He is wholly unaccustomed to a kindly greet ing now! Never with a smile of welcome has he seen his entrance met! (Mournfully.) Nobody (except the policeman) ever wanted him as yet! (Bitterly.) All forgotten are the jewels, once the purpose of his "job," As he sinks upon the door-mat with a deep and choking sob! Then, the infant's plea recalling, seeks the nursery above, Looking for the Liliputian crib he is to crack for love! (He generally does it for money, you know.) In the corner stands the dolls'-house, gayly painted green and red; (Coloring again here.) And the door declines to open even as the child had said! Out come centre-bit and jemmy, all his implements are plied; Never has he burgled better, as he feels with honest pride! Deftly now the task's accomplished - for the door will open well, When a childish voice behind him breaks the silence like a bell: "Sank 'oo, Missa Burglar, sank 'oo, and, betause 'oo's been tho nice, Thee, I've bwought 'oo up a tartlet - gweat big gweedies eat the ice! "Papa says he wants to see 'oo Partinthon Tan't 'oo thtay?"-"Well, not this evenin', so, my little dear, adoo!" (Make a picture of the next couplet; let the audience see the haunted victim of social preju dice beguiling his flight by tender memories, as he escapes his pursuers.) Fast he speeds across the housetops, but his bosom throbs with bliss, For upon his rough lips linger traces of a baby's kiss! (This line, tear-laden as it is, needs very delicate treatment to prevent the audience from understanding it in a painfully literal sense.) (Now we come to the finale, with a highly effective contrast; don't be afraid of it.) Dreamily, on downy pillow, Baby Bella murmurs sweet; (Smile here with a sleepy tenderness.) Burglar, tum adain an' thee me; I will dive 'oo cakes to eat!" (That's one side; now for the other.) In his garret, worn and weary, Burglar Bill has sunk to rest, Clasping tenderly a damson tartlet to his burly breast! THE CATARACT OF LODORE. ROBERT SOUTHEY. "How does the water come down at Lodore?" My little boy asked me thus, once on a time; And, moreover, he tasked me to tell him in rhyme. Anon at the word, there first came one daugh ter, And then came another, to second and third The request of their brother, and to hear how the water Comes down to Lodore, with its rush and its roar, As many a time they had seen it before. So I told them in rhyme, for of rhymes I had store; And 't was in my vocation for their recreation That so I should sing; because I was laureate to them and the king. From its sources which well in the tarn on the Fell; From its fountains in the mountains, Its rills and its gills, through moss and through brake, It runs and it creeps for a while, till it sleeps In its own little lake. And thence at depart ing, Awaking and starting, it runs through the reeds, And away it proceeds, through meadow and glade, In sun and in shade, and through the wood shelter, Among crags in its flurry, helter-skelter, And there it lies darkling; now smoking and frothing |