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LINES TO TRUTH.

By A Confirmed Lias.

Vastly overrated Essence!

Slave to Matter, Time, and Space; Bubbling up in effervescence

Of the frothiest common-place. Foe to Fancy and its pleasures—

Giving to thy menial, Proof, All Imagination's treasures

To be trampled under hoof.

Tell me, is there any merit

In thy being what thou art? In the form thou dost inherit t

In the facts thou dost impart? We are puppets, thou and I are.

(Talk about free-will, forsooth'.) I was born to be a liar;

Thou wast born to bo the Truth.

Clearly, in a fight, the chances

Would be ten to one for me, I contrivo to make my fancies

Pass as representing thee; While, if thou wort twice as clever

At that kind of game as I, Obviously thou could'st never

Stoop to imitate a lie!

I shall never meet thee, maybe;

I embraced another walk, When I was as yet a baby

And was learning how to talk. Fare thee well! I cannot flatter ;

And these verses are an act Of deception—just a matter

Of opinion, not of fact.

The Young Housekeeper's Friend.

To Cure A Smoky Chimney.—Discontinue the use of a fire. This is infallible. ,

How To Get New Milk In London.—Get the dairyman to send in the chalk and water separately and mix it u you want it.

How To Let A House.—Let it alone.

CONTINUATIONS OF DRAMATIC HISTORIES.

BOX AND COX.

It will be remembered that immediately on the discovery of the fact that Cox was Box's brother—in the first burst of fraternal enthusiasm —they determined to occupy Mrs. Bouncer's apartments, jointly, during the remainder of their lives. But they did not get on very well together. Independently of tho fact that Box was a reckless smoker, and that Cox abominated the odour of tobacco, their dispositions and temperaments were altogether uncongenial. Cox, a remarkably careful man, had saved a little money, the interest of which, added to his salary as a journeyman hatter, enabled him to live in modest comfort. He was, in short, a steady man of moderate desires, and extremely economical, not to say miserly, in his domestic arrangements. Box, on the other hand, was a "jolly dog." He was a dreadfully wild and dissipated young man, and although his occupation as a journeyman printer kept him pretty quiet during the night, yet as soon as ho was released from his labours—which happened at half-past six every morning—he gave full scope to his dissipated tastes, and always " kept it up " to a very late hour indeed—seldom getting to bed before two or three o'clock in the afternoon. Of course, Box used frequently to borrow money of Cox, and Cox (who had a fine disposition and loved his brother tenderly) was at first delighted to do anything to oblige him, the more particularly so as Box, on his part, was always ready to promise any amount of interest; going as far even sometimes as seven oreighthundred per cent. But, unfortunately fortheir domestic happiness, it turned out that Box's disposition was nothing like as fine as Cox's disposition, for when his little promissory notes fell due, he ignored them in a manner which pained his good brother exceedingly, and the little domestic differences that ensued, caused them both to regret that, in the first burst of joy, at the discovery of their relationship, they had taken a ninety-nine years' lease of Mrs. Bouncer's rooms, with power to underlet, on her permission only— which she politely, but firmly, declined to give.

Then a serious question arose as to what the family name really was—whether Box or Cox 'i In tho absence of any decisive information as to tho name of their common parents, they were compelled to fall back upon the best indirect evidence they could come tew* Cox vindicated his claim to that name principally on the evidence of a piece of presentation-plate, on which was engraved or printed in son* description of brown ink, the family crest—two cocks crowing, with the legend, "A presento from Kamsgatte." Box, on the other hand, contended that this piece of plate was, in an archaeological sense, worthless, being (he maintained) evidently a love-token from the proprietress of bathing-machines at Margate and Bamsgate, to whom Cox was known to have been, at ono time, attached—and consequently it could only have come into his possession at a recent date. Box rested his claim to tho name which he had always borne, on a curiousoU drinking-goblet with a richly-embossed inscription, "For a Good Boy." This inscription (Box maintained) should have run thus: "For a Good Box," the substitution of x for y being one of those unintentional corruptions which are so frequently the result of an accidental similarity between two letters. Box backed his argument with many actual instances in his own experience as a printer, and, M' with some show of reason, observed: "You have only to '&''e italic capital X and obliterate the right hand lower limb, and there you are 1" Eventually they determined on a compromise, gesting "Bocx" as the reasonable combination, and Cox suggwtmg "Cosmo Cox objected that Box's suggestion left his name J"**"? tho same; and Box took the technical objection to Cox'« suggestion, that it looked like a misprint, and was not capable of pronuncaBon. Eventually, however, they decided on Coxdox as a judicious compromise.

