Bï L. J. BATKS. Coufouuil these long.jaw cracking words! The nomenclative college, Thflt coffins up aud lieaps the dirt Upon the grave of knowledge! Who has not sought, for weary hours, For words - may nll men blame theui! - To teil wliat he already knew. But did not know to name tlicm? The lenrned humbug of the schools Sapa half our conversation, Who likea toshow by lack of wor.U, His lack of education? Siippose a common man, Hke m' Not of a learnej profesión, Is asked how Mr Smith was liurt. And cornered by the question. "Why sir," l'd have to aay, of course, "The doctor says the cleavtr Struck him right liere n fearful blow - (I heard him t;ll Bob Woaver.) It cut a fearíul gnsh, and whon The doctor came to swab oif, He found the corner of the knifc Had cut hie - thinguinbob off." Or, if the conversation lurna, By chance, on floriculture, I say. "You know the widow Jones, With beak so like a vultnre? She had the choicest bed of flowers - How could aught ill befall it? - There carne a fro?t - a killing frost - And nipped her - what d'ye cali it'.'1' And so, I say, a pest upon These seientific phrases! That mystify and tangle up The veriest common places; Tliat lengtheD uut '-ur language so But few, even of our writers, Onn rightly use their mother to gue, From editors to fighters.