5. Do not dip many books In our anti-rot nooks; Keep out novels, and all Sense cries Fie on! cries Fie on! Though, since Wood turns sublime In its strife against time, Most heads that we know, will try Kyan, try Kyan. Only think what great good 'Twould do Alder_men_ Wood, (Elected for life) if they'd try 'un, they'd try 'un;-- Every word that I say Is as true as the day, And each hint you may safely rely on, rely on! 6. Then, hurrah! come uncork! This dry-rot is dry work; Bring the bottle,--that one I've my eye on, my eye on; My spirit I'd steep In its rich _anti_-deep, And linger for morn, like Orion, Orion! 'Gad the secret is out, We've talk'd so much about; My dog's on the scent,--oh! then hie on, then hie on! 'Tis the _bottle_, I feel, Makes immortal mere deal, And wine's the _solution of Kyan_, of Kyan! R. THE ORIGINAL OF "NOT A DRUM WAS HEARD." SCRAP, No. III. _Water-grass-hill._ When _single-speech_ Hamilton made in the Irish Commons that _one_ memorable hit, and persevered ever after in obdurate taciturnity, folks began very justly to suspect that all was not right; in fact, that the solitary egg on which he thus sat, plumed in all the glory of incubation, had been laid by another. The Rev. Mr. Wolfe is _supposed_ to be the author of a single poem, unparalleled in the English language for all the qualities of a true lyric, breathing the purest spirit of the antique, and setting criticism completely at defiance. I say _supposed_, for the gentlemen himself never claimed its authorship during his short and unobtrusive lifetime. He who could write the "Funeral of Sir John Moore," must have eclipsed all the lyric poets of this latter age by the fervour and brilliancy of his powers. Do the other writings of Mr. Wolfe bear any trace of inspiration? None.