A SYMPATHETIC DAIRYMAID.

Sir James buy a cow, without consulting his dairy-maid, a great authority on such matters: when the new purchase was first exhibited to her she found herself divided between her love of truth, and her amiable desire not to wound the feelings of her beloved master by expressing her candid opinion. She looked meditatively at the new acquisition, and then said, 'She's a bonnie beastie' (pause). 'She's some hee (high) at the root o' the tail' (longer pause)—' but we're a' that ! '

on one occasion had ventured to

DANGERS OF THE (FAR) WESTERN CIRCUIT.

'We remember reading in an American newspaper, some years ago, that the United States lost one of their most upright and erudite judges by bees, which stung him to death in a wood while he was going the circuit. About a year afterwards, we read in the same newspaper, “We are afraid we have just lost another judge by bees," and then followed a somewhat frightful description of the assassination of the American Blackstone by these insects.'

Professor Wilson (1785-1854).

ATALANTA IN CAMDEN TOWN.

Ay, 'twas here, on this spot,

In that summer of yore,

Atalanta did not

Vote my presence a bore,

Nor reply, to my tenderest talk, she had "heard a

that nonsense before."

'She'd the brooch I had bought,

And the necklace and sash on,

And her heart, as I thought,

Was alive to my passion :

And she'd done up her hair in the style that the Empress had brought into fashion.

'I had been to the play,

With my pearl of a Peri :

But, for all I could say,

She declared she was weary,

That "the place was so crowded and hot," and she

"couldn't abide that Dundreary."

'Then I thought " 'tis for me

That she whines and she whimpers,"

And it soothed me to see

Those sensational simpers:

And I said, "This is scrumptious,”—a phrase I had learned from the Devonshire shrimpers.

And I vowed, ""Twill be said

I'm a fortunate fellow,

When the breakfast is spread,

When the topers are mellow,

When the foam of the bride-cake is white, and the fierce orange blossoms are yellow."

‘Oh, that languishing yawn!

Oh, those eloquent eyes!

I was drunk with the dawn

Of a splendid surmise—

I was stung by a look-I was slain by a tear, by a tempest of sighs.

'And I whispered, "I guess

The sweet secret thou keepest,

And the dainty distress

That thou wistfully weepest :

And the question is 'license or banns?'-Though undoubtedly banns are the cheapest."

'Then her white hand I clasp'd,

And with kisses I crowned it.

But she glared, and she gasp'd,

And she mutter'd, "Confound it !"

Or at least it was something like that, but the noise

of the omnibus drown'd it.'

Lewis Carroll.

SUPERSTITION.

James Mitchell was my gamekeeper, and he complained to me that his cow was 'witched.' I told him he was talking nonsense, that the cow had merely gone off its milk in consequence of his wife being confined to bed, and the cow given over to the management of his daughter, a girl of fourteen years of age. He said, 'I ken weel wha has "witched " my coo, it wasna for naething that Mistress Watson stood glowrin' at her wi' her arms at her sides.'

I advised him to be careful as to what he said, as Mrs. Watson's son, being a writer, would certainly prosecute him for libel. 'Na, na,' said he, ' I ken weel what I say. I ken it wor her, for one day I gied to the kennel to feed my daugs, an' I laid my gun again' the rails-and what should run past but a hare: there was na a daug in the kennel that didna cower when that hare run past.' (He was always accustomed to flog them if they chased hares.) I up wi' my gun, and takes a good aim at it, and I didna miss it, but the shot was never cast that would kill that hare. The next day was the Sarbbath, and I gangs up to the kirk, an' wha' should I see but Mistress Watson wi her heed tied up. I kennt I hadna missed her!' C. L. C. B.

A MAN OF FEW WANTS.

An Irishman with a very scanty wardrobe, was strongly advised to buy a portmanteau which was offered him at what appeared an exceedingly reasonable price. Said Pat, 'But what should I do wid it?' 'Why, put your clothes into it, to be sure,' said his adviser. 'What?' says Pat, quite puzzled-'What? and go naked!'

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

6

Thomas Campbell said of Goldsmith's poetry : 'It enjoys a calm and steady popularity,' (I fear this is hardly the case just now,) and it presents us, within its narrow limits, a distinct and unbroken view of poetical delightfulness. His descriptions and sentiments have the pure zest of nature. He is refined without false delicacy, and correct without insipidity.'

I suppose everybody knows Goldsmith's delightful 'Elegy on a Mad Dog.' It has been remarked that Manon Lescault is the great-great-grandmamma of the modern school of French Novel, of which La Dame aux Camélias is typical; surely this elegy of Goldsmith's might bear the same relationship to many of Thomas Hood's inimitable comicalities. It is not so vigorous in versification, it may not be so wildly or fancifully comic, but it is more delicate, and, if I may