Un jour doit l’appeler en sa sainte présence.
——:o:——
Legs in Tattersall’s Yard.
The dustman tolls the coming of the morn
Of Monday, big with business and noise;
The coach-guard gaily blows his patent horn,
Delighting all the little girls and boys.
Now briskly move along the well-pav’d street
Tradesmen of ev’ry grade on bus’ness bent;
Merchants and stockbrokers on eastern beat