href="@public@vhost@g@gutenberg@html@files@49682@49682-h@49682-h-6.htm.html#link2H_4_0078" class="pginternal" tag="{http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml}a">CHATEAUX D'ESPAGNE.

TO A CERTAIN SOMEBODY.

THE LORD MAYOR'S APOTHEOSIS.

THE END OF AN OLD YEAR,

PREFACE.

The following trifles have already made their appearance in various periodicals. The limit of their pretension is obvious from their individual brevity and collective title; with few exceptions, they were intended simply as drawing-room songs. Without aspiring to the high level of the days when Praed, Bayly, Hood, Fitzgerald, Theodore Hook, and the two Smiths wrote for music, may I flatter myself that these Carols are at least equal in point of taste (if not in point of humour) to certain light and lively ballads that are at present popular through the medium of the music-halls?

Some readers will probably think the name of this book suspiciously similar to that of Mr Frederick Locker's charming London Lyrics. Let me anticipate a charge of plagiarism by observing that Mr. Locker himself was kind enough to send me the suggestion for my present title.

To those gentlemen who have given me permission to republish various verses in this collection, I am sincerely obliged.

H. S. L.

CAROLS OF COCKAYNE.

THE TWINS.

N form and feature, face and limb,

I grew so like my brother

That folks got taking me for him

And each for one another.

It puzzled all our kith and kin,

It reach'd an awful pitch;

For one of us was born a twin

And not a soul knew which.

One day (to make the matter worse),

Before our names were fix'd,

As we were being wash'd by nurse,

We got completely mix'd.

And thus, you see, by Fate's decree,

(Or rather nurse's whim),

My brother John got christen'd me,

And I got christen'd him.

This fatal likeness even dogg'd

My footsteps when