Box (we will still call him so) ran so deeply into debt, and was * far in arrears with his share of Mrs. Bouncer's rent, that he eventually found himself compelled to marry her, as the only mMB'i squaring the difficulty. He set up as a printer, with her mon*Jjf^ started a religious paper Kid is doing well. Cox (who has started

a hatter on his own account) can get neither principal nor interest of the money lent to his unprincipled brother, and is now taking it out in Berious advertisements, to Christian Young Men who want a Hat, with a text thrown in.

CHRISTMAS-BOXES.

At Christmas—and so much the worse !—
When money's tight and business slack,

When both in person and in purso
One's had a bill-ious attack,—

Come crowds with ceaseless rings and knocks,

And each demands a Christmas-box!

The postman, who, with each rat-tat,
Announced another batch of bills—

The doctor's lad—that odious brat

Who brought my blisters, draughts, and pills—

They come as punctual as clocks,

And each demands a Christmas-box!

The boy who brought the papers, too,

Wherein my novel was cut up,
And whence I learnt the horse I drew

Had failed to win the Chester Cup—
He comes amid the countless flocks,
And, " Please, he wants his Christmas-box!"

The butcher's man, who jars my nerves

With frantic pulling of tho bell,— The potboy, who the servants serves,

And down the area yells his yell—
They ask rewards for giving shocks,
And each expects a Christmas-box!

If Ovid's right, mankind received
Within Pandora's chest all banes—

But there was something that relieved
The long array of griefs and pains ;—

While, ah! there is, when one unlocks,

No Hope within a Christmas-box!

THE ROYAL DRAMATIC COLLEGE.

THE T. P. COOKE PRIZE DRAMA. Amongst "the competitors for the above prize," who had to " send in their manuscripts, addressed to the Master and Wardens of the Royal Dramatic College on or before the 1st of January, 1866," were two young writers whose extreme modesty induced them to combine together in tho composition of a nautical drama. We shall bo very much surprised if it does not prove to be quite as good as anything sent in.

THE WRECK OF THE BLUNDERGUSS.

Act I.—By Sir B. Lytton, Author of " The Lady of Lyons*," " The Lion of Ladies," §e.

Scene.The deck of H.M.S. Bhmderguss. Time; Moonlight. Persons:
Clawed Mealknott, a hardy tar, all alone of hisself.

Clawed.—Ah me, ah me, the passionate heart of man!
The moon is shining, and the lesser orbs
Are clustered round her fair effulgent disk,
A galaxy of bright attendant stars!
So shines, methinks, a philosophic Bart.,
Surrounded by a literary guild,
Whom he invites, at intervals, to tea!
Ah me, ah me, the passionate heart of man!
I love the captain's daughter; I have dared—
The British sailor dares do anything—
To ask her hand in marriage of her Bire—
Nor should I think it likely he'd refuse!
But soft! he comes! Aye, aye, three quarters slack,
Slew the main brace, avast, and brail the jib!
[Aside.) My seamanship may please him. (Aloud.) Blow tho gaff!

Act II.—By Charles Reade, Author of Never tot Late to Mend.

Scene.The state cabin. Time: Later. Persons: Captain Griffith Gaunt, R.N., V.C., C.B., F.Z.S., and hit daughter, Emily Gaunt, M.D.

