He found the most convenient way
Was just to drop a line!

And many a gudgeon of the pond,
If made to speak to-day,

Would own, with grief, the angler had
A mighty taking way!

One day, while fishing on a log,
He mourned his want of luck,
When, suddenly, he felt a bite,
And, jerking-caught a duck!

Alas! that day this fisherman
Had taken too much grog;
And, being but a landsman, too,
He couldn't keep the log!

'Twas all in vain with might and main
He strove to reach the shore:
Down, down he went, to feed the fish
He'd baited oft before!

The jury gave their verdict, that
'Twas nothing else but gin,
That caused the fisherman to be
So sadly taken in:

Though one stood out upon a whim,
And said the angler's slaughter-

To be exact about the fact-
Was clearly gin-and-water!

The moral of this mournful tale

To all is plain and clear,
That drinking habits bring a man

Too often to his bier:

And he who scorns to "take the pledge,"
And keep the promise fast,
May be, in spite of fate, a stiff
Cold-water man, at last!

JOHN G. SAXE.

28. THE THREE BLACK CROWS.

Two honest tradesmen meeting in the Strand,
One took the other briskly by the hand:
"Hark ye," said he, “'tis an odd story this,
About the crows!"-"I don't know what it is,"
Replied his friend.

"No! I'm surprised at that

Where I came from it is the common chat.

But shall hear, an odd affair, indeed!
you
But that it happened we are all agreed.
Not to detain you from a thing so strange,
A gentleman that lives not far from 'Change,
This week, in short (as all the alley knows),
Taking a dose, has thrown up three black crows!"

66

Impossible!".

66

Nay, but it's really true:

I had it from good hands, and so may you.'

"From whose, I pray?"-So, having named the

man,

Straight to inquire, his curious comrade ran.

"Sir, did you tell," - relating the affair,
"Yes, sir, I did; and if it's worth your care,
Ask Mr. Such-a-one; he told it me;

But, by the by, 'twas two black crows, not three."

Resolved to trace so wondrous an event,

Quick to the third the virtuoso went.

66 Sir,"
"-and so forth,-

fact;

66

Why, yes, the thing is

Though, in regard to number, not exact:
It was not two black crows; 'twas only one :
The truth of that you may depend upon.
The gentleman himself told me the case."—
"Where may I find him?”

place."

66

Why, in such a

Away he goes, and having found him out,

66

Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt."

Then to his last informant he referred,

And begged to know if true what he had heard. "Did you, sir, throw up a black crow?"-"Not

I!"

"Bless me! how people propagate a lie!

Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and

one;

And here I find, at last, all comes to none !
Did you say nothing of a crow at all?"

"Crow! crow!-perhaps I might, now I recall

The matter o'er."-" And pray, sir, what was't?"

66

Why, I was horrid sick; and, at the last,

I did throw up (and told my neighbor so,)

Something that was as black, sir, as a crow.'

-JOHN BYROM.

29. THE PHILOSOPHER'S SCALES.

A monk, when his rites sacerdotal were o'er, In the depth of his cell with its stone-covered floor,

Resigning to thought his chimerical brain,

Once formed the contrivance we now shall explain;
But whether by magic's or alchemy's powers
We know not; indeed, 'tis no business of ours.

Perhaps it was only by patience and care, At last, that he brought his invention to bear: In youth 'twas projected, but years stole away, And ere 'twas complete he was wrinkled and gray; But success is secure unless energy fails;

And, at length, he produced THE PHILOSOPHER'S

SCALES.

"What were they?" you ask; you shall presently

see:

These scales were not made to weigh sugar and

tea;

Oh no; for such properties wondrous had they, That qualities, feelings, and thoughts they could weigh;

Together with articles small or immense,

From mountains or planets to atoms of sense.

Naught was there so bulky but there it would lay,
And naught so ethereal but there it would stay,
And naught so reluctant but in it must go-
All which some examples more clearly will show.

The first thing he weighed was the head of Voltaire,

Which retained all the wit that had ever been

there;

As a weight, he threw in a torn scrap of a leaf,

Containing the prayer of the penitent thief;
When the skull rose aloft with so sudden a spell,
That it bounced like a ball on the roof of the cell.

One time he put in Alexander the Great,

With the garment that Dorcas had made, for a weight,

And, though clad in armor from sandals to crown,
The hero rose up, and the garment went down.
A long row of alms-houses, amply endowed.
By a well-esteemed Pharisee, busy and proud,
Next loaded one scale; while the other was pressed