Railway Jack.


In your newspaper insert I beg,

Lines from a poor dog who has lost his leg.

I wrote before in prose; this second time

I’ll add some more particulars in rhyme.

Not that my former narrative has failed.

But a wag said t’was, like myself, cur tailed.

My mother lived at Lewes Station.  Who

My father was I know no more than you.

‘Tis a wise child’- no! stay, it should be rather

‘Tis a wise puppy-dog who knows his father.

My education was neglected: I was put in

Rails, sleepers, boilers, buffers – not Dog – Latin.

A kindly stoker – one whose name was Lockit –

When I was little put me in his pocket.

From’thence I peeped upon the shifting scene,

And went to London, York and Aberdeen.

He often changed his line, and homes I found

In Midland, Northern, Western Underground.

I never went to church: I could not stay

At fifty parish churches in a day.

‘Twas always very hot upon the engine,

And I occasionally got a singeing,

I yelped, no doubt; but, loud as was my cry,

The engine screamed more loudly still than I.

The Railway laws I scarcely ever broke, –

Not to tip porters, cross the line, nor smoke. –

Till one sad day I ventured to transgress,

And hence arose my unhappiness.

I’m older now, and hope I have a ripe head;

Excuse the phrase; I want a rhyme to tripod.

I called the man who made me so a thick – head

He snapped my leg, as porters do a ticket,

A quadruped no longer I can be,

Nor walk on four legs, but must limp on three.

Bipeds are tripods when they use a crutch;

No better off than I am, – or not much.

I still can travel: Never may I lack

The pluck which gained the name of



Hastings & St Leonards Observer. February 25th, 1882.