A gruesome tale I tell of the
West-Eastern Railway Companee.
"Its virtues few, its faults a score"--
(I quote the view held heretofore).
The chief among its faults, you see,
Is sad unpunctualitee.
Now, gentles all, list what befel
AUGUSTUS HALL, of Camberwell.
The Fates were stern, the world unkind;
And this, I learn, unhinged his mind.
_Che sarà, sarà!_ Think how sad!
His evil star it drove him mad!
"If life has no more joy to give,"
Quoth he, "I'll go and cease to live.
Nor yet delay an hour to dine,
But straightway lay me on the line.
"The train now due will end distress--
So haste thee, Two o'clock Express!"
With that he'd gone, nor stayed to snack;
But climbed upon the railway-track.
He waited now two hours--not less;
And yet, I vow, came no express!
And he had nought his pangs to ease.
He wished he'd brought some bread and cheese.
He had to fast. He fain would sup.
The hours flew past. He sate him up.
"'Tis strangely late. I should not mind--
I'd gladly wait--if I had dined.
"If I'd a joint that I could carve,
I'd strain a point; but here to starve!!
May I be hung if e'er I see
Such gross unpunctualitee!
"No gentleman can now depend
On any plan to plan his end."
Twelve hours or more he waited thus.
"A train?" he swore; "an _omnibus!_
"It tarries yet all through the night,
And helps to whet my appetite!"
His hunger grew inside his chest;
With nought to chew, he was--_non est_.
Two days pass by, and then we find
The train draw nigh, three days behind!
Directors sigh, deplore, and frown;
And fine the driver half-a-crown.
"But had I been on time," JACK said,
"HALL'S death, I ween, were on my head."
"Quite true, good JACK! Our conscience pricks.
We hand you back your two-and-six!"
_Envoi._
Now that is all I have to tell
Of Mr. HALL, of Camberwell.
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[Illustration: THESE DULL TIMES.
_Lady Gushton_ (_always so agreeable_). "AND THE MAGNIFICENT PICTURES
YOU HAD HERE LAST YEAR,--HAVE YOU GOT THEM ALL STILL?"
_Mr. Flake Whyte_ (_sadly_). "YES; I HAVE THEM ALL."
_Lady Gushton._ "HOW VERY NICE! IT IS SO HARD TO PART WITH ONE'S OWN
PICTURES, IS IT NOT?"
_Mr. Flake Whyte_ (_with much feeling_). "AWFULLY, AWFULLY HARD!
SOMETIMES IMPOSSIBLE!"]
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