What is Falernian, what is Port or Sherry,

But vile concoctions to make dull heads ache?

Nay stout itself (though good with oysters, very)Is not a thing your reading man should take. He that would shine, and petrify his tutor, Should drink draught Allsop in its "native pewter."

But hark! a sound is stealing on my ear

A soft and silvery sound-I know it well.

Its tinkling tells me that a time is near

Precious to me-it is the Dinner Bell.

O blessed Bell! Thou bringest beef and beer,

Thou bringest good things more than tongue may

tell:

Seared is (of course) my heart-but unsubdued

Is, and shall be, my appetite for food.

I go. Untaught and feeble is my pen:
But on one statement I may safely venture;

That few of our most highly gifted men

Have more appreciation of the trencher.

I go. One pound of British beef, and then

What Mr. Swiveller called a "modest quencher;"

That home-returning, I may soothly say,'

"Fate cannot touch me: I have dined to-day."

ODE TO TOBACCO.

THOU who, when fears attack,

Bid'st them avaunt, and Black

Care, at the horseman's back

Perching, unseatest;

Sweet when the morn is grey;

Sweet, when they've cleared away

Lunch; and at close of day

Possibly sweetest:

I have a liking old

For thee, though manifold

Stories, I know, are told,

Not to thy credit;

How one (or two at most)

Drops make a cat a ghost

Useless, except to roast

Doctors have said it:

How they who use fusees

All grow by slow degrees

Brainless as chimpanzees,

Meagre as lizards;

Go mad, and beat their wives;

Plunge (after shocking lives)

Razors and carving knives

Into their gizzards.

Confound such knavish tricks!

Yet know I five or six

Smokers who freely mix

Still with their neighbours;

Jones-who, I'm glad to say,

Asked leave of Mrs. J.)—

Daily absorbs a clay

After his labours.

Cats may have had their goose

Cooked by tobacco-juice;

Still why deny its use

Thoughtfully taken?

We're not as tabbies are:

Smith, take a fresh cigar!

Jones, the tobacco-jar!

Here's to thee, Bacon!