“I never liked him, never, in my days!” [“Oh yes--you did”--said Ellen with a sob,] “There always _was_ a something in his ways--” [“So sweet--so kind,” said Ellen, with a throb,] “His very face was what I call a snob, And, spite of West-end coats and pantaloons, He had a sort of air of the swell mob; I’m sure when he has come of afternoons To tea, I’ve often thought--I’ll watch my spoons!” “The spoons!” cried Ellen, almost with a scream, “Oh cruel--false as cruel--and unjust! He that once stood so high in your esteem!” “He!” cried the dame, grimacing her disgust, “I like him?--yes--as any body must An infidel that scoffs at God and Devil: Didn’t he bring you Bonaparty’s bust? Lord! when he calls I hardly can be civil-- _My_ favourite was always Mr. Neville. “Lorenzo?--I should like, of earthly things, To see him hanging forty cubits high; Doesn’t he write like Captain Rocks and Swings? Nay, in this very letter bid you try To make yourself particular, and tie A tail on--a prodigious tail!--Oh, daughter! And don’t he ask you down his area--fie! And recommend to cut your being shorter, With brick-bats round your neck in ponds of water?” Alas! to think how readers thus may vary A writer’s sense!--What mortal would have thought Lorenzo’s hint about Professor Airy And Pond to such a likeness could be brought! Who would have dreamt the simple way he taught To make a comet of poor Ellen’s moon, Could furnish forth an image so distraught, As Ellen, walking Regent Street at noon, Tail’d--like a fat Cape sheep, or a racoon! [Illustration: “STICK AS YOU BE--THAT’S THE COMET.”] And yet, whate’er absurdity the brains May hatch, it ne’er wants wet-nurses to suckle it! Or dry ones, like a hen, to take the pains To lead the nudity abroad, and chuckle it; No whim so stupid but some fool will buckle it To jingle bell-like on his empty head, No mental mud--but some will knead and knuckle it, And fancy they are making fancy-bread;-- No ass has written, but some ass has read. No dolts could lead if others did not follow ’em. No Hahnémann could give decillionth drops, If any man could not be got to swallow ’em; But folly never comes to such full stops. As soon, then, as the Mother made such swaps Of all Lorenzo’s meanings, heads and tails, The Father seized upon her malaprops-- “My girl down areas--of a night! ’Ods nails! I’ll stick the scoundrel on his area-rails!” [Illustration: TAILS OF THE HAUL BY CRAB.]