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His manner and expression,
From every forester and cager
Of the profession."
Thus ended the dispute :
The cuckoo was quite mute
With admiration,
The lark stood laughing at the brute
Affecting so much penetration.
The ass was so intoxicated
And shallow-pated,
That ever since
He's got a fancy in his skull,
That he's a conimission from his prince,
Dated when the moon's at full ;
To summon every soul,
Every ass and ass's foal,
To try the quick and dull;
Trumpeting through the fields and streets,
Stopping and jading all he meets,
Pronouncing with an air
Of one pronouncing from the chair,
“Here's a beauty, this is new,
And that's a blemish
For which I have no relish,"-
Just like the Critical Review.

STERNE.

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THE YARN OF THE

“NANCY BELL."

And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,

And the crew of the captain's gig!”.
Then he gave a hitch to his trousers, which

Is a trick all seamen larn,
And having got rid of a thumping quid

He spun this painful yarn : -
'T was in the good ship Nancy Bell

That we sailed to the Indian sea,
And there on a reef we come to grief,

Which has often occurred to me.

“And pretty nigh all o' the crew was drowned

(There was seventy-seven o' soul); And only ten of the Nancy's men

Said “Here' to the muster-roll.
“There was me, and the cook, and the captain bold,

And the mate of the Nancy brig,
Aud a bo'sun tight and a midshipmite,

And the crew of the captain's gig:

“For a month we'd neither wittles nor drink,

Till a hungry we did feel,
So we drawed a lot, and, accordin', shot

The captain for our meal.

“The next lot fell to the Nancy's mate,

And a delicate dish he made ;
Then our appetite with the midshipmite

We seven survivors stayed.

FROM

THE BAB BALLADS."

'T was on the shores that round our coast

From Deal to Ramsgate span,
That I found alone, on a piece of stone,

An elderly naval man.

His hair was weedy, his beard was long,

And weedy and long was he ;
And I heard this wight on the shore recite,

In a singular minor key :
“O, I am a cook and a captain bold,

And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,

And the crew of the captain's gig."
And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,

Till I really felt afraid,
For I could n't help thinking the man had been

drinking,

And so I simply said :O elderly man, it's little I know

of the duties of men of the sea, And I'll eat my hand if I understand

How you can possibly be

“And then we murdered the bo'sun tight,

And he much resembled pig;
Then we wittled free, did the cook and me,

On the crew of the captain's gig.
“ Then only the cook and me was left,

And the delicate question, Which
Of us two goes to the kettle ?' arose,

And we argued it out as sich.
“For I loved that cook as a brother, I did,

And the cook he worshipped me ;
But we'd both be blowed if we'd either be stowed

In the other chap's hold, you see.
“I'll be eat if you dines off me,' says Tom.

'Yes, that,' says I, ‘you 'll be.
I'm boiled if I die, my friend,' quoth I;

And ‘Exactly so,' quoth he.
“Says he : 'Dear James, to murder me

Were a foolish thing to do,
For don't you see that you can't cook me,

While I can - and will — cook you ?'

“At once a cook and a captain bold,

And the mate of the Nancy brig,

So he boils the water, and takes the salt

And the pepper in portions true (Which he never forgot), and some chopped shalot,

And some sage and parsley too.

"Come here,' says he, with a proper pride,

Which his smiling features tell ; “'T will soothing be if I let you see

How extremely nice you 'll smell.' “And he stirred it round, and round, and round,

And he sniffed at the foaming froth ; When I ups with his heels, and smothers his

squeals

In the scum of the boiling broth.
“And I eat that cook in a week or less,

And as I eating be
The last of his chops, why I almost drops,

For a wessel in sight I see.

If I did not take care,
Would come in for a share ;
Which I no wise intended
Till their manners were mended.
Of that there 's no sign,
I do therefore enjoin,
And do strictly command,
Of which witness my hand,
That naught I have got
Be brought to hotch-pot;
But I give and devise
As much as in me lies
To the son of my mother,
My own dear brother,
To have and to hold,
All my silver and gold,
Both sutton and potten,
Until the world 's rotten,
As the affectionate pledges
Of his brother.

JOHN HEDGES.

And I never larf, and I never smile,

And I never lark nor play ;
But I sit and croak, and a single joke

I have — which is to say :
“0, I am a cook and a captain bold

And the mate of the Nancy brig, And a bo'sun tight, and a midshipmite,

And the crew of the captain's gig!”

