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for they shan't stay at home; they shan't lose their learning; it's all their father will leave them, I'm sure. But they shall go to school.

Don't tell me they shouldn't; (you are so aggravating, Caudle, you'd spoil the temper of an angel ;) they shall go to school: mark that; and if they get their deaths of cold, it 's not my fault; I didn't lend the umbrella.

“Here," says Caudle, in his manuscript, “I fell asleep and dreamed that the sky was turned into green calico, with whalebone ribs : that, in fact, the whole world revolved under a tremendous umbrella !"


A CERTAIN artist,—I've forgot his name, -
Had got, for making spectacles, a fame,
Or," helps to read," as, when they first were sold,
Was writ upon his glaring sign in gold;
And, for all uses to be had from glass,
His were allowed by readers to surpass.
There came a man into his shop one day-
"Are you the spectacle contriver, pray?"
“Yes sir,” said he, “I can in that affair

Contrive to please you, if you want a pair.”
“Can you ? pray do, then.” So at first he chose
To place a youngish pair upon his nose;
And, -book produced, to see how they would fit,-
Asked how he liked them. “ Like 'em !_not a bit.”
“ Then, sir, I fancy, if you please to try,

These in my hand will better suit your eye ?" — "No, but they don't." _“Well, come, sir, if you please, Here is another sort: we'll e'en try these; Still somewhat more they magnify the letter. Now, sir ?”—“ Why, now, I'm not the bit the better." “No! here—take these, which magnify still more,How do they fit?”__“ Like all the rest before !"

In short they tried a whole assortment through, But all in vain, for none of them would do. The operator, much surprised to find So odd a case, thought sure the man is blind ! “What sort of eyes can you have got ?" said he. “Why, very good ones, friend, as you may see.” “Yes, I perceive the clearness of the ball.

Pray, let me ask you-Can you read at all ?" 6 No! you great blockhead !-If I could, what need Of paying you


any ' helps to read ?'" And so he left the maker in a heat, Resolved to post him for an arrant cheat.


QH! wond'rous age, surpassing ages past!

When mind is marching at a quick-step pace; When steam and politics are flying fast,

When roads to rails, and wine to tea give placeWhen great reformers race, and none can stay 'emOh! Jackson, Tappan, Symmes, Sam Patch and Graham! The last shall be the first-'twere shame to think

That thou, Starvation's monarch, couldst be beaten;
Who proved that drink was never made to drink,

Nor food itself intended to be eaten-
That Heaven provided for our use, instead,
The sand and sawdust which compose thy bread.
A startling truth !-we question while we stare-

A ling’ring doubt still haunts the imagination,
That God ne'er meant to stint us in our fare;

No doubt a prejudice of education;
For fact is fact—this ought to make us humble-
Our brains confess it, though our stomachs grumble.
But why on us pursue thy cruel plan?

Oh, why condemn us thus to bread and water ?

Perchance thou countest all the race of man,

As rogues and culprits who deserve no quarter;
And 'tis thy part to punish, not to spare,
By putting us upon State Prison fare.
All flesh is poison, in thy sapient eyes,

No doubt thou ’rt right, and all mankind are wrong; But still, in spite of us, the thought will rise,

How, eating poison, men have lived so long? Mayhap thou meanest a slow-poison, then, Which takes effect at three-score-years-and-ten.

Our table treasures vanish one by one,

Beneath thy wand, like Sancho's, they retire; Now steaks are rare, and mutton-chops are done,

Veal's in a stew, the fat is in the fire; Fish, flesh and fowl, are ravish'd in a trice66 Insatiate Graham! could not one suffice ?"

When wine was banished by the cruel fates,

Oh, gentle tea! for thee I trembled then;

which cheers but not inebriates,"
Not even thou must grace our boards again!
Imperial is dethroned, as I foreboded-
Bohea is dish'd, Gunpowder is exploded !
Venison is vile, a cup of coffee curst,

And food that's fried, or fricasseed, forgot;
Duck is destruction, wine of woes is worst,

Clams are condemned, and poultry's gone to pot;
Pudding and pork are under prohibition,
Mustard is murder, pepper is perdition !

But dread'st thou not some famished foe may rise,

With vengeful arm, and break thy daring jaw?Thou robber of our vitals' best supplies,

Beware! “ there is no joking with the maw,". Nor hope the world will in thy footsteps follow, Thy bread and doctrine are too hard to swallow.

But leave them forever to do as they please,
And look somewhere else for their butter and cheese."

Ass waited a moment, to see if she'd done,
And then, “ not presuming to teach "-he begun—
"With submission, dear madam, to your better wit,
I own I am not quite convinced by it yet.

“ That you 're of great service to them is quite true,
But surely they are of some service to you;
'Tis their nice green meadows in which you regale,
They feed you in winter when grass and weeds fail.

6 'Tis under their shelter you snugly repose,
When without it, dear ma'am, you, perhaps, might be froze;
For my own part, I know, I receive much from man,
And for him in return, I do all that I can."

The cow upon this cast her eyes on the grass,
Not pleased at thus being reproved by an ass;
Yet, thought she, I'm determined I'll benefit by 't,
For I really believe that the fellow is right.


Old Winter is coming again-alack !

How icy and cold is he!
He cares not a pin for a shivering back-
He's a saucy old chap to white and black-
He whistles his chills with a wonderful knack,

For he comes from a cold country!

A witty old fellow this Winter is

A mighty old fellow for glee !
He cracks his jokes on the pretty sweet Miss-

The wrinkled old maiden unus'd to kiss-
And freezes the dew of their lips-for this

Is the way with such fellows as he !

Old Winter 's a frolicksome blade, I wot

He is mild in his humor, and free ! He'll whistle along for the “ want of his thought," And set all the warmth of our furs at naught, And ruffle the laces by pretty girls bought,

For a frolicksome fellow is he.

Old Winter is blowing his gusts along,

And merrily shaking the tree ! From morning till night he will sing his song, Now moaning and short—now howling and longHis voice is loud, for his lungs are strong ;

A merry old fellow is he!

Old Winter 's a wicked old chap, I ween

As wicked as ever you see ;
He withers the flowers so fresh and green-
And bites the pert nose of the miss of sixteen,
As she trippingly walks in maidenly sheen ;

A wicked old fellow is het

Old Winter 's a tough old fellow for blows

As tough as ever you see ! He will trip up our trotters and rend our clothes, And stiffen our limbs from fingers to toes ; He minds not the cries of his friends or his foes--

A tough old fellow is he!

A cunning old fellow is Winter, they say,

A cunning old fellow is he !
He peeps in the crevices day by day,
To see how we're passing our time away,
And marks all our doings from grave to gay :

I'm afraid he is peeping at me!

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