Part 4 — POETRY ON AN IMPROVED PRINCIPLE. A RENCONTER WITH A TEA-TOTALLER. PUNCH.

On going forth last night, a friend to see, I met a man by trade a s-n-o-B; Reeling along the path he held his way. "Ho! ho!" quoth I, "he's d-r-u-n-K" Then thus to him—"Were it not better, far, You were a little s-o-b-e-R? 'T were happier for your family, I guess, Than playing of such rum r-i-g-S. Besides, all drunkards, when policemen see 'em, Are taken up at once by t-h-e-M." 'Me drunk!" the cobbler cried, "the devil trouble you You want to kick up a blest r-o-W. Now, may I never wish to work for Hoby, If drain I've had!" (the lying s-n-O-B!) I've just return'd from a tee-total party, Twelve on us jamm'd in a spring c-a-R-P. The man as lectured, now, WAS drunk; why, bless ye, He's sent home in a c-h-a-i-S-E. He'd taken so much lush into his belly, I'm blest if he could t-o-dd-L-E. A pair on 'em—hisself and his good lady;— The gin had got into her h-e-A-D. (My eye and Betty! what weak mortals WE are; They said they took but ginger b-e-E-R!) But as for me, I've stuck ('t was rather ropy) All day to weak imperial p-O-P. And now we've had this little bit o' sparrin', Just stand a q-u-a-r-t-e-R-N!"