O Mr. Stubbs! what shall I do?
Has any lady found a shoe?
Sally's lace veil is gone, I vow-
I'll take my oath 'twas here just now.
Why do you stare at me, good madam?
I know no more of it than Adam.
Why, see, you thoughtless little fool,
You popp'd it in your ridicule.
OI shall ne'er survive the squeedge!
A smelling-bottle would obleege.-
I vow I feel quite atmospheric :-
Salts! salts! she's in a strong hysteric!
O that a person of my station
Should be exposed to such flustration!
You haven't, madam, seen Sir John ?—
Where is my stupid coachman gone?-
Well, goodness me, and lackadaisy!
I'm sure the people must be crazy.
What do you mean, ma'am, by this riot?
Mean?-why you've almost poked my eye out.
Those parasols are monstrous sharp.-
Ma, that's the man as play'd the harp.
Well, this is Dandelion, is it?

I sha'n't soon make another visit.

George Crump, the inspired carman, of whose original Muse I have already furnished interesting specimens, having completed a poem entitled "The Skittle Ground," with the exception of the introductory stanzas, applied to me for that difficult portion; and as I was very sure that he would never imitate the discourteousness of Dr. Darwin, who received a similar contribution from Miss Seward, and prefixed it to his Botanic Garden without the smallest acknowledgment, I resolved to gratify his

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wish, running over in my mind the opening lines of the most celebrated epics. Virgil's " Arma virumque cano"-Tasso's "Canto l'arme pietose"-Ariosto's "Canto le Donne e' i Cavalieri"-Milton's "Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit," with many other initiatory verses, occurred to my recollection; but Mr. Crump, having intimated at our conversazione that he had himself hit upon a happy exordium, I obtained silence, when he recited the following four lines as his proposed commencement, assuring us that the fact corresponded with his statement, which he considered a most auspicious augury.

While playing skittles, ere I took my quid,

The Muses I invoked my work to crown;

Descend, ye Nine !" I cried,—and so they did,

For in a trice I knock'd the nine pins down!

It was my intention to have furnished some farther poetical flowers from the literary garland woven at this interesting Symposium, but the recollection of an incident which occurred towards the end of the entertainment actually paralyzes my faculties, and makes the pen flutter in my hand. My father, who is passionately fond of whist, had stipulated for a table in one corner of the room; and for the purpose of tenanting it had invited four or five humdrum neighbours, who could only be called men of letters in the postman's sense of the phrase, although they were perfectly competent to go through the automatical movements of shuffling, cutting, and dealing. After the rubber had been played once over in fact, and twice in subsequent discussion, they prepared to depart, and

I heard the announcement of their servants' arrival with a pleasure that I could ill conceal." Mrs. Waddle's maid and umbrella!" sounded up the stairs, and the corpulent old lady slowly obeyed the summons. "Miss Clacket's pattens stop the way!" was the next cry; and her shrill voice, still audible from below, continued without ceasing till the hall-door closed upon her clangour. "Mr. Wheeze's boy and lantern !" followed; when the worthy oilman, having put on two great coats, and tied as many handkerchiefs round his throat, coughed himself out of the house, wishing that he was well over Tower Hill, on his way to Ratcliffe. Mrs. Dubbs's shopman came to claim the last of this quartetto of quizzes; and I was just congratulating myself on the prospect of renewing our feast of intellect, free from the interruptions of uncongenial souls, when my father, running up to the table, cried out- Well, now let's see what card-money they have left." So saying, he looked under one of the candlesticks, took up a shilling, bit it, rung it upon the table, and exclaiming, "Zounds! it's a bad one---it's Mrs. Dubbs's place---Hallo! Mrs. Dubbs, this won't do though, none of your raps"-rushed hastily out of the room. After two or three minutes passed by me in silent horror, he re-entered, nearly out of breath, ejaculating, as he spun another shilling with his finger and thumb-" Ay, ay, this will do; none of your tricks upon travellers, Mrs. Dubbs :-a rank Brummagem!"

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Miss Caustic began the titter--but I can describe no farther. I fell into as complete a state of defail

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lance as the subject of Sappho's celebrated ode-my blood tingled, my eyes swam, my ears with hollow murmurs rang;" and yet this fainting of the mind did not afford any relief to the shame and mortification that overwhelmed the too refined and sensitive bosom of HEBE HOGGINS.

PETER PINDARICS.

The Handkerchief.

A JUDGE of the Police and Spy

(For both are join'd in Eastern nations),
Prowling about with purpose sly,
To list to people's conversations,
And pry in every corner cupboard,
According to his dirty calling,
Saw a poor woman passing by,
Who wept and blubber'd,

Like a church spout when rain is falling,
Which strives in vain to vent and utter
The overflowings of the gutter.

Our magistrate thought fit to greet her,
Insisting on the dame's declaring

What caused this monstrous ululation:
When she averr'd her spouse had beat her
Black and blue beyond all bearing,
Without the smallest provocation.

To work the Judge's pen and ink went,
Taking the rogue's address and trade,
And the next morning the delinquent

Was duly into Court convey'd:

When he asserted, that his wife

Was such an advocate of strife,

That she would raise a mighty clangour,
And put herself into a pucker,

For trifles that surpass'd belief,

And, for the recent cause of anger,

He swore, point blank, that he had struck her
With nothing but his handkerchief.

The Judge, convinced by this averment,
Dismiss'd the case without a word;
When in the Court there rose a ferment,

And the wife's angry voice was heard-
"To cheat your Worship is too bad!
My Lord, my Lord! do interpose,
And stop the knave where'er he lingers;
The villain! he forgot to add

That he for ever blows his nose
With his own fingers!"

The Jester condemned to Death

ONE of the Kings of Scanderoon,
A Royal Jester,

Had in his train a gross buffoon,
Who used to pester

The Court with tricks inopportune,
Venting on the highest folks his
Scurvy pleasantries and hoaxes.

It needs some sense to play the fool,
Which wholesome rule

Occurr'd not to our jackanapes,
Who consequently found his freaks
Lead to innumerable scrapes,

And quite as many kicks and tweaks,