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THE POOR MAN'S COAT.

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BY THE AUTHOR OF THE PURGATORY OF SUICIDES.

THE sun shone out so gay, of late,
I hastened to St. James' Park gate,
And entered in to breathe the breeze,-
To glad me with the budding trees,
The verdant sward, the graceful swans,
The diving fowls, and little ones

Who laugh, while throwing crumbs of bread,
To see how eager to be fed,

The quick-eyed ducks throng o'er the lake,
And scarce have leisure to cry "quake!"

'Twas lightsome for the heart, to view
Nature put on her robes anew ;-
To see those feathered things of life
Skim to the verge, in giddy strife ;-
To hear the laugh of children, there,
And see how glad their faces were ;—
To mark the pairs of decent people,
Although 'twas Sunday, shun the steeple,
And hold their church withouten thrall,
'Neath "the blue sky that bends o'er all;
'Twas very pleasant, altogether,
To see these sights in such fine weather,
And feel how freely one could walk,
And, to one's self, so calmly talk.

And talk unto myself I did,

Saying, "These waters pellucid,

These plumaged things, this goodly grass,

These spreading elms,-each lad and lass,

Linked arm-in-arm, can freely view;

And, after all, 'tis scarcely true
That only lords and ladies grand
Are privileged, in British land,

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To have their holidays of mirth;
For none seem here of lordly birth:
'Tis true, they all are fairly drest;

But then, of course, folk wear their best
On Sundays."

Thus I sagely talked,

And to the other gate I walked :

The gate, I mean, that 's near the mansion,
So vasty in its stone expansion,-
Within which, Majesty-some seasons-
Sits to hear Peel's sagacious reasons
For making oath she governs well :-
Doth she dispute it? I can't tell ;
But think, by royal orthodoxy,
She must believe in-Rule by Proxy:
At least, you know, the House of Lords,
Some colour to my thought affords-
Since he who learned midst deathly strife
To govern men in peaceful life-
"Our war-enlightened Wellington-
Holds seventy peers' sage brains in one
Pocket, and useth them for any
Service that curbs th' unruly Many !

Just as I reached the gate in question,
I saw a sight 'tis sad to mention.

One whose worn features showed he toiled,
With coat his work had somewhat soiled,-
The coat in which he earned his bread,-
Ventured into the park to tread;
Whereat, a thing with gilt-band hat,
Thrust him with rudeness to the gate,

And turned him out! I stared: but, quick,

The porter hid his splenetic

And ruby face, that did betoken

He feared some harsh words would be spoken

By me and others, who did look

Little inclined that deed to brook.

Then forth to him that out was thrust

I sped, and thus his case discussed:

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guess, my honest friend, you bought,

With your own hard-earned brass, that coat?"

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Upon that coat that tax you paid;
And, though your coat is stained and soiled,
In it for taxes you have toiled:
Taxes, to keep in sovereign pride
Her whose grand palace doth bestride
This soldiered space: taxes, to feed
That menial who hath done this deed:
Taxes, to keep this goodly park

In pleasing trim :-but now, friend, hark!
Think of these things, until you feel
This show of red-coat men with steel,
That serves to awe the toiling crowd,
And keep in useless pomp the proud,
Will vanish,-if poor men will learn
Their rights and duties to discern,
And league, a peaceful, moral band,
To end injustice through the land.
Think of these things, and tell aloud,
Where'er you go, what wrongs the Proud
Inflict on Toil. Man, speak it out!
And it will soon be brought about,
No high-taxed coat you'll take to pawn,
But Sunday clothes become your own ;—
And working-men will cease to be
Taxed for a park that's not more free
For them than for a mangy dog!"

"Did you say this, seditious rogue ?"
"I did; and, if I see another
Poor, honest, toiling, work-coat brother
Treated as vilely, words as strong
I'll utter. Can you prove me wrong?"

A CHAPTER OF CHURCH MICE.

