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“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 alone; 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 tart.

“If there's a soul will give me food, or find me in employ, By day or night, then blow me taght !” (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 legsPerhaps your neck—then Bogey'd have you, sure as eggs

are eggs ! " Come home with me, my little man, come home with me My landlady is Mrs. Jones—we must not keep her up. There's roast potatoes at the fire-enough for me and youCome 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 Mrs. Jones, the kindest of her sex, Pray be so good as go and fetch a pint of double X 1"

and sup;


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. CobbI changed a shilling (which in town the people call "a bob”); It was not so much for myself as for that vulgar child ; And I said, “A pint of double X, and please to draw it

mild !"



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

chairI could not see my little friend, because he was not there! I peep'd beneath the table-cloth—beneath the sofa, tooI said, “You little vulgar boy! why what's become of you?” 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-oh dear! I knew 'twas on the mantelpiece when I went out for beer, I could not see my mackintosh, 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


I went "to Jarvis' Landing-place,” the glory oí the townThere 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 called 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 green,



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

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


It's very odd that sailor men should wear those things so


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

millAnd cause he gammons so the flats ve calls him Veeping

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

swag : That's French, I fancy, for a hat, or else a carpet-bag.

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I went and told the constable my property to track ;
He asked me if “ I did not wish that I might get it back ? "
I answered, “To be sure I do !-that's what I'm come

about ;


He smiled and said, “Sir, does your mother know you're

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.”

He sent Mr. Withair then, and I described “ the swag," My mackintosh, my sugar-tongs, myspoons, and carpet-bag. He promised that the new police should all their powers

employ, But never

this hour have I beheld that vulgar boy!



MORAL. Remember, then, that when a boy I've heard my grandma


DO 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 And when you go to Margate next, just stop, and ring the

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

Rev. R, H. Barham,

your stout !


OUR enterprise is in advance of public sentiment, and those who carry it on are glorious iconoclasts, who are going to break down the drunken Dagon worshipped by their fathers. Count me over the chosen heroes of this earth, and I will show you men who stood alone-ay, alone, while those they toiled, and laboured, and agonised for, hurled at them contumely, scorn, and contempt, They stood alone; they looked into the future calmly and with faith ; they saw the golden beam inclining to the side of perfect justice; and they fought on amidst the storm of persecution. In Great Britain they tell me when I go to see such a prison : "There is such a dungeon in which such a one was confined." “Here among the ruins of an old castle we will show you where such a one had his ears cut off, and where another was murdered.” Then they will show me monuments towering up to the heavens : “ There is a monument to such a one ; there is a monument to another." And what do I find ? That the one generation persecuted and howled at these men, crying

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“Crucify them! Crucify them !" and dancing round the blazing faggots that consumed them; and the next generation busied itself in gathering up the scattered ashes of the martyred heroes and depositing them in the golden urn of a nation's history. Oh, yes ! the men that fight for a great enterprise are the men that bear the brunt of the battle, and “He who seeth in secret”_seeth the desire of His children, their steady purpose, their firm selfdenial _" will reward them openly, though they may die and see no sign of the triumph of their enterprise.

Our cause is a progressive one. I read the first constitution of the first temperance society formed in the State of New York in 1809, and one of the bye-laws stated,

Any member of this association who shall be convicted of intoxication shall be fined a quarter of a dollar, except such act of intoxication shall take place on the fourth of July, or any other regularly appointed military muster.” We laugh at that now, but it was a serious matter in those days; it was in advance of the public sentiment of the age. The very men that adopted that principle were persecuted. They were hooted and pelted through the streets; the doors of their houses were blackened ; their cattle mutilated. The fire of persecution scorched some men so, that they left the work. Others worked on, and God has blessed them. Some are living to-day ; and I should like to stand where they stand now, and see the mighty enterprise as it rises before them. They worked hard ; they lifted the first turf; prepared. the bed in which to lay the corner-stone. They laid it amid persecution and storm. They worked under the surface ; and men almost forgot that there were busy hands laying the foundation far down beneath. By-and-bye they got the foundation above the surface, and then commenced another storm of persecution. Now we see the superstructure pillar after pillar, tower after tower, column after column, with the capitals emblazoned with “ Love, truth, sympathy, and goodwill to men.” Old men gaze upon it as it grows up before them. They will not live to see it completed, but they see in faith the crowning copestone set upon it. Meek-eyed women weep as it grows in beauty. Children strew the pathway of the workmen with flowers. We do not see its beauty yet we do not see the magnificence of its superstructure yet, because it is in course of erection.

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