Now let us sing, "long live the king," and Gilpin, long live he,

And when he next doth ride abroad may I be there to see.

William Cowper.

A PROFITABLE SHOT.

TOM SHERIDAN used to tell a story for and against himself, which we shall take leave to relate.

He was staying at Lord Craven's, at Benham (or rather Hempstead), and one day proceeded on a shooting-excursion, like Hawthorn, with only "his dog and his gun," on foot, and unattended by companion or keeper. The sport was bad, the birds few and shy, and he walked and walked in search of game, until unconsciously he entered the domain of some neighboring squire. A very short time after he perceived advancing towards him, at the top of his speed, a jolly, comfortable-looking gentleman, followed by a servant, armed, as it appeared, for conflict. Tom took up a position, and waited the approach of the enemy.

"Halloo! you, sir," said the squire, when within half ear-shot, "what are you doing here, sir, eh ?"

"I'm shooting, sir," said Tom.

"Do you know where you are, sir ?" said the squire.

"I'm here, sir," said Tom.

“Here, sir!” said the squire, growing angry ; "and do you know where here is, sir? These, sir, are my manors: what d'ye think of that, sir ?"

Why, sir, as to your manners," said Tom, "I can't say they seem over-agreeable."

"I don't want any jokes, sir," said the squire: "I hate jokes. Who are you, sir?—what are you ?"

Why, sir," said Tom, "my name is Sheridan; I am staying at Lord Craven's; I have come out for some sport; I have not had any, and am not aware that I am trespassing."

"Sheridan!" said the squire, cooling a little ; "oh, from Lord Craven's, eh? Well, sir, I could not know that, sir, I-"

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'No, sir," said Tom, "but you need not have been in a passion.'

"Not in a passion, Mr. Sheridan!" said the squire; "you don't know what these preserves have cost me, and the pains and trouble I have been at with them. It's all very well for you to talk, but if you were in my place I would like to know what you would say upon such an occasion."

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Why, sir," said Tom, "if I were in your place, under all the circumstances, I should say, 'I am convinced, Mr. Sheridan, you did not mean to annoy me; and as you look a good deal tired, perhaps you will come up to my house and take some refreshment.'

The squire was hit hard by this nonchalance,

and (as the newspapers say), "it is needless to add," acted upon Sheridan's suggestion.

"So far," said poor Tom, "the story tells for Now you shall hear the sequel."

me.

After having regaled himself at the squire's house, and having said five hundred more good things than he swallowed, having delighted his host, and more than half won the hearts of his wife and daughter, the sportsman proceeded on his return homewards.

In the course of his walk he passed through a farm-yard in the front of the farm-house was a green, in the centre of which was a pond, in the pond were ducks innumerable, swimming and diving; on its verdant banks a motley group of gallant cocks and pert partlets, picking and feeding the farmer was leaning over the thatch of his barn, which stood near two cottages on the side of the green.

Tom hated to go back with an empty bag; and, having failed in his attempts at higher game, it struck him as a good joke to ridicule the exploits of the day himself, in order to prevent any one else from doing it for him; and he thought that to carry home a certain number of the domestic inhabitants of the pond and its vicinity would serve the purpose admirably. Accordingly, up he goes to the farmer, and accosts him very civilly:

"My good friend," says Tom, "I'll make you an offer."

"Of what, sir?" says the farmer.

Why," replies Tom, "I have been out all day fagging after birds, and haven't had a shot; now, both my barrels are loaded, I should like to take home something: what shall I give you to let me have a shot with each barrel at those ducks and fowls,—I standing here, and to have whatever I kill ?"

"What sort of a shot are you?" said the farmer.

"Fairish," said Tom; "fairish."

"And to have all you kill?" said the farmer, "eh?"

Exactly so," said Tom.

"Half a guinea," said the farmer.

"That's too much," said Tom. "I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll give you a seven-shilling piece, which happens to be all the money I have in my pocket."

"Well," said the man, "hand't over. over." The payment was made; Tom, true to his bargain, took his post by the barn door, and let fly with one barrel, and then with the other; and such quacking and splashing and screaming and fluttering had never been seen in that place before.

Away ran Tom, and, delighted at his success, picked up first a hen, then a chicken, then fished out a dying duck or two, and so on, until he numbered eight head of domestic game, with which his bag was nobly distended.

"Those were right good shots, sir," said the farmer.

"Yes," said Tom; "eight ducks and fowls are more than you bargained for, old fellow,-worth rather more, I suspect, than seven shillings,— eh ?"

"Why, yes," said the man, scratching his head, "I think they be; but what do I care for that? they are none of mine !"

"Here," said Tom, "I was for once in my life beaten, and made off as fast as I could, for fear the right owner of the game might make his appearance; not but that I could have given the

fellow that took me in seven times as much as I did, for his cunning and coolness."

George A. Sala.

LADY CLARE.

It was the time when lilies blow,
And the clouds are highest up in air,
Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe
To give his cousin, Lady Clare.

I trow they did not part in scorn;
Lovers long betrothed were they :
They two will wed the morrow morn;
God's blessing on the day!

"He does not love me for my birth,
Nor for my lands as broad and fair;
He loves me for my own true worth,
And that is well," said Lady Clare.