"I have only been picking a bit in the gutter,

Where cook had been pouring some cold melted butter ;
A slice of green cabbage, some scraps of old meat—
Just a trifle or two, that I thought I could eat."

The doctor was then to his business proceeding,
By gentle emetics, a blister, and bleeding,-
When, all on a sudden, she rolled on her side,—
Gave a horrible "quack," and a struggle,—and died.

Her remains were interred in a neighbouring swamp,
By her friends, with a great deal of funeral pomp ;
And I've heard this inscription her tombstone was put on-
"Here lies Mrs Duck, the notorious glutton!"

And all the young ducklings are brought by their friends
To learn the disgrace in which gluttony ends!

PLAYING AT SOLDIERS.-(Hood.)

WHAT little urchin is there never
Hath had that early scarlet fever,
Of martial trappings caught?
Trappings well called-because they trap
And catch full many a country chap
To go where fields are fought!

So used I, when I was a boy,
To march with military toy

With regimental mates;

By sound of trump and rub-a-dubs-
To 'siege the wash-house-charge the tubs-
Or storm the garden gates.

In memory's roll they dress in line,
Lubbock, and Fenn, and David Vine,
And dark "Jamaeky Forde"!

And limping Wood, and "Cockey Hawes,"
Our captain always made, because

He had a real sword!

Long Lawrence, Natty Smart, and Soame, Who said he had a gun at home,

But that was all a brag;

Ned Ryder, too, that used to sham
A prancing horse, and big Sam Lamb
That would hold up the flag!

Tom Anderson, and "Dunny White,"
Who never right-abouted right,

For he was deaf and dumb;

Jack Pike, Jem Crack, and Sandy Gray,
And Dicky Bird, that wouldn't play
Unless he had the drum.

And Peter Holt, and Charley Jepp-
A chap that never kept the step-
No more did "Surly Hugh;'
Bob Harrington, and "Fighting Jim,"
We often had to halt for him,
To let him tie his shoe.

"Quarrelsome Scott," and Martin Dick, That killed the bantam cock, to stick The plumes within his hat;

Bill Hook, and little Tommy Grout,
That got so thump'd for calling out

66

Eyes right!" to "Squinting Matt."

Dan Simpson, that, with Peter Dodd,
Was always in the awkward squad,
And those two greedy Blakes,
That took our money to the fair
To buy the corps a trumpet there,
And laid it out in cakes.

Now Soame sends cheeses out in trucks,
And Martin sells the cock he plucks,
And Jepp now deals in wine;
Harrington bears a lawyer's bag,
And warlike Lamb retains his flag,
But on a tavern sign.

They tell me Cocky Hawse's sword
Is seen upon a broker's board :
And as for "Fighting Jim,"
In Bishopsgate, last Whitsuntide,
His unresisting cheek I spied
Beneath a quaker brim!

MODERN LOGIC.—(Anon.)

AN Eton stripling training for the law,-a dunce at Syntax, but a dab at taw,-one happy Christmas, laid upon the shelf his cap, his gown, and store of learned pelf, with all the deathless bards of Greece and Rome, to spend a fortnight at his uncle's home.

Arrived, and past the usual "How d'ye do's?" inquiries of old friends, and college news:-" Well, Tom, my lad, what saw you worth discerning? and how goes study, boy,-what is't you're learning?" "Oh, Logic, sir,—but not the worn-out rules of Locke and Bacon—antiquated fools! 'Tis wit and wranglers' logic; thus, d'ye see, I'll prove to you as clear as A, B, C, that an eel-pie's a pigeon :-to deny it, were to swear black's white." "Indeed! let's try it." "An eel-pie is a pie of fish?" "Well-agreed." "A fish-pie may be a Jack-pie?" "Proceed." "A Jack-pie must be a John-pie—thus, 'tis done, for every John-pie is a Pi-geon!" Bravo!" Sir Peter cries-" Logic for ever! it beats my grandmother-and she was clever! But hold, my boy-it surely would be hard, that wit and learning should have no reward. To-morrow, for a stroll, the park we'll cross, and then I'll give you, Tom, a high-bred horse." "A horse!" cries Tom; "blood, pedigree, and paces! oh, what a dash I'll cut at Epsom races!"

He went to bed, and wept for downright sorrow, to think the night must pass before the morrow; dreamed of his boots, cap, spurs, and leather breeches, of leaping

five-barred gates, and crossing ditches: left his warm bed an hour before the lark, dragged his old uncle fasting through the park. Each craggy hill and dale in vain they cross, to find out something like the expected horse, but no such animal the meadows cropped at length, beneath a tree Sir Peter stopped -took a bough-shook it-and down fell a fine large chestnut in its prickly shell. "There, Tom-take that." "Well, sir, and what beside?" Why, since you're booted, saddle it, and ride.” "Ride! what?a chestnut!" Ay, come get across; I tell you, Tom, that chestnut is a horse, and all the horse you'll get !— for I can show as clear as sunshine, that 'tis really so -not by the musty, fusty, worn-out rules of Locke and Bacon-addle-headed fools! all maxims but the wranglers' I disown, and stick to one sound argument -your own. Since you have proved to me, I don't deny, that a pie-John is the same as a John-pie-what follows then, but as a thing of course, that a horsechestnut is a chestnut-horse?" Tom scampered home in dudgeon, sought his room,-locked himself in to fret, and stamp, and fume: if Logic failed to make a horse, alas! he felt that it indeed had made-an Ass!

THE COUNTRY SQUIRE.-(Bentley Ballads.)

By kind permission of Messrs. R. Bentley & Son.

In a small pretty village in Nottinghamshire, there formerly lived a respectable Squire, who excelled all his friends in amusements athletic, and whose manner of living was far from ascetic. A wife he had taken for better for worse, whose temper had proved an intolerant curse; but at length, to his great and unspeakable joy, she died when presenting a fine little boy. Strange fancies men have ;—the father designed to watch o'er the dawn of his son's youthful mind-that, only approached by the masculine gender, no room

should be left him for feelings more tender. “Had I ne'er seen a woman," he often would sigh, “what Squire in the country so happy as I!" The boy was intelligent, active, and bright, and took in his studies. uncommon delight;—no juvenile follies distracted his mind—no visions of bright eyes or damsels unkind, and those fair demi-sisterly beings so gay, yclept "pretty cousins," ne'er popped in his way: till at length this remarkably singular son could number of years that had passed, twenty-one. Now the father had settled, his promising son should his studies conclude when he reached twenty-one : and he went with a heart beating high with emotion, to launch the young man on life's turbulent ocean. As they entered the town, a young maiden tripped by, with a cheek like a rose, and a light laughing eye. "Oh! father, what's that?" cried the youth with delight, as this vision of loveliness burst on his sight. "Oh, that," cried the cautious and politic Squire, who did not the youth's ardent glances admire," is only a thing called a goose, my dear son-we shall see many more ere our visit is done." Blooming damsels now passed with their butter and cheese, whose beauty might even an anchorite please: "Merely geese!" said the Squire ; " don't mind them, my dear; there are many things better worth looking at here." As onwards they passed, every step brought to view some spectacle equally curious and new; and the joy of the youth hardly knew any bounds at the rope-dancers, tumblers, and merry-gorounds. And soon, when the tour of the town was completed, the father resolved that the boy should be treated; so, pausing an instant, he said, “My dear son, a new era to-day in your life has begun: now of all this bright scene and the gaieties in it, choose whatever you like it is yours from this minute." "Choose whatever I like?" cried the youthful recluse; "oh, thank you, dear father, then give me-a goose!"