Now and then upon a Sunday he invited me to dine On a herring and a mutton chop, which his maid dress'd very fine,

There was also a little Malmsey, and a bottle of Bordeaux,

Which between me and the Captain pass'd nimbly to and fro;

Oh! I ne'er shall take pot-luck with Captain Paton no mo!

Or, if a bowl was mention'd, the Captain he would ring, And bid Nelly run to the West Port, and a stoup of water bring;

Then would he mix the genuine stuff, as they made it

long ago,

With limes, that on his property in Trinidad did grow; Oh! we ne'er shall taste the like of Captain Paton's punch no mo!

And then all the time he would discourse so sensible

and courteous,

Perhaps talking of last sermon he had heard from Dr. Porteous,

Or some little bit of scandal about Mrs. So-and-So, Which he scarce could credit, having heard the con but not the pro;

Oh! we ne'er shall hear the like of Captain Paton no mo!

Or when the candles were brought forth, and the night was fairly setting in,

He would tell some fine old stories, about Minden field

or Dettingen,

How he fought with a French major, and despatch'd him

at a blow,

While his blood ran out like water on the soft grass

below;

Oh! we ne'er shall hear the like of Captain Paton no mo!

But at last the Captain sicken'd, and grew worse from day to day,

And all miss'd him in the coffee-room, from which now he stay'd away :

On Sabbaths, too, the wee kirk made a melancholy show, All for wanting of the presence of our venerable beau ; Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!

And in spite of all that Cleghorn and Corkindale could do,

It was plain, from twenty symptoms, that death was in his view,

So the Captain made his test'ment, and submitted to

his foe,

And we laid him by the Ram's-horn kirk,-'tis the way we all must go!

Oh! we ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!

Join all in chorus, jolly boys, and let punch and tears be shed,

For this prince of good old fellows that alack-a-day! is

dead;

For this prince of worthy fellows, and a pretty man also, That has left the Salt-market in sorrow, grief, and wo; For it ne'er shall see the like of Captain Paton no mo!

RETALIATION.

A FEW years since, at some provincial college (Places which always rhyme, if nothing else, with know ledge),

A wight was educated, whose discerning,

When added to an extraordinary mass of learning,

Distinguished him on every occasion,

As worthy of a first-rate situation,

Above his fellow-scholars, and his fellow-men,
Thus thought a genius-ergo, he grew lazy.
Ergo, grew poor-what then?

Prest by privation,

Ergo, he grew crazy.

He'd strut about the street sometimes, and speak,
In English incoherently, 'tis true;

But in the learned languages, Latin and Greek,
His wits were sound again; and well he knew
How to interpret them in darkest mood,
And prove in answering that he understood.
Thus through his madness sometimes shone
A glance of wit,

Like light through darkness: and for one
Witness the following hit:

He had another

Old academic brother,

Who, though well learn'd, had too much sense
To think of living by his wits; and hence
Set up in business as a seller

(Industrious fellow !)

Of brittle glasses

And earthenware,

With vessels rare,

Procured from Staffordshire and other places.

One day, while raining fast as it could pour,
The shopman, standing just within his door,
Perceived our crazy scholar passing by,
With not a thread upon him dry.

Not wet himself-wishing to have some sport,
And scholar-like retort,

He hail'd him in the Latin tongue,

And flung

A query, which, to those who do not know,

Is render'd into English just below.

Pluit tantum,

Nescio quantum,

Scisne tu?

That it rains hard I am aware,

How much it rains I cannot swear,

Pray, Sir, can you?

The crazed man turn'd, and flung a huge stone, dashing
Through window-panes, producing direful crashing;
And further gave his tit for tat, in

The following doggrel Latin :-
Fregi tot,

Nescio quot,

Scisne tu?

A heap of things are gone to pot,
How many truly I know not,
Pray, Sir, do you?

THE HUSBAND'S COMPLAINT.

'Will she thy linen wash and hosen darn?'-Gay.

I'm utterly sick of this hateful alliance

Which the ladies have form'd with impractical Science !
They put out their washing to learn hydrostatics,
And give themselves airs for the sake of pneumatics.

They are knowing in muriate, and nitrate, and chlorine, While the stains gather fast on the walls and the flooring

And the jellies and pickles fall wofully short,

With their chemical use of the still and retort.

Our expenses increase (without drinking French wines), For they keep no accounts, with their tangents and

sines

And to make both ends meet they give little assistance, With their accurate sense of the squares of the distance.