THE clergy of a rural district in the south-west were assembled at a visitation dinner. At the head of the board presided the lord bishop, in the person of his chancellor. At a side-table sat a

company of the laity, consisting of agricultural and bucolic gentlemen, under the superintendence of the deputy-registrar. The after-grace had been duly said, and the cloth-except in as far as it formed part of the meeting-removed. Leaving the reverend and more dignified guests to the discussion of grave matters and port, descend we, as romances say, to the lower end of the hall, and to the conversation that took place between the stout yeomen there, over a bowl of punch.

"Well, naaighbour Cowdry," said Mr. Goddard, addressing a brother farmer, "what didst think o' the chancellor's charge this marnun'?"

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"Ah! 'twur a wonderful fine discoorse, warn't it? answered Mr. Cowdry. "'A talk'd like a book, didn't 'a? There was

moor nor haaf 'a zed as I couldn't undersdand-not I."

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'I wonders what 'a meant, now," observed Mr. Buckle, the collar-maker, "when 'a talk'd o' the.. unhappy divisions now prevalent in our church? '"'

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What, dostn't thee know," replied Goddard, "that there be a split among the paasons ? What is 't they calls the new lights?

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"Loosafers?" suggested a member of the company. "Loosafers! exclaimed Mr. Goddard.

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No, no.

be matches. I'm a talk'n' o' paarsons. Pshoo! the neam on 'em if I heerd 'un."

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Avunjellyculls?" surmised another.

Loosafers

I should know

"Naw," said Farmer Goddard. "Not they. There be newer lights yit than they. I manes the last up. What d'ye call 'um, young Measter Lovelock? Thee'st bin to boordunschool.'

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"Call 'em? Puseyites, don't they?" replied the swain appealed to.

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Ah, to be sure!" cried the other. "Pussyites. That's the word. Pussyites."

"Well; who be the Pusseyites?" demanded Mr. Cowdry. "Who be they?" repeated a rather elderly personage, in a rural and somewhat rusty full dress of black and drab, with grizzled locks, a copper nose, and solemn visage, but a queer twinkle in the eye. "Who be they? Why, they be a sart o' rattle-mice, nuther bird nor beeast, a flicker'n in the twilight atween one church and t'other."

"Hush, naaighbour Frost; spake lower, mun; the chancellor 'll hear thee else, and tell the bishop on thee," said Mr. Cowdry. "What dost mane by call'n on 'em rattle-mice? How," he continued, not understanding Mr. Frost's metaphor, "d'ye make a Christian out a rattle-mouse?"

"Why, spake'n by comparazun," replied Farmer Frost. "Howsumdever, there be Christians,-ah! and paasons too, as changes into mice, and rale mice.'

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66 How? When? Who told thee?" exclaimed several of the hearers, some in astonishment, others derisively.

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66 How? That's nuther here nor there. When? Arter the death on 'em. Who told me? They as spoke for theirselves,' asserted Mr. Frost with the utmost gravity.

"Measter Frost," said a neighbouring acquaintance, "it strikes me thy liquor has got into thy head."

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No, Measter Andress, it ha'nt.'

"Then thee bist a comin' the old sojer over us." "No, I baint-'

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Then, what in the neam o' Fort'n' bist thee a talk'n about ?" "What I heer'd and zee; and if you've a mind to know as much as I knows, I tell you what you do, mate,you goo one o' these here nights and git lock'd up in Winchester Cathedral." "Thankee. I'd rather you than me, returned Mr. Andrews. Why, what should you be afraid of, Mr. Andrews??" asked young Lovelock.

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"What odds is that to you?" was the evasive, and not very gracious answer.

"Master Andrews believes in ghosts," cried the youth, laughing. "Well; and why not?" demanded Mr. Andrews. "Han't things been sin at night about Danebury Hill ? Don't Will Smithers, as hung his self along o Cicely Westbrook, walk reg'larly arter dark up Whiteshoot Lane ? Didn't 'a vrighten Sarah Grunsell into vits? '

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