dream. A pretty Girl came up on deck, and near the railing stood; she never loved a fellow-man, and said she never would. But whether she couldn't,—or whether she wouldn't,— or her Father said she shouldn't,—the world will never know! The Nine Young Men came up on deck, each in his Sunday clothes, and went abaft the wheel-house, in order to propose. The Lady had no preference, but said that, if she could, she'd marry every one of them, but it wasn't any good! Now whether she couldn't, or whether she wouldn't,-or that custom said she shouldn't, -the world will never know! The Lady asked the Captain how she ever should decide. Said he, "The love of those young men should certainly be tried." So, when they all were present, she fell into the sea; and eight of them jumped after her, the ninth-oh! where was he? Now whether he couldn't (jump),—or whether he wouldn't (swim),--or the Captain said he shouldn't (try),the world will never know! Once fairly out of the water, she went up to him, and said, "Dear sir, you are a solid man, and have a level head; so, without further parley, or hint of a pretence, I agree to marry you, sir, for you have common sense. So her Father said he couldn't, and her Mother said she wouldn't,-and the Captain said he shouldn't,-refuse to give consent ! John Day. John Day he was the biggest man With back too broad to be conceived The very horses knew his weight When he was in the rear, And wished his box a Christmas-box Alas! against the shafts of love What armour can avail? Soon Cupid sent an arrow through The barmaid of the Crown he loved, For though he changed his horses there, He thought her fairest of all fares, And often, among twelve outsides, One day, as she was sitting down He came, and knelt with all his fat, Said she, "My taste will never learn So I must beg you will come here But still he stoutly urged his suit, With vows, and sighs, and tears, At last her coldness made him pine But still he loved like one resolved Though he had carried sixteen stone, Worn out, at last he made a vow Now some will talk in water's praise, The cruel maid that caused his love Some say his spirit haunts the Crown, Who let me starve, to buy her gin, My Mother. Who said my mother was a Turk, My Aunt. My Uncle. Who got in scrapes, an endless score, My Cousin. Who took me home when mother died, Again with father to reside, Black shoes, clean knives, run far and wide? My Stepmother. Who marred my stealthy urchin joys, And when I played cried "What a noise!" Girls always hector over boys— My Sister. Who used to share in what was mine, 'Cause I was eight, and he was nine? My Brother. Who stroked my head, and said “Good lad,” And gave me sixpence, "all he had," But at the stall the coin was bad? My Godfather. Who, gratis, shared my social glass, My Friend. Myself. The Philosopher and her Father. (Verse printed as Prose.) A sound came booming through the air-"What is that sound?" quoth I. My blue-eyed pet, with golden hair, made answer presently, "Papa, you know it very well-that sound -it was Saint Pancras bell." "My own Louise, put down that cat, and come and stand by me; I'm sad to hear you talk like that, where's your philosophy? That sound-attend to what I tell-that sound was not Saint Pancras bell. Sound is the name the sage selects for the concluding term of a long series of effects, of which the blow's the germ. The following brief analysis shows the interpolations, miss. The blow which, when the clapper slips, falls on your friend, the bell, changes its circle to ellipse (a word you'd better spell), and then comes elasticity, restoring what it used to be. Nay, making it a little more, the circle shifts about, as much as it shrunk in before the bell, you see, swells out; and so a new ellipse is made (you're not attending I'm afraid). This change of form disturbs the air, which in its turn behaves in like elastic fashion there, creating waves on waves; these press each other onward, dear, until the outmost finds your ear." “And then, papa, I hear the sound, exactly what I said; you're only talking round and round, just to confuse my head. All that you say about the bell my Uncle George would call a 'sell.'" "Not so, my child, my child, not so, sweet image of your sire! a long way further we must go before it's time to tire; this wondrous, wandering wave, or tide, has only reached your ear's outside. Within that ear the surgeons find a tympanum, or drum, which has a little bone behind,-malleus it's called by some; but those not proud of Latin grammar humbly translate it as the hammer. The wave's vibrations this transmits, on to the incus bone (incus means anvil, which it hits), and this transfers the tone to the small os, orbiculare, the tiniest bone that people carry. The stapes next-the name recalls a stirrup's form, my daughter-joins, three half-circular canals, each fill'd with limpid water; their curious lining, you'll observe, made of the auditory nerve. This vibrates next-and then we find the mystic work is crown'd, for there my daughter's gentle mind first recognises sound. See what a host of causes |