A poor, defenceless, harmless buck,
The horse and rider wet as muck,

From his high consequence and wisdom stooping,
Enter'd through curiosity, a cot,

Where sat a poor old woman with her pot.

The wrinkled, blear-eyed, good old granny,
In this same cot illumed by many a cranny,
Had finish'd apple dumplings for her pot:
In tempting row the naked dumplings lay,
When, lo! the Monarch, in his usual way,

Like lightning spoke, 'What's this? what's this? what? what?'

Then taking up a dumpling in his hand,

His eyes with admiration did expand

And oft did Majesty the dumpling grapple : ''Tis monstrous, monstrous hard indeed!' he cried : 'What makes it, pray, so hard ?'—The dame replied, Low curtseying, 'Please your Majesty, the apple.'

'Very astonishing indeed !-strange thing!' Turning the dumpling round, rejoin'd the King. "'Tis most extraordinary then, all this is It beats Pinetti's conjuring all to piecesStrange I should never of a dumpling dream— But, Goody, tell me where, where, where's the seam ?

'Sir, there's no seam,' quoth she; 'I never knew That folks did apple dumplings sew.'

'No' cried the staring Monarch with a grin, 'How, how the devil got the apple in ?'

Reader, thou likest not my tale-look'st blueThou art a courtier-roarest 'Lies, Lies, Lies!' Do, for a moment, stop thy cries

I tell thee, roaring infidel, 'tis true.

Why should it not be true? the greatest men
May ask a foolish question now and then-
This is the language of all ages:

Folly lays many a trap-we can't escape it:
Nemo (says some one) omnibus horis sapit:
Then why not Kings, like me and other sages

VENUS OF THE NEEDLE.

By William Allingham, author of the Music Muster,
and other poems.

O MARYANNE, you pretty girl,
Intent on silky labour,

Of sempstresses the pink and pearl,
Excuse a peeping neighbour !

Those eyes, for ever drooping, give
The long brown lashes rarely;
But violets in the shadows live,—
For once unveil them fairly.

Hast thou not lent that flounce enough
Of looks so long and earnest ?
Lo, here's more 'penetrable stuff,'
To which you never turnest.

Ye graceful fingers, deftly sped!
How slender, and how nimble !

Oh, might I wind their skeins of thread,
Or but pick up their thimble !

How blest the youth whom love shall bring,

And happy stars embolden,

To change the dome into a ring,

The silver into golden!

Who'll steal some morning to her side

To take her finger's measure, While Maryanne pretends to chide,

And blushes deep with pleasure.

Who 'll watch her sew her wedding-gown,
Well conscious that it is hers,
Who'll glean a tress, without a frown,
With those so ready scissors.

Who'll taste those ripenings of the south,

The fragrant and delicious

Don't put the pins into your mouth,

O Maryanne, my precious!

I almost wish it were my trust
To teach how shocking that is;
I wish I had not, as I must,

To quit this tempting lattice.

Sure aim takes Cupid, fluttering foe,
Across a street so narrow;
A thread of silk to string his bow,
A needle for his arrow !

THE PRINTER'S DEVIL'S WORK.

This humorous parody on Porson's 'Devil's Walk,' vide p. 27, originally appeared in the Comic Magazine.

To Printing-house Square, at close of day,
The young Printer's Devil is bound
To set up the Paper that circulates most,
Or the Paper that most turns round.1

And over the leader, and over the news,
He skimm'd, and over the speeches :
And the lines in the leader stood wide apart,
Like W- -l's waistcoat and breeches.

And pray, what did the Devil do?
Oh, he was expert at the art!
And first, just to keep his hand in play,
In a 'Horrible Murder' took part.

1 In allusion to the supposed vacillating tactics of The Times.

But the Devil he very soon finish'd the job,

And came to a regular stand;

When, for the want of some better employment, In a 'Robbery' he had a hand.

He set up a joke by W-1;

But thinking it couldn't be meant, The Devil smiled; for he headed it 'A serious Accident.'

A speech of the Marquis of L.'s came next,
But it was beyond endurance;

So the Devil took pity, and headed it
'A Melancholy Occurrence.'

But then the young Devil bethought himself,

He might in an error fall;

For a speech such as that, he clearly saw,
Required no head at all.

He then had a speech of H

-t's to do,

Where, mirabile dictu! a word or

Two of his Latin Mr. H. recollected;

And he called that a 'Horrible Murder.'

A joke too, by C-r, came into his hands,
But it was too witty a brevity

To be C-r's own; so he headed it