To yonder man direct your eyes,

Who ever bargains-never buys,—

Takes down-hooks up-peeps here, peeps there,

With such such a solemn air,

Now hurries off elsewhere,

That he the self-same game may play-
This surely must be New Year's Day.

Now nephews who'd inherit all,
Upon their uncle love to call ;
To see him well is their delight;
But with his wealth in sight,
They hug him;-oh, so tight!
They almost squeeze his life away-
This surely must be New Year's Day.

The tender swain who does not care
To buy fine trinkets for his fair,

At Christmas time, to save expense,
For coolness finds pretence;
His love will recommence

Next month-till then he stops away
This surely must be New Year's Day.

When all the handsome things are said,
And wishes utter'd, presents made,
Each visitor goes home at last;
And when an hour has past,
Mourns money spent too fast,
And time and trouble thrown away-
Yes, surely this is New Year's Day.

193

Puns.

My little dears, who learn to read, pray early learn to shun

That very silly thing indeed which people call a

pun:

Read Entick's rules, and 'twill be found how simple an offence

It is to make the self-same sound afford a double

sense.

For instance, ale may make you ail, your aunt an ant may kill,

You in a vale may buy a veil, and Bill may pay the

bill,

Or if to France your bark you steer, at Dover, it may be,

A peer appears upon the pier, who blind still goes

to sea.

Thus one might say, when to a treat good friends accept our greeting,

'Tis meet that men who meet to eat should eat their meat when meeting;

Brawn on the board's no bore indeed, although from boar prepared ;

Nor can the fowl, on which we feed, foul feeding be declared.

Thus one ripe fruit may be a pear, and yet be pared

again,

And still be one which seemeth rare until we do ex

plain;

It therefore should be all your aim to speak with ample care;

For who, however fond of game, would choose to swallow hair?

A fat man's gait may make us smile, who have no gate to close;

The farmer sitting on his stile no stylish person knows ;

Perfumers men of scents must be; some Scilly men are bright;

A brown man oft deep read we see, a black a wicked

wight.

Most wealthy men good manors have, however vulgar they :

And actors still the harder slave, the oftener they

play:

So poets can't the baize obtain, unless their tailors

choose;

While grooms and coachmen, not in vain, each evening seek the mews.

The dyer who by dyeing lives, a dire life maintains; The glazier, it is known, receives his profits from his panes :

By gardeners thyme is tied 'tis true, when spring is in its prime :

But time and tide won't wait for you, if you are tied for time.

Then now you see, my little dears, the way to make

a pun;

A trick which you, through coming years, should sedulously shun:

The fault admits of no defence: for wheresoe'er 'tis

found,

You sacrifice the sound for sense; the sense is never sound.

So let your words and actions too, one single meaning prove,

And just in all you say or do, you'll gain esteem and love:

In mirth and play no harm you'll know, when duty's task is done;

But parents ne'er should let you go unpunish'd for a pun!

THEODORE HOOK.

The Cataract of Lodore.

"How does the water

Come down at Lodore ?"

My little boy ask'd me

Thus once on a time;

And moreover he task'd me

To tell him in rhyme,

Anon at the word,

Then first came one daughter

And then came another,

To second and third

The request of their brother,
And to hear how the water

Comes down at Lodore,

With its rush and its roar,
As many a time

They had seen it before.
So I told them in rhyme,
For of rhymes I had store;
And 'twas in my vocation,
For their recreation,
That so I should sing;
Because I was laureate

To them and the king.

From its sources which well
In the tarn on the fell;

From its fountains

In the mountains,

Its rills and its gills;

Through moss and through brake

It runs and it creeps
For awhile, till it sleeps
In its own little lake ;
And thence at departing,
Awakening and starting,
It runs through the reeds,
And away it proceeds,
Through meadow and glade,
In sun and in shade,

And through the wood-shelter,
Among crags in its flurry,
Helter-skelter,

Hurry-scurry,

Here it comes sparkling,
And there it lies darkling;
Now smoking and frothing
Its tumult and wrath in,