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THE UNHAPPY LOT OF MR. KNOTT.
BHOWING HOW HE BUILT HIS HOUSE AND HIS
WIFE MOVED INTO IT.
My worthy friend, A. Gordon Knott,
From business snug withdrawn,
And twelve feet more of lawn.
He had laid business on the shelf
To give his taste expansion,
The building mania can shun,
A mediæ val mansion.
He called an architect in counsel ;
“ I want,” said he, “ a--you know what,
À thing complete from chimney-pot
Here's a half-acre of good land;
Just have it nicely mapped and planned And make your workmen drive on;
Meadow there is, and upland too,
And I should like a water-view, D' you think
could contrive one ? (Perhaps the pump and trough would do, If painted a judicious blue ?) The woodland I've attended to;'
(He meant three pines stuck up askew, Iwo dead ones and a live one.)
"A pocket-full of rocks 'twould take To build a house of free-stone,
But then it is not hard to make
The cunning painter in a trice
And people think it very gneiss
My money never shall be thrown
Away on such a deal of stone, When stone of deal is cheaper."
And so the greenest of antiques
Was reared for Knott to dwell in ;
Had satisfied Fluellen ;
Knott had it all worked well in,
Too small to hang a bell in ;
All corners and all gables ;
Were set upon the stables.
Knott was delighted with a pile
Approved by fashion's leaders;
Which certainly had three doors ?)
Upon the thing in limine;
All ways-except up chimney;
Some trepidation stood in,
Though not a whit less wooden ;
With our terrestrial lumber;
And crannies without number, Wherethrough, as you may well presume, The wind, like water through a flume,
Came rushing in ecstatic,
That was not a rheumatic;
Grown shaky on their poises,
To a family of Noyeses !”
But, though Knott's house was full of airs,
He had but one-a daughter;
In matrimony sought her;
Their faith would never falter,
In the Hymenæal halter ;
Cards for the belle delivering,
As set her nerves ashivering.
Now Knott had quite made up his mind
That Colonel Jones should have her ;
And make no more palaver;
Glanced at the fact that love was blind,
To pet their little crosses,
Of dish--their own proboscis.
But she, with many tears and moans,
Besought him not to mock her; Said 'twas too much for flesh and bones To marry mortgages and loans, That fathers' hearts were stocks and stones And that she'd go, when Mrs. Jones,
To Davy Jones's locker;
Mere womankind to bridle-
Were fifty times as idle ;
And registered in private,
If woman could contrive it;
Jenny was more so, rather,
The colonel and her father.
Just at this time the Public's eyes
Were keenly on the watch, a stir Beginning slowly to arise