408 SKETCHES IN RHYME. 



Till, hopefully, he trudged along 

 When time made all things even, 



And all his purgatorial paths 

 Merged to an earthly heaven. 



In thinking of his rival girls, 



With Pat I'd say : "Be gorra ! 

 I'd taken Agnes at the start — 



Not waste those years with Dora." 

 You cannot find a nobler type. 



Through Dickens' women sorting. 

 But she should not have been slow, 



And done some livelier courting. 



While David, burdened with his doll, 



Looked back with glances yearning 

 To that regretted point in life 



When Agnes graced the turning. 

 Close by Aunt Trotwood walks erect, 



As if naught would unbend her ; 

 And yet beneath that rugged form 



Were heart-throbs pulsing tender. 



And here comes Peggoty, the nurse, 



With cheeks like russet apples ; 

 Her brother Daniel, rough but kind. 



Whose tongue such English grapples ; 

 And little Em'ly, at whose face 



Such lecherous glances leer forth 

 From him for whom Ham lost his life : 



The polished villain Steerforth. 



And Tommy Traddles, Simple Dick, 

 And more along come trooping. 



I'll have to stop, they come so thick, 

 And seek another grouping. 



