Tag, Rag, and Bobtail, are capering there, Worse scene, I ween, than Bartlemy Fair!-- Two or three chimney-sweeps, two or three clowns, Playing at "pitch and toss," sport their "Browns," Two or three damsels, frank and free, Are ogling, and smiling, and sipping Bohea. Parties below, and parties above, Some making tea, and some making love. Then the "toot--toot--toot" Of that vile demi-flute,-- The detestable din Of that cracked violin, And the odors of "Stout," and tobacco, and gin! "--Dear me!" I exclaim'd, "what a place to be in!" And I said to the person who drove my "shay" (A very intelligent man, by the way), "This, all things considered, is rather too gay! It don't suit my humor,--so take me away! Dancing! and drinking!--cigar and song! If not profanation, it's 'coming it strong,' And I really consider it all very wrong.-- --Pray, to whom does this property now belong?"-- He paus'd, and said, Scratching his head, "Why I really DO think he's a little to blame, But I can't say I knows the gentleman's name!" "Well--well!" quoth I, As I heaved a sigh, And a tear-drop fell from my twinkling eye, "My vastly good man, as I scarcely doubt That some day or other you'll find it out, Should he come in your way, Or ride in your 'shay' (As perhaps he may), Be so good as to say That a Visitor whom you drove over one day, Was exceedingly angry, and very much scandalized, Finding these beautiful ruins so Vandalized, And thus of their owner to speak began, As he ordered you home in haste, No DOUBT HE'S A VERY RESPECTABLE MAN, But--'_I_ CAN'T SAY MUCH FOR HIS TASTE!'" FAMILY POETRY. R. HARRIS BARHAM Zooks! I must woo the Muse to-day, Though line before I never wrote! "On what occasion?" do you say? Our Dick has got a long-tail'd coat!! Not a coatee, which soldiers wear Button'd up high about the throat, But easy, flowing, debonair, In short a CIVIL long-tail'd coat. A smarter you'll not find in town, Cut by Nugee, that snip of note; A very quiet olive brown 's the color of Dick's long-tail'd coat. Gay jackets clothe the stately Pole, The proud Hungarian, and the Croat, Yet Esterhazy, on the whole Looks best when in a long-tail'd coat Lord Byron most admired, we know, The Albanian dress, or Suliote, But then he died some years ago, And never saw Dick's long-tail'd coat; Or past all doubt the poet's theme Had never been the "White Capote," Had he once view'd in Fancy's dream, The glories of Dick's long-tail'd coat! We also know on Highland kilt Poor dear Glengarry used to dote, And had esteem'd it actual guilt I' "the Gael" to wear a long-tail'd coat! No wonder 'twould his eyes annoy, Monkbarns himself would never quote "Sir Robert Sibbald," "Gordon," "Ray," Or "Stukely" for a long-tail'd coat.