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gonist's coiffure, consisting not only of a violet velvet turban, with three birds of paradise stuck up in front, but of an elegant, richly-curled, highly-wrought peruke! Oh! to the delicate and strictly-private feelings of that lady this was terrible indeed, and it may not be altogether incorrect to mention, that with her white bald head, and her round red face, thus completely unadorned, she did not look so comfortable quite as she did before. Still, although she felt it deeply, while the other shrieked with laudable exultation, she flew at her boldly again, and caught hold of her hair, expecting evidently a similar result, which would have made her comparatively happy; but, albeit she tugged and tugged with becoming perseverance, she found it so excessively natural that she really began to deem herself conquered, inasmuch as she felt that she could not inflict upon the feelings of her opponent so deep a wound as that which her opponent had inflicted upon hers. So natural a fact is it that, while she cared but little about an exposure of her moral defects, over which she had control, she could not bear the exposition of those physical defects, over which she had no control whatever; and hence, notwithstanding the enthusiastic promptings of her satellites, who really gave her every encouragement to "go in and win," she snatched from the ground her degraded coiffure, and rushed from the room, amidst loud roars of laughter.

Stanley now began to feel convinced that some of the persons there assembled were not of the most respectable caste; but, without at all dwelling upon the importance which ought to have been attached to this conviction, he returned to the ball-room, with the view of rejoining Isabelle. He reached the couch on which he had left her: she had vanished. He inquired of those around; they knew nothing of her departure. He requested the servants to search. the house, and they did search; they searched every room: she was not to be found. He remembered the last words she had uttered; and became apprehensive of her having madly rushed to selfdestruction. He wished that he had not been so candid, yet felt that he could not be blamed. He inquired of Madame Poupetier; he inquired of all whom he met; he could not obtain the slightest information. He felt that during the disgraceful confusion she must have escaped unperceived, and, being firmly convinced that she was lost, he changed his dress, and left the house, with her last words ringing in his ears, "You will never see Isabelle married: you will never see Isabelle more!"

CAPTAIN MORRIS.

A REVIEW.

1.

HERE goes a review, such as Yellow and Blue
Its pages most glorious ne'er clapt in;

And sure it were wrong, if in aught but a song
A notice we gave of THE Captain!

Hail, Morris! the chief, prime bard of prime beef!
Other poets on feeding more airy

Their thin muses may starve-richer diet must carve
Our old Beef-Steak-Club Se-cre-tá-ry.

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II.

Moses tells us, that "when we 've reached threescore and ten,

Our work in the world is nigh over;"

And you'll find it true still, search wherever you will,
From the house of John Groat down to Dover.

If that date we o'erpass, our strength is, alas!
Shrunk away down from giant to fairy,
Except in such case, as the reader may trace
In these songs of a non-a-ge-na-ry.-

Dear Morris [at ninety.]

"Well, I'm come, my dear friends, your kind wish to obey,

And drive, by light Mirth, all Life's sha.

dows away;

To turn the heart's sighs to the throb bings of Joy,

And a grave aged man to a merry old boy.

'Tis a bold transformation, a daring de. sign,

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And still in your presence more brightly

Here high mount my spirits, where al

Here a sweet-mingled vision of present

Still blesses my sight, and will bless to

When I look round this board, and recall to my breast

How long here I sat, and how long I was blest,

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In a mingled effusion, that steals to my

And call to my Muse, when Care strives

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* A large and elegant silver bowl, with an appropriate inscription, presented by the Society as a testimonial of affectionate esteem.

Then take, my dear friends, my best And permit me to say, as there's Life in

thanks and my praise,

For a boon that thus comforts and ho-That Taste forms its body, but Friendship

nours my days;

a Bowl,

its soul."

III.

The Beefsteaks are done,-pepper, salt, mustard gone,

Not a songman, or speechman, or quillman

Now is found in the haunt, where was heard their last chant

('Twas a grog-shop, establish'd by Spilman.)

Burnt down is the house where they used to carouse :

O Arnold! what fun and vagary,

Before the old Strand had grown gaudy and grand,
Was by Exeter 'Change Me-na-gé-rie.

IV.

You ought not to think it was merely the drink
Brought those wonderful fellows together;
To be sure we have heard that the bottle was stirr'd,
And the bowl too, in wintersome weather.
Though they never profess'd that "water is best,"
(See Pindar, translated by Cary,)
Yet something beside the wine's glowing tide
Was deem'd by those wits ne-cess-á-ry.

Dear Morris.

"Think not, because I praise my glass,
That brute excess my song excites;
That Nature's charms unheeded pass,
And naught of mental joy delights:
Did not my soul's best feelings wake,
My fancy's sweetest visions rise,
Soon would my lip that fount forsake
Where now my bosom's blessing lies.

'Tis the past ardours of my soul,

The glowing transcript of my joys, That, brightly pictured in my bowl, Enchant, and fill my moistening eyes; 'Tis the sweet trace of raptured days, That fondly glide through Memory's dream,

'Tis that alone that wakes my praise, And tempts me to the magic stream.

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'Tis warm devotion to those powers That dwell in thought and mind alone;

low:

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v.

'Tis the sweet triumph of those hours, When man's sublimest bliss is known:

And of songsters the first, sweetest cry i' the burst,
Was Morris, from whom we are quoting,

Long caroll'd the strain which, to prince or to swain,
Sang of that on which mankind is doting.
But our times more demure, so pragmatic and pure,
Must (in printing, at least,) be more wary;
Of his loves all and some, we must therefore be mum
In this our review li-te-rá-ry.

VI.

The days are now past, when the King before last
Was kicking the world all before him.
He was old, and too fat, full of fuss, and all that,
When, as King, we were call'd to adore him ;
But what were the tales of the gay Prince of Wales
When, as eaglet fresh fledged from his eyrie,
He first started forth, the prime star of the North,
Our ple-ni-po-ten-ti-á-ry.

VII.

Some songs here we know are very so-so,
In the style of a Laureate-ode ditty;

But as old Fum the Fourth (see Tom Moore) had the worth

Of pensioning Morris, 'twas pretty

That in his old age he should ink out a page

With verses though heavy and hairy,

For him who, when young, he had charm'd in a song

Of a style that would bang Tipperary.

VIII.

Some remembrances old does our Nestor unfold-
We wish that he gave them more plenty, -
What a life he could write, if he chose to recite

All he saw up to ninety from twenty !
Two only we'll take, in which the old rake
Sings out in a tone rather dreary,
Over palace o'erthrown, and tavern pull'd down,
And the death of a chief culináry.

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" Farewell for ever !-Thus, then, falls, at last,

The roof where all my proudest joys have passed;

Where Mirth, enthroned in splendour, held her reign,

And Royal voices echo'd still her

strain:

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Jolly Captain, adieu ! - Your song is sung through,
Choused out of your last derry downderry.

[As a matter of trade, 'tis fit to be said

That these songs all so joyous and merry,

In octavos a pair, in type very fair,

If you wish them to grace your library,

Slip a guinea quite gently in the palm of R. Bentley,

The Queen's Bibliopole Ordináry.]

* A club, composed of most of the travelled noblemen and gentlemen of the king. dom, and called the Dilettanti, was held in the great room of this tavern.

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