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I stoop'd, and thus amidst his sobs I heard him

murmur—"Ah! I haven't got no supper, and I haven't got no ma’! "My father, he is on the seas—my mother's dead and

gone! And I am here, on this here pier, to roam the world


I have not had, this live-long day, one drop to cheer my

heart, Nor "brown' to buy a bit of bread with let alone a



“If there's a soul will give me food, or find me in

employ, By day or night, then blow me tight!” (he was a vulgar

boy ;) “And now I'm here, from this here pier it is my fixed

intent To jump, as Mister Levi did from off the Monu-ment!"

“ Cheer up! cheer up! my little man-cheer up!” I

kindly said, “ You are a naughty boy to take such things into your

head: If you should jump from off the pier, you'd surely

break your legs, Perhaps your neck—then Bogey'd have you, sure as eggs are eggs


“Come home with me, my little man, come home with

me and sup; My landlady is Mrs. Jones—we must not keep her upThere's roast potatoes at the fire-enough for me and

you Come home you little vulgar boy-I lodge at Number 2." I took him home to Number 2, the house beside “The

Foy," I bade him wipe his dirty shoes,—that little vulgar boy,

And then I said to Mistress Jones, the kindest of her

sex, Pray be so good as go and fetch a pint of double X!”

But Mrs. Jones was rather cross, she made a little

noise, She said she “ did not like to wait on little vulgar

boys," She with her apron wiped the plates, and, as she rubb'd

the delf, Said I might "go to Jericho, and fetch my beer myself!"


I did not go to Jericho-I went to Mr. Cobb-
I changed a shilling-(which in town the people call“ a

bob”). It was not so much for myself as for that vulgar

childAnd I said, " A pint of double X, and please to draw it

mild !"

When I came back I gazed about-I gazed on stool and

chairI could not see my little friend--because he was not

there! I peep'd beneath the table-cloth-beneath the sofa

too I said, “ You little vulgar boy! why what's become of


I could not see my table-spoons—I look’d, but could

not see The little fiddle-pattern'd ones I use when I'm at tea; I could not see my sugar-tongs-my silver watch-ol,

dear! I know 'twas on the mantel-piece when I went out for

beer. I could not see my Macintosh-it was not to be seen ! Nor yet my best white beaver hat, broad-brimm'd and

lined with green

My carpet-bag-my cruet-stand, that holds my sauce

and soy,

My roast potatoes !-all are gone !--and so's that vulgar

boy! I rang the bell for Mrs. Jones, for she was down below, “Oh, Mrs. Jones! what do you think ?-ain't this a

pretty go?That horrid little vulgar boy whom I brought here

to-night, He's stolen my things and run away !!"-Says she,

“And sarve you right!!"

Next morning I was up betimes—I sent the Crier round, All with his bell and gold-laced hat, to say I'd give a

pound To find that little vulgar boy who'd gone and used me

SO; But when the Crier cried, “O Yes !" the people cried,

“O No!"

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I went to "Jarvis' Landing-place," the glory of the

town, There was a common sailor-man a-walking up and

down, I told my tale--he seem'd to think I'd not been treated

well, And call’d me “Poor old Buffer !"-what that means I

cannot tell.

That sailor-man, he said he'd seen that morning on the

shore, A son of-something—'twas a name I'd never heard

before, A little "gallows-looking chap "--dear me, what could

he mean? With a "carpet-swab” and “muckintogs," and a hat turned

up with


He spoke about his “precious eyes," and said he'd seen

him “sheer"It's very odd that sailor-men should talk so very queerAnd then he hitch'd his trousers up, as is, I'm told,

their useIt's very odd that sailor-men should wear those things

so loose.

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I did not understand him well, but think he meant to

say lle'd seen that little vulgar boy, that morning, swim

away In Captain Large's Royal George about an hour before, And they were now, as he supposed, somewheres?

about the Nore. A landsman said, "I twig the chap-he's been upon the

And 'cause he gammons so the flats, ve calls him

Veeping Bill!"
He said, “he'd done me wery brown,” and nicely

o stow'd the swag,
That's French, I fancy, for a hat-or else a carpet-bag.
I went and told the constable my property to track ;
He asked me if “I did not wish that I might get it

I answered, “ To be sure I do!—it's what I'm come

about,” He smiled and said, “Sir, does


mother know that you are out ?"


Not knowing what to do, I thought I'd hasten back to

town, And beg our own Lord Mayor to catch the boy who'd

done me brown." His lordship very kindly said he'd try and find him out, But he “rather thought that there were several vulgar

boys about.”

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He sent for Mr. Withair then, and I described “the

swag,' My Macintosh, my sugar-tongs, my spoons, and carpet

bag; He promised that the New Police should all their

powers employ! But never to this hour have I beheld that vulgar boy!


Remember, then, that when a boy I've heard my grand


FULL WELL!" Don't link yourself with vulgar folks who've got no

fixed abode, Tell lies, use naughty words, and say they “ wish they

may be blow'd !"

Don't take too much of double X!—and don't at night

go out

To fetch your beer yourself, but make the potboy

bring your stout ! And when you go to Margate next, just stop, and ring

the bell, Give my respects to Mrs. Jones, and say I'm pretty


(By permission of Richard Bentley, Esq.)


Join Ruskiy.

[As an Art-critic Mr. Ruskin occupies, perhaps, the highest

ace among his contemporaries. To point out and insist upon the merits of a great master is, but too often, to awaken the



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