chickenwise,
Came home to roost and wouldn't rise.
With dimmer light and milder heat
His goose-quill staggered o'er the sheet,
Then dragged, then stopped; the finish came--
He couldn't even write his name.
The _Thundergust_ in three short weeks
Had risen, roared, and split its cheeks.
Said Pondronummus, "How unjust!
The storm I raised has laid my dust!"

When, Moneybagger, you have aught
Invested in a vein of thought,
Be sure you've purchased not, instead,
That salted claim, a bookworm's head.

THE FOLLOWING PAIR.

O very remarkable mortal,
What food is engaging your jaws
And staining with amber their portal?
"It's 'baccy I chaws."

And why do you sway in your walking,
To right and left many degrees,
And hitch up your trousers when talking?
"I follers the seas."

Great indolent shark in the rollers,
Is "'baccy," too, one of your faults?--
You, too, display maculate molars.
"I dines upon salts."

Strange diet!--intestinal pain it
Is commonly given to nip.
And how can you ever obtain it?
"I follers the ship."

POLITICAL ECONOMY.

"I beg you to note," said a Man to a Goose,
As he plucked from her bosom the plumage all loose,
"That pillows and cushions of feathers and beds
As warm as maids' hearts and as soft as their heads,
Increase of life's comforts the general sum--
Which raises the standard of living." "Come, come,"
The Goose said, impatiently, "tell me or cease,
How that is of any advantage to geese."
"What, what!" said the man--"you are very obtuse!
Consumption no profit to those who produce?
No good to accrue to Supply from a grand
Progressive expansion, all round, of Demand?
Luxurious habits no benefit bring
To those who purvey the luxurious thing?
Consider, I pray you, my friend, how the growth
Of luxury promises--" "Promises," quoth
The sufferer, "what?--to what course is it pledged
To pay me for being so often defledged?"
"Accustomed"--this notion the plucker expressed
As he ripped out a handful of down from her breast--
"To one kind of luxury, people soon yearn
For others and ever for others in turn;
And the man who to-night on your feathers will rest,
His mutton or bacon or beef to digest,
His hunger to-morrow will wish to assuage
By dining on goose with a dressing of sage."

VANISHED AT COCK-CROW.

"I've found the