(That he instruction gainful thence might draw)
“What was the nicest quirk to cookin law ?"
“Ah, Tim !" replied the man of art and wiles,
With a rogue's face compact of plot and smiles,

For such deep mystery you must pay your venture,
This was not articled in our indenture;
A handsome treat, good food, and store of wine,
Be this agreed to, and the secret's thine."
The match was made, the supper straight bespoke,
When the sly chapman thus his nostrum broke ;
“ A staunch good witness, Tim ( this maxim draw
From all the rest ) is every point in law ;
This will success in the worst cause secure ye,
A staunch good witness is both Judge and Jury.”'
All of the best they fed, they drank their
To pay—the pupil hands old Soph the bill;
“Heyday! what's here; our treaty you've forgot ;
Why Tim ! 'twas bargained you should pay the shot."
“Your pardon, sir,” says Tim, “your maxim's good,

but mark,
You're out in practice—I'm your worship's clerk;
Your staunch good witness is not here to vouch;
Bills claim disbursement from the master's pouch.'
Grey Reynard sighed, and hung his wrinkled jaws,
So paid the costs of suit and lost his cause.
This moral learn—the overreaching elf,
In his own bow, ofttimes outshoots himself.

VI.--THE CASE ALTERED.

O

66

NCE on a time, if Fame says true, for Fame will lie and flatter too,

A country justice lived remote from town, and had the laws by rote; If e'er his neighbors suffered wrong, by vile abuses of the tongue, Before his worship he must go, and there relate the tale of woe; His worship seated in the chair, so stern his voice, so grave his air, The parties trembling stand in awe, and wait the sentence of the law. Long in suspense the cause appears, and each is racked by hopes aud fears ; His worship (for it now grew late) thought it was time to end debate, And thus pronounced the just decree :-“ let me advise you to agreeMake up the matter with consent-retire with friendship and content. ( Advice so good can never fail) “shake hands, and, o'er a mug of ale, Forget your wrongs, and live in peace, and let your ide quarrels cease. This wise decree they all admire, and toast the justice round the fire: By this his worship was renowned, esteemed and honored ten miles round.

But now my Muse proceeds to tell what to his worship soon befel, A tale that tarnished all his glory; come aid me, Truth, to tell the story. An honest farmer, near the spot, by industry a living got ; Always at work this man was seen, his wife was neat, his children clean ; His fields were tilled, his corn was sowed, his hearth with future plenty glowed : He cheerful saw his harvest near, his corn was rip’ning in the ear. One morn, preventing day, he rose-across the fields to work he goes ; But sudden stopped, and looked around his corn was trodden to the ground: Straight he resolved the foe to trace, for havoc stared him in the face ;

His neighbors hogs, so void of sense, who knew no bounds, had broke his fence,
And ravaged freely, uncontrolled, not used to fear, for hogs are bold;
His pleasing dreams of plenty fled, and nearer views the lack of bread ;
Pale Famine stood before his eyes, and Fancy heard his children's cries ;,
Duns and rough bailiffs too he saw, and all the tyranny of law;
Shocked at the thought he left the place, before his worship laid the case;
“Whether a neighbor's hogs had right to break his fence, though in the night :-
Whether for trespass he might sue, and all the mischief that they do,
Their owner, must not he stand to ?” The justice heard, and thus replied:
“The case is clear, 'twas ne'er denied,—the owner of the hogs must pay
The damage you've sustained to-day; make out your bill, whate'er you've lost,
Whoe'er he be shall pay the cost : Justice I'll do, not fear the great,
And laugh at all the knaves of state : Come, honest farmer, let me know
Whose hogs they are that served you so ?” “Then hear me, sir, and be it known,
These hogs were all—your worship's own !” Startled at this the justice faltered ;
“The hogs my own ?—the case is altered !"

VII.-THE "THROES” OF SCIENCE.

BRET HARTE.

I RESIDE at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James,

I am not up to small deceit, or any sinful games ;
And I'll tell, in simple language, what I know about the row
That broke up our Society upon the Stanislous.

But first I would remark, that it's not a proper plan,
For any scientific gent, to whale his fellow-man;
And if a member don't agree with his peculiar whim,
To lay for that same member for “to put a bead” on him.

Nothing could be finer, or more heautiful to see,
Than the first six months' proceedings of that same society ;
Till Brown, our great geologist, brought a lot of fossil bones
That he found within the tunnel, near the tenement of Jones.

Then Brown he read a paper, and he reconstructed there
A paleotherium—animal that was extremely rare :
And Jones then asked the "chair" for a suspension of the rules,
Till he could prove that those same bones were one of his lost mule's.

Then Brown he smiled a bitter smile, and said, his greatest fault
Was that he had been “trespassing on Jones's family vault."
He was the most sarcastic man, this quiet Mr. Brown,
And, on several occasions, he had cleaned out the town.

Now, I hold it is not decent for a scientific gent,
To
say

another is an ass at least to all intent:
Nor should the individual who happens to be meant,
Reply by heaving rocks at him—to any great extent.

