In Dover, when my purse was low, One luckless night, ’twixt sheets of snow, At an hotel most travellers know, Did I, Sir, slumber cosily. But Dover shock’d at morn my sight With _such_ a bill for that brief night, Such whacking sums for wax to light The darkness of its hostelry! My tea and crumpets’ cost array’d, That a rogue drew the bill betray’d, And furious overcharges made, The whole a dreadful robbery. Then shrank my purse, to plunder given: Then wagg’d my tongue, to scolding driven; And at these scamps, on cheating thriven, Fierce flash’d my eyes’ artillery. But fiercer yet did those eyes glow, When reft of means “express” to go, From Dover, in the third-class low, Was I, Sir, rolling crawlingly. ’Twas morn, but deuce a bit of sun Pierced through the clouds; they were as “dun” As I,――excuse the horrid pun―― In that infernal hostelry. The subject sickens. On, thou knave! And dig base Imposition’s grave; Shave, landlords! all your guests close shave, And overcharge in rivalry! Few, few return, where many meet, Or press again the snow-white sheet; The _Times_, ye hosts, who foully cheat, Will be your swindling’s sepulcre. _Diogenes_, November, 1853. ―――― THE BATTLE OF BULL-RUN. At Bull-run, when the sun was low, Each Southern face was pale as snow; And shrill as jackdaws, rose the crow Of Yankees boasting _rabidly_! But Bull-Run saw another sight, When in the deepening shades of night Towards Fairfax Court-house, streamed the flight Of Yankees running _rapidly_! Then shook the corps, with terror riven Then rushed the steeds, _from_ battle driven; The men of “Battery number seven” Forsook their red artillery. Now from McDonald’s furthest left, The roar of cannon strikes one deaf; Where furious “Abe” and fiery “Jeff” Contend for death or victory. The _panic_ thickens; Off ye Brave! Throw down your arms; _your bacon save_! Waive Washington, each scruple waive, And fly with all your chivalry. ―――― SIC VOS, NON VOBIS, VERSIFICATIS AVE. At Seacliff, when the time passed slow, And summer’s sun refused to show, Relentless was the steady flow Of raindrops pattering drearily. But Seacliff saw another sight, The band struck up at ten at night, And Volunteers in leggings tight, Awoke the dance right cheerily. By willing steward’s friendly aid The warrior sought the smiling maid, And charged, as each musician played, Adown the hall, hung tastily.