The Daily Cincinnati Republican, And Commercial Register

From the London Journal.

A LECTURE ON JEWELS.

Tom Potts, a thirsty cobbler, at the Boar,
Had drunk, one day, 'till they would trust no more;
And wending home, chanced awhile to stop
At the gay windows of a goldsmith's shop.

His hat hung o'er his brow in moody slouch,
One hand was thrust into his empty pouch
And one into his breast. He stood there thinking
Upon the different modes and joys of drinking.

'Ah! ha!' at last, said he, 'now that's your sort!
This purple stone is like to good old port,
Full rich and warm; and that one, yellow pale,
Is just the color of your amber ale.
Delicious stuff! -and yon, of deeper yellow,
Is old Jamaica rum, so strong and mellow,
Are not these diamonds? zooks, as clear and bright,
As drops of purest gin, they glad the sight;
And, that green stone, of hue so bright and fine,
What is it like? -this plaguy head of mine!
What do we drink that's green? Now let me think;
Green:--let me see! what is it green we drink?'

'Ah, Tom,' replied a voice which well he know,
'Those gems are like some other things in hue,
That ruby stone is like the drunkard's nose,
The yellow ones are like his sallow cheek
The purple, bruises and black eyes bespeak.
Those chrystal drops are like his poor wife's tears,
When she beholds him drunk, and his curses hears,
And thinks how changed he is, how lost, how mean;
And, Tom, that other stone, so brightly green,
Is-like the grass, that round thine own shop door,
Begins to grow, as thou wilt work no more.'

Tom heard his wife's rebuke, but ne'er replied,
She ne'er rebuked before, but she had sighed,
Had wept in secret:--now her time she chose
Nor chose it ill. Next morning Tom arose,
Kept at his work, nor e'er went near the Boar;
Thus steady, he grew rich; paid off his score;
Nor ever lectured upon jewels more.