Volume 25 — THE PLOUGHBOY'S DOOM!
Reading edition
The stubble-headed Ploughboy No more a-field shall stride, Smock-frocked, with whip on shoulder, The steer or steed to guide; At dawn, no more shall whistle With early lark and thrush; No longer stalk the fallows, The clods no longer crush.
In vacant rumination, No more shall sit on gate; His shanks beneath him dangling By hob-nailed highlows' weight. That form of grace no longer The hedgerows shall adorn, His dab of bacon slicing Upon his palm of horn.
The Boy—smock, boots, and bacon, And whip,—must yield to Steam; His whistle must be silent, Whilst engines hiss and scream; For Mechi has in action A new machine e'en now, And says his apparatus Will supersede the Plough.
A Bear Speculation.
The Turkish question appears to have subsided into an affair of grease. The subjoined advertisement shows what our Imperial friend has come to:—
BEAR FOR SALE.—A fine large RUSSIAN BEAR, very tame. To be seen on board the Atalanta, Captain Wesenberg lying in the West India Import Dock.
Nicholas has come to the West India Dock. We suppose we shall soon have him Promoting the Growth of the Hair, in combination with essence of rose, violet, or bergamot.
The Height of Absurdity.—A Vegetarian attending a Cattle Show.