KETCHING ITS PREY.

Lines

TO A LADY ON HER DEPARTURE FOR INDIA.

Go where the waves run rather Holborn-hilly
And tempests make a soda-water sea,
Almost as rough as our rough Piccadilly,

And think of me!

Go where the mild Madeira ripens her juice,--A wine more praised than it deserves to be! Go pass the Cape, just capable of ver-juice, And think of mel

Go where the Tiger in the darkness prowleth,
Making a midnight meal of he and she;
Go where the Lion in his hunger howleth,
And think of me!

Go where the serpent dangerously coileth.
Or lies along at full length like a tree,
Go where the Suttee in her own soot broileth,
And think of me!

Go where with human notes the Parrot dealeth
In mono-polly-logue with tongue as free,
And like a woman, all she can revealeth,

And think of me!

Go to the land of muslin and nankeening,
And parasols of straw where hats should be,
Go to the land of slaves and palankeening,
And think of me!

Go to the land of Jungles and of vast hills,
And tall bamboos-may none bamboozle thee!
Go gaze upon their Elephants and Castles,
And think of me!

Go where a cook must always be a currier,
And parch the pepper'd palate like a pea,
Go where the fierce musquito is a worrier,
And think of me!

Go where the maiden on a marriage plan goes,
Consign'd for wedlock to Calcutta's quay,

Where woman goes for mart, the same as mangoes,

And think of me!

Go where the sun is very hot and fervent,

Go to the land of pagod and rupee,

Where every black will be your slave and servant,

And think of me!

TO A SCOTCH GIRL, WASHING LINEN AFTER HER COUNTRY FASHION,

WELL done and wetly, thou Fair Maid of Perth !
Thou mak'st a washing picture well deserving
The pen and pencilling of Washington Irving:
Like dripping Naiad, pearly from her birth,
Dashing about the water of the Firth,

To cleanse the calico of Mrs. Skirving,
And never from thy dance of duty swerving
As there were nothing else than dirt on earth !
Yet what is thy reward? Nay, do not start!

I do not mean to give thee a new damper,
But while thou fillest this industrious part

Of washer, wearer, mangler, presser, stamper,

Deserving better character-thou art

What Bodkin would but call-"a common tramper."

Pain in a Pleasure-Baat.

A SEA ECLOGUE.

"I apprehend you !"-SCHOOL OF REFORM.

BOATMAN.

SHOVE off there!-ship the rudder, Bill-cast off! she's under way!

MRS. F.

She's under what?-I hope she's not! good gracious, what a spray! BOATMAN.

Run out the jib, and rig the boom! keep clear of those two brigs! MRS. F.

I hope they don't intend some joke by running of their rigs!

BOATMAN.

Bill, shift them bags of ballast aft-she's rather out of trim!

MRS. F.

Great bags of stones! they're pretty things to help a boat to swim!

BOATMAN.

The wind is fresh-if she don't scud, it's not the breeze's fault!

MRS. F.

Wind fresh, indeed, I never felt the air so full of salt!

BOATMAN.

That Schooner, Bill, harn't left the roads, with oranges and nuts!

MRS. F.

If seas have roads, they're very rough-I never felt such ruts!

BOATMAN.

It's neap, ye see, she's heavy lade, and couldn't pass the bar.

MRS. F.

The bar! what, roads with turnpikes too? I wonder where they are!

BOATMAN.

Ho! brig ahoy! hard up! hard up! that lubber cannot steer!
MRS. F.

Yes, yes,-hard up upon a rock! I know some danger's near!
Lord, there's a wave! it's coming in! and roaring like a bull!

BOATMAN.

Nothing, Ma'am, but a little slop! go large, Bill! keep her full!
MRS. F.

What, keep her fuli! what daring work! when full she must go down!
BOATMAN.

Why, Bill, it lulls! ease off a bit—it's coming off the town!
Steady your helm! we'll clear the Pint! lay right for yonder pink!
MRS. F.

Be steady—well, I hope they can! but they've got a pint of drink!
BOATMAN.

Bill, give that sheet another haul-she'll fetch it up this reach.

MRS. F.

I'm getting rather pale, I know, and they see it by that speech!
I wonder what it is, now, but-I never felt so queer!

BOATMAN.

Bill, mind your luff-why Bill, I say, she's yawing-keep her near!

MRS. F.

Keep near! we're going further off; the land's behind our backs.
BOATMAN.

Be easy, Ma'am, its all correct, that's only 'cause we tacks:
We shall have to beat about a bit,-Bill, keep her out to see.

MRS. F.

Beat who about? keep who at sea?-how black they look at me! BOATMAN.

It's veering round-I knew it would! off with her head! stand by!

MRS. F.

Off with her head! whose? where? what with ?-an axe I seem to spy!

BOATMAN.

She cannot keep her own, you see; we shall have to pull her in!

MRS. F.

They'll drown me, and take all I have! my life's not worth a pin !