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"Your blue silk" — "That's too

heavy." "Your pink" —

"That's too light." Wear tulle over satin" — "I can't

endure white." "Your rose-colored, then, the best

of the batch " — "I have n't a thread of point-lace to

match."

"Your brown moire antique"

"Yes, and look likea Quaker;" "The pearl-colored "—" I would, but

that plaguy dress-maker Has had it a week." "Then that

exquisite lilac. In which you would melt the heart

of a Shylock;" (Here the nose took again the same

elevation) — "I would not wear that for the whole

of creation." "Why not? It's my fancy, there's

nothing could strike it As more comme il fuut"—"Yes,

but dear me, that lean Sophronia Stuckup has got one just

like it,

And I won't appear dressed like a chit of sixteen."

"Then that splendid purple, that sweet Mazarine;

That superb point d'aiyuille, that imperial green,

That zephyr-like tarletan, that rich grenadine " —

"Not one of all which is fit to be seen," I flushed.

Said the lady, becoming excited and

"Then wear," I exclaimed, in a tone which quite crushed Opposition, "that gorgeous palette which you sported

In Paris last spring, at the grand presentation,

When you quite turned the head of the head of the nation, And by all the grand court were

so very much courted." The end of the nose was portentously tipped up,

And both the bright eyes shot forth indignation,

As she burst upon me with the fierce exclamation,

"I have worn it three times, at the least calculation, And that and most of my dresses are ripped up!"

I have told you and shown you I've

nothing to wear. And it's perfectly plain you not only

don't care, But you do not believe me," (here the

nose went still higher), "I suppose, if you dared, you would

call me a liar. Our engagement is ended, sir,—yes,

on the spot; You're a brute, and a monster, and

— I don't know what." I mildly suggested the words Hottentot,

Pickpocket, and cannibal, Tartar,

and thief, As gentle expletives which might

give relief; But this only proved as a spark to

the powder, And the storm I had raised came

faster and louder; It blew and it rained, thundered,

lightened, and hailed Interjections, verbs, pronouns, till

language quite failed To express the abusive, and then its

arrears

Were brought up all at once by a torrent of tears.

Well, I felt for the lady, and felt for my hat, too.

Improvised on the crown of the latter a tattoo.

In lieu of expressing the feelings which lay

Quite too deep for words, as Wordsworth would say;

Then, without going through the form of a bow,

Found myself in the entry — I hardly knew how,

On doorstep and sidewalk, past lamppost and square.

At home and up stairs, in my own easy-chair;

Poked my feet into slippers, my fire into blaze, And said to myself, as I lit my cigar,

"Supposing a man had the wealth of a Czar

Of the Russian to boot, for the

rest of his days. On the whole, do you think he would

have much to spare. If he married a woman with nothing

to wear?"

John Byrom.

THE WAV A RUMOR /S SPRE AD: OR, THE THREE BLACK CliOWS.

Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand, One took the other, briskly, by the hand;

Harley, said he, 'tis an odd story this

About the crows! — I don't know what it is,

Replied his friend.—No! I'm surprised at that;

Where I came from it is the common chat;

But you shall hear; an odd affair indeed!

And, that it happened, they are all agreed:

Not to detain you from a thing so strange,

A gentleman, that lives not far from Change,

This week, in short, as all the alley knows,

Taking a puke, has thrown up three

black crows, — Impossible! — Nay, but it's really

true;

I have it from good hands, and so may you. —

From whose, I pray?—So having named the man,

Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran.

Sir, did you tell — relating the affair—

Yes, sir, I did: and if its worth your care,

Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me But, by the by, 'twas two black crows, not three.

Resolved to trace so wondrous an event,

Whip, to the third, the virtuoso went;

Sir — and so forth — Why, yes; the

thing is fact, Though in regard to number, not

exact;

It was not two black crows, 'twas only one.

The truth of that you may depend upon,

The gentleman himself told me the case —

Where may I find him? — Why, in such a place. Away goes he, and having found him out,

Sir. be so good as to resolve a doubt. Then to his last informant he referred,

And begged to know, if true what

he had heard? Did you, sir, throw up a black crow?

—Not I — Bless me! how people propagate a lie! Black crows have been thrown up,

three, two, and one; And here, I find, all comes, at last, to

none.'

Did you say nothing of a crow at

nut—

Crow — crow — perhaps I might, now I recall

The matter over—And, pray, sir,

what was't? Why, I was horrid sick, and, at the

last,

I did throw up, and told my neighbor so,

Something that was — as black, sir, as a crow.

CARELESS CONTENT.

I AM content, I do not care.

Wag as it will the world for me; When fuss and fret was all my fare,

It got no ground as I could see:
So when away my caring went,
I counted cost, and was content.

With more of thanks and less of thought,

I strive to make my matters meet; To seek what ancient sages sought.

Physic and food in sour and sweet: To take what passes in good part, And keep the hiccups from the heart.

With good and gentle-humored hearts, I choose to chat where'er I come,

Whate'er the subject be that starts; But if I get among the glum,

I hold my tongue to tell the truth,

And keep my breath to cool my broth.

For chance or change of peace or pain.

For Fortune's favor or her frown, For lack or glut, for loss or gain,

I never dodge, nor up nor down: But swing what way the ship shall swim,

Or tack about with equal trim.

If names or notions make a noise,
Whatever hap the question hath.

