SAYING NOT MEANING. WILLIAM BASIL WAR Two gentlemen their appetite had fed, When opening his toothpick-case, one said, "Grow!" cried the other, "yes, they grow, indeed, You might as well say grapes grow on a reed, "Why, sir," returned the irritated other "My brother, When at Calcutta Beheld them bonâ fide growing; He wouldn't utter A lie for love or money, sir; so in This matter you are thoroughly mistaken." "Nonsense, sir! nonsense! I can give no credit To the assertion-none e'er saw or read it; Your brother, like his evidence, should be shaken." "Be shaken, sir! let me observe, you are Perverse-in short-" "Sir," said the other, sucking his cigar, And then his port "If you will say impossibles are true, You may affirm just any thing you please— That swans are quadrupeds, and lions blue, And elephants inhabit Stilton cheese! Only you must not force me to believe What's propagated merely to deceive." "Then you force me to say, sir, you're a fool, Language like this no man can suffer cool: So, thunder-stricken, he at once replied. Who had the impudence to tell it you;" "Zounds! then d'ye mean to swear before my face That anchovies don't grow like cloves and mace?" "I do!" Disputants often after hot debates Leave the contention as they found it-bone, And take to duelling or thumping têtes; Thinking by strength of artery to atone For strength of argument; and he who winces From force of words, with force of arms convinces ! With pistols, powder, bullets, surgeons, lint, And they did fight: from six full measured paces (His ire evanishing like morning vapors), JULIA. SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE medio de fonte leporum Surgit amari aliquid.—Lucret. JULIA was blest with beauty, wit, and grace: The fair one's eyes dance pleasure at the sounds. On the ill-fated neck of much-loved Ball? A COCK AND HEN STORY. PART I. ROBERT SOUTHEY, ONOR on a time three Pilgrims true, Their names, little friends, I am sorry to say, But the son, if you please, we'll call Pierre, From France they came, in which fair land And they took up their lodging one night on the way Now, if poor Pilgrims they had been, Why then you never would have heard, For the Innkeepers they had a daughter, This wicked woman to our Pierre And because she failed to win his love, So she packed up a silver cup And then, as soon as they were gone, The Pilgrims were overtaken, The people gathered round, Their wallets were searched, and in Pierre's The silver cup was found. They dragged him before the Alcayde; "The theft," he said, "was plain and proved, If I should now relate The piteous lamentation, Which for their son these parents made, My little friends, I am afraid But Pierre in Santiago still His constant faith profess'd; When to the gallows he was led, "'T was a short way to Heaven," he said, "Though not the pleasantest." And from their pilgrimage he charged Saying that unless they promised this, They promised it with heavy hearts; Pierre then, therewith content, Was hang'd: and they upon their way To Compostella went. PART II. Four weeks they travel'd painfully, They paid their vows, and then |