Chapter III: Part 3

"I ritu a verse o na Molli o mi ne,
Asta lassa me pole, a lædis o fine;
I ne ver neu a niso ne at in mi ni is,
A manat a glans ora sito fer diis.

De armo lis abuti, hos face an hos nos is
As fer a sal illi, as reddas aro sis,
Ac is o mi Molli is almi de lite,
Illo verbi de, an illo verbi nite."

At this the Dean settles the whole affair by--

"Apud in is almi de si re,
Mimis tres I ne ver re qui re;
Alo' ver I findit a gestis,
His miseri ne ver at restis."

Sydney Smith proposed as a motto for a well-known fish-sauce purveyor the following line from Virgil (_Æn._ iv. I):

"_Gravi jam_dudum _saucia_ curâ."

When two students named Payne and Culpepper were expelled from college, a classmate wrote:

"_Poen_ia perire potest; _Culpa per_ennis est."

And Dr. Johnson wrote the following epitaph on his cat:

"_Mi-cat_ inter omnes."

A gentleman at dinner helped his friend to a potato, saying--"I think
that is a good mealy one." "Thank you," was the reply, "it could not
be _melior_."

Another gentleman while driving one day was asked by a lady if some
fowls they passed were ducks or geese. One of the latter at the moment
lifting up its voice, the gentleman said, "That's your _anser_!"

"Well, Tom, are you sick again?" asked a student of his friend, and
was answered in English and in Latin, "_Sic sum_."

Victor Hugo was once asked if he could write English poetry. "Certainement," was the reply, and he sat down and wrote this verse:

"Pour chasser le spleen
J'entrai dans un inn;
O, mais je bus le gin,
God save the queen!"

In the "Innocents Abroad" of Mark Twain he gives a letter written by his friend Mr. Blucher to a Parisian hotel-keeper, which was as follows:

"'MONSIEUR LE LANDLORD: Sir--_Pourquoi_ don't you _mettez_ some
_savon_ in your bed-chambers? _Est-ce-que-vous pensez_ I will steal
it? _Le nuit passeé_ you charged me _pour deux chandelles_ when I only
had one; _hier vous avez_ charged me _avec glace_ when I had none at
all; _tout les jours_ you are coming some fresh game or other upon me,
_mais vous ne pouvez pas_ play this _savon_ dodge on me twice. _Savon_
is a necessary _de la vie_ to anybody but a Frenchman, _et je l'aurai
hors de cette hotel_ or make trouble. You hear me.--_Allons._

BLUCHER.'"

"I remonstrated," says Mr. Twain, "against the sending of this note, because it was so mixed up that the landlord would never be able to make head or tail of it; but Blucher said he guessed the old man could read the French of it, and average the rest."

Productions like the preceding, and like that with which we conclude are continually finding their way into print, and are always readable, curious, and fresh for an idle hour.

POCAHONTAS AND CAPTAIN SMITH.

(JAMESTOWN, A.D. 1607.)

"Johannes Smithus, walking up a streetus, met two ingentes Ingins et
parvulus Ingin. Ingins non capti sunt ab Johanne, sed Johannes captus
est ab ingentibus Inginibus. Parvulus Ingin run off hollerin, et
terrifficatus est most to death. Big Ingin removit Johannem ad
tentem, ad campum, ad marshy placem, papoosem, pipe of peacem,
bogibus, squawque. Quum Johannes examinatus est ab Inginibus, they
condemnati sunt eum to be cracked on capitem ab clubbibus. Et a big
Ingin was going to strikaturus esse Smithum with a clubbe, quum
Pocahontas came trembling down, et hollerin, 'Don't ye duit, don't ye
duit!' Sic Johannes non periit, sed grew fat on corn bread et hominy."

_LINGUISTIC VERSE._

One of the most curious efforts in the way of teaching a language was that attempted by a work published originally in Paris, in 1862, entitled "O Novo Guia em Portuguez e Inglez. Par Jose de Fonseca e Pedro Carolina," or the New Guide to Conversation in Portuguese and English. Mr. G. C. Leland writes us that Fonseca "manufactured" this work by procuring a book of French dialogues, which he put word by word into English--(by the aid of a dictionary)--"of which he knew not a word, and what is strangest, did not learn a word, even while writing his _Guide_. That he really humbugged his bookseller appears from this that he induced the poor victim to publish a large English dictionary!" This book has been reprinted, as a literary curiosity, and may be had at Quaritch's, 15 Piccadilly, London, under the title of "A New Guide to the English," by Pedro Carolina; Fonseca having taken his name out, and dating the book from "Pekin,"--this being a mere joke. However, the original was a serious work, and by way of introduction to a poem in the Fonseca English, kindly given us by Professor E. H. Palmer, we give a few particulars of and extracts from the work itself, and here is the Preface:

"A choice of familiar dialogues, clean of gallicisms and despoiled
phrases, it was missing yet to studious portuguese and brazilian
Youth; and also to persons of other nations that wish to know the
portuguese language. We sought all we may do, to correct that want,
composing and divising the present little work in two parts. The first
includes a greatest vocabulary proper names by alphabetical order; and
the second forty-three Dialogues adapted to the usual precisions of
the life. For that reason we did put, with a scrupulous exactness, a
great variety own expressions to english and portugues idioms; without
to attach us selves (as make some others) almost at a literal
translation; translation what only will be for to accustom the
portuguese pupils, or foreign, to speak very bad any of the mentioned
idioms. We were increasing this second edition with a phraseology, in
the first part, and some familiar letters, anecdotes, idiotisms,
proverbs, and to second a coin's index.

"The _Works_ which we were confering for this labour, find use us for
nothing; but those what were publishing to Portugal, or out. They were
almost all composed for some foreign, or for some national little
acquainted in the spirit of both languages. It was resulting from that
corelessness to rest these _Works_ fill of imperfections and anomalies
of style; in spite of the infinite typographical faults which
sometimes invert the sense of the periods. It increase not to contain
any of those _Works_ the figured pronunciation of the english words,
nor the prosodical accent in the portugese: indispensable object whom
wish to speak the english and portuguese languages correctly.

"We expect then who the little book (for the care what we wrote him,
and for her typographical correction) that may be worth the acceptance
of the studious persons, and especially of the Youth, at which we
dedicate him particularly."

