'Plague on those rats!" the landlord muttered out;
"I wish, upon my word, that I could make 'em scout:
him well that can." "Vat's dat you say?”
"Attend to me, I pray:

I'll pay
"I'll him well that can."
pay

Vill you dis charge forego, vat I am at,
If from your house I drive away de rat?"
"With all my heart," the jolly host replies,
"E'coutez donc, ami ;" the Frenchman cries.
"First, den,-Regardez, if you please,

Bring to dis spot a leetal bread and cheese,-
Eh bien! a pot of portar too;

And den invite de rats to sup vid you:

And after dat, no matter dey be villing,

--

For vat 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."

MISS MARY,—WHAT SHE IS AND WHAT SHE DOES.

MISS MARY is a charming maid,

A comely lass is she;

She every morning coffee drinks,
At evening, sips her tea.

She's never gadding in the street,
But loves to stay at home,

Her eyes are parted by her nose,—
Her ringlets by a comb.

She has a very pretty foot,
And sometimes wears prunella;

On sunny days she sports a shawl,-
On rainy, an umbrella. ·

t

She''s virtue's self personified,

She scorns to do a wrong;

She keeps her tongue between her teeth,
Where people's tongues belong.

The poor have always found her kind,
She weeps for others' woe;
On Sunday eve she sits alone,
Unless she has a beau!

Each leisure moment she employs,
To cultivate her mind;

She ties her apron on before,—
And sometimes on behind.

Whenever she a shopping went,

She paid for what she bought;
In sleep she always shuts her mouth,
As everybody ought.

Small faults she has, and who has not,
She strives them to reform;
When her toes are trampled upon,-
She says, "Get off my corn !”

Accomplishments like these would make
A match for Count or Earl;
And all the neighbors say she is
A pattern of a girl.

NOT A SOUS HAD HE GOT.

Nor a sous had he got,-not a guinea or note,
And he looked confoundedly flurried,

As he bolted away without paying his shot,
And the landlady after him hurried.

[Hood.

We saw him again at dead of night,
When home from the club returning;
We twigged the doctor beneath the light
Of the gas-lamp brilliantly burning.

All bare, and exposed to the midnight dews,
Reclined in the gutter we found him;
And he looked like a gentleman taking a snooze,
With his Marshall* cloak around him.

"The doctor's as drunk as a fool," we said,
And we managed a shutter to borrow;

We raised him, and sighed at the thought that his head
Would " consumedly ache on the morrow.

We bore him home, and we put him to bed,
And we told his wife and his daughter
To give him, next morning, a couple of red
Herrings, with soda water.

Loudly they talked of his money that's gone,
And his lady began to upbraid him;
But little he recked, so they let him snore on
'Neath the counterpane, just as we laid him.
Slowly and sadly we all walked down

From his room in the uppermost story;

A rushlight was placed on the cold hearthstone,
And we left him alone in his glory!!

[R. H. Barham.

AN ADDRESS TO THE ECHO.

The reply by the Echo will be most effectively performed by having the speaker concealed from the audience.

IF I address the Echo yonder,

What will its answer be, I wonder?

Echo,-I wonder !

* Name of a person that pretended to be the author of the piece on which this is a parody.

O wondrous Echo, tell me, bless 'e,
Am I for marriage or for celibacy?
Echo,-Silly Bessy!

If, then, to win the maid, I try,
Shall I find her a property ?
Echo,-A proper tie!

If neither grave nor funny
Will win the maid to matrimony?
Echo,-Try money!

If I should try to gain her heart,
Shall I go plain or rather smart?
Echo,-Smart!

She may n't love dress, and I again then
May come too smart, and she 'll complain then?
Echo,-Come plain, then!

To please her most, perhaps, 't is best
To come as I'm in common dressed?
Echo,-Come undressed!

Then, if to marry me I tease her,
What will she say, if that should please her?
Echo,-Please, sir!

When cross, and good words can't appease her,
What if such naughty whims should seize her?
Echo,-You'd see, sir?

When wed, she 'll change, for Love's no sticker,
And love her husband less than liquor?
Echo,-Then lick her!

To leave me, then, I can't compel her,
Though every woman else excel her?
Echo, Sell her!

The doubting youth to Echo turned again, sir,
To ask advice, but found it did not answer.

FLOGGING AN EDITOR.
THE editor sat in his easy chair,
But he sat not easy: there being an air
Of anxious thought beclouding his brow,
As if rightly he knew not what or how
To do in some matter of moment great,
On which depended a throne or a state;
When all of a sudden flew open wide
The office door, and, with hasty stride,
A loaferish figure came stalking in
With a rubicund phiz, and hairy chin,
(The former a product directly of gin),
And with fiery eye and menacing air
He made right up to the editor's chair.
"Are you the man

What edits the paper ?

I've come to tan

Your hide for that caper.

You called me a villain,—you called me a rogue, A way of speaking, sir, too much in vogue, With you fellows that handle the printing press: Defend yourself, sir! I demand a redress.” The editor quailed,

Decidedly paled;

But just at the moment his courage gave way His genius stepped in, and gained him the day. "I'm not the person you seek," he said; "If you want redress, go straight to the head. He's not far off, and will settle affairs,

I have n't a doubt: I'll call him up stairs."
Then down he went,

As if he were sent,

A fire, or something worse, to prevent.
Meantime there came, through a door below,
Another somebody to deal him a blow,—