"Ethereal mildness!" Pshaw! what nonsense, man! Pooh! "Gentle spring," indeed! It makes my liver bleed To hear you talk as only idiots can. But you're no idiot, THOMSON; _that_ I'll say! I'll yield another bit: I'm ready to admit The Seasons may have altered since your day. At any rate, JAMES, in the windy West (Which wasn't in your eye— At least, not frequently) Your boasted Spring is _not_ a gentle guest. My patience, no! She's the reverse of that! Ah! hear her savage roar; (So often heard before!) And there (confound it!) goes my new Spring hat. Alas! what means this stupid somnolence? Why do my pulses go So "melancholy slow"? Why can't I think? why always "on the fence"? O dews and fogs! O rain and snow and slush! O various other things! My soul! what need of wings: Yes, "Spring's delights" are coming with a rush! But stay, friend THOMSON—what you say is true: Here _is_ a nice warm day! The breezes softly play— Then why, oh! _why_ then, do I feel so blue? One "would not die in Spring-time," certainly— Nor any other season, For the same reason— But if one can't eat dinner, why _not_ die? Is there no panacea for such ills? Oh! yes, a jolly one: I find it in the dun! In landlords', butchers', grocers', tailors' bills! The Difference. GOLDEN calves were worshipped by men of old. Modern men prefer to worship saw-dust calves. Dramatic Query. Is Canada to be the Theatre of a Fenian War? It seems that the Canadian Volunteers think so; and, to do justice to the performance, they have taken possession of the whole Front-tier. The Original Bow. The EL-bow. [Illustration: THE SICK EAGLE COLUMBIA. “DO LET THE POOR BIRD OUT, MR. B.; HE DROOPS SADLY.” Mr. BOOTWELL. “REALLY I DON’T SEE ANY THING THE MATTER WITH HIM, MA’AM. HIS CAGE IS ALL GOLD, AND HE SURELY OUGHT TO BE CONTENTED.”] AN EXCELLENT OLD SONG MADE NEW. BY A DEFAULTER. Is there for his dishonesty Who hangs his head, and a' that? The coward slave, we pass him by, And dare to steal for a' that. For a' that and a' that, Our grabs and games, and a' that, Our business is to make a pile And swindle SAM, and a' that. What though the people curse and swear At losing gold, and a' that? Their fiercest wrath we'll proudly bear, And cash is cash for a' that. For a' that and a' that, Their lawyers, courts, and a' that. The lucky rogue who wins his pile Is king of men for a' that. The President knows how to beat In battle, siege, and a' that; But we're the lads for swift retreat, Although he growl, and a' that. For a' that and a' that, Our bonds and oaths and a' that, A bouncing swag's the better thing For gentlemen, and a' that.