Captain Gaunt.—Nay nay my own Emily tremble, not; for long is the lane: that, has, no, turning, in, it; and your brave: heart: wanders; even through that in safety when it tries so we may save her

yet though such a storm never howled and raved Raved along the iron-bound coast; here comes Barker Lieutenant not much use in him I should say.*

Enter Lieutenant Barker.

Barker.—Bad news needs but a brief messenger wherefore give me but leave to say we're off the Wreckless Reef, that half the crew are drunk and but little's our hope of safety oh Emily (aside) my heart is your own for ever!

Captain Gaunt.—Haul in the cleats of the main-spanker boom from the taffrail to the deepest dungeon beneath—I Mean, try to bring her round.

Barker.—I have done so. Human foresight is useless. Farewell. [Aside) Oh Emily, my heart is your own for ever! [Exit.

Captain Gaunt.—Wretched Barker he despairs ; and henceforth his name shall be written on the books backward, in small capitals, thus, for barker read Rekrab!!!

Emily.—Say it not, oh my father! Sure your mouth, not your heart, speaks his fate. Perhaps your stomach is a little out of order. Try some tincture of cardamoms!

Captain Gaunt.—Fond girl—but I know a better remedy [gets fuddled forthwith).

Enter Clawed Mealknot.

C. M.—The passionate heart of man—I mean, you know, huzzay! Alone I jumped to the peak halliards loosened stays hoisted the dingey to the cross-trees brought her up in the wind's eye and we are safe Safe SAVED!!!!!

Captain Gaunt.—Ha, then you're a gallant fellow my boy you've saved the ship; here's money for thee take it freely old Gaunt is generous, but you've spoken to your commanding officer without permission and you must have three thousand lashes by the Articles of War. My heart bleeds, your back must follow suit, What ho, boatswain's mate, bring the CAT the cruel eat Ha Ha!!!

Emily.—Quite right, my beloved parent; and I—I will feel his pulse. [Aside.) The impertinent rude fellow!

[Here enters the boatswain's mate with a live cat. Intense realism. Clawed is flogged till the blood flows from him in torrents. N.B.If anybody should object to this in representation, let the manager order him to be removed in charge of the police.]

insfoers to tafsptifrfttfs.

J. R. B., Margaret-street.—Your MS., according to desire, is left fbr you at the office.

J. S.—The "Convivial Jumpers" do not jump with our notions of comic copy. They overleap the limits of length.

E. C. writes " Please insert the following in your journal:—Why is a man who has just had his dinner and has gone to see a friend, like a conflagration? Because he's off-full (awful)." So is E. C's joke, and so were our feelings on reading it.

Blackie.—Certainly; Uncle Tom's Cabin is an-(h)ovel. J. C. C, St. Martin's-le-Grand.—In spite of our great respect for its age, we must decline to insert the conundrum.

F. C, New Wandsworth.—Your MS. awaits you at the office.
Alter Eoo.—We have two bits of advice: Don't drink sweet

champagne, but above all, don't attempt to write riddles whether you drink champagne or no.

D. J. F.—Declined with regret.

J. H. M., Edinburgh.—Not suited for our consumption—we must give them a decline.

R. W.—We have read tho lines and of the Csenaj have had enough, which is as good as a feast.

E. B., Leeds.—If the drawing has not appeared you may take it for granted we have not yet published it. But as you don't tell us what it is we can give you no further explanation.

W. B., Blackfriars, "sends some trifles for Christmas." We prefer plum puddings as more seasonable Antediluvian.—So's your riddle.

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A New Year's Gift —A Christmas Box on the Year. Why is a meeting of the United Kingdom Alliance like a certain natural phenomenon ?—Because it's a Water-Spout. From Our Own Zadkxel.—Even the Opera has its Lucca star. A Capital B,—The clown's " Here we are I"

Note By Haste* Peikter.—I have exactly followed Mr Reaoe's I -nctuation, although against all rules, having formerly got into trouble through altering that of Mn. Nicholas, which resembles it.

