Monsieur." “What lovely wench is that there here? I should like to sup with Nongtongpaw. But hold! whose funeral's that?" cries John. "Je vous n'entends paw.". "What, is he gone? Wealth, fame, and beauty could not save I'd with him breakfast, dine and sup; Good-night t'ye, Mounseer Nongtongpaw." CCCLXIV. THE SWELL'S SOLILOQUY ON THE WAR. I DON'T appwove this hawid waw ; Those dweadful bannahs hawt my eyes; And guns and dwums are such a baw, Why don't the pawties compwamise? C. Dibdin. I called at Mrs. Gween's last night, Of cawce I wose and saught the daw, Vanity Fair CCCLXV. THE ALARMED SKIPPER. MANY a long, long year ago, Of finding out, though "lying low," How near New York their schooners ran. They greased the lead before it fell, And then, by sounding through the night, A skipper gray, whose eyes were dim, Snug in his berth, at eight o'clock, This ancient skipper might be found; No matter how his craft would rock, He slept, for skippers' naps are sound! The watch on deck would now and then Run down and wake him, with the lead; He'd up and taste, and tell the men One night, 't was Jotham Marden's watch, "We're all a set of stupid fools, To think the skipper knows by tasting, And so he took the well-greased lead, And rubbed it o'er a box of earth That stood on deck (a parsnip bed),- "Where are we now, sir, please to taste." The skipper yawned, put out his tongue, Then oped his eyes in wondrous haste, And then upon the floor he sprung! The skipper stormed, and tore his hair, Thrust on his boots, and roared to Marden, "Nantucket 's sunk, and here we are Right over old Marm Hackett's garden!" And he who scorns to "take the pledge," And keep the promise fast, May be, in spite of fate, a stiff J. G. Saze. THE CCCLXVII. WHITTLING. HE Yankee boy, before he's sent to school, No little part that implement hath had, His pocket-knife to the young whittler brings Projectiles, music, and the sculptor's art, |