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lance as the subject of Sappho's celebrated ode-my blood tingled, my eyes swam, 66 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,

Which only seem'd to make him faster
Try the patience of his master.

Some sin, at last, beyond all measure
Incurr'd the desperate displeasure

Of his Serene and raging Highness:
Whether he twitch'd his most revered
And sacred beard,

Or had intruded on the shyness Of the Seraglio, or let fly

An epigram at royalty,

None knows ;-his sin was an occult one;
But records tell us that the Sultan,
Meaning to terrify the knave,

Exclaim'd-"'Tis time to stop that breath;
Thy doom is seal'd:-presumptuous slave!
Thou stand'st condemn'd to certain death.
Silence, base rebel !-no replying !—
But such is my indulgence still,
That, of my own free grace and will,
I leave to thee the mode of dying."

"Thy royal will be done-'tis just,"
Replied the wretch, and kiss'd the dust;

"Since, my last moments to assuage,
Your Majesty's humane decree
Has deign'd to leave the choice to me,
I'll die, so please you, of old age!"

THE TAVERN.

"Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round,
Whate'er its changes may have been,
May sigh to think that he has found

The warmest welcome at an inn."

SHENSTONE.

"BLEST as the immortal gods is he," the youth, who, without the effort of using his own limbs, protected from the earth beneath and the skies above, is rapidly whirled in a close carriage to the ever open and hospitable door of a good tavern. Before the footman or coachman can descend, for the jaunty swing of the private chariot or the rattling jolt of a hackney coach are welcomed with equal deference, half a dozen waiters rush from the house, the steps are lowered with all the celerity that is consistent with the prevention of noise, elbows are respectfully tendered to the descending visitant, a respectful procession ushers him into the spacious illumined refectory, and the lady at the bar bows to him as he passes with a smile, which, while it preserves the dignity due to her presiding station, seems to say--"Thrice welcome to all that my house contains!-the longer you stay, the more you revel, the greater your waste and devastation, the more acceptable will be your august presence." Hers are not the complimentary hyperboles of the Persian, who goes to the outskirts of the city and exclaims to every traveller-" Deign to accept of Shiraz and all its dependencies !"-No; her heart

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does not belie her looks; were she in Madame de Genlis's Palace of Truth, she would not alter a phrase nor unbend a single smile. Amid a world of deceit, her benign looks are bent upon her new inmate with an absolute integrity of sincerity; nor are her numerous servants less cordial, emulous, and reverent. Is it winter, the guest's great coat and hat are taken from him, and cautiously suspended: one excites the fire into a cheerful and blazing recognition of his presence, while another spreads a screen before the door, that "the airs of heaven may not visit him too roughly." Is it summer, the blinds are pulled down that he may be sheltered from the sun, and the window thrown open that he may be fanned by the cooling breezes, while a paper is placed before him containing the very news from each extremity of the earth, to prepare which for his morning's perusal, many fellow-creatures of great technical skill, and some of intellectual eminence, have been sleepless all night. By the side of this record submitting the events of the wide world to his perusal, is placed the bill of fare, tendering the productions of the universe to his palate. The four elements, the four seasons, the four quarters of the earth, are ransacked and laid under contribution for his instant gratification. The wishes of Cinderella, however wild and extravagant, were not more promptly realized; the cap of Fortunatus and the wand of Harlequin are less magical than his enchanted finger. He points, and the depths of the sea yield him up their tenants; the air surrenders its feathered rarities; earth pours out its cornucopia at his feet; and fire,