Here, as it happ'd, a hardy tar

Had been to often to the bar,

That Jack at last no more could pour in,
But on a bench lay fast and snoring;
The watchful resurrectionist
Straight the landlady address'd,
And bargain'd with her, for a crown,
To rid her of the drunken loon.
The paction made, the money paid,
The thing was done as soon as said:
The exhumist, half rogue, half wag,
Depos'd his bargain in his bag;
And, just like fishmonger with sturgeon,
Hied off with him to H-
the surgeon.

The signal-tap Albinus hears,

With joy elate he trips down stairs,
Receives the sackful in a trice,
And pays the customary price;
Then lays the bag upon his shambles,
And back to bed Albinus ambles.

But, lo! in the morning, how great his surprise,
To see the sack tumbling at terrible size;
To hear honest Bowline, a d- -g his peepers,
And flound'ring about as bit by the creepers,
Vociferously bg his barbarous lot,

By his mess to be sew'd up alive in his cot.

The Doctor, though stagger'd, unloosen'd the sack,
And restor'd to the light the still more stagger'd Jack;
Muttering, "Last night had I stuck my knife in you,
I should not now wail for the loss of a guinea."
Next day, the sly chap who had sold him the tar,
Pass'd by the søre-nettled anatomist's door;
Who, calling him back, complain'd of the trick
He had serv'd him, by bringing “a man that was quick.”
"It is so much the better," returns Resurrection;

"To so much convenience why start

you objection? If I've had your guinea, Sir, you have had tantum; And you've only to slaughter the man when you want

him."

EPIGRAM

EPIGRAM

THE CIRCUMSTANCE OF TRAVELLERS NEVER HAVING
BEEN ABLE TO DISCOVER ANY TRACE OF THE SPOT
WHERE THE GARDEN OF EDEN FORMERLY STOOD.
[From the Morning Chronicle, Oct. 17.]

WHEN from the bower where pleasures grew,
The angel Adam drove;

His beauteous partner quitted too,
Content with him to rove.

And since-all travellers have said,

No trace they can explore.

They 're right-when lovely woman fled,

'T was Paradise no more.

EPIGRAMS.

[From the same, Oct. 18.]

OM Tart declares that womankind

ΤΟΜ

To tattle are so much inclin'd,

Not one of them can silence keep,

Her tongue will wag ev'n in her sleep,
And ev ry secret she is told

She will unwarily unfold,

Excepting one which he'll engage

She 'll never blab-that is, her age!

H. G.

QUEEN Bess, once in council, was given to know That a corps of her cavalry fled from the foe; But, in telling the tale, it came out unawares, "That the troopers were tailors, all mounted on mares: "Nay, then," says the Queen, "tho' the rogues ran away, I have not lost a man nor a horse in the fray!"

A

THE AUCTIONEER AND THE BAILIFF.
[From the same, Oct. 25.]

N Auctioneer, whose talents scarce avail'd him
To ward the many troubles that assail'd him,
Passing one day along the public street,

A Sheriff's Officer he chanc'd to meet,

A quondam crony, who, with lowly bend,
Produc'd a writ he held against his friend;
Lamenting, with much pother and grimace,
That he had been commission'd in this case.
But 'twas his business-he could not refuse it,
So hop'd his friend would graciously excuse it.
The Auctioneer with angry aspect ey'd
His old acquaintance, and at length replied:
"Men of professional employs like us,
Of friendship and its ties disdain the fuss-
Private to public duties must resign;

And as you've done your office, I'll do mine-
By different acts our callings are made known.”
Thus having said, he knock'd the Bailiff down.

EXTEMPORE,

H.G.

ON READING SOME LINES ON TRAVELLERS HAVING NEVER
BEEN ABLE TO DISCOVER THE SPOT WHERE THE GAR-;
THE POINT OF WHICH WAS.
DEN OF EDEN STOOD:
THIS, THAT, WHEN LOVELY WOMAN LEFT IT, "'T WAS
PARADISE NO MORE *."

FROM

[From the Morning Post, Oct. 26.]

ROM Eden's bower when woman ran,
T was Paradise no more;

You're right,

nor can the foot of man

Its once-fam'd spot explore,

But out of this each blessing flows,
And all our joys arise;

For woman, wheresoe'er she goes,

Creates a Paradise!

CLIQ

JACK

EPITAPH ON JOHN BROWN.

[From the Morning Chronicle, Oct. 28.]

ACK Brown, who lies here, was a-swimming one day, And Death, as it happen'd, was angling that way; The poor fellow was hook'd, and caught up in a crack; He little thought Death was a-fishing for Jack.

ON READING THE FOREGOING.

SINCE Death has turn'd angler," says Andrew to Jim, "I'll go no more into the water to swim."

To Andrew quoth Jim, "This is all very fine,

But

you know Death can fish on shore too with a line."

MR. EDITOR,

B FIDDLE.

[From the same, Oct. 28.]

COWPER's "Mary" is unquestionably a pleasing production; but it has had the unfortunate effect of inducing a great number of mawkish imitations. As I perceive this mode of gaining reputation, by clinging to the skirts of a bard, is not at an end, I have resolved to write so sublime and beautiful an effusion as shall leave at a distance all competition, and silence for ever these underlings of Parnassus. To wit:

Who is that constant friend and kind,
Who goes wherever I've a mind,
And, ever humble-keeps behind?

B-m-fiddle!

Who ne'er complains, though oft opprest,
And still supports me while I rest;
Though scorn'd by all, a friend confest?
B-m-fiddle!

Hard words when I could not decline 'em
At school, who taught me to divine 'em,
By argumentum baculinum 2

At Billingsgate, the vulgar race

Will oft invite to kiss his face;

B-m-fiddle!

But, save the courtier, wanting place,
No one will venture to embrace

B-m-fiddle!

Whe

Who makes to learning no pretence,
And seldom speaks, which shows his sense,
Lest he should chance-to give offence?

B-m-fiddle!

Who bids me oft my ways to mend ?
"Tis he!-for, when I view my friend,
I think upon-my latter end!

B-m-fiddle!

I am, Sir, your very obedient servant,

Chapter Coff. H.

F.

THE BOULOGNE VICTORY.

[From the British Press, Oct. 28.]

BONAPARTE, on a visit to Boulogne, would see

The achievements his fleet could accomplish at sea; So order'd it out, and the Admiral told,

"You see yonder frigate of England so bold-
Bring her in! such defiance I cannot behold;
And, that safe into port is conducted your prey,
You'll a pilot take with you to show her the way."
Each praam and each gun-boat, anon under sail,
Bore down for their prize with a favouring gale,
The Emperor's mandate in haste to obey;

But, alas! they got drubb'd, and the whole ran away,
Save one praam which he lost, and to England was brought
That its tars might a few English tactics be taught.

The great man was quite frantic-the Queen, in a fright, Requested to know the result of the fight.

"Where's the frigate?" she ask'd. Finding silence were vain,

He replied, "She was riddled, and sunk in the main.". "And the praam which 't is rumour'd is gone-where is

she?"

"The praam! oh, the praam, why, she's-drifted at sea."

T. Q.

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