WHO has e'er been in London, that overgrown place, Has seen Lodgings to Let' stare him full in the face; Some are good, and let dearly; while some,'tis well known, Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone.

Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely,
Hired lodgings that took single gentlemen only;
But Will was so fat, he appeared like a ton,
Or like two single gentlemen rolled into one.

6

He entered his rooms, and to bed he retreated,
But all the night long he felt fevered and heated;
And though heavy to weigh as a score of fat sheep,
He was not by any means heavy to sleep.

Next night 'twas the same, and the next, and the next;
He perspired like an ox; he was nervous and vexed;
Week passed after week, till, by weekly succession,
His weakly condition was past all expression.

In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt him ;
For his skin, like a lady's loose gown,' hung about him;

6

He sent for a doctor, and cried like a ninny :

'I have lost many pounds-make me well-there's a guinea.'

The doctor looked wise: 'A slow fever,' he said:

1

Prescribed sudorifics and going to bed.

Sudorifics in bed,' exclaimed Will, 'are humbugs!

I've enough of them there without paying for drugs!'

Will kicked 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'e, 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 bold —
I've been so hanged hot, that I'm sure I caught cold.'

Quoth the landlord: Till now I had ne'er a dispute; I've let lodgings ten years; I'm a baker to boot;

1 Sudorifics, medicines causing sweat.

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!' cries Will, in a taking,

'Who wouldn't be crusty with half a year's baking?'

Will paid for his rooms; cried the host, with a sneer, 'Well, I see you've 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.'

THE HERMIT. (BEATTIE.)

James Beattie, a Scottish poet, was born in Kincardine in 1735. 'The Minstrel' is his most admired poem. He died in 1803.

AT the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove :
'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar,
While his harp rung symphonious,1 a hermit began :
No more with himself or with nature at war,
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.

'Ah! why, all abandoned to darkness and woe,
Why, lone Philomela,2 that languishing fall?
For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
And sorrow no longer thy bosom inthral :
But if pity inspire thee, renew thy sad lay,
Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn;
O soothe him, whose pleasures like thine pass away:
Full quickly they pass-but they never return.

'Now gliding remote on the verge of the sky,
The moon, half extinguished, her crescent displays :
But lately I marked, when majestic on high
She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze.
Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue
The path that conducts thee to splendour again :
But man's faded glory what change shall renew?
Ah, fool! to exult in a glory so vain!

1 Symphonious, sweet-sounding.

2 Philomela, the nightingale. Philomela was a Greek princess who is said to have been changed into a nightingale.

"Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more:

I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you ;
For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew.
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;

1

Kind Nature the embryo 1 blossom will save.
But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn--
O when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?

'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betrayed, That leads to bewilder, and dazzles to blind,

My thoughts wont to roam from shade onward to shadeDestruction before me, and sorrow behind.

'O pity, great Father of Light,' then I cried,

Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee;
Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride:
From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free!

'And darkness and doubt are now flying away,
No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn :

So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray,
The bright and the balmy effulgence2 of morn.

See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending,
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom!

On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.'

1 Embryo, the part of the reed which will form the future plant. 2 Effulgence, brightness.