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There's the Worm that will gnaw at the heart,
There's the Wolf that will come to the door!
We may even be short of the cash

For the tax to a queen or a king,
And the broker may sell off our beds,
But we still shall be able to sing

Hullabaloo !

There's Consumption to wither the weak,
There are fevers that humble the stout-
A disease may be rife with the young,
Or a pestilence walking about-
Desolation may visit our hives,
And old Death's metaphorical sting
May dispose of the dearest of wives,
But we all shall be able to sing

Hullahbaloo !

We may farm at a very high rent,
And with guano manure an inch deep,
We may sow, whether broadcast or drill,
And have only the whirlwind to reap;
All our corn may be spoil'd in the ear,
And our barns be ignited by Swing,
And our sheep may die off with the rot,
But we all shall be able to sing

Hullahbaloo !

Our acquaintance may cut us direct,
Even Love may become rather cold,
And a friend of our earlier years
May look shy at the coat that is old:

We may not have a twig or a straw,
Not a reed where affection may cling,
Not a dog for our love, or a cat,
But we still shall be able to sing,

Hullahbaloo !

Some are pallid with watching and want,
Some are burning with blushes of shame;
Some have lost all they had in the world,
And are bankrupts in honour and name.
Some have wasted a fortune in trade-
And by going at all in the ring,

Some have lost e'en a voice in the House;

But they all will be able to sing

Hullahbaloo !

Some are deep in the Slough of Despond,
And so sick of the burthen of life,
That they dream of leaps over a bridge,
Of the pistol, rope, poison and knife;
To the Temples of Riches and Fame
We are not going up in a string;
And to some even Heaven seems black,
But we all shall be able to sing

Hullahbaloo !

We may give up the struggle with Care,
And the last little hope that would stop,
We may strive with a Giant Despair-
From the very blue sky we may drop,
By some sudden bewildering blow
Stricken down like a bird on the wing,-

VOL. IX.

Or with hearts breaking surely and slow

But we all shall be able to sing

Hullahbaloo !

Oh! no matter how wretched we be,
How ill-lodg'd, or ill-clad, or ill-fed,
And with only one tile for a roof,—
That we carry about on the head:
We may croak with a very bad cold,
Or a throat that's as dry as a ling,—
There's the Street or the Stage for us all,
For we all shall be able to sing

There's a Music aloft in the air,

Hullahbaloo !

As if Cherubs were humming a song,

Now it's high, now it's low, here and there,
There's a Harmony floating along!

While the steeples are loud in their joy,
To the tune of the bells' ring-a-ding,
Let us chime in a peal, one and all,

For we all should be able to sing

Hullahbaloo!

EPIGRAM

ON THE ARRANGEMENT OF THE STATUES IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE

IF Nelson looks down on a couple of Kings,
However it pleases the Loyals;

'Tis after the fashion of nautical things,

A sky-scraper over the Royals.

115

THE REGULAR AND THE IRREGULAR DRAMA.

A WRITER in the Times lately attributed the decline of the public taste for Theatrical Exhibitions to the superiority of the Dramatic Scenes, serious and comic, which are so admirably got up and performed daily in the Bankruptcy Courts, the Old Bailey, Guildhall, Westminster Hall, the Police Offices, the Courts of Conscience, and other Houses, major and minor, in London and the Provinces. And there is certainly some truth in the theory; for the snatches of Tragedy, Comedy, and Farce, furnished by such places, are much more interesting and amusing, and infinitely more instructive, than the pieces fabricated by most of our modern play-wrights. Some of the Judges and Counsel show quite as "fiery off" as any stars on the boards, and the Jurors, common or special, are quite as clever and entertaining as the walking gentleman. The want of music and dancing in the places alluded to, makes them less strong in Opera and the Ballet, and Her Majesty's Theatre, in the Haymarket, prospers accordingly, from the absence of competition. The Police offices, however, are powerful rivals to the Adelphi, Surrey, &c., in pieces of strong and sometimes very domestic interest, the plots of which are duly recorded in some of the daily prints and Melodrama flourishes at the Sessionshouse and in the inquest-room. Here and there a Coroner is also a very respectable performer in the funny line; and Constables, Beadles, and Bumpkin witnesses are capital low comedians.

How far it might be practicable to retrieve the fortunes of the Patent Theatres, by allowing a certain portion of the

public business to be transacted on the stage, is left for the Proprietors to discuss with the Lord Chamberlain ; nothing else, probably, will ever raise the shares of either to a profitable premium-for, who would pay to sit at their fictitious shows, when he might, gratis, see such exhibitions of real life elsewhere, and listen to the genuine dialogue of human nature? Here is a brief example :

MISAPPREHENSION.

A DRAMATIC SKETCH.

SCENE. A Club Room at the Hare and Hounds. At the table sits the county Coroner with his Clerk. The Jurors are arranged round the board. The Constable, &c., fill the background. TIMOTHY GUBBINS, a Witness, is under examination.

Cor. DID you know the defunct?

Wit. Who's he?

Cor. Why, the dead man.

Wit. Yes.

Cor. Intimately?

Wit. Wery.

Cor. How often have you been in company with him?
Wit. Ony once.

Cor. And do you call that intimately?

Wit. Yes-for he were wery drunk, and I were wery drunk

-and that made us like two brothers.

Cor. Who recognised the body?

Wit. Jack Adams.

Cor. How did he recognise him?

Wit. By standing un on his head to let the water run out.

Cor. I mean how did he know him?

Wit. By his plush jacket.

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