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lend it to him, when, in an instant, all the ten parsons pulled a corkscrew out of their pockets!

FORTUNATE PUN.-Sir William Daws, Archbishop of York, was very fond of a pun. His clergy dining with him, for the first time after he had lost his lady, he told them he feared they did not find things in so good order as they used to be in the time of poor MARY; and looking extremely sorrowful, added with a deep sigh, "she was indeed Mare Pacificum!" A Curate, who pretty well knew what she had bcen, called out, " Aye my Lord, but she was Mare Mortuum first.” Sir William gave him a living of 2001. per annum, within two months afterwards.

POLITE INVITATION.-A convict who was executed at Leicester, and adopted the singular node of travelling in a post-chaise to the place of execution, was no less remarkable for his crimes, than a copious fund of low humour. He got the following notice put up in the most frequented houses in the town: "Wanted, an agreeable companion in a post-chaise, to go a journey of considerable length, and upon equal terms. Inquire for particulars at the CASTLE.' It is almost superfluous to mention, that upon the terms being made known, the gentleman could not find a partner.


NAUTICAL PIETY.-A sailor having been for his good behaviour promoted from a fore-mast man to a boatswain, was ordered on shore by his Captain to receive his Commission at the Admiralty Office Jack went accordingly, and thus described his reception afterwards to his companions: "I bore away large," said he, "for the Admiralty Office; and on entering the harbour I espied a dozen or two of quill drivers: I hailed`'em;—not a word said they. Hollo!" again said I. Not a word said they. "Shiver my top-sails, but what can this mean," said I. "Then I took a guinea from my pocket, and holding it up to my peeper, "Hollo," again said I. "Oh! Hollo," returned they. So, so, my boys," cried I, "you are like Balaain's ass, are you? You could not speak until you saw the Angel!" EQUANIMITY. The celebrated Henderson was seldom known to be in a passion. When at Oxford, he was one day debating with a fellow-student, who, getting out of temper, threw a glass of wine in his face. Mr. Henderson, applying his handkerchief, wiped himseif, and coolly said, "That, Sir, was a digression; now for the argument."

A CLERICAL CALL.-A certain divine, about to change his congregation, mentioned that subject from the pulpit. After service was over, an old negro man who was one of his admirers, went up to him and desired to know the motives of his leaving his first flock; the parson answered, "He had a call." "1, massa, returned the negro, "who called you?" "God Almighty," answered the parson. I, massa, he call ye?" "Yes, Jack, he called me"Massa, what you get here ?" "I get 2001,"


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"And what you get toder place?" "Why I am to get 4001." I, massa, God Almighty call you till he be blind from 4001, to 2001. you no go."

PLEBEIAN HUMOUR. When the King of France fled from Paris, a boy wrote against the corner of the street in chalk, "On est prie d'arreter un gros cochon qui s'enfuit. On en sera dedommage de sos peines par un Louis." THE LATE MR. SHERIDAN. His father one

day descanting on the pedigree of his family, was regretting that they were no longer styled O'SHERIDAN, as they had been formerly;"Indeed, father," replied the late celebrated character, then a boy, "we have more right to the O than any one else-for we owe every body."

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THE LATE M. G. LEWIS, Esq. - Lewis came into life with unusual advantages, a competence, sufficient rauk in society, and an understanding cultivated by education and travel. If his talent was not of the first order, he had great dexterity in its application. If his taste was inferior to his talent, it was equal to the requisitions of his time. It was his fortune to come forward when all rivalry was past or unborn; the powerful splendours which have since lightened over the whole region of poetry were then below the horizon, and his feeble and wandering fire was brilliance in the dimness of that misty solitude. England had then no poet, no dramatist, no novelist of distinction; like our ancestors, in the day of distress, we were forced to invoke the aid of the barbarians, and our literature was at once inundated with the ferocious fantasies of Germany. Lewis was a leader in this northern invasion, and he triumphed in the common degradation of the English Genius. But he had native claims; his occasional tales had a vigour and a pathos new to our degenerate poetry. His first Drama of The Castle Spectre was unequalled for dramatic artifice, and his first novel of The Monk, was the model of high-wrought language and seductive story to its tribe. But his first celebrity was his last. His setting was as rapid as his rise. He had devoted the first fruits of his mind to the propagation of evil, and the whole long harvest was burnt up. As if a retributive judgment pressed upon him, he struggled continually downwards; his efforts were perpetual, his failures were unvaried; he rolled that eternal stone upwards, and it was his punishment to be at once urged to that cheerless labour, and broken by seeing it all to be begun again; still he went down, till at last he perished into total obscurity. There is a moral in the life of this man, and it may be well for

