DOG-GREL VERSES, BY A POOR BLIND.

“Hark! hark! the dogs do bark, The beggars are coming...”—Old Ballad.

H what shall I do for a dog? Of sight I have not got a particle, Globe, Standard, or Sun, Times, Chronicle—none Can give me a good leading article. A Mastiff once led me about, But people appeared so to fear him— I might have got pence Without his defence, But Charity would not come near him. A Blood-hound was not much amiss, But instinct at last got the upper; And tracking Bill Soames, And thieves to their homes, I never could get home to supper. A Fox-hound once served me as guide, A good one at hill and at valley; But day after day He led me astray, To follow a milk-woman’s tally. A turnspit once did me good turns At going and crossing, and stopping; Till one day his breed Went off at full speed, To spit at a great fire in Wapping. A Pointer once pointed my way, But did not turn out quite so pleasant, Each hour I’d a stop At a Poulterer’s shop To point at a very high pheasant. A Pug did not suit me at all, The feature unluckily rose up; And folks took offence When offering pence, Because of his turning his nose up. A Butcher once gave me a dog, That turn’d out the worst one of any; A Bull dog’s own pup, I got a toss up, Before he had brought me a penny. My next was a Westminster Dog, From Aistrop the regular cadger; But, sightless, I saw He never would draw A blind man so well as a badger. A greyhound I got by a swop, But, Lord! we soon came to divorces: He treated my strip Of cord like a slip, And left me to go my own courses. A poodle once tow’d me along, But always we came to one harbour, To keep his curls smart, And shave his hind part, He constantly call’d on a barber. My next was a Newfoundland brute, As big as a calf fit for slaughter; But my old cataract So truly he back’d I always fell into the water. I once had a sheep-dog for guide, His worth did not value a button; I found it no go, A Smithfield Ducrow, To stand on four saddles of mutton. My next was an Esquimaux dog, A dog that my bones ache to talk on, For picking his ways On cold frosty days He pick’d out the slides for a walk on. Bijou was a lady-like dog, But vex’d me at night not a little, When tea-time was come She would not go home, Her tail had once trail’d a tin kettle. I once had a sort of a Shock, And kiss’d a street post like a brother, And lost every tooth In learning this truth— One blind cannot well lead another. A terrier was far from a trump, He had one defect, and a thorough, I never could stir, ‘Od rabbit the cur! Without going into the Borough. My next was Dalmatian, the dog! And led me in danger, oh crikey! By chasing horse heels, Between carriage wheels, Till I came upon boards that were spiky. The next that I had was from Cross, And once was a favourite spaniel With Nero,[15] now dead, And so I was led Right up to his den like a Daniel. A mongrel I tried, and he did, As far as the profit and lossing, Except that the kind Endangers the blind, The breed is so fond of a crossing. A setter was quite to my taste, In alleys or streets broad or narrow, Till one day I met A very dead set, At a very dead horse in a barrow. I once had a dog that went mad, And sorry I was that I got him; I came to a run, And a man with a gun Pepper’d me when he ought to have shot him. My profits have gone to the dogs, My trade has been such a deceiver, I fear that my aim Is a mere losing game, Unless I can find a Retriever.