Now this noddle of mine looks strange,

With its plenty of silver-and no small change!—

Surely I came the swiftest way

From the young and green to the old and gray.

Though the day be a changeful thing

In winter and summer, autumn and spring ;
Days in December and days in June
Both seem finish'd a deal too soon.
Twilight shadows come closing in,
And the calmest, placidest hours begin:
The closing scenes of the piece we play

From the young and green to the old and gray.

"TWAS EVER THUS.

I

NEVER rear'd a young gazelle,

(Because, you see, I never tried ;)

But, had it known and loved me well,

No doubt the creature would have died. My rich and aged uncle JOHN

Has known me long and loves me well,

But still persists in living on

I would he were a young gazelle.

I never loved a tree or flower;
But, if I had, I beg to say,

The blight, the wind, the sun, or shower,
Would soon have wither'd it away.

I've dearly loved my uncle JOHN,

From childhood till the present hour,

And yet he will go living on

I would he were a tree or flower!

I

MY SONG.

LEARNT a simple bit of rhyme

An easy air to sing;—

I thought the ditty at the time

A rather funny thing.

Of course, as I was green and young,

My judgment might be wrong;

Still, folks applauded when I sung

My only comic song.

'Twas all about a Cavalier

Who finds a pair of gloves,
Which implicate, it's very clear,

The lady whom he loves.
That knight incontinently sends

That lady to Hong-Kong

And thereupon abruptly ends

My only comic song.

'Twas most successful in its way,

For I could understand

Enough of harmony to play
Upon a Collard's grand.

My voice (though never very sweet,
And never very strong)

Possess'd sufficient force to treat

My only comic song.

One evening, anxious to impress
The lady of my choice,

I took some pains about my dress
And more about my voice.

But lo! a miserable man

(My rival all along)

Stept in before me, and began

My only comic song.

BOW BELLS.

T the brink of a murmuring brook

A contemplative Cockney reclined;
And his face wore a sad sort of look,

As if care were at work on his mind.

He sigh'd now and then as we sigh

When the heart with soft sentiment swells;

And a tear came and moisten'd each eye

As he mournfully thought of Bow Bells.

I am monarch of all I survey!

(Thus he vented his feelings in words)But my kingdom, it grieves me to say,

Is inhabited chiefly by birds.