The Apple Dumplings and a King.

Then taking up a dumpling in his hand,
His eyes with admiration did expand-

And oft did Majesty the dumpling grapple: ""Tis monstrous, monstrous hard indeed," he cried : "What makes it, pray, so hard?"-The dame replied, Low curtsying, "Please your Majesty, the apple."

"Very astonishing indeed!-strange thing!" Turning the dumpling round, rejoin'd the King. ""Tis most extraordinary then, all this isIt beats Pinetti's conjuring all to piecesStrange I should never of a dumpling dreamBut, Goody, tell me where, where, where's the seam?"

"Sir, there's no seam," quoth she; "I never knew

That folks did apple dumplings sew."—

"No?" cried the staring Monarch with a grin,

How, how the devil got the apple in?"

Reader, thou likest not my tale--look'st blue

Thou art a courtier-roarest" Lies, Lies, Lies!"
Do, for a moment, stop thy cries-

I tell thee, roaring infidel, 'tis true.

Why should it not be true? the greatest men
May ask a foolish question now and then-
This is the language of all ages:
Folly lays many a trap-we can't escape it:
Nemo (says some one) omnibus horis sapit:

Then why not Kings, like me and other sages?

BRACE of sinners, for no good,

Were order'd to the Virgin Mary's shrine, Who at Loretto dwelt, in wax, stone, wood,

And in a fair white wig look'd wond'rous fine.

Fifty long miles had those sad rogues to travel,

With something in their shoes much worse than gravel:

In short, their toes so gentle to amuse,
The priest had order'd peas into their shoes:

A nostrum, famous in old popish times,
For purifying souls that stunk with crimes;
A sort of apostolic salt,

That popish parsons for its power exalt,
For keeping souls of sinners sweet,
Just as our kitchen-salt keeps meat.

The knaves set off on the same day,
Peas in their shoes, to go and pray:
But

very different was their speed, I wot:
One of the sinners gallopp'd on,
Light as a bullet from a gun;

The other limp'd as if he had been shot.

One saw the Virgin soon-peccavi cried
Had his soul whitewash'd all so clever;
Then home again he nimbly hied,

Made fit with saints above to live for ever.

In coming back, however, let me say,

He met his brother-rogue about half way,

Hobbling with outstretch'd hams and bended knees,

Damning the souls and bodies of the peas;

His eyes in tears, his cheeks and brows in sweat,

Deep sympathizing with his groaning feet.

"How now," the light-toed, white-wash'd pilgrim broke,

"You lazy lubber!”

"Odds curse it!" cried the other,

My feet, once hard as any rock,

Are now as soft as blubber.

" 'tis no joke;

"Excuse me, Virgin Mary, that I swear : As for Loretto, I shall not get there;

No! to the Devil my sinful soul must go,
For hang me if I ha'n't lost every toe.

"But, brother sinner, do explain How 'tis that you are not in pain?

What power hath work'd a wonder for your toes? Whilst I, just like a snail, am crawling,

Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawling,
Whilst not a rascal comes to ease my woes?

"How is't that you can like a greyhound go,

66

Merry, as if nought had happen'd, burn ye?”

Why," cried the other, grinning," you must know,

That, just before I ventured on my journey,

To walk a little more at ease,

I took the liberty to boil my peas."

ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE.

ROBERT BURNS.

Y curse upon thy venom'd stang,1
That shoots my tortured gums alang;
And through my lugs gies mony a twang,
Wi' gnawing vengeance;

Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,

Like racking engines!

When fevers burn, or ague freezes,
Rheumatics gnaw, or cholic squeezes ;

Our neighbour's sympathy may ease us,
Wi' pitying moan ;

But thee-thou hell o' a' diseases,

Aye mocks our groan!

O' a' the num'rous human dools,
Ill har'sts, daft bargains, cutty-stools,
Or worthy friends raked i' the mools,+
Sad sight to see!

The tricks o' knaves, or fash5 o' fools-
Thou bear'st the gree.6

Where'er that place be priests ca' hell,
Whence a' the tones o' misery yell,
And ranked plagues their numbers tell,
In dreadfu' raw,

Thou, Toothache, surely bear'st the bell

Amang them a'!