And offered the bishop To cook and to dish up, A capon for breakfast, and bring, should he wish, up, But the saint, in a stern magisterial way, Said "they'd seen quite enough of the landlord's foul play." And not heeding his prayers and entreaties a button, He ought to be hung like a saddle of mutton. The tale of the boys Bought editions of Hogg, While others inquired for Lord Bacon's great work, Which they fancied referred to the pickling of pork. But a publisher knowin', A certain famed Row in, Very soon set a "Life" of these children a-goin': The boys who had thus been preserved from the pickle, Turned hermits: a change which some chap theoretic, And likewise splenetic, Declared was hermetic, Because 'twas the vinegar made them a(s)cetic. MORAL. Don't be of those people, who miss every train one; Found that ridiculous Hitch about lodgings, was that—and the main one! On going to bed, too, be sure lock your door, For a startling new dish, Don't make pork of young children—or if you the plan try, On retiring to rest, turn the key of the pantry. GOOD-BYE AND HOW-D'YE-DO? HON. WILLIAM R. SPENCER. ONE day Good-bye met How-d'ye-do, "Away," says How-d'ye-do, "your mien "Whene'er I give one sunshine hour, "Ere How-d'ye-do has turn'd each tongue "From sorrows past my chemic skill Good-bye replied, "Your statement's true, "Without my prior influence, Could yours have ever flourish'd? "How oft, if at the Court of Love "How oft, when Cupid's fires decline, "Go, bid the timid lover choose, "From Love and Friendship's kindred source We both derive existence; And they would both lose half their force ""Tis well the world our merit knows, HOW JACK MARLAND SOLVED A VERY ANONYMOUS. JACK MARLAND was a happy fellow-at least any one who saw him seated in his comfortable chambers in the Temple in a vast easy-chair, and enveloped with clouds of smoke proceeding from his favourite meerschaum, as the bell of St. Paul's rang ten, would have said so. Jack was a clever fellow too; he sang well, he danced well; the partridges on the first of September knew him well; the Cheshire hounds were not unacquainted with him; the Isis and the Thames were intimate with him (for Jack pulled a good oar); a dab at fencing, a fair single-stick player, in his element in the pistolgallery; and, to crown all, he had just made a not unsuccessful débût as a speaker in the Courts of Westminster. Jack truly ought to have been happy, from a thousand reasons; he was a favourite with his acquaintances and professional brethren; by the fair sex, his witty conversation and handsome and gentlemanly person and demeanour were duly appreciated; in short, he was universally liked. Papas and mammas opened their doors to him (for he had a nice little fortune at his command); daughters and sons were glad when he entered the doors so thrown open, for not a dull moment was suffered to exist from the time Jack came to the time he took his departure. "And was Jack happy?" methinks I hear a fair reader inquire. Jack was not happy, or rather he thought he was not happy. Jack had got it into his silly head that, in spite of his accomplishments, his cleverness and his handsome face and figure, he, Jack, was a coward; and that, if ever his courage should be put to the proof, he should be found lamentably wanting. This was Jack's "ombre noir;" this was the thought which embittered Jack's existence; and at the time we introduce Jack, he was in his aforesaid easy-chair, and under the soothing influence of his aforesaid pipe, assisted by a cup of strong Mocha-turning over in his mind the different methods by which he thought it likely that he might be able to solve the knotty question "Am I, or am I not a coward?" Jack thought and thought, and smoked and smoked, till he was half asleep, without coming to any correct or satisfactory conclusion; the idea had taken strong possession of his mind and tormented him strangely: he however determined, as indeed he had fifty times before determined, to seize the first opportunity which might present itself, of placing himself in the way of grappling with some important danger. We shall in less than ten minutes see that the wished-for opportunity presented itself, and in rather a curious manner. The long vacation arrived; that time so wished for, so looked forward to by all the legal profession; that time during which, &c., &c. Jack, like many other denizens of the Temple, packed up his traps, sent his clerk for a cab, stuck a card outside his door, with the inscription "Return before the 20th of October," ," "shipped himself all aboard of a ship," then of a diligence, and in due course of time, found himself in Paris. One half day was sufficient to enable him to find a good suite of rooms, Rue du Helder, Boul. Italien and now behold Jack fully launched in all the gaiety, not to say dissipation, of the metropolis of the French. Jack, we have before said, was a very good shot with the pistol, yet he had never been guilty of that height of folly, a duel; and indeed had often been heard to say, that he never would. He, however, frequented many of the pistol galleries which abounded in Paris; and amongst others, he had honoured with his presence the tir au pistolet of M. Lepage, where of course he very soon became known as "Ce Monsieur Anglais, qui tire aussi bien qu'un Français." One day Jack, on going to the gallery of M. Lepage with one of his friends, found it occupied by a young man well known as one of the best shots in Paris; and most assuredly he was a good shot. He performed all the feats which tradition assigns to the Chevalier St. George; he each time hit the bull's-eye of the target at the usual distance, snuffed a candle with the ball, split a bullet against the edge of a knife, and drove a nail into the wall by striking the head exactly in the centre with his ball; and, in short, by a thousand feats of this nature proved himself worthy the name of a firstrate shot. His amour propre was roused by the presence of Jack, whom the attendant, in presenting him with the pistol, had quietly said was almost as good a |