"I can't stand here the whole day long,
To hold your glass of beer!"

With opened mouth and opened eyes,
Up rose the Sub-marine,

And gave a stare to find the sands
And deeps where he had been :
There was no siren with her glass!
No waters ocean-green!

The wet deception from his eyes
Kept fading more and more,
He only saw the bar-maid stand
With pouting lip before—

The small green parlour of The Ship,
And little sanded floor!

DOG-GREL VERSES, BY A POOR BLIND.

"Hark! hark! the dogs do bark,

The beggars are coming "OLD BALLAD.

...

OH what shall I do for a dog?

Of sight I have not got a particle,
Globe, Standard, or Sun,

Times, Chronicle-none
Can give me a good leading article.

A Mastiff once led me about,

But people appeared so to fear him—
I might have got pence

Without his defence,

But Charity would not come near him.

A Bloodhound was not much amiss,
But instinct at last got the upper;

And tracking Bill Soames,

And thieves to their homes,

I never could get home to supper.

A Fox-hound once served me as guide, A good one at hill and at valley; But day after day

He led me astray,

To follow a milk-woman's tally.

A turnspit once did me good turns
At going and crossing, and stopping;
Till one day his breed

Went off at full speed,

To spit at a great fire in Wapping.

A Pointer once pointed my way,
But did not turn out quite so pleasant,
Each hour I'd a stop

At a Poulterer's shop

To point at a very high pheasant.

A Pug did not suit me at all,
The feature unluckily rose up;
And folks took offence

When offering pence,
Because of his turning his nose up.

A Butcher once gave me a dog,

That turned out the worst one of any;

A Bull-dog's own pup,

I got a toss up,

Before he had brought me a penny.

My next was a Westminster Dog,
From Aistrop the regular cadger;
But, sightless, I saw

He never would draw

A blind man so well as a badger.

A greyhound I got by a swop,

But, Lord! we soon came to divorces: He treated my strip

Of cord like a slip,

And left me to go my own courses.

A poodle once towed me along,
But always we came to one harbour;
To keep his curls smart,

And shave his hind part,
He constantly called on a barber.

My next was a Newfoundland brute,
As big as a calf fit for slaughter;
But my old cataract

So truly he backed

I always fell into the water.

I once had a sheep-dog for guide,
His worth did not value a button;
I found it no go,

A Smithfield Ducrow,

To stand on four saddles of mutton.

My next was an Esquimaux dog,

A dog that my bones ache to talk on,
For picking his ways

On cold frosty days

He picked out the slides for a walk on.

Bijou was a lady-like dog,

But vexed me at night not a little,
When tea-time was come

She would not go home,
Her tail had once trailed a tin kettle.

I once had a sort of a Shock,

And kissed a street post like a brother,
And lost every tooth

In learning this truth

One blind cannot well lead another.

A terrier was far from a trump,
He had one defect, and a thorough,
I never could stir,

'Od rabbit the cur!

Without going into the Borough.

My next was Dalmatian, the dog!
And led me in danger, oh crikey!
By chasing horse heels,

Between carriage wheels,

Till I came upon boards that were spiky.

The next that I had was from Cross,
And once was a favourite spaniel
With Nero, now dead,

And so I was lęd

Right up to his den like a Daniel.

A mongrel I tried, and he did,
As far as the profit and lossing,
Except that the kind

Endangers the blind,

The breed is so fond of a crossing.

A setter was quite to my taste,
In alleys or streets broad or narrow,
Till one day I met

A very dead set,

At a very dead horse in a barrow.

I once had a dog that went mad,

And sorry I was that I got him;
It came to a run,

And a man with a gun

Peppered me when he ought to have shot him.

My profits have gone to the dogs,
My trade has been such a deceiver,
I fear that my aim

Is a mere losing game,
Unless I can find a Retriever.

THE KANGAROOS.

A FABLE.

A PAIR of married kangaroos
(The case is oft a human one too)
Were greatly puzzled once to choose
A trade to put their eldest son to:
A little brisk and busy chap,

As all the little K's just then areAbout some two months off the lap,— They're not so long in arms as men are.

A twist in each parental muzzle
Betrayed the hardship of the puzzle-
So much the flavour of life's cup
Is framed by early wrong or right,
And Kangaroos we know are quite
Dependent on their "rearing up.”
The question, with its ins and outs,
Was intricate and full of doubts;
And yet they had no squeamish carings
For trades unfit or fit for gentry,
Such notion never had an entry,

For they had no armorial bearings.
Howbeit they're not the last on earth
That might indulge in pride of birth;
Whoe'er has seen their infant young
Bob in and out their mother's pokes,

Would own, with very ready tongue,