Poor CREEVY sips his water gru el as the beadle of the U niversity we've Got in town- There's JERRY BENTHAM and his crew, niversity we've Got in town- To crown the whole with triple queue- niversity we've Got in town- THE sun was slumbering in the west, my daily labors past; "That Mister Bond has called again, insisting on his rent; And all the Todds are coming up to see us, out of Kent; I quite forgot to tell you John has had a tipsy fall ;— "Miss Bell has bought the sweetest silk, and I have bought the rest Of course, if we go out of town, Southend will be the best. "Cook, by the way, came up to-day, to bid me suit myself— And, what'd ye think? the rats have gnawed the victuals on the shelf. And, Lord! there's such a letter come, inviting you to fight! Of course you don't intend to go-God bless you, dear, goodnight!" II. A PARENTAL ODE TO MY SON, AGED THREE YEARS AND FIVE MONTHS. THOυ happy, happy elf! (But stop-first let me kiss away that tear)— Thou tiny image of myself! (My love, he's poking peas into his ear!) Thou merry, laughing sprite! With spirits feather-light, Untouched by sorrow, and unsoiled by sin- With antic toys so funnily bestuck, Light as the singing bird that wings the air- (Why, Jane, he'll set his pinafore afire!) Thou imp of mirth and joy! In Love's dear chain so strong and bright a link, Thou cherub-but of earth; Fit playfellow for Fays, by moonlight pale, In harmless sport and mirth, (That dog will bite him if he pulls its tail!) Thy father's pride and hope! (He'll break the mirror with that skipping-rope !) With pure heart newly stamped from Nature's mint(Where did he learn that squint ?) Thou young domestic dove! (He'll have that jug off, with another shove !) Dear nursling of the Hymeneal nest! (Are those torn clothes his best?) Little epitome of man! (He'll climb upon the table, that's his plan !) Touched with the beauteous tints of dawning life— (He's got a knife !) Thou enviable being! No storms, no clouds, in thy blue sky foreseeing, My elfin John! Toss the light ball-bestride the stick (I knew so many cakes would make him sick!) (He's got the scissors, snipping at your gown!) Thou pretty opening rose! (Go to your mother, child, and wipe your nose!) I can not write, unless he 's sent above!) III. A SERENADE. "LULLABY, O, lullaby!" Thus I heard a father cry, "Lullaby, O, lullaby! The brat will never shut an eye; Hither come, some power divine! Close his lids, or open mine!” "Lullaby, O, lullaby! What the devil makes him cry? Still he stares-I wonder why, "Lullaby, O, lullaby!" Thus I heard the father cry; Mary, you must come and try!— Hush, O, hush, for mercy's sake The more I sing, the more you wake!” "Lullaby, O, lullaby! Fie, you little creature, fie! Is no poppy-syrup nigh? Give him some, or give him all, "Lullaby, O, lullaby! Two such nights and I shall die! He'll be bruised, and so shall I— “Lullaby, O, lullaby! Sleep his very looks deny Lullaby, O lullaby! Nature soon will stupefy My nerves relax-my eyes grow dim- ODE TO PERRY, THE INVENTOR OF THE STEEL PEN. THOMAS HOOD. "In this good work, Penn appears the greatest, usefullest of God's instruments. Firm and unbending when the exigency requires it-soft and yielding when rigid inflexibility is not a desideratum-fluent and flowing, at need, for eloquent rapidity-slow and retentive in cases of deliberation-never spluttering or by amplifi cation going wide of the mark-never splitting, if it can be helped, with any one, but ready to wear itself out rather in their service-all things as it were with all men-ready to embrace the hand of Jew, Christian, or Mohammedan-heavy with the German, light with the Italian, oblique with the English, upright with the Roman, backward in coming forward with the Hebrew-in short, for flexibility, amiability, constitutional durability, general ability, and universal utility, it would be hard to find a parallel to the great Penn."-PERRY'S CHARACTERISTICS OF A SETTLER. O! PATENT Pen-inventing Perrian Perry! Friend of the goose and gander, That now unplucked of their quill-feathers wander, Untroubled for one penny-worth of pen, For which they chant thy praise all Britain through, Friend to all Author-kind- Perrygrinations through the realms of thought; Each plying from the Comic to the Pensive, Modern improvements in their course we feel; |