My gals is as steady as clockwork, and never give cause for much fear,

But they come home from school t'other evenin' a-talkin' such stuff as this here: I love,' an' Thou lovest,' an' 'He loves,' an'' Ye love,' an' You love,' an' 'They-’ An' they answered my questions, 'It's grammar'-'twas all I could get 'em to say. Now if 'stead of doin' your duty, you're carryin' matters on so

As to make the gals say that they love you, it's just all that I want to know ;

Now Jim, the young heaven-built mechanic, in the dusk of the evening before,
Had well-nigh unjointed the stove-pipe, to make it come down on the floor;
And the squire bringing smartly his foot down, as a clincher to what he had said,
A joint of the pipe fell upon him, and larruped him square on the head.
The soot flew in clouds all about him, and blotted with black all the place,
And the squire and the other four fathers were peppered with black in the face.
The school, ever sharp for amusement, laid down all their cumbersome books,
And, spite of the teacher's endeavors, laughed loud at their visitor's looks.
And the squire, as he stalked to the doorway, swore oaths of a violet hue;
And the four district fathers, who followed, seemed to say, "Them's my sentiments
tew."

III. THE BACHELOR'S SALE.

DAVIDSON.

DREAMED a dream in the midst of my slumbers,

And, as fast as I dreamed, it was coined into numbers;

My thoughts ran along in such beautiful metre,

I'm sure I ne'er saw any poetry sweeter.

It seemed that a law had been recently made

That a tax on old Bachelors' pates should be laid ;
And, in order to make them all willing to marry,
The tax was as large as a man could well carry.
The bachelors grumbled, and said "'Twas no use”-
"Twas cruel injustice! and horrid abuse !”-

And declared that, to save their own hearts' blood from spilling,
Of such a vile tax they would ne'er pay a shilling,

But the rulers determined their scheme to pursue,

So they set all the bachelors up at vendue.

A "Crier" was sent through the town to and fro
To rattle his bell, and his trumpet to blow,
And to bawl out to all he might meet on his way,
"Ho! forty old Bachelors for sale here to-day!"
And presently all the old Old maids of the town-
Each one in her very best bonnet and gown,
From thirty to sixty, fair, plain, red, and pale,—
Of every description, all flocked to the sale.

The auctioneer then at his labor began,

And called out aloud, as he held up a man—

'How much for this Bachelor? Who wants to buy ?"
In a twinkle every maiden responded, “I—I!”
In short, at a highly extravagant price,

The Bachelors all were sold off in a trice,

And forty Old Maidens-some younger, some older,—
Each lugged an Old Bachelor home on her shoulder!

IV. THE SONG OF THE STETHOSCOPE.
OLIVER W. HOLMES.

HERE was a young man in Boston town,

He bought him a Stethoscope nice and new, All mounted, and finished, and polished down, With an ivory cap and stopper too.

It happened, a spider within did crawl,
And spun him a web of ample size;
Wherein there chanced, one day, to fall
A couple of very imprudent flies.

The first was a bottle-fly, big and blue :
The second was smaller, and thin and long
So there was a concert between the two.—
Like an octave flute and a tavern gong.

Now, being from Paris but recently,

This fine young man would show his skill;
And so they gave him, his hand to try,
A hospital-patient, extremely ill.

Some said that his liver was short of bile,
And some that his heart was oversize;
While some kept arguing, all the while,

He was cramm'd witd tubercles up to the eyes.

This fine young man then up stepp'd he,
And all the doctors made a pause;
Said he,-"The man must die, you see,
By the fifty-seventh of Louis's laws.

"But since the case is a desperate one,

To explore his chest it may be well;
For, if he should die, and it were not done
You know the autopsy would not tell.”

Then out his Stethoscope he took,

And on it placed his curious ear:

"Ma foi!" said he with knowing look,

"Why, here is a sound that is mighty queer!"

"The bourdonnement is very clear

Amphoric buzzing, as I'm alive!”

Five doctors took their turn to hear

"Amphoric buzzing!" said all the five.

"There's empyema beyond a doubt:

We'll plunge a trocar in his side :

The diagnosis is made out !"

They tapped the patient: so he died!

There was an Old Lady had long been sick,
And what was the matter none did know;
Her pulse was slow, though her tongue was quick,
She ask'd the young doctor to visit her, so.

They all made rhymes with "sighs" and "skies," And loathed their puddings and butter'd rolls;

And dieted, much to their friends' surprise,

On pickle, and pencils, and chalk, and coals.

So fast their little hearts did bound,

The frightened insects buzzed the more ! So over all their chests he found

"The rale sifflant !"-"the rale sonore !"?

He shook his head :- There's grave disease;
I greatly fear you all must die;
A slight post-mortem, if you please,
Surviving friends would gratify."

The Six Young Damsels wept aloud !-
Which so prevailed on Six Young Men
That each his honest love avowed-
Whereat they all got well again!

