For weeks he trod his self-made beats Through Newport- Gerrard- Bear- Greek- Rupert- Frith- Dean- Poland- Streets, And into Golden Square. But all, alas! in vain, for when He tried to learn the way Of little boys or grown-up men, They none of them would say. Their eyes would flash—their teeth would grind— Their lips would tightly curl— They’d say, “Thy way thyself must find, Thou misdirecting churl!” And, similarly, also, when He tried a foreign friend; Italians answered, “_Il balen_”— The French, “No comprehend.” The Russ would say with gleaming eye “Sevastopol!” and groan. The Greek said, “Τυπτω, τυπτομαι, Τυπτω, τυπτειν, τυπτων.” To wander thus for many a year That Crusher never ceased— The Men of London dropped a tear, Their anger was appeased. At length exploring gangs were sent To find poor FORTH’S remains— A handsome grant by Parliament Was voted for their pains. To seek the poor policeman out Bold spirits volunteered, And when they swore they’d solve the doubt, The Men of London cheered. And in a yard, dark, dank, and drear, They found him, on the floor— It leads from Richmond Buildings—near The Royalty stage-door. With brandy cold and brandy hot They plied him, starved and wet, And made him sergeant on the spot— The Men of London’s pet! TO THE TERRESTRIAL GLOBE. BY A MISERABLE WRETCH. ROLL on, thou ball, roll on! Through pathless realms of Space Roll on! What though I’m in a sorry case? What though I cannot meet my bills? What though I suffer toothache’s ills? What though I swallow countless pills? Never _you_ mind! Roll on! Roll on, thou ball, roll on! Through seas of inky air Roll on! It’s true I’ve got no shirts to wear; It’s true my butcher’s bill is due; It’s true my prospects all look blue— But don’t let that unsettle you! Never _you_ mind! Roll on! [_It rolls on_. GENTLE ALICE BROWN. IT was a robber’s daughter, and her name was ALICE BROWN, Her father was the terror of a small Italian town; Her mother was a foolish, weak, but amiable old thing; But it isn’t of her parents that I’m going for to sing. As ALICE was a-sitting at her window-sill one day, A beautiful young gentleman he chanced to pass that way; She cast her eyes upon him, and he looked so good and true, That she thought, “I could be happy with a gentleman like you!” And every morning passed her house that cream of gentlemen, She knew she might expect him at a quarter unto ten; A sorter in the Custom-house, it was his daily road (The Custom-house was fifteen minutes’ walk from her abode).