ECHO.

W. S. GILBERT.

COLOGNE.

In Köln, a town of monks and bones,
And pavements fanged with murderous stones,
And rags, and hags, and hideous wenches,
I counted two-and-seventy stenches,
All well-defined and several stinks!
Ye nymphs that reign o'er sewers and sinks,
The river Rhine, it is well known,
Doth wash your city of Cologne ;
But tell me, nymphs ! what power divine
Shall henceforth wash the river Rhine ?

I ASKED of Echo, 't other day,

(Whose words are few and often funny,) What to a novice she could say

Of courtship, love, and matrimony ?

Quoth Echo, plainly, — “Matter-o'-money!” Whom should I marry ? — should it be

A dashing damsel, gay and pert, A pattern of inconstancy ;

Or selfish, mercenary flirt ?

Quoth Echo, sharply, -- "Nary flirt !” What if, aweary of the strife

That long has lured the dear deceiver, She promise to amend her life,

And sin no more ; can I believe her ?

Quoth Echo, very promptly, — “Leave her !" But if some maiden with a heart

On me should venture to bestow it,
Pray, should I act the wiser part

To take the treasure, or forego it?
Quoth Echo, with decision,

“Go it!"

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.

THE WILL.

[The following will, by which a large fortune was bequeathed was proved in Doctors' Commons, London, in 1737.)

The fifth day of May
Being airy and gay,
And to hyp. not inclined,
But of vigorous mind,
And my body in health,
I'll dispose of my wealth,
And all I 'm to leave
On this side of the grave,
To some one or other,
And I think to my brother,
Because I foresaw
That my brethren in law,

But what if, seemingly afraid

To bind her fate in Hymen's fetter, She vow she means to die a maid,

In answer to my loving letter?

Quoth Echo, rather coolly, — “Let her!” What if, in spite of her disdain,

I find my heart intwined about
With Cupid's dear delicious chain

So closely that I can't get out ?
Quoth Echo, laughingly, — "Get out!"

THE VIRTUOSO.

IN IMITATION OF SPENSER'S STYLE AND STANZA.

But if some maid with beauty blest,

As pure and fair as Heaven can make her, Will share my labor and my rest

Till envious Death shall overtake her?
Quoth Echo (sotto voce), -- " Take her!"

JOHN G. SAXE.

Videmus Nugari solitos." — PERSIUS.

PHILOSOPHY OF HUDIBRAS.

Whilom by silver Thames's gentle stream,

In London town there dwelt a subtle wight, A wight of mickle wealth, and mickle fame,

Book-learned and quaint : a Virtuoso hight. Uncommon things, and rare, were his delight;

From musings deep his brain ne'er gotten ease, Nor ceased he from study, day or night;

Until (advancing onward by degrees)
Heknew whatever breeds on earth or air or seas.

BESIDE, he was a shrewd philosopher, And had read every text and gloss over ; Whate'er the crabbed'st author hath, He understood b'implicit faith. Whatever sceptic could inquire for, For every why he had a wherefore ; Knew more than forty of them do, As far as words and terms could go : All which he understood by rote, And, as occasion served, would quote ; No matter whether right or wrong ; They might be either said or sung. His notions fitted things so well That which was which he could not tell ; But oftentimes mistook the one For the other, as great clerks have done. He could reduce all things to acts, And knew their natures by abstracts ; Where entity and quiddity, The ghosts of defunct bodies, fly ; Where truth in person Like words congealed in northern air : He knew what's what, and that's as high As metaphysic wit can fly.

He many a creature did anatomize,

Almost unpeopling water, air, and land ; Beasts, fishes, birds, snails, caterpillars, flies,

Were laid full low by his relentless hand, That oft with gory crimson was distained ;

He many a dog destroyed, and many a cat; Of fleas his bed, of frogs the marshes drained,

Could tellen if a mite were lean or fat,
And read a lecture o'er the entrails of a gnat.

does appear,

He knew the various modes of ancient times,

Their arts and fashions of each different guise, Their weddings, funerals, punishments for crimes,

Their strength, their learning eke, and rarities ; Of old habiliments, each sort and size,

Male, female, high and low, to him were known; Each gladiator dress, and stage disguise ; With learnéd, clerkly phrase he could have

shown How the Greek tunic differed from the Roman

gown.

SAMUEL BUTLER.

LOGIC OF HUDIBRAS.

