THE SORROWS OF SERGEANT GUBBINS,

Lyttelton Times, Volume XVII, Issue 991, 10 May 1862, Page 2

THE SORROWS OF SERGEANT GUBBINS,

(As confided to a select circle of his military acquaintances.) Comrades! listen to my story Which I pour into your ears; 'Taint a long one, this ere story— It's about them Volunteers. Five and twenty years I've been now In the sarvice you're aweer, And it's hard I should begin now For to grind a Volunteer. Nigger-driving, to my thinking, Better sport than this must be: There they must obey like " winking," Or you lick 'em, don't you see. But with these chaps in your dealins You must draw it very mild,: If you don't you hurt their feelings Though they druv you nearly wild. Hurt their feelings; Oh! my eye! then How's their precious feelings made ? Hurt their feelings! " Well," ses I then, " Why d'ye bring them on parade ?" " Corp'ral Smith, if in your squad now, You'd a chap called Jones, d'ye see, . . A stupid chap suppose you had now, This is how I guess 't would be:— " Private Jones, you thundering hidiot, Darn your eyes! Fall out, d'ye hear ? You stupid hass," and if he did not, Why he'd catch it, never fear. Ah! but, lads, that's not the "cheese" here, That, by no means, a'int the tack. It's " Mister Jones, sir, if you please, sir, That there fut should be draw'd back;" Or, " I'll thank you to look out, sir, And keep steady that there 'and. ' When the word is right about, sir, 'Taint the left.jou understand." Oh! it's very haggravatin' When yer bile's a risin' fast, ■ To feel that tho' its precious gratin' You must swaller it at last. Now and then I falls to chaffin', For I think they minds that more, But you know I can't help laffln', 'Tis ridik'lus to be sure. There you'll see a feller stalkin' With his nose stuck in the air; By hisself he goes on walkin' You may holler, he don't hear. Or, perhaps, he this way stands like,. ■ ; Very fine, he thinks, no doubt; A bunch o' carrots both his 'ands like, All the fingers stickin' out. ( Comrades! 'taint to be expected That, with such a precious lot, Whose heddication's bin neglected, Any credit's to be got. Don't you # think that you can talk 'em Into knowing left from right ? No—the only plan's to chalk 'em; Teach 'em that way p'raps you might. What does most my patience try, lads, What you'd scarcely think was true, In the ranks they hargufy, lads, Har-gufy the beggars do.. Oh! thinks I—l'd like to warm ye, If I wouldn't—l'd be blowed. But I ses, " Gents in the harmy Har-gu-fying's not allowed." Comrades all! I look towards ye, When you've served yer twenty years, P'raps, like mine, 'twill your reward be For to grind them Volunteers. — Bombay .Evening Courier.