The poor young man was all aghast!

The price of stethoscopes came down ;

And so he was reduced, at last,

To practise in a country town.

The doctors being very sore,
A Stethoscope they did devise
That had a rammer to clear the bore,

With a knob at the end to kill the flies.

Now use your ears, all you that can,

But don't forget to mind your eyes;

Or you may be cheated, like this young man,
By a couple of silly abnormal flies!

V.-SHAMUS O'BRIEN.-A BALLAD OF NINETY

J

(A CONDENSATION.)—J. SHERIDAN LEFANU.

IST afther the war, in the year 'ninety-eight,

As soon as the boys wor all scattered and bate, 'Twas the custom, whenever a pesant was got, To hang him by thrial-barrin' sich as was shot. There was trial by jury goin' on by day-light, And the martial-law hangin' the lavins by night. It's them was hard times for an honest gosssoon : If he missed in the judges-he'd meet a dragoon; An' whether the sogers or judges gev sentence. The sorra much time they allowed for repentance. An' its many's the fine boy was then an his keepin', Wid small share iv restin', or atin', or sleepin'; Unsheltered by night, and unrested by day, With the heath for their barrack, revenge for their pay. An' the bravest an' hardiest boy iv them all Was Shamus O'Brien, from the town iv Glingall. For lightness iv fut there was not his peer, For, by gorra, he'd almost outrun the red deer; An' his dancin' was sich that the men used to stare, An' the woman turn crazy, he done it so quare; An', by gorra, the whole world gev it into him there! An' it's he was the boy that was hard to be caught, An' it's often he run, an' it's often he fought.

But the fox must sleep some times, the wild deer must rest.
An' treachery prey on the blood iv the best.

Afther many a brave action of power and pride,
An' many a hard run on the mountain's bleak side,
An' a thousand great dangers and toils overpast,
In the darkness of night he was taken at last.

Now, Shamus, look back on the beautiful moon,
For the door of the prison must close on you soon:
Now take your last look of its dim misty light
As it falls on the mountain and valley to-night,
Farewell to the forest, farewell to the hill,

And farewell to the friends who will think of you still;
Farewell to the pattern, the hurling and wake,

And farewell to the girl that would die for your sake.
Twelve soldiers brought him to Marlborough jail,

And with irons secured him, refusing all bail.

The fleet limbs wor chained, an' the sthrong hands wor

bound.

An' he laid down his length on the could prison ground.
An' the dreams of his childhood kem over him there,

As gentle an' soft as the sweet summer air:
Bringing fresh to his heart merry days long gone by,

Till the tears gathered heavy and thick in his eye.
But the tears didn't fall, for the pride of his heart
Would not suffer one drop down his pale cheek to start;
An' he sprang to his feet in the dark prison cave,
An' he swore, with the fierceness that misery gave,
By the hopes of the goods, an' the cause of the brave,
That when he was mouldering in the cold grave
His enemies never should have it to boast

His scorn of their vengeance one moment was lost;
His bosom might bleed, but his cheek should be dhry,
For undaunted he lived, and undaunted he'd die.

Well, as soon as a few weeks was over and gone,

The terrible day iv the thrial kem on;

An' the court was so full that the people wor bothered,
An' attorneys an' criers on the point iv bein smothered;
An' counsellors almost gev over for dead,

An' the jury sittin' up in their box overhead;

An' the judge settled out so detarmined and big,

With his gown on his back, and an illigant new wig;
An' silence was called, an' the minute it was said

The court was as still as the heart of the dead.
An' they heard but the openin' of one prison lock,
An' Shamus O'Brien kem into the dock.

For one minute he turned his eye round on the throng,
An' he looked at the bars, so firm and so strong,
An' he saw that he had not a hope, nor a friend,
A chance to escape, nor a word to defend :
And they read a big writin', a yard long at laste,
But Jim didn't understand it, nor mind it a taste.
An' the judge took a big pinch iv snuff, an' he says,
"Are you guilty or not, Jim O'Brien, iv you plaze?

An' all held their breath in the silence of dhread,
An' Shamus O'Brien made answer and said,
"My lord, if you ask me, if in my lifetime

I thought any treason, or did any crime

That should call to my cheek, as I stand alone here,
The hot blush of shame, or the coldness of fear,

Though I stood by the grave to receive my death-blow,
Before God and the world I would answer you, no;

But if you would ask me, as I think it like,

If in the rebellion I carried a pike,

An' fought for ould Ireland from the first to the close,
An' sheltered in peril her friends from her foes,

I answer you, yes!—an' I tell you again,
Though I stand here to perish, it's my glory that then
In her cause I was willing my veins should run dhry,
An' that now for her sake I am ready to die."

Then the silence was great, an' the jury smiled bright,
An' the judge wans't sorry the job was made light;
By my sowl, it's himself was the crabbed ould chap,
In a twinklin' he pulled on his ugly black cap.