Or gliding through this busy life, With doctors, nurses, babies, wife; The careful wight patrols the shop, And guards the house from toe to top. And while his thoughts oft debt-ward veer, Some well-known voice salutes his ear, What cheer, old friend, old playmate tell? Cash low, child sick, wife cross――All’s well! From _Wiseheart’s Merry Songster_. Dublin. ―――― ANOTHER PARODY. Deserted by declining day, When weary wights benighted stray; From bush, or cavern, we appear, And scare the traveller’s frighted ear With――“Stand or die, good night. All’s well.” Or riding home from fair or feast, Some farmer plodding o’er his beast; His wit o’erstopped by humming ale, While thus the joskins we assail; “Down every stiver, quickly tell, Your watch, your purse, good night. All’s well!” ANONYMOUS. ―――― ALL’S WELL. Hot from the guard-room’s reeking stew, His spongy great-coat sodden through, His head with senseless shako crowned, The sentry walks rheumatic round. And should civilian querist stray, And question in his saucy way, “What cheer, oh! Sentry, quickly tell.” “In fact, all wrong: in word, All’s well!” From guard-bed comrades’ steaming heap, Turned out all standing, half-asleep, Great-coat on back and stock on neck, His perspiration gets a check; And while, half-starved, he dreams of beer, Could civil question catch his ear, “What cheer, ho! Sentry, quickly tell.” “In fact, all wrong: in word, All’s well!” _Punch._ March 13, 1858. ――――:o:―――― MAY WE NE’ER WANT A FRIEND, NOR A BOTTLE TO GIVE HIM. Since the first dawn of reason that beam’d on my mind And taught me how favoured by fortune my lot, To share that good fortune, I still was inclined, And impart to who wanted, what I wanted not. ’Tis a maxim entitled to ev’ry one’s praise, When a man feels distress, like a man to relieve him, And my motto, tho’ simple, means more than it says, “May we ne’er want a friend, or a bottle to give him.” The heart by deceit or ingratitude rent, Or by poverty bow’d, tho’ of evils the least, The smiles of a friend may invite to content, And we all know content is an excellent feast; ’Tis a maxim entitled to ev’ry one’s praise, When a man feels distress, like a man to relieve him. And my motto, tho’ simple, means more than it says, “May we ne’er want a friend, nor a bottle to give him. THOMAS DIBDIN. ――――