disappointed in the lecture.  Few persons attended; it was dull and languid, and he was resolved never to go to another.  “I went away, indeed,” he added, with an arch look and in a shrill whisper, coming close to me as he spoke—­“I went away, indeed, before the lecture was finished.  I stole away; for it was so stupid, and I was so cold, that my teeth chattered.  The Professor saw me, and appeared to be displeased.  I thought I could have got out without being perceived; but I struck my knee against a bench, and made a noise, and he looked at me.  I am determined that he shall never see me again.”

“What did the man talk about?

“About stones! about stones!” he answered, with a downcast look and in a melancholy tone, as if about to say something excessively profound.  “About stones!—­stones, stones, stones!—­nothing but stones!—­and so drily.  It was wonderfully tiresome—­and stones are not interesting things in themselves!”

New Monthly Magazine.

* * * * *

WAR SONG,

FOR THE ARMY TO BE SENT AGAINST THE EMPEROR OF CHINA.

  Come, tie on your bonnet, your shawl, and your boa! 
    Each proud virgin amazon, onward with me! 
  Come, rouse for the fight, all ye maids who adore[25]
    The flavour of Twankay, Souchong, or Bohea!

  Come, clatter the tea-cups, and brandish each spoon,
    Beat loudly the tea-tray, the kettle, and urn;
  No more for the lover or sweet honey-moon,
    But for Twankay and war let your soft bosoms burn!

  Shall a petitcoat savage—­the horrible bore—­
    Infringe on our rights, and deny us our tea? 
  No, no! by the gown which my grandmother wore. 
    We’ll smother the wretch in a chest of Bohea!

  Come, launch, by brave maidens, each tea-chest canoe,
    And spread out your large Canton crapes to the air;
  The kettle sings muster-call—­hark! the cats mew! 
    “Young Hyson"’s the word, the “delight of the fair!”

  Great Twining a tea-wreath shall twine for us all—­
    The fairest of females looks far more divine at tea;
  If we conquer, we’ll drink twenty cups; if we fall,
    Why—­"nec possum vivere cum te, nec sine te."

  Twenty cups! think of Johnson, when kind Mrs. Thrale
    Filled him fifty at least, and he wished they were bowls. 
  With ardour like his, which among ye can fail? 
    Come, Doctor, and kindle your thirst in our souls!

  Then onward, brave maidens, push off from the coast,
    For such brogueless tyrants we care not a pin;
  But do not forget, my fair tea-drinking host,
    A stout Witney blanket to toss the wretch in!

  Oh! the plunder of Pekin! what silks and what shawls! 
    The Chinese, in spite of themselves, shall be free: 
  For, we’ll bombard the city with hot force-meat balls,
    And blow up their warriors with gunpowder tea!