The "greatest vocabulary proper names" is in three columns--the first giving the Portuguese, the second the English words, and the third the English pronunciation:

Dô Múndo. Of the world. Ove thi Ueurlde.
Os astros. The stars. Thi esters.
Môça. Young girl. Yeun-gue guerle.
O relâmpago. The flash of lightning. Thi flax ove lait eningue.

The vocabulary fills about fifty pages, and is followed by a series of "familiar phrases," of which a few are here given:

"Do which is that book? Do is so kind to tell me it. Let us go on ours
feet. Having take my leave, i was going. This trees make a beauty
shade. This wood is full of thief's. These apricots make me & to come
water in mouth. I have not stricken the clock. The storm is go over,
the sun begin to dissape it. I am stronger which him. That place is
too much gracious. That are the dishes whose you must be and to
abstain."

Then come the dialogues, and one we give is supposed to take place at a morning call, which commences first with the visitor and the servant:

"'Is your master at home?'--'Yes, sir.' 'Is it up?'--'No, sir, he
sleep yet. I go make that he get up.' 'It come in one's? How is it you
are in bed yet?'--'Yesterday at evening I was to bed so late that i
may not rising me soon that morning.'"

This is followed by a description of the dissipation which led to these late hours--"singing, dancing, laughing, and playing"--

"'What game?'--'To the picket.' 'Who have prevailed upon?'--'I have
gained ten lewis.' 'Till at what o'clock its had play one?'--'Untill
two o'clock after midnight.'"

But these conversations or dialogues, however amusing, are as nothing when compared with the anecdotes which are given by Fonseca, of which we transcribe a few:

"John II., Portugal King, had taken his party immediately. He had in
her court castillians ambassadors coming for treat of the pease. As
they had keeped in leng the negotiation he did them two papers in one
from which he had wrote _peace_ and on the other _war_--telling them
'Choice you!'"

"Philip, King's Macedonia, being fall, and seeing the extension of her
body drawed upon the dust was cry--'Greats Gods! that we may have
little part in this Univers!'"

"One eyed was laied against a man which had good eyes that he saw
better than him. The party was accepted. 'I had gain over,' said the
one eyed; 'why i see you two eyes, and you not look me who one!'"

"The most vertious of the pagans, Socrates, was accused from impiety,
and immolated to the fury of the envy and the fanaticism. When relates
one's him self that he has been condemned to death for the
Athenians--'And then told him, they are it for the nature,--But it is
an unjustly,' cried her woman 'would thy replied-him that might be
justify?'"

"Cæsar seeing one day to Roma, some strangers, very riches, which bore
between her arms little dogs and little monkeies and who was
carressign them too tenderly was ask, with so many great deal reason,
whether the women of her country don't had some children?"

"Two friends who from long they not were seen meet one's selves for
hazard. 'How do is there?' told one of the two. 'No very well, told
the other, and i am married from that I saw thee.' 'Good news.' 'Not
quit, because I had married with a bad woman.' 'So much worse.' 'Not
so much great deal worse; because her dower was from two thousand
lewis.' 'Well, that confort.' 'Not absolutely, why i had emplored this
sum for to buy some muttons which are all deads of the rot.' 'That is
indeed very sorry.' 'Not so sorry, because the selling of hers hide
have bring me above the price of the muttons.' 'So you are
indemnified.' 'Not quit, because my house where i was disposed my
money, finish to be consumed by the flames.' 'Oh, here is a great
misfortune!' 'Not so great nor i either, because my wife and my house
are burned together!'"

The concluding portion of this Guide is devoted to "Idiotisms and Proverbs," of some of which it is rather difficult to recognise the original, as "To take time by the forelock," is rendered "It want to take the occasion for the hairs!" Here are a few others:

"The walls have hearsay."

"Four eyes does see better than two."

"There is not any ruler without a exception."

"The mountain in work put out a mouse."

"He is like the fish into the water."

"To buy a cat in a pocket."

"To come back at their muttons."

"He is not so devil as he is black."

"Keep the chestnut of the fire with the hand of the cat."

"What come in to me for an ear yet out for another."

"Take out the live coals with the hand of the cat."

"These roses do button at the eyesight."

Enough perhaps has been given about this amusing Guide, and we here introduce Professor E. H. Palmer's verses:

THE PARTERRE.

A POETRY AS THE FONSECA.

"I don't know any greatest treat
As sit him in a gay parterre,
And sniff one up the perfume sweet
Of every roses buttoning there.

It only want my charming miss
Who make to blush the self red rose;
Oh! I have envy of to kiss
The end's tip of her splendid nose.

Oh! I have envy of to be
What grass neath her pantoffle push,
And too much happy seemeth me
The margaret which her vestige crush.

But I will meet her nose at nose,
And take occasion for the hairs,
And indicate her all my woes,
That she in fine agree my prayers.

THE ENVOY.

I don't know any greatest treat
As sit him in a gay parterre,
With Madame who is too more sweet
Than every roses buttoning there."

Pidgin English is the name given to the dialect extensively used in the seaport towns of China as a means of communication between the natives and English and Americans, and is a very rude jargon in which English words are very strangely distorted. It is very limited, the Chinese learning Pidgin with only the acquirement of a few hundred words, the pronunciation and grammar of which have been modified to suit those of their own language. The word Pidgin itself is derived through a series of changes in the word _Business_. Early traders made constant use of this word, and the Chinaman contracted it first to _Busin_, and then through the change to _Pishin_ it at length assumed the form of _Pidgin_, still retaining its original meaning. This at once shows the difficulty which a Chinaman has in mastering the pronunciation of English words, and as business or commerce is the great bond of union between the Chinese and the foreign residents, it is not to be wondered at that this word should give name to the jargon formed in its service. The Chinese have great difficulty in using the letter _r_, pronouncing it almost always like _l_, as _loom_ for _room_, _cly_ for _cry_; and for the sake of euphony often add _ee_ or _lo_ to the end of words. _Galaw_ or _galow_ is a word of no meaning, being used as a kind of interjection; _chop, chop_, means quick, quick; _maskee_, don't mind; _chop b'long_, of a kind; _topside galow_, excelsior, or "hurrah for topside"; _chin chin_, good-bye; _welly culio_, very curious; _Joss-pidgin-man_, priest. With these few hints the reader may understand better the following version of "Excelsior," which originally appeared in _Harpers' Magazine_ in 1869,--the moral, however, belongs solely to the Chinese translator:

TOPSIDE-GALOW.

"That nightee teem he come chop chop
One young man walkee, no can stop;
Colo maskee, icee maskee;
He got flag; chop b'long we_ll_y cu_l_io, see--
Topside-galow!

