Yet with these dyes to use a pun He still is the Undying One.

X.

He rolls in wealth, yet has no wife
His Three per Cents. to share;
He never married in his life,

Or flirted with the fair;

The sex he made a point to shun,
For beauty an Undying One.

XI.

To judge him by the present signs,
The future by the past,

So quick he lives, so slow declines,
The Last Man won't be last,

But buried underneath a ton

Of mould by the Undying One!

XII.

Next Friday week his birthday boast,
His ninetieth year he spends,
And I shall have his health to toast

Amongst expectant friends,

And wish it really sounds like fun Long life to the Undying One!

COCKLE v. CACKLE.

THOSE Who much read advertisements and bills,
Must have seen puffs of Cockle's Pills,
Called Anti-bilious

Which some Physicians sneer at, supercilious,
But which we are assured, if timely taken,
May save your liver and bacon ;

Whether or not they really give one ease,
I, who have never tried,

Will not decide;

But no two things in union go like these

Viz:- Quacks and Pills

Pease.

save Ducks and

Now Mrs. W. was getting sallow,

Her lilies not of the white kind, but yellow,
And friends portended was preparing for
A human Pâté Périgord;

She was, indeed, so very far from well,
Her Son, in filial fear, procured a box

Of those said pellets to resist Bile's shocks,
And tho' upon the ear it strangely knocks
To save her by a Cockle from a shell !

But Mrs. W., just like Macbeth,
Who very vehemently bids us

"throw

Bark to the Bow-wows," hated physic so,
It seemed to share "the bitterness of death:
-

Rhubarb Magnesia Jalap, and the kind-
Senna Steel - Assa-foetida, and Squills-
Powder or Draught — but least her throat in-
clined

To give a course to Boluses or Pills;

No

not to save her life, in lung or lobe, For all her lights' or all her liver's sake, Would her convulsive thorax undertake, Only one little uncelestial globe!

"T is not to wonder at, in such a case,
If she put by the pill-box in a place
For linen rather than for drugs intended
Yet for the credit of the pills let's say
After they thus were stowed away,
Some of the linen mended;

But Mrs. W. by disease's dint,

Kept getting still more yellow in her tint,
When lo! her second son, like elder brother,
Marking the hue on the parental gills,
Brought a new charge of Anti-tumeric Pills,
To bleach the jaundiced visage of his Mother
Who took them in her cupboard — like the
other.

"Deeper and deeper, still," of course,
The fatal color daily grew in force;

Till daughter W. newly come from Rome,

Acting the self-same filial, pillial, part,

To cure Mamma, another dose brought home Of Cockles ; not the Cockles of her heart! These going where the others went before, Of course she had a very pretty store; And then.

ing,

some hue of health her cheek adorn

The Medicine so good must be,

They brought her dose on dose, which she Gave to the up-stairs cupboard, "night and morn

ing."

Till wanting room at last, for other stocks,
Out of the window one fine day she pitched
The pillage of each box, and quite enriched
The feed of Mister Burrell's hens and cocks,
A little Barber of a by-gone day,

Over the way

Whose stock in trade, to keep the least of shops, Was one great head of Kemble,- that is, John, Staring in plaster, with a Brutus on,

And twenty little Bantam fowls

- with crops.

Little Dame W. thought when through the sash She gave the physic wings,

To find the very things

So good for bile, so bad for chicken rash,
For thoughtless cock and unreflecting pullet!
But while they gathered up the nauseous nubbles,
Each pecked itself into a peck of troubles,
And brought the hand of Death upon its gullet.

They might as well have addled been, or ratted,
For long before the night ah woe betide
The Pills! each suicidal Bantam died
Unfatted!

Think of poor Burrell's shock, Of Nature's debt to see his hens all payers, And laid in death as Everlasting Layers, With Bantam's small Ex-Emperor, the Cock, In ruffled plumage and funereal hackle, Giving, undone by Cockle, a last Cackle! To see as stiff as stone, his un’live stock, It really was enough to move his block. Down on the floor he dashed, with horror big, Mr. Bell's third wife's mother's coachman's wig ; And with a tragic stare like his own Kemble, Burst out with natural emphasis enough,

And voice that grief made tremble,

Into that very speech of sad Macduff

"What! —— all my pretty chickens and their dam, At one fell swoop!

Just when I'd bought a coop

To see the poor lamented creatures cram !

After a little of this mood,

And brooding over the departed brood,
With razor he began to ope each craw,
Already turning black, as black as coals;
When lo! the undigested cause he saw
"Pisoned by goles !"