With pistols, powder, bullets, surgeons, lint, Seconds, and smelling-bottles, and foreboding, Our friends advanced; and now portentous loading

(Their hearts already loaded) served to show It might be better they shook hands, - but no; When each opines himself, though frightened, right,

Each is, in courtesy, obliged to fight! And they did fight: from six full-measured paces The unbeliever pulled his trigger first; And fearing, from the braggart's ugly faces, The whizzing lead had whizzed its very worst, Ran up, and with a duelistic fear

(His ire evanishing like morning vapors), Found him possessed of one remaining ear, Who in a manner sudden and uncouth, Had given, not lent, the other ear to truth; For while the surgeon was applying lint, He, wriggling, cried, 'The deuce is in 'tSir! I meant -CAPERS!"

WILLIAM BASIL WAKE.

THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS.

A BRACE of sinners, for no good,

Were ordered to the Virgin Mary's shrine, Who at Loretto dwelt, in wax, stone, wood,

And in a fair white wig looked wondrous fine.

knave;

Did certain persons die before they sing.

THE WELL OF ST. KEYNE.

"In the parish of St. Neots, Cornwall, is a well arched over with the robes of four kinds of trees, withy, oak, elm, and ash, -and dedicated to St. Keyne. The reported virtue of the water is this, that, whether husband or wife first drink thereof, they get the mastery thereby."- FULLER.

A WELL there is in the West country,
And a clearer one never was seen;
There is not a wife in the West country
But has heard of the Well of St. Keyne.

An oak and an elm tree stand beside,
And behind does an ash-tree grow,
And a willow from the bank above
Droops to the water below.

A traveler came to the well of St. Keyne; Pleasant it was to his eye,

For from cock-crow he had been traveling, And there was not a cloud in the sky.

He drank of the water so cool and clear,
For thirsty and hot was he,
And he sat down upon the bank,

Under the willow-tree.

There came a man from the neighboring town
At the well to fill his pail,
On the well-side he rested it,

And bade the stranger hail.

"Now art thou a bachelor, stranger?" quoth he, "For an if thou hast a wife,

The happiest draught thou hast drank this day That ever thou didst in thy life.

"Or has your good woman, if one you have, In Cornwall ever been?

For an if she have, I'll venture my life She has drunk of the well of St. Keyne."

Dozing with headaches till the afternoon, Lose half men's regular estate of sun,

By borrowing too largely of the moon.

One of this kidney - Toby Tosspot hight
Was coming from the Bedford late at night;
And being Bacchi plenus, full of wine,
Although he had a tolerable notion
Of aiming at progressive motion,
'T was n't direct, —'t was serpentine.
He worked with sinuosities, along,
Like Monsieur Corkscrew, worming through a
cork,

Not straight, like Corkscrew's proxy, stiff Don
Prong,
a fork.

The stranger he made reply;

SIR MARMADUKE was a hearty knight,

Good man! old man!
He's painted standing bolt upright,

With his hose rolled over his knee;
His periwig 's as white as chalk,
And on his fist he holds a hawk;
And he looks like the head
Of an ancient family.

His dining-room was long and wide, -
Good man! old man!
His spaniels lay by the fireside;

And in other parts, d' ye see,
Cross-bows, tobacco-pipes, old hats,
A saddle, his wife, and a litter of cats;
And he looked like the head

Of an ancient family.

He never turned the poor from the gate, Good man! old man!

But was always ready to break the pate Of his country's enemy.

What knight could do a better thing
Than serve the poor and fight for his king?

And so may every head

Of an ancient family.

GEORGE COLMAN THE YOUNGER.

THE FINE OLD ENGLISH GENTLEMAN.*

I'LL sing you a good old song,
Made by a good old pate,
Of a fine old English gentleman
Who had an old estate,
And who kept up his old mansion
At a bountiful old rate;
With a good old porter to relieve
The old poor at his gate,
Like a fine old English gentleman
All of the olden time.

His hall so old was hung around
With pikes and guns and bows,
And swords, and good old bucklers,

That had stood some tough old blows; 'T was there "his worship" held his state In doublet and trunk hose,

And quaffed his cup of good old sack,
To warm his good old nose,
Like a fine, etc.

When winter's cold brought frost and snow, He opened house to all;

And though threescore and ten his years, He featly led the ball;

Nor was the houseless wanderer

E'er driven from his hall;

For while he feasted all the great,
He ne'er forgot the small;
Like a fine, etc.

But time, though old, is strong in flight,
And years roll swiftly by ;

And Autumn's falling leaves proclaimed
This good old man must die!
He laid him down right tranquilly,

Gave up life's latest sigh;

And mournful stillness reigned around,
And tears bedewed each eye,
For this good, etc.

Now surely this is better far
Than all the new parade
Of theatres and fancy balls,

"At home" and masquerade :
And much more economical,
For all his bills were paid.
Then leave your new vagaries quite,
And take up the old trade
Of a fine old English gentleman,

All of the olden time.

ANONYMOUS

Modeled upon an old black-letter song, called "The Old and Young Courtier."