Classic Poem

Not a sou had he got — not a guinea or note —
— And he looked confoundedly flurried,
As he bolted away without paying his shot,
— And the landlady after him hurried.

We saw him again at dead of night,
— When home from the club returning;
We twigged the doctor beneath the light
— Of the gas-lamp brilliantly burning.

All bare and exposed to the midnight dews,
— Reclined in a gutter we found him;
And he looked like a gentleman taking a snooze
— With his Marshall cloak around him.

" The doctor's as drunk as the devil, " we said,
— And we managed a shutter to borrow;
We raised him; and sighed at the thought that his head
— Would consumedly ache on the morrow.

We bore him home, and we put him to bed,
— And we told his wife and his daughter
To give him next morning a couple of red-
— Herrings, with soda-water.

Loudly they talked of his money that's gone,
— And his lady began to upbraid him;
But little he recked, so they let him snore on
— 'Neath the counterpane, just as we laid him.

We tucked him in, and had hardly done,
— When, beneath the window calling,
We heard the rough voice of a son of a gun
— Of a watchman " One o'clock! " bawling.

Slowly and sadly we all walked down
— From his room on the uppermost story;
A rushlight we placed on the cold hearth-stone,
— And we left him alone in his glory.