The drayman homeward drives his noisy dray,
And leaves “down town” to watchmen and to me.
Now fade the lightless lamp-posts on the sight;
O’er all the street a soothing stillness reigns,
Save where the stages wheel their distant flight,
And random sprinklings tap the window panes.
Save that, from yonder “Square,” upon the ear
Fall sounds of “Presses,” with a buzzing din,
Where hordes of “Scribblers” take their “Bitter Beer,”
And “Midnight Bounders” drink their fighting gin.