Puslapio vaizdai
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Baskets well stored with beef and ham,
And raisin-wine, and ale,

Are there, that they on Richmond's banks,
May heartily regale.

Job's pockets, too, with provender
Of every kind are fill'à-

There cakes, gloves, shoes, and oranges,

Lie on each other piled.

Now, on the packet's level deck

Our voyagers appear→

What bursts of admiration rise,

"Oh Ma!"-" Oh Pa !""Oh dear !"

Till from the sun, or from the stream,
Bursts forth such ardent heat,
Lucy and Jane no wine can drink,
Nor bread and butter eat.

Will look'd quite pale, and Tom was sick,
Mamma sat full of gloom;

While passengers cried, half in wrath,
"Children are best at home!"

Job thought so too, but mute remain❜d-
A patient man was he,
Content his darlings dear to soothe,
With two upon each knee;

When, ah! an unexpected breeze,
With direful malice big,

Blew off, O sad exposure that!
His deary's hat and wig.

Loud scream'd poor Mrs. J., for, lo!
Her head was nearly bald;
In one fierce yell the children join'd,
And on their father call'd.

Job started up, with rash attempt,
The hat and wig to save,

But by his head o'erbalanced was,
And soused into the wave.

Louder and louder squall'd the throng,
A boat was quickly mann'd-
Till, dripping, Job aboard was haul'd,
With hat and wig in hand.

And still dismay'd, though in such plight,
His Dolly to behold,

He clapp'd the wet wig on her pate,
For fear she should take cold.

At length they came to Richmond Hill-
Of clothes Job sought a change;
Then, with his wife upon his arm,
Went through the Park to range.

Well pleased they were with all they saw,
The oak-trees and the crows;
The latter they call'd pheasant cocks,
And took the deer for cows!

Nor by the children, Ma, or Dad,
Was there a moment lost,

For, as they walk'd, they talk'd and munch'd
Ham, biscuits, fruit, and toast.

By chance they saw glide o'er the path
A frighten'd harmless hare,

Which little John pronounced a wolf—
It had so wild a stare.

Said Job, "The boy reads in Buffon,
"We'd best keep close together,-
"I wish we were all safe at home;
"I don't much like the weather."

And very soon the rain began
In torrents to come down,-
And they without umbrellas were,
Full three miles from the town.

Job hoisted now upon his back
Some two or three to ride,

While Dolly nursed the smallest boy-
The others crawl'd and cried.

Quoth Job, "If this be pleasuring, "For which the cockneys mope, "I'd rather pick the raisins-aye, "Or even shut up shop."

Now hats, and shoes, and gloves, and boots,
Came off at every step,

Till Job, with all his patience, Sir,
Could scarce his temper keep.

And when at last they gain'd the street,
How all the folks did stare !—
Some thought they were a Gipsey gang
Returning from a fair.

But, what was worse than all the rest,
The steam-packet was gone,
And they were left in Richmond town,
While night was coming on.

The place was full of company,-
And not an inn was there,
For such a strangely draggled train,
A single bed could spare.

But Job soon hired a butcher's cart
For shillings twenty three,

In which his wife and children rode,
While forced to trudge was he.

"Twas daylight when their house they reach'd, Which made the neighbours roar;

And when Job told his sufferings,

They only laugh'd the more.

Job heeded not what people said,—
Let fools, thought he, go roam;
For me there is no earthly place
So beautiful as Home.

MONSIEUR LE GRAND;

OR, PUTTING A STOP TO IT.

During the troubles occasioned by the French Revolution, in 1793, Monsieur Le Grand, one of the ancien regime, sought refuge from the popular fury of the polished Parisians in the town of Southampton; where, being rather gifted by nature in his personal appearance, and having, a-la-mode de Français, quite enough to say for himself-of his former grandeur in the vieille cour, and his future expectations when Louis le Desiré should come back again to the Tuilleries he contrived to get into the good graces of a young lady of that town, who, in addition to many other accomplishments, possessed a very competent fortune.

In due time they were married; and, as duly, Mrs. -or, as the Frenchman styled her, Madame Le Grand, was pronounced to be in the way that "ladies wish to be who love their lords ;" a way that, as every one knows, is styled par excellence "the family way."

This caused much exultation in Monsieur's mind; who, as the period of Madame's accouchement approached, indulged in as many fancies, and gave himself as many airs, as my lady herself could do: according to his account, the future fortunes of France all depended on the welfare of the expected infant, who he had long previously determined should be a boy. The nurse was had in attendance weeks before any symptoms had appeared to render her ministry necessary; and the doctor had been engaged even before it was at all certain his services would be required.

At length, after a world of expectation, the interesting moment approached; Monsieur Le Grand was. pacing up and down his front parlour, deeply wrapped in meditation on the future unborn, when a gentle knock at the parlour door announced the attendance of Sally, Madame Le Grand's soubrette.

Quoth Job, "If this be pleasuring, "For which the cockneys mope, "I'd rather pick the raisins-aye, "Or even shut up shop."

Now hats, and shoes, and gloves, and boots,
Came off at every step,

Till Job, with all his patience, Sir,
Could scarce his temper keep.

And when at last they gain'd the street,
How all the folks did stare !—
Some thought they were a Gipsey gang
Returning from a fair.

But, what was worse than all the rest,
The steam-packet was gone,
And they were left in Richmond town,
While night was coming on.

The place was full of company,-
And not an inn was there,
For such a strangely draggled train,
A single bed could spare.

But Job soon hired a butcher's cart
For shillings twenty three,

In which his wife and children rode,
While forced to trudge was he.

"Twas daylight when their house they reach'd, Which made the neighbours roar ;

And when Job told his sufferings,

They only laugh'd the more.

Job heeded not what people said,-
Let fools, thought he, go roam;
For me there is no earthly place
So beautiful as Home.

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