Now north, now south, now east, now west, The wavering point was shaken,

'T was past the whole philosophy
Of Newton, or of Bacon;

Never by compass, till that hour,
Such latitudes were taken!

With fearful speech, each after each

Took turns in the inspection;

They found no gun

To vary its direction ;

It seemed a new magnetic case
Of Poles in Insurrection!

Farewell to wives, farewell their lives,

And all their household riches ;

Oh! while they thought of girl or boy,
And dear domestic niches,

All down the side which holds the heart,

That needle gave them stitches.

With deep amaze, the Stranger gazed
To see them so white-livered:
And walked abaft the binnacle,

To know at what they shivered;
But when he stood beside the card,
St. Josef! how it quivered!

No fancy-motion, brain-begot,

In eye of timid dreamer

The nervous finger of a sot

Ne'er showed a plainer tremor;

To every brain it seemed too plain,
There stood the Infernal Schemer!

Mixed brown and blue each visage grew, Just like a pullet's gizzard;

Meanwhile the captain's wandering wit, From tacking like an izzard,

Bore down in this plain course at last,

"It's Michael Scott

the Wizard! "

A smile past o'er the ruddy face,
"To see the poles so falter,

I'm puzzled, friends, as much as you,
For with no fiends I palter;

Michael I'm not although a Scott -
My Christian name is Walter."

Like oil it fell, that name, a spell
On all the fearful faction;

The Captain's head (for he had read)
Confessed the Needle's action,

And bowed to Him in whom the North

Has lodged its main attraction!

She has, in brief,

Command in Chief,

And I'm but Aide-de-camp of it;

For I am small,

And she is tall,

And that's the short and long of it!

She gives to me

The weakest tea,

And takes the whole Souchong of it;

For I am small,

And she is tall,

And that's the short and long of it;

She'll sometimes grip

My buggy whip,

And make me feel the thong of it;

For I am small,

And she is tall,

And that's the short and long of it!

Against my life

She'll take a knife,

Or fork, and dart the prong of it;

For I am small,

And she is tall,

And that's the short and long of it!

I sometimes think

I'll take to drink,.

And hector when I'm strong of it;

For I am small,

And she is tall,

And that's the short and long of it!

O, if the bell

Would ring her knell,

I'd make a gay ding dong of it;
For I am small,

And she is tall,

And that's the short and long of it.

THE DUEL.

A SERIOUS BALLAD.

"Like the two Kings of Brentford smelling at one nosegay."

IN Brentford town, of old renown,

There lived a Mister Bray,
Who fell in love with Lucy Bell,
And so did Mr. Clay.

To see her ride from Hammersmith,

By all it was allowed,

Such fair outsides are seldom seen,

Such Angels on a Cloud.

Said Mr. Bray to Mr. Clay,
You choose to rival me,

And court Miss Bell, but there your court
No thoroughfare shall be.