410 SKETCHES IN RHYME. 



And Bradley Headstone, on whose life 

 There seemed to dawn no morning, 



Who shunned one woman's loving smiles 

 To meet another's scorning. 



Another group, and at its head 



Is Pecksniff's form appearing; 

 His speech so full of pious talk, 



His eye of carnal leering. 

 Here pass along twin storied dames, 



Whose gait the rest embarrass ; 

 They are material Mrs. Gamp, 



And mythic Mrs. Harris. 



Young Chuzzlewit, his servant Mark — 



That synonym for Jolly ; 

 And poor Tom Pinch, whose dearest friend 



Made his love-yearnings folly. 

 Another group which Pickwick leads 



With legs abbreviated, 

 And Weller and his " widder " wife 



Who were so badly mated. 



Another crew by Dombey led, 



I see, has just up-anchored ; 

 And still another, led by him 



Who for some " more " so hankered ; 

 And other chiefs lead other hosts. 



Till comes the grand finale. 

 When Death tears Edwin Drood in two — 



Half left each side the Valley. 



What shall I say of him whose brain 

 These passing forms created ? 



Did he deserve the praise bestowed. 

 Or was be overrated ? 



