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orange, sobering down into brown towards the end of the year. But I must say, they exhibit great taste and always look well, though they are now considerably advanced in years. But I am

far from being their only admirer; they are great favourites with the W―n boys, who (by way of doing the civil, no doubt,) cut Wtheir initials in the old gentlemen's shins. They seem, however, in no wise disconcerted by it, nor by other rough attention of their young friends, who knock them about with sticks and stones to induce them to throw down handfuls of nuts to them in the autumn. Iam often greatly amused by listening to their conversation as they lie under the shade, opening the nuts. Indeed, this I may say is my favorite amusement, listening (not impertinently I hope,) to the conversations of passers-by. In the spring time I often see the same boys climbing up trees in search of eggs, and as they pass by me many's the story I've heard them tell of their bird's-nesting adventures,-how one climbed up an "awful hard” tree after a magpie's nest and then found it was not quite finished; and how another had a near escape from old "Velveteens," who called to him to come back, and how he had to run for it over all sorts of hedges and ditches. Many funny scraps could I tell you that I have picked up from different travellers from a comfortably stout farmer chatting about the market with a neighbour, whom he is helping with a lift for a bit of the way home,from a young couple talking very prettily how but (pardon the boast,) I have some discretion, and must not publish everything, my neighbourhood

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or others may become more shy of talking in if they find me a betrayer of secrets, and so I should lose more than half my amusement.

"One thing, I confess, makes me rather angry, and that is, when the passers-by begin to abuse me (when really it is no fault of mine) in some such words as these: 'Plague take the milestone, I thought we had passed it a long time ago.' Others treat me more kindly, especially a party of children when they can get out for the day to a wood not far off. These give me a kind look, and I hear them say as they trot along the road, 'Hurrah! here's the old milestone; we shall soon be there now!' As they repass me,

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on their return home in the evening, there is a great difference in their look; they seem rather tired, but still you can see from their happy faces that they have had a pleasant holiday.

"Once I had a dreadful accident, soon after I came to live here, and I thought at first that my skull was cracked, but I found afterwards that I had escaped with the loss only of a piece of my scalp, taken off by the wheel of a coach. The driver (a little the worse for drink I suppose, and not able to see very straight,) ran the coach right up against me and caused the accident to which I allude. I at first was too much taken up with my own wound to think of the passengers, but still I could not help hearing a great many cries for help, though I heard the next day, from passers-by, that the only serious damage done was, that one man's leg was broken."

Here the sudden appearance of my friend F. aroused me, and put an end to the chatty old milestone's talking.

RURIS AMATOR.

CHANGE FOR A PENNY!

WHAT a rich fellow I am! I have actually a penny left from last Saturday's allowance! What shall I do with it? How it burns in my pocket! But what's the row by the Conduit? and whence that rush of all classes-small ragamuffins largely preponderating, however and who is that orator who, above the heads of the people, harangues them, if not with the flow of language of Demosthenes, at any rate with his enthusiasm ? But I had best inquire of the excited throng around me; here is a juvenile vagabond who has been among the foremost. I hail him; "What is it all about, young fellow ?" "Gie I a penny and thee'll know," is the somewhat rude response I obtain, in strong Dorset dialect; but what can one expect of country clowns? Hurrah! that stout personage moving enables me to obtain a commanding view and hear the noisy eloquence of our modern Cleon; he vociferates that he has kindly consented to afford the inhabitants of Sherborne an

opportunity of procuring what they will never again have a chance of doing for the same sum! viz., three wedding rings, a five-pound note, a sovereign, a love-letter, and last, though not least, a gold horse-shoe pin, all for a penny, and this last in itself is an emblem of good luck, if we may believe tradition handed down to us through the medium of nursery rhymes and superstitious grooms; but revenons à nos moutons, as our Gallic neighbours say. There is philosophy, too, in the Charlatan's arguments (he must be a disciple of Plato!), as he rightly observes, the three wedding rings will enable the lucky purchaser to have as many wives (should he, perchance, lose the first two); the sovereign would buy a marriage license, whilst the five-pound note will be no small item as (what our Transatlantic friends term) a help in housekeeping and its pleasures; but we must not forget the love-letter, which will facilitate the capture of the bride, as it will prevent any unpleasant interviews in the study with Papa; for if it falls into his hands it will read in anything but complimentary terms to the fair one, who in her turn, knowing the secret, will read alternate lines, and thereby receive all those pretty little effusions usual in such cases. Reader, could I stand such temptations? I could not, and therefore followed the example of the multitude, and thus obtained my Change for a Penny.