He too muchee so_ll_y; one piecee eye
Looksee sharp--so fashion--alla same my:
He talkee largee, talkee st_l_ong,
Too muchee cu_l_io; alla same gong--
Topside-galow!

Inside any housee he can see light,
Any piecee _l_oom got fire all _l_ight;
He looksee plenty ice more high,
Inside he mouf he plenty c_l_y--
Topside-galow!

'No can walkee!' olo man speakee he;
'Bimeby _l_ain come, no can see;
Hab got water we_ll_y wide!'
Maskee, my must go topside--
Topside-galow!

'Man-man,' one galo talkee he;
'What for you go topside look-see?'
'Nother teem,' he makee plenty c_l_y,
Maskee, alla teem walkee plenty high--
Topside-galow!

'Take care that spilum t_l_ee, young man,
Take care that icee!' he no man-man,
That coolie chin-chin he 'Good-night;'
He talkee, 'My can go all _l_ight'--
Topside-galow!

Joss-pidgin-man chop chop begin,
Morning teem that Joss chin-chin,
No see any man, he plenty fear,
Cause some man talkee, he can hear--
Topside-galow!

Young man makee die; one largee dog see
Too muchee bobbe_l_y, findee hee.
Hand too muchee colo, inside can stop
Alla same piecee flag, got cu_l_io chop--
Topside-galow!

MORAL.

You too muchee laugh! What for sing?
I think so you no savey t'hat ting!
Supposey you no b'long clever inside,
More betta _you_ go walk topside!
Topside-galow!"

In connection with these linguistic curiosities we take the following from an old number of _Harpers' Magazine_: "A practical parent objects to the silliness of our nursery rhymes, for the reason that the doggerel is rendered pernicious by the absence of a practical moral purpose, and as introducing infants to the realities of life through an utterly erroneous medium. They are taught to believe in a world peopled by Little Bo-peeps and Goosey, Goosey Ganders, instead of a world of New York Central, Erie, North-Western Preferred, &c. &c. It is proposed, therefore, to accommodate the teaching of the nursery to the requirements of the age, to invest children's rhymes with a moral purpose. Instead, for example, of the blind wonderment as to the nature of astronomical bodies inculcated in that feeble poem commencing 'Twinkle, twinkle, little star,' let the child be indoctrinated into the recent investigations of science, thus:

'Wrinkles, wrinkles, solar star,
I obtain of what you are,
When unto the noonday sky
I the spectroscope apply;
For the spectrum renders clear
Gaps within your photosphere,
Also sodium in the bar
Which your rays yield, solar star.'

"Then, again, there is the gastronomic career of Little Jack Homer, which inculcates gluttony. It is practicable that this fictitious hero should familiarise the child with the principles of the _Delectus_:

'Studious John Homer,
Of Latin no scorner,
In the second declension did spy
How nouns there are some
Which ending in _um_
Do _not_ make their plural in _i_.'

"The episode of Jack and Jill is valueless as an educational medium. But it might be made to illustrate the arguments of a certain school of political economists:

'Jack and Jill
Have studied Mill,
And all that sage has taught, too.
Now both promote
Jill's claim to vote,
As every good girl ought too.'

"Even the pleasures of life have their duties, and the child needs to be instructed in the polite relaxation of society. The unmeaning jingle of 'Hey diddle diddle,' might be invested with some utility of a social kind:

'I did an idyl on Joachim's fiddle,
At a classical soiree in June,
While jolly dogs laughed at themes from Spöhr,
And longed for a popular tune.'

"And the importance of securing a good _parti_, of rejecting ineligible candidates, and of modifying flirtations by a strict regard to the future, might be impressed upon the female mind at an early age in the following moral:

'Little Miss Muffit
Sat at a buffet
Eating a _bonbon sucre_;
A younger son spied her,
And edged up beside her,
But she properly frowned him away.'"

The preceding is all very well, but there are others which have been travestied and changed also--"Mary's little Lamb," for instance, will never be allowed to rest in its true Saxon garb, but is being constantly dressed in every tongue and dialect. But recently one has arisen bold enough to doubt the story altogether, and throw discredit on the song. Mr. Baring Gould, and iconoclasts like him, strive to show that William Tell and other ancient heroes never did live, but we never expected to doubt the existence of "Mary's little Lamb," yet a correspondent to a magazine sent not long ago what he says is the "true story of Mary and her lamb," hoping it will take the place of the garbled version hitherto received as authentic:

"Mary had a little lamb,
Whose fleece was white as snow,
And every place that Mary went,
The lamb it would _not_ go.

So Mary took that little lamb,
And beat it for a spell;
The family had it fried next day,
And it went very well."

We have still another way of it, in what may be termed an exaggerated synonymic adherence to the central idea of the ballad:

"Mary possessed a diminutive sheep,
Whose external covering was as devoid of colour as the aqueous fluid
which sometimes presents unsurmountable barriers on the Sierras.
And everywhere Mary peregrinated
This juvenile Southdown would be sure to get up and go right after her.
It followed her to the alphabet dispensary one day,
Which was contrary to the 243d subdivision of the 714th article of the
constitution of that academy of erudition;
It caused the adolescent disciples there assembled to titillate their
risibles and indulge in interludes of sportive hilarity," &c. &c.

Linguistic renderings of many of these ancient songs may be found in the works of the Rev. Francis Mahoney (Father Prout), Dr. Maginn, &c., as well as in the "Arundines Cami" of the Rev. H. Drury. Of these here follow a few:

LITTLE BO-PEEP.

"Petit Bo-peep
A perdu ses moutons
Et ne sait pas que les a pris,
O laisses les tranquilles
Ill viendront en ville
Et chacun sa que apres lui."

BA, BA, BLACK SHEEP.

"Ba, ba, mouton noir,
Avez vous de laine?
Oui Monsieur, non Monsieur,
Trois sacs pleine.
Un pour mon maitre, un pour ma dame,
Pas un pour le jeune enfant que pleure dan le chemin."

Here is a song of Mahoney's, which is given complete:

"Quam pulchra sunt ova
Cum alba et nova,
In stabulo scite leguntur;
Et a Margery bella,
Quæ festiva puella!
Pinguis lardi cum frustris coquuntur.

Ut belles in prato,
Aprico et lato
Sub sole tam lacte renident;
Ova tosta in mensa
Mappa bene extensa,
Nittidissima lanse consident."

