No father had he to direct his course,
Nor e’en from such a dismal fate to save,
For skaters own with pensive face, perforce,
The paths of rinking lead but to the grave.
From Idyls of the Rink, by A. W. Mackenzie. Second Edition. London. Hardwicke and Bogue, 1877.
——:o:——
Cremorne: An Elegy.
[An application being made for the renewal of the license, it was stated that the proprietor had decided to have the ground built on. The counsel then said nothing remained but to put up a tombstone, and write the epitaph of Cremorne Gardens.]
The builder tolls the knell of Cremorne’s day
The navvy’s spade uproots each flower and tree,