Going to law in those expensive days

Was much the same as going to the Dogs!
But possibly I err,

And that sagacious and judicial Creature,
So Chancellor-like in feature.

With ears so wig-like, and a cap of fur,
Looking as grave, responsible, and sage,
As if he had the guardianship, in fact,
Of all poor dogs, or crackt,

And puppies under age

It may be that the Creature was not meant
Any especial Lord to represent,
Eldon or Erskine, Cottenham or Thurlow,
Or Brougham (more like him whose potent jaw
Is holding forth the letter of the law),

Or Lyndhurst, after the vacation's furlough,
Presently sitting in the House of Peers,

On wool he sometimes wishes in his ears,

When touching Corn Laws, Taxes, or Tithe-piggery, He hears a fierce attack,

And, sitting on his sack,

Listens in his great wig to greater Whiggery!

So, possibly, those others,

In coats so various, or sleek, or rough,
Aim not at any of the legal brothers,
Who wear the silken robe, or gown of stuff.
Yet who that ever heard or saw

The Counsel sitting in that solemn Court,
Who, having pass'd the Bar, are safe in port,

Or those great Sergeants, learned in the Law,Who but must trace a feature now and then

Of those forensic men,

As good at finding heirs as any harrier,

Renown'd like greyhounds for long tales-indeed,
At worrying the ear as apt as terriers,—
Good at conveyance as the hairy carriers
That bear our gloves, umbrellas, hats, and sticks,
Books, baskets, bones, or bricks,

In Deeds of Trust as sure as Tray the trusty,-
Acute at sniffing flaws on legal grounds,—
And lastly-well the catalogue it closes !-
Still following their predecessors' noses,
Through ways however dull or dusty,
As fond of hunting precedents, as hounds
Of running after foxes more than musty.

However slow or fast,

Full of urbanity, or supercilious,
In temper wild, serene, or atrabilious,
Fluent of tongue, or prone to legal saw,
The Dogs have got a Chancellor, at last,
For Laying down the Law!

And never may the canine race regret it,
With whinings and repinings loud or deep,-
Ragged in coat, and shorten'd in their keep,
Worried by day, and troubled in their sleep,
With cares that prey upon the heart and fret it
As human suitors have had cause to weep-
For what is Law, unless poor Dogs can get it
Dog-cheap?

A CUSTOM-HOUSE BREEZE.

ONE day-no matter for the month or year,
A Calais packet, just come over,
And safely moor'd within the pier,

Began to land her passengers at Dover;
All glad to end a voyage long and rough,
And during which,

Through roll and pitch,

The Ocean-King had sickophants enough!

Away, as fast as they could walk or run,
Eager for steady rooms and quiet meals,
With bundles, bags, and boxes at their heels,
Away the passengers all went but one,⚫

A female, who from some mysterious check,
Still linger'd on the steamer's deck,

As if she did not care for land a tittle,
For horizontal rooms, and cleanly victual—
Or nervously afraid to put

Her foot

Into an Isle described as "tight and little."

In vain commissioner and touter, Porter and waiter throng'd about her Boring, as such officials only bore—

In spite of rope and barrow, knot and truck, Of plank and ladder, there she stuck,

She couldn't, no, she wouldn't go on shore.

"But, ma'am," the steward interfered,

"The wessel must be cleared.

You mustn't stay aboard, ma'am, no one don't!
It's quite agin the orders so to do-

And all the passengers is gone but you."

Says she, "I cannot go ashore and won't!" "You ought to!"

"But I can't!"

"You must!"

"I shan't!"

At last, attracted by the racket,
"Twixt gown and jacket,

The captain came himself, and cap in hand,
Begg'd very civilly to understand

Wherefore the lady could not leave the packet.

"Why then," the lady whispered with a shiver, That made the accents quiver,

"I've got some foreign silks about me pinn'd, In short so many things, all contraband, To tell the truth I am afraid to land,

In such a searching wind!"

EPIGRAM.

THE SUPERIORITY OF MACHINERY.

A MECHANIC his labour will often discard
If the rate of his pay he dislikes;

But a clock-and its case is uncommonly hard-
Will continue to work, tho' it strikes!

MORE HULLAH-BALOO.

"Loud as from numbers without number."-MILTON.

"You may do it extempore, for it's nothing but roaring."

AMONGST the great inventions of this age,

QUINCE.

Which ev'ry other century surpasses,

Is one,-just now the rage,―

Call'd "Singing for all Classes".

That is, for all the British millions,

And billions,

And quadrillions,

Not to name Quintilians,

That now, alas! have no more ear than asses,
To learn to warble like the birds in June,

In time and tune,

Correct as clocks, and musical as glasses

In fact, a sort of plan,

Including gentleman as well as yokel,

Public or private man,

To call out a Militia,-only Vocal
Instead of Local,

And not designed for military follies,

But keeping still within the civil border,

To form with mouths in open order,
And sing in volleys.

Whether this grand harmonic scheme
Will ever get beyond a dream,