Then Abner Dean, of Angel's, raised a point of order, when
A chunk of old red sandstone took him in the abdomen,
And he smiled a sort of sickly smile, and curled up on the floor--
And the subsequent proceedings interested him no more!

Then, in less time than I tell it, every member did engage
In a warfare with the remnants of a paleozoic age;
And the way they heaved those fossils in their anger was a sin,
And the skull of an old monarch caved our chairman's head right in.

-And this is all I have to say of these improper games,
For I live at Table Mountain, and my name is Truthful James ;
And I've told, in simple language, what I know about the row
That broke up our Society upon the Stanislous.
VIII.—THE BRIEFLESS BARRISTER.

J. G. SAXE.
N attorney was taking a turn, in shabby habiliments drest;

His coat it was shockingly worn, and the rust had invested his vest.
His breeches had suffered a breech-his linen and worsted were worse :
He had scarce a whole crown in his hat, and not half a crown in his purse !
And thus, as he wandered along, a cheerless and comfortless elf,
He sought for relief in a song, or complainingly talked to himself :

AN

“Unfortunate man that I am ! I've never a client but grief :
The case is, I've no case at all, and, in brief, I have ne'er had a brief.
I've waited and waited in vain, expecting an opening' to find,
Where an honest young lawyer might gaine some reward for the toil of his mind,
'Tis not that I'm wanting in law, or lack an intelligent face,
That others have cases to plead, while I have to plead for a case.
Oh, how can a modest young man e'er hope for the smallest progression !
The profession's already so full, of lawyers so full of profession!”

While thus he was strolling around. his eye accidentally fell
On a very deep hole in the ground and he sighed to himself, “It is well !''
To curb his emotions, he sat on the curbstone the space of a minute,
Then cried “Here's an opening at last !" and, in less than a jiffy, was in it.

6

ܕ ܕ

Next morning, twelve citizens came, ('twas the Coroner bad them attend), To the end that it might be determined, how deceased had determined his end. “The man was a lawyer, I hear," quoth the Foreman who sat on the corse “A lawyer ? alas !” said another—"he undoubtedly died of remorse !”' A third said, “He knew the deceased—an attorney well versed in the laws; And as to the cause of his death, 'twas no doubt for the want of a cause. The jury decided at length, after solemnly weighing the matter, “That the lawyer was drownded, because—he could not keep his head above water."

IX.—THE PERVERSE HEN. ON NCE with an honest Dutchman walking, about his troubles he was talking

The most of which seemed to arise from friends' and wife's perversities, When he took breath his pipe to fill, I ventured to suggest that will Was oft the cause of human ill; that life was full of self-denials, And every man had his own trials. “'tis not the will," he quick replied, “but i'ts the won't by which I'm tried. When people will, I'm always glad ; 'tis only when they wont't I'm mad ! Contrary folks, like mine old hen, who laid a dozen eggs, and then Instead of sitting down to hatch, runs off into mine garden patch ! I goes and catches her and brings her and back into her nest I flings her ;

But sit she won't, for all I say, she's up again and rups away.
Then I was mad, as mad as fire, but once again I thought I'd try her,
So after her I soon made chase, and brings her back to the old place,
And then I snaps her a great deal, and does my best to make her feel
That she must do as she was bid ; but not a bit of it she did.
She was the most contrariest bird of which I ever saw or heard ;
Before I'd turn my back again, was running off that wilful hen.
Thinks I, I'm now a 'used up' man ; I must adopt some other plan ;
I'll fix her now, for if I don't, my will is conquered by her won't !
So then I goes and gets some blocks,and with them makes a little box;
And takes some straw, the very best, and makes the nicest kind of nest;
Then in the nest the eggs I place, and feel a smile upon my face
As I thinks, now at last I've got her; when in the little box I've sot her ;
For to this little box I did consider I must have a lid,
So that she couldn't get away, but in it, till she hatched must stay.
And then again, once more I chase her, and catch, and in the box I place her.
Again I snaps her on the head, until I fear she might be dead ;
And then, when I had made her sit down, immediately I claps the lid on.
And now, thinks I, I've got her fast, she'll have to do her work at last.
No longer shall I stand the brunt of this old hen's confounded won't !
So I goes in and tells mine folks, and then I takes my pipe and smokes,
And walks about and feels so good that “wouldn't' yields at length to ówould.'
And as so oft I'd snapped the hen, I took some 'schnapps' myself, and then
I thought I'd see how the old creature was getting on where I had set her ;
The lid, the box so nicely fits on, I gently raised- dunder and blitzen !
(Give me more schnapps and fill the cup!) There she was sitting---standing up.!''

X-ORATOR PUFF.

ANON.

