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THE THREE BLACK CROWS.

BY DR BYROM.

Two honest tradesmen, meeting in the Strand, One took the other briskly by the hand;

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Hark ye," said he, ""Tis an odd story this

About the crows!"-"I don't know what it is,"

Replied his friend.- "No! I'm surprised at that-
Where I come from, it is the common chat;
But you shall hear,-an odd affair indeed!
And that it happen'd, they are all agreed:
Not to detain you from a thing so strange,
A gentleman who lives not far from 'Change,
This week, in short, as all the Alley knows,
Taking a vomit, threw up Three Black Crows !"
Impossible!""Nay, but 'tis really true;
I had it from good hands, and so may you."-
"From whose, I pray ?"- -So, having named the man,
Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran.

66

Sir, did you tell"—relating the affair;

Yes, Sir, I did; and, if 'tis worth your care,

'Twas Mr"-Such-a-one-"who told it me;

But, by the bye, 'twas Two black crows, not Three."
Resolved to trace so wondrous an event,

Quick to the third, the virtuoso went.

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Sir,"-and so forth-" Why, yes; the thing is fact, Though, in regard to number, not exact:

It was not Two black crows, 'twas only One ;

The truth of that you may depend upon :

The gentleman himself told me the case."

"Where may I find him ?"-" Why, in"-such a place.

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Away he went: and, having found him out,—

Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt."

Then to his last informant he referr'd,

And begged to know if true what he had heard;

"Did you, Sir, throw up a black crow ?"-" Not I."

"Bless me!-how people propagate a lie!—

Black crows have been thrown up, Three, Two, and One;
And here I find all comes at last to None!
Did you say nothing of a crow at all ?"

"Crow-crow-perhaps I might,-now I recal
The matter over."-" And pray, Sir, what was't?"
"Why, I was horrid sick, and at the last

I did throw up, and told my neighbour so,
Something that was-as black, Sir, as a crow."

520

THE BABY'S DEBUT.

BY JAMES SMITH

FROM "REJECTED ADDRESSES."

[Spoken in the character of Nancy Lake, a girl eight years of age, who is drawn upon the stage in a child's chaise by Samuel Hughes, her uncle's porter.]

My brother Jack was nine in May,
And I was eight on New Year's day ;

So in Kate Wilson's shop

Papa (he's my papa and Jack's)

Bought me, last week, a doll of wax,
And brother Jack a top.

Jack's in the pouts, and this it is,—
He thinks mine came to more than his;
So to my drawer he goes,

Takes out the doll, and, oh my stars!
He pokes her head between the bars,
And melts off half her nose!

Quite cross, a bit of string I beg,
And tie it to his peg-top's peg,

And bang, with might and main,
Its head against the parlour door;
Off flies the head, and hits the floor,
And breaks a window pane.

This made him cry with rage and spite;
Well, let him cry, it serves him right.
A pretty thing, forsooth!
If he's to melt, all scalding hot,
Half my doll's nose, and I am not
To draw his peg-top's tooth!

Aunt Hannah heard the window break,
And cried, "O naughty Nancy Lake,
Thus to distress your aunt:

No Drury Lane for you to-day!"
And while Papa said, "Pooh, she may !"
Mamma said, "No, she shan't !"

Well, after many a sad reproach,

They got into a hackney coach,

1 The "Rejected Addresses" were suggested to the "witty brothers" James and Horace Smith (now both dead, by the offer of a "premium for an Address to be spoken" at the opening of the new Drury Lane Theatre in 1812;-the former building had been de stroyed by fire. The "Addresses" bore the names of the most popular writers, and are felicitous burlesques of their styles: that in the text imitates Wordsworth's manner.

And trotted down the street.
I saw them go: one horse was blind;
The tails of both hung down behind,
Their shoes were on their feet.

The chaise in which poor brother Bill
Used to be drawn to Pentonville,
Stood in the lumber room:

I wiped the dust from off the top,
While Molly mopped it with a mop,
And brushed it with a broom.

My uncle's porter, Samuel Hughes,
Came in at six to black the shoes
(I always talk to Sam):

So what does he, but takes and drags
Me in the chaise along the flags,
And leaves me where I am?

My father's walls are made of brick,
But not so tall, and not so thick
As these; and, goodness me!
My father's beams are made of wood,
But never, never half so good
As these that now I see.

What a large floor! 'tis like a town!
The carpet, when they lay it down,
Won't hide it, I'll be bound:
And there's a row of lamps;-my eye!
How they do blaze! I wonder why
They keep them on the ground.

At first I caught hold of the wing,
And kept away; but Mr Thing-
Umbob, the prompter man,
Gave with his hand my chaise a shove,
And said," Go on, my pretty love;
Speak to 'em, little Nan.

"You've only got to curtsey, whisp-
Er, hold your chin up, laugh, and lisp,
And then you're sure to take:
I've known the day when brats not quite
Thirteen, got fifty pounds a-night,
Then why not Nancy Lake?"

But while I'm speaking, where's papa?
And where's my aunt? and where's mamma?
Where's Jack? Ob, there they sit !

522 THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE KNIFE-GKINDER.

They smile, they nod; I'll go my ways
And order round poor Billy's chaise,
To join them in the pit.

And now, good gentlefolks, I go
To join mamma, and see the show;
So, bidding you adieu,
I curtsey, like a pretty Miss,
And if you'll blow to me a kiss,
I'll blow a kiss to you.

[Blows kiss, and exit.]

THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE KNIFE-GRINDER.

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Needy Knife-grinder! whither are you going?
Rough is your road, your wheel is out of order;
Bleak blows the blast-your hat has got a hole in't,
So have your breeches.

Weary Knife-grinder! little think the proud ones,
Who, in their coaches, roll along the turnpike-
Road, what hard work 'tis crying all day," Knives and
Scissors to grind, O!"

Tell me, Knife-grinder, how came you to grind knives?
Did some rich man tyrannically use you?
Was it the squire, or parson of the parish,

Or the attorney?

Was it the squire, for killing of his game? or
Covetous parson, for his tithes distraining?
Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little
All in a lawsuit ?

(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine ?) Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,

Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your

Pitiful story.

Knife-grinder.

Story! God bless you, I have none to tell, Sir;
Only last night, a-drinking at the Chequers,
This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were
Torn in a scuffle.

Constables came up for to take me into
Custody; they took me before the justice;
Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish

Stocks for a vagrant.

I should be glad to drink your honour's health in
A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence ;
But, for my part, I never love to meddle

With politics, Sir.

Friend of Humanity.

I give thee sixpence! I will see thee hanged first—
Wretch, whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance-
Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,

Spiritless outcast!

[Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a transport of republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.]

THE FIELD OF GILBOA.

BY WILLIAM KNOX.

The sun of the morning looked forth from his throne,
And beamed on the face of the dead and the dying:
For the yell of the strife like the thunder had flown,
And red on Gilboa the carnage was lying.

And there lay the husband that lately was pressed

To the beautiful cheek that was tearless and ruddy—、 Now the claws of the vulture were fixed in his breast, And the beak of the vulture was busy and bloody.

And there lay the son of the widowed and sad,
Who yesterday went from her dwelling for ever—
Now the wolf of the hills a sweet carnival had

On the delicate limb that had ceased not to quiver.

And there came the daughter, the desolate child,

To hold up the head that was breathless and hoary ;

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