These be his times, his seasons, his baits, and his places; as to his local habitation, and the place where he deposits and brings up his children, nobody distinctly knowing, we shall be exceeding glad to receive facts whereon to constitute something approaching to that which is unwritten—the complete natural history of the Bass. * * * * * THE SMOKER. BY THOMAS S. DONOHO. [WITH AN ENGRAVING.] I SAW him after dinner, And his face was like the sun, When wearily he goes to rest, His long day’s journey done. The beef had made it hot, And the wine had made it red, And a cloud was all around it, Like a curtain round a bed. His chair was tilted back, And his feet were on the wall, And the sorrows of the world Did not trouble him at all! For though he toiled and puffed, Like an engine, or a stove, Yet smiled amid his labors This “cloud-compelling Jove!” Again I passed his dwelling, In the darkness of the night; And still I knew the Smoker, Like a glow-worm, by his light. His head was still thrown back, And his feet were still on high, And he had a most peculiar look From out his half-shut eye. ’Twas morning; and I saw him, This great _Vesuvius_ man, And o’er the news-full paper His misty vision ran; For still the fire was there, And still the smoke was thick: And I remembered me the tales, Whose hero was—Old Nick! I wondered if he slept? Or ever went about? Or was he only some machine— For what? Ah, there’s the doubt! Though puffing, always puffing, He never seemed _to go_: What good he did by staying there Is more than yet I know. A beggar-boy craved charity— The Smoker “blessed his stars!” And said, “_he had no change to spare_”— Then sent for more cigars! The patient wife at last complains; He gruffly bids her cease: “My home’s a bell; it’s very hard I cannot _smoke_ in peace!” * * * * * THE MAIDEN’S COMPLAINT AGAINST LOVE. BY ENNA DUVAL. ONCE, on a sunny day, Love came to dwell with me, I stroked his downy wings, And gave him kisses free. How joyous sped the hours, While Love with me did stay; The fluttering tiny thing, Drove Care’s dark form away. I laughed, I danced, I sang— How mad and wild my glee, While blesséd little Love Dwelt willingly with me. Alas! one gloomy morn, The wicked, willful fay, That I so fondly cherished, Took wing and fled away. I shed sad, bitter tears, While Care looked on with scorn; At last I sped to Venus, To tell my grievous wrong.