Those curious people in tattered breeches,
The rag-wearing, rag-picking sons of — ditches,
Who find in the very nastiest niches

A "decent living,” and sometimes riches;
How he thought city prices exceedingly queer,
The 'busses too cheap, and the hacks too dear;
How he stuck in the mud, and got lost in the question-
A problem too hard for his mental digestion —

Why in cleaning the city, the city employs

Such a very small corps of such very small boys;
How he judges by dress, and accordingly makes,
By mixing up classes, the drollest mistakes.

How as if simple vanity ever were vicious,
Or women of merit could be meretricious,
He imagines the dashing Fifth-Avenue dames
The same as the girls with unspeakable names!
An exceedingly natural blunder in sooth,
But, I'm happy to say, very far from the truth;
For e'en at the worst, whate'er you suppose,
The one sort of ladies can choose their beaux,
While, as to the other but every one knows

With a bran new hat, and a muslin gown,
And he told the tale, when the sun was down,
How he spent his eagles, and saved his crown ;
How he showed his pluck by resisting the claim
Of an impudent fellow who asked his name;

But paid - as a gentleman ever is willing
At the old Park-Gate, the regular shilling!

YE TAILYOR-MAN.

RI

A CONTEMPLATIVE BALLAD.

IGHT jollie is ye tailyor-man,
As annie man may be;

And all ye daye upon ye benche
He worketh merrilie.

And oft ye while in pleasante wise
He coileth up his lymbes,
He singeth songs ye like whereof
Are not in Watts his hymns.

And yet he toileth all ye while
His merrie catches rolle;
As true unto ye needle as
Ye needle to ye pole.

What cares ye valiant tailyor-man For all ye cowarde feares? Against ye scissors of ye Fates

He pointes his mightie sheares.

He heedeth not ye anciente jests
That witlesse sinners use;
What feareth ye bolde tailyor-man
Ye hissinge of a goose?

He pulleth at ye busie threade,
To feede his lovinge wife

And eke his childe; for unto them
It is ye threade of life.

He cutteth well ye riche man's coate,
And with unseemlie pride

He sees ye little waistcoate in

Ye cabbage bye his side.

Meanwhile ye tailyor-man his wife,
To labor nothinge loth,

Sits bye with readie hande to baste
Ye urchin and ye cloth.

Full happie is ye tailyor-man,

Yet is he often tried,

Lest he, from fullnesse of ye dimes,
Wax wanton in his pride.

Full happie is ye tailyor-man,
And yet he hath a foe,
A cunninge enemie that none
So well as tailyors knowe.

It is ye slipperie customer

Who goes his wicked wayes,

And weares ye tailyor-man his coate

But never, never payes!

THE DEVIL OF NAMES.

A LEGEND.

T an old-fashioned inn, with a pendulous sign,

AT

Once graced with the head of the king of the kine,

But innocent now of the slightest "design,"

Save calling low people to spurious wine,

While the villagers, drinking and playing "all fours," And cracking small jokes, with vociferous roars, Were talking of horses, and hunting, and - scores Of similar topics a bar-room adores,

But which rigid morality greatly deplores,

Till as they grew high in their bacchanal revels,
They fell to discoursing of witches and devils, —
A neat single rap,

Just the ghost of a tap,

That would scarcely have wakened a flea from his nap, Not at all in its sound like your "Rochester Knocking," (Where asses in herds are diurnally flocking,)

But twice as mysterious, and vastly more shocking,
Was heard at the door by the people within,

Who stopped in a moment their clamorous din,
And ceased in a trice from their jokes and their gin;
When who should appear

But an odd-looking stranger somewhat “in the sere,"
(He seemed at the least in his sixtieth year,)
And he limped in a manner exceedingly queer,
Wore breeches uncommonly wide in the rear,
And his nose was turned up with a comical sneer,
And he had in his eye a most villanous leer,
Quite enough to make any one tremble with fear!
Whence he came,

And what was his name,

And what his purpose in venturing out,

And whether his lameness was "gammon" or gout,
Or merely fatigue from strolling about,

Were questions involved in a great deal of doubt, —
When, taking a chair,

With a sociable air,

Like that which your "Uncle "'s accustomed to wear, Or a broker determined to sell you a share

In his splended "New England Gold-mining" affair,
He opened his mouth and went on to declare
That he was a devil! —"The devil you are!"
Cried one of the guests assembled there,

With a sudden start, and a frightened stare!

66

'Nay, don't be alarmed," the stranger exclaims,

"At the name of the devil,—I'm the Devil of Names! You'll wonder why

Such a devil as I,

Who ought, you would say, to be devilish shy,
Should venture in here with never a doubt,
And let the best of his secrets out;

But mind you, my boys,

It's one of the joys

Of the cunningest woman and craftiest man,
To run as quickly as ever they can,
And put a confidante under ban

Not to publish their favorite plan!
And even the de'il

Will sometimes feel

A little of that remarkable zeal,
And (when it's safe) delights to tell
The very deepest arcana of — well;
Besides, my favor this company wins,
For I value next to capital sins

Those out-and-outers who revel in inns!
So, not to delay,

I'm going to say,

In the very fullest and frankest way,
All about my honors and claims,

Projects and plans, and objects and aims,

And why I'm called 'The Devil of Names!'
I cheat by false graces,

And duplicate faces,

K