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A CHRISTMAS PARTY.

From Our Unwilling Contributor.

Sir,—If you want to know my opinions about Christmas—Yah! That's it—yah! You may talk about the merry Yulo tide, and write your sentimental stories and carols, and represent that it's a genial hearty, forgiving, lovely time of year, but I still say, yah! I'll tell you what happened to mo on Christmas night, and then you'll see what reason I have to remember the jocund holiday. You know my lodgings, at Mr. Botinko's, 11, Rollo Gardens, Bayswater. I was thero all day on the 25th, and had a chop sent up to me at 1 o'clock, after which I sat drinking some of the unfermented wines which, mingled with water, temperanco authorities declare are the right kind of beverage for festive occasions. They disagreed with me, but what of that? One must expect to suffer for a principle. Why did I stay at home? Why because I'd nowhere to go, and I knew that if I went for a walk Mrs. Botinko would want to borrow my room for the evening, for she had made up her mind to have a grand Christmas party. She invited me, and my answer was Yah! I gave her a month s warning on the spot, and she was so much under the influence of Christmas festivity that she laughed and said sho wished I could make it convenient to leave at once for sho wanted my room. I wouldn't give it up. I had a chop at one, tea at five, and I felt some satisfaction in demanding my full share of the attendance I had to pay for. At half-past nine I went to bed—not to Bleep; the irrepressible maniacs down stairs were too many for mo, and the room next to mine had boon devoted to refreshments. A harp, a fiddle, and a comet, were blowing and twiddling, and scraping like mechanical lunatics in the front drawing-room; and there was a stamping of feet that shook the house enough to bring it down to tho very foundations. I wish it had, all except my room. At last thero camo a lull just about their supper-time, and I dropped off, when after I'd been dreaming for some time, I suddenly woke again with an awful sensation that I'd been driving along the edgeof a mountain torrent in a four-wheeled cab, with broken springs. Judge of my horror to hear the sound of rushing water accompanied by a rumbling sound. I'd put out my candle, and had forgot where I had last Been the 1 ucifers, so I crept cautiously out of bed to feel for tho box, first throwi.ij; on my dressing-gown and pulling my night-cap woll over my > irs. I approached tho mantel

piece, treading in a pool of water, which had deluged my papers. I had secured the lucifers and was about to striko one, when a cataract descended from abovo and I had to fly for my life in the direction of the door. It was horrible. There was a dreadful suffocation in the air, and I plunged down stairs with a wild cry of excusable terror. I burst open tho drawing-room door. I stood in a brilliantly lighted room under a sort of theatrical proscenium, with a number of people sitting before me in tho next compartment beyond the folding doon. My appearance was hailed with laughter and applause. Was it all i dream? I turned and caught a glimpse of myself in a looking-glass. I must have been subject to a cascade of ink, which was still running down my nightcap and striping my countenance. With a loud shriek for help I gathered my dressing-gown and fled, pursued by some of the company who had guessed that something was wrong. They followed to my bedroom. They brought lights. They also brought hot rum punch and dry clothes (the punch was better than tho " unfennontcd' under the circumstances), and tho mystery was explained. There had been an alarm of fire next door but one; tho firemen had got on to the roof, and had operated on the wrong chimney. The party below had not heard it; they were acting charades, and when I went in I was mistaken for Don Quixote at the inn. Everything was explained. I had more hot punch. I'd plum pudding. I'd mince pie. I sang a comic long, and this was how I spent my Christmas. Yah! Ha! ha! ha! ha!

P.S.—I'm not going to leave—I—in fact, I apologised to Mas. Botinko.

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London: Fruited by JUDD & GLASS, Phoenix Work*, St. Andrew's Hill, Doctors' Commons, and Published (for the Proprietor!) by THOMAS BAKER,

at 80, Fleet-street, E.C.—January 6, 1866.

