Lord D. Aye, in Holborn. As I aint fond of telling people good news beforehand, for fear they may be baulked, Dick knows nothing of my being made a lord.

Pang. Three hundred a year!

"I've often wished that I had, clear

For life-six" no; three

"Three hundred."

Lord D. I wrote to him just before I left Gosport, to tell him to meet me in London with

Pang. Three hundred pounds a year!-Swift. Hem! Lord D. With all speed upon business, d'ye mind me. Pang. Dr. Pangloss, with an income of!-no lap-dogs, my lord?

Lord D. Nay, but listen, doctor; and as I didn't know where old Ferret was to make me live in London, I told Dick to be at the Blue Boar this morning, by the stage-coach. Why, you don't hear what I'm talking about, doctor.

Pang. Oh, perfectly, my lord-three hundred-Blue Boars in the stage-coach!

Lord D. Well, step into my room, doctor, and I'll give you a letter which you shall carry to the inn, and bring Dick away with you. I warrant the boy will be ready to jump out

of his skin.

Pang. Skin? jump! Bless me! I'm ready to jump out of mine! I follow your lordship-oh, doctor Pangloss. Where is your philanthropy now. I attend you my lord!" Equam memento.”— Horace. Servare mentem-hem! bless me, I'm all in a fluster, L. L. D. A. double S., and three hundred a-I attend your lordship.

DO AS OTHER PEOPLE DO.-ANON.

One Richard Daw, as stories go,
A grocer lived in Peter's Row-
His wife, in true domestic style,
Poor Mister Daw would oft revile;

For ever wanting something new,
She'd cry, Now, Dear, I wish that you
Would do as other people do.

There's Mrs. Brown, she keeps a car,
And drives about both near and far-
To Donnybrook, the Rock, and stay
Just now and then, a night at Bray.
Then since we all want something new,
My dearest Daw, I wish that you,
Would do as other people do.

'What now,' says Daw,' what want you next?
'Nay, Daw, my love, now don't be vex'd,
You know we live in dirt and filth-

A country house would save my health—
And here's a spot with charming view-
Dear Darling Dick, I know that you
Will do as other people do.'

6

The house was bought—a gardener hir'd
And friends of coming never tir'd—
Dinners and suppers-port and punch-
And droppers in must have a lunch.

And when poor Daw impatient grew,

Dicky, my sweet!' she cried—' sure you,

Must do as other people do!'

But now Dick's cash ran very brief,

And so he turn'd another leaf

The gardener went-the car was sold—
The furniture all turn'd to gold.

'O, Daw!' she cried, 'what shall we do!' -'Indeed,' says Daw, 'You know that you Must do as other people do.'

Poor Mister Daw, from change of life,
Soon lost his angel of a wife,

And now, retrieving his affairs,

Most christian-like his loss he bears.

And when you ask him, 'How do you do?'
Dick cries, Indeed, to tell you true,
I do as other people do !

JOHN LITTLEJOHN.-CHARLES MACKAY.

John Littlejohn was staunch and strong,
Upright and downright, scorning wrong;
He gave good weight, and paid his way,
He thought for himself, and said his say.
Whenever a rascal strove to pass,

Instead of silver, a coin of brass,

He took his hammer, and said with a frown:"The coin is spurious-Nail it down!"

John Littlejohn was firm and true,

You could not cheat him in "two and two ";
When foolish arguers, might and main,
Darkened and twisted the clear and plain.
He saw through mazes of their speech
The simple truth beyond their reach;
And crushing their logic, said, with a frown:-
"Your coin is spurious—Nail it down!"

John Littlejohn maintained the right,

Through storm and shine in the world's despite
When fools or quacks desired his vote,
Dosed him with arguments, learned by rote,
Or by coaxing, threats or promise tried
To gain his support to the wrong side,
"Nay, nay," said John, with an angry frown,
"Your coin is spurious-Nail it down!"

When told that kings had a right divine,.
And that the people were herds of swine,
That nobles alone were fit to rule,
That the poor were unimproved by school,

Of all but the wealthy and the great,

John shook his head, and said with a frown --
"The coin is spurious-Nail it down!"

When told that events might justify
A false and crooked policy,

That a decent hope of future good

Might excuse departure from rectitude,

That a lie, if white, was a small offence,
To be forgiven by men of sense,

"Nay, nay," said John, with a sigh and frown,
"The coin is spurious—Nail it down!?!

Whenever the world our eyes would blind
With false pretences of such a kind,
With humbug, cant or bigotry,

Or a specious, sham philosophy,

With wrong dressed up in the guise of right,

And darkness passing itself for light,

Let us imitate John, and exclaim with a frown :--
"The coin is spurious-Nail it down!"

BURNT AIGLE AND MRS. RADFORD; OR, THE VALUE OF TIME.-MRS. S. C. HALL.

ONE of the most amusing and acute persons I remember— and in my very early days I knew him well-was a whiteheaded lame old man, known in the neighborhood of Killaggin by the name of Burnt Eagle, or, as the Irish peasants called him, "Burnt Aigle." His descent proclaimed him an Irishman, but some of his habits were not characteristic of the country, for he understood the value of money, and that which makes money--Time. He certainly was not of the neighborhood in which he resided, for he had no "people," no uncles, aunts, or cousins. What his real name was I never

heard; but I remember him since I was a very little girl, just old enough to be placed by my nurse on the back of Burnt Eagle's donkey. At that time he lived in a neat, pretty little cottage, about a mile from our house: it contained two rooms; they were not only clean but well furnished; that is to say, well furnished for an Irish cottage.

The little patch of ground this industrious old man had, after incredible labor, succeeded in forming over the coat of sward that covered the sand, was in front of Crab Hall. The donkey had done his best to assist a master who had never given him an unjust blow: the fence was formed round the little inclosure of gray granite, which some convulsion of nature had strewed abundantly on the strand; these stones the donkey drew up when his day's work was ended, three or four at a time. Even this inclosure was perfected, and a very neat gate of basket-work, with a latch outside and a bolt in, hung opposite the cottage door, before Burnt Eagle had laid down either the earth or manure on his plot of ground.

"Why, thin, Burnt Aigle, dear," said Mrs. Radford, the netmaker's wife, as, followed by seven lazy, dirty, healthy children, she strolled over the sand-hills one evening to see what the poor bocher* was doing at the place, that was good enough for Corney, the crab-catcher, without alteration,dacent man! for twenty years. Why, thin, Burnt Aigle dear,what are ye slaving and

fencin at ?"

"Why, I thought I told ye, Mrs. Radford, when I taught ye the tight stitch for a shrimp-net, that I meant to make a garden here; I understand flowers, and the gentry's ready to buy them; and sure, when once the flowers are set, they'll grow of themselves while I'm doing something else. Is'nt it a beautiful thing to think of that! how the Lord helps us to a great deal, if we only do a little towards it!"

"How do you make that out?" inquired the net-maker. Burnt Eagle pulled a seed-pod from a tuft of beautiful seapink. "All that's wanted of us," he said, " is to put such as this in the earth at first, and doesn't God's goodness do all the rest ?"

* A lame man.