Imatges de pÓgina

It was my intention to have furnished some farther poetical flowers from the literary garland woven at this interesting Symposium, but the recollection of an incident which occurred towards the end of the entertainment actually paralyzes my faculties, and makes the pen flutter in my hand. My father, who is passionately fond of whist, had stipulated for a table in one corner of the room ; and for the purpose of tenanting it had invited four or five humdrum neighbours, who could only be called men of letters in the postman's sense of the phrase, although they were perfectly competent to go through the automatical movements of shufiling, cutting, and dealing. After the rubber had been played once over in fact, and twice in subsequent discussion, they prepared to depart, and I heard the announcement of their servants' arrival with a pleasure that I could ill conceal. “Mrs. Waddle's maid and umbrella !” sounded up the stairs, and the corpulent old lady slowly obeyed the summons. “Miss Clacket's pattens stop the way!" was the next cry; and her shrill voice, still audible from below, continued without ceasing till the hall door closed upon her clangour. “Mr. Wheeze's boy

. and lantern !" followed; when the worthy oilman, having put on two great coats, and tied as many handkerchiefs round his throat, coughed himself out of the house, wishing that he was well over Tower Hill, on his way to Ratcliffe. Mrs. Dubb’s shopman came to claim the last of this quartetto of quizzes ; and I was just congratulating myself on the prospect of renewing our feast of intellect, free from the interruption of uncongenial souls, when my father, running up to the table, cried out“Well, now let's see what card-inoney they have left.” So saying, he looked under one of the can. dlesticks, took up a shilling, bit it, rung it upon the table, and exclaiming, “Zounds! it's a bad oneit's Mrs. Dubbs's place-Hallo! Mrs. Dubbs, this won't do though, none of your raps”-rushed hastily out of the room. After two or three minutes passed by me in silent horror, he re-entered, nearly out of breath, ejaculating, as he spun another shilling with his finger and thumb-" Ay, ay, this will do ; none of your tricks upon travellers, Mrs. Dubbs:ma rank Brummagem !"

Miss Caustic began the titter-but I can describe no further. I fell into as complete a state of defailance as the subject of Sappho's celebrated ode-my blood tingled, my eyes swam, “my ears with hollow murmurs rang;" and yet this fainting of the mind did not afford any relief to the shame and mortification that overwhelmed the too refined and sensitive bosom of



The Handkerchief.
A JUDGE of the police and spy

(For both are join'd in eastern nations,)
Prowling about with purpose sly,

To list to people's conversations,
And pry in every corner cupboard,

According to his dirty calling,
Saw a poor woman passing by,

Who wept and blubberd,
Like a church spout when rain is falling,

Which strives in vain to vent and utter

The overflowings of the gutter.
Our magistrate thought fit to greet her,
• Insisting on the dame's declaring

What caused this monstrous undulation :
When she averr'd her spouse had beat her

Black and blue beyond all bearing,

Without the smallest provocation.
To work the judge's pen and ink went,

Taking the rogue's address and trade, And the

next morning the delinquent Was duly into court convey'd : When he asserted, that his wife

Was such an advocate of strife, VOL. II.



That she would raise a mighty clangour,

And put herself into a pucker

For trifles that surpass'd belief, And, for the recent cause of anger,

He swore, point blank, that he had struck het

With nothing but his handkerchief. The jndge, convinced by this averment,

Dismiss'd the case without a word ; When in the court there rose a ferment,

And the wife's angry voice was heard 6* To cheat your worship is too bad !

My lord, my lord ! do interpose,
And stop the knave where'er he lingers;
The villain ! he forgot to add

That he forever blows his nose
With his own fingers !"

The Jester condemned to death,

ONE of the kings of Scanderoon,

A royal jester,
Had in his train a gross buffoon,

Who used to pester
The court with tricks inopportune,
Venting on the highest folks his
Scurvy pleasantries and hoaxes.
It needs some sense to play the fool,

Which wholesome rule
Occurr'd not to our jackanapes,

Who consequently found his freaks
Lead to innumerable scrapes,

And quite as many kicks and tweaks,
Which only seem'd to make him faster
Try the patience of his master.
Some sin, at last, beyond all measure
Incurr'd the desperate displeasure

Of his serene and raging highness :
Whether he twitch'd his inost revered

And sacred beard,
Or had intruded on the shyness
Of the seraglio, or let fly
An epigram at royalty,
None knows; his sin was an occult one e
But records tell us that the sultan,
Meaning to terrify the knape,

“Exclaim'd—“'Tis time to stop that breath ;
Thy doom is seal'd: presumptuous slave!

Thou stand'st condemn'd to certain death,
Silence, base rebel! no replying !

But such is my indulgence still,

That, of my own free grace and will,
I leave to thee the mode of dying."
“Thy royal will be donetis just,"
Replied the wretch, and kiss'd the dust ;

Since, my last moments to assuage,
Your majesty's humane decree
Has deign'd to leave the choice to me,

l'll die, so please you, of old age !"

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«Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round,

Whate'er its changes may have been,
May sigh to think that he has found

The warmest welcome at an inn."


“Blest as the immortal gods is he,” the youth, who, without the effort of using his own limbs, protected from the earth beneath and the skies above, is rapidly whirled in a close carriage to the ever open and hospitable door of a good tavern. Before the footman or coachman can descend, for the jaunty swing of the private chariot or the rattling jolt of a hackney coach are welcomed with equal deference, half a dozen waiters rush from the house, the steps are lowered with all the celerity that is consistent with the prevention of noise, elbows are respectfully tendered to the descending visitant, a respectful procession ushers him into the spacious illumined refectory, and the lady at the bar bows to him as he passes with a smile, which, while it preserves the dignity due to her presiding station, seems to say“ Thrice welcome to all that my house contains! the longer you stay, the more you revel, the greater your waste and devastation, the more acceptable will be your august presence."

Hers are not the complimentary hyperboles of the Persian, who goes


to the outskirts of the city and exclaims to every traveller“ Deign to accept of Shiraz and all its dependencies !” No; her heart does not belie her looks; were she in Madame de Genlis's Palace of Truth, she would not alter a phrase nor unbend a single smile. Amid a world of deceit, her benign looks are bent upon her new inmate with an absolute integrity of sincerity ; nor are her numerous servants less cordial, emulous, and reverent. Is it winter, the guest's great coat and hat are taken from him, and cautiously suspended : one excites the fire into a cheerful and blazing recognition of his presence, while another spreads a screen before the door, that “the airs of heaven may not visit him too Toughly.” Is it summer, the blinds are pulled down that he may be sheltered from the sun, and the window thrown open that he may be fanned by the cooling breezes, while a paper is placed before him containing the very latest news from each extremity of the earth, to prepare which for his morning's perusal, many fellow creatures of great technical skill, and some of intellectual eminence, have been sleepless all night. By the side of this record submit. ting the events of the wide world to his perusal, is placed the bill of fare, tendering the productions of the universe to his palate. The four elements, the four seasons, the four quarters of the earth, are ransacked and laid under contribution for his instant gratification. The wishes of Cinderella, however wild and extravagant, were not more promptly realized; the cap of Fortunatus and the wand of Harlequin are less magical than his enchanted fin ger. He points, and the depths of the sea yield him up their tenants; the air surrenders its feathered rarities; earth pours out its cornucopia at his feet; and fire, like a ministering spirit, waits to receive his orders for their concoction. Mankind seems to be at his disposal not less than the animal and vegetable world. How many weary months have the

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