But the all-witty Lady L !

When thus exclaim'd the lovely girl:
"What do I see !-the staff of life,
Extended on a soldier's knife!
Nor e'er before saw, as I've breath,
That life so near the point of death!'

ON THE UNCERTAINTY OF LIFE.

Written by a Lady, a Friend of John Tremlow, Esq. of Hatherton, in Cheshire.

Fleres, si scires unum tua tempora mensem,
Rides, cum non sit forsitan, una dies.

TRANSLATION.

Didst thou, oh thoughtless mortal, know
Thy time to quit this earthly scene,
How would thine eyes with tears o'erflow,
Though months or years should intervene.

Yet careless of the dread event,

Thou talk'st and laugh'st thy hours away, When conquering death may have been sent To summon thee from hence-to-day.

Henley used every Saturday to print an advertisement in the Daily Advertiser, announcing the subject of his ensuing lecture, with a motto before it, which was generally a sneer at some public transactions of the preceding week. Dr. Cohden, one of Geo. II.'s Chaplains, having in 1748 preached a sermon at St. James's from the words, "Take

away the wicked before the King, and his throne shall be established in righteousness." This sermon gave great displeasure at Court, and the doctor was dismissed from the list of Chaplains. The Saturday following, Henley's advertisement contained this parody on the text:

Away with the wicked before the King, Away with the wicked behind him;

His throne it will bless

With righteousness,

And we shall know where to find him."

DOMESTIC JARS.

The following curious advertisement has appeared in the Concord (New Hampshire, America,) paper:

"Whereas I, Daniel Clay, through misrepresentation, was induced to post my wife, Rhoda, in the papers: now I beg leave to inform the public, that I have again taken her to wife, after settling all our domestic broils in a amicable manner; so that every thing, as usual, goes on like clock work."

"Divorc'd like scissars rent in twain,

Each mourn'd the rivet out:

Now whet and rivetted again,

They'll make the old shears cut."

HONESTY.

Aye, honesty's a jewel," Richard cried,

"That shines the clearer still, the more 'tis tried." "True, Dick," quoth Jerry; "yourself may show

it;

Your honesty's so clear,-we all see THROUGH it.”

ON LOTTERIES.

On a Lottery-Office Advertisement, entitled, "A New Road to Riches."

Tho' your

"New Road to Riches" quite smooth may appear,

Yet the turnpikes, believe me, are devilish dear.

ON THE MARRIAGE OF TWO DUMB PERSONS.

Says Johnny to Paddy, "I can't, for my life, Conceive how a dumb pair are made man and wife, Since they can't with the form and parson accord." Says Paddy, "You fool! they take each other's

word."

THE RIVAL WATERMEN.

Founded on a recent fact.

Two watermen the other day,
Tom Lipscombe-Andrew Ware,
As many men have done before,
Fell out about a fare.

Miss Ann Drew tripp'd towards the stairs,
Intending to take boat;

Says Ware, "I likes with pretty fares
Upon the Thames to float."

Ann Drew rejected Andrew Ware,

And drew where Lipscombe stood;
Says Ware, "take care, that there's my fare,
"For you she's far too good."

Lipscombe rejoin'd, "a pretty go,
"I do n't mind a spree,

"And from a boy was bred to row,
"And rowing's bread to me."

"So let me, Andrew, tell you this,
"Betwixt yourself and me,

"If you should think to take that miss,
"Mistaken you will be."

But Miss Ann Drew, she chang'd her mind,
As misses often do ;

And like a ship before the wind,

Across the bridge she flew.

Now blows do oft succeed a breeze,
And so to mend the joke,

The skull of Lipscombe, and the peace,
By Andrew's fist were broke.

So Lipscombe thought it right, his wrongs
Before a court to bring;
And Andrew was adjudg'd to pay,

A Sov'reign to the King.

CONJUGAL OPINIONS.

"Yon ass brays loud," said Tom to Sue, "Like your relations, wife;"

"Dear Tom," she cried, "I own 'tis true, By marriage, on my life."

TO A LADY WHO DISAPPROVED OF ITALIAN
STUDIES.

To lure me from the Tuscan muse,
Your wish is kind, your reasons true;

But English Clio still should choose
A better advocate than you!

In vain you plead for England, while,
On Italy to fix my choice,

You've all her sunshine in your smile,
And all her music in your voice!

DON'T BELIEVE IT, JO.

My uncle Tim, a thoughtful wight,
Who watched my early youth,
Was fond of every sentence trite,
That wore the face of truth;
And when through life, alone to steer
Ambition bade me go,

He only whispered in my ear,
"Don't, don't, believe it, Jo."

To Fame, my suit I first address'd-
She heard my ardent prayer,
With love of glory fir'd my breast,
And cured my soul's despair;
I followed long-but reason came,
With silent steps and slow,
And louder than the blast of fame,
Cried, "Don't believe her, Jo."

Then Pleasure, next resolved to try,
A wanton filled my arms;
Warmed in the sunshine of her eye,
I revelled in her charms;

But short her reign, for conscience woke
To find me sunk so low,

I listened, and the spell was broke
With "Don't believe her, Jo."

Intemperance now I swift pursued,
And madly grasped the bowl--

A a