The Terrible Tale.

"'Tis now some thirty-seven years ago     Since first began the plot that I'm revealing,     A fine young woman, whom you ought to know,     Lived with her husband down in Drum Lane, Ealing.     Herself by means of mangling reimbursing,     And now and then (at intervals) wet-nursing.     "Two little babes dwelt in their humble cot:     One was her own--the other only lent to her:     Her own she slighted.    Tempted by a lot     Of gold and silver regularly sent to her,     She ministered unto the little other     In the capacity of foster-mother.     "I was her own.    Oh! how I lay and sobbed     In my poor cradle--deeply, deeply cursing     The rich man's pampered bantling, who had robbed     My only birthright--an attentive nursing!     Sometimes in hatred of my foster-brother,     I gnashed my gums--which terrified my mother.     "One day--it was quite early in the week -     I in my cradle having placed the bantling -     Crept into his!    He had not learnt to speak,     But I could see his face with anger mantling.     It was imprudent--well, disgraceful maybe,     For, oh!    I was a bad, blackhearted baby!     "So great a luxury was food, I think     No wickedness but I was game to try for it.     NOW if I wanted anything to drink     At any time, I only had to cry for it!     ONCE, if I dared to weep, the bottle lacking,     My blubbering involved a serious smacking!     "We grew up in the usual way--my friend,     My foster-brother, daily growing thinner,     While gradually I began to mend,     And thrived amazingly on double dinner.     And every one, besides my foster-mother,     Believed that either of us was the other.     "I came into his wealth--I bore his name,     I bear it still--his property I squandered -     I mortgaged everything--and now (oh, shame!)     Into a Somers Town shake-down I've wandered!     I am no Paley--no, Vollaire--it's true, my boy!     The only rightful Paley V. is you, my boy!     "And all I have is yours--and yours is mine.     I still may place you in your true position:     Give me the pounds you've saved, and I'll resign     My noble name, my rank, and my condition.     So far my wickedness in falsely owning     Your vasty wealth, I am at last atoning!"     * * * * * * *     Frederick he was a simple soul,     He pulled from his pocket a bulky roll,     And gave to Paley his hard-earned store,     A hundred and seventy pounds or more.     Paley Vollaire, with many a groan,     Gave Frederick all that he called his own, -     Two shirts and a sock, and a vest of jean,     A Wellington boot and a bamboo cane.     And Fred (entitled to all things there)     He took the fever from Mr. Vollaire,     Which killed poor Frederick West.    Meanwhile     Vollaire sailed off to Madeira's isle.