Hail to thee, her Organ Grinder! Hail to thee, thou Fossilfeller! Hail to thee, O Afterglower! Hail to thee, the Celtic Chairer! Hail to thee, O Wandering Jew! Hail to thee, the Magna Charta! Hail to thee, O great Kirkpaddy! Hail to thee, Cephalic Mewer! Hail to thee, no Small Pertater! Hail to thee, the great Schoolboarder! Hail to thee, her Comet-gazer! Hail to thee, the Soda-fountain! Hail to thee, thou Cubic Crystal! Hail to thee, O Science Gossip! Hail to thee, the Engine-Driver! Hail to thee, thou great Darwiner! Hail to thee, the Eye-restorer! Hail to thee, O great Lunatic! Hail to thee, her long Gatekeeper! Hail to ye, her famous Children! Hail to ye, O Students' Council! Hail to ye, her many Students! Hail to me, her Song Composer! Hail to ye, all her Children, Friends, And Near Relations, on that day! All hail to our Alma Mater On her natal morn be given!!![5] * * * * * The author of _The Dagonet Ballads_ has produced so many pathetic poems, descriptive of the terrible miseries of our London poor, that one is rather apt to overlook the humorous poetry proceeding from the same pen. But, like all true masters of pathos, this poet of the people has the power to summon up smiles through our tears. It was well said of Tom Hood "that the blending of the grave with the gay which pervaded his writings, makes it no easy task to class his poems under the heads of 'serious' and 'comic.'" This remark applies with equal force to the poems of George R. Sims, and were it possible to anticipate the verdict of posterity we might expect to find the names of Hood and Sims classed together; indeed, so far as practical results are concerned, the philanthropical efforts of the younger poet are likely far to exceed anything that was achieved by the author of _The Bridge of Sighs_ and _The Song of the Shirt_. But this is not the place to consider Mr. Sims' position as a serious writer, although, indeed, even the following poem has a moral:-- A PLUMBER. (_An Episode of a rapid Thaw._) The dirty snow was thawing fast, As through the London streets there passed A youth, who, mid snow, slush, and ice, Exclaimed, "I don't care what's the price-- A Plumber!" His brow looked mad, his eye beneath Was fixed and fierce--he clenched his teeth, While here and there a bell he rung, But found not all the shops among A Plumber. He saw his home, he saw the light Wall-paper sopped--a gruesome sight. He saw his dining-room afloat, He cried, "I'll give a fi' pun note-- A Plumber!"