And back on my cushion sinking, I was filled with dread at thinking
That this grim and greasy member might for ever harshly roar—
That this grim, ungainly, lardy man might never cease to bore,—
But talk on for evermore!”
Truth, March 8, 1877.
The Baby.
Once upon a midnight dreary, whilst I waited, faint and weary,
On the landing till the doctor the expected tidings bore;
Whilst I nodded, nearly napping, dreaming of what then was happing—