Miss Bell I hear has got a dear
Exactly to her mind,-

By sitting at the window pane
Without a bit of blind;

But I go in the balcony,

Which she has never done,

Yet arts that thrive at Number Five

Don't take at Number One!

'Tis hard with plenty in the street,

And plenty passing by,

There's nice young men at Number Ten,

But only rather shy;

And Mrs. Smith across the way

Has got a grown-up son,

But la! he hardly seems to know

There is a Number One!

There's Mr. Wick at Number Nine

But he's intent on pelf,

And though he's pious will not love
His neighbour as himself.

At Number Seven there was a sale

The goods had quite a run!

And here I've got my single lot
On hand at Number One!

My mother often sits at work

And talks of props and stays,

And what a comfort I shall be
In her declining days: —

The very maids about the house
Have set me down a nun,

The sweethearts all belong to them
That call at Number One!

Once only when the flue took fire,
One Friday afternoon,

Young Mr. Long came kindly in
And told me not to swoon:

Why can't he come again without
The Phoenix and the Sun!-
We cannot always have a flue
On fire at Number One!

I am not old! I am not plain!
Nor awkward in my gait -

I am not crooked, like the bride
That went from Number Eight:

I'm sure white satin made her look

As brown as any bun

-

But even beauty has no chance,

I think, at Number One!

At Number Six they say Miss Rose

Has slain a score of hearts,

And Cupid, for her sake, has been

Quite prodigal of darts.

The Imp they show with bended bow,

I wish he had a gun!

But if he had, he 'd never deign

To shoot with Number One.

It's very hard, and so it is

To live in such a row!

And here's a ballad singer come

To aggravate my woe;

O take away your foolish song
And tones enough to stun —

There is "Nae luck about the house,"
I know, at Number One!

THE DROWNING DUCKS.

AMONGST the sights that Mrs. Bond
Enjoyed yet grieved at more than others,
Were little ducklings in a pond,

Swimming about beside their mothers
Small things like living water lilies,
But yellow as the daffo-dillies.

"It's very hard,” she used to moan,

"That other people have their ducklings To grace their waters mine alone

Have never any pretty chucklings." For why! — each little yellow navy Went down ·

all downy - to old Davy!

She had a lake

a pond I mean

Its wave was rather thick than pearly —

She had two ducks, their napes were green She had a drake, his tail was curly, Yet spite of drake, and ducks, and pond, No little ducks had Mrs. Bond!

The birds were both the best of mothers

The nests had eggs the eggs had luck The infant D.'s came forth like others But there, alas! the matter stuck! They might as well have all died addle, As die when they began to paddle!

For when, as native instinct taught her,
The mother set her brood afloat,
They sank ere long right under water,
Like any over-loaded boat;

They were web-footed too to see,
As ducks and spiders ought to be!

No peccant humour in a gander

Brought havoc on her little folks, No poaching cook a frying pander

To appetite, destroyed their yolks,Beneath her very eyes, Od' rot 'em! They went, like plummets, to the bottom.

It seemed of nature and her works!

For little ducks, beyond conviction,

Should float without the help of corks:

Great Johnson it bewildered him!

To hear of ducks that could not swim.

Poor Mrs. Bond! what could she do

But change the breed and she tried divers Which dived as all seemed born to do; No little ones were e'er survivors Like those that copy gems, I'm thinking, They all were given to die-sinking!

In vain their downy coats were shorn;

[went!

They floundered still! Batch after batch

The little fools seemed only born

And hatched for nothing but a hatchment!

Whene'er they launched

O sight of wonder!

Like fires the water "got them under!"

No woman ever gave their lucks

A better chance than Mrs. Bond did;
At last quite out of heart and ducks,

She gave her pond up, and desponded';
For Death among the water-lilies,
Cried "Duc ad me" to all her dillies!

But though resolved to breed no more,
She brooded often on this riddle -
Alas! 'twas darker than before!

At last about the summer's middle,
What Johnson, Mrs. Bond, or none did,
To clear the matter up the Sun did!