dudgeon, with more clangour than ever; and almost in a temper to hang up their pans, like the kettles of the Turkish Janizaries, as the signals for a revolt.

As for Agib, he suffered the penalty, according to his sentence; but the caliph was so much delighted with his wit and address, that before long he raised him to be one of his Ministers of State. The two elder sons, on the contrary, being very dull and slow, howbeit very proper men, rose no higher than to be soldiers of the Body Guard. Thus the expectation of Abendali was fulfilled, the Little Agib, though last in birth and least in stature, becoming the foremost in fortune and the highest in dignity of the Three Brothers.

MY FIRST-BORN.

BY FREDERICK LOCKER.

"HE shan't be their namesake, the rather
That both are such opulent men:
His name shall be that of his father,—
My Benjamin-shortened to Ben.

"Yes, Ben, though it cost him a portion
In each of my relative's wills,
I scorn such baptismal extortion-

(That creaking of boots must be Squills).

"It is clear, though his means may

This infant his age will adorn;

be narrow,

I shall send him to Oxford from Harrow,

I wonder how soon he'll be born!"

A

spouse thus was airing his tancies Below-'twas a labour of love,And calmly reflecting on Nancy's More practical labour above;

Yet while it so pleased him to ponder,
Elated, at ease, and alone;

That pale, patient victim up yonder
Had budding delights of her own;

Sweet thoughts, in their essence diviner
Than paltry ambition and pelf;
A cherub, no babe will be finer,
Invented and nursed by herself.

One breakfasting, dining, and teaing,
With appetite nought can appease,
And quite a young Reasoning Being

When called on to yawn and to sneeze.

What cares that heart, trusting and tender,

For fame or avuncular wills!

Except for the name and the gender,
She is almost as tranquil as Squills.

That father, in reverie centered,

Dumbfoundered, his thoughts in a whirl, Heard Squills, as the creaking boots entered, Announce that his Boy was-a Girl.

AITHLESS SALLY BROWN.

AN OLD BALLAD.

BY THOMAS HOOD.

YOUNG Ben he was a nice young man,

A carpenter by trade;

And he fell in love with Sally Brown,
That was a lady's maid.

But as they fetch'd a walk one day,

They met a press-gang crew;

And Sally she did faint away,

Whilst Ben he was brought-to.

The Boatswain swore with wicked words,

Enough to shock a saint,

That though she did seem in a fit,

'Twas nothing but a feint.