dulge in its note;
Did you ever attempt a small "bubble and squeak,"
Through the Dalby's Carminative down in your throat?

Did you ever go up to the roof with a bounce?
Did you ever come down to the floor with the same?
Oh! I can't but agree with bath ends, and pronounce
"Heads or tails," with a child, an unpleasantish game!

Then an urchin--I see myself urchin indeed--
With a smooth Sunday face for a mother's delight;
Why should weeks have an end?--I am sure there was need
Of a Sabbath, to follow each Saturday night.

Was your face ever sent to the housemaid to scrub?
Have you ever felt huckaback soften'd with sand?
Had you ever your nose towell'd up to a snub,
And your eyes knuckled out with the back of the hand?

Then a school-boy--my tailor was nothing in fault,
For an urchin will grow to a lad by degrees,--
But how well I remember that "pepper-and-salt"
That was down to the elbows, and up to the knees!

What a figure it cut when as Norval I spoke!
With a lanky right leg duly planted before;
Whilst I told of the chief that was kill'd by my stroke,
And extended _my_ arms as "the arms that he wore!"

Next a Lover--Oh! say, were you ever in love?
With a lady too cold--and your bosom too hot?
Have you bow'd to a shoe-tie, and knelt to a glove,
Like a _beau_ that desired to be tied in a knot?

With the Bride all in white, and your body in blue,
Did you walk up the aisle--the genteelest of men?
When I think of that beautiful vision anew,
Oh! I seem but the _biffin_ of what I was then!

I am withered and worn by a premature care,
And wrinkles confess the decline of my days;
Old Time's busy hand has made free with my hair,
And I'm seeking to hide it--by writing for bays!

A TRUE STORY.

Of all our pains, since man was curst,
I mean of body, not the mental,
To name the worst, among the worst,
The dental sure is transcendental;
Some bit of masticating bone,
That ought to help to clear a shelf,
But lets its proper work alone,
And only seems to gnaw itself;
In fact, of any grave attack
On victual there is little danger,
'Tis so like coming to the _rack,_
As well as going to the manger.

Old Hunks--it seemed a fit retort
Of justice on his grinding ways--
Possessed a grinder of the sort,
That troubled all his latter days.
The best of friends fall out, and so
His teeth had done some years ago,
Save some old stumps with ragged root,
And they took turn about to s