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^.itcklor Slnrle's lament.

I Mark'd his neatly-twisted tie,

I caught by accident her nume, I saw the timid couples fly

Where'er the dashing dancer came;
With lilac gloves and polish'd boots
He waltzed benoath a band of Coote's.

Thicker and thicker grew the crowd,
And ruddier grow his pleasant faco;

In vain I raised my voice aloud,
Of Charlie I could find no trace;

As usual ho had met his doom,

And flirted in an ante-room.

And will ho ever thus behave,
Nor know his doting uncle's care?

Alas! I came too late to save
The youth, this time, from woman's snare.

Soon will the morning papers tell,

How my poor nephew danced and fell.

A MILITIA'S REPORT.

A Rumour, we trust uufounded, states that Government have decided not to call out tho Irish Militia for training this year. Such an omission to give that force drill would sow broadcast the boliof that tho training was suspended for fear of another sort of training, gunpowder-training, which might lead to an explosion. We don't believe tho report.

I believe you, my Bohea!

It is stated that Chano's parents are engaged in the tea trade. If so the celebrated giant must bo a remarkably fine specimen of their High-son.

THE OLD HAIRY-STOCRACY.

It is rumoured that some of the " great Whigs " are opposed to the prospect of a new Reform Bill. It is mysteriously hinted that a Northern duke and a Yorkshire Earl are among the dissentients—not to mention "the Duke Of D. and Lord G." Well, after all, the Wigs are not tho Heads of the people!

CONTINUATIONS OF DBAMATIC HISTORIES.

Still Waters Run Deep.

John Mildmay never held up his head in society after tho discovery of his disgraceful behaviour in admitting to his table, and in introducing to his friends, a fellow whom, by his own confession he know to be a thief and a swindler, and whom he had discovered in an intrigue with his disgraceful wife. He was at first charged as Captain Hawkesley's accomplice, but after six weeks' detention (for the committing magistrate declined to take bail for his reappearance) he was acquitted, by an ignorant jury. However, his liberty was but of short duration, for immediately on his acquittal on the charge of being an accessory before the fact, he was taken into custody on a charge of compounding a felony, in forbearing to prosecute Captain H Awkesley on condition of receiving Mbs. Sternhold's letters. Justice, once baulked of her prey, was at length satisfied, and the mean-spirited Lancashire scamp was sentenced to twelve months' imprisonment, in addition to the payment of a fine of ono hundred pounds. This completely broke up his home. His money, which was invested iu bubble companies, disappeared by large instalments as the bubbles burst in succession, and his wicked wife availed herself of his temporary imprisonment to elope with Dunbild—tho scoundrel who had induced her weak-minded simpleton of a husband to invest his money in halfa-dozen preposterous joint stock companies. Mrs. Sternhold never recovered from the effect of the expose, for her letters to Hawkesley were read in open court, and formed the Bubject of leaders in all tho daily papers. Sho endeavoured, but in vain, to procure a situation as companion to an elderly lady, and is now dancing in tho Alhambra ballet. Mr. Potter earns a precarious livelihood by calling at chambers with pens and ink for sale. Ho is about to bo married to a Temple laundress.

