away he scudded—elbowing, perforce,

thro’ cads, and lads, and many a hebrew worrier,

[pg 324]

with fruit, knives, pencils,—all dirt cheap of course,

coachmen, and hawkers of the globe and “currier;”

away!—the cookmaid is not such a skurrier,

when, fit to split her gingham as she goes,

with six just striking on the clock to hurry her,

she strides along with one of her three beaux,

to get well placed at “ashley’s”—now ducrow’s.

“i wonder if her moon is full to-night!”

he mutter’d, jealous as a spanish don,

when, lo!—to aggravate that inward spite,

in glancing at a board he spied thereon

a play-bill for dramatic folks to con,

in letters such as those may read, who run,

“‘king john’—oh yes,—i recollect king john!

‘my lord, they say five moons’—five moons!—well done!

i wonder ellen was content with one!

“five moons—all full!—and all at once in heav’n!

she should have lived in that prolific reign!”

here he arrived in front of number seven,

th’ abode of all his joy and all his pain;

a sudden tremor shot through every vein,

he wish’d he’d come up by the heavy waggon,

and felt an impulse to turn back again,

oh, that he ne’er had quitted the old dragon!

then came a sort of longing for a flagon.

his tongue and palate seem’d so parch’d with drouth,—

the very knocker fill’d his soul with dread,

as if it had a living lion’s mouth,

with teeth so terrible, and tongue so red,

in which he had engaged to put his head,

the bell-pull turn’d his courage into vapour,

as though ’t would cause a shower-bath to shed

[pg 325]

its thousand shocks, to make him sigh and caper—

he look’d askance, and did not like the scraper.

“what business have i here? (he thought) a dunce

a hopeless passion thus to fan and foster,

instead of putting out its wick at once;

she’s gone—it’s very evident i’ve lost her,—

and to the wanton wind i should have toss’d her—

pish! i will leave her with her moon, at ease,

to toast and eat it, like a single gloster,

or cram some fool with it, as good green cheese,

or make a honey-moon, if so she please.

“yes—here i leave her,” and as thus he spoke,

he plied the knocker with such needless force,

it almost split the panel of sound oak;

and then he went as wildly through a course

of ringing, till he made abrupt divorce

between the bell and its dumfounded handle,

whilst up ran betty, out of breath and hoarse,

and thrust into his face her blown-out candle,

to recognise the author of such scandal.

who, presto! cloak, and carpet-bag to boot,

went stumbling, rumbling, up the dark one pair,

with other noise than his whose “very foot

had music in’t as he came up the stair:”

and then with no more manners than a bear,

his hat upon his head, no matter how,

no modest tap his presence to declare,

he bolted in a room, without a bow,

and there sat ellen, with a marble brow!

like fond medora, watching at her window,

yet not of any corsair bark in search—

[pg 326]

the jutting lodging-house of mrs. lindo,

“the cheapest house in town” of todd and sturch.

the private house of reverend doctor birch,

the public-house, closed nightly at eleven,

and then that house of prayer, the parish church,

some roofs, and chimneys, and a glimpse of heaven,

made up the whole look-out of number seven.