THE BISHOP OF RUM-TO-FOO.

FROM east and south the holy clan
Of bishops gathered to a man;
To Synod, called Pan-Anglican,

In flocking crowds they came.
Among them was a bishop, who
Had lately been appointed to
The balmy isle of Rum-ti-Foo,

And Peter was his name.

His people-twenty-three in sum—
They played the eloquent tum-tum,
And lived on scalps served up in rum→

The only sauce they knew.
When first good Bishop Peter came
(For Peter was that bishop's name).
To humor them he did the same
As they of Rum-ti-Foo.

His flock, I've often heard him tell, (His name was Peter) loved him well, And, summoned by the sound of bell, In crowds together came. "Oh, massa, why you go away? Oh, Massa Peter, please to stay." (They called him Peter, people say,

Because it was his name.)

Another game the dancer planned— "Just take your ankle in your hand, And try, my lord, if you can standYour body stiff and stark. If, when revisiting your see, You learnt to hop on shore-like meThe novelty would striking be, And must attract remark."

"no:

"No," said the worthy bishop,
That is a length to which, I trow,
Colonial bishops cannot go.

You may express surprise
At finding bishops deal in pride-
But if that trick I ever tried,
I should appear undignified
In Rum-ti-Foozle's eyes.

"The islanders of Rum-ti-Foo
Are well-conducted persons, who
Approve a joke as much as you,

And laugh at it as such;
But if they saw their bishop land,
His leg supported in his hand,
The joke they wouldn't understand-
"Twould pain them very much!"

With her tempting smiles

And maidenly wiles,

And he was a trifle past seventy-three.

Now what she could see

Is a puzzle to me

In a prophet of seventy-seventy-three.

A dear little lad

Who drove 'em half mad,

For he turned out a horribly fast little cad.

For when he was born he astonished all by, With their "Law, dear me !" "Did ever you see?"

(With his ill-bred laugh,
And insolent chaff,)

With those of the nursery heroines rare

Virginia the fair,

Or Good Goldenhair,

Till the nuisance was more than a prophet could bear.

A hat all awry—

An octagon tie

For better or worse With his elderly nurse

trive:

His health didn't thrive--
No longer alive,

He died an enfeebled old dotard at five!

MORAL.

Now, elderly men of the bachelor crew,
With wrinkled hose
And spectacled nose,

he'd say,

With his "Fal, lal, lal""'Oo doosed fine gal!"

This shocking precocity drove 'em away:

"A month from to-day

Is as long as I'll stay

Then I'd wish, if you please, for to toddle away."

His father, a simple old gentleman, he
With nursery rhyme

And "Once on a time,"

Would tell him the story of "Little Bo-P,"

"So pretty was she,

So pretty and wee,

As pretty, as pretty, as pretty could be."

But the babe, with a dig that would startle

an ox,

With his "C'ck! Oh, my!-
Go along wiz 'oo, fie!"

Would exclaim: "I'm afraid oo a socking

old fox."

Now a father it shocks,
And it whitens his locks

When his little babe calls him a shocking old

fox.

If ever you do

The step you will rue,

For your babies will be elderly-elderly too.

BAINES CAREW, GENTLEMAN.

Or all the good attorneys who

Have placed their names upon the roll, But few could equal Baines Carew

For tender-heartedness and soul.
Whene'er he heard a tale of woe
From client A or client B,
His grief would overcome him so

He'd scarce have strength to take his fee.

It laid him up for many days,
When duty led him to distrain,
And serving writs, although it pays,
Gave him excruciating pain.

He made out costs, distrained for rent,
Foreclosed and sued, with moistened

"And when Carew's advice I've got,
Divorce a mensa I shall try."
(A legal separation-not
A vinculo conjugii.)

"Oh, Baines Carew, my woe I've kept
A secret hitherto, you know;"
(And Baines Carew, Esquire, he wept
To hear that Bagg had any woe.)

"My case, indeed, is passing sad.

My wife-whom I considered trueWith brutal conduct drives me mad." "I am appalled," said Baines Carew.

"What! sound the matrimonial knell
Of worthy people such as these!
Why was I an attorney ? Well-
Go on to the sævitia, please."
"Domestic bliss has proved my bane-
A harder case you never heard,
My wife (in other matters sane)
Pretends that I'm a Dicky bird!

He lived among a working clan, (A wife he hadn't got at all,) A decent, steady, sober man-No saint, however-not at all.

He smoked, but in a modest way, Because he thought he needed it; He drank a pot of beer a day,

And sometimes he exceeded it.

At times he'd pass with other men A loud convivial night or two, With, very likely, now and then, On Saturdays, a fight or two.

But still he was a sober soul,

A labor-never-shirking man, Who paid his way--upon the whole A decent English working man.

and with drones:

All day and all night he delighted the chiels

With sniggering pibrochs and jiggety reels.

He'd clamber a mountain and squat on the ground,

And the neighboring maidens would gather

around

To list to the pipes and gaze on his een, Especially Ellen McJones Aberdeen.

All loved their McClan, save a Sassenach brute,

Who came to the Highlands to fish and to shoot;

He dressed himself up in a Highlander way, Tho' his name it was Pattison Corby Torbay.

Torbay had incurred a good deal of expense, To make him a Scotchman in every sense; But this is a matter, you'll readily own, That isn't a question of tailors alone.

A Sassenach chief may be bonily built, He may purchase a sporran, a bonnet, and kilt;

Stick a skean in his hose-wear an acre of stripes

But he cannot assume an affection for pipes.

Clonglocketty's pipings all night and all day Quite frenzied poor Pattison Corby Torbay; The girls were amused at his singular spleen, Especially Ellen McJones Aberdeen..

will,

And (this was, I think, in extremely bad taste)

Divided Clonglocketty close to the waist.