'Ah, Monsieur Anglise, comment vous, portez vous?' "Eh, that's French,' exclaimed the shop-keeper; not that I understand it, but I'm very well, if that's what you mean.'

'Bon bon, ver good; den, sare, I sall tell you, I vant deux fly.'

'I dare say you do, Mounseer,' replied the Englishman, and so do a great many more of your outlandish gentry; but I'm a true-born Briton, and can never consent to assist the enemies of my country to leave it-particularly when they cost us so much to bring them here.'

'Ah, Monsieur, you no comprehend; I sall repeate, I vant deux fly, on de top of de vater.'

'Oh! what you want to fly by water, do you? then I'm sure I can't assist you, for we are, at least a hun dred miles from the sea-coast, and our canal is not navigable above ten or twelve miles from here.'

'Diable, mon Dieu! sare, you are un stup of the block. I sall tell you once seven times over again-I vant deux fly on the top of de vater, to dingle dangle on de end of de long pole.'

'Ay, ay! you only fly, Mounseer, by land or water, and if they catch you, I'm damned if they won' din gle dangle you, as you call it, at the end of a long rele.'

'Sacre un de dieu! la blas! vat you mean by dat enfer diable? you are un bandit jack of de ass, John ny de Bull. Ba, ba, you are effronte, and I dis me to parley vid you. I tell you, sare, dat I val: deux fly on de top of de vater, to dingle dangle at de end of de long pole, to la trap poisson,'

'What's that you say, you French Mounseer-yoa lay a trap to poison me and all my family, because I won't assist you to escape? why, the like was never heard. Here, Betty, go for the constable."

The constable soon arrived, who happened to be a ignorant as the shop-keeper, and of course it was L. « expected that a constable should be a scholar. Thes the man of office began:-

"What's all this? Betty has been telling me that this here outlandish Frenchman is going to poison you and all your family? Ay, ay, should like to catch him at it, that's all. Come, come to prison, you delinquent.'

'No, sare, I sall not go to de prison; take me before de-what you call it-de ting what nibble de grass ?'

'Oh, you mean the cow.'

'No, sare, not de cow; you stup Johnny boeuf-I mean de chouvel, vat you ride. [Imitating] Com, sare, gee up. Ah, ah.'

"Oh, now I know, you mean a horse.'

'No, sare, I mean de horse's vife.' 'What, the mare.'

'Oui bon, yes, sare, take me to de mayor.'

This request was complied with, and the French officer soon stood before the English magistrate, who, by chance, happened to be better informed than his neighbours, and thus explained, to the satisfaction of all parties.

'You have mistaken the intentions of this honest gentleman; he did not want to fly the country, but to go a fishing, and for that purpose went to your shop to purchase two flies, by way of bait, or, as he expressed it, to la trap la poisson. Poisson, in French, is fish.'

'Why, aye,' replied the shop-keeper, that may be true-you are a scholard, and so you know better than I. Poison, in French, may be very good fish, but give me good old English roast beef.'

THE grass

THE GRAVE STONES.

is green and the spring floweret blooms, And the tree blossoms all as fresh and fair As death had never visited the earth: Yet every blade of grass, and every flower,

And every bud and blossom of the spring,
Is the memorial that nature rears

Over a kindred grave.-Ay, and the song
Of woodland wooer, or his nuptial lay,
As blithe as if the year no winter knew,
Is the lament of universal death.
The merry singer is the living link

Of many a thousand years of death gone by,
And many a thousand in futurity,-
The remnant of a moment, spared by him
But for another meal to gorge upon.
This globe is but our father's cemetery-

The sun, and moon, and stars that shine on high,
The lamps that burn to light their sepulchre,
The bright escutcheons of their funeral vault.
Yet does man move as gayly as the barge,
Whose keel sings through the waters, and her sails
Kythe like the passing meteor of the deep;
Yet ere to-morrow shall those sunny waves,
That wanton round her, as they were in love,
Turn dark and fierce, and swell, and swallow her,
So is he girt by death on every side,

As heedless of it.--Thus he perishes.
Such were my thoughts on a summer eve,
As forth I walked to quaff the cooling breeze.
The setting sun was curtaining the west
With purple and with gold, so fiercely bright,
That eye of mortal might not look on it-
Pavilion fitting for an angel's home,
The sun's last ray fell slanting on a thorn
With blossoms white, and there a blackbird sat
Bidding the sun adieu, in tones so sweet
As fancy might awake around his throne.
My heart was full, yet found no utterance,
Save in a half-breathed sigh and moistening tear.
I wandered on, scarce knowing where I went,
Till I was seated on an infant's grave.
Alas! I knew the little tenant well:
She was one of a lovely family,

That oft had clung around me like a wreath
Of forests, the fairest of the maiden spring-
It was a new-made grave, and the green sod
Lay loosely on it; yet affection there

Had reared the stone, her monument of fame.
I read the name-I loved to hear her lisp-
"Twas not alone, but every name was there
That lately echoed through that happy dome.
I had been three weeks absent; in that time
The merciless destroyer was at work,

And spared not one of all the infant group.
The last of all I read the grandsire's name,
On whose white locks I oft had seen her cheek,
Like a bright sun-beam on a fleecy cloud,
Rekindling in his eye the fading lustre,
Breathing in his heart the glow of youth.
He died at eighty of a broken heart,
Bereft of all for whom he wished to live.

THE BARBER'S SHOP.

I'm a dapper little shaver,
Who in manners and behaviour,
Bear the bell from all the trade.
I'm descended from the Razors,
Who, as most people say, sirs,
A fortune should have made.
For be it known, my father
Such numbers used to lather,
And so briskly plied his trade,
And so briskly plied his trade,
That, by hair dressing and shaving
Though his family was craving,
He a decent living made.

Spoken.] Mr. Razor, says my poor deceased mother; My duck, says my father. Vy, lovy, I've been thinking as how ve should send Tony to a larned seminary, for

I likes Latin.-A little larning is a dangerous thingdrink deep, or a fig for larning, says my father; or ir he larns any thing, let him larn to shave, and as to drinking deep, he'll larm that from his father-So instead of being a man of letters, I can barely tell them, and am left with all my imperfections on my head, to shave, dress hair, comb wigs, and retail Day and Martin's blacking, Russia oil, pomatum, and powder, and instead of wearing a counsellor's wig, to be constantly employed in keeping it in curl, while the only bar I ever pleaded at is the bar of old Score'em, though I generally contrive to pay my way; I wish every tradesman could put his hand to his heart and say as much we should then see fewer dividends of a shiling in the pound, and the credit of old England keep up its ancient vigour.

So, with scissors, comb, and lather

I a sufficient harvest gather,
To keep open the barber's shop,
The barber's shop,

The barber's shop,

To keep open the barber's shop.
Should my customers e'er vapour
I show 'em an old paper,
Which I beg 'em to peruse;
Should they find the cheat, sirs,
There patience entreat, sirs,

Which they seldom or e'er refuse.
For by this time I contrive,

My business quick to drive,

And be ready their beards to mow,
And be ready their beards to mow;
Of me you're making fun,

Sir, I tell you I've just done,

Mr. Latherem, here, hollo.

Spoken.] Mr. Feeble, shall I shave you? your beard's in a sad condition, like the times-Don't talk to me of the times, for I've no time to talk to you