“That a kind husband to his wife,
  Permits each pleasure of this life,
    I may conceive it;
  But that the man so blind should be
  As not to see what all else see,
    I won’t believe it.

  “That in a mirror young coquets
  Should study all their traps and nets,
    I may conceive it;
  But that the mirror, above all,
  Should be the object principal,
    I won’t believe it.”

Fraser’s Magazine.

* * * * *

THE SLAVE SHIP, A GALLEY YARN.

  Come all you gallant sailors bold, that to the seas belong,
  Oh listen unto me, my boys, while I recount my song;
  ’Tis concerning of an action that was fought the other day,
  By the saucy little Primrose, on the coast of Africa.

  One evening, while we the deep with gentle breezes plough,
  A sail is seen from our mast-head, hard on the weather bow;
  The gloom of night now coming on, of her we soon lose sight,
  But down she bears, about five bells, as if prepared for fight.

  Yet here she overreach’d herself, and prov’d she was mistaken,
  Thinking by passing in the dark, that she could save her bacon;
  For British tars don’t lose a prize, by fault in looking out,
  So we brought her to, with much ado, at eleven o’clock about.

  All hands were call’d to quarters, our guns were clear’d away,
  And every man within the ship, was anxious for the fray: 
  Our first lieutenant went on board, her hold to overhaul,
  And found them training of their guns, to the boatswain’s pipe and call.

  To get near the main hatchway, our officer contrives,
  But some ruffian-looking rascals surrounded him with knives;
  For well they knew we peace must keep, unless that we could tell
  That slaves were actually on board, detecting them by smell.

  Striving this object to attain, he firm resistance met,
  So then return’d on board in haste, fresh orders for to get;
  Says he, “It is a spanking ship, I’m sure that she has slaves,
  And bears from sacred house and home, the wretches o’er the waves.”

  “Oh! very well!” our captain cries, “for her we will lie by,
  And on the morrow’s coming dawn, a palaver we will try;
  For should we now attempt to make a pell-mell night attack,
  I fear our fight would heavy fall upon the harmless black.”

  So early the next morning, we gently edged away,
  Our captain hail’d the stranger ship, and unto her did say—­
  “If you don’t send your boat on board, and act as I desire,
  Although you bear the flag of Spain, into your hull I’ll fire.”

  The Slaver swore that all our threats should not his courage scare,
  And that th’ assault of such a sloop was quite beneath his care: 
  Our captain calls, “Stand by, my lads! and when I give the word,
  We slap off two smart broadsides, and run her right on board.”