THE ART OF BOOK KEEPING. Thomas Hood. How hard, when those who do not wish to lend, thus lose, their books, Are snared by anglers, folks that fish with literary Hooks, Who call and take some favorite tome, but never read it through; They thus complete their set at home, by making one at you. I, of my "Spenser" quite bereft, last winter sore was shaken; My "Mallet" served to knock me down, which makes me thus a talker; And once, when I was out of town, my "Johnson" proved a "Walker.' While studying, o'er the fire, one day, my "Hobbes," amidst the smoke, They bore my "Colman" clean away, and carried off my "Coke." They picked my "Locke," to me far more than Bramah's patent And now my losses I deplore, without a "Home" on earth. If once a book you let them lift, another they conceal, For though I caught them stealing "Swift," as swiftly went my "Steele." "Hope” is not now upon my shelf, where late he stood elated; But what is strange, my "Pope" himself is excommunicated. My little "Suckling" in the grave is sunk to swell the ravage; And what was Crusoe's fate to save, 't was mine to lose, -a "Savage." Even "Glover's" works I cannot put my frozen hands upon; Though ever since I lost my "Foote," my "Bunyan" has been gone. My "Hoyle" with "Cotton" went oppressed; my "Taylor," too must fail; To save my "Goldsmith" from arrest, in vain I offered "Bayle.” I "Prior" sought, but could not see the "Hood" so late in front; And when I turned to hunt for " Lee," O! where was my "Leigh Hunt"? I tried to laugh, old care to tickle, yet could not "Tickle " touch; And then, alack! I missed my Mickle,' and surely Mickle's much. 66 'Tis quite enough my griefs to feed, my sorrows to excuse, To think I cannot read my "Reid," nor even use my "Hughes"; My life is ebbing fast away; I suffer from these shocks, They still have made me slight returns, and thus my griefs divide; For O! they cured me of my "Burns," and eased my "Akenside." But all I think I shall not say, nor let my anger burn, For, as they never found me ". Gay," they have not left me "Sterne." CONTENTMENT. Oliver Wendell Holmes. "Man wants but little here below." Little I ask; my wants are few; I only wish a hut of stone, And close at hand is such a one, Plain food is quite enough for me; If Nature can subsist on three, Thank Heaven for three. Amen! I care not much for gold or land; Give me a mortgage here and there,- Or trifling railroad share,— I only ask that Fortune send A little more than I shall spend My dame should dress in cheap attire; Some shawls of true Cashmere,— I would not have the horse I drive So fast that folks must stop and stare; An easy gait-two, forty-five Suits me; I do not care; Perhaps, for just a single spurt, Of pictures, I should like to own Titians and Raphaels three or four,I love so much their style and tone,— One Turner, and no more, (A landscape,- foreground golden dirt, - Of books but few,-some fifty score Some little luxury there Of red morocco's gilded gleam, And vellum rich as country cream. Busts, cameos, gems,—such things as these, Which others often show for pride, For much good or much bad they are debtors But before with their A B C they start, There are things in morals, as well as art, That play a very important part "Impressions before the letters." Dame Education begins the pile, If the Lady's maid or Gossip the Nurse Even thus with little Miss Kilmansegg, Ere her Governess came, or her masters Teachers of quite a different kind Had "cramm'd" her beforehand, and put her mind Long before her A B and C, They had taught her by heart her L. S. D. And how she was born a great Heiress; Like Her Worship the Lady May-ress. With a book of Leaf Gold for a Primer. The very metal of merit they told, And praised her for being as "good as gold!" Of money they talk'd the whole day round, That people with nought were naughty. They praised her falls, as well as her walk, Flatterers make cream cheese of chalk, They praised how they praised - her very small talk, As if it fell from a Solon; Or the girl who at each pretty phrase let drop A ruby comma, or pearl full-stop, Or an emerald semi-colon. They praised her spirit, and now and then, And when he got raps, and taps, and slaps, They told him how Lords would court that hand, While he rubb'd, poor soul, His carroty poll, That his hair had been pull'd by "a Hairess." Such were the lessons from maid and nurse, A Governess help'd to make still worse, |