MISADVENTURES AT MARGATE. A LEGEND OF JARVIS'S JETTY.

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It is to my excellent and erudite friend, Simpkinson, that I am indebted for his graphic description of the well-known chalk-pit, between Acol and Minster in the Isle of Thanet, known by the name of the "Smuggler's Leap." The substance of the true history attached to it he picked up while visiting that admirable institution, the "Sea-bathing Infirmary," of which he is a "Life Governor," and enjoying his otium cum dignitate last summer at the least aristocratic of all possible watering-places.
Before I proceed to detail it however, I cannot, in conscience, fail to bespeak for him the reader's sympathy in one of his own

MISADVENTURES AT MARGATE.

A LEGEND OF JARVIS'S JETTY.

MR. SIMPKINSON (loquitur).

WAS in Margate last July, I walk'd
upon the pier,
I saw a little vulgar Boy—I said
"What make you here?—
The gloom upon your youthful cheek
speaks any thing but joy;"
Again I said, "What make you
here, you little vulgar Boy?"

He frowned, that little vulgar Boy,—he deem'd I meant to

scoff—

And when the little heart is big, a little "sets it off;"
He put his finger in his mouth, his little bosom rose,—
He had no little handkerchief to wipe his little nose!

"Hark!" don't you hear, my little man?—it's striking

Nine," I said,

"An hour when all good little boys and girls should be in

bed.

Run home and get your supper, else your Ma' will scold—

Oh! fie!—

It's very wrong indeed for little boys to stand and cry!"

The tear-drop in his little eye again began to spring,
His hosom throbb'd with agony,—he cried like any thing!
I stoop'd, and thus amidst his sobs I heard him murmur—

"Ah!

I haven't got no supper! and I haven't got no Ma'!!—

"My father, he is on the seas,—my mother's dead and

gone!

And I am here, on this here pier, to roam the world alone;
I have not had, this live-long day, one drop to cheer my

heart,

Nor 'brown' to buy a bit of bread with,—let alone a tart.

"If there's a soul will give me food, or find me in

employ,

By day or night, then blow me tight!" (he was a vulgar

Boy;)

"And now I'm here, from this here pier it is my fixed

intent

To jump, as Mister Levi did from off the Monu-ment!"

"Cheer up! cheer up! my little man—cheer up!" I

kindly said,

"You are a naughty boy to take such things into your

head:

If you should jump from off the pier, you'd surely break

your legs,

Perhaps your neck—then Bogey'd have you, sure as eggs

are eggs!

"Come home with me, my little man, come home with me

and sup;

My landlady is Mrs. Jones—we must not keep her up—
There's roast potatoes at the fire,—enough for me and

you—

Come home, you little vulgar Boy—I lodge at Number 2."

I took him home to Number 2, the house beside "The

Foy,"

I bade him wipe his dirty shoes,—that little vulgar Boy,—
And then I said to Mistress Jones, the kindest of her sex,
"Pray be so good as go and fetch a pint of double X!"

But Mrs. Jones was rather cross, she made a little noise,
She said she "did not like to wait on little vulgar Boys."
She with her apron wiped the plates, and, as she rubb'd the

delf,

Said I might "go to Jericho, and fetch my beer myself?"

I did not go to Jericho—I went to Mr. Cobb—*
I changed a shilling—(which in town the people call "a

Bob")—

It was not so much for myself as for that vulgar child—
And I said, "A pint of double X, and please to draw it

mild!"

When I came back I gazed about—I gazed on stool and

chair—

I could not see my little friend—because he was not there!
I peep'd beneath the table-cloth—beneath the sofa too—
I said "You little vulgar Boy! why what's become of

you?"

* QUI FACIT PER ALIUM, FACIT PER SE-—'Deem not, gentle stranger that Mr. Cobb is a petty dealer and chapman, as Mr. Simpkinson would here seem to imply. He is a maker, not a retailer of stingo,—and mighty pretty tipple he makes.

I could not see my table-spoons—I look'd, but could not

see

The little flddle-pattern'd ones I use when I'm at tea;
—I could not see my sugar-tongs—my silver watch—oh,

dear!

I know 'twas on the mantle-piece when I went out for

beer.

I could not see my Macintosh—it was not to be seen!—
Nor yet my best white beaver hat, broad-brimm'd and lined

with green;

My carpet-bag—my cruet-stand, that holds my sauce and

soy,—

My roast potatoes!—all are gone!—and so's that vulgar

Boy!

I rang the bell for Mrs. Jones, for she was down below,
"—Oh, Mrs. Jones! what do you think?—ain't this a

pretty go?—

—That horrid little vulgar Boy whom I brought here to-

night,

—He's stolen my things and run away!!"—Says she,

"And sarve you right!!"

* * * * * *

Next morning I was up betimes—I sent the Crier round,
All with his bell and gold-laced hat, to say I'd give a

pound

To find that little vulgar Boy, who'd gone and used me

so;

But when the Crier cried, "0 Yes!" the people cried,

"0 No!"

I went to "Jarvis' Landing-place," the glory of the town,
There was a common sailor-man a-walking up and down,
I told my tale—he seem'd to think I'd not been treated

well,

And call'd me "Poor old Buffer!"—what that means I

cannot tell.

That Sailor-man, he said he'd seen that morning on the

shore,

A son of—something—'twas a name I'd never heard be-

fore,

A little "gallows-looking chap"—dear me; what could he

mean?

With a "carpet-swab" and "muckingtogs," and a hat

turned up with green.

He spoke about his "precious eyes," and said he'd seen

him "sheer,"

—It's' very odd that Sailor-men should talk so very

queer—

And then he hitch'd his trousers up, as is, I'm told, their

use,

—It's very odd that Sailor-men should wear those things

so loose.

I did not understand him well, but think he meant to

say

He'd seen that little vulgar Boy, that morning, swim

away

In Captain Large's Royal George, about an hour before,
And they were now, as he supposed, "somewheres" about

the Nore.

A landsman said, "I twig the chap—he's been upon the

Mill—

And 'cause he gammons so the flats, ve calls him Veeping

Bill!"

He said "he'd done me wery brown," and nicely "stow'd

the swag,"

—That's French, I fancy, for a hat—or else a carpet-

bag.

I went and told the constable my property to track;
He asked me if "I did not wish that I might get it back?"
I answered, "To be sure I do!—it's what I'm come

about."

He smiled and said, "Sir, does your mother know that you

are out?"

Not knowing what to do, I thought I'd hasten back to

town,

And beg our own Lord Mayor to catch the Boy who'd

"done me brown."

His Lordship very kindly said he'd try and find him out,
But he "rather thought that there were several vulgar boys

about."

He sent for Mr. Whithair then, and I described "the swag,"
My Macintosh, my sugar-tongs, my spoons, and carpet-

bag;

He promised that the New Police should all their powers

employ;

But never to this hour have I beheld that vulgar Boy!

MORAL.

Remember, then, what when a boy I've heard my Grad-

ma' tell,

"BE WARN'D IN TIME BY OTHERS' HARM, AND YOU SHALL DO

FULL WELL!"

Don't link yourself with vulgar folks, who've got no fix'd

abode,

Tell lies, use naughty words, and say they "wish they may

be blow'd!"

Don't take too much of double X!—and don't at night go

out

To fetch your beer yourself, but make the pot-boy bring

your stout!

And when you go to Margate next, just stop, and ring the

bell,

Give my respects to Mrs. Jones, and say I'm pretty well!

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