The way was long, the wind was cold, The cab-hack was infirm and old. His withered hide, a dirty grey, Seemed to have known a better day; His nose-bag, sole remaining joy, Was pilfered by a ragged boy. The last of all the hacks was he, Of bony frame and broken knee: For, well-a-day, their date was fled, His wretched brethren all were dead; And he, neglected and oppressed, Wished to be with them, and at rest. No more ’neath damsel lightly borne, He caracolled like lark at morn; No longer curried and caressed, Snug placed in stall of corn the best, He pranced for lord and lady gay Throughout the equine-octial day. His form was changed, his strength was gone, A stranger owned his frame of bone; His master of the iron time To starve him thought it not a crime―― A wandering cabby, scorned and poor, He urged his hack from door to door, And drove, to win a peasant’s fare, The horse that once a lord did bear. He crawled where London’s smoky Tower Looks out from Thames’ muddy bower; The cab-hack gazed with wistful eye, Alas! no resting-place was nigh, With weak and faltering step at last The glaring sausage-shop he passed, Whose ponderous chopping-up machine The rest of all his race had seen. The shopman marked his weary pace, His hang-dog mien and bony face, And bade his boy the cabby tell He’d buy if he the hack would sell; For he had bought much worse than he, Though born of racing pedigree, In pride of power, in beauty’s bloom―― They’d gone unwept to this same tomb. _Funny Folks._ ―――― THE BRAY OF THE LAST DONKEY. The way was long, the wind was cold, The donkey was infirm and old; His wrinkled nose and rough coat grey, Seemed to have known a better day; A whip, that sadden’d all his joy, Was wielded by an awful boy; The last of all his race was he, Who lived in age of chivalry. For, well-a-day, their date had fled, His long-ear’d brethren all were dead; And he, o’er-loaded and oppress’d, Would soon be with them――and at rest. No more with light load gladly borne, He caracolled from night till morn; No longer well-fed and caress’d. High placed in stall, a welcome guest, He pour’d to lord and lady gay His most unmusical of bray; Old steeds were changed, the donkeys gone, The stalls with horses filled alone, Proud favourites of degenerate time―― Even his braying call’d a crime, A groggy donkey, starved and poor, He carried sand from door to door, Hard words and blows still doomed to bear. Till death relieves him from his care. ANONYMOUS. ―――― THE LAY OF THE LAST MINISTRY.