THE OLD SHEPHERD'S DOG.

The old shepherd's dog, like his master, was grey,

His teeth all departed, and feeble his tongue; Yet where'er Corin went he was follow'd by Tray,

Thus happy through life did they hobble along.

When fatigu'd on the grass the shepherd would lie,

For a nap in the sun-midst his slumbers so sweet, His faithful companion crawl’d constantly nigh,

Plac'd his head on his lap, or lay down at his feet.

When winter was heard on the hill and the plain,

And torrents descended, and cold was the wind; If Corin went forth 'mid the tempest and rain,

Tray scorn’d to be left in the chimney behind.

At length in the straw Tray made his last bed;

For vain against death is the stoutest endeavour, To lick Corin's hand he rear'd up his weak head, Then fell back, clos'd his eyes, and, ah! clos'd them

for ever!

1

Not long after Tray did the shepherd remain,

Who oft o'er his grave with true sorrow would bend, And when dying, thus feebly exclaim'd the poor swain, “O bury me, neighbours, beside my old friend." .

Peter Pindar.

THE SCHOOL FOR MANNERS.

AN EPIGRAM.

Lord Spencer, who rules at the Admiralty Board,

Last summer on board the king's yacth, With his friend, my Lord Howe, was exchanging a word,

While each on his head kept his hat.
When a tar to his messmate said, “Twig, brother Ned,

That fresh-wat r fellow, so trim,
To the Amburral talks, with the hat on his head,

Without lifting his paw to the brim!” * Why what of all that ?” says the other, quite cool,

“ Such a sight is no wonder to me; For how should the lubber learn manners, you fool, When

you
know he ne'er was at sea."

Naval Chronicle.

EPIGRAM.

Doctor Lee, who at punning all punsters defied,
When his friend Doctor Egg to the distaff was tied,
By a dame who for years his addresses had spurn’d,
While for Bachelor White she with ardency burn'd;
“ The good lady," quoth he,“hath much suit undergone,
And to take up with Egg, has for years been egg’d on:
But 'tis my firm belief if, the truth may be spoke,
She's too fond of the White to be pleas'd with the Yoke.”

Museum of Wit.

EPIGRAM.

Tom taken by Tim his new mansion to view, He observ'd “ 'Twas a big one with windows too few;" “ As for that,” replies Tim, “ I'in the builder's forgiver, For taxes 'twill save, and that's good for the Liver; " True,” says Tom, “as you live upon farthings and

mites, For the Liver 'tis good—but 'tis bad for the Lights.”

Museum of Wit.

EPIGRAM.

ON VENDING COUNTERPEIT GILT BUTTONS,

That guilt has punishment to fear,

It stands on reason's ground;
But where no guilt did e'er appear,

Who can be guilty found?

Then on what ground, logicians say,

Is this strange doctrine built,
That button-gilders guilt betray,

In works quite free from gilt ?

For, if by want of gilt, they shéw

How much to guilt they're prone;
'Tis passing strange that guilt should flow
From giltless works alone!"

DRY HUMOUR.

'Twas on a day, but not the last, , When orders for a gen’ral Fast

Were from the Cockpit given ; That men no more in sin might plunge, But wipe all out by sorrow's spunge,

And make their odds all even,

When soaking Sam, who ev'ry day
To Sots Hole went, to soak his clay,

There found the doors all barr’d;
For Sam the front and postern try’d,
But all in vain for entrance ply'd,

A case he thought quite hard !

And hard and harder while he knock'd, Silence within his battring nioek’d,

”Till Sally op'd the sash, And cry'd, “ Pray cease your rat tat tat, This day we're all resolv'd, that's flat,

To fast, and take no cash.”.

Why then,” says Sam, in sulky strain, “ Fast on—I'll rap no more in vain,

Upset me if I do ; But you'ıe a pack of curst queer elves, ..Who, not content to fast yourselves,

Must make your doors fast too."

MILITARY JEU D' ESPRIT.

A colonel, by chronicles, late it appears,
Ia style gave a treat to his brave volunteers;
The dishes were good, but the glasses so small,
His heroes could scarcely drink any at all.
The commandant thus to his right and left wing
Said “Gentlemen, charge, let us drink to the king!"
A corporal, eyeing his glass at the time,
Cry'd “ Col’nel, here's hardly enough for a prime!"

THE SIMPLE TRUTH MOST SIMPLY

TOLD.

Honest Teague, when return'd from a trip to the

North, For to Lapland 'twas said he had been; Was question'd—“if during his cold wintry birth,

Whether any Rein Deer he had seen ?”

“When," said he, “by my sowle, as the truth I

regard, I was station’d there almost a year ; And sometimes, in summer, it rain'd very hard,

But I never once saw it rain Deer.”