The working man, with shoulders broad,
Took blithely to his wife

The thousand crowns; a pleasant load,
That made him rich for life.

And Nassau's Duke the favorite took
Into his deer-park's centre,

To share a field with other pets,

Where deer-slayer can not enter.

There, whilst thou cropp'st thy flowery food,
Each hand shall pat thee kind;

And man shall never spill thy blood-
Wiesbaden's gentle hind.

NAPOLEON AND THE BRITISH SAILOR.⚫

I LOVE Contemplating — apart

From all his homicidal glory,

The traits that soften to our heart
Napoleon's glory!

'Twas when his banners at Boulogne
Armed in our island every freeman,
His navy chanced to capture one
Poor British seaman.

• This anecdote has been published in several public journals, both French and British. My belief in its authenticity was confirmed by an Englishman, long resident at Boulogne, lately telling me, that ho remembered the circumstance to have been generally talked of in the place.

They suffered him I know not how,

Unprisoned on the shore to roam; And aye was bent his longing brow On England's home.

His eye, methinks, pursued the flight
Of birds to Britain half-way over;
With envy they could reach the white
Dear cliffs of Dover.

A stormy midnight watch, he thought,
Than this sojourn would have been dearer,
If but the storm his vessel brought
To England nearer.

At last, when care had banished sleep,

He saw, one morning-dreaming, doting — An empty hogshead from the deep

Come shoreward floating;

He hid it in a cave, and wrought

The live-long day laborious; lurking Until he launched a tiny boat

By mighty working.

Heaven help us! 'twas a thing beyond,

Description wretched; such a wherry

Perhaps ne'er ventured on a pond,

Or crossed a ferry.

For ploughing in the salt-sea field,

It would have made the boldest shudder; Untarred, uncompassed, and unkeeled,

From neighboring woods he interlaced
His sorry skiff with wattled willows;

And thus equipped he would have passed The foaming billows:

But Frenchmen caught him on the beach,
His little Argus sorely jeering;

Till tidings of him chanced to reach
Napoleon's hearing.

With folded arms Napoleon stood,
Serene alike in peace and danger;
And, in his wonted attitude,

Addressed the stranger :

"Rash man, that wouldst yon channel pass On twigs and staves so rudely fashioned, Thy heart with some sweet British lass Must be impassioned."

"I have no sweetheart," said the lad;

"But absent long from one another

Great was the longing that I had
To see my mother."

"And so thou shalt," Napoleon said,

"Ye've both my favor fairly won; A noble mother must have bred

So brave a son."

He gave the tar a piece of gold,

And, with a flag of truce, commanded He should be shipped to England Old, And safely landed.

Our sailor oft could scantly shift

To find a dinner, plain and hearty; But never changed the coin and gift Of Bonaparte.

THE JILTED NYMPH.

A SONG,

To the Scotch Tune of " Wooed and Married and a'."

Wooed or jilted at all;

Oh, how unhappy's the lass

Who has never been courted at all!

My brother called out the dear faithless

In fits I was ready to fall,

Till I found a policeman who, scatheless, Swore them both to the peace at Guildhall; Seized them, seconds and all

Pistols, powder and ball;

I wished him to die my devoted,

But not in a duel to sprawl.

What though at my heart he has tilted,

What though I have met with a fall?

Better be courted and jilted

Than never be courted at all.

Wooed and jilted and all,

Still I will dance at the ball;

And waltz and quadrille
With light heart and heel,

With proper young men, and tall.

But lately I've met with a suitor,

Whose heart I have gotten in thrall, And I hope soon to tell you, in future, That I'm wooed, and married, and all; Wooed, and married, and all,

What greater bliss can befall?

And you all shall partake of my bridal cake, When I'm wooed, and married, and all.

BENLOMOND.

HADST thou a genius on thy peak,
What tales, white-headed Ben,
Couldst thou of ancient ages speak,
That mock th' historian's pen!

Thy long duration makes our lives
Seem but so many hours;

And likens to the bees' frail hives
Our most stupendous towers.

Temples and towers thou'st seen begun,
New creeds, new conquerors' sway;

And, like their shadows in the sun,
Hast seen them swept away.

Thy steadfast summit, heaven-allied,
(Unlike life's little span,)

Looks down, a Mentor, on the pride
Of perishable man.