such topics
as the course of the Niger, or the position of a new magnetic pole.

Q.

* * * * *

BELLS.

Bells are for all things, all events:
For victories, for fires.
For hanging crimes with ill intents,
Or law proscribed desires.
For this, St. Bride her turret rocks,
For that St. Dunstan rings;
The last St. Sepulchre so shocks,
That all about him swings.

_Mr. Jerdan--in the Gem for 1830_.

* * * * *

Nobody is anybody, until he takes the title of somebody, and is laughed
at by everybody.

* * * * *

We are surprised that fifty accidents do not happen every day at the
Zoological Gardens--for mothers let their children rove just as if they
were in the most innocent company on earth; and due credit ought to be
given to the wild beasts in general for their considerate conduct in not
eating up half the rising generation that pay their shilling apiece to
see the Zoological show.--_Monthly Mag_.--Apropos, we find there are now
seven leopards in the society's collection, and that one day last summer
the receipts at the gate amounted to. L108. 12s.

* * * * *

BLUNDERS.

Some people mistake the three French Consuls for the three per cent.
Consols; quote Moore's Almanac in illustration of Moore's Melodies;
inquire whether those two great poets, Hogg and Bacon, were not of the
same family; and when asked their opinion of Crabbe, give a decided
preference to lobster. Who has not heard Hervey's Meditations and
Harvey's Sauce mixed up in a most unbecoming manner; and culprits
talking of detaining counsel, whereas the "detention" applies only to
themselves.

* * * * *

A JINGLING POET.

The good people of Stockholm have a public holiday in honour of
_Bellman_, a Swedish poet, who died forty years ago. We thought our
gold-laced Christmas rhymsters were the only poets of that name.

* * * * *

SONG.

The Swiss are so much attached to their native country, that a certain
song, called _Ranz de Vaches_, sung by the cowherds and milkmaids,
affects them so much, when in a foreign land, that they must return
home, or _pine away and die_!

Oh, when shall I return to stay
With all I love, now far away;
Our brooks so clear,
Our hamlets dear,
Our cots so nigh,
Our mountains h