A ladder is put to the window, A young fellow pulls off his hat, He springs up that ladder as lithe as an adder, And climbs with the skill of a cat. WE SWEEP LIKE A WAVE PAST THE RED POST! It’s now that the battle begins. Ev’ry eye’s on the blue. In a second or two They’ll be shouting out “Kissing Cup wins!” We’ve got ’em all settled, I think, sir, No! Here comes the Captain’s colt, He’s _us_ at five seven! He’ll beat us――Oh, heaven! But no――he has shot his bolt. I can see the face of a girl, sir, A standing there in the ring, She’s a maiden to meet――(out of Winchester Street), And she’s “backed us like everyding.” I must win this race FOR HER, sir, For hereon there rests a name. Her virgin caresses――her “Empire” dresses, And Victoria Station’s shame. THE AERONAUT CLINGS TO THE CORD, SIR, And owns with too well shown fright That he’s surely come to a chosen tomb In the Channel’s billows so bright. When we sailed from the Crystal Palace, There was scarce a breath of air, And the glitt’ring sun on our huge balloon Made a picture divinely fair. She looked like a golden ball, sir, As she mounted into the skies. Sailed from the crowds and sought the clouds The cynosure of all eyes. But two short hours have passed us, And here we hang o’er the sea, In a terrible plight――not a sail in sight, And descending rapid-lee, A few feet below us――THE OCEAN! We are fully ten miles from the land. Good God! see――she dies――not an inch can we rise FOR WE’VE THROWN OUT THE LAST BAG OF SAND! To recourse――ah, I had but an instant. I leapt――with a cry――to the ground. And, Heaven be praised for its mercy! I stood with the girl safe and sound. * * * * * “And that’s how I lost my arm, sir. If the thing don’t strike you as clear, Put it down to a few o’ the trials I’ve gone through, Or――perhaps it’s along o’ this beer.” _The Sporting Times._ October 20, 1888. ――――:o:―――― THE LIGHTS OF LONDON TOWN. The way was long and weary, But gallantly they strode, A country lad and lassie, Along the heavy road. The night was dark and stormy But blithe of heart were they, For shining in the distance The Lights of London lay. O gleaming lamps of London that gem the City’s crown, What fortunes lie within you, O Lights of London Town. * * * * * GEORGE R. SIMS. See _Ballads of Babylon._ London. John P. Fuller. 1880. ―――― THOSE WIGHTS OF LONDON TOWN. _The Correct Version._