At home, she must all habits check that disparage,
And when they go out must attend to their carriage.
Her faith must be orthodox-temper most pliable-
Health good and reference quite undeniable.
These are the principal matters-Au reste,
Address, Bury Street, Mrs. General Peste.
As the salary's moderate, none need apply
Who more on that point than on comfort rely.

THE TINKER AND GLAZIER.

WILLIAM HARRISON.

William Harrison died in 1712. He was a great friend of Dean Swift's, and associated with Steele in the editorship of the Tatler. Several of his poetical pieces appeared in Dodsley's and Nichol's Collections.

Two thirsty souls met on a sultry day,

One Glazier Dick, the other Tom the Tinker;

Both with light purses, but with spirits gay;

And hard it were to name the sturdiest drinker.
Their ale they quaff'd ;

And, as they swigg'd the nappy,

They both agreed, 'tis said,

That trade was wond'rous dead.

They joked, sung, laugh'd,

And were completely happy.

The Landlord's eye, bright as his sparkling ale,
Glisten'd to see them the brown pitcher hug;
For every jest, and song, and merry tale,

Had this blithe ending- Bring us t'other mug.'

Now Dick the Glazier feels his bosom burn,
To do his friend, Tom Tinker, a good turn;
And, where the heart to friendship feels inclined,
Occasion seldom loiters long behind.

The kettle, gaily singing on the fire,

Gives Dick a hint, just to his heart's desire :
And, while to draw more ale the Landlord goes,
Dick, in the ashes, all the water throws;
Then puts the kettle on the fire again,
And at the Tinker winks,

6

As Trade's success!' he drinks,

Nor doubts the wish'd success Tom will obtain.
Our Landlord ne'er could such a toast withstand;
So, giving each kind customer a hand,
His friendship too display'd,

And drank-'Success to trade !'

But, oh how pleasure vanish'd from his eye,
How long and rueful his round visage grew,

Soon as he saw the kettle's bottom fly,

Solder the only fluid he could view !

He raved, he caper'd, and he swore,

And cursed the kettle's body o'er and o'er.

'Come! come!' says Dick, 'fetch us, my friend, more

ale;

All trades, you know, must live :

Let's drink-" May trade with none of us, e'er fail !"

The job to Tom, then, give;

And, for the ale he drinks, our lad of mettle,

Take my word for it, soon will mend your kettle.'

The Landlord yields; but hopes 'tis no offence,
To curse the trade, that thrives at his expense.

Tom undertakes the job; to work he goes ;
And just concludes it, with the evening's close.
Souls so congenial had friends Tom and Dick,

Each might be fairly call'd a loving brother;
Thought Tom, to serve my friend I know a trick,
And one good turn in truth deserves another!
Out now he slily slips,

But not a word he said.

The plot was in his head,

And off he nimbly trips.

Swift to the neighb'ring church his way he takes ;
Nor in the dark

Misses his mark,

But every pane of glass he quickly breaks.
Back as he goes,

His bosom glows,

To think how great will be his friend Dick's joy,
At getting so much excellent employ,
Return'd, he beckoning, draws his friend aside,
Importance in his face,

And to Dick's ear his mouth applied,

Thus briefly states the case :

'Dick? I may give you joy, you're a made man; I've done your business most complete, my friend : I'm off!-the devil may catch me, if he can.

Each window of the church you've got to mend ;

Ingratitude's worst curse my head befall,

If, for your sake, I have not broke them all!'

Tom with surprise sees Dick turn pale,
Who deeply sighs-'Oh, la !'

Then drops his under jaw,

And all his powers of utt'rance fail :
While horror in his ghastly face,

And bursting eye-balls, Tom can trace;
Whose sympathetic muscles, just and true,
Share with his heart

Dick's unknown smart,

And two such phizzes ne'er met mortal view.
At length, friend Dick his speech regain'd,
And soon the mystery explain'd—

'You have, indeed, my business done!
And I, as well as you, must run :

For let me act the best I can,

Tom! Tom! I am a ruin'd man.

Zounds! zounds! this piece of friendship costs me dear, I always mend church windows—by the year!

THE PIOUS EDITOR'S CREED.

The Biglow Papers, by James Russell Lowell, is well known as one of the most racy and pungent volumes of humorous and satirical verse which has emanated from the press of America. The Pious Editor's Creed is, says the editor of the English edition, an exquisite piece of satire levelled at the swarms of noisy editors in the United States, who seek political preferment in the

great quadrennial scrambles.' Professor Lowell was born at Boston in 1819, and he fills the chair of Belles-Lettres in Harvard University. As a poet and humorist, he occupies a high position in America and Great Britain.

I DU believe in Freedom's cause,
Ez fur away ez Paris is ;

I love to see her stick her claws
In them infarnal Pharisees;
It's wal enough agin a king

To dror resolves an' triggers,-
But libbaty's a kind o' thing

Thet don't agree with niggers.

I du believe the people want
A tax on teas an' coffees,
Thet nothin' aint extravygunt,—
Purvidin' I'm in office;

Fer I hev loved my country sence

My eye-teeth fill'd their sockets,
An' Uncle Sam I reverence,

Partic❜larly his pockets

I du believe in any plan
O' levyin' the taxes,

Ez long ez, like a lumberman,

I

I git jest wut I axes :

go free-trade thru thick an' thin,

Because it kind o' rouses

The folks to vote,―an' keeps us in

Our quiet custom-houses

E