EPIGRAM.* WHAT news to-day?" Oh! worse and worse— EPIGRAM. Dialogue between a Catholic Delegate and his 66 SAID his Highness to NED, with that grim face of his, Why refuse us the Veto, dear Catholic NEDDY ?"— "Because, Sir," said NED, looking full in his phiz, "You're forbidding enough, in all conscience, already!" *This is a bon-mot, attributed, I know not how truly, to the PR-NC-SS of W-L-s. I have merely versified it. EPIGRAM. Dialogue between a Dowager and her Maid on the Night of Lord Y-rm-th's Féte. "I WANT the Court-Guide,” said my Lady, “ to look "If the House, Seymour Place, be at 30 or 20”"We've lost the Court-Guide, Ma'am, but here's the Red Book, "Where you'll find, I dare say, Seymour PLACES in plenty !" EPIGRAM. From the French. "I NEVER give a kiss," says Prue, "To naughty man, for I abhor it." She will not give a kiss, 'tis true— She'll take one, though, and thank you for it. ON A SQUINTING POETESS. To no one Muse does she her glance confine, THE TORCH OF LIBERTY. I SAW it all in Fancy's glass- "Twas like a torch-race-such as they I saw th' expectant nations stand To catch the coming flame in turnI saw, from ready hand to hand, The clear, but struggling glory burn. And, oh! their joy, as it came near, And each, as she received the flame, Then, smiling to the next who came, From ALBION first, whose ancient shrine The splendid gift then GALLIA took, As she would set the world a blazing. And, when she fired her altar, high So fierce, that ALBION, who stood nigh, Next, SPAIN so new was light to herLeap'd at the torch; but, ere the spark She flung upon her shrine could stir, 'Twas quench'd, and all again was dark. Yet no-not quench'd-a treasure worth So much to mortals rarely dies.— Again her living light look'd forth, And shone, a beacon, in all eyes. Who next received the flame?Alas! Unworthy Naples-shame of shames That ever through such hands should pass That brightest of all earthly flames ! Scarce had her fingers touch'd the torch, When, frighted by the sparks it shed, Nor waiting e'en to feel the scorch, She dropp'd it to the earth-and fled. And fallen it might have long remain'd, But Greece, who saw her moment now, Caught up the prize, though prostrate, stain'd, And waved it round her beauteous brow. And Fancy bid me mark where, o'er Her altar as its flame ascended, Fair, laureld spirits seem'd to soar, Who thus in song their voices blended : Shine, shine for ever, glorious flame, “ Divinest gift of God to men! |