Ve have de littel joke on his lose de sole; den I pull off my shoe and dere is my stocking-mon ami, my countreman, he pull off his shoe, and dere is only his foot, he have no stocking at all—but he vas very jonteel man for all dat! Vell, ve get into my room, mon apartment, mon chambre a bit; dere I strike de light, make de fire, lay de cloth, and get dinner from de cupboard. I pull out de large piece of bread, de neck of de mouton dat vas boiled yesterday, and de great dish of soup maigre, dat I make hot; and I say, now mon ami, my countreman, ve vill have de dinner; but before I commence I say de grace. Parbleu! my friend he commence, and no say de grace at all-but he vas very jonteel man for all dat! I got up for de cloth to put under my chin, ven I came back to help myself, der is nothing left! mon ami, my countreman, he have swallowed it all up-but he vas very jonteel man for all dat! Vell, ve have de littel joke, and I laugh a littel on de wrong side of my mouth, about my friend eat all de meat and leave me de bone, and I go to do vid de crust of de bread, but dere is no bread at all; mon ami, my countreman he eat all de bread while I eat de soup-but he vas very jonteel man for all dat! At last it come time to go to bed-and I say mon ami, my countreman, ve vill aller coucher, put our heads in de nightcap: vell, I pull off my coat, dere is my vaistcoat-mon ami, my countreman pull off his coat, and dere is no vaistcoat at all-but he was very jonteel man for all dat! Vell, ven I got up next morning, I say, I vill put on my vaistcoat and my coat. Parbleu, dey is no dere; no more is my hat and my stocking, nor my shoe, nor my anything; but dere is de chapeau, vid de hole in de top, de pantaloon out of de knee, de shoe dat have no sole, and de greasy, rusty, ragged habit of mon ami, my countreman. Vell, I say, he has dress himself in all my tings by mistake; he have no money, no credit, no logement, his hair grow out de top of his hat, his knee valk out of his pantaloon, his toe look out of his pump, his sole come out of his shoe; he eat my suppare vile I turn my head, and no leave me none-he have no vaistcoat-he get up vhile I sleep and run away vid all my clothes, it is all bad, ma foi-but he is very jonteel man for all dat! THE DILATORY SCHOLAR.-MRS. GILMAN. OH! where is my hat? it is taken away, My slate and pencil nowhere can be found, Do, Rachael, just look for my Atlas, up stairs; And, sister, brush down these troublesome hairs,— And, mother, beg father to write an excuse; But stop-he will only say "No," And go on with a smile and keep reading the news, My satchel is heavy and ready to fall; This old pop-gun is breaking my map; The town-clock will strike in a minute, I fear; 1 wish I'd not lingered at breakfast the last, Now, Edward and Henry protest they won't wait, I suppose they will say I was dressing too late: THE MAGPIE, OR BAD COMPANY.-ANON. LET others, with poetic fire, In raptures praise the tuneful choir, In Fleet-street dwelt, in days of yore, For which he forfeits health and fame. In basket-prison hung on high, Oh, how he nicks us !" Tom More cries, "Tom More!" the mimic bird replies; This dissipated life of course, Soon brought poor Tom from bad to worse; Nor prayers nor promises prevail, To keep him from a dreary jail. And now, between each heartfelt sigh, The imprisoned bird, though much caressed, Observe through life you 'll always find Now Mag, once more with freedom blest, The gardener now, with busy cares, 66 A curious net he does prepare, The watchful gardener now stands by The vengeful clown, now filled with ire, Now, in revenge for plundered seed, Mag, who with man was used to herd, Knew something more than common bird; He therefore watched with anxious care, And slipped himself from out the snare, Then, perched on nail remote from ground, Observes how deaths are dealt around. Oh, how he nicks us!" Maggy cries; The astonished gardener lifts his eyes; With faltering voice and panting breath, Exclaims, "Who's there?"-All still as death. His murderous work he does resume, And casts his eyes around the room With caution, and, at length does spy The Magpie, perched on nail so high! The wondering clown, from what he heard, Believes him something more than bird; With fear impressed, does now retreat Towards the door with trembling feet; |