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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,

“ 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

Seems to say,

A very decent singer." The poor bird
In silent modesty the critic heard,
And winged her peaceful fight 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:
Phæbus got up, and made a blazing fire,
That gilded every country-house and spire,

And smiling, put on his best looks so bright.

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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.”

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“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



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.

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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.”

pray do then."-So, at first, he chose To place a youngish pair upon his nose;

a 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 ball — Pray, let me ask you—can you read at all ?”

“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 sidewise 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.



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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:

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


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 ?" "Not I !" “ 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 !

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