MISCELLANEOUS VERSES. XX111 



At the very moment when Morrissy shook 

 The " fighting editor's" hand. 



The Sporting Life came next in their march, 

 Then away down the Newmarket line ; 



And they voted Tom's manners devoid of starch, 

 And his frame for a " Pug," divine ; 



And they sketched his cottage and garden arch, 

 Of old ivy and jessamine. 



Eight well have the Newmarket magistrates earned 



The public thanks of the nation ; 

 Patriot hearts 'neath those waistcoats framed, 



For Tom in his tribulation ; 

 And the Meddlesome Matty from Ely returned, 



Crestfallen to his location. 



Alas ! my innocent Kural Police, 



Your fondest hopes were a bubble ; 

 Your attempts to prevent a breach of the peace,, 



Your race o'er the Derbyshire stubble ; 

 You must freely own that you felt like geese, 



When Sam Rogers gave you the double. 



Hundreds of thousands heard that tale, 



And only these words were spoken 

 If twice ten thousand had been the bail, 



We'd have paid and let it be broken : 

 Hadfields, who at the prize-ring rail, 



" Please to accept this token I" 



By sea and by land, in village and town, 



At alehouse, bush-harrow, and till, 

 With the men of the pestle, the sword, and the gown, 



And those who love Bunker's Hill, 

 Nothing whatever seemed to go down, 



Save the latest on dit of the mill. 



And the peelers catch no uncertain sound 



Of war on their evening beat ; 

 Doughty American knights around 



St. Martin's Round Table meet ; 

 And the Horse Shoe and Cambrian's classic ground 



Ke-echo the Fancy's feet. 



But long ere the cold grey April dawn 



On London's slumberers broke, 

 The train to a Surrey meadow had borne 



" The Boy" and our Heart of Oak ; 

 And something seemed our ardour to warn, 



That the Yankee "would prove no joke." 



