“In church the people stare at me, Their soul the sermon never binds; I catch them looking round to see, And thoughts of SHAKESPEARE fill their minds. “And sculptors, fraught with cunning wile, Who find it difficult to crown A bust with BROWN’S insipid smile, Or TOMKINS’S unmannered frown, “Yet boldly make my face their own, When (oh, presumption!) they require To animate a paving-stone With SHAKESPEARE’S intellectual fire. “At parties where young ladies gaze, And I attempt to speak my joy, ‘Hush, pray,’ some lovely creature says, ‘The fond illusion don’t destroy!’ “Whene’er I speak, my soul is wrung With these or some such whisperings: ‘’Tis pity that a SHAKESPEARE’S tongue Should say such un-Shakesperian things!’ “I should not thus be criticised Had I a face of common wont: Don’t envy me—now, be advised!” And, now I think of it, I don’t! THE KING OF CANOODLE-DUM. THE story of FREDERICK GOWLER, A mariner of the sea, Who quitted his ship, the _Howler_, A-sailing in Caribbee. For many a day he wandered, Till he met in a state of rum CALAMITY POP VON PEPPERMINT DROP, The King of Canoodle-Dum. That monarch addressed him gaily, “Hum! Golly de do to-day? Hum! Lily-white Buckra Sailee”— (You notice his playful way?)— “What dickens you doin’ here, sar? Why debbil you want to come? Hum! Picaninnee, dere isn’t no sea In City Canoodle-Dum!” And GOWLER he answered sadly, “Oh, mine is a doleful tale! They’ve treated me werry badly In Lunnon, from where I hail. I’m one of the Family Royal— No common Jack Tar you see; I’m WILLIAM THE FOURTH, far up in the North, A King in my own countree!” Bang-bang! How the tom-toms thundered! Bang-bang! How they thumped this gongs! Bang-bang! How the people wondered! Bang-bang! At it hammer and tongs! Alliance with Kings of Europe Is an honour Canoodlers seek, Her monarchs don’t stop with PEPPERMINT DROP Every day in the week! FRED told them that he was undone, For his people all went insane, And fired the Tower of London, And Grinnidge’s Naval Fane. And some of them racked St. James’s, And vented their rage upon The Church of St. Paul, the Fishmongers’ Hall, And the Angel at Islington. CALAMITY POP implored him In his capital to remain Till those people of his restored him To power and rank again. CALAMITY POP he made him A Prince of Canoodle-Dum, With a couple of caves, some beautiful slaves, And the run of the royal rum.