAT DOG.

BEING A SECOND TAILED SONNET," IN THE ITALIAN MANNER."

BY EGERTON WEBBE.

"Hal, thou hast the most unsavoury similes."-Falstaff.

SINCE Genius hath the immortal faculty

Of bringing grist to other people's mills,
While for itself no office it fulfils,

And cannot choose but starve amazingly,

For the former specimen, as well as some critical account of the comic sonnets of the Italians, see the April number of Bentley's Miscellany.

VOL. II.

R

Methinks 'tis very like the dog's-meat dog,

That 'twixt Black Friars and White sometimes I've seen,— Afflicted quadruped, jejune and lean,

Whom none do feed, but all do burn to flog.

For why? He draws the dog's-meat cart, you see,—
Himself a dog. All dogs his coming hail,

Long dogs and short, and dogs of various tail,
Yea truly, every sort of dogs that be.
Where'er he cometh him his cousins greet,
Yet not for love, but only for the meat,-
In Little Tower Street,

Or opposite the pump on Fish-street Hill,
Or where the Green Man is the Green Man still,
Or where you will:-

It is not he, but, ah! it is the cart

With which his cousins are so loth to part;
(That's nature, bless your heart!)
And you'll observe his neck is almost stiff
With turning round to try and get a sniff,
As now and then a whiff,

Charged from behind, a transient savour throws,
That curls with hope the corners of his nose,
Then all too quickly goes,

And leaves him buried in conjectures dark,
Developed in a sort of muffled bark.

For I need scarce remark

That that sagacious dog hath often guess'd
There's something going on of interest
Behind him, not confest;

And I have seen him whisk with sudden start
Entirely round, as he would face the cart,
Which could he by no art,

Because of cunning mechanism. Lord!
But how a proper notion to afford?
How possibly record,

With any sort of mental satisfaction,

The look of anguish-the immense distraction-
Pictured in face and action,

When, whisking round, he hath discovered there
Five dogs, all jolly dogs-besides a pair
Of cats, most debonair,

In high assembly met, sublimely lunching,
Best horse's flesh in breathless silence munching,
While he, poor beast! is crunching
His unavailing teeth?-You must be sensible
aggravating-cruel-indefensible—
Incomprehensible.

'Tis

And to his grave I do believe he'll go,
Sad dog's-meat dog, nor ever know

Whence all those riches flow

Which seem to spring about him where he is,
Finding their way to every mouth but his.—
I know such similes

By some are censured as not being savoury;
But still it's better than to talk of " knavery,"
And "wretched authors' slavery,'

With other words of ominous import.
I much prefer a figure of this sort.
And so, to cut it short,

(For I abhor all poor rhetoric fuss,)

Ask what the devil I mean-I answer thus,
THAT DOG 'S A GENIUS.