Hawkesley got off with eighteen months' imprisonment, and is now

a gentleman on town. He is getting up a company for tho purchase of all the metropolitan squares as Bites for underground railway termini, and is doing extremely well. He has purchased the lease of MildHay's house in Brompton, and has quite recovered his usual health and spirits. John Mildmay on his release from prison set up a mockauction in the Borough, which paid him pretty well for a time, but eventually he got into difficulty owing to a dispute with a swindled purchaser who had been induced by tho auctioneer to bid for a set of volumes which he described as "poetry," bat which turned out to bo the works of Mr. M. F. TurPER. Mlldmay with a view of getting out of the quarrel in the simplest manner, resorted to his old dodge of placing two pistols, ono loaded and the other empty, under a tablecloth, and challenging his accuser to take one of tho weapons at hazard while he took the other, as a preliminary to their fighting a duel, ovor a veneered mahogany dining-table. To Mildmay's horror tho customer (an Irishman) accepted the challenge with joy, whereupon Mildmay gave him into custody for attempting a breach of tho peace, and then decamped. Nothing was heard of him for some time after this, but he eventually turned up as a park-preacher. On the suppression of park-preaching, he becamo a sandwich, and on the suppression of sandwiches ho obtained, through Mrs. Sternhold's influence, an engagemont at tho Alhambra to play tho stout Russian Nobleman in the skating ballet. On Boxing Day he appeared at tho Islington tournament as a comic herald, and we are pleased to hear is extremely well.

THE YOUNG HOUSEKEEPER'S FRIEND.

How To Know When Meat Is Fresh.—Keep it until it gets bad, and you will then learn exactly how fresh it was at first.

How To Get A Good Servant.—Keep on discharging the bad ones till you meet with ono that suits you.

How To Discourage Tub Perquisite System.—Never buy anything of anybody.

Vol. Ii.

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TOWN TALK.

By The Sauntbrbr m Society.

OME few years ago illuminating (I don't mean loyal ebullitions of oil and gas) was almost unknown beyond a narrow circle of connoisseurs—now it is a sort of fashion. I must confess to a great admiration for the gorgeous old enrichments bestowed by patient chrysographers upon sacred and profane writings. Mb. Shaw, who has done as much as any one to revive a love for the art, has opened an exhibition in Piccadilly which I should recommend every one who admires the minute and delicate miniature-work of the old illuminators to visit. I have also dropt in at Mortimer Honse, where the prize exhibition of the works of female illuminators is open. I was glad te notice a decided progress in the art, and was really delighted with some original designs by Mrs. HopKins who has received a medal at the Dublin Exhibition. She has quite the old touch and her colouring is excellent, whilo her designs arc original, without being modern in character.

Mr. Farnall must be a brave man and a patient one. I don't envy him his meeting of Poor Law Guardians last Saturday wcok. They are not a pleasant class to deal with at the best of times, and when brought to book on the question of their performance of the duties entrusted to them are anything but cheerful people to manage. However, Mr. Farnall fought a good fight, and has succeeded in bringing them to something as near sense as can be expected of them. That he should be able to teach them that poverty is not a crime and that the liberty of the subject does not mean the liberty to 6tarve, it was too much to expect. He could hardly prevail on them to add a miserable bowl of gruel at certain periods of tho year, to tho dry bread which thoy concedo not very graciously to the casual paupers. He has at least established a uniform system, which will do something to prevent the caprices of individuals from bearing down tho poor—and that is something for which we ought to be grateful to him.

I Am glad to hear that a subscription is being raised for the family of tho late Admiral Fitzroy, who devoted time and money alike to a noble object, the preservation of human lives at sea. If everybody who owes something to the storm drum were to subscribo a mito to this fund it could not but be a " signal" success. The recent storms on our coast have been very disastrous, but the forecasts havo prevented many calamities, and so we cannot say wo havo nothing to remind us of the late admiral. Subscriptions will be received by Messrs. Coctts And Co., the Bank of Liverpool, and the Deputy Town Clerk of Folkstone, not to mention many others, who are interesting themselves in tho movement.

On Saturday week Messrs. Spiers And Pond issued to a select few a gorgeously gilt invitation ticket to a "Diner Chemin de Fer," in order that it might be seen how much could be done with a railway arch. A very fine spread it was indeed—and as far as what can be done in a railway arch, in tho way of eating and drinking, is concerned, the display was remarkable It would have been a better compliment, perhaps, to Messrs. S. And P. if the after-dinner speakers had remembered that as of tho fulness of tho heart the mouth speaketh—so of tho fulness of an ad joining receptacle there follows a disinclination to talk. Silence or something very like it would have dono best homage to the dinner, which was excellent. The British public at last has a chance of being fed on better faro than geologic pork pic and antediluvian sandwiches while it is travelling by rail.