Which, put into English, is:

"Oh! 'tis eggs are a treat,
When so white and so sweet
From under the manger they're taken;
And by fair Margery
(Och! 'tis she's full of glee!)
They are fried with fat rashers of bacon.

Just like daisies all spread,
O'er a broad sunny mead,
In the sunbeams so gaudily shining,
Are fried eggs, when displayed
On a dish, when we've laid
The cloth, and are thinking of dining!"

The last of these we give is from the "Arundines Cami":

TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAR.

"Mica, mica, parva Stella,
Miror, quænam sis tam bella!
Splendens eminus in illo
Alba velut gemma, coelo."

This familiar nursery rhyme has also been "revised" by a committee of eminent preceptors and scholars, with this result:

"Shine with irregular, intermitted light, sparkle at intervals,
diminutive, luminous, heavenly body.
How I conjecture, with surprise, not unmixed with uncertainty, what you
are,
Located, apparently, at such a remote distance from, and at a height so
vastly superior to this earth, the planet we inhabit,
Similar in general appearance and refractory powers to the precious
primitive octahedron crystal of pure carbon, set in the aërial
region surrounding the earth."

Dr. Lang, in his book on "Queensland," &c., is wroth against the colonists for the system of nomenclature they have pursued, in so far as introducing such names as Deptford, Codrington, Greenwich, and so on. Conceding that there may be some confusion by the duplication in this way of names from the old country, they are surely better than the jaw-breaking native names which are strung together in the following lines:

"I like the native names, as Parramatta,
And Illawarra and Wooloomooloo,
Tongabbee, Mittagong, and Coolingatta,
Euranania, Jackwa, Bulkomatta,
Nandowra, Tumbwumba, Woogaroo;
The Wollondilly and the Wingycarribbeo,
The Warragumby, Dalby, and Bungarribbe."

The following _jeu d'esprit_, in which many of the absurd and unpronounceable names of American towns and villages are happily hit off, is from the _Orpheus C. Kerr_ (office-seeker) _Papers_, by R. H. Newell, a work containing many of those humorous, semi-political effusions, which were so common in the United States during the Civil War:

THE AMERICAN TRAVELLER.

"To Lake Aghmoogenegamook,
All in the State of Maine,
A man from Wittequergaugaum came
One evening in the rain.

'I am a traveller,' said he,
'Just started on a tour,
And go to Nomjamskillicook
To-morrow morn at four.'

He took a tavern-bed that night,
And with the morrow's sun,
By way of Sekledobskus went,
With carpet-bag and gun.

A week passed on; and next we find
Our native tourist come
To that sequester'd village called
Genasagarnagum.

From thence he went to Absequoit,
And there--quite tired of Maine--
He sought the mountains of Vermont,
Upon a railroad train.

Dog Hollow, in the Green Mount State,
Was his first stopping-place,
And then Skunk's Misery displayed
Its sweetness and its grace.

By easy stages then he went
To visit Devil's Den;
And Scrabble Hollow, by the way,
Did come within his ken.

Then _via_ Nine Holes and Goose Green,
He travelled through the State,
And to Virginia, finally,
Was guided by his fate.

Within the Old Dominion's bounds,
He wandered up and down;
To-day at Buzzard Roost ensconced,
To-morrow at Hell Town.

At Pole Cat, too, he spent a week,
Till friends from Bull Ring came,
And made him spend the day with them
In hunting forest game.

Then, with his carpet-bag in hand,
To Dog Town next he went;
Though stopping at Free Negro Town,
Where half a day he spent.

From thence, into Negationburg
His route of travel lay,
Which having gained, he left the State
And took a southward way.

North Carolina's friendly soil
He trod at fall of night,
And, on a bed of softest down,
He slept at Hell's Delight.

Morn found him on the road again,
To Lousy Level bound;
At Bull's Tail, and Lick Lizard too,
Good provender he found.

The country all about Pinch Gut
So beautiful did seem,
That the beholder thought it like
A picture in a dream.

But the plantations near Burnt Coat
Were even finer still,
And made the wond'ring tourist feel
A soft delicious thrill.

At Tear Shirt, too, the scenery
Most charming did appear,
With Snatch It in the distance far,
And Purgatory near.

But spite of all these pleasant scenes,
The tourist stoutly swore
That home is brightest after all,
And travel is a bore.

So back he went to Maine, straightway
A little wife he took;
And now is making nutmegs at
Moosehicmagunticook."

A RHYME FOR MUSICIANS.

"Haendel, Bendel, Mendelssohn,
Brendel, Wendel, Jadasshon,
Muller, Hiller, Heller, Franz,
Blothow, Flotow, Burto, Gantz.

Meyer, Geyer, Meyerbeer,
Heyer, Weyer, Beyer, Beer,
Lichner, Lachnar, Schachner, Dietz,
Hill, Will, Bruell, Grill Drill, Reiss, Reitz.

Hansen, Jansen, Jensen, Kiehl,
Siade, Gade, Laade, Stiehl,
Naumann, Riemann, Diener, Wurst,
Niemann, Kiemann, Diener Wurst.

Kochler, Dochler, Rubenstein,
Himmel, Hummel, Rosenkyn,
Lauer, Bauer, Kleincke,
Homberg, Plomberg, Reinecke."
--_E. Lemke._

SURNAMES.

BY JAMES SMITH, ONE OF THE AUTHORS OF "REJECTED ADDRESSES."

"Men once were surnamed for their shape or estate
(You all may from history learn it),
There was Louis the Bulky, and Henry the Great,
John Lackland, and Peter the Hermit.
But now, when the doorplates of misters and dames
Are read, each so constantly varies;
From the owner's trade, figure, and calling, surnames
Seem given by the rule of contraries.

Mr. Wise is a dunce, Mr. King is a whig,
Mr. Coffin's uncommonly sprightly,
And huge Mr. Little broke down in a gig,
While driving fat Mrs. Golightly.
At Bath, where the feeble go more than the stout,
(A conduct well worthy of Nero,)
Over poor Mr. Lightfoot, confined with the gout,
Mr. Heavyside danced a bolero.

Miss Joy, wretched maid, when she chose Mr. Love,
Found nothing but sorrow await her;
She now holds in wedlock, as true as a dove,
That fondest of mates, Mr. Hayter.
Mr. Oldcastle dwells in a modern-built hut;
Miss Sage is of madcaps the archest;
Of all the queer bachelors Cupid e'er cut,
Old Mr. Younghusband's the starchest.

