my father had been in the town-council, and had a shop on the South Bridge, my character of swindler was changed immediately into that of a "foolish laddie, for middling wi' things that I had naething to do with." Mr. Cloverfield began now to think it was partly his own fault that I was dragged in to purchase bullocks, which I could not for their value have killed; and young Harrigals declared, that such a comical circumstance had never occurred in the High Market in his day.

"Foolish callant," said Andrew," what for did you no speak out, man! I thought whan I saw ye feart to set your feet in the sharn, and handle the nout wi' your yellow gloves, preserve us a', that the Edinburgh fleshers were turn'd unco gentle indeed. But howsomever, I wadna cheat yeye need nae hae been fear'd for that. Mr. Harrigals kens that they are a gude bargain, and ye might may be hae sell'd them wi' profit. But, come, we'll hae a half mutchkin upon it. Lassie, tell your mistress to bring in the tea-things,-ye're no to gang awa', my merchant, wi' an empty stamach, and may be ye'll learn something about buying cattle afore we're done. It's a capital joke after a'.-I canna help laughing at my ain simplicity." Mr. Harrigals added his request to the solicitations of Mr. Cloverfield, and after a good breakfast, and a glass of brandy, which I was forced to swallow to keep the wind out of my stomach, as Andrew said, I received a kind invitation, when I felt inclined, "to come and tak a day's fishing in the Braidwater at Wirlyknows, where was the best trout in a the country."

I left my friends with a hearty shake of the hand, and with mutual congratulations at the circumstance which had brought us acquainted; and I returned home by the Bow and the Lawnmarket, both of which streets, and the houses therein, seemed, from their dancing so oddly before my eyes, not to have made up their minds about the centre of gravity. The people also appeared to walk less steadily than when I commenced my excursion. These circumstances have been since endeavoured to be accounted for by the administration of the

glass of brandy to my stomach; but I leave it to the reader to decide whether it is more likely that the houses should actually nod their heads, or that the celebrated traveller, Christopher Columbus, Esq. should be imposed on by his own very serviceable organs of sight. Blackwood's Magazine.

ODE TO DR. KITCHENER.

YE Muses nine inspire

And stir up my poetic fire
Teach my burning soul to speak
With a bubble and a squeak!

Of Dr. Kitchener I fain would sing,
Till pots, and pans, and mighty kettles ring.

O culinary Sage!

(I do not mean the herb in use,
That always goes along with goose)
How have I feasted on thy page !
"When like a lobster boil'd, the morn
From black to red began to turn,”

Till midnight, when I went to bed,

And clapp'd my tewah-diddle*

Who is there cannot tell,

on my head.

Thou lead'st a life of living well?

"What baron, or squire, or knight of the shire, Lives half so well as a holy Fry-er?" In doing well thou must be reckon'd The first, and Mrs. Fry the second; And twice a Job,-for in thy fev'rish toils Thou wast all over roasts-as well as boils.

* The doctor's composition for a nightcap.

Thou wast indeed no dunce,

To treat thy subjects and thyself at once.
Many a hungry poet eats

His brains like thee,

But few there be

Could live so long on their receipts.
What living soul or sinner

Would slight thy invitation to a dinner,
Ought with the Danaides to dwell,

Draw gravy in a cullender, and hear
For ever in his ear

The pleasant tinkling of thy dinner bell.

Immortal Kitchener! thy fame

Shall keep itself when Time makes game Of other men's-yea, it shall keep all weathers, And thou shalt be upheld by thy pen feathers. Yea, by the sauce of Michael Kelly,

Thy name shall perish never,

But be magnified for ever

-By all whose eyes are bigger than their belly!

Yea, till the world is done

-To a turn-and Time puts out the sun,
Shall live the endless echo of thy name.
But, as for thy more fleshy frame,

Ah! Death's carnivorous teeth will tittle

Thee out of breath, and eat it for cold victual; But still thy fame shall be among the nations Preserved to the last course of generations."

Ah me, my soul is touch'd with sorrow
To think how flesh must pass away-
So mutton, that is warm to-day,

Is cold and turn'd to hashes on the morrow!
Farewell! I would say more but I

Have other fish to fry.

London Magazine.

VANDERDECKEN'S MESSAGE HOME;

OR, THE TENACITY OF NATURAL AFFECTION.

OUR ship, after touching at the Cape, went out again, and soon losing sight of the Table Mountain, began to be assailed by the impetuous attacks of the sea, which is well known to be more formidable there than in most parts of the known ocean. The day had grown dull and hazy, and the breeze, which had formerly blown fresh, now sometimes subsided almost entirely, and then recovering its strength, for a short time, and changing its direction, blew with temporary violence, and died away again, as if exercising a melancholy caprice. A heavy swell began to come from the south-east. Our sails flapped against the masts, and the ship rolled from side to side, as heavily as if she had been water-logged. There was so little wind that she would not steer.

At two p.m. we had a squall, accompanied by thunder and rain. The seamen, growing restless, looked anxiously a-head. They said we would have a dirty night of it, and that it would not be worth while to turn into their hammocks. As the second mate was describing a gale he had encountered off Cape Race, Newfoundland, we were suddenly taken all a-back, and the blast came upon us furiously. We continued to scud under a double-reefed mainsail and foretop-sail till dusk ; but, as the sea ran high, the captain thought it safest to bring her to. The watch on deck consisted of four men, one of whom was appointed to keep a look-out a-head, for the weather was so hazy, that we could not see two cables' length from the bows. This man, whose name was Tom Willis, went frequently to the bows, as if to observe something; and when the others called to him, inquiring what he was looking at, he would give no definite answer. They therefore went also to the bows, and appeared startled, and at first said nothing; but presently one of them cried, " William, go call the watch."

The seamen, having been asleep in their hammocks, murmured at this unreasonable summons, and called to know how it looked upon deck. To which Tom Willis replied, "Come up and see. What we are minding is not on deck, but a-head."

On hearing this, they ran up without putting on their jackets, and when they came to the bows, there was a whispering.

One of them asked, "Where is she? I do not see her." To which another replied, "The last flash of lightning showed there was not a reef in one of her sails; but we, who know her history, know that all her canvas will never carry her into port."

By this time the talking of the seamen had brought some of the passengers on deck. They could see nothing, however, for the ship was surrounded by thick darkness, and by the noise of the dashing waters, and the seamen evaded the questions that were put to them.

At this juncture the chaplain came on deck. He was a man of grave and modest demeanour, and was much liked among the seamen, who called him Gentle George. He overheard one of the men asking another, "If he had ever seen the Flying Dutchman before, and if he knew the story about her?" To which the other replied, "I have heard of her beating about in these seas. What is the reason she never reaches port?"

The first speaker replied, "They give different reasons for it, but my story is this: 'She was an Amsterdam vessel, and sailed from that port seventy years ago. Her master's name was Vanderdecken. He was a stanch seaman, and would have his own way, in spite of the devil. For all that, never a sailor under him had reason to complain; though how it is on board with them now, nobody knows. The story is this: that in doubling the Cape, they were a long day trying to weather the Table Bay, which we saw this morning However, the wind headed them, and went against them more and more, and Vanderdecken walked the deck, swearing at the wind. Just after sunset, a vessel spoke him, asking if he did not mean to go into the bay that