THEATRICAL PUFF.

On a playbill, published by a country manager, was the following attractive invitation.

Let none be afraid from the country to come,

As the moon is engaged for to light you all home;
But should she herself that honour decline,
The stars have agreed with more lustre to shine;
Door open at six, begin about seven,

At home safe in bed between ten and eleven.

ON SIR WALTER SCOTT'S POETICAL PRODUCTIONS.

Walter Scott! Walter Scott!

How hard is his lot,

Who is doom'd to read over thy rhymes;
Such goblins! such fights!

Such sieges! such frights!.

Such customs! such manners! such times!

Then comes Waterloo

With a holloa bellow!

Of legion's disabled and slain;

But you, not content

With the blood they have spent,

Will mangle them over again.

Oh! teaze our good folks
No more with this hoax,

Which John Bull in a doze could not see,

But now broad awake,

This tax will not take,

He's determined to live, sir, Scott free..

E

THE FORSAKEN LOVER.

Tom meets his friend, and strait complains
In very sad and doleful strains :

"Ah, Jack, what must I do?

My sweetheart's wed! the seamstress fair;
Eternal grief must be my share!

You smile-but it's too true!

"But nothing mads me worse than t' see Who the man is she's has chang❜d for me;

A Barber on my soul !"

"You fool," says Jack, "What makes you mourn ? Pray, whither should the Needle turn

If not unto the Pole ?"

MUTUAL LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT.

We know not who is the author of the following compendious history, which is the veni, vidi, vici, of love.

"Et comme une jeune cœur est bientot enflammé, "Il me vit, il m'aima; je le vis, je l'aimai."

Soon is the youthful heart by passion mov'd,
He saw and lov'd me; him I saw and lov'd.

VARIETY IN WIVES AS IN BOOKS:

From "Holborn Drollery.''-1673.

A scholar newly entered college life,
Following his study did offend his wife;
Because when she his company expected,
By bookish business she was still neglected.
Coming into his study, (Lord, quoth she)
Can papers make you love them more than me?

I wish I were transformed into a book,
That your affection might upon me look.
But in my wish, with all, be it decreed,
I would be such a book you love to read.
Husband (quoth she) which book's form should
I take?

Marie, (quoth he) 'twere better an Almanake.
The reason wherefore I do wish thee so,
Is, every year we have a new you know.

GRATITUDE TO THE CREATOR FOR DAILY BLESSINGS.

A Hymn from the Low Dutch, being twenty seven thousand and nineteenth of Frankenan's Collection. See p. 403, vol. 46.

To thee, O Lord! at break of day,

The incense of my pipe shall rise;
The butter'd bread, the coffee'd milk,
Shall be my morning sacrifice.

Thee will I thank, and bless again,
When reeks the ham upon my board;
Thou giv'st the crout, the cole, the beans,
And all that garden-beds afford.

To thee be hallow'd all my beer,

To thee my white, my ruddy wines;

Thou giv'st the barley's swelling ear,

Thou crown'st the hills with cluster'd vines.

Again, amid my evening prayer,

To thee shall smoke the fragrant leaf;

And love of man shall fill my soul,

And friends partake my pickled beef.

And, when beneath our eider-down,
My wife and I repose in glee,
Oft let it be our serious care

To give new worshippers to thee.

RECIPE.

To Make a Man of Consequence.

A brow austere, a circumspective eye,
A frequent shrug of the os humeri ;
A nod significant, a stately gait,

A blust'ring manner, and a tone of weight;
A smile sarcastic, and expressive stare,-
Adapt all these, as times and place will bear.

THE MILL-TREADERS' LAMENT AT BRIXTON.

When the Parliament meets we will move a repeal
Of the act that compels us to tread on the wheel,
For no pleasure in prison, poor creatures! we know;
While our footsteps go up they but keep us below;
We are doom'd to hard labour, confined in a mill,
Which round again, round again, urges us still.

Who would enter a house in the dead of the night,
Or commit an assault and be brutal in fight?
Who would violate law in its vengeance so great,
To be be kept to this discipline prison of fate?
Sun rising or setting it matters not,-still
We round again, round again, tread in the mill.

In streets, as the vot'ries of fashion we pass'd,
At the plays, as wise authors our talents were cast,
With the high and the low, with the dupes and the

flash,

We were never without an abundance of cash :

O rueful lament-how depriv'd of our skill!
Now we round again, round again, tread in the mill.

Each haunt of repute, and each house in the town,
Each sight of attraction, or place of renown,
We could visit so well, our importance support,
Like knaves who will sometimes be knighted at
court;

'Tis a dangerous course! since, at last, people-will Make us round again, round again, tread in the mill.

O! ye cadgers or prads, dandies, charleys, or chits,
Of whatever cognomen, who live by your wits;
Nells, Nancies, or Fannies, in folly's disguise,
Go to work, and have Liberty's blessings to prize;
For, here you must swallow dear punishment's pill!
And round again, round again, tread in the mill.

TO FOLLOW A LOST FORTUNE.

"I'll follow thy fortune," a termagant cries, Whose extravagance caus'd all the evil; "That were some consolation," the husband replies: "For my Fortune has gone to the Devil."

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY.

The two first Stanzus of this Poem were written by Shakespeare, the two lust by Sir John Suckling.

"One of her hands one of her cheeks lay under, Cozz'ning the pillow of a lawful kiss,

Which, therefore, swell'd, and seem'd to part asunder,
As angry to be robb'd of so much bliss;
The one look'd pale, and for revenge did long,
While t'other blush'd-'cause it had done the wrong.