R. ORATOR PUFF had two tones in his voice, the one squeaking thus, and

the other down so; in each sentence he uttered he gave you your choice, for one half was B alt, and the rest G below. But he still talked away, spite of coughs and of frowns; so distrrcting all ears with his ups and his downs, that a wag once, on hearing the orator say, “My voice—is for war," asked him, " Which of them, pray ?”

Reeling homewards one evening, top-heavy with gin, and rehearsing his speech on the weight of the Crown, he tripped near a saw-pit, and tumbled right in, “Sinking-fund," the last words as his noddle came down. “Oh, law !” he exclaimed, in his he-and-she tones, Help me out !—help me out !—I have broken my bones !!!

Help you out !” said a fellow who passed, “what a bother! why, thers's two of you there; can't you help one another ?"

66

66

XI.-THE SPIDER AND THE FLY.

MARY HOWITT,

Wil you walk into my parlor?" said a Spider to a Fly; " 'tis the prettiest

' ; “ little parlor that ever you did spy. The way into my parlor is up a winding stair, and I have many pretty things to show you when you're there.'' “Oh no, no,” said the little Fly, o to ask me is in vain, for who goes up your winding-stair can ne'er come down again."—I'm sure you must be weary with soaring up so high ; will you rest upon my little bed ?" said the Spider to the Fly. “ There are pretty curtains drawn around, the sheets are fine and thin, and if you like to rest awhile, I'll snugly tuck you in." “Oh no, no!” said the little Fly, “ for I've often heard it said, they never, never wake again, who sleep upon your bed !”—Said the cunning Spider to the Fly, “Dear friend! what shall I do to prove the warm afiection I've always felt for you? I have within my pantry good store of all that's nice; I'm sure you're welcome—will you please to take a slice ?" 6. Oh no, no !” said the little Fly, “kind sir, that cannot be; I've heard what's in your pantry, and I do not wish to see.”—“Sweet creature !” said the Spider, "you're witty and you're wise. How handsome are your gauzy wings, how brilliant are your eyes ! I have a little looking-glass upon my parlor shelf; if you'll step in one moment, dear, you shall behold—yourself.” “I thank you, gentle sir," she said, "for what you're pleased to say, and, bidding you good-morning now, I call another day. - The spider turned him round about, and went into his den, for well he knew the silly Fly would soon come back again: so he wove a subtle web in a little corner sly, and set his table ready—to dine upon the Fly. Then he went out to his door again, and merrily did sing, “Come hither, hither. pretty Fly, with the pearl-and-silver wing: your robes are green and purple—there's a crest upon your head ; your eyes are like the diamond bright, but mine are dull as lead.'

Alas! alas ! how very soon this silly little Fly, hearing his wily, flattering words, came slowly flitting by; with buzzing wings she hung aloft, then near and nearer drew, thinking only of her brilliant eyes, her green and purple hue, and dreaming of her crested head-poor foolish thing! At last up jumped the cunning spider, and fiercely held her fast. He dragged her up his winding-stair, into his dismal den, within his little parlor—but she ne'er came out again! And now, all youthful people, who may this story hear, to idle, silly flattering words, I pray you ne'er give ear : to all deceitful counsellors, close heart, and ear, and eye ;—and take a lesson from this tale, of the Spider and the Fly. XII.-THE COLLEGIAN AND THE PORTER.

PLANCHE
T Trin. Coll. Cam.--which means, in proper spelling, Trinity College,

Cambridge—there resided one Harry Dashington—a youth excelling in all the learning commonly provided for those who choose that classic station for finishing their education ; that is—he understood computing the odds at any race or match; was a dead hand at pigeon-shooting; could kick up rows-knock down the watch-play truant, and the rake, at random-drink, tie cravats— ind drive a tandem. Remonstrance, fine, and rustication, so far from working reformation, seemed but to make his lapses greater ; 'till he was warned that next offence would have this certain consequence-expulsion from his Alma Mater.

One need not be a necromancer to guess that, with so wild a wight, the next offence occurred next night; when our incurable came rolling home as the midnight chimes were tolling, and rang the College bell. No answer. .

The second peal was vain—the third made the street echo its alarum ; when to his great delight he heard the sordid Janitor, old Ben, rousing and growling in his den. "Who's there?—I s'pose young Harum-scarum.” “'Tis I, my worthy Ben— tis Harry.” “Ay, so I thought—and there you'll tarry: 'tis past the hour—the gates are closed

-you know my orders ;—I shall lose my place if I undo the door.” -“And I" (young Hopeful interposed), “shall be expelled if you refuse ; so pr’ythee”-Ben began to snore. —“I'm wet,” cried Harry, “to the skin : hip!-hallo !-Bendon't be a ninny ; beneath the gate I've thrust a guinea, so tumble out and let me in.” “Humph !" growled the greedy old curmudgeon, half overjoyed and half in dudgeon. “Now you may pass, but make no fuss ; on tip-toe walk and hold your prate."

“Look on the stones, old Cerberus,” cried Harry, as he passed the gate; "I've dropped a shilling-take the light-you'll find it just outside--good-night,'

AT

66

6