There’s Mr. Wick at Number Nine, But he’s intent on pelf, And though he’s pious, will not love His neighbour as himself. At Number Seven there was a sale-- The goods had quite a run! And here I’ve got my single lot On hand at Number One! My mother often sits at work And talks of props and stays, And what a comfort I shall be In her declining days. The very maids about the house Have set me down a nun; The Sweethearts all belong to them That call at Number One! Once only when the flue took fire, One Friday afternoon, Young Mr. Long came kindly in And told me not to swoon: Why can’t he come again without The Phœnix and the Sun! We cannot always have a flue On fire at Number One! I am not old! I am not plain! Nor awkward in my gait-- I am not crooked, like the bride That went from Number Eight: I’m sure white satin made her look As brown as any bun-- But even beauty has no chance, I think, at Number One! At Number Six they say Miss Rose Has slain a score of hearts, And Cupid, for her sake, has been Quite prodigal of darts. The Imp they show with bended bow, I wish he had a gun! But if he had, he’d never deign To shoot with Number One. It’s very hard, and so it is To live in such a row! And here a ballad singer comes To aggravate my woe. Oh take away your foolish song And tones enough to stun-- There is “Nae luck about the house,” I know, at Number One! A DOUBLE KNOCK. THE DROWNING DUCKS. Amongst the sights that Mrs. Bond Enjoyed, yet grieved at more than others-- Were little ducklings in the pond, Swimming about beside their mothers-- Small things like living water lilies, But yellow as the daffo-_dillies_. “It’s very hard,” she used to moan, “That other people have their ducklings To grace their waters--mine alone Have never any pretty chucklings.” For why!--each little yellow navy Went down--all downy--to old Davy! She had a lake--a pond I mean-- Its wave was rather thick than pearly-- She had two ducks, their napes were green-- She had a drake, his tail was curly,-- Yet spite of drake, and ducks, and pond, No little ducks had Mrs. Bond! The birds were both the best of mothers-- The nests had eggs--the eggs had luck-- The infant D.’s came forth like others-- But there, alas! the matter stuck! They might as well have all died addle, As die when they began to paddle! For when, as native instinct taught her, The mother set her brood afloat, They sank ere long right under water, Like any overloaded boat; They were web-footed too to see, As ducks and spiders ought to be!