My next was a Newfoundland brute,
As big as a calf fit for slaughter;
But my old cataract

So truly he backed,

I always fell into the water.

I once had a sheep-dog for guide,
His worth did not value a button;
I found it no go,

A Smithfield Ducrow,

To stand on four saddles of mutton.

My next was an Esquimaux dog,

A dog that my bones ached to talk on,
For picking his ways

On cold frosty days

He picked out the slides for a walk on.

Bijou was a lady-like dog,

But vexed me at night not a little,
When tea-time was come

She would not go home,

Her tail had once trailed a tin kettle.

I once had a sort of a Shock,

And kissed a street post like a brother,

And lost every tooth

In learning this truth

One blind cannot well lead another.

A terrier was far from a trump,

He had one defect, and a thorough,
I never could stir,

'Od rabbit the cur!

Without going into the Borough.

My next was Dalmatian, the dog!
And led me in danger, oh crikey!
By chasing horse heels,

Between carriage wheels,

Till I came upon boards that were spiky.

The next that I had was from Cross,
And once was a favorite spaniel
With Nero, now dead,

And so I was led

Right up to his den like a Daniel.

A mongrel I tried, and he did,
As far as the profit and lossing,
Except that the kind

Endangers the blind,

The breed is so fond of a crossing.

A setter was quite to my taste,

In alleys or streets broad or narrow,
Till one day I met

A very dead set,

At a very dead horse in a barrow.

I once had a dog that went mad,

And sorry

I was that I got him;

It came to a run,

And a man with a gun

Peppered me when he ought to have shot him.

My profits have gone to the dogs,

My trade has been such a deceiver,
aim

I fear that my

Is a mere losing game,

Unless I can find a Retriever.

THE KANGAROOS.

A FABLE.

A PAIR of married kangaroos
(The case is oft a human one too)
Were greatly puzzled once to choose
A trade to put their eldest son to:
A little brisk and busy chap,

As all the little K.'s just then areAbout some two months off the lapThey're not so long in arms as men are.

A twist in each parental muzzle
Betrayed the hardship of the puzzle-
So much the flavor of life's cup
Is framed by early wrong or right,
And Kangaroos we know are quite
Dependent on their "rearing up."
The question, with its ins and outs,
Is intricate and full of doubts;

And yet they had no squeamish carings
For trades unfit or fit for gentry,
Such notion never had an entry,

For they had no armorial bearings. Howbeit they're not the last on earth That might indulge in pride of birth;

Whoe'er has seen their infant young Bob in and out their mother's pokes, Would own, with very ready tongue, They are not born like common folks. Well, thus the serious subject stood,

It kept the old pair watchful nightly,

342

Debating for young hopeful's good,
That he might earn his livelihood,

And go through life (like them) uprightly.
Arms would not do at all; no, marry,
In that line all his race miscarry;
And agriculture was not proper,
Unless they meant the lad to tarry
For ever as a mere clod-hopper.
He was not well cut out for preaching,
At least in any striking style:
And as for being mercantile-

He was not formed for over-reaching.

The law why there still fate ill-starred him,

And plainly from the bar debarred him:

A doctor-who would ever fee him?
In music he could scarce engage,
And as for going on the stage
In tragic socks I think I see him!

He would not make a rigging-mounter;
A haberdasher had some merit,
But there the counter still ran counter,
For just suppose

A lady chose

To ask him for a yard of ferret!

A gardener digging up his beds,

The puzzled parents shook their heads.

"A tailor would not do because

They paused and glanced upon

his paws.

Some parish post-though fate should place it
Before him, how could he embrace it?

In short, each anxious Kangaroo

Discussed the matter through and through;
By day they seemed to get no nearer,
'Twas posing quite―

And in the night

Of course they saw their way no clearer !
At last thus musing on their knees-
Or hinder elbows if you please-
It came no thought was ever brighter!
In weighing every why and whether,
They jumped upon it both together—
"Let's make the imp a short-hand writer!"

MORAL.

I wish all human parents so

Would argue what their sons are fit for; Some would-be critics that I know

Would be in trades they have more wit for.

SONNET.

THE sky is glowing in one ruddy sheet;-
A cry of fire! resounds from door to door;
And westward still the thronging people pour;-
The turncock hastens to F. P. 6 feet,

And quick unlocks the fountains of the street;
While rumbling engines, with increasing roar,
Thunder along to luckless Number Four,
Where Mr. Dough makes bread for folks to eat.
And now through blazing frames, and fiery beams,
The Globe, the Sun, the Phoenix, and what not,
With gushing pipes throw up abundant streams,
On burning bricks, and twists, on rolls-too hot-
And scorching loaves-as if there were no shorter
And cheaper way of making toast-and-water!