His knowledge, hid from public gaze,
He did not bring to view;
Nor make a noise, town-meeting days,
As many people do.

His worldly goods he never threw
In trust to fortune's chances;
But lived (as all his brothers do)
In easy circumstances.

Thus undisturbed by anxious cares,
His peaceful moments ran,
And everybody said he was
A fine old gentleman.

ALBERT G. GREENE

THE REMOVAL.

A NERVOUS old gentleman, tired of trade,

By which, though, it seems, he a fortune had made,-
Took a house 'twixt two sheds, at the skirts of the town,
Which he meant, at his leisure, to buy and pull down.

This thought struck his mind when he viewed the estate;
But, alas! when he entered he found it too late ;

For in each dwelt a smith:

--

a more hard-working two Never doctored a patient, or put on a shoe.

At six in the morning, their anvils, at work,
Awoke our good squire, who raged like a Turk:
"These fellows," he cried, "such a clattering keep,
That I never can get above eight hours of sleep."

From morning till night they keep thumping away, —
No sound but the anvil the whole of the day:
His afternoon's nap, and his daughter's new song,
Were banished and spoiled by their hammers' ding-dong.

He offered each Vulcan to purchase his shop;
But, no! they were stubborn, determined to stop:
At length (both his spirits and health to improve)
He cried, "I'll give each fifty guineas to move."

66

Agreed!" said the pair; "that will make us amends.” "Then come to my house, and let us part friends:

You shall dine; and we 'll drink on this joyful occasion, That each may live long in his new habitation."

gave

He the two blacksmiths a sumptuous regale,
He spared not provisions, his wine, nor his ale;

So much was he pleased with the thought that each guest Would take from him noise, and restore to him rest.

"And now,” said he, "tell me, where mean you to moveI hope to some spot where your trade will improve?" "Why, sir," replied one, with a grin on his phiz, "Tom Forge moves to my shop, and I move to his !"

ANONYMOUS.

HISTORY OF JOHN DAY.

JOHN DAY, he was the biggest man
Of all the coachman kind;

With back too broad to be conceived
By any narrow mind.

The very horses knew his weight,
When he was in the rear,
And wished his box a christmas-box,
To come but once a year.

Alas! against the shafts of love
What armor can avail?

Soon Cupid sent an arrow through

His scarlet coat of mail.

The bar-maid of "The Crown" he loved,
From whom he never ranged;

For, though he changed his horses there,
His love he never changed.

He thought her fairest of all fares,
So fondly love prefers;

And often among twelve outsides,
No outside deemed like hers.

One day as she was sitting down
Beside the porter pump,

He came and knelt, with all his fat,
And made an offer plump.

Said she, " "My taste will never learn
To like so huge a man ;

So I must beg you will come here
As little as you can.'

But still he stoutly urged his suit,
With vows, and sighs, and tears;
Yet could not pierce her heart, although
He drove the Dart for years.

But John, though he drank nothing else,
He drank himself to death.

The cruel maid, that caused his love,
Found out the fatal close,

For looking in the butt, she saw

The butt-end of his woes.

Some say his spirit haunts the Crown;

But that is only talk;

For after riding all his life,

His ghost objects to walk.

THE ALARMED SKIPPER.

MANY a long, long year ago,
Nantucket skippers had a plan

Of finding out, though "lying low,"

How near New York their schooners ran.

They greased the lead before it fell,

And then, by sounding through the night, Knowing the soil that stuck, so well,

They always guessed their reckoning right.

A skipper gray, whose eyes were dim,
Could tell by tasting, just the spot,
And so below, he 'd "dowse the glim'
After, of course, his "something hot."

Snug in his berth, at eight o'clock,

This ancient skipper might be found; No matter how his craft would rock,

He slept for skippers' naps are sound!

The watch on deck would now and then
Run down and wake him, with the lead;
He'd up and taste, and tell the men
How many miles they went ahead.

One night, 't was Jotham Marden's watch,
A curious wag-the peddler's son;

HOOD.

And so he mused, (the wanton wretch,)
"To-night I'll have a grain of fun.

"We're all a set of stupid fools,

To think the skipper knows by tasting
What ground he's on; Nantucket schools
Don't teach such stuff, with all their basting!"

And so he took the well greased lead,

And rubbed it o'er a box of earth That stood on deck — (a parsnep bed) —

And then he sought the skipper's berth.

"Where are we now, sir? Please to taste."
The skipper yawned, put out his tongue,
Then oped his eyes in wondrous haste,
And then upon the floor he sprung !

The skipper stormed, and tore his hair,
Thrust on his boots, and roared to Marden —
"Nantucket's sunk, and here we are

Right over old Marm Hackett's garden!"

J. T. FIELD.

THE SEVEN AGES OF MAN

ALL the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.

At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms:

And then, the whining school-boy, with his sachel,
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school: and then, the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow: then, a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth: and then, the justice,
In fair round belly, with good capon lined,