A feeling from the Godhead caught,
To wean from self each sorded thought :
A ray of HIM who fram'd the whole,
A glory circling round the soul.

ON CRUELTY TO A HORSE.

A man of kindness to his beast is kind ;
But brutal actions show a brutal mind ;
Remember he who made thee, made the brute;
Who gave thee speech and reason, form'd him
mute;

He can't complain, but God's all-seeing eye
Beholds thy cruelty; he hears his cry.

He was design'd thy servant, not thy drudge,
And know, that his Creator is thy judge.

THE MENDICANT.

"I am unable," yonder beggar cries
"To stand or move :"-if he says true, he lies.

THE DISAPPOINTED MAID.

Cried Martha, "all man creatures I detest,
Or rich, or poor, from greater to the least."
Yet blame not Martha for this rancorous hate,
It is but fair she should retaliate.

A MAN'S LOSSES.

Last Sunday night I lost my steed,
Eclipse was not of better breed:
Last Monday night I lost my cousin,
Not one is left me of a dozen :

Last Tuesday night. I lost my wife,
The joy, the honour of my life,
Last We'nsday night I lost my friend,
My sorrows ne'er will have an end :
Can any have misfortunes worse,
I'm really sorry for my HORSE.

THE PETITION OF 1.

(

In 1759, Dr. Hill wrote a pamphlet entitled, "To David Garrick, Esq. the Petition of I, in behalf of herself and sisters." The purport of it was to charge Mr. Garrick with mispronouncing some words including the letter I; as furm for firm, vurtue for virtue, and others. The pamphlet is now forgotten; but the following epigram, which Mr. Garrick wrote on the occasion, deserves to be preserved, as one of the best in the English language.

If 'tis true, as you say, that I've injured a letter, I'll change my notes soon, and I hope for the bet

ter,

May the just right of letters, as well as of men, Hereafter be fixed by the tongue and the pen ! Most devoutly I wish that they both have their due, And that I may be never mistaken for U.

RENT DAY.

The tenant to his landlord hied,
And told his tale of poverty;
"I pardon you," the landlord cried,
"Your clothes are rent enough I see!"

THE FUNERAL.

Cries Ned to his neighbours, as onward they press'd, Conveying his wife to her place of long rest

“I beseech you, my friends, take a little more

leisure,

For why should we thus make a toil of a pleasure.".

DR. WATTS.

As Dr. Watts was standing one day in a coffee-house, he observed a gentleman looking very stedfastly at him, and presently heard him say to his friend-"That is Doctor Watts.""Is it?" replied the other; "then he is a very little fellow?"-On which Dr. Watts turned to them, and said—

"Were I so tall to reach the sky,

Or grasp the ocean with a span,
I would be measured by my soul;
The mind's the standard of the man!"

ON THE REPOSE OF OLD AGE.

You wish for age, and yet you dread to die;
Is pain then sweeter than tranquillity.

SWIFT'S LAST LINES.

Swift, in his lunacy, had some intervals of reason. On one occasion his physicians took him with them to enjoy the advantages of fresh air. When they came to the Phoenix Park, Dublin, Swift remarked a new building which he had never before seen, and asked "what it was designed for ?" To which Dr. Kingsbury answered, "That, Mr. Dean, is the magazine for arms and powder, for the security of the city." "Oh, oh!" says the Dean, pulling out his pocket-book, "let us take an item of that. This is worth remarking; 'my tablet's!' as Hamlet says, my tablet's! memory put down that." Which produced the following lines, being the last the Dean ever wrote:

"Behold a proof of Irish sense!
Here Irish wit is seen ;

When nothing's left that's worth defence,
We build a magazine."

He then put up his pocket book, laughing heartily at the conceit, and clenching it with, "When the steed's stolen, shut the stable door."

AN IDLE WIFE.

Written on the mariage of the Hon. and Rev. Mr. Howard to Miss Idle.

Most men left to their choice, I know,
Would lead an Idle life;

But few there would be found, 1 trow,
Would choose an Idle wife.

Reply.

Thy wit is subtle on my life,
But learn thy tongue to bridle ;
'Tis clear the maid become a wife,
Is now no longer Idle.

ON THE LOVELY MISS DEATH OF ALDGATE.

Should distant lands divide me, love, from thee, "Oh Death! thou'rt welcome unto me."

I'd cry,

THE ROSE WITHOUT A THORN.

Fanny.

No Rose without a thorn, they say,
But don't let it alarm you;
For here behold a single rose

Without a thorn to harm you.

Henry.

The wonder's common, as you'll find,
When with the world you mingle,
For 'tis indeed without a thorn,
But then, you know, it's single!

SINGULAR DYING SPEECH.

Verses made by Chediock Ticheborne of himself in the Tower, the night before he suffered death, who was executed in Lincolns Inn Fields, for treason against Queen Elizabeth, 1583.

My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of pain,
My prop of corn is but a field of tares,

And all my goodes is but vain hope of gain.
The day it fled, and yet I saw no sun,
And now I live, and now my life is done!

My spring is past, and yet it hath not sprung; The fruit is dead, and yet the leaves are green, My youth is past, and yet I am but young,

I saw the world, and yet I was not seen; My thread is cut, and yet it is not spun, And now I live, and now my life is done!

I sought for death, and found it in the wombe;
I lookt for life, and yet it was a shade,
I trade the ground, and knew it was my tombe,
And now I dye, and nowe I am but made.
The glass is full, and yet my glass is run;
And now I live, and now my life is done!"