For he said how a sparrow can't founder, d'ye see,
Without orders that come down below;

And a many fine things that proved clearly to me oft
That Providence takes us in tow:

For, says he, do you mind me, let storms ne'er so oft
Take the topsails of sailors aback,

There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!

I said to our Poll (for d'ye see, she would cry
When last we weighed anchor for sea),

What argufies snivelling and piping your eye?
Why, what a young fool you must be!

Can't you see the world's wide, and there's room for us all Both for seamen and lubbers ashore?

And so if to old Davy I go, my dear Poll,

Why, you never will hear of me more.

What, then? all's a hazard: come, don't be so soft;
Perhaps I may, laughing, come back;

For d'ye see? there's a cherub sits smiling aloft,
To keep watch for the life of poor Jack.

D'ye mind me? a sailor should be every inch

All as one as a piece of the ship,

And with her brave the world, without offering to fliren,
From the moment the anchor 's a-trip.

As for me, in all weathers, all times, sides, and ends,
Naught's a trouble from duty that springs;

For my heart is my Poll's and my rhino 's my friend's,
And as for my life, 't is the King's.

Even when my time comes, ne'er believe me so soft;

As for grief to be taken aback;

For the same little cherub that sits up aloft

Will look out a good berth for poor Jack.

TOM BOWLING.

HERE, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling,
The darling of our crew;

No more he'll hear the tempest howling,
For Death has broached him to.

His form was of the manliest beauty,
His heart was kind and soft;
Faithful below he did his duty,
But now he's gone aloft.

Tom never from his word departed,
His virtues were so rare;

His friends were many and true-hearted,
His Poll was kind and fair:

And then he'd sing so blithe and jolly;
Ah, many 's the time and oft!

But mirth is turned to melancholy,
For Tom is gone aloft.

Yet shall poor Tom find pleasant weather,
When He who all commands

Shall give, to call life's crew together,

The word to pipe all hands.

Thus Death, who kings and tars despatches,
In vain Tom's life has doffed;

For though his body's under hatches,
His soul is gone aloft.

THE STANDING TOAST.

(From Dibdin's last song.)

The moon on the ocean was dimmed by a ripple, Affording a checkered delight,

The gay jolly tars passed the word for the tipple And the toast-for 't was Saturday night:

Some sweetheart or wife that he loved as his life, Each drank, while he wished he could hail her; But the standing toast that pleased the most

Was The wind that blows, the ship that goes,

And the lass that loves a sailor! . . .

Some drank our queen, and some our land,
Our glorious land of freedom!

Some that our tars might never stand
For our heroes brave to lead 'em!

That beauty in distress might find

Such friends as ne'er would fail her:

But the standing toast that pleased the most

CHARLES DICKENS.

DICKENS, CHARLES, an English novelist; born February 7, 1812; died June 9, 1870. He was the son of a clerk in the Navy Pay Office, a well-meaning but unpractical man, who could not adjust his means to his necessities. Mr. Dickens was at length confined in the Marshalsea prison, and his family took up their residence in Camden town. When Charles was nine years old he was placed in a blacking warehouse, where he earned six shillings a week. In this neglected, uncongenial, irksome way of earning a scanty living he continued for two years. A small legacy somewhat improved the condition of the family, and Charles was sent to school; but at the age of fifteen he was engaged as office-boy to an attorney in Gray's Inn. He determined to become a reporter, and after mastering the difficulties of shorthand, obtained employment in Doctors' Commons and in the parliamentary gallery. He was then nineteen years of age. At twentythree he was engaged by the "Morning Chronicle."

His first published sketch, "Mrs. Joseph Porter over the Way," appeared in 1834. This was succeeded by other sketches, with the signature of "Boz." In 1836 Dickens began "The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club." Before the completion of "Pickwick," "Oliver Twist" was begun in "Bentley's Magazine." "Pickwick" appeared in book form in 1837, "Oliver Twist" in 1838, and "Nicholas Nickleby" in 1839. Under the general title of "Master Humphrey's Clock," "The Old Curiosity Shop" and "Barnaby Rudge" were published in monthly numbers in 1840-41. In 1842 Dickens visited America, sailing for Boston in January, and returning to England in June. On his return he published "American Notes for General Circulation" (1842), and "Martin Chuzzlewit " (1843).

"The Christmas Carol" (1843) was the first of his popular holiday stories. The others are "The Chimes" (1844), "The Cricket on the Hearth" (1845), "The Battle of Life" (1846), "The Haunted Man" (1848), "Dr. Marigold's Prescription" (1865), "Mugby Junction" (1866), and "No Thoroughfare" (1867), the last of which was written in conjunction with Wilkie Collins. "Pictures from Italy" in 1846. Next came "Dombey and Son" (1847-48) and "David Copperfield" (1849–50).