A curious medallist, I wot, he was,

And boasted many a course of ancient coin ; Well as his wife's he knewen every face,

From Julius Cæsar down to Constantine : For some rare sculpture he would oft ypine,

(As green-sick damosels for husbands do ;) And when obtainéd, with enraptured eyne,

He'd run it o'er and o'er with greedy view, And look, and look again, as he would look it

through.

He was in logic a great critic, Profoundly skilled in analytic ; He could distinguish and divide A hair 'twixt south and southwest side ; On either which he would dispute, Confute, change hands, and still confute : He'd undertake to prove, by force Of argument, a man's no horse ; He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl, And that a lord may be an owl, A calf an alderman, a goose a justice, And rooks committee-men and trustees. He'd run in debt by disputation, And pay with ratiocination : All this by syllogism true, in mood and figure he would do.

SAMUEL BUTLER.

His rich museum, of dimensions fair,
With goods that spoke the owner's mind was

fraught : Things ancient, curious, value-worth, and rare, From sea and land, from Greece and Rome, were

brought, Which he with mighty sums of gold had bought:

On these all tides with joyous eyes he pored ; And, sooth to say, himself he greater thought,

When he beheld his cabinets thus stored, You 'll tell me, p’rhaps, I 've only lost one
Than if he'd been of Albion's wealthy cities lord. game,

And bid me try another — for the rubber;
Permit me to inform you all, with shame,
That you 're a set of knaves, and I'm a lubber.”

DR. WOLCOTT (PETER PINDAK).

MARK AKENSIDE.

KING CANUTE AND HIS NOBLES.

A REMINISCENCE OF

THE LATE ON PLEASANTNESS.

CANUTE was by his nobles taught to fancy,

LET US ALONE.
That, by a kind of royal necromancy,

He had the power Old Ocean to control.
Down rushed the royal Dane upon the strand,
And issued, like a Solomon, command, - As vonce I valked by a dismal swamp,
Poor soul.

There sot an Old Cove in the dark and damp,

And at everybody as passed that road Go back, ye waves, you blustering rogues,” | A stick or a stone this Old Cove throwed ; quoth he;

And venever he flung his stick or his stone, Touch not your lord and master, Sea ; He'd set up a song of “Let me alone."

For by my power almighty, if you do
Then, staring vengeance, out he held a stick,

“Let me alone, for I loves to shy Vowing to drive Old Ocean to Old Nick,

These bits of things at the passers-by ; Should he even wet the latchet of his shoe.

Let me alone, for I've got your tin,

And lots of other traps snugly in ;
The Sea retired, — the monarch fierce rushed on, Let me alone, — I am rigging a boat

And looked as if he'd drive him from the land ; To grab votever you've got afloat ;
But Sea, not caring to be put upon,

In a veek or so I expects to come
Made for a moment a bold stand :

And turn you out of your 'ouse and 'ome;

I'm a quiet Old Cove," says he, with a groan ; Not only made a stand did Mr. Ocean,

“All I axes is, Let me alone." But to his honest waves he made a motion, And bid them give the king a hearty trimming.

Just then came along, on the self-same vay, The orders seemed a deal the waves to tickle,

Another Old Cove, and began for to say, For soon they put his majesty in pickle,

Let you alone! That's comin' it strong! And sat his royalties, like geese, a swimming. You've ben let alone — a darned site too long!

Of all the sarce that ever I heerd ! All hands aloft, with one tremendous roar,

Put down that stick! (You may well look skeered.)

Let Sound did they make him wish himself on shore ; go that stone! If you once show fight, His head and ears most handsomely they

I'll knock you higher than any kite. doused,

You must have a lesson to stop your tricks, Just like a porpoise, with one general shout,

And cure you of shying them stones and sticks; The waves so tumbled the poor king about,

And I'll have my hardware back, and my No anabaptist e'er was half so soused.

cash,

And knock your scow into tarnal smash ; At length to land he crawled, a half-drowned thing, And if ever I catches you round my ranch, Indeed more like a crab than like a king, I'll string you up to the nearest branch.

And found his courtiers making rueful faces : The best you can do is to go to bed, But what said Canute to the lords and gentry,

And keep a decent tongue in your head ; Who hailed him from the water, on his entry,

For I reckon, before you and I are done, All trembling for their lives or places ?

You 'll wish you had let honest folks alone."

