FAMILY POETRY. R. HARRIS BARHAM. Zooks! I must woo the Muse to-day, Though line before I never wrote! "On what occasion ?" do you say? OUR DICK HAS GOT A LONG-TAIL'D COAT!! Not a coatee, which soldiers wear Button'd up high about the throat, But easy, flowing, debonair, In short a civil long-tail'd coat. A smarter you'll not find in town, 's the color of Dick's long-tail'd coat. Gay jackets clothe the stately Pole, The proud Hungarian, and the Croat, Yet Esterhazy, on the whole Looks best when in a long-tail'd coat. Lord Byron most admired, we know, But then he died some years ago, Or past all doubt the poet's theme Had never been the "White Capote," Had he once view'd in Fancy's dream, The glories of Dick's long-tail'd coat! We also know on Highland kilt Poor dear Glengarry used to dote, And had esteem'd it actual guilt I' "the Gael" to wear a long-tail'd coat! No wonder 't would his eyes annoy, Jackets may do to ride or race, Of course in climbing up a tree, On terra-firma, or afloat, Would doff awhile his long-tail'd coat. What makes you simper, then, and sneer? Haven't you, too, got a long-tail'd coat? Oh! "Dick's scarce old enough," you mean, 's a ripe age for a long-tail'd coat. What! would you have him sport a chin To figure in a long-tail'd coat? Suppose he goes to France-can he Unless he's got a long-tail'd coat? Why Louis Philippe, Royal Cit, There soon may be a sans culotte, Things are not now as when, of yore, A corselet for a long-tail'd coat; Then ample mail his form embraced, And pinch'd in like Dick's long-tail'd coat. With beamy spear or biting ax, To right and left he thrust and smote- More changes still! now, well-a-day!' Prates of the "March of Intellect"- Alack! alack! that every thick Skull'd lad must find an antidote But lo! my rhyme 's begun to fail, The long tale of Dick's long-tail'd coat. THE SUNDAY QUESTION. THOMAS HOOD. "It is the king's highway that we are in, and in this way it is that thou hast placed the lions."-BUNYAN. WHAT! shut the Gardens! lock the latticed gate! And hang a wooden notice up to state, On Sundays no admittance at this wicket! Of putting too much Sabbath into Sunday— The Gardens-so unlike the ones we dub Of Tea, wherein the artisan carouses- And does not send out porter of a Sunday— The Bear denied! the Leopard under locks! As if his spots would give contagious fevers! The Beaver close as hat within its box; So different from other Sunday beavers! The Birds invisible-the Gnaw-way Rats The Seal hermetically sealed till Monday The Monkey tribe-the Family of Cats— We visit other families on Sunday But what is your opinion, Mrs. Grundy What is the brute profanity that shocks To bend his legs, the way he does, in kneeling? What feature has repulsed the serious set? One thing is plain-it is not in the feeding! For they all eat cold dinners on a Sunday— What change comes o'er the spirit of the place, Turns fell Hyena of the Ghoulish race? The Snake, pro tempore, the true Satanic? Do Irish minds-(whose theory allows That now and then Good Friday falls on Monday)— Do Irish minds suppose that Indian Cows Are wicked Bulls of Bashan on a Sunday?— There are some moody Fellows, not a few, And think when they are dismal they are pious: Has sent the brutes to Coventry till Monday ?- What dire offense have serious Fellows found To raise their spleen against the Regent's spinney? Were charitable boxes handed round, And would not Guinea Pigs subscribe their guinea? Perchance, the Demoiselle refused to molt The feathers in her head-at least till Monday; Or did the Elephant, unseemly, bolt A tract presented to be read on Sunday?— At whom did Leo struggle to get loose? Who mourns through Monkey-tricks his damaged cloth ing? Who has been hissed by the Canadian Goose? As certain wild Itinerants on Sunday- To me it seems that in the oddest way (Begging the pardon of each rigid Socius) |