CCIII. THE BACHELOR'S SOLILOQUY.

To MARRY, or not to marry? that's the question.
Whether 't is nobler in the bach to suffer
The jeers and banters of outrageous females,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by proposing, end them. To court; to marry,
To be a bach no more: and, by a marriage end
The heart-ache, and the thousand and one ills
Bachelors are heir to; 't is a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To court, to marry;
To marry! perchance to rue-ay, there's the rub;
For in that state what afterthoughts may come,
When we have shuffled off this bachelor coil,
Must bring repentance. There's the respect
That makes men live so long a single life,
For who would bear the scorn of pretty girls,
The hints of widows, the insolence of married men,
The inconveniences of undarned socks,

And thread-bare coats, and shirts with buttons off,

The pangs of love-fits, and the misery

Of sleeping with cold feet, the dumps, the blues,

The horrors and the owl-like loneliness;

When he himself might his quietus make

With a bare "will you have me?" Who would boar

To fret and groan under a single life,

But that the dread of something after marriage—
That undiscovered net-work from whose meshes

No venturer escapes, puzzles the will

And makes us rather bear the ills we have

Than fly to others that we know not of?

CCIV. THE INEXPERIENCED SPEAKER.

THE awkward, untried speaker rises now,

And to the audience makes a jerking bow.

He staggers-almost falls-stares-strokes his chin-

Clears out his throat, and . . ventures to begin.

66

Sir, I am. . sensible"-(some titter near him)

"I am, sir, sensible "-"Hear! hear!" (they cheer him.) Now bolder grown-for praise mistaking potherHe pumps first one arm up, and then the other.

"I am, sir, sensible-I am indeed—

That, . . though—I should-want-words-I must proceed
And.. for the first time in my life, I think—

I think-that-no great—orator-should- shrink--
And, therefore,—Mr. Speaker,-I, for on)—
Will.. speak out freely.—Sir—I've not yet done.
Sir, in the name of those enlightened men

Who sent me here to . . speak for them—why, then ..
To do my duty—as I said before—

To my constituency-I 'll. . say no more.”

CCV.--THE FRENCHMAN AND THE RATS.

1. A FRENCHMAN once, who was a merry wight,
Passing to town from Dover in the night,
Near the roadside an ale-house chanced to spy
And being rather tired as well as dry,
Resolved to enter; but first he took a peep,
In hopes a supper he might get, and cheap.
He enters: "Hallo! Garçon, if you please,
Bring me a leetel bit of bread and cheese.
And hallo! Garçon, a pot of porter, too!" he said.
"Vich I shall take, and den myself to bed."

2. His supper done, some scraps of cheese were left, Which our poor Frenchman, thinking it no theft, Into his pocket put; then slowly crept

To wished-for bed; but not a wink he slept-
For, on the floor some sacks of flour were laid,
To which the rats a nightly visit paid.
Our hero now undressed, popped out the light,
Put on his cap and bade the world good-night;
But first his breeches, which contained the fare,
Under his pillow he had placed with care.

3. Sans ceremonie, soon the rats all ran,

And on the flour-sacks greedily began;

At which they gorged themselves; then smelling round, Under the pillow soon the cheese they found;

And while at this they all regaling sat,

Their happy jaws disturbed the Frenchman's nap;

Who, half-awake, cries out, "Hallo! hallo!

Vat is dat nibble at my pillow so?

Ah! 't is one big, one very big, huge rat!
Vat is it that he nibble, nibble at?"

4. In vain our little hero sought repose; Sometimes the vermin galloped o'er his nose; And such the pranks they kept up all the night, That he, on end antipodes upright,

Bawling aloud, called stoutly for a light. "Hallo! Maison! Garçon, I say!

Bring me the bill for vat I have to pay!"

The bill was brought, and to his great surprise,

Ten shillings was the charge, he scarce believes his eyes. With eager haste, he quickly runs it o'er,

And every time he viewed it thought it more.

5. "Vy zounds, and zounds!" he cries, "I sall no pay; Vat charge ten shelangs for vat I have mange?