SARNIA.

A STORM IN THE TROPICS.

Sinks weary Phoebus to his Western couch,
Unnoticed and alone; hid by the angry clouds
Which swarm in threat'ning mass athwart the sky,
With light'nings armed, and big with waters wild.
The round Moon rises in the Eastern zone,
Shedding her soft, mild light on all around,
As if to deprecate the angry mass,
Spurred on by a relentless force of winds
To waste the beauty of a sister world.
All Nature's still: the mighty king of beasts

Forbears to roam in his accustomed haunts,
And crouches in his den; bound by an awe
Of some impending evil yet unseen.

The stealthy tiger too, that long hath sat
Waiting and watching for expected prey,

Hath sought his lair; no more the jackall screams
Nor fierce hyena, with unearthly sound,

Laughs in the wood but all have slunk away,
And wait with anxious hearts the coming storm.
E'en Man, Creation's haughty Sovereign,

Is restless and oppressed, and-like the baser beasts—
Yields to a power more mighty than himself,

And flees before the wrathful elements.

Sweet Nature, meek, submitting, bows her head,
And waits in silent fear the coming blast.
At length the storm is ripe, the thunder rolls-
At first in murmured mutterings to itself,
And then, as bolder grown, in one vast crash,
Ceaseless and awful; the blinding lightning, too,
Shoots through the startled air its jagged bolts,
Piercing, unkind, the sylvan brethren twain,
The hoary monarchs of the russet wood,

Which, side by side, have weathered out each storm,
And side by side are stricken, till at last

They meet, as brothers should, in fond embrace.

The fierce tornado o'er the face of earth

Hurries triumphant; and the leafy race

Quiver and tremble in its mighty power;

While the sweet flowers are bowed before the storm,

And, scattered, lie upon the lap of earth.

And now the cooling rain upon the earth,

That long hath wooed the fleecy clouds in vain,

Descends in unrestrainèd fury wild,

Clothing the meadows with its watery waste.
The little murmuring rill, that peaceful ran
Down by the mountain side, hath now become
A foaming cataract; and woe to him
Whoe'er shall dare to bar its onward course.
At last sweet Cynthia shows her sad, soft face,

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Thus Cynthia wooed away the storm; for what
More strong to banish care and angry wrath
Than Beauty's voice, and soft, upbraiding face?
What drives away a mother's anxious care
More than her new born baby's self-taught speech?
What sooner smooths the husband's angry brow
Than the dear pleading face of her he loves?
Yes! Beauty its soft soothing can impart,
And, ay! can pierce the most relentless heart.

VICTOR.

A SHAVE.

I DARE say a few of those fellows still at Sherborne, although but a very few, will remember a pistol mania which ranged through the School, and which ruled with quite as determined a sway as that of Rifle Corps at the present time. At the period of which I am writing it was thought "the thing" to have a brace (at least) of guns, which was the familiar title applied to the said weapons, and the unfortunate wight who was destitute of them quite lost caste amongst his more lucky companions. Accordingly, almost the first thing that a new fellow did, was to arm himself according to étiquette.

I had gone out one day with a friend, practising at gate-posts or any other convenient mark, and we were in the middle of popping and loading, with a speed which, if it did not quite equal the rapidity of loading and firing the Armstrong gun, yet was not so bad for schoolboys, when, to our immense dismay, we perceived two masters approaching. They must have heard the reports, and if they see us we shall have some awkward questions, the result of which will be, having to give up our pistols, and getting a

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