No ruins kept in neat repair, No new "antiques" for me; No arbours where the earwigs fall Into the strangers' tea! I love not the "last omnibus"— Dark vehicle of fate— That always when 'tis sought at nine, Has left at half-past eight! My home is on the raging seas, Or some far distant shore, Though in my office I am pent Each day from ten till four. Vast Egypt's parched and burning sands No strangers are to me; Though I must be at home at ten, And have not a latch-key! Each night—or mayhap morning— Should leisure on me smile, My heart rebounds beholding The wonders of the Nile; The Sphynx's solemn majesty, That Kinglake could appal, I solve for just a shilling At the Egyptian Hall. Or led by golden longings (I'm also fond of "change"), My gaze on California Delightedly will range, Beholding Nature's grandest gifts, With blackguardism blent, All open to the public at The same establishment! To India's burning shores I go, Across the ocean grand, Or patronize the other route— The famous "overland;" With Stocqueler's companionship, Along the sands sublime, From Regent Street the journey's made 'Tween lunch and dinner time. While slaves at Verray's, "cabin'd cribb'd," Walk into plates of ice, I range the entire Polar seas, And pay but the same price. Of blubber and harpoons, my friends, I know, believe, each tale, For oft I hear some one compare My stories to a whale. Beer from the homely pewter, To "gents" I leave with scorn, And quench my roving thirst from out The famous Golden Horn; Oh! what are chimney-pots to me Who minarets have seen? Ask one who's been in Whitecross Street, What 'tis to quarantine! Yet must I soon my rambles end, Till spring shall soothe my sight; The Mississippi moves me not, I've Paris seen by night;— But let me pause, too soon I blame My melancholy fate, A Hansom to Australia! I swear I'll emigrate! [Illustration: ALARMING SACRIFICE] ALARMING SACRIFICE