Mr. Child, in a passion, knock'd down Mr. Rock;
Mr. Stone like an aspen-leaf shivers;
Miss Pool used to dance, but she stands like a stock
Ever since she became Mrs. Rivers.
Mr. Swift hobbles onward, no mortal knows how,
He moves as though cords had entwined him;
Mr. Metcalf ran off upon meeting a cow,
With pale Mr. Turnbull behind him.

Mr. Barker's as mute as a fish in the sea,
Mr. Miles never moves on a journey,
Mr. Gotobed sits up till half after three,
Mr. Makepeace was bred an attorney.
Mr. Gardener can't tell a flower from a root,
Mr. Wild with timidity draws back;
Mr. Ryder performs all his journeys on foot,
Mr. Foot all his journeys on horseback.

Mr. Penny, whose father was rolling in wealth,
Consumed all the fortune his dad won;
Large Mr. Le Fever's the picture of health;
Mr. Goodenough is but a bad one.
Mr. Cruikshank stept into three thousand a year
By showing his leg to an heiress:
Now I hope you'll acknowledge I've made it quite clear
Surnames ever go by contraries."

The next verses are somewhat similar, and are taken from an old number of the _European Magazine_:

COINCIDENCES AND CONTRARIETIES.

"Tis curious to find, in this overgrown town,
While through its long streets we are dodging,
That many a man is in trade settled down,
Whose name don't agree with his lodging!
For instance, Jack Munday in Friday Street dwells,
Mr. Pitt in Fox Court is residing;
Mr. White in Black's Buildings green-grocery sells,
While East in West Square is abiding!

Mr. Lamb in Red Lion Street perks up his head,
To Lamb's, Conduit Street, Lyon goes courting;
Mr. Boxer at Battle Bridge hires a bed,
While Moon is in Sun Street disporting.
Bill Brown up to Green Street to live now is gone,
In Stanhope mews Dennet keeps horses;
Doctor Low lives in High Street, Saint Mary-le-Bone,
In Brown Street one Johnny White's door sees.

But still much more curious it is, when the streets
Accord with the names of their tenants;
And yet with such curious accordance one meets,
In taking a town-tour like Pennant's.
For instance, in Crown Street George King you may note,
To Booth, in Mayfair, you go shopping;
And Porter, of Brewer Street, goes in a boat
To Waters, of River Street, Wapping!

Mr. Sparrow in Bird Street has feathered his nest,
Mr. Archer in Bow Street wooes Sally:
Mr. Windham in Air Street gets zephyr'd to rest,
Mr. Dancer resides in Ball Alley.
Mr. Fisher on Finsbury fixes his views,
Mrs. Foote in Shoe Lane works at carding;
Mr. Hawke has a residence close to the Mews,
And Winter puts up at Spring Gardens!

In Orange Street, Lemon vends porter and ale,
In Hart Street, Jack Deer keeps a stable;
In Hill Street located you'll find Mr. Dale,
In Blue Anchor Row, Mr. Cable.
In Knight-Rider Street, you've both Walker and Day,
In Castle Street, Champion and Spearman;
In Blackman Street, Lillywhite makes a display,
In Cheapside lives sweet Mrs. Dearman.

In Paradise Row, Mr. Adam sells figs,
Eve, in Apple Tree Yard, rooms has taken;
Mr. Coltman, in Foley Street, fits you with wigs,
In Hog Lane you call upon Bacon.
Old Homer in Greek Street sells barrels and staves,
While Pope, in Cross Lane, is a baker;
In Liquorpond Street, Mr. Drinkwater shaves,
In Cow Lane lives A. Veal, undertaker."

THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE.

"A pretty deer is dear to me,
A hare with downy hair;
I love a hart with all my heart,
But barely bear a bear.
'Tis plain that no one takes a plane
To pare a pair of pears;
A rake, though, often takes a rake
To tear away the tares.
All rays raise thyme, time razes all;
And, through the whole, hole wears.
A writ, in writing 'right,' may write
It 'wright,' and still be wrong--
For 'wright' and 'rite' are neither 'right,'
And don't to 'write' belong.
Beer often brings a bier to man,
Coughing a coffin brings;
And too much ale will make us ail,
As well as other things.
The person lies who says he lies
When he is but reclining;
And when consumptive folks decline,
They all decline declining.
A quail don't quail before a storm--
A bough will bow before it;
We cannot rein the rain at all--
No earthly powers reign o'er it;
The dyer dyes awhile, then dies;
To dye he's always trying,
Until upon his dying bed
He thinks no more of dyeing.
A son of Mars mars many a sun;
All deys must have their days,
And every knight should pray each night
To Him who weighs his ways.
'Tis meet that man should mete out meat
To feed misfortune's son;
The fair should fare on love alone,
Else one cannot be won.
A lass, alas! is something false;
Of faults a maid is made;
Her waist is but a barren waste--
Though stayed she is not staid.
The springs spring forth in spring, and shoots
Shoot forward one and all;
Though summer kills the flowers, it leaves
The leaves to fall in fall.
I would a story here commence,
But you might find it stale;
So let's suppose that we have reached
The tail end of our tale."

SPELLING REFORM.

"With tragic air the love-lorn heir
Once chased the chaste Louise;
She quickly guessed her guest was there
To please her with his pleas.

Now at her side he kneeling sighed,
His sighs of woeful size;
'Oh, hear me here, for lo, most low
I rise before your eyes.

'This soul is sole thine own, Louise--
'Twill never wean, I ween,
The love that I for aye shall feel,
Though mean may be its mien!'

'You know I cannot tell you no,'
The maid made answer true;
'I love you aught, as sure I ought--
To you 'tis due I do!'

'Since you are won, Oh fairest one,
The marriage rite is right--
The chapel aisle I'll lead you up
This night,' exclaimed the knight."
--_Yonkers' Gazette, U.S._

OWED TO MY CREDITORS.

