'Twas on that self-same evening the chairman thought 'twas right, To work his own manoeuvre, 'twas such a roughish night. Three overcoats were on him, with pockets every side, Ten carpet bags he carried, and all were deep and wide. He also had a hatbox, and novel thought, and bright; He stitched a row of stockings behind him out of sight, He loaned a sealskin wallet, a whalebone gingham tent, And through the garden gate he skid, and down the town he went. He skirmished through the darkness, he skulked against the wind, He spankled by some people, and left them all behind. He slewed around a corner, and up the lane he slank, And shuffled thro' the wicket of the courtyard of the Bank. He ducked into the back door, and picking up the stair, He sneaked into the strong room, and, heavens! what was there? The iron door was open, and all the heap of gold Was gone! He sank with horror, and to the floor he rolled. [Illustration] And from beneath the tables and corners of the room, Three coppers scrambled on him, like shadows of his doom. They put him on his trial, and heedless of his rank, He got an awful sentence, for robbing of the Bank. It proves that men are mortal, the sequel I have here, The bankers called a meeting, they called the young cashier. Said they, "You have impressed us with great integritee, We'll give the future management of all the Bank to thee." They made a testimonial, and signed it every one, 'Twas cornered with the pictures of specious deeds he'd done; And on the scroll in beauty, of art did there appear, The tribute of their homage to the honest young cashier. When you prepare for robbing, don't leave your keys about, For fear a wax impression be taken while you're out; And do not come in second, or it might be your doom To chance upon three bobbies from the corners of the room. [Illustration] [Illustration: THE ROAD TO LONDON.] PRETTY maiden, all the way, All the way, all the way, Pretty maiden, why so gay, On the road, to London? "Will you give that rose to me?" "That's the flower, of love," said she, "I'll not give this rose to thee, On the road, to London." "I have got a love, and he, Is a good heart, true to me, 'Tis for him, this rose you see, On the road, to London." "Where is now, that love?" asked he, "He's away from me," cried she, "But he'll soon return to me, On the road, to London." "Would you know him, an' he be Waiting there, by yonder tree?" "Aye would I, on land or sea, Or the road, to London!" "Then my sweetest, I am he, Give that rose of love to me, I have come, to greet with thee, On the road, to London!"