I saw him every day. How the happy moments sped!

Reef topsails! Make all taut! There's dirty weather ahead!

(I do not mean that tempests threaten the "Hot Cross Bun;"

In that case, I don't know whatever we should have done!)

After a fortnight's cruise, we put into port one day.

And off on leave for a week went kind Lieutenant Belaye,

And after a long, long week had passed (and it seemed like a life),

Lieutenant Belaye returned to his ship with a fair young wife!

Which we in rapture hail,
Are far more eloquent it's clear
(When clothed in silk and kerseymere),
Than any nasty tail."

And Cleggs-a worthy, kind old boy-
Rejoiced to add to others' joy,

And, when the day was dry,
Because it pleased the lookers-on,
He sat from morn till night-though con-
Stitutionally shy.

At first the Mermen laughed, "Pooh! pooh !"

But finally they jealous grew,

And sounded loud recalls;

But vainly. So these fishy males
Declared they too would clothe their tails,
In silken hose and smalls.

They didn't let him learn their law,
Or make a note of what he saw,
Or interesting mem.:
The lady-fish he couldn't find,
But that, of course, he didn't mind-
He didn't come for them.

For though, when Captain Capel sank,
The Mermen drawn in double rank
Gave him a hearty hail,
Yet when secure of Captain Cleggs,
They cut off both his lovely legs,
And gave him such a tail!

When Captain Cleggs returned aboard
His blithesome crew convulsive roar'd
To see him altered so.

The Admiralty did insist
That he upon the Half-pay List
Immediately should go.

In vain declared the poor old salt:
"It's my misfortune-not my fault,"
With tear and trembling lip-
In vain poor Capel begged and begged. ̧
"A man must be completely legged
Who rules a British ship."

So spake the stern First Lord aloud-
He was a wag, though very proud,
And much rejoiced to say,
"You're only half a captain now-
And so, my worthy friend, I vow
You'll only get half-pay!"

ANNIE PROTHEROE.

A LEGEND OF STRATFORD-LE-BOW.

OH! listen to the tale of little Annie Proth

eroe.

She kept a small postoffice in the neighborhood of Bow;

She loved a skilled mechanic, who was famous in his day

A gentle executioner whose name was Gilbert

Clay.

I think I hear you say: "A dreadful subject for your rhymes!"

O reader; do not shrink-he didn't live in modern times!

He lived so long ago (the sketch will show it at a glance)

That all his actions glitter with the limelight of romance.

In busy times he laboured at his gentle craft all day

"No doubt you mean his Cal-craft,” you amusingly will say

At his favorable notices, all pasted in a book,

And then her cheek would flush-her swimming eyes would dance with joy

won't be told no lies!

until

saw.

Why ever you are injuring that hatchet in your hand?"

He said: "It is intended for to lacerate and flay

The neck of that unmitigated villain, Peter Gray!"

Now, Gilbert," Annie answered, "wicked headsman, just beware

I won't have Peter tortured with that horri

If you

But

ble affair;

appear with that, you may depend you'll rue the day."

Gilbert said: Oh, shall I?" which was just his nasty way.

He saw a look of anger from her eyes distinctly dart,

For Annie was a woman, and had pity in her heart!

She wished him a good-evening-he answered with a glare;

She only said: "Remember, for your Annie will be there!"

*

little block.

The hatchet was uplifted for to settle Peter
Gray,
When Gilbert plainly heard a woman's voice
exclaiming, "Stay!"

'Twas Annie, gentle Annie, as you'll easily believe.

"Oh, Gilbert, you must spare him, for I bring him a reprieve;

It came from our Home Secretary many weeks ago,

And passed through that post-office which I used to keep at Bow.

"I loved you, loved you madly, and you know it, Gilbert Clay,

And as I'd quite surrendered all idea
Peter Gray,

of

I quietly suppressed it, as you'll clearly understand,

For I thought it might be awkward if he came and claimed my hand.

"In anger at my secret (which I could not tell before),

To lacerate poor Peter Gray vindictively you

The bard a tradesman1-and a Jew2—
The bard a botanist3-a beak4-
The bard a skilled musicians too-
A sheriff and a surgeon 7 eke!

Yet critics say (a friendly stock)
That, though it's evident I try,
Yet even I can barely mock

The glimmer of his wondrous eye.

One morning as a work I framed,

There passed a person, walking hard: "My gracious goodness," I exclaimed, 'How very like my dear old bard!

"Oh, what a model he would make!" I rushed outside-impulsive me!"Forgive the liberty I take, But you're so very "—"stop!" said he. "You needn't waste your breath or timeI know what you are going to sayThat you're an artist, and that I'm Remarkably like Shakespeare. Eh?

"You wish that I would sit to you?" I clasped him madly round the waist, And breathlessly replied: "I do!" "All right," said he, "but please make haste."

"Whene'er I speak, my soul is wrung

With these or some such whisperings: 'Tis pity that a Shakespeare's tongue Should say such un-Shakespearian things!"

"I should not thus be criticised
Had I a face of common wont:
Don't envy me-now, be advised !"
And, now I think of it, I don't!

THE REVEREND SIMON MAGUS.

A rich advowson, highly prized,
For private sale was advertised;
And many a parson made a bid;
The Reverend Simon Magus did.
He sought the agent's: "Agent, I
Have come prepared at once to huy
(If your demand is not too big)
The Cure of Otium-cum-Digge.'

"Ah!" said the agent, "there's a berth—
The snuggest vicarage on earth;
No sort of duty (so I hear),
And fifteen hundred pounds a year.

"If on the price we should agree,
The living soon will vacant be ;
The good incumbent's ninety-five,
And cannot very long survive.

See here's his photograph-you see,
He's in his dotage." "Ah, dear me!
Poor soul!" said Simon. "His decease
Would be a merciful release !"