"Tis useless to prescribe salt-cod and eggs,

Or lay post-horses under legal fetters,
While Tattersall's on Sunday stirs its Legs,
Folks look for good examples from their Betters!

Consider,-Acts of Parliament may bind

A man to go where Irvings are discoursing-
But as for forcing "proper frames of mind,"
Minds are not framed, like melons, for such forcing!

Remember, as a Scottish legislator,

The Scotch Kirk always has a Moderator;
Meaning one need not ever be sojourning

In a long Sermon Lane without a turning.
Such
grave old maids as Portia and Zenobia
May like discourses with a skein of threads,
And love a lecture for its many heads,
But as for me, I have the Hydra-phobia.

Religion one should never overdo:

Right glad I am no minister you be,

For you would say your service, sir, to me, Till I should say, "My service, sir, to you." Six days made all that is, you know, and then Came that of rest-by holy ordination,

As if to hint unto the sons of men,

After creation should come re-creation.

Read right this text, and do not further search To make a Sunday Workhouse of the Church.

THE DEATH OF THE DOMINIE.

"Take him up, says the master."-OLD SPELLING BOOK.

My old Schoolmaster is dead. He "died of a stroke;" and I wonder none of his pupils have ever done the same. I have been flogged by many masters, but his rod, like Aaron's, swallowed up all the rest. We have often wished that he whipt on the principle of Italian penmanship,-up strokes heavy and down strokes light; but he did it in English round hand, and we used to think with a very hard pen. Such was his love of flogging, that for some failure in English composition, after having been well corrected I have been ordered to be revised. I have heard of a road to learning, and