The point impartially I poise,
And read or write, but without
wrath;

For should I burn, or break my brains,

Pray, who will pay me for my pains?

I suit not where I shall not speed,
Nor trace the turn of every tide;

If simple sense will not succeed,
I make no bustling, but abide:

For shining wealth, or scaring woe,

I force no friend, I fear no foe.

Of ups and downs, of ins and outs, of they're i' the wrong, and we're i' the right,

I shun the rancors and the routs; And w ishing well to every wight,

Whatever turn the matter takes,

I deem it all but ducks and drakes.

With whom I feast I do not fawn. Nor if the folks should flout me, faint:

If wonted welcome be withdrawn,
I cook no kind of a complaint:
With none disposed to disagree,
But like them best who best like
me.

Not that I rate myself the rule
How all my betters should be-
have;

But fame shall find me no man's fool,

Nor to a set of men a slave:
I love a friendship free and frank,
And hate to hang upon a hank.

Fond of a true and trusty tie,
I never loose where'er I link;

Though if a business budges by,
I talk thereon just as I think;

My word, my work, my heart, my hand,

Still on a side together stand.

I love my neighbor as myself.
Myself like him too, by his leave;

Nor to his pleasure, power, or pelf,
Came I to crouch, as I conceive:

Dame Nature doubtless has designed

A man the monarch of his mind.

Now taste and try this temper, sirs, Mood it and brood it in your breast;

Or if ye ween, for worldly stirs.
That man does right to mar his
rest,

Let me be deft and debonair,
I am content, I do not care.

SPECTACLES, OR HELPS TO READ.

A certain artist — I've forgot his name —

Hail got, for making spectacles, a fame,

Or " helps to read," as, when they first were sold,

Was writ upon his glaring sign in gold;

And, for all uses to be had from glass,

His were allowed by readers to surpass.

There came a man into his shop one day —

"Are you the spectacle contriver, pray?"

"Yes, sir," said he; "I can in that affair

Contrive to please you, if you want a pair."

"Can you? pray do then." So, at first, he chose

To place a youngish pair upon his nose;

And book produced to see how they would fit:

Asked how he liked 'em ?" Like 'em? not a bit."

"Then, sir, I fancy, if you please to try,

These in my hand will better suit your eye."

"No, but they don't." "Well, come, sir, if you please,

Here is another sort, we'll e'en try these;

Still somewhat more they magnify the letter;

Now, sir?" "Why, now— I'm not a bit the better."

"No? here, take these, that magnify still more;

How do they fit?" "Like all the rest before."

In short they tried a whole assortment through.
But all in vain, for none of 'em would do.
The operator, much surprised to find
So odd be cause, thought, sure the man is blind!
"What sort of eyes can you have got?" said he.
"Why, very good ones, friend, as you may see."
"Yes, I perceive the clearness of the ball —
Pray, let me ask you, can you read at all?"
"No, you great blockhead; if I could, what need
Of paying you for any ' helps to read ?'"
And so he left the maker in a heat,
Resolved to post him for an arrant cheat.

Lord Byron.

[From English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.]

CRITICS.

Oh! nature's noblest gift — my gray goose-quill! Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will,

Torn from thy parent bird to form a

pen.

That mighty instrument of little men!

The pen! foredoomed to aid the mental th roes

Of brains that labor, big with verse or prose,

Though nymphs forsake, and critics

may deride, The lover's solace and the author's

pride.

What wits, what poets, dost thou

daily raise! How frequent is thy use, how small

thy praise! Condemned at length to be forgotten

quite,

With all the pages which 'twas thine to w rite.

Laugh when I laugh, I seek no other fame;

The cry is up, and scribblers are my game.

Speed, Pegasus — ye strains of great

and small, Ode. epic, elegy, have at you all! I, too, can scrawl, and once upon a

a time

I poured along the town a flood of rhyme,

A schoolboy freak, unworthy praise

or blame; I printed — older children do the

same.

'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's name in print;

A book's a book, although there's nothing iu't. . • • • .

A man must serve his time to every trade

Save censure — critics all are ready made.

Take hackneyed jokes from Miller, got by rote,

With just enough of learning to misquote:

A mind well skilled to find or forge a fault;

A turn for punning, — call it Attic salt;

To Jeffrey go; be silent and discreet, His pay is just ten sterling pounds

per sheet. Fear not to lie, 'twill seem a lucky

hit;

Shrink not from blasphemy, 'twill pass for wit;

Care not for feeling — pass your proper jest.

And stand a critic, hated, yet caressed.

And shall we ow n such judgment?

No — as soon Seek roses in December — ice in

June;

Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff;

Believe a woman, or an epitaph,
Or any other thing that's false, before
You trust in critics, who themselves
are sore.

Thomas Campbell.

SONG.

To Love in my heart, I exclaimed, t'other morning,
Thou hast dwelt here too long, little lodger, take warning;
Thou shall tempt me no more from my life's sober duty,
To so gadding, bewitched by the young eyes of beauty.
For weary's the wooing, ah! weary.
When an old man will have a young dearie.

The sro'l left my heart, at its surly reflections,
But came back on pretext of some sweet recollections,
An 1 he made me forget what I ought to remember,
That the rosebud of June cannot bloom in November.
Ah! Tom, 'tis all o'er with thy gay days —
Write psalms, and not songs for the ladies.

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