TRUTH AND RUMOUR.

As Truth once passed on her pilgrim way,
To rest by a hedge-side, thorny and sere,
Few wanderers there she charmed to stay,

Though hers were the tidings that all should hear.
She whispering sang, and her deep rich voice,
Yet richer, deeper, each moment grew;
And still though it bade the crowd rejoice,
Her strain but a scanty audience drew.

But Rumour close by as she plucked a reed
From a babbling brook, detained the throng;
With a hundred tongues that never agreed
She gave to the winds a mocking song.
The crowd with delight its echoes caught,
And closer around her yet they drew ;

So wondrous and wild the lore she taught,
They listened, entranced, the long day through.

The sun went down : when he rose again,

And sleep had becalmed each listener's mind,

The voice of Rumour had rung in vain,

No echo had left a charm behind.

A A

But Truth's pure note, ever whispering clear, Wandering in air, fresh sweeetness caught; Then all unnotic'd it touched the ear,

And filled with music the cells of thought.

SCIENCE AND GOOD-HUMOUR.

A FEAST of old was spread;

The guests sat down, sings rumour, With Science at their head,

And at the foot Good-humour.

But soon, though rich the fare,
One half the group sat pining,

While all the others there

Were diligently dining.

'Twas Science, so 'twas sung,

Who checked his hearers' wishes

By learned descants, rung

On countless cooling dishes.
Good-humour fared with those
Who not one moment wasted,
But asked for what they chose,
And relish'd all they tasted.

No chicken Science carved,
Without a lecture sterile,

To prove, where one man starved,
A thousand ate in peril.

His Vice with laughter shook,

As there the board grew thinner ;

He thought not of the cook,

But only of the dinner.

On wines would Science chat,

On alcohol and acid, On vintage this and that,

In accents slow and placid. But while these maxims dropt,

They set each listener thinking; And there the wine had stopped, Had Humour not been drinking.

While Science, glass in hand,

Show'd how 'twas manufactured ; Good-humour's jovial band

A score of bottles fractured.

As Science proved, past doubt,

That mirth we should not care for ;

Good-humour laugh'd, without

Inquiring why or wherefore.

Then rose a cry for song.

As Science led the table,

The call was loud and long
On vocalist so able.

But Science had-of course—

A cold, destroying music; And fear'd that tones so hoarse

Would make both me and you sick.

At length, much breath and time
Consumed in sweet persuading;
In Dutch or German rhyme
Hear Science serenading.
The cadences though pure,
Are rather soporific;
The strain is quite obscure,

But then-'tis scientific.

His flourishings are vain,

Though each he twice rehearses;

To sing the song again,

He stops at fifteen verses.

Apollo has a hunch,

A gap is in the ballad;

No brandy's in the punch,
No lobster in the salad.

Good-humour now essays,

A careless, easy measure; He sings, not he, for praise,

He only sings for pleasure.

His tones are not so clear,

And clouds the sparkles smother;

Yet though you stop one ear,

You open wide the other.

His slips in time and tune,

Had nigh set Science swearing;

But nightingales in June

Such censures might be sharing.