And a crook is in his back I know it is a sin For me to sit and grin But the old three-cornered hat, And if I should live to be Let them smile as I do now SAINT PANCRAS BELL. SHIRLEY BROOKS. A SOUND came booming through the air! "What is that sound?" quoth I. My blue-eyed pet, with golden hair, 66 Papa, you know it That sound-it was Saint Pancras bell." I'm sad to hear you talk like that, That sound-attend to what I tell- "Sound is the name the sage selects, Of a long series of effects, Of which that blow's the germ. The following brief analysis Shows the interpolations, Miss. "The blow which, when the clapper slips, Falls on your friend, the bell, Changes its circle to ellipse (A word you'd better spell), And then comes elasticity, Restoring what it used to be. "Nay, making it a little more; As much as it shrunk in before, "This change of form disturbs the air, Which, in its turn behaves In like elastic fashion there, Creating waves on waves; Which press each other onward, dear, "Within that ear the surgeons find Which has a little bone behind- "The wave's vibrations this transmits To this, the incus bone (Incus means anvil, which it hits), And this transfers the tone To the small os orbiculare, The tiniest bone that people carry. A stirrup's form, my daughter – Joins three half-circular canals Each filled with limpid water; Their curious lining you'll observe, Made of the auditory nerve. "This vibrates next and then we find The mystic work is crowned; For then my daughter's gentle mind See what a host of causes swell To make up what you call the bell.'" Awhile she paused my bright Louise, And pondered on the case; Then, settling that he meant to tease, 1 TURNING THE GRINDSTONE. BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 66 WHEN I was a little boy, I remember, one cold winter's morning, I was accosted by a smiling man with an axe on his shoulder. My pretty boy," said he, "has your father a grindstone?" "Yes, sir," said I.— "You are a fine little fellow," said he; "will you let me grind my axe on it?" Pleased with the compliment of "fine little fellow," "O yes, sir," I answered. "It is down in the shop." -"And will you, my man," said he, patting me on the head, "get me a little hot water?" How could I refuse? I ran, and soon brought a kettle full. "How old are you? and what's your name?" continued he, without waiting for a reply; "I am sure you are one of the finest lads that ever I have seen; will you just turn a few minutes for me? Tickled with the flattery, like a little fool, I went to work, and bitterly did I rue the day. It was a new axe, and I toiled and tugged till I was almost tired to death. The school-bell rang, and I could not get away; my hands were blistered, and the axe was not half ground. At length, however, it was sharpened; and the man turned to me with, "Now, you little rascal, you've played truant; scud to the school, or you'll rue 66 it!"—" Alas!" thought I, "it was hard enough to turn a grindstone, this cold day; but now to be called a little rascal, is too much." A NOCTURNAL SKETCH. THOMAS HOOD. prime time EVEN is come; and from the dark Park hark, Laughing at Liston, while you quiz his phiz. Anon Night comes, and with her wings brings things But frightened by Policeman B. 3, flee, And while they're going, whisper low, "No go!" |