With whom I feast I do not fawn,

Nor if the folks should flout me, faint; If wonted welcome be withdrawn,

I cook no kind of a complaint:
With none disposed to disagree,
But like them best who best like me.

Not that I rate myself the rule

How all my betters should behave;
But fame shall find me no man's fool,
Nor to a set of men a slave.

I love a friendship free and frank,
And hate to hang upon a hank.

Fond of a true and trusty tie,
I never loose where'er I link ;
Tho' if a bus'ness budges by,

I talk thereon just as I think;
My word, my work, my heart, my hand,
Still on a side together stand.

If names or notions make a noise,
Whatever hap the question hath,

The point impartially I poise,

And read or write, but without wrath; For should I burn, or break my brains, Pray, who will pay me for my pains?

I love my neighbour as myself,
Myself like him too, by his leave-

Nor to his pleasure, power, or pelf,

Came I to crouch, as I conceive: Dame Nature doubtless has design'd A man the monarch of his mind.

Now taste and try this temper, sirs,
Mood it and brood it in your breast-
Or if ye ween, for worldly stirs,
That man does right to mar his rest,
Let me be deft and debonair,

I am content, I do not care.

THE BEST OF HUSBANDS.

Imitated from the German.

JOHN G. SAXE.

OH, I have a husband as good as can be;
No woman could wish for a better than he !
Sometimes, indeed, he may chance to be wrong,
But his love for me is uncommonly strong!

He has one little fault that makes me fret,
He has always less money, by far, than debt;
Moreover, he thrashes me, now and then,-
But, excepting that, he's the best of men !

I own he is dreadfully given to drink;
And besides he is rather too fond, I think,

Of playing at cards and dice; but then,
Excepting that, he's the best of men !

He loves to chat with the girls, I know

('Tis the way with the men,-they're always so),—
But what care I for his flirting, when,
Excepting that, he's the best of men?

I can't but say I think he is rash
To pawn my pewter, and spend the cash;
But how can I scold my darling, when,
Excepting that, he's the best of men?

When soak'd with tipple, he's hardly polite,
But knocks the crockery left and right,
And pulls my hair, and growls again;
But, excepting that, he's the best of men !

Yes, such is the loyalty I have shown;
But I have a spouse who is all my own;
As good, indeed, as a man can be,

And who could ask for a better than he

THE CATARACT OF LODORE.

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

Robert Southey, Lake Poet,' associate of Coleridge and Wordsworth, and miscellaneous writer, was born at Bristol in 1774. In 1813 he was appointed Poet Laureate. His principal poems are Joan of Arc, Thalaba, Madoc, and The Curse of Kehama;

while his Life of Nelson is acknowledged to be one of the most perfect biographies in the English language; and his philoscphical Doctor and laboriously compiled Common-Place Book will long continue to be the wonder and delight of the reading public. He was a voluminous writer, and also an industrious editor. Died 1843.

How does the water come down at Lodore?

From its sources which well

In the tarn on the fell;

From its fountains

In the mountains,

Its rills

And its gills;

Through moss and through brake,

It runs and it creeps

For awhile, till it sleeps

In its own little lake.

And thence at departing,
Awakening and starting,
It runs through the reeds,
And away it proceeds
Through meadow and glade,
In sun and in shade,

And through the wood shelter,

Among crags in its flurry,
Helter-skelter,

Hurry-skurry.

Here it comes sparkling,

And there it lies darkling;
Now smoking and frothing
Its tumult and wrath in ;

Till, in this rapid race

On which it is bent,

It reaches the place

Of its steep descent.
The cataract strong
Then plunges along ;
Striking and raging,

As if a war waging

Its caverns and rocks among :

Rising and leaping,

Sinking and creeping,
Swelling and sweeping,
Showering and springing,
Flying and flinging,
Writhing and ringing,

Eddying and whisking,

Spouting and frisking,

Turning and twisting,
Around and around
With endless rebound:
Smiting and fighting,

A sight to delight in,

Confounding,

Astounding,

Dizzying and deafening the earth with its sound:

Collecting, projecting,

Receding and speeding,

And shocking and rocking,

And darting and parting,

And threading and spreading,