“My lords and gentlemen, by your advice,

The Old Cove stopped, and t'other Old Cove, I've had with Mr. Sea a pretty bustle ; He sot quite still in his cypress grove, My treatment from my foe not over nice, And he looked at his stick, revolvin' slow, Just made a jest for every shrimp and muscle : Vether 't were safe to shy it, or no;

And he grumbled on, in an injured tone, A pretty trick for one of my dominion !

All that I axed vos, Let me alone." My lords, I thank you for your great opinion.

H. P. H. BROWXEI

EVENING.

THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS.

BY A TAILOR

A BRACE of sinners, for no good, Day hath put on his jacket, and around Were ordered to the Virgin Mary's shrine, His burning bosom buttoned it with stars. Who at Loretto dwelt, in wax, stone, wood, Here will I lay me on the velvet grass,

And in a fair white wig looked wondrous fine. That is like padding to earth's meagre ribs, And hold communion with the things about me.

Fifty long miles had those sad rogues to travel, Ah me ! how lovely is the golden braid

With something in their shoes much worse than That binds the skirt of night's descending robe !

gravel; The thin leaves, quivering on their silken threads, In short, their toes so gentle to amuse, Do make a music like to rustling satin,

The priest had ordered

peas

into their shoes : As the light breezes smooth their downy nap.

A nostrum famous in old popish times
For purifying souls that stunk of crimes :

A sort of apostolic salt,
Ha ! what is this that rises to my touch,

Which popish parsons for its powers exalt, So like a cushion? Can it be a cabbage ? It is, it is that deeply injured flower,

For keeping souls of sinners sweet,

Just as our kitchen salt keeps meat.
Which boysdo flout us with ; — but yet I lovethce,
Thou giant rose, wrapped in a green surtout. The knaves set off on the same day,
Doubtless in Eden thou didst blush as bright Peas in their shoes, to go and pray ;
As these, thy puny brethren ; and thy breath

But very different was their speed, I wot:
Sweetened the fragrance of her spicy air ; One of the sinners galloped on,
But now thou seemest like a bankrupt beau, Swift as a bullet from a gun ;
Stripped of his gaudy hues and essences,

The other limped, as if he had been shot. And growing portly in his sober garments. One saw the Virgin soon, Peccavi cried,

Had his soul whitewashed all so clever ;
Is that a swan that rides upon the water ? Then home again he nimbly hied,
O no, it is that other gentle bird,

Made fit with saints above to live forever.
Which is the patron of our noble calling.
I well remember, in my early years,

In coming back, however, let me say, When these young hands first closed upon a goose ;

He met his brother rogue about half-way, I have a scar upon my thimble finger,

Hobbling, with outstretched arms and bended Which chronicles the hour of young ambition.

knees, My father was a tailor, and his father,

Cursing the souls and bodies of the peas ; And my sire's grandsire, all of them were tailors ; ' His eyes in tears, his cheeks and brow in sweat, They had an ancient goose, it was an heir-loom Deep sympathizing wiih his groaning feet. From some remoter tailor of our race.

“How now," the light-toed, whitewashed pil. It happened I did see it on a time

grim broke, When none was near, and I did deal with it,

“You lazy lubber !” And it did burn me, -0, most fearfully !

“Ods curse it !” cried the other, “'t is no joke ;
My feet, once hard as any rock,

Are now as soft as blubber.
It is a joy to straighten out one's limbs,
And leap elastic from the level counter,

“Excuse me, Virgin Mary, that I swear,
Leaving the petty grievances of earth,
The breaking thread, the din of clashing shears, As for Loretto, I shall not get there ;
And all the needles that do wound the spirit,

No, to the Devil my sinful soul must go,

For damme if I ha' n't lost every toe.
For such a pensive hour of soothing silence.
Kind Nature, shuffling in her loose undress,

But, brother sinner, pray explain
Lays bare her shady bosom ; – I can feel

How 't is that you are not in pain. With all around me ;-- I can hail the flowers

What power hath worked a wonder for your toes That sprig earth's mantle, – and yon quiet bird, Whilst I just like a snail am crawling, That rides the stream, is to me as a brother.

Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawling, The vulgar know not all the hidden pockets,

Whilst not a rascal comes to ease my wocs ? Where Nature stows away her loveliness. But this unnatural posture of the legs

“How is 't that you can like a greyhound go, Cramps my extended calves, and I must go

Merry as if that naught had happened, burn ye!" Where I can coil them in their wonted fashion. “Why,” cried the other, grinning, “ you must

know,

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

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