The orphan-maker, widower of brides;

The tyrant's strength-the cruel pirate's law-
The traitor's passport to his sovereign's throne,—
The mighty desolator,-that contains,

In this brief bar of steel, more woe to earth
Than lightning, earthquake, yellow pestilence,
Or the wild fury of the all-swallowing sea!"

ECONOMY,

Or how to make a Leg of Mutton last a Week.

As Sunday is a feast day boasted,
I like a leg of mutton roasted;
On Monday, then, my taste to tickle,
I eat part cold, with Indian pickle;
On Tuesday hash it, gravy made,
Some sippets round the dish first laid;
On Wednesday broil it with due care,
Some mash'd potatoes to prepare ;
On Thursday make a seasoned pie,
Or else some slices nicely fry;
And that it may the longer last,
Then Friday I pronounce-a fast :
On Saturday, when cash runs narrow,
I crack the bone, and eat the marrow,
And then, that nought be thrown away,
The rest I give to hungry Tray.

ON A LADY STUNG BY A BEE.

To heal the wound a bee had made
Upon my Chloe's face,

Honey upon the part she laid,

And bade me kiss the place.

Pleas'd, I obey'd, and from the wound

Extracted sweet and smart;

The honey on my lips I found

The sting within my heart.

CURIOUS WILL.

The following is an authentic copy of the will of Mr. Jackitt, thirty years a clerk to Messrs. Fuller and Vaughan, in Cornhill, as brought to be proved in Doctors' Commons:

I give and bequeath

When I'm laid underneath,

To my two loving sisters, most dear,
The whole of my store,

Were it twice as much more,

Which GOD's goodness has granted me here;
And that none may prevent,
This my Will and Intent,
Or occasion the least of law racket,
With a solemn appeal,

1 confirm, sign, and seal,
This true act and deed of

WILLIAM JACKITT.

THE EXCISEMAN'S REMONSTRANCE.

Ye men of wealth and wit, why all this sneering 'Gainst poor excisemen-Give the cause a hearing. What are your landlords' rent-rolls ?-taxing ledgers:

What premiers? what even monarchs? mighty gaugers.

Nay, what are priests, those seeming godly wise

men?

What are they, pray, but spiritual excisemen?

ON THE DEFEAT OF ADMIRAL LINOIS, BY CAPTAIN

DANCE.

Quite debonair, Linois left France,
And on the ocean came to Dance;
Where, when our tars began to play,
It charm'd him so, he danced away.

RETROSPECTION :-A SIMILE.

We know not half the beauty of the grove,
While o'er our heads its dark'ning boughs are
twining:

But oh! how sweet, from distant hills above,
To see the sunset on its verdure shining.
Thus many an hour of youthful hopes and fears-
Charming alike-is past unheeded by,

Whose light, seen broader through the mist of years,
Too brightly gleams upon the faded eye.

ADVICE TO A YOUNG LADY.

By a Widow.

WHEN on these lines you turn your gaze,
You'll think, some whining lover

By means of poetry essays

His passion to discover.

No, fair one! I'm a matron grave,
Whom time and care have wasted,

Who would thy youth from sorrow save,
Which I in wedlock tasted.

In courtship we are all divine,

And vows and prayers pursue us,

Darts, flames, and tears, adorn our shrine,
And artfully men woo us.

But, marriage lets the vizard fall,
Then cease they to adore us;
The goddess sinks to housewife Moll,
And they reign tyrants o'er us.

Then let no man impression make
Upon thy heart so tender;
Nor play the fool, for pity's sake,
Thy freedom to surrender.

"Lead apes in hell!" there's no such thing,
Those tales are made to fool us :

Yet there we'd better hold a string,
Then here let monkeys rule us.

HENRIETTA.

TIME.

Time darks the sky, time brings the day,
Time glads the heart, time puffs all joys away;
Time builds a city, and o'erthrows a nation,
Time writes a story of their desolation.
Time hath a time when I shall be no more,
Time makes poor men rich, and rich men poor.

TO MY MOTHER.

By T. Moore, and written in his Pocket Book, 1822.

THEY tell us of an Indian tree,

Which, howso'er the sun and sky

X

May tempt its boughs to wander free,
And shoot, and blossom, wide and high,
Far better loves to bend its arms
Downward again to that dear earth,
From which the life, that fills and warms
Its grateful being, first had birth.

'Tis thus, though woo'd by flattering friends,
And fed with fame (if fame it be)

This heart, my own dear mother, bends,
With love's true instinct, back to thee!

SIX SORTS OF PEOPLE WHO FAST.

The miser fasts because he will not eat;
The poor man fasts because he has no meat;
The rich man fasts, with greedy mind to spare ;
The glutton fasts to eat the greater share e;
The hypocrite he fasts to seem more holy;
The righteous man to punish sinful folly.

THE END OF LOVE.

To Miss, by her Lover.

Clara, I swear by all I ever swore,

That from this hour I ne'er will love you more; Love me no more! for why this alter'd vow? Because I cannot love you more than now.

THE LOST CORKSCREW.

When Oliver Cromwell and some of his saints Were over a bottle, quite free from restraints,