Anak with his small army has seceded from Proi Essor Anderson, and opened an exhibition of his own at the St. James's Hall. Well, ho is big enough to take care of himself, though he is much run after. He iB very good-looking and affable the ladies say, and as they rule the world, his receptions are pretty suro to bo well attended.

I have had a letter handed to mo containing tho address of certain City Dustmen on tho subject of Christmas Boxes. "I hear," says the writer of the letter, " that you can make fun of anything, what do you say to this?" I confess I'm beaten. It is impossible to make fun of tho address, because it is perfect fun already, commencing as it docs by appealing "To the worthy Inhabitants of a Division City Sewers,"

which one would imagino means the rats, and winding up with this aristocratic and exclusive note: "No connection with scavengers." The Literary Dustman has evidently imbued his class with a sense of its dignity, on which it stands with as much grace as it does on the short ladder peculiar to its calling.

I Dropt in at the Haymarket the other night to see my old friend, Brother Sam, again. I was glad to see Sothern was looking better in health than I had expected ;—ho acted as well as ever. I waited for Orpheus, but was just a good deal disappointed. It wants go and spirit sadly. Jovo and Eurydice do their best and sing their best, but the others are very dreary; Pluto, as a matter of course, damns it. I think it would have been judicious to omit a couplet in the opening which speaks disparagingly of the music halls—the OrphU was infinitely better rondered at the Oxford.

A GOOD MATCH.

Lono years ago, tho whilo I had

Great love for Homer's stirring pages, I lived within a College Quad,

That had withstood the Btorms of ages. An everlasting thirst for beer

Would alternate with thirst for knowledge; And, ha, how pleasant and how dear

Were my old rooms in that old college.

Tho years rolled on, and then I left

The happy walls of Alma Mater; Of thirst for ancient tomes bereft,

Although my thirst for beer was greater; I'd cosy rooms in Lincoln's Inn,

By many an ancient chum befriended; I bought a Blackstone to begin, 1"

But somehow there my reading ended.

I wrote for sundry Magazines,

Short articles, and tender verses, A tragedy, with wondrous scenes,

Ghosts, fights, soliloquies and curses. I spoke of metaphysics then,

In tones conceited and decisive, And at the thoughts of abler men,

Like Mrs. Brown, I "smiled derisive."

Yet soon a change came o'er my dream—

A change portending grave disaster— I'd floated gaily down the stream,

Been fast, and found my tin go faster. That something must be done was clear—

But what, and how tho deuce to do it, I didn't know; and very queer

My caso grow, when I came to view it.

I'd many thoughts of marriage, too,

Of maiden beuuty sweet and slender; I had a cousin, and I knew

Sho loved me with devotion tender. But her stern father one day heard

How I'd gone on, and so he told me The whelo idea was quite absurd,

Ho stormed—she married—and they sold me.

I turned to commerce, and I foimd

My stout employer had a daughter, With nearly twenty thousand pound

For dowry, so I wooed and caught her. I've bid adieu to duns and debts,

And yet I'm punished, wretched sinner, She drops her H's, and she lets

Her knife supply her mouth at dinner.

DON'T BE IN A HURRY.

"Take your time, Miss Lucy."—American Song. Never, sinco the days of Baron Munchausen'a post-boy, have pleasant tunes been so frozen up in a post-horn as in that of Mk. Secretary Seward. He assures us England's words of condolence on tho assassination of the late President Lincoln havo been thoroughly appreciated in America. But it has taken more than half a year to thaw this harmonious strain of the Secretarial post-horn; while, in tho meantime, several discordant blasts have escaped from it. Few balmy airs have wo had from Mr. Seward's trumpet, but plenty of Ala-ba-my ones.

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