“WELL! I NEVER COULD KEEP MY LEGS!”
Police Intelligence.—Bow Street.
“This morning a stout country gentleman, in a new suit of mud, evidently town made, was charged with having walked Waverly over-night till he got his Kennelworth in a gutter in Mary-le-bone. The Jack-o’-lanthorn who picked him up could make nothing out of him, but that he was some sort of a Quaker, and declared that the whole country was in a shocking state. He acknowledged having taken rather too much Lisbon; but according to Mr. Daly, he sniffed of whiskey ‘as strong as natur.’ The defendant attempted with a sotto voce (Anglice, a tipsy voice), to make some excuse, but was stopped and fined in the usual sum, by Sir Richard. He found his way out of the office, muttering that he thought it very hard to have to pay five hogs for being only as drunk as one.”
ODE TO ST. SWITHIN.
“The rain it raineth every day.”
THE Dawn is overcast, the morning low’rs,
On ev’ry window-frame hang beaded damps
Like rows of small illumination lamps,
To celebrate the Jubilee of Show’rs!
A constant sprinkle patters from all leaves,