(You will observe that the poet sacrifices everything for the rhyme, and I do not blame him, when I contemplate the noble result):—
"In search of work he wandered round,
Till his heart was sick and sore;
Then cold and hungry laid him down
Besides a Merchant's door.
The Merchant kindly took him in,
And gave him food to eat,
But the plainest of plain cooks"—
(Do you notice the poet's wit and humour?)
"Him cruelly did treat."
(There is a picture here of the Cook beating Whittington with two ladles.)
"No longer could he stay,
So towards the famous Highgate Hill
Poor Dick he ran away.
Four miles he ran, then wearied much,
He sat him on a stone,
And heard the merry bells of Bow
Speak to him in this tone—
'Turn again, Whittington,
Thrice Lord Mayor of London.'"
The poet's lines at this point have been beautifully illustrated by a picture of Whittington, sitting on the stone aforesaid, labelled "four miles to London," in an attitude of attention, whilst the
