His brow was dark with smoke and soot, His raiment, rags from head to foot; And like a penny trumpet rung The beery accents of his tongue―― “’Brellas to mend.” He lingered at the corner “pub,” He drew his last coin from his fob; He quaffed his glass of half-and-half, And only answered to their chaff―― “’Brellas to mend.” “Go not again,” the landlord said, “Wild blows the tempest overhead, Your rags will lash you unto death.” Our friend replied with bated breath―― “’Brellas to mend.” “Oh, stay,” the daughter said, “and rest Thy weary head upon this breast; Why should’st thou from our presence fly?” This was the tinker’s sad reply―― “’Brellas to mend.” “Beware the stern blue-coated man―― Beware the falling chimney-can;” Such was the landlord’s parting word, And this was the reply they heard―― “’Brellas to mend.” In Duke Street, at the break of day, Within a court the tinker lay; In falling he his leg had broke, When gently raised, these words he spoke―― “’Brellas to mend.” He died; his body calmly rests; His ghost the lonely streets infests; And often at the midnight hour A voice cries, with sepulchral power―― “’Brellas to mend.” _Teddy May and other Poems_, by William Thomson, Glasgow, 1883. [Illustration] VOICES OF OUR NIGHTS. (Submitted to the American Poet, by Mr. Wrongfellow). I heard the feline footsteps in the night Pad through the Court and Hall! I saw the sable wretch in the moon’s light Climb MRS. COXE’S Wall! I felt her (that I did! I’m sure I’m right!) Step o’er me just above; With shrill pathetic mewings through the night, As of a cat in love. I heard the sounds of passion and of fight, The caterwauling chimes, That fill each attic chamber in the night, Where some starved poet rhymes. My night-capped head in the cool midnight air Sought vainly some repose; The echo of perpetual squalls rose there, From the new cistern rose. Peace! peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer! Descend, you green-eyed fright! I hate, while thus you screech, and spit, and swear, The cat-infested night! _Punch_, May 4, 1861. ―――――――― PICKED UP AT THE STALL ENTRANCE TO THE NOVELTY THEATRE. I know a maiden fair to see―― K. V.! K. V.! (Cave!) She dances most bewitchingly―― K. V.! K. V.! Her twinkling feet, her ankles neat, Her _pirouettes_, her glances sweet, Will make your heart more quickly beat―― K. V.! K. V.! When you are seeing “Lalla Rookh”―― K. V.! K. V.! O keep your eyes upon the book―― K. V.! K. V.! Or Kate’s fair face, and facile grace Will “mash” you in a moment’s space; Then yours will be a hopeless case―― K. V.! K. V.!