When sutch a change of Orses is our Faits
No nothink need Be sifted in a Siv
May them Blowd ingins all Blow up their Grates
And Theaves of Oslers crib the Coles and Giv
Their blackgard Hannimuls a Feed of Slaits!
Space we have not for the whole of "A Letter from a Market Gardener to the Secretary of the Horticultural Society," but here is the concluding paragraph:—
"My Wif had a Tomb Cat that dyd. Being a torture Shell and a Grate faverit, we had Him berrid in the Guardian, and for the sake of inrichment of the Mould, I had the carks deposeted under the roots of a Gosberry Bush. The Frute being up till then of a smooth kind. But the nex Seson's Frute after the Cat was berrid, the Gosberris was al hairy—and more Remarkable, the Capilers of the same bush was All of the same hairy description.
"I am, Sir, your humble servant,
"THOMAS FROST."
We have lately paid much attention to the subject of Emigration, but quite in a different vein to the following, which will introduce one of the cuts:—