A leetel sop of portar, dis vile bed,

Vare all de rats do run about my head?"

"Plague on those rats!" the landlord muttered out; "I wish, upon my word, that I could make 'em scout: I'll pay him well that can." "Vat 's dat you say?" him well that can." "Attend to me I pray : Vil you dis charge forego, vat I am at,

"I'll

pay

If from your house I drive away de rat!"

"With all my heart," the jolly host replies.
"Ecoutez donc, ami;" the Frenchman cries.
"First, den-Regardez, if you please,
Bring to dis spot a leetel bread and cheese:
Eh bien! a pot of porter, too;

And den invite de rats to sup vid you:

And after dat-no matter dey be villing

For dat dey eat, you charge dem just ten shelang:
And I am sure, ven dey behold de score,
Dey 'll quit your house, and never come no more."

CCVI.-BORROWED NAILS-HEADS AND POINTS.

1. The moon was shining silver bright,

All bloodless lay the untrodden snow;
When freedom from the mountain hight
Exclaimed "Now, don't be foolish, Joe!"

2. An hour passed on, the Turk awoke,
A bumble bee went thundering by,
To hover in the sulphur smoke,

And spread its pall upon the sky.

3. His echoing axe the settler swung,
He was a lad of high renown;
And deep the pearly caves among,
Giles Scroggins courted Molly Brown.

4. Loud roars the wild, inconstant blast,
And cloudless sets the sun at even;
When twilight dews are falling fast,
And rolls the thunder-drum of heaven!

5. Oh, ever thus, from childhood's hour,
By torch and trumpet fast arrayed;
Beneath yon ivy-mantled tower,

The bull-frog croaks his serenade.

6. My love is like the red, red rose,
He bought a ring with posy true;
Sir Barney Bodkin broke his nose,
And, Saxon, I am Rhoderick Dhu!

CCVII.-FOURTH OF JULY ORATION.

1. FELLOW CITIZENS:-This is the ever adorable, commemorable, and patriotic Fourth of July. This am the day upon which the American Eagle first chawed up its iron cage, and, with a Yankee Doodle scream, pounced upon its affrighted tyrants and tore up their despotic habliments into a thousand giblets.

2. This, fellow citizens, am the Fourth of July—a day worthy to be the first-day of the year, and a day which will be emblazoned by our latest posterity, when all other days have sunk into oblivious non compos mentis.

3. This, fellow citizens, am the day when our ancestral progenitors unanimously fought, bled and died, in order that we and our childrens' children might cut their own vine and £g tree without being molested or daring to make any one afraid.

4. This am the Fourth of July, fellow citizens, and who is there that can sit supinely downward on this prognostic anniversary, and not revert their mental reminesences to the great epochs of the Revolution-to the blood bespangled plains of Bunker Hill, Monmouth, Yorktown, and follow the heroic heroes of those times through trackless snows, and blood-stained descrts, to the eternal mansions of free trade and sailor's rights; and the adoreable enjoyments of the privelidges and prerogatives, which fall like heavenly dew upon every American citizen, from the forests of Maine to the everglades of Florida; and from the fisheries of the Atlantic coast to the yellow banks of California, where the jingling of the golden boulders mixes up with the screams of the catamount, and the mountain goat leaps from rock to rock-and-and where-and-and-I thank you, fellow citizens, for your considerable attention.

CCVIII.-MR. JOHN SMITH'S WILL.

1. Now, Mr. Smith, who had taken his leave,
Was a prudentish sort of a man;

He always said to prevent, not retrieve,
Was far the properest plan;

So, to hinder heart-burning and jealous hate
And contending heirs make still,

Before he surrendered himself to fate

He prudently framed a will.

But he kept it shut from mortal look,

Nor could any define its tone;

To the favored to-be 't was a close-sealed book,
As well as the destined-to-none.

So hope ran strong and hope ran high

In every degree of kin;

For virtues of Smith was breathed many a sigh,
But smiles were reserved for his tin.

2 Nor wife nor child

On Smith had e'er smiled,

To inherit the money for which he had toiled;
And he 'd no nearer kin than uncles or cousins,