WILLIAM RAY.-ALBERT G. GREENE.

And sings some tasty songs, too;
But, my veracity impeach,

If she can tell what part of speech
Gentility belongs to.

Without one spark of wit refined—
Without one beauty of the mind-
Genius or education,—
Or family or fame to boast ;-
To see such gentry rule the roast,
Turns patience to vexation.

To clear such rubbish from the earth,-
Though real genius, mental worth,
And science do attend you,—
You might as well the sty refine,
Or cast your pearls before the swine;
They'd only turn and rend you.

32. OLD GRIMES.

OLD Grimes is dead; that good old man
We never shall see more ;

He used to wear a long black coat,
All buttoned down before.

His heart was open as the day,
His feelings all were true;

His hair was some inclined to gray—
He wore it in a queue.

Whene'er he heard the voice of pain,
His breast with pity burned;
-The large round head upon his cane
From ivory was turned.

Kind words he ever had for all;
He knew no base design :

His eyes were dark and rather small,
His nose was aquiline.

249

WILLIAM RAY

He lived at peace with all mankind ;
In friendship he was true;
His coat had pocket-holes behind,
His pantaloons were blue.

Unharmed, the sin which earth pollutes
He passed securely o'er;
And never wore a pair of boots
For thirty years or more.

But good old Grimes is now at rest,
Nor fears misfortune's frown:
He wore a double-breasted vest-
The stripes ran up and down.

He modest merit sought to find,
And pay it its desert;

He had no malice in his mind,
No ruffles on his shirt.

His neighbors he did not abuse-
Was sociable and gay :

He wore large buckles on his shoes,
And changed them every day.

His knowledge, hid from public gaze,
He did not bring to view,

Nor make a noise, town-meeting days,
As many people do.

His worldly goods he never threw

In trust to Fortune's chances;

But lived (as all his brothers do)
In easy circumstances.

Thus undisturbed by anxious cares,
His peaceful moments ran,

And every body said he was
A fine old gentleman.

ALBERT G. GREENE

(A parody on Marco Bozzaris.)

Ar midnight, in his cottage small,
The bard was dreaming of the times
When cheerily from camp and hall
Rang out the minstrel's rhymes!
In dreams through courtly scenes he roved,
In dreams a royal mistress loved,.

In dreams he clasped her as his bride,-
Then revelled at the board of kings,
Bedecked with ribbons, stars, and rings;
And ever woke his harp's wild strings
To notes of joy and pride!
At midnight, in the court beneath,
The sheriff ranged a savage band,
Following their game up to the death
With murderous notes of hand!
There was the draper, trim and neat,
There was the burly man of meat,
Landlord, and tailors four,-
Bound on an errand all unblest,
Like envious cranes met to molest,

With their LONG BILLS, a skylark's nest,
They thronged the poet's door!

An hour passed on.

The bard awoke,

That poet-dream was past!

He wakened to a cry of fear

Of “ Hide, dear Tom, the sheriff's here!”

He woke to find himself safe hid

Beneath a meal chest's friendly lid!

To mutter SACRES fierce and fast,
On baffled foes that round him crowd,-
And hear, in accents sharp and loud,
The sheriff cheer his band!

Search! till each closet is explored-
Search! landlord, for thy bill of board!
Search for the wines against him scored--
And, tailors, lend a hand!

They sought like Shylocks, long and hard,
Around, beneath, and overhead;

But vainly all-they left the bard
Snug in his mealy bed!

Then his indignant Susan saw
Those shameless wreckers of the law
Had nabbed his Sunday coat!
She saw the fearful look he wore,
As then and there he roundly swore
To leave his thankless native shore,
Upon that morning's boat!

SARA J. CLARKE

34. THE WORLD'S A STAGE.

(Mrs. Partington's "Seven Ages.")

ALL the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely passengers;
They have their axes and their entry ways,
And one man keeps time and plays his part,
And all the axes have seven edges. First the baby,
Mewling, &c, in its nurse's arms;

And then the winning school-boy with his scratchawl,
And shiny mourning face, running like a snail
Unwittingly to school; then the lover,

Sighing like a foundry with an awful bandage
Made for his mistress' eyebrows; then the soldier,
Full of strangle oaths, and bearded like a pardner,
Zealous in horror, scrubbing a stick in quarrel,
Seeking the blubber refutation

Into the cannon mouth; then a justice of the peace
In fair round belly, with good apron lined;
His eyes so sore and beard of normal cut,
Full of old handsaws and modern mischances;
And so he brays his part; the sixth edge shimmies
Into the lean and slippery pair of pantaloons
With youthful hoes, well shaved, a world too wide
For his crook shank; and his big homely voice,
Turning a grain toward hardish pebble, pipes
And mizzles in his sound; and last of all
That ends this strained repentful history,
Is second childishness and mere pavilion,

Sands' teeth, Sands' eyes, Sands' tasting, Sands' Sarsaparilla!

ANONYMOUS.

35. IMPROVEMENT.

My dear friends, I mean to speak of the spirit of improvement in general terms, as relating to enlightenment, the advancement of knowledge and progress in the arts and sciences. In this respect, it is like the rolling avalanche, that leaves detached portions of its bulk by the way, and yet keeps augmenting in its circumvolutionary course. Hardy Enterprise first goes forward as a pioneer in the untracked wilderness, and commences fight with the mighty trees of the forest, cutting them off, some in the prime of life, and others in a green old age, and compelling them to spill their sap upon their country's soil. Then walks Agriculture into them 'ere diggins, with spade, harrow, and hoe, and scatters the seed of promise hither and thither, assuring the hopeful settler that his children's children shall sop their hard-earned crumbs in the real gravy of the land. The handmaid Art then comes forward, erects edifices of splendor, and leaves her ornaments of skill on every side-builds studios for the scholars of science, and throws facilities in their way for increasing their wisdom, or for making egregious fools of themselves.

Such, my hearers, is the spirit of improvement. Like the overflowing of a stream that covers and enriches the valley, it betters the natural and social condition of man, opens wide the avenues to the temple of reason, and expands the young buds of prosperity. Brush away the fog of a couple of centuries, and take a look at this, our native land, as it then appeared. Here, upon the Atlantic shore, the scream of the panther arose on the midnight air with the savage war-whoop, and the palefaced pilgrim trembled for the safety of his defenceless home. He planted his beans in fear and gathered them in trouble; his chickens and his children were plundered by the foe, and life itself was in danger of leaking out from between the logs of his hut, even if it were fortified with three muskets, a spunky wife, and a jug of whiskey. Yes, my friends, this was then a wild, gloomy, and desolate place. Where the Indian squaw hung her young pappoose upon the bough and left it to squall at the husha-by of the blast, the Anglo-Saxon mother now rocks the cradle of her delicate.babe on the carpet of peace, and in the gay parlor of fashion. The wild has been changed to a blooming garden, and its limits are expanding with the mighty genius of Liberty. On Erie's banks the flocks are now straying o'er thymy pastures, and a few Dutchmen (but no shepherds) are already