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his successors in popularity and vice, if they read it before it comes to be inscribed on their own early graves. He was a reckless defiler of the public mind; a profligate, he cared not how many were to be undone when he drew back the curtain of his profligacy; he had infected his reason with the insolent belief, that the power to corrupt made the right, and that conscience might be laughed at, so long as he could evade law. The Monk was an eloquent evil; but the man who compounded it knew in his soul that he was compounding poison for the multitude, and in that knowledge he sent it into the world, priding himself in the subtilty of the venom whose diffusion was to be his boast, fame, and fortune. Than this there can be no deeper crime, if the depth of crime is to be measured by its effects. The homicide is grasped by the law, and there mischief ends. The author of a licentious book propagates evil as far in the present as vice can attract, as far in the future as man exists; his ability shoots out the death but with the greater force; he enlists our natural admiration of genius against our purity; the brilliant and seductive writer bewilders us by the natural means of illumination: in our passage across "the sea of troubles" that make life, we are led away by the stars; the natural refreshment of the human spirit is turned into mortality; in our travels across the Great Desert, the wells are poisoned. If Lewis's literary oblivion is looked on as a trivial punishment, let it be remembered that authorship was his ambition, that it was the labour of his life, and that his daily labour issued in his daily discomfiture. The man knows little of human morbidness, who will not believe that the deadliest blow might be given on this naked and diseased sensibility. He has now passed away, and it must be his happiest fate to be forgotten.

fore brought it back with the indignation of patriotic pride.

THEATRES.----Such was the fondness of our forefathers for dramatic entertainments, that no fewer than 19 playhouses had been opened at different times before the year 1633, when Prynne published his Histriomastix. In the reigns of Charles the First and Second, there were six playhouses allowed to be opened at one time, in London; that is, at Blackfriars, for the King's company; the Globe, on the Bankside; the Bull, in St. John-street; one in Salisburycourt; the Fortune, and the Cockpit, in Drurylane. The admission to the playhouse, called the Globe, in Shakspeare's time, about 1603, was one shilling to the boxes, and sixpence to the pit; and a twopenny gallery is mentioned in the Prologue to Beaumont and Fletcher's Woman-Hater. Seats of threepence and a groat are also mentioned; and afterwards to some of the houses, the prices were from cd. up to 2s. 6d. At the theatre in Drury-lane, 1703, the price to the boxes was 4s. to the pit 2s. 6d. first gallery 1s. 6d. and upper gallery 1s. Many years after that period the price to the boxes was raised to 5s. the pit to 3s. and the first gallery to 28. Since then the proprietors of some of the theatres have raised the price of the boxes to 6s. and the pit to 3s. 6d. In Garden raised the price of the boxes to 7s. the year 1809, the proprietors of Covent and endeavoured to raise the pit to 4s.



By Dr. Walcot, the celebrated Peter Pindar.
To thee the wandering tribes were wont to rove,

Each jovial Gipsy with his merry mate,
With dark futurity quite hand in glove,

Foretelling, for a penny, folks their fate.


