hat, &c.

This is the table where diners sat, served by the cooking-maid florid
and fat of the dame with the crumpled hat, &c.

This is the _gourmand_ all forlorn, who dreamed of the table where
diners sat, served by the cooking-wench florid and fat, &c.

This is the postman who knocked in the morn awaking the _gourmand_ all
forlorn from his dream of the table, &c.

And this is _Jack_ (with a face of scorn), thinking in wrath of
"directions" torn from the parcel by Railway borne, announced by the
postman who knocked in the morn, awaking the _gourmand_ all forlorn,
who dreamed of the table where diners sat, served by the cooking-wench
florid and fat of the dame with the crumpled hat, wife of the
porter who "found" the "birds" in the Babel where lost was the label
addressed to the friend who expected the Grouse that _Jack_ shot!

MORAL.

If in the Shooting Season you some brace of birds would send
(As per letter duly posted) to a fond expectant friend,
Pray remember that a railway is the genuine modern Babel,
And be very very careful _how you fasten on the label_!

* * * * *

A MUSICAL SUGGESTION.