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He counted the red goud slowly o'er,
And said I had taken the only means,
And now, said he, your husband's safe,
Gang west the street and down the bow,
He is clad in a livery of the green,
O Marjory never flew blithsome bird,
O, never flew lamb out o'er the lea,
The officer I soon found out,
For he could not be mistook,
I asked him for my dear, dear James,
And begged him in his master's name,
He asked me for his true address,
With a voice at which I shook,
I named the name with a buoyant voice,
But the savage brayed a hideous laugh,
He pointed up to the city wall;
His yellow hair waved in the wind,
And far behind did flee,
And his right hand hang beside his check, A waesome sight to see.
His chin hung down on open space,
Yet comely was his brow,
And his een were open to the breeze,
There was nane to close them now.
'What think you of your true love now?' The hideous porter said;
'Is not that a comely sight to see,
O, haud your tong, ye popish slave,
He was dear, dear to my heart before,
I see a sight you cannot see,
And weel I ken yon bonny brent brow,
And yon yellow hair, all blood-stained now,
But can you trow me, Marjory dear,
In the might of heavenly grace,
There was never a sigh burst frae my heart,
But I blessed my God, who had thus seen meet,
To call him home to the courts above,
"Alak, alak, bonny Morley Reid,
That sic days we hae lived to see,
And all this time, I have trembling weened,
Then let us kneel with humble hearts,
Who never yet laid that burden on,
AN ANNUAL TREAT.
HENRY J. BYRON.
I HAVE Some friends, some little friends, who live in Camden Town,
Their Christian names are John, and James, and Jane -their surname Brown
Their father is a City-man," of moderate renown.
Joe Brown's a hearty Hercules, as any one may see, With a step as firm as friendship, though he's rising fifty-three
He's bland and baldish-headed, as a merchant ought to be.
Joe Brown and I were schoolfellows-ye gods, how time doth pass!
It seems but yesterday he stood beside me up "in class."
And now I count the wrinkles as I look into the glass.
It seems but yesterday, I bought from Joe his cricket
That I was thrashed for putting stones into the usher's hat,
And Joe they threatened to expel for grumbling at the fat.
But stop-this is irrelevant-I was about to say,
That as the winter cometh round, on every Boxingday,
I take Brown's little family all panting to the play..
I shall continue to do this, and see in it no crime, Till John and James are grown up men, and talk about their time,
And little Jane shall see no fun in Christmas Pantomime.
The little ones count all the days till Christmas cometh round;
They love to feel the cold and see the snow upon ground:
They spell the coloured play-bills through, all breathless, I'll be bound.
I've had an early dinner, and I've had an early tea, The hour-hand points at six o'clock, the time flies rapidlie,
And well I know those little Browns are looking out
I hire a roomy one-horse fly, I have it every year,
I do not say where we are bound, no need is there to tell,
He's been there some half-dozen times, and knows the house right well,
He driveth bravely to the door, and pulleth at the bell. Above the parlour blinds, the little anxious eyes I see, Young John shouts madly in his joy, and Jane is wild with glee,
And James has flatten'd 'gainst the pane his nose since half-past three.
No tea have those three children had no appetite had
Their tops and hoops neglected lie, untouched for many a day
They have no wish for marbles now, or any kind of play.
A word or so and off we go, all jammed into the fly, We drive up to the theatre-a bill or so we buy ; Young John cannot contain his joy, and wildly shouts "My eye!"
We quickly gain our places, and the overture com
We buy young James the Pantomime, 'tis printed and sixpence is,
Young James doth drop it in the pit, his pleasure so intense is.
The overture is over, and the Pantomime begins,
"Tis full of Ogres, Giants, Fairies, Demons, Dwarfs, and Djinns ;
"Tis called "The King of Laughter and the Island of Broadgrins."
And very grand the children think that mighty King must be,
Who hath a speaking-trumpet voice and head enough for three,
Shakespeare to them's a charlatan, compared to "E. L. B."