THE BEGGAR'S OPERA. This favorite piece, about twenty years ago, was translated into French, and performed with success at Paris It was translated also about forty years back, by Mr. Adam Hallam, an uncle of Mrs. Mattocks, the actress. Hallam was a performer of some reputation, who belonged to Covent Garden Theatre, a man of education and talents. When he had finished his translation, he took it to Paris, in hopes of bringing it upon the French stage. The French Managers agreed to have it represented, provided the translator would alter the catastrophe, and according to his deserts, let the hero be hanged. Hallam, however, would not suffer the work of an

To thee, through wind and rain, the good King

To get a warm straw-bed, was known to trudge it

Of simple Knights, who never made a batch,
Nor drain'd his people's purses by a Budget.
Where are the tribes that worshipp'd not his


*The Poet had previously addressed two Odes to his Barn, but had taken no notice of its frequent tenants the Gipsies. These lines are among

admired English Poet to undergo any change many fugitive pieces of the Author and were never

but that of a mere translation, and there

King Patch, what music to a Gipsy's ear! What Gipsy wishes not for half his fame,

Or reads his dying speech without a tear!

+ The designation of one of the Car Sove


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Fair One, take heed how you advance,
Nor tempt your own undoing;

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Poor Justice never well could see;

She's old-there's now no hope to mend her!
For she examines the degree,
Not of the offence-but the offender.


No wonder that Orford and Cambridge pro-

In learning and science so greatly abound,
When all carry thither a little each day,
And we meet with so few who bring any away.


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"We shall go, one and all, where we find the best beer."


When WILLIAM PITT, went to the grave,
For his and our repose,

If you're too forward (fearful chance!)
A Spark may prove your ruin.


'Tis a paradox truly, says Richard to Ned.
For if she be living, how can she be dead?

His mantle he to CANNING gave,
His walking-stick to Rose.

Satiric rogue! he knew his men ;

And thought some clumsy joke, Would CANNING quite undo, and then How much he'd want a cloak!

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By Justice tutor'd, and by love inspir'd,
To hail, in worth, whate'er the heart desir'd,
To mark, in talents, all that sense cou'd bind,
By Nature's mandate, on the fruitful mind,
Shall we the sacred debt to him evade,
That earth awarded,-but that Heav'n has paid!
Ah, no, AFFECTION's hand, with holy skill,
A People's wish shall here, too soon, fulfil
Erect the tomb that ev'ry thought endears,


Our Rulers still anxious for JoHN BULL'S enjoy- Adorn by silence, and inscribe with tears.


Can you, by any means, the cause divine, "That U and I, together ne'er can dine?"


"O yes, the reason all must plainly see,
Who know, that U can't come 'till after T."
A. Y.

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Propose this decree, Father Moses to lurch; Six days shalt thou pine, without food or employ


And march on the seventh devoutly to Church.

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When future Times, in heated zeal to cope
From latent worth shall bring its brightest store,
With all that praise could feel, or pride can hope,

To rival him whom all his race deplore,
The godlike name shall blaze on VIRTUE'S shrine,
Till when, oh, ROMILLY, we'll weep at thine.

John Palfreyman, who is buried here,
Was aged four and twenty year;
And near this place his mother lies,
Likewise his father-when he dies.


Here lieth Martin Elphinston,

Who with his sword did cut in sun-
der the daughter of Sir Harry
Crispe, who did his Daughter marry:

She was fat and fulsome;
But men will some-

times eat Bacon with their Bean,
And love the fat as well as lean.



If ever lot was prosperously cast,
If ever life was like the lengthen'd flow

Of some sweet music, sweetness to the last,
"Twas his, who, mourn'd by many, sleeps below,

sunny temper, bright where all is strife,
The simple heart that mocks at worldly wiles,
Light wit, that plays along the calm of life,
And stirs its languid surface into smiles.

Pure Charity that comes not in a shower,
Sudden and loud, oppressing what it feeds;

But like the dew, with gradual silent power,
Felt in the bloom it leaves along the meads.

The happy grateful spirit that improves,
And brightens every gift by Fortune given;

That wander where it will, with those it loves,
Makes every place a home, and home a Heaven!