"In vain I lament what is past,
And pity their woe-begone looks,
Though they grin at the credit they gave,
I know I am in their best books.
To my _tailor_ my _breaches_ of faith,
On my conscience now but lightly sit,
For such lengths in his _measures_ he's gone,
He has given me many a _fit_.
My bootmaker, finding at _last_
That my _soul_ was too stubborn to suit,
_Waxed_ wroth when he found he had got
Anything but the _length of my foot_.
My hatmaker cunningly _felt_
He'd seen many like me before,
So _brimful_ of insolence, vowed
On credit he'd crown me no more.
My baker was _crusty_ and _burnt_,
When he found himself quite _overdone_
By a _fancy-bred_ chap like myself,--
Ay, as _cross_ as a _Good Friday's bun_.
Next, my laundress, who washed pretty clean,
In behaviour was dirty and bad;
For into hot water she popped
All the shirts and the dickies I had.
Then my butcher, who'd little at _stake_,
Most surlily opened his _chops_,
And swore my affairs out of _joint_,
So on to my carcase he pops.
In my lodgings exceedingly high,
Though low in the rent to be sure,
Without warning my landlady seized,
Took my things and the key of the door.
Thus cruelly used by the world,
In the Bench I can smile at its hate;
For a time I must alter my _style_,
For I cannot get out of the _gate_."

AN ORIGINAL LOVE STORY.

"He struggled to kiss her. She struggled the same
To prevent him, so bold and undaunted;
But, as smitten by lightning, he heard her exclaim,
'Avaunt, sir!' and off he avaunted.

But when he returned, with the fiendishest laugh,
Showing clearly that he was affronted,
And threatened by main force to carry her off,
She cried 'Don't!' and the poor fellow donted.

When he meekly approached, and sat down at her feet,
Praying aloud, as before he had ranted,
That she would forgive him and try to be sweet,
And said, 'Can't you!' the dear girl recanted.

Then softly he whispered, 'How could you do so?
I certainly thought I was jilted;
But come thou with me, to the parson we'll go;
Say, wilt thou, my dear?' and she wilted."

PREVALENT POETRY.

"A wandering tribe, called the Siouxs,
Wear moccasins, having no shiouxs.
They are made of buckskin,
With the fleshy side in,
Embroidered with beads of bright hyiouxs.

When out on the war-path, the Siouxs
March single file--never by tiouxs--
And by 'blazing' the trees
Can return at their ease,
And their way through the forests ne'er liouxs.

All new-fashioned boats he eschiouxs,
And uses the birch-bark caniouxs;
These are handy and light,
And, inverted at night,
Give shelter from storms and from dyiouxs.

The principal food of the Siouxs
Is Indian maize, which they briouxs
And hominy make,
Or mix in a cake,
And eat it with fork, as they chiouxs."
--_Scribner's Magazine._

A TEMPERANCE SERMON.

"If for a stomach ache you tache
Each time some whisky, it will break
You down and meak you sheak and quache,
And you will see a horrid snache.

Much whisky doth your wits beguile,
Your breath defuile, yourself make vuile;
You lose your style, likewise your pyle,
If you erewhyle too often smuile.

But should there be, like now, a drought,
When water and your strength give ought,
None will your good name then malign
If you confign your drink to wign."
--_H. C. Dodge._

"There was a young man in Bordeaux,
He said to himself--'Oh, heaux!
The girls have gone back on me seaux,
What to do I really don't kneaux.'"

_TECHNICAL VERSE._

ANTICIPATORY DIRGE ON PROFESSOR BUCKLAND, THE GEOLOGIST.

BY BISHOP SHUTTLEWORTH.

"Mourn, Ammonites, mourn o'er his funeral urn,
Whose neck ye must grace no more;
Gneiss, Granite, and Slate!--he settled your date,
And his ye must now deplore.
Weep, Caverns, weep! with infiltering drip,
Your recesses he'll cease to explore;
For mineral veins or organic remains
No Stratum again will he bore.

Oh! his wit shone like crystal!--his knowledge profound
From Gravel to Granite descended;
No Trap could deceive him, no Slip could confound,
Nor specimen, true or pretended.
He knew the birth-rock of each pebble so round,
And how far its tour had extended.

His eloquence rolled like the Deluge retiring,
Which Mastodon carcases floated;
To a subject obscure he gave charms so inspiring
Young and old on Geology doated.
He stood forth like an Outlier; his hearers admiring
In pencil each anecdote noted.

Where shall we our great professor inter,
That in peace may rest his bones?
If we hew him a rocky sepulchre,
He'll rise up and break the stones,
And examine each Stratum that lies around,
For he's quite in his element underground.

If with mattock and spade his body we lay
In the common Alluvial soil;
He'll start up and snatch those tools away
Of his own geological toil;
In a Stratum so young the professor disdains
That embedded should be his Organic Remains.

Then, exposed to the drip of some case-hard'ning spring,
His carcase let Stalactite cover;
And to Oxford the petrified sage let us bring,
When he is encrusted all over,
There, mid Mammoths and Crocodiles, high on a shelf,
Let him stand as a Monument raised to himself."

When Professor Buckland's grave was being dug in Islip churchyard, in August 1856, the men came unexpectedly upon the solid limestone rock, which they were obliged to blast with gunpowder. The coincidence of this fact with some of the verses in the above anticipatory dirge is somewhat remarkable.

The following is by Jacob F. Henrici, and appeared originally in _Scribner' s Magazine_ for November 1879:

A MICROSCOPIC SERENADE.

"Oh come, my love, and seek with me
A realm by grosser eye unseen,
Where fairy forms will welcome thee,
And dainty creatures hail thee queen.
In silent pools the tube I'll ply,
Where green conferva-threads lie curled,
And proudly bring to thy bright eye
The trophies of the protist world.

We'll rouse the stentor from his lair,
And gaze into the cyclops' eye;
In chara and nitella hair
The protoplasmic stream descry,
For ever weaving to and fro
With faint molecular melody;
And curious rotifers I'll show,
And graceful vorticellidæ.

Where melicertæ ply their craft
We'll watch the playful water-bear,
And no envenomed hydra's shaft
Shall mar our peaceful pleasure there;
But while we whisper love's sweet tale
We'll trace, with sympathetic art,
Within the embryonic snail
The growing rudimental heart.

Where rolls the volvox sphere of green,
And plastids move in Brownian dance--
If, wandering 'mid that gentle scene,
Two fond amoebæ shall perchance
Be changed to one beneath our sight
By process of biocrasis,
We'll recognise, with rare delight,
A type of our prospective bliss.

Oh dearer thou by far to me
In thy sweet maidenly estate
Than any seventy-fifth could be,
Of aperture however great!
Come, go with me, and we will stray
Through realm by grosser eye unseen,
Where protophytes shall homage pay,
And protozoa hail thee queen."

The epitaph following was written by the learned and witty Dr. Charles Smith, author of the histories of Cork and Waterford. It was read at a meeting of the Dublin Medico-Philosophical Society on July 1, 1756, and is a very curious specimen of the "terminology of chemistry:"

"BOYLE GODFREY, CHYMIST AND DOCTOR OF MEDICINE.

