“_I was her own_. Oh! how I lay and sobbed In my poor cradle—deeply, deeply cursing The rich man’s pampered bantling, who had robbed My only birthright—an attentive nursing! Sometimes in hatred of my foster-brother, I gnashed my gums—which terrified my mother. “One day—it was quite early in the week— I _in_ MY _cradle having placed the bantling_— Crept into his! He had not learnt to speak, But I could see his face with anger mantling. It was imprudent—well, disgraceful maybe, For, oh! I was a bad, blackhearted baby! “So great a luxury was food, I think No wickedness but I was game to try for it. _Now_ if I wanted anything to drink At any time, I only had to cry for it! _Once_, if I dared to weep, the bottle lacking, My blubbering involved a serious smacking! “We grew up in the usual way—my friend, My foster-brother, daily growing thinner, While gradually I began to mend, And thrived amazingly on double dinner. And every one, besides my foster-mother, Believed that either of us was the other. “I came into _his_ wealth—I bore _his_ name, I bear it still—_his_ property I squandered— I mortgaged everything—and now (oh, shame!) Into a Somers Town shake-down I’ve wandered! I am no PALEY—no, VOLLAIRE—it’s true, my boy! The only rightful PALEY V. is _you_, my boy! “And all I have is yours—and yours is mine. I still may place you in your true position: Give me the pounds you’ve saved, and I’ll resign My noble name, my rank, and my condition. So far my wickedness in falsely owning Your vasty wealth, I am at last atoning!” * * * * * * * FREDERICK he was a simple soul, He pulled from his pocket a bulky roll, And gave to PALEY his hard-earned store, A hundred and seventy pounds or more. PALEY VOLLAIRE, with many a groan, Gave FREDERICK all that he called his own,— Two shirts and a sock, and a vest of jean, A Wellington boot and a bamboo cane. And FRED (entitled to all things there) He took the fever from MR. VOLLAIRE, Which killed poor FREDERICK WEST. Meanwhile VOLLAIRE sailed off to Madeira’s isle. THE CAPTAIN AND THE MERMAIDS. I SING a legend of the sea, So hard-a-port upon your lee! A ship on starboard tack! She’s bound upon a private cruise— (This is the kind of spice I use To give a salt-sea smack). Behold, on every afternoon (Save in a gale or strong Monsoon) Great CAPTAIN CAPEL CLEGGS (Great morally, though rather short) Sat at an open weather-port And aired his shapely legs. And Mermaids hung around in flocks, On cable chains and distant rocks, To gaze upon those limbs; For legs like those, of flesh and bone, Are things “not generally known” To any Merman TIMBS.