Nor to business a drudge, nor to faction a slave,

He strove to make int'rest and

freedom agree;

In public employments industrious and grave,

And alone with his friends, Lord! how merry was he.

Now in equipage stately, now humbly on foot,

Both fortunes he tried, but to neither would trust; And whirled in the round as the wheel turned about,

He found riches had wings, and knew man was but dust.

This verse, little polished, though mighty sincere,

Sets neither his titles nor merits to view;

It says that his relics collected lie here,

And no mortal yet knows if this may be true.

The morning past, the evening came, And found this couple just the same. They walked and ate, good folks: What then?

Why, then they walked and ate again;
They soundly slept the night away;
They did just nothing all the day.
Nor sister either had nor brother;
They seemed just tallied for each
other.

Their moral and economy
Most perfectly they made agree;
Each virtue kept its proper bound,
Nor trespassed on the other's ground.
Nor fame nor censure they regarded;
They neither punished nor rewarded.
He cared not what the footman did;
Her maids she neither praised nor
chid:

So every servant took his course,
And, bad at first, they all grew worse,
Slothful disorder filled his stable,
And sluttish plenty decked her table.
Their beer was strong, their wine was
port;

Their meal was large, their grace was short.

They gave the poor the remnant meat,
Just when it grew not fit to eat.
They paid the church and parish rate,
And took, but read not, the receipt;
For which they claimed their Sun-
day's due,

Of slumbering in an upper pew.
No man's defects sought they to
know,

So never made themselves a foe. No man's good deeds did they commend,

So never raised themselves a friend.
Nor cherished they relations poor,
That might decrease their present
store;

Nor barn nor house did they repair,
That might oblige their future heir.
They neither added nor confounded;
They neither wanted nor abounded.
Nor tear nor smile did they employ
At news of grief or public joy.
When bells were rung and bonfires
made

If asked, they ne'er denied their aid;
Their jug was to the ringers carried,
Whoever either died or married.

RICHARD'S THEORY OF THE MIND.
I SAY, whatever you maintain
Of Alma in the heart or brain,
The plainest man alive may tell ye
Her seat of empire is the belly.
From hence she sends out those sup-
plies,

Which make us either stout or wise:

Your stomach makes the fabric roll
Just as the bias rules the bowl.
The great Achilles might employ
The strength designed to ruin Troy;
He dined on lion's marrow, spread
On toasts of ammunition bread;
But, by his mother sent away
Amongst the Thracian girls to play,
Effeminate he sat and quiet-
Strange product of a cheese-cake
diet!

Observe the various operations

Of food and drink in several nations.
Was ever Tartar fierce or cruel
Upon the strength of water gruel?
But who shall stand his rage or force
If first he rides, then eats his horse?
Salads, and eggs, and lighter fare
Tune the Italian spark's guitar:
And, if I take Dan Congreve right,
Pudding and beef make Britons
fight.

HOW CYRUS LAID THE CABLE. COME, listen all unto my song It is no silly fable; 'Tis all about the mighty cord

They call the Atlantic Cable.

Bold Cyrus Field, he said, says he,
I have a pretty notion
That I can run a telegraph

Across the Atlantic Ocean.

Then all the people laughed, and said,
They'd like to see him do it;
He might get half-seas over, but
He never could get through it:

To carry out his foolish plan

He never would be able;

He might as well go hang himself
With his Atlantic Cable.

But Cyrus was a valiant man,
A fellow of decision:

And heeded not their mocking words,
Their laughter and derision.

O'er all the land the tidings speed, And soon, in every nation, They'll hear about the cable with Profoundest admiration!

Now long live President and Queen;
And long live gallant Cyrus;
And may his courage, faith, and zeal
With emulation fire us;

And may we honor evermore

The manly, bold, and stable; And tell our sons, to make them brave,

How Cyrus laid the cable!

THE SUPERFLUOUS MAN.

I LONG have been puzzled to guess, And so I have frequently said, What the reason could really be

That I never have happened to
wed;

But now it is perfectly clear,
I am under a natural ban;
The girls are already assigned, -
And I'm a superfluous man!

Those clever statistical chaps

Declare the numerical run Of women and men in the world, Is twenty to twenty-and-one; And hence in the pairing, you see, Since wooing and wedding began, For every connubial score,

They've got a superfluous man!

By twenties and twenties they go,

And giddily rush to their fate, For none of the number, of course, Can fail of a conjugal mate; But while they are yielding in scores To Nature's inflexible plan, There's never a woman for me, For I'm a superfluous man!

It isn't that I am a churl, To solitude over-inclined;

SONG OF SARATOGA.

"PRAY, what do they do at the Springs ?"

The question is easy to ask; But to answer it fully, my dear, Were rather a serious task. And yet, in a bantering way,

As the magpie or mocking-bird sings,

I'll venture a bit of a song

To tell what they do at the Springs!

Imprimis, my darling, they drink

The waters so sparkling and clear; Though the flavor is none of the best, And the odor exceedingly queer; But the fluid is mingled, you know,

With wholesome medicinal things, So they drink, and they drink, and they drink,

And that's what they do at the Springs!

Then with appetites keen as a knife,
They hasten to breakfast or dine
(The latter precisely at three,

Ye gods! what a rustle and rush
The former from seven till nine.)
When the eloquent dinner-bell
rings!

Then they eat, and they eat, and they

eat,—

And that's what they do at the Springs!