THE SHOEMAKER.

"Act well your part, there all the honor lies."-Pope.

1. THE shoemaker sat amid wax and leather,
With his lap-stone over his knee,

Where snug in his shop, he defied all weather,
Drawing his quarters and sole together-
A happy old man was he.

2. This happy old man was so wise and knowing,
The worth of his time he knew,

He bristled his ends and kept them going,
And felt to each moment a stitch was owing,
Until he got round the shoe.

3. Of every deed his wax was heeling,
The closing was firm and fast;

The prick of his awl never caused a feeling
Of pain to the toe; and his skill in healing
Was perfect and true to the last.

4. Whenever you gave him a foot to measure,
With gentle and skillful hand,

He took its proportions with looks of pleasure,
As if he were giving the costliest treasure,
Or making one lord of the land.

5. And many a one did he save from getting,
A fever, a cold, or a cough,

And many a foot did he save from wetting,
When, whether in water or snow 'twas setting,
His shoeing would keep them off.

6. When he had done with his making and mending, With hope and a peaceful breast,

Resigning his awl, as his thread was ending,

He passed from his bench to the grave descending,
As high as the king at rest.

THE GOOD OLD TIME.-THOMAS LINDSAY.

1. THE good old time, the happy old time;

You've surely all heard about the comfortable time;
For the old and the young and the middle aged chime
Like bells when they speak about the good old time!

2. For then no chimneys did exist all to let out the smoke, Which thus was forced deliciously a coughing to provoke; The houses then were finished off without the aid of lime; Oh, these modern days are nothing to the good old time!

3. No stockings then did incommode the nether man at all; No shoes to cram the feet into; no hat the head to gall; The windows had not any glass, whatever was the clime; Oh, we think with admiration of the good old time!

4. And when some money you'd amass'd with many a heavy sigh,

'Twas so enchanting then to think, that there was nought to buy ;

For the race of men most surely then was only at its prime; Oh, the enviable pleasures of the good old time!

5. Roads were not then expressly made to dislocate the bones, Nor had M'Adam then arisen to roughen them with stones; No railway-coaches rattled on, but reason, or but rhyme: And we'll never cease to mourn for the good old time!

6. Then if you chose to travel on to England, or to France, Your adventures might have furnished out a volume of

romance,

"Tween overturns and robberies-that was the age of crime; Oh, we'll never cease to sigh for the good old time!

7. But if by sea you chose to go much rather than by landNo tossing on old ocean's back, impossible to stand— But creeping snail-like near the shore, you flounder'd in

the slime.

We may weep,

but weep in vain, for the good old time!

UNCLE TOBY AND THE FLY.-STERNE.

1. My uncle Toby had scarce a heart to retaliate upon a fly. -Go,—says he, one day at dinner, to an overgrown one which had buzzed about his nose, and tormented him cruelly all dinner-time, and which, after infinite attempts, he had caught at last, as it flew by him;-I'll not hurt thee, says my uncle Toby, rising from his chair, and going across the room with the fly in his hand,- -I'll not hurt a hair of thy head :— Go, says he, lifting up the sash, and opening his hand as he spoke, to let it escape;-go, poor creature, get thou gone; why should I hurt thee?This world surely is wide enough to hold both thee and me.

2. I was but ten years old when this happened; but whether it was that the action itself was more in unison to my nerves in that age of pity, which instantly set my whole frame into one vibration of most pleasurable sensation :—or how far the manner and expression of it might go towards it; or in what degree, or by what secret magic,--a tone of voice and harmony of movement, attuned by mercy, might find a passage to my heart, I know not; this I know, that the lesson of universal good-will then taught and imprinted by my uncle Toby, has never since been worn out of mind; and though I would not depreciate what the study of the humanities at the university has done for me in that respect, or discredit the other helps of an expensive education bestowed upon me, both at home and abroad since;-yet I often think that I owe one half of my philanthropy to that one accidental impression.

"WHAT IS A POET?"-TUPPER.

1. No jingler of rhymes, and no mingler of phrases,
No tuner of times, and no pruner of daisies,
No lullaby lyrist with nothing to say,
No small sentimentalist fainting away;
No gradus-and-prosody maker of verses,
No Hector of tragedy vaporing curses,―

In a word—not a bad one-no mere "poetaster,"
The monkey that follows some troubadour master,
And filching from Tennyson, Shelley, or Keats,
With cunning mosaic his coterie cheats

Into voting the poor petty-larceny fool,

A charming disciple of Wordsworth's sweet school!

2. Not a bit of it!-Pilferers, duncy and dreary; Human society's utterly weary

Of gilt insincerities hopping in verse,

And stately hexameters plumed like a hearse,
And second-hand sentiment sugared with ice,

And a third course of passions, warmed up very nice,
And peaches of wax, and your sham wooden pine,
The fitting dessert of a feast so divine!

3. With musical lies, and mechanical stuff,

The verse-ridden world has been pestered enough;
And yet in its heart, if unsmothered by words,
It still can respond, from its innermost chords,
To generous, truthful, melodious Sense,
To beautiful language and feelings intense,
To human affection sincerely poured out,
To Eloquence,-tagged with a rhyme, or without,
To anything tasteful, and hearty, and true,
Delicate, graceful, and noble, and new.

4. Aye, find me the man,- -or the woman,- -or child, Though modest yet bold, and though spirited, mild,

With a mind that can think, and a heart that can feel,

And the tongue and the pen that are skilled to reveal,
And the eye that hath wept, and the hand that will aid,
And the brow that in peril was never afraid,—
With courage to dare and keenness to plan,
And tact to declare what is pleasant to Man,

While guiding, and teaching, and training his mind,
While spurring the lazy, and leading the blind,
With pureness in youth, and religion in age,
And cordial affections at every stage,―
The harp of this woman this man or this youth,
By genius well-strung, and made tuneful by truth,
Shall charm and shall ravish the world at its will,
And make its old heart yet tremble and thrill,
While all men shall own it, and feel it, and know it,
Gladly and gratefully :--Here is the Poet!

"OLD" AND "YOUNG "-RELATIVE TERMS.-DE QUINCY.

1. EVERYBODY, I believe, is young at some period of his life; at least one has an old physiological prejudice in that direction. Else, to hear people talk, one must really suppose that there are celebrated persons who are born to old age as to some separate constitutional inheritance.

2. Nobody says "Old Sophocles," but very many people say "Old Chaucer.' Yet Chaucer was a younger man at his death than Sophocles. But if not, why should men insist upon one transitory stage or phasis in a long series of changes, as if suddenly and lawfully arrested, to the exclusion of all the rest. Old Chaucer! why, he was also middle-aged Chaucer; he was young Chaucer; he was baby Chaucer.

3. And the earlier distinctions of a man bear as much relation to posterity as his latter distinctions. Above all, one is betrayed into such misconceptions when a man carries a false certificate of age in the very name which designates his rela