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THE BURNING OF STOUGHTON.

BY SIR W-LT-R SC-TT.

Appear the goodies with their brooms,

Like witches weird from nether glooms.

Up from the depths of Carl's hotel

Rushes the bummer, with a yell,

And dig and grind and proctor fell,

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And all, do rushing come.

"Man the fire-ladders!" is the cry,

And hundreds rush to where they lie.

Alas! some carpenter or clown,

To keep them safe, had tied them down.

But see! look there! with frequent thumps,

Jones bravely plies his bucket pumps;

A brawny Senior stirs his stumps,

And water on the fire-fiend dumps.

And now a shout, prolonged and loud,

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