HOW TO TELL BAD NEWS.

Mr. H. HA! Steward, how are you, my old boy? How do things go on at home?

Steward. Bad enough, your honor; the magpie 's dead. Mr. H. Poor Mag! so he's gone.

Stew. Over-ate himself, sir.

How came he to die?

Mr. H. Did he, indeed? a greedy villain! Why, what did he get he liked so well?

Stew. Horse-flesh, sir; he died of eating horse-flesh ?

Mr. H. How came he to get so much horse-flesh ?
Stew. All your father's horses, sir.

Mr. H. What! are they dead, too?

Stew. Ay, sir; they died of over-work.

Mr. H. And why were they over-worked, pray?

Stew. To carry water, sir.

Mr. H. To carry water! and what were they carrying water for?

Stew. Sure, sir, to put out the fire.

Mr. H. Fire! what fire?

Stew. O, sir, your father's house is burned down to the ground.

Mr. H. My father's house burned down! and how came it set on fire?

Stew. I think, sir, it must have been the torches.

Mr. H. Torches ! what torches?

Stew. At your mother's funeral.

Mr. H. Alas! my mother dead?

Stew. Ah, poor lady, she never looked up after it !

Mr. H. After what?

Stew. The loss of your father.

Mr. H. My father gone, too?

Stew. Yes, poor gentleman, he took to his bed as soon as he heard of it!

Mr. H. Heard of what?

Stew. The bad news, sir, and please your honor.

Mr. H. What! more miseries? more bad news? No! you can add nothing more!

Stew. Yes, sir; your bank has failed, and your credit is lost, and you are not worth a shilling in the world. I made bold, sir, to come to wait on you about it, for I thought you would like to hear the news.

I-HAVE AND O-HAD-I.

THERE are two little birds, quite well known in the land,—
Their names are I-Have and O-Had-I ;

I-Have will come tamely and perch on your hand,
But O-Had-I will mock you most sadly.

I-Have, at first sight, is less fair to the eye,
But his worth is by far more enduring
Than a thousand O-Had-I's, that sit far and high
On roofs and on branches alluring.

Eggs of gold this I-Have by the dozen will lay,
Sweetly singing, "Content thee, content thee !"

O! merrily then will the day glide away,

And at night pleasant slumbers be sent thee.

But let an O-Had-I once ravish your eye,

And a longing to catch him once seize you,
He'll give you no comfort nor rest till you die-
Life-long he'll torment you and tease you.

He'll keep you all day running up and down hill,
Now racing, now panting and creeping,
While far overland this sweet bird at his will

With his golden-tipped plumage is sweeping.

Then every wise man who attends to my song

Will count his I-Have a choice treasure,
And whene'er * an O-Had-I comes flying along,
Will just let him fly at his pleasure.

FROM THE GERMAN.

on me.

REPLY TO THE DUKE OF GRAFTON.

I AM amazed at the attack which the noble duke has made Yes, my lords, I am amazed at his Grace's speech. The noble duke can not look before him, behind him, or on either side of him, without seeing some noble peer who owes his seat in this house to his successful exertions in the profession to which I belong. Does he not feel that it is as honorable to owe it to these, as to being the accident of an accident? To all these noble lords the language of the noble duke is as applicable and as insulting as it is to myself. But I do not fear to meet it single and alone.

No one venerates the peerage more than I do; but, my lords, I must say that the peerage solicited me, not I the peerage. Nay, more, -I can say, and will say, that, as a peer of Parliament, as speaker of this right honorable house, as keeper of the great seal, as guardian of his majesty's conscience, as lord high chancellor of England, -nay, even in that character alone in which the noble duke would think it an affront to be considered, but which character none can deny me as a man, I am at this moment as respectable I beg leave to add, I am as much respected proudest peer I now look down upon.

as the

THURLOW.

* E'er and ne'er, contractions of ever and never, are pronounced är and

aar, rhyming with bare.

BAKER-SMITH

"AS THY DAYS, SO SHALL THY STRENGTH BE.”

PILGRIM, treading feebly on,

Smitten by the torrid sun,
Hoping for the cooling rain,
Looking for the shade in vain,
Travel-worn and faint at heart,
Weak and weary as thou art,
Let thy spirit not repine,

Shade and shelter shall be thine
Friendly hands to thee shall bring
Water from the cooling spring,
And the voice thou lovest best
Call the wanderer to her rest:
God hath said, to comfort thee,
"As thy day, thy strength shall be.

Christian! toiling for the prize
Kept for thee beyond the skies,

Warring with the powers of sin,
Woes without, and woes within;
Breathing now in rapture's air,
Verging then upon despair;
Trembling, hoping, filled with pain,
Then rejoicing once again, -
Shrink not from life's bitter cup,
God shall bear thy spirit up:
He shall lead thee safely on

Till the ark of rest is won

Till thy spirit is set free:

"As thy day, thy strength shall be.”

V. G. ALLYN.

THE FRACTIOUS MAN.

Mr. Cross. How now, sir? Why do you keep me knocking all day at the door?

John. I was at work, sir, in the garden. As soon as I heard your knock, I ran to open the door with such haste that I fell down.

Mr. C. No great harm was done in that. Why did n't you leave the door open ?

John. Why, sir, you scolded me yesterday because I did So. When it is open, you scold; when it is shut, you scold. I should like to know what to do.

Mr. C. What to do? What to do, did you say?

John. I said it.

open?

Mr. C. No.

Would you have me leave the door

John. Would you have me keep it shut?
Mr. C. No.

John. But, sir, it must be either open or

Mr. C. Don't presume to argue with me, fellow!