They saw the Abbey Mill Pumps Work grandly up and down, Which save the mud and garbage Infecting London town; And when they had inspected, With noses satisfied, Down sat they to a banquet sprent O’er a white table in the tent Pitched over Stratford side. But ere they sat to dine there On fowl and beef and tongue, They, on the steamboat fore and aft, The wine and bitter beer had quaffed, Till, in the language of their craft, Each Vestryman was “sprung.” Now dinner barely over, With more drink doled to each, Higgins the noble shopkeeper, Arose to make a speech―― Higgins who all the noblemen Of Clerkenwell supplies; And near him sat brave Podger, who The letter H defies, But Higgins when in liquor Of speech is somewhat thick, Yet dealeth he in chaff which is Extremely apt to stick. At Higgins’ muddled periods Stout Podger hurled a sneer, And Higgins answered with an oath Meet for a Vestry’s ear. Now by the crest of Mary, Mary surnamed Le Bone, The ire of Podger swiftly rose To hear the scoffer’s tone. An empty bottle wielding He aimed it at his crown, And with unerring fleetness Tumbled his foeman down. Then flamed the wrath of Vestries, And blows and curses sped, And fowl-bones flew, and H’s dropped, But still undaunted Podger whopped, With champagne bottles that had popped, Prone Higgins’s bare head. The battle now grew general; Boggle at Hunks let fly! Hunks aimed a blow at Boggle That caught him in the eye; While Grigg and Globb and Blenkinsop Around dealt broken pates; Still Podger’s stick dealt many a blow, Till mastered by the numerous foe That hurled him far and laid him low Among the knives and plates. The Ilford beaks look sternly Upon a Guardian’s fault; The Ilford beaks fined Podger Five pounds for each assault, Still let us sing in triumph With all a minstrel’s powers, How Vestrymen behave themselves In the brave days of ours. _The Tomahawk._ September 19, 1868. ―――― A LAY OF ANCIENT ROME. _New-laid in Modern London._ Ho, Bugler, give a tootle! Ho, Peeler, keep the way; For the Mayor will ride in all his pride To Temple Bar to-day: To-day the doors and windows Are hung with banners all, From Buckingham’s famed Palace, To the Churchyard of St. Paul. And forth ride Mayor and Sheriffs, All duly chained and gowned; A well-trained charger under each, Treads gingerly the ground. While stands the old Cathedral, And, till the Law Courts rise, So great a sight shall not delight Again our wondering eyes. Sweet is the First of April―― November’s Ninth is gay; But they may not compare a jot With this Thanksgiving Day.