By the margin of the lake, Crashing dashing! Over ridges, Gullies, bridges! By the bubbling rill, And mill Highways, Byways, Hollow hillJumping-bumpingRocking-roaring Like forty thousand giants snoring! By the lonely hut and mansion, Dash along! Slash along! Crash along! Flash along! On! on! with a jump, And a bump, And a roll! Hies the fire-fiend to its destined goal! O'er the acqueduct and bog, Now a tavern-now a steeple— Grumble-stumble Rumble-tumble Fretting-getting in a stew! Church and steeple, gaping people- By the foundry, past the forge, Flit like spectres as you pass! Whish! whirr! ka-swash! he's left behind! Rumble, tumble, all the day, Thus we pass the hours away. THE FARMER AND THE LAWYER.-HORACE SMITH. A COUNSEL in the Common Pleas, who was esteemed a mighty wit, upon the strength of a chance hit, amid a thousand flippancies, and his occasional bad jokes in bullying, bantering, browbeating, ridiculing, and maltreating women, or other timid folks, in a late cause resolved to hoax a clownish, Yorkshire farmer,-one who by his uncouth look and gait appeared expressly meant by Fate for being quizzed and played upon. So having tipped the wink to those in the back rows, who kept their laughter bottled down until our wag should draw the cork, he smiled jocosely on the clown, and went to work. "Well, Farmer Numbskull, how go calves at York?" Why, not, sir, as they do wi' you, but on four legs instead of two." "Officer!" cried the legal elf, piqued at the laugh against himself, "do pray keep silence down below there. Now look at me, clown; attend! have I not seen you somewhere, friend ?" Yes, very like; I often go there." "Our rustic's waggish-quite laconic !" the counsel cried, with grin sardonic; "I wish I'd known this prodigy, this genius of the clods, when I on circuit was at York residing. Now, farmer, do for once speak true; mind, you 're on oath, so tell me you, who doubtless think yourself so clever, are there as many fools as ever in the West Riding?" Why, no, sir; no; we've got our share, but not so many as when you were there." THE MORALISTS.-ANON. So prone are all men to debate, Is plainly visible in them; The truth of which remark to show, I have a tale quite apropos. Over a glass of Burton's lest, Tim thus his loving friend address'd: "Well, Peter, 'tis a shameful sin That Dick should swill such seas of gin; Oft from the tavern drunk he reels, Tag, rag, and bobtail at his heels. Now, for my part, I cannot think "Nor I," said Peter, with a groan— "'Tis vastly wonderful, I own; But, bless me what a change appears The world grows more deprav'd, I'm sure! "E'en so,” cried Tim, and fill'd his glass, "Dick's crimes all other crimes surpass. I scorn the man,. who, void of shame, Thus trifles with the shafts of fate. Thus long, in many a speech sublime, Who rail'd as heartily at him. ELEGY ON MRS. BLAIZE.-GOLDSMITH, GOOD people all, with one accord, The needy seldom pass'd her door, She strove the neighborhood to please, At church, in silks and satins new, Her love was sought, I do aver, But now her wealth and finery fled, Let us lament, in sorrow sore, For Kent street well may say, That had she lived a twelvemonth more She had not died to-day. |