A rod twelve feet long and a ring of wire,
A winder and barrel, will help thy desire
In killing a Pike; but the forked stick,
With a slit and a bladder,-and that other
fine trick,

Which our artists call snap, with a goose or a duck,

Will kill two for one, if you have any luck;
The gentry of Shropshire do merrily smile,
To see a goose and a belt the fish to beguile;"
When a Pike suns himself, and a-frogging

doth go,

The two-inched hook is better, I know,
Than the ordinary snaring. But still I must

You strange, astonish'd-looking angled, faced,
Dreary-mouth'd, gaping wretches of the sea,
Gulping salt-water everlastingly,
Cold-blooded, though with red your blood be
graced

And mute, though dwellers in the roaring waste;

And you, all shapes beside, that fishy be, Some round, some flat, some long, all devilry, Legless, unloving, infamously chaste:-

O scaly, slippery, wet, swift, staring wights, What is't ye do? what life lead? eh, dull goggles?

How do ye vary your vile days and nights? How pass your Sundays? Are ye still but joggles

In ceaseless wash? Still nought but gapes and bites, drinks, and stares, diversified with boggles.

And

0.

LEIGH HUNT-Sonnets. The Fish, the Man, and the Spirit.

Cut off my head, and singular I am,
Cut off my tail, and plural I appear;
Although my middle's left, there's nothing
there!

What is my head cut off? A sounding sea;
What is my tail cut off? A rushing river;
And in their mingling depths I fearless play,
Parent of sweetest sounds, yet mute forever.
а. MACAULAY-Enigma. On the Codfish.
Our plenteous streams a various race supply,
The bright-eyed perch with fins of Tyrian
dye,

The silver eel, in shining volums roll'd, The yellow carp, in scales bedropp'd with gold,

Swift trouts, diversified with crimson stains, And pikes, the tyrants of the wat'ry plains. v. POPE-- Windsor Forest. Line 141. "Tis true, no Turbots, dignify my boards, But gudgeons, flounders, what my Thames affords.

C. POPE--Second Book of Horace. Satire II. Line 141. Should you lure From his dark haunt beneath the tangled roots

Of pendant trees, the monarch of the brook, Behoves you then to ply your finest art. d. THOMSON--The Seasons. Spring.

FLAGS.

The meteor flag of England.

Line 419.

e. CAMPBELL Ye Mariners of England.

Ye mariners of England!

That guard our native seas.

Whose flag has braved a thousand years,
The battle and the breeze!

f. CAMPBELL-Ye Mariners of England.

Freedom from her mountain height
Unfurled her standard to the air.

J. DRAKE-The American Flag.

"Tis the star-spangled banner! Oh, long may

The Flatterer has not an Opinion good enough either of himself or others.

u. DE LA BRUYERE-The Characters or Manners of the Present Age. Ch. XII.

Greatly his foes he dreads, but most his friends,

He hurts the most who lavishly commends.
V. CHURCHILL-The Apology. Line 19.

No adulation; 'tis the death of virtue;
Who flatters, is of all mankind the lowest
Save he who courts the flattery.

20. HANNAH MORE-Daniel.

But when I tell him he hates flatterers,
He says he does; being then most flattered.
Sc. 1.
x. Julius Cæsar. Act II.

By heaven, I cannot flatter; I defy
The tongues of soothers; but a braver place
In my heart's love, hath no man than yourself:
Nay, task me to my word; approve me, lord.
y. Henry IV. Pt. I. Act IV. Sc. 1.

The buttercups and primroses
That blossomed in our way.

0. ALICE CARY-To Lucy.

I know not which I love the most,
Nor which the comeliest shows,
The timid, bashful violet,

Or the royal-hearted rose:

The pansy in her purple dress,
The pink with cheek of red,

Or the faint fair heliotrope, who hangs,
Like a bashful maid, her head;

For I love and prize you one and all, From the least low bloom of spring To the lily fair, whose clothes outshine The raiment of a king.

p.

PHOEBE CARY-Spring Flowers.

The anemone in snowy hood,

The sweet arbutus in the wood.

And to the smiling skies above

I say, Bend brightly o'er my love.

MARY CLEMMER- Good-By, Sweetheart.

Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost!
COLERIDGE-Hymn Before Sunrise in
the Vale of Chamouni.
Roses and jasmine embowered a door
That never was closed to the way worn poor.
ELIZA COOK-The Old Water-Mill.

8.

Who does not recollect the hours

When burning words and praises Were lavished on those shining flowers, Buttercups and daisies?

น.

ELIZA COOK- Buttercups and Daisies.