Volume 156 — THE NOMADS.

"There are no houses in the Town," Said Mr. Smith (of Smith and Brown); I hardly like to put it down, But that's what he asserted; So thereupon I went to Anne And told her of my brilliant plan, Which is, to purchase from a man A furniture-removal van, And have the thing converted. Within that mobile villa gay We shall not choose, though gipsies may, Through country lanes and woods to stray, Not likely. We shall enter An up-to-date Bohemian lot, And, if you read The Daily Rot, You'll find it has observed us (what?) Proceeding at a smartish trot Through London's throbbing centre. And there will be some curious stirs, Unless my fancy greatly errs, At restaurants and theatres When our distinctive turn-out Lines up with all the others there, And we look out with quite an air And order the commissionaire Kindly to put the little stair That hangs behind the stern out. And, when at nights our prancing team (I have before me now a scheme To use auxiliary steam) Desires to seek its stable, Why, John—I have not mentioned John; He is the man who sits upon The front of the Pantechnicon— Will take them off. And when they're gone, And hush succeeds to Babel, We'll rest within our home complete Wherever seems to us most sweet, And none shall say that such a street Or such a square is pleasant, But we shall answer straightway, "Yes, We used to live at that address; Quite jolly. But we liked it less. Than opposite the Duke of S. In Amaranthine Crescent." But if in wandering to and fro We chance to see—you never know— One house that has "TO LET" to show And find report has tricked us, And there are houses in the Town, We'll simply dump our chattels down And challenge Smith (of Smith and Brown) Or any landlord, bar the Crown, To blooming well evict us. EVOE.