EPITAPHIUM CHEMICUM.

Here lieth to digest, macerate, and amalgamate with clay,
In Balneo Arenæ,
Stratum super stratum,
The Residuum, Terra Damnata, and Caput Mortuum,
Of Boyle Godfrey, Chimist,
And M.D.
A man who in this earthly Laboratory
Pursued various processes to obtain
Arcanum Vitæ,
Or the secret to Live;
Also Aurum Vitæ,
Or the art of getting, rather than making, Gold.
Alchemist like,
All his labour and propition,
As Mercury in the fire, evaporated in fumo.
When he dissolved to his first principles,
He departed as poor
As the last drops of an alembic;
For riches are not poured
On the Adepts of this world.
Thus,
Not Solar in his purse,
Neither Lunar in his disposition,
Nor Jovial in his temperament;
Being of Saturnine habit,
Venereal conflicts had left him,
And Martial ones he disliked.
With nothing saline in his composition,
All Salts but two were his Nostrums.
The Attic he did not know,
And that of the Earth he thought not Essential;
But, perhaps, his had lost its savour.
Though fond of news, he carefully avoided
The fermentation, effervescence,
And decupilation of this life.
Full seventy years his exalted essence
Was hermetically sealed in its terrene matrass;
But the radical moisture being exhausted,
The Elixir Vitæ spent,
Inspissated and exsiccated to a cuticle,
He could not suspend longer in his vehicle,
But precipitated gradatim
Per companum
To his original dust.
May that light, brighter than Bolognian Phosphorus,
Preserve him from the Incineration and Concremation
Of the Athanor, Empyreuma, and Reverberatory
Furnace of the other world,
Depurate him, like Tartarus Regeneratus,
From the Foeces and Scoria of this;
Highly rectify and volatilize
His Etherial Spirit,
Bring it over the helm of the Retort of this Globe,
Place in a proper Recipient,
Or Crystalline Orb,
Among the elect of the Flowers of Benjamin,
Never to be saturated
Till the general Resuscitation,
Deflagration, and Calcination of all Things,
When all the reguline parts
Of his comminuted substance
Shall be again concentrated,
Revivified, alcoholized,
And imbibe its pristine Archeses;
Undergo a new transmutation,
Eternal fixation,
And combination of its former Aura;
Be coated over and decorated in robes more fair
Than the majestie of Bismuth,
More sparkling than Cinnabar,
Or Aurum Mosaicum.
And being found Proof Spirit,
Then to be exalted and sublimed together
Into the Concave Dome
Of the highest Aludel in Paradise."

TO CLARA MORCHELLA DELICIOSA.

(A MYCOLOGICAL SERENADE.)

By Mr. A. Stephen Wilson, North Kinmundy, Aberdeenshire, and read at a meeting of the Cryptogamic Society at Glasgow in 1880.

"Oh, lovely Clara, hie with me
Where Cryptogams in beauty spore,
Corticiums creep on trunk and tree,
And fairy rings their curves restore;
Mycelia there pervade the ground,
And many a painted pileus rear,
Agarics rend their veils around
The ranal overture to hear.

Where gay Pezizæ flaunt their hues,
A microscopic store we'll glean,
To sketch with camera the views
In which the ascus may be seen.
Beneath our millemetric gaze
Sporidia's length will stand revealed,
And eyes like thine will trace the maze
In each hymenium concealed.

Æstivum tubers we shall dig,
Like Suidæ in Fagian shade,
And many a Sphæria-sheltering twig
Will in our vascula be laid.
For hard Sclerotia we shall peer,
In barks and brassicaceous leaves,
And trace their progress through the year,
Like Bobbies on the track of thieves.

While sages deem Solanum sent
To succour Homo's hungry maw,
We'll prize it for development
Of swelling Peronospora.
We'll mount the Myxogastre's threads
To watch Plasmodium's vital flow,
While Capillitia lift their heads
Generic mysteries to show.

I'll bring thee where the Chantarelles
Inspire a mycologic theme,
Where Phallus in the shadow smells,
And scarlet Amanita gleam;
And lead thee where M'Moorlan's rye
Is waving black with ergot spurs,
And many a Trichobasian dye
Gives worth to corn and prickly burs.

And when the beetle calls us home,
We'll gather on our lingering way
The violaceous Inolome
And russet Alutacea,
The brown Boletus edulis
Our fishing baskets soon will fill--
We'll dine on fungi fried in bliss,
Nor dread the peck of butcher's bill."

TO THE PLIOCENE SKULL.

(A GEOLOGICAL ADDRESS.)

"'Speak, O man, less recent! Fragmentary fossil!
Primal pioneer of pliocene formation,
Hid in lowest drifts below the earliest stratum
Of volcanic tufa!

'Older than the beasts, the oldest Palæotherium;
Older than the trees, the oldest Cryptogami;
Older than the hills, those infantile eruptions
Of earth's epidermis!

'Eo--Mio--Plio--whatso'er the "cene" was
That those vacant sockets filled with awe and wonder,--
Whether shores Devonian or Silurian beaches,--
Tell us thy strange story!

'Or has the professor slightly antedated
By some thousand years thy advent on this planet,
Giving thee an air that's somewhat better fitted
For cold-blooded creatures?

'Wert thou true spectator of that mighty forest
When above thy head the stately Sigillaria
Reared its columned trunks in that remote and distant
Carboniferous epoch?

'Tell us of that scene,--the dim and watery woodland,
Songless, silent, hushed, with never bird or insect,
Veiled with spreading fronds and screened with tall club-mosses,
Lycopodiacea,--

'When beside thee walked the solemn Plesiosaurus,
And around thee crept the festive Ichthyosaurus,
While from time to time above thee flew and circled
Cheerful Pterodactyls.

'Tell us of thy food,--those half-marine refections,
Crinoids on the shell and Brachiopods _au naturel_,--
Cuttlefish to which the _pieuvre_ of Victor Hugo
Seems a periwinkle.

'Speak, thou awful vestige of the earth's creation,--
Solitary fragment of remains organic!
Tell the wondrous secret of thy past existence,--
Speak! thou oldest primate!'

Even as I gazed, a thrill of the maxilla,
And a lateral movement of the condyloid process,
With post-pliocene sounds of healthy mastication,
Ground the teeth together.

