Then, settling that he meant to tease,
She slapped her father's face,
"You bad old man, to sit and tell
Such gibbery gosh about a bell!"

TURNING THE GRINDSTONE.

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN.

WHEN I was a little boy, I remember, one cold winter's morning, I was accosted by a smiling man with an axe on his shoulder. My pretty boy," said he, "has your father a grindstone?" "Yes, sir," said I. "You are a fine little fellow," said he; "will you let me grind my axe on it?" Pleased with the compliment of "fine little fellow," "O yes, sir," I answered. "It is down in the shop." "-" And will you, my man," said he, patting me on the head, "get me a little hot water?" How could I refuse? I ran, and soon brought a kettle full. "How old are you? and what's your name?" continued he, without waiting for a reply ; "I am sure you are one of the finest lads that ever I have seen; will you just turn a few minutes for me?"

Tickled with the flattery, like a little fool, I went to work, and bitterly did I rue the day. It was a new axe, and I toiled and tugged till I was almost tired to death. The school-bell rang, and I could not get away; my hands were blistered, and the axe was not half ground. At length, however, it was sharpened; and the man turned to me with, "Now, you little rascal,

you've played truant; scud to the school, or you'll rue it!” — “Alas!” thought I, "it was hard enough to turn a grindstone, this cold day; but now to be called a little rascal, is too much."

A NOCTURNAL SKETCH.

THOMAS HOOD.

EVEN is come; and from the dark Park hark,
The signal of the setting sun-one gun!
And six is sounding from the chime,

prime time
Το
go and see the Drury-Lane Dane slain,
Or hear Othello's jealous doubt spout out,-
Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade,
Denying to his frantic clutch much touch;-
Or else to see Ducrow with wide stride ride
Four horses as no other man can span;
Or in the small Olympic pit, sit split

Laughing at Liston, while you quiz his phiz.

Anon Night comes, and with her wings brings things
Such as, with his poetic tongue, Young sung;
The gas up-blazes with its bright white light,
And paralytic watchmen prowl, howl, growl,
About the streets and take up Pall-Mall Sal,
Who, hasting to her nightly jobs, robs fobs.
Now thieves to enter for your cash, smash, crash,
Past drowsy Charley, in a deep sleep, creep,

But frightened by Policeman B. 3, flee,

And while they're going, whisper low, —"No go!"

Now
puss, while folks are in their beds, treads leads,
And sleepers waking, grumble-"Drat that cat!"
Who in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, mauls
Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill-will.

Now Bulls of Bashan, of a prize size rise
In childish dreams, and with a roar gore poor
Georgy, or Charley, or Billy, willy-nilly;

But Nursemaid in a nightmare's rest, chest-pressed,
Dreameth of one of her old flames, James Games,
And that she hears- what faith is man's-Ann's banns
And his, from Reverend Mr. Rice, twice, thrice;
White ribbons flourish, and a stout shout out,

That upward goes, shows Rose knows those beaux' woes!

THE UNIVERSITY OF GOTTINGEN.

GEORGE CANNING.

WHENE'ER with haggard eyes I view
This dungeon that I'm rotting in,
I think of those companions true
Who studied with me at the U-

niversity of Gottingen, niversity of Gottingen.

[Weeps, and pulls out a blue kerchief with which he wipes his eyes; gazing tenderly at it, he proceeds :]

Sweet kerchief, checked with heavenly blue,
Which once my love sat knotting in-

Alas, Matilda then was true!

At least I thought so at the U

niversity of Gottingen,

niversity of Gottingen.

Barbs! barbs! alas! how swift you flew,

Her neat post-wagon trotting in! Ye bore Matilda from my view; Forlorn I languished at the U

niversity of Gottingen,

niversity of Gottingen.

This faded form! this pallid hue!
This blood my veins is clotting in!
My years are many-they were few
When first I entered at the U-

niversity of Gottingen,

niversity of Gottingen.

There first for thee my passion grew,

Sweet, sweet Matilda Pottingen! Thou wast the daughter of my tu

tor, law-professor at the U

niversity of Gottingen,

niversity of Gottingen.

Sun, moon, and thou, vain world, adieu,
That kings and priests are plotting in;
Here doomed to starve on water gru-
el, never shall I see the U-

niversity of Gottingen,

niversity of Gottingen.

No dawn -no dusk - no proper time of day-
No sky -no earthly view —

No distance looking blue—

No road-no street - no "t'other side the way"No end to any Row

No indication where the crescents go

No top to any steeple

No recognition of familiar people

No courtesies for throwing 'em -
No knowing 'em!

No travelling at all no locomotion ·
No missing of the way- no notion—
No go-by land or ocean

No park

-no ring. -no afternoon gentility

No company no nobility

No warmth no cheerfulness no healthful easeNo comfortable feel in any member

No fruits-no flowers-no leaves-no birds

November!