That lies in old wood, like a hare in her form;
With teeth, or with claws, it will bite, or will scratch;
And chambermaids christen this worm a death-watch;
Because, like a watch, it always cries click;
Then woe be to those in the house who are sick;
For sure as a gun they will give up the ghost
If the maggat cries click when it scratches the post.

Gay, too, in a _pastoral dirge_, says,

The wether's bell,
Before the drooping flock, toll'd forth her knell;
The solemn deathwatch click'd the hour she died.




* * * * *




FINE ARTS

* * * * *


METROPOLITAN IMPROVEMENTS.

_Abridged from the "Introduction" to Britton's Picture of London, 26th