And, from that imperfect dental exhibition,
Stained with express juices of the weed Nicotian,
Came these hollow accents, blent with softer murmurs
Of expectoration:

'Which my name is Bowers, and my crust was busted
Falling down a shaft in Calaveras County,
But I'd take it kindly if you'd send the pieces
Home to old Missouri!'"
--_Bret Harte._

The following verses are from "Notes and Queries," and evidently refer to a case of "breach of promise":

KNOX WARD, KING-AT-ARMS, DISARMED AT LAW.

"Ye fair injured nymphs, and ye beaus who deceive 'em,
Who with passion engage, and without reason leave 'em,
Draw near and attend how the Hero I sing
Was foiled by a Girl, though at Arms he was King.

_Crest_, _mottoes_, _supporters_, and _bearings_ knew he,
And deeply was studied in old pedigree.
He would sit a whole evening, and, not without rapture,
Tell who begat who to the end of the Chapter.

In forming his _tables_ nought grieved him so sorely
That the man died _Coelebs_, or else _sine prole_.
At last, having traced other families down,
He began to have thoughts of increasing his own.

A Damsel he chose, not too slow of belief,
And fain would be deemed her admirer _in chief_.
He _blazoned_ his suit, and the sum of his tale
Was his _field_ and her _field_ joined _party per pale_.

In different style, to tie faster the noose,
He next would attack her in soft _billet doux_.
His _argent_ and _sable_ were laid aside quite,
Plain _English_ he wrote, and in plain black and white.

Against such _atchievements_ what beauty could fence?
Or who would have thought it was all but _pretence_?--
His pain to relieve, and fulfil his desire,
The lady agreed to join hands with the squire.

The squire, in a fret that the jest went so far,
Considered with speed how to put in a _bar_.
His words bound not him, since hers did not confine her:
And that is plain law, because Miss is a _minor_.

Miss briskly replied that the law was too hard,
If she, who's a _minor_, may not be a _ward_.
In law then confiding, she took it upon her,
By justice to mend those foul breaches of honour.

She handled him so that few would, I warrant,
Have been in his _coat_ on so _sleeveless_ an errant.
She made him give bond for stamped _argent_ and _or_,
And _sabled_ his shield with _gules_ blazoned before.

Ye heralds produce, from the time of the Normans,
In all your Records such a _base_ non-performance;
Or if without instance the case is we touch on,
Let this be set down as a _blot_ in his _scutcheon_."

LAMENT OF AN UNFORTUNATE DRUGGIST,

A Member of the Pharmaceutical Society, whose matrimonial speculations
have been disappointed.

"You that have charge of wedded love, take heed
To keep the vessel which contains it air-tight;
So that no oxygen may enter there!
Lest (like as in a keg of elder wine,
The which, when made, thy careless hand forgot
To bung securely down) full soon, alas!
Acetous fermentation supervene
And winter find thee wineless, and, instead
Of wine, afford thee nought but vinegar.
Thus hath it been with me: there was a time
When neither rosemary nor jessamine,
Cloves or verbena, maréchale, resedé,
Or e'en great Otto's self, were more delicious
Unto my nose, than Betsy to mine eyes;
And, in our days of courtship, I have thought
That my career through life, with her, would be
Bright as my own show-bottles; but, ah me!
It was a vision'd scene. From what she _was_
To what she _is_, is as the pearliness
Of Creta Præp. compared with Antim. Nig.
There was a time she was all Almond-mixture
(A bland emulsion; I can recommend it
To him who hath a cold), but now, woe! woe!
She is a fierce and foaming combination
Of turpentine with vitriolic oil.
Oh! name not Sulphur, when you speak of her,
For she is Brimstone's very incarnation,
She is the Bitter-apple of my life,
The Scillæ oxymel of my existence,
That knows no sweets with her.
What shall I do?--where fly?--What Hellebore
Can ease the madness that distracts my brain!
What aromatic vinegar restore
The drooping memory of brighter days!
They bid me seek relief in Prussic acid;
They tell me Arsenic holds a mighty power
To put to flight each ill and care of life:
They mention Opium, too; they say its essence,
Called Battley's Sedative, can steep the soul
Chin-deep in blest imaginings; till grief
Changed by its chemic agency, becomes
One lump of blessed Saccharum;--these things
They tell to _me_--_me_, who for twelve long years
Have triturated drugs for a subsistence,
From seven i' th' morn until the midnight hour.
I have no faith in physic's agency
E'en when most 'genuine,' for I have seen
And analysed its nature, and I know
That Humbug is its Active Principle,
Its ultimate and Elemental Basis.
What then is left? No more to Fate I'll bend:
I will rush into chops! and Stout shall be--my end!!"
--_Punch_ (1844.)

ODE TO "DAVIES' ANALYTICAL"

"Charming chaos, glorious puddle,
Ethics opaque, book of bliss;
Through thy platitudes I waddle,
O thou subtle synthesis!

To thy soft consideration,
Give I talents, give I time;
Though 'perpetual occultation'
Shuts me from thy balmy clime.

As unto the sea-tossed trader,
Is the guiding Polar Star;
Thou'rt my 'zenith' and my 'nadir,'
Still 'so near and yet so far.'

Sancho never loved his gravies
As I love thy sunny face;
Sheep-bound master-piece of Davies,
Benefactor of his race!

Man nor god, not even 'ox-eyed
Juno,' could me from thee part;
My 'enthymeme,' my sweet 'protoxide,'
Thou'rt the 'zeugma' of my heart.

When were built the rocks azoic,
Sat'st thou on the granite hill;
And with constancy heroic,
To _me_ thou art azoic still.

My 'syzygy,' I'll ne'er leave thee,
Thou shalt ne'er from me escheat;
I will cherish thee, believe me,
Pythagorean obsolete.

Bless me in the midnight watches,
Ever by my pillow keep
Ruler, chalk, and black-board scratches,
Lovely nightmare, while I sleep.

Be 'co-ordinate' for ever,
For ever my 'abscissa' be;
The Fates can overwhelm me never,
Whilst _thou_ art in 'perigee.'"

MAN AND THE ASCIDIAN.

A MORALITY IN THE QUEEN ANNE MANNER.

"The Ancestor remote of Man,
Says D--w--n, is th' Ascidian,
A scanty sort of water-beast
That, 90,000,000 years at least
Before Gorillas came to be,
Went swimming up and down the sea.

Their ancestors the pious praise,
And like to imitate their ways
How, then, does our first parent live,
What lesson has his life to give?