All these were his--Oh thou who read'st this Human power, absorb'd deficient, to delineate stone,

When for thyself, thy children, to the sky,

such Effulgent Lasting Sparks,
Where honest Plebeians ever will have presi-
dence o'er ambiguous Great Monarchs.

Thou humbly prayest, ask this boon alone,
That ye like him may live, like him may die.

In Newington Church, Oxfordshire, composed by Mr. WALLER, in the year 1686, and not inserted in any Edition of his Works..


Here lies the prop and glory of his race, Who, that no time his mem`ry may defacc, His grateful Wife, under this speaking stone, His ashes laid, to make his merit known. Sprung from an opulent and worthy line, Whose well us'd fortune made their virtue shine, A rich example his fair life did give, How others should with their relations live. A pious son, a husband, and a friend, To neighbours too his bounty did extend So far, that they lamented when he died, As if all to him had been near allied. His curious youth would men and manners know, Which made him to the southern Nations go. Nearer the Sun, tho' they more civil seem, Revenge and luxury have their esteem; Which well observing, he return'd with more Value for England than he had before; Her true Religion, and her Statutes too, He practised not less, than seek'd to know; And the whole Country grieved for their ill fate, To lose so good, so just a Magistrate;

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To shed a tear may Readers be inclin'd,
And pray for ONE he only left behind;
Till SHE, who does inherit his estate,
May virtue love like him, and vices hate.

The following is copied from a head-stone set up in the church-yard of High Ercal!.Those who are fond of the sublime, will cer

tainly rejoice over this precious poetical


Salop, Oct. 1797. ELIZABETH the Wife of RICHARD BAARLAMB, passed to Eternity on Sunday, the 21st of May, 1797, in the 71st year of her age.

When terrestrial all in Chaos shall Exhibit effer


Then Celestial virtues in their most Refulgent Brfiliant essence,

Shall with beaming Beauteous Radiance, thro' the ebullition Shine;

Transcending to Glorious Regions Beatifical, Sublime.




***** Tom Gradus arrived in London in a stage-coach, assured that the metropolis was the soil for genius to flourish in, where every door would fly open;-in this persuasion also, his friends had only furnished him with cash sufficient to bear his expenses thi-ther. He slept the first night at an inn, to consider how best to make choice of the most favourable patronage. He first imparted his business and qualifications to a plain tradesman, whom he accidentally met at the inn, who told him that his rich neighbour, Mr. Pulley, who had made a fortune by inventing whirligig chairs, and other mechanical articles, was the greatest genius in the world, and encouraged all such. The next morning Tom waited on Mr. Pulley, – loves all men of genius (says he); come, give me your opinion of this lever, with which I mean to lift a carriage across the street, on crowded opera nights."-Tom shook his head and disclaimed any particular knowledge of the lever." Not know the lever!" roared out Pulley; "a man of genius not know the lever!-Why, you're an impostor!-A man of genius! ha ha! ha!"Tom returned somewhat disappointed to his inn, where he found a Baronet of high fame on the turf :-" My lad," said he to Tom, "the landlord tells me that you are a man of genius.-I'm glad of it, cross me: for I have not met with one since the death of Carroty Bob, my training groom; -distance me if I have-Come and see my Arabian mare, and tell me her speed and her paces; come!"-"I know nothing about horses," says Tom, having never rode three in my life.”—“ Not rode three in your life, and set up for a man of genius? Spavin me, if I had you at home, but I would couple you with mangy Scamp, my old fox-hound, for being such a cheat."


He was soon afterwards informed, that a person who could invent was wanted by the most noble the Pic Nic Society. Tom hoped to be at length suited, by having to deal with the upper and polished ranks of mankind: he applied, and found that they wanted a person who could invent-new figures for coloured lamps-and could improve on the Egyptian rouge-mange, and Corunna custard, just started!-The man of invention retired with a sigh, confessing that he knew nothing of the effect of the lamp-oil or custard!


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