Though long my list, though great my store,I'd ever seek to add one more. Old songs! old songs!-my brain has lost Of "Murray's" books and "Trimmer's" schools; Detested figures-how I hate The mere remembrance of a slate! How have I cast from woman's thought Of "Rest thee, Babe," or "Robin Gray." The ballad still is breathing round, And the blithe boy that praised her song, Old songs! old songs!-I should not sigh- But spectral forms will sometimes start Hope, youth, love, home-each human tie ELIZA COOK. C The Newcastle Apothecary. A MAN in many a country town we know, Yet some affirm, no enemies they are, Tho' the apothecary fights with death, A member of this Esculapian line Lived at Newcastle upon Tyne, His fame full six miles round the country ran, In short, in reputation he was solus : All the old women call'd him "a fine man," Benjamin Bolus, tho' in trade (Which oftentimes will genius fetter), Read works of fancy, it is said, And cultivated the belles-lettres. And why should this be thought so odd, Bolus loved verse;-and took so much delight in't, That his prescriptions he resolved to write in't. No opportunity he e'er let pass Of writing the directions on his labels Or rather like the lines in Hudibras. Apothecary's verse! and where's the treason? He had a patient lying at death's door, Some three miles from the town-it might be four; And on the label of the stuff He wrote this verse, Which one would think was clear enough and terse: "When taken, To be well shaken." Next morning early, Bolus rose, Who a vile trick of stumbling had : For what's expected from a horse Bolus arrived, and gave a doubtful rap; The servant let him in, with dismal face, Portending some disaster: John's countenance as rueful look'd and grim, "Well, how's the patient ?" Bolus said,- "Indeed!-hum; ha!-that's very odd. He took the draught!"—John gave a nod. "Well now! what then ?—speak out, you dunce." "Why then," says John, "we shook him once." "Shook him!-how?" Bolus stammer'd out, "We jolted him about." "What! shake a patient, man! a shake won't do." 66 No, sir; and so we gave him two." "Two shakes! odds curse! 'Twould make the patient worse!" "It did so, sir; and so a third we tried." "Well! what then?"-" Then sir, my master died." COLMAN. Count Eberhard. Two Counts with Franz to dine have come And when the feast was done, All push'd the wine and talk'd of home, The Margrave talk'd of healthful springs, Another praised his vines; Bohemia spoke of precious things In many darksome mines. Count Everhard sat silent there, "Now, Würtemberg, begin! There must be something good and fair, Your pleasant country in." "In healthful springs and purple wine," Count Everhard replied; "In costly gems, and gold to shine, I cannot match your pride. "But you shall hear a simple tale. One night I lost my way, Within a wood along a vale, And down to sleep I lay." "And there I dream'd that I was dead, "And men and women stood beside "A tear upon my face fell down, I found my head was resting on |