XX11 MISCELLANEOUS VERSES. 



Alas ! that sucli poesy, love, and fire, 

 To " regular work" must yield 



To pulleys and walks in flannel attire, 

 And dumb-bells fearful to wield ! 



Then, lo and behold ! there came to the shire 

 Mr. " Childers" of The Field. 



He shared his bohea on that winter's day, 

 And he cut at his " grass-fed ox ;" 



And he watched The Boy in his barn at play, 

 With the instruments of La Boxe ; 



And he placed on his notes the thrilling array, 

 From the flesh-brush down to the socks. 



From that time forth the Fight for the Belt 



Grained universal dominion j 

 E'en The Times and The Morning Post did melt, 



From respect to public opinion ; 

 But the Bishop of Salisbury only felt 



As he would towards a Turk or Socinian. 



Jack was'nt the lad to be caught, I guess, 



In crafty episcopal spells ; 

 So swiftly they fled from that diocese, 



To the Bishop of Bath and Wells ; 

 They'd better have muzzled the sporting press, 



And sought the Cumberland fells. 



Fearfully hard was their backers' lot, 



And Jack never stood at ease ; 

 Again he moved his man like a shot, 



From the pleasant Lansdowne breeze ; 

 Northamptonshire grew terribly hot, 



And Stilton wasn't the cheese. 



Thus ill had the stranger athlete fared, 



When, like an electric shock, 

 Came news that the Derbyshire beaks had dared 



An expectant world to mock ; 

 And we heard the " Benicia Boy" was snared, 



Through a tailor near Trent Lock. 



Mr. Hadfield determined to fraternize 

 With that gallant Snip and his goose ; 



Then he groaned to hear that " the noble prize" 

 Was once again turned loose ; 



And assured Mrs. H. in the House he'd rise, 

 And style such bail " an abuse." 



Then, anon, with their camera, pencil, and book, 



Advanced an American band ; 

 The cribs of Nat Langham and Swift they took, 



And The Life's snug room in the Strand, 



