_ if he please;
All works on _brewing_ leave to Mr. _Porter_,--
To _Boosey--temperance_, for his firm supporter.

Leave to friend _Bull_ all works on _horned cattle_,
While _Reid_ will teach the youthful mind to _prattle_;
Give _Bohn--anatomy_; give _Mason sculpture_;
_Gardiner's engrafted_ upon _horticulture_.

For valuation-tables on the price of laud,
Why should we seek, since _Byfield_ is at hand;
For works on draining either bog or fen,
In _Marsh_ and _Moore_ we have a choice of men.

Give _Sherwood_ tales of merry men, who stood--
Firm to their robbing--around _Robin Hood_.
_Ogle_ takes _optics,--Miller_, works on _grain_,--
_Ridgway_, on _railroads,--Surgery_ with _Payne_.

Hail! Pic-a-dilly _Hatchard_, thy vocation
Should be prolific, for 'tis _incubation_;
Thy pious care brought _Egley_ into _note_,
And still on _Gosling_ some folks say you dote.

But to my plan.--To make the dull ones plod well,
Books for the use of _schools_, give Mr. _Rodwell_;
And works on _painting_ should you ever lack,
You need but brush to either _Grey_ or _Black_.

From _Cowie_ works on _vaccination_ fetch,
_Pedestrian tours_ from _Walker_, or from _Stretch_;
And if in search of _wonders_ you should range,
Where can you seek them better than from _Strange_.

The suff'ring climbing boys our pity claim,
To aid their interest--_Suttaby_, I'd name;
And as they're oft of _churchyard-terrors_ slaves,
Print works to cure them, O! _Moon, Boys,_ and _Graves_.

For plans of bridges _Arch_ would be the best;
For stairs and steps on _Banister_ I'd rest;
All that relates to church or chapel holy,
I vote that such be _Elder's_ business solely.

_Sustenance_ on _diet_ surely ought to treat;
_Joy_ gives us _human happiness_ complete:
_Tilt_ will all works on _tournament_ enhance,
The _law_--Oh! that of course I leave to _Chance_,

_Priestly_ and _Chappell_ may divide _theology_,
_Hookham_ and _Roach_ the angling and _ichthyology_;
And for _Phrenology_, what need of rumpus,
One for his _Nob_ will do--so take it, _Bumpus_!

* * * * *

SPINNING-WHEEL SONG.

BY MISS MITFORD.

Fair Janet sits beside her wheel;
No maiden better knew
To pile upon the circling reel
An even thread and true;
But since for Rob she 'gan to pine,
She twists her flax in vain;
'Tis now too coarse,--and now too fine,--