"And so he is!--He always hits-- And sometimes hard, and all to bits.

But ere with him our tongues we task, I've still one little thing to ask; Namely, with such a random master, Of course you sometimes want a plaster?

Such missing hands make game of more Than ever pass'd for game before-- A pounded pig--a widow's cat-- A patent ventilating hat-- For shot, like mud, when thrown so thick, Will find a coat whereon to stick!"

"What! accidentals, as they're term'd?

No never--none--since I was worm'd-- Not e'en the Keeper's fatted calves,-- My master does not miss by halves!

His shot are like poor orphans, hurl'd Abroad upon the whole wide world,-- But whether they be blown to dust, As often-times I think they must, Or melted down too near the sun, What comes of them is known to none-- I never found, since I could bark, A Barn that bore my master's mark!"

"Is that the case?--Why then, my brother, Would we could swap with one another!

Or take the Squire, with all my heart, Nay, all my liver, so we part!

He'll hit you hares--(he uses cartridge) He'll hit you cocks--he'll hit a partridge; He'll hit a snipe; he'll hit a pheasant; He'll hit--he'll hit whatever's present; He'll always hit,--as that's your wish-- His pepper never lacks a dish!"

"Come, come, you banter,--let's be serious; I'm sure that I am half delirious, Your picture set me so a-sighing-- But does he shot so well--shoot flying?"

"Shoot flying? Yes--and running, walking-- I've seen him shoot two farmers talking-- He'll hit the game, whene'er he can, But failing that he'll hit a man,-- A boy--a horse's tail or head-- Or make a pig a pig of lead,-- Oh, friend! they say no dog as yet, However hot, was known to sweat, But sure I am that I perspire Sometimes _before my master's fire_!

Misses! no, no, he _always_ hits, But so as puts me into fits!

He shot my fellow dog this morning, Which seemed to me sufficient warning!"

"Quite, quite, enough!--So that's a hitter!

Why, my own fate I thought was bitter, And full excuse for cut and run; But give me still the missing gun!

Or rather, Sirius! send me this, No gun at all, to hit or miss, Since sporting seems to shoot thus double, That right or left it brings us trouble!"

So ended Dash;--and Pointer Don Prepared to urge the moral on; But here a whistle long and shrill Came sounding o'er the council hill, And starting up, as if their tails Had felt the touch of shoes and nails, Away they scamper'd down the slope, As fast as other pairs elope,-- Resolv'd, instead of sporting rackets, To beg, or dance in fancy jackets; At butchers' shops to try their luck; To help to draw a cart or truck; Or lead Stone Blind poor men, at most Who would but hit or miss a post.

THE FORLORN SHEPHERD'S COMPLAINT.[35]

[Footnote 35: This dates from the old days of transportation and Botany Bay. The judge indicated was Mr. Justice Alan Park, of the Common Pleas, and Mr. Cotton was Chaplain of Newgate.]

AN UNPUBLISHED POEM, FROM SYDNEY.

"Vell! Here I am--no Matter how it suits A-keeping Company vith them dumb Brutes; Old Park vos no bad Judge--confound his vig!

Of vot vood break the Sperrit of a Prig!

"The Like of Me, to come to New Sow Wales To go a-tagging arter Vethers' Tails And valk in Herbage as delights the Flock, But stinks of Sweet Herbs vorser nor the Dock!

"To go to set this solitary Job To Von whose Vork vos alvay in a Mob!

It's out of all our Lines, for sure I am Jack Shepherd even never kep a Lamb!

"I arn't ashamed to say I sit and veep To think of Seven Year of keepin Sheep, The spooniest Beast in Nater, all to Sticks, And not a Votch to take for all their Ticks!

"If I'd fore-seed how Transports vould turn out To only Baa! and Botanize about, I'd quite as leaf have had the t'other Pull, And come to Cotton, as to all this Vool!

"Von only happy moment I have had Since here I come to be a Farmer's Cad, And then I cotch'd a vild Beast in a Snooze, And pick'd her pouch of three young Kangaroos!

"Vot chance haye I to go to Race or Mill?

Or show a sneaking Kindness for a Till; And as for Vashings, on a hedge to dry, I'd put the Natives' Linen in my Eye!

"If this whole Lot of Mutton I could scrag, And find a Fence to turn it into Swag, I'd give it all in London Streets to stand, And if I had my pick, I'd say the Strand!

"But ven I goes, as maybe vonce I shall, To my old Crib to meet with Jack, and Sal, I've been so gallows honest in this Place, I shan't not like to show my sheepish Face.

"It's wery hard for nothing but a Box Of Irish Blackguard to be keepin' Flocks, 'Mong naked Blacks, sich Savages to hus, They've nayther got a Pocket nor a Pus.

"But folks may tell their Troubles till they're sick To dumb brute Beasts,--and so I'll cut my Stick!

And vot's the Use a Feller's Eyes to pipe Vere von can't borrow any Gemman's Vipe?"

LIEUTENANT LUFF.

All you that are too fond of wine, Or any other stuff, Take warning by the dismal fate Of one Lieutenant Luff.

A sober man he might have been, Except in one regard, He did not like soft water, So he took to drinking hard!

Said he, "Let others fancy slops, And talk in praise of Tea, But I am no Bohemian, So do not like Bohea.

If wine's a poison, so is Tea, Though in another shape: What matter whether one is kill'd By canister or grape!"

According to this kind of taste Did he indulge his drouth, And being fond of Port, he made A port-hole of his mouth!

A single pint he might have sipp'd And not been out of sorts, In geologic phrase--the rock He split upon was quarts!

To "hold the mirror up to vice"

With him was hard, alas!

The worse for wine he often was, But not "before a glass."

No kind and prudent friend had he To bid him drink no more,-- The only chequers in his course Where at a tavern door!

Full soon the sad effects of this His frame began to show, For that old enemy the gout Had taken him in toe!

And join'd with this an evil came Of quite another sort-- For while he drank, himself, his purse Was getting "something short."

For want of cash he soon had pawn'd One half that he possessed, And drinking showed him duplicates Beforehand of the rest!

So now his creditors resolved To seize on his assets; For why,--they found that his half-pay Did not half pay his debts.

But Luff contrived a novel mode His creditors to chouse; For his own execution he Put into his own house!

A pistol to the muzzle charged He took devoid of fear; Said he, "This barrel is my last, So now for my last bier!"

Against his lungs he aimed the slugs, And not against his brain, So he blew out his lights--and none Could blow them in again!

A Jury for a Verdict met, And gave in it these terms:-- "We find as how as certain slugs Has sent him to the worms!"

MORNING MEDITATIONS.

Let Taylor preach upon a morning breezy How well to rise while nights and larks are flying-- For my part getting up seems not so easy By half as _lying_.