In six inonths his acquaintance began much to doubt him, For his skin, like a lady's loose gown,' hung about him! So he sent for a doctor, and cried, like a ninny,

"I have lost many pounds-make me well-there's a guinea." The doctor look'd wise:-" A slow fever," he said; Prescribed sudorifics-and going to bed.

Sudorifics in bed," exclaim'd Will, “are humbugs! I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs!" Will kick'd out the doctor;-but, when ill indeed, E'en dismissing the doctor don't always succeed; So, calling his host, he said-" Sir, do you know, I'm the fat Single Gentleman, six months ago? "Look ye, landlord, I think," argued Will with a grin, That with honest intentions you first took me in: But from the first night—and to say it I'm boldI've been so very hot, that I'm sure I've caught cold!" Quoth the landlord,-" Till now, I ne'er had a dispute; I've let lodgings ten years, I'm a baker to boot; In airing your sheets, sir, my wife is no sloven; And your bed is immediately-over my oven.'

"The oven!!!" says Will. Says the host, Why this passion?

In that excellent bed died three people of fashion!
Why so crusty, good sir?"-" Zounds!" cried Will in a

taking,

Who would not be crusty, with half a year's baking?"

Will paid for his rooms.

Cried the host, with a sneer,

Well, I see you have been going away half a year."

Friend, we can't well agree; yet no quarrel"-Will

said;—

'But I'd rather not perish, while

you make your bread."

Colman

Life compared to a Stage.

ALL the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players!
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts;
His acts being seven ages. First, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.

And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad

Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then the soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard;
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel;
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth! And then the justice,
In fair round belly, with good capon lined,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;

And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon;

With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved! a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound! Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness, or mere oblivion;

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing!

Shakspeare

The Chameleon.

OFT has it been my lot to mark
A proud, conceited, talking spark-
With eyes that hardly served at most
To guard their master 'gainst a post;
Yet round the world the blade had been
To see whatever could be seen--
Returning from his finish'd tour,
Grown ten times perter than before:
Whatever word you chance to drop,

The travell'd fool your mouth will stop---

.6

'Sir, if my judgment you'll allow,

I've seen, and sure I ought to know."-
So begs you'd pay a due submission,
And acquiesce in his decision.

Two travellers, of such a cast-
As o'er Arabia's wilds they pass'd,
And on their way, in friendly chat,
Now talk'd of this, and then of that-

Discoursed awhile, 'mongst other matter,
Of the Chameleon's form and nature.

A stranger animal," cries one,
'Sure never lived beneath the sun!
A lizard's body, lean and long,
A fish's head, a serpent's tongue,
Its foot with triple claw disjoin'd;
And what a length of tail behind!
How slow its pace! and then its hue—
Who ever saw so fine a blue!"

Hold there!" the other quick replies,
"'Tis green-I saw it with these eyes,
As late with open mouth it lay,
And warm'd it in the sunny ray;
Stretch'd at its ease, the beast I view'd,
And saw it eat the air for food."
"I've seen it, sir, as well as you,
And must again affirm it blue;
At leisure I the beast survey'd,
Extended in the cooling shade."

46

'Tis green, 'tis green, sir, I assure ye. Green!" cries the other in a fury;

"Why, sir-d'ye think I've lost my eyes?" ""Twere no great loss,' the friend replies.

For, if they always serve you thus,

You'll find 'em but of little use!"

So high at last the contest rose,

From words they almost came to blows;
When luckily came by a third:
To him the question they referr'd;
And begg'd he'd tell 'em if he knew
Whether the thing was green or blue.

66

Sirs," cries the umpire, cease your pother; The creature's neither one nor t'other.

I caught the animal last night,
And view'd it o'er by candle-light;
I mark'd it well-'twas black as jet—
You stare-but, sirs, I've got it yet,
And can produce it." Pray, sir,
do:
I'll lay my life the thing is blue."

And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen
The reptile, you'll pronounce him green."
"Well then, at once to end the doubt,"
Replies the man, "I'll turn him out;

And when before your eyes I've set him,
If
you don't find him black, I'll eat him.”
He said; then full before their sight

Produced the beast, and lo!-'twas white.

Merrich

(6

How-D'ye-Do, and Good-Bye.

ONE day Good-bye met How-d'ye-do,
Too close to shun saluting;
But soon the rival sisters flew
From kissing to disputing.

"Away!" says How-d'ye-do

Appals my cheerful naturę;

your mein

No name so sad as yours is seen
In sorrow's nomenclature.

Where'er I give one sunshine hour,
Your cloud comes in to shade it;
Where'er I plant one bosom's flower,
Your mildew drops to fade it.

Ere How-d'ye-do has tuned each tongue
To 'hope's delighted measure,'
Good-bye in friendship's ear has rung
The knell of parting pleasure!

From sorrows past, my chemic skill
Draws smiles of consolation;
While you, from present joys, distil
The tears of separation.'

Good-bye replied, "Your statement's true,
And well your cause you've pleaded;
But, pray, who'd think of How-d'ye-do,
Unless Good-bye preceded!

Without my prior influence,

Could yours have ever flourish'd?

And can your hand one flower dispense,
But those my tears have nourish'd?

How oft,-if at the court of love

Concealment is the fashion,

When How-d'ye-do has fail'd to move,
Good-bye reveals the passion?

How oft, when Cupid's fires decline,-
As every heart remembers,—
One sigh of mine, and only mine,
Revives the dying embers?

Go, bid the timid lover choose
And I'll resign my charter,
If he for ten kind How-d'ye-do's,

One kind Good-bye would barter!

From love and friendship s kindred source
We both derive existence;

And they would both lose half their force
Without one joint assistance.

"Tis well the world our merit knows,

Since time, there's no denying,
One half in How-d'ye-doing goes,
And t'other in Good-bying."

The Three Black Crows.

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

'Hark ye," said he, " 'tis an odd story this

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

Anonymous.

Replied his friend." No! I'm surprised at that,
Where I come from, it is the common chat;
But you shall hear an odd affair indeed!
And that it happen'd they are all agreed:
Not to detain you from a thing so strange,
A gentleman, who lives not far from 'Change,
This week, in short, as all the Alley knows,
Taking a vomit, threw up Three Black Crows!"
"Impossible!"-" Nay, but 'tis really true;

I had 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 'tis worth your care,
"Twas Mr."-such a one-
who told it me;

66

But, by the bye, 'twas Two black crows, not Three!"
Resolved to trace so wondrous an event,

Quick to the third the virtuoso went.

"Sir," and so forth.-" Why, yes; the thing is fact, Though in regard to number not exact;