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No more the caviler could say,
No further faults descry;
For upwards gazing, as he lay,
An acorn, loosened from its spray,
Fell down upon his eye.

The wounded part with tears ran o'er,
As punished for that sin;

Fool! had that bough a pumpkin bore,
Thy whimseys would have worked no more,
Nor skull have kept them in.


An ass, a nightingale espied,

And shouted out, "Hollo! hollo! good friend!
Thou art a firstrate singer, they pretend :-

Now let me hear thee, that I may decide;
I really wish to know-the world is partial ever-
If thou hast this great gift, and art indeed so clever."
The nightingale began her heavenly lays;

Through all the regions of sweet music ranging, Varying her song a thousand different ways; Rising and falling, lingering, ever changing: Full of wild rapture now-then sinking oft To almost silence-melancholy, soft, As distant shepherd's pipe at evening's close: Strewing the wood with lovelier music;-there

All nature seems to listen and repose:

No zephyr dares disturb the tranquil air :-
All other voices of the grove are still,

And the charmed flocks lie down beside the rill.
The shepherd like a statue stands-afraid

His breathing may disturb the melody,
His finger pointing to the melodious tree,

Seems to say, "Listen!" to his favorite maid.
The singer ended :—and our critic bowed
His reverend head to earth, and said aloud :-
"Now that's so so;-thou really hast some merit;
Curtail thy song, and critics then might hear it.
Thy voice wants sharpness:—but if chanticleer
Would give thee a few lessons, doubtless he
Might raise thy voice and modulate thy ear;

And thou, in spite of all thy faults, mayest be

A very decent singer." The poor bird
In silent modesty the critic heard,

And winged her peaceful flight into the air,
O'er many and many a field and forest fair.
Many such critics you and I have seen :—
Heaven be our screen!


Fresh was the breath of morn-the busy breeze,
As poets tell us, whispered through the trees,

And swept the dew-clad blooms with wings so light: Phœbus got up, and made a blazing fire,

That gilded every country-house and spire,
And smiling, put on his best looks so bright.

On this fair morn, a spider who had set,
To catch a breakfast, his old waving net,
With cautious art, upon a spangled thorn;
At length with gravely-squinting, longing eye,
Near him espied a pretty, plump, young fly,
Humming her little orisons to morn.

"Good morrow, dear Miss Fly," quoth gallant Grim— "Good morrow, sir," replied Miss Fly to him"Walk in, Miss, pray, and see what I'm about:" "I'm much obliged t'ye, sir," Miss Fly rejoined, "My eyes are both so very good, I find,

That I can plainly see the whole without."

"Fine weather, Miss"-" Yes, very fine,"
Quoth Miss-" prodigious fine indeed!"
"But why so coy?" quoth Grim, "that you decline
To put within my bower your pretty head?"
""Tis simply this,"

Quoth cautious Miss,

"I fear you'd like my pretty head so well, You'd keep it for yourself, sir,-who can tell?"

"Then let me squeeze your lovely hand, my dear, And prove that all your dread is foolish, vain”

"I've a sore finger, sir, nay more, I fear

You really would not let it go again."

"Poh, poh, child, pray dismiss your idle dread:

I would not hurt a hair of that sweet head

Well, then, with one sweet kiss of friendship meet me :" "La, sir," quoth miss, with seeming artless tongue,

"I fear our salutation would be long:

So loving, too, I fear that you would eat me."

So saying, with a smile she left the rogue,
To weave more lines of death, and plan for prog.


A certain artist, I've forgot his name,
Had got for spectacles a fame,

Or "helps to read"-as, when they first were sold,
Was writ upon his glaring sign in gold;
And, for all uses to be had from glass,
His were allowed by readers to surpass.
There came a man into his shop one day-
"Are you the spectacle contriver, pray?"
"Yes, sir," said he, "I can in that affair
Contrive to please you, if you want a pair."
"Can you? pray do then."-So, at first, he chose
To place a youngish pair upon his nose;
And book produced, to see how they would fit:
Asked how he liked 'em?" Like 'em-not a bit."

"Then sir, I fancy, if you please to try,

These in my hand will better suit your eye"

"No, but they don't"-" Well, come, sir, if you please, Here is another sort, we'll e'en try these;

Still somewhat more they magnify the letter;

Now, sir?"—"Why now-I'm not a bit the better”—
"No! here, take these that magnify still more;
How do they fit ?"—" Like all the rest before."
In short, they tried a whole assortment through,
But all in vain, for none of 'em would do.
The operator, much surprised to find
So odd a case, thought, sure the man is blind:
"What sort of eyes can you have got?" said he,


Why, very good ones, friend, as you may see:' "Yes, I perceive the clearness of the ballPray, let me ask you-can you read at all?"

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"No, you great blockhead; if I could, what need
Of paying you for any helps to read?"
And so he left the maker in a heat,
Resolved to post him for an arrant cheat.


I love my master, and my school full well,
But cannot bear to read, to write, or spell;
I strive at each, but, ah! I strive in vain-
But still more zealous strive to shun the cane.

When, if by chance, my hands do get a stain,
Up I am sent to have them washed with cane;
Or, if an apple munch-or side wise chance to look,
Confound the cane, I catch it—such my fatal luck.

If slate-string lose, or pencil chance to drop,
Up I am sent the cane will never stop;
To stir, is treason, speaking, worse than death,
There's no escape from cane while I have breath.

Oh! direful cane! I wish the burning sun

Had parched the ground, and it had brought forth none; Had we no weapon on our England's plain,

But we must cross the ocean for a cane?

Oh! friends believe me, hear me speak my mind
Before I know my fault, I'm seized—confined,
Dragged like a felon― plead alas! in vain,
And all I get for pity is the cruel cane.


Oh! what a sufferer, when shall I be freed?—
Is there no other art to teach mankind to read?
Oh yes, there's Lancaster, friend of hapless youth,
Without a cane can guide mankind to truth.

I'll go to him, for he's a man of peace,
And in his school the war of cane shall cease ;-
I went, and found to finish my mishap,
Instead of cane, a substitute called-strap.

Oh! wretched me! how oft I've wished in vain,
Some friend in pity would destroy the cane;
But now I wish the cane and strap together,
Sunk in the ocean, and both lost for ever.


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,"
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 happened, they are all agreed:
Not to detain you from a thing so strange,
A gentleman, that lives not far from 'Change,
This week, in short, as all the alley knows,
Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows."
"Impossible!"-"Nay, but it's 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 it's worth your care
Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me;

But, by the by, 'twas two black crows, not three."
Resolved to trace so wondrous an event,

Whip to the third, the virtuoso went.

"Sir," and so forth-" Why, yes; the thing is fact,

Though in regard to number not exact;

It was not two black crows, 'twas only one;
The truth of that you may depend upon.

The gentleman himself told me the case."

"Where may I find him?" "Why,—in such a place." Away he goes, and having found him out,"Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt." Then to his last informant he referred, And begged to know if true what he had heard. "Did you, sir, throw up a black crow?" "Bless me! how people propagate a lie! Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one, And here I find at last all comes to none !

"Not I!"

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