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She walked upon my first. Her stately neck
Bent o'er an object shrouded in her shawl:

I could not see the tears-the glad tears-fall,

Yet knew they fell. And "Ah," I said, "not puppies,

Seen unexpectedly, could lift the pall

From hearts who know what tasting misery's cup is,

As Niobe's, or mine, or Mr. William Guppy's."

Spake John Grogblossom the coachman to Eliza Spinks the cook :

"Mrs. Spinks," says he, "I've founder'd: 'Liza dear, I'm overtook.

Druv into a corner reglar, puzzled as a babe unborn; Speak the word, my blessed 'Liza; speak, and John the coachman's yourn."

Then Eliza Spinks made answer, blushing, to the coachman John:

"John, I'm born and bred a spinster: I've begun

and I'll go on.

Endless cares and endless worrits, well I knows it,

has a wife:

Cooking for a genteel family, John, it's a goluptious

life!

"I gets £20 per annum-tea and things o' course

not reckoned,

There's a cat that eats the butter, takes the coals,

and breaks my second:

There's soci'ty-James the footman;-(not that I

look after him;

But he's aff'ble in his manners, with amazing

length of limb;)

"Never durst the missis enter here until I've said

'Come in':

If I saw the master peeping, I'd catch up the

rolling-pin.

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Christmas-boxes, that's a something; perkisites,

that's something too;

And I think, take all together, John, I won't be on

with you."

John the coachman took his hat up, for he thought he'd had enough;

Rubb'd an elongated forehead with a meditative

cuff;

Paused before the stable doorway; said, when there,

in accents mild,

"She's a fine young 'oman, cook is; but that's where it is, she's spiled."

I have read in some not marvellous tale,
(Or if I have not, I've dreamed)

Of one who filled up the convivial cup
Till the company round him seemed

To be vanished and gone, tho' the lamps upon

Their face as aforetime gleamed:

And his head sunk down, and a Lethe crept

O'er his powerful brain, and the young man slept.

Then they laid him with care in his moonlit bed: But first having thoughtfully fetched some tarAdorn'd him with feathers, aware that the weather's Uncertainty brings on at nights catarrh.

They staid in his room till the sun was high:
But still did the feathered one give no sign

Of opening a peeper-he might be a sleeper

Such as rests on the Northern or Midland line.

At last he woke, and with profound

Bewilderment he gazed around;

Dropped one, then both feet to the ground,

But never spake a word:

Then to my whole he made his way;

Took one long lingering survey;

And softly, as he stole away,

Remarked, "By Jove, a bird!"

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