Save Captain M'Fuze, Who is taking a snooze, While Sir Carnaby Jenks is busy at work, The clock strikes Four ! Round the debtors' door Are gather'd a couple of thousand or more; At the press-yard gate, Till slowly its folding doors open, and straight A waggon comes loaded with posts and with planks. The clock strikes Five! The sheriffs arrive, And the crowd is so great that the street seems alive; But Sir Carnaby Jenks Blinks, and winks, A candle burns down in the socket, and stinks. Sweetly, oh! sweetly, the morning breaks, Like the first faint blush on a maiden's cheeks; As that which its course has now begun, And hark!—a sound comes big with fate, The clock from St. Sepulchre's tower strikes-Eight!List to that low funereal bell: It is tolling, alas! a living man's knell! And see!-from forth that opening door They come HE steps that threshold o'er Who never shall tread upon threshold more. That pale wan man's mute agony, The glare of that wild despairing eye, Now bent on the crowd, now turn'd to the sky, As though 'twere scanning, in doubt and in fear, The path of the Spirit's unknown career; Those pinion'd arms, those hands that ne'er Again that clock !-'tis time, 'tis time! And Captain M'Fuze, with the black on his nose; And they stared at each other, as much as to say "Hollo! Hollo! Here's a Rum Go! Why, Captain!-my Lord!-Here's the Devil to pay ! The fellow's been cut down and taken away! What's to be done? We've miss'd all the fun! Why, they'll laugh at, and quiz us all over the town, What was to be done?-'twas perfectly plain : EPIGRAM. 'Tis strange, amid the many trades To those who make our breeches ! Rich is the harvest made: R. J. THE ROMANCE OF A DAY. A PASSAGE IN THE LIFE OF AN ADVENTURER. WITH AN ILLUSTRATION BY GEORGE CRUIKSHANK. WHEN things are at the worst, they are sure to mend, says the old adage; and the hero of the following narrative is a case in point. Dick Diddler was a distant connexion, by the mother's side, of the famous Jeremy, immortalized by Kenny. He was a shrewd, reckless adventurer, gifted with an elastic conscience that would stretch like Indian-rubber, and a genius for raising the wind unsurpassed by Æolus himself. At the period to which this tale refers, he had dissipated at the minor West-end hells, and elsewhere, the last farthing of a pittance which he inherited from his father; and was considerably in arrears with his landlady, a waspish gentlewoman who rented what she complacently termed "an airy house" in the windiest quarter of Camden Town. This was embarrassing; but Dick was not one to despair. He had high animal spirits, knowledge of the world, imperturbable self-possession, good exterior, plausible address, and a modesty which he felt persuaded would never stand in the way of his advancement. Thousands of London adventurers, it has been observed, rise in the morning without knowing how they shall provide a meal for the day. Our hero was just now in this predicament, for he had not even the means of procuring a breakfast. Something, however, must be done, and that immediately, so he applied himself to a cracked bell which stood on his ill-conditioned table; and, while waiting his landlady's answer to the tintinnabulary summons, occupied himself by casting a scrutinizing glance at his outer Adam. Alas! there was little here to gratify the eye of taste and gentility! His coat was in that peculiar state denominated "seedy," his linen was as yellow as a sea-sick cockney, and his trousers evinced tokens of an antiquity better qualified to inspire reverence than admiration. Just as he had completed his survey, his landlady entered the room, accompanied by her first-born,-a hopeful youth, with a fine expanse of mouth calculated seriously to perplex a quartern loaf. Dick perused her features attentively, and thought he had never before seen her look so ugly. But this of course: Venus herself would look a fright, if she came to dun for money. "Ah, poppet, is that you?" exclaimed Dick, affectionately patting the urchin's head, by way of an agreeable commencement to the conversation; "Why, how the dear boy grows! Blessings on his pretty face; he's the very image of his Ma!" "Come, come, Mr. Diddler," replied Mrs. Dibbs, "that language won't do no longer. You've been blessing little Tom twice a day ever since you got into my books, but I'm not going to take out my account in blessings. Blessings won't pay my milk-score, so I must have my money, and this very day too, for I've got a bill to make up to-morrow.' "Have patience, my good lady, and all will be right." Ay, so you've said for the last month; but saying 's one thing, and doing's another." "Very good." 2 Q |