NO TRICKS UPON TRAVELLERS.

A TALE.

A CORNISH Miner, high in wrestling fame,

And THOMAS TRIGGYNIGGY was his name.

To LONDON City Toм would fain be packing;

In hardy enterprise no lad was bolder;

He threw his trusty staff across his shoulder,
And hung his wardrobe on it in a nackin. ❤

The journey was a long one to be sure;
But Tom was hardy and could much endure:

And so he was resolv'd to have's end,

And undermine the Thames, at Gravesend :

Handkerchief.

That deep-laid scheme which Cockney artists gravels:

So vent'rous Tom sat out upon his travels.

The weary way he cheer'd with many a song;

Or whistled careless as he jogg'd along:

Till he the mighty City 'gan approach;

But now he ceas'd to be so cheery,

The night was dark and Tom was weary;
When soon he saw and loudly hail'd a coach :
"Hoa!-Maister Coachman, have'e room for me;
"Can'st taak a body in that's mighty tired."
"Yes"-replied COACHEE-"I have only three:"
The price agreed for, soon the place was hired.
'Twas pitchy dark, Tom could not see a face;
But 'twixt two passengers he took his place.

TOM was a social fellow-lov'd to chatter,

And what the subject was, was no great matter; "Eh, golls!" says Toм, " in such a night as this, "This warm frieze-coat of yours is not amiss, "Be sleaping Maister-may I be so bold?"

TOM shook him, but he only growl'd.

A man who sat Tom's vis-a-vis,

2

Now spoke-" Why look ye, Sir d'ye see,
"That Gem'man there, must needs be dumb,
"Because from RUSSIA he's but lately come,

"And cannot talk our English lingo :

"I am the TUTOR, Sir, to that young lad, "The RUSSIAN'S NEPHEW, and sure man ne'er had

"A wickeder young rogue to teach, by jingo.”

"Why, Sir," says Toм, "'tis my belief,

"The NEPHEW is a little thief;

"Ave stoal'd away my tatey pasty; *
"Sich tricks in jungsters, Sir, be nasty;

“And ef a worn't a cheeld, as I may saay, "Id throw mun out of winder in the waay." But now the crazy vehicle stood still,

Whilst COACHEE turn'd about,

And begg'd the Gem'men to get out,

And ease his tired cattle up the hill:

No sooner said than done,

Each descended-one and one.

And now along the road they're walking,

Of this, and that thing, busy talking;

*Potatoe pasty.