And your chaffing,

Your vocabulary's fast.
And the ear distinctly tells
Your are slangy,

And slap-bangy,

From your joking with the swells,

And their easy conversation with the loudly-talking

belles,

With the belles,

With the belles, belles, belles, belles,
Belles, belles, belles,

From the grinning and the dinning of the belles !

THE PLAGUE IN THE FOREST.

JOHN GURNEY ADAMS.

TIME was when round the lion's den
A peopled city raised its head;
'Twas not inhabited by men,

But by four-footed beasts instead.
The lynx, the leopard, and the bear,
The tiger and the wolf were there;
The hoof-defended steed;

The bull, prepared with horns to gore;
The cat with claws, the tusky boar,
And all the canine breed.

In social compact thus combined,
Together dwelt the beasts of prey;
Their murderous weapons all resigned,
And vowed each other not to slay.
Among them Reynard thrust his phiz;
Not hoof, nor horn, nor tusk was his,
For warfare all unfit:

He whispered to the royal dunce,
And gained a settlement at once;
His weapon was-his wit.

One summer, by some fatal spell (Phoebus was peevish for some scoff), The plague upon that city fell,

And swept the beasts by thousands off. The lion, as became his part, Loved his own people from his heart; And, taking counsel sage, His peerage summoned to advise, And offer up a sacrifice,

To soothe Apollo's rage.

Quoth Lion: "We are sinners all;
And even it must be confessed,
If among sheep I chanced to fall,
I-I am guilty as the rest.
To me the sight of lamb is curst,
It kindles in my throat a thirst
I struggle to refrain :

Poor innocent! his blood so sweet!
His flesh so delicate to eat!

I find resistance vain.

"Now, to be candid, I must own

The sheep are weak, and I am strong;

But when we find ourselves alone,

The sheep have never done me wrong. And since I purpose to reveal

All my offences, nor conceal

One trespass from your view,

My appetite is made so keen,

That, with the sheep, the time has been I took the shepherd too.

"Then let us all our sin confess;
And whosesoe'er the blackest guilt,
To ease my people's deep distress,
Let his atoning blood be spilt.
My own confession now you hear
Should none of deeper dye appear,

;

Your sentence freely give: And if on me should fall the lot, Make me the victim on the spot, And let my people live."

The council with applauses rung,
To hear the Codrus of the wood;
Though still some doubt suspended hung
If he would make his promise good.
Quoth Reynard: "Since the world was made,
Was ever love like this displayed?

Let us, like subjects true,

Swear, as before your feet we fall,
Sooner than you should die for all,
We all will die for you.

"But, please your majesty, I deem,
Submissive to your royal grace,
You hold in far too high esteem
That paltry, poltroon, sheepish race;
For oft, reflecting in the shade,
I ask myself why sheep were made
By all-creating power?

And howsoe'er I tax my mind,
This the sole reason I can find-
For lions to devour.

"As for eating, now and then,

As well the shepherd as the sheep,
How can that braggart breed of men
Expect with you the peace to keep?
"Tis time their blustering boast to stem,
That all the world was made for them,
And prove Creation's plan;
Teach them, by evidence profuse,
That man was made for lions' use,
Not lions made for man."

And now the noble peers begin,

And, cheered with such examples bright,

Disclosing each his secret sin,

Some midnight murder brought to light.
Reynard was counsel for them all—
No crime the assembly could appal,
But he could botch with paint:
Hark! as his honeyed accents roll,
Each tiger is a gentle soul,

Each bloodhound is a saint.

When each had told his tale in turn,
The long-eared beast of burden came,
And meekly said, "My bowels yearn
To make confession of my shame;
But I remember, on a time,

I passed, not thinking of a crime,
A hay-stack on my way:

His lure some tempting devil spread,
I stretched across the fence my head,
And cropped-a lock of hay."

"Oh, monster! villain!" Reynard cried;
"No longer seek the victim, sire;
Nor why your subjects thus have died,
To expiate Apollo's ire."

The council with one voice decreed;
All joined to execrate the deed.

"What? steal another's grass !"

The blackest crime their lives could show
Was washed as white as virgin snow:
The victim was-the Ass.

THE PRESENT TO THE PRIEST.

SAMUEL LOVER.

"I promised

"WHY, thin, I'll tell you," said Rory. my mother to bring a present to the priest from Dublin, and I could not make up my mind rightly what to get all the time I was there. I thought of a

pair o' top-boots; for, indeed, his reverence's is none of the best, and only you know them to be top-boots, you would not take them to be top-boots, bekase the bottoms has been put in so often that the tops is worn out intirely, and is no more like top-boots than my brogues. So I wint to a shop in Dublin, and picked. out the purtiest pair o' top-boots I could see- -(whin I say purty, I don't mane a flourishin' taarin' pair, but sitch as was fit for a priest, a respectable pair o' boots) -and with that I pulled out my good money to pay for thim, whin jist at that minit, remembering the thricks o' the town, I bethought o' myself, and says I, 'I suppose these are the right thing?' says I to the man. You can thry them,' says he.-How can I thry them?' says I.-Pull them on you,' says he.'Throth, an' I'd be sorry,' said I, to take sitch a liberty with them,' says I. Why, aren't you goin' to ware thim?' says he.-'Is it me?' says I, 'me ware top-boots? Do you think it's takin' lave of my sinsis I am?' says I.-' Then what do you want to buy them for?' says he. For his reverence, Father Kinshela,' says I. 'Are they the right sort for him?'-' How should I know?' says he. You're a purty bootmaker,' says I, 'not to know how to make priest's boot!''How do I know his size?' says he. Oh, don't be comin' off that way,' says I.. 'There's no sitch great differ betune priests and other min !'"

a

"I think you were very right there," said the pale traveller.

"To be sure, sir," said Rory; "and it was only jist a come off for his own ignorance.- 'Tell me his size,' says the fellow, 'and I'll fit him.'-'He's betune five and six fut,' says I. Most men are,' says he, laughin' at me. He was an impidint fellow. It's not the five, nor six, but his two feet I want to know the size of,' says he. So I persaived he was jeerin' me, and says I, 'Why, thin, you respectful vagabone o' the world, you Dublin jackeen! do you mane to insinivate that Father