Lord, I ascribe it to thy grace,

To boroughs not, as others do;
That I was born to fill a place,
A sinecure and pension too.

Would not the ancient Jewish kings,
Their noses or their ears have given,
To 've had the pretty pilferings

Which providence to me has driven?

How glad, of yore, the Whigs had been,
Who Freedom sought-a god of stone,
To 've filled my place of golden sheen;
Poor wretches! they scarce gnawed a bone.

If Treasury places I should lose,

By

How shall I e'er lift up my eyes;

I'm richer than the Jews,

Whigs only boast they 're free and wise.

B-XL-Y.

WHENE'ER I TAKE MY WALKS ABROAD.

The English language scarcely contains a more exquisitely genuine effusion of conscience, than this little poem. The workings of the mind, rich in every thing but in that

"which medicines to sweet sleep," are poured out with a truth to nature highly moralizing to those who are "up to snuff."

Whene'er I take my walks abroad,
How many poor I see!

How shall I thank my king, my God?
They 're both the same to me.

Much more than others I deserve,
The sack* has given me more;
Five plums I've got, while suitors starve,
And beg from door to door.

How many suitors in the Fleet,

Quite naked I behold;

They went to law, my doubts were sweet,

And pilfer'd all their gold.

Oh, Equity, you scarce can tell
My coffers how you've fed;
Reform of thee I baffled well,
But rest has shunn'd my bed.

The Wool-sack.

While others early learn to swear,
And curse, and lie, and steal;

Lord, I was taught a game more queer,
Which Brough'm would now reveal.

Lord, such thy favours, day by day,
To me above the rest;

The

game is up-I've had my pay— Oh, give my pillow rest!

E-D-N.

HOW DOES THE LITTLE PILFERING B-—.

I have received from my old and valued, but now quondam friend, Dr. Ph-lp-ts, the Bishop of Ex-r, a very intemperate letter, upon the subject of this poem. The prelate says, "Not another glass of brandy and water do you ever take at my supper table, if you do not explain the inuendo-"little pilfering B. People assert that you mean the Bench of Bishops, or Drs. Bl—mf-ld, B-res-f-rd, B-rg-ss, B-th-1, B-g-t, the Bishop of Br-st-1, or B-ng-r, or the the lay peers B-xl-y, B-th-rst, B-uf-rt, Bu-cl-uch, B—te, B—ck—ngh-m; or the commoners B―nk—s, B—r—ng, B—ck--tt, W. S. B—urne, Br--dg--s, &c. &c. I have received a copy of the Work, with the lower part of the B effaced, thereby plainly insinuating

me, Ph--lp--ts. Not a glass of whiskey-punch, nor cigar, do you take, sir, at my expense, until this inuendo is explained."

The absurdity of the prelate's guesses is ludicrous. Could the term "little" apply, for instance, to the Duke of B--uf--rt, a tall anti-reformer, whose places are neither few nor little? or could the line "little pilfering B," have any application, the word little, to the enormous rat-like figure of the Duke of B-ck-ng-m, or the term pilfering to his old job of the five hundred pounds worth of stationery. Bishops are rich men, but £.500 is no small sum in the eyes of the people. To this indecent letter of my quondam friend, I replied, with dignity, that I could get as good brandy, or whiskey punch and cigars, at the supper tables of any of the other Bishops as at his ; and that, as to the inuendo, he might get it interpreted by Mr. Sp-nc- —r P—rc—v--1, the author of the poem, who had written it in a fit of spleen, at a refusal of another negro-blood-sinecure place, by a certain exminister. As to rubbing out the bottom of the B, it must have been done by Mr. C. W. W. Wother Welsh member, for they generally confound B. and P. in pronunciation: e. g. "A goot place, putters hur pread, and pays for hur purrough."

-nn, or some

HOW DOES THE LITTLE PILFERING B

How doth a little pilfering B.

To gold turn every hour,

And gather silver night and day,
From places in his power.

How craftily he fills his cell,
Like oldest Treasury hacks;
Old Rose did jobs not half so well,
In handling of a tax.

In Parliament he shows his skill,
As busy as a Jew;

And Isaacs, in th' Exchequer Till,
Would thrust his fingers too.

In borough jobs, his darling play,
His pious youth was pass'd;
A title, wretched elf, the pay,—

God save his soul at last.

SP-NC--R P-RC-v-L.