The old woman, too,

Was obliged to go through,

With her boys, the rough discipline used by the crew, Who, before they let one of the set see the back of them, “Cobb'd” the whole party,—ay, “every man Jack of them.”

MORAL.

And now, Gentle Reader, before that I

say

Farewell for the present, and wish you good-day,
Attend to the moral I draw from my lay!-

If ever you travel, like Anthony Blogg,

Be wary of strangers!—don't take too much grog!-
And don't fall asleep, if you should, like a hog!—
Above all-carry with you a curly-tail'd Dog!

Lastly, don't act like Blogg, who, I say it with blushing,
Sold Sancho next month for two guineas at Flushing;
But still on these words of the Bard keep a fix'd eye,
INGRATUM SI DIXERIS, OMNIA DIXTI! ! !

L'Envoye.

I felt so disgusted with Blogg, from sheer shame of him,
I never once thought to inquire what became of him;
If you want to know, Reader, the way, I opine,
To achieve your design,-

-Mind, it's no wish of mine,

Is,-(a penny will do 't)-by addressing a line
To Turner, Dry, Weipersyde, Rogers, and Pyne.

DAME FREDEGONDE.

WILLIAM AYTOUN.

WHEN folks with headstrong passion blind,
To play the fool make up their mind,
They're sure to come with phrases nice,
And modest air, for your advice.
But, as a truth unfailing make it,
They ask, but never mean to take it.

'Tis not advice they want, in fact,
But confirmation in their act.
Now mark what did, in such a case,
A worthy priest who knew the race.

A dame more buxom, blithe and free, Than Fredegonde you scarce would see. So smart her dress, so trim her shape, Ne'er hostess offer'd juice of grape, Could for her trade wish better sign; Her looks gave flavor to her wine, And each guest feels it, as he sips, Smack of the ruby of her lips.. A smile for all, a welcome glad,— A jovial coaxing way she had; And,-what was more her fate than blame,A nine months' widow was our dame. But toil was hard, for trade was good, And gallants sometimes will be rude. "And what can a lone woman do? The nights are long and eerie too. Now, Guillot there's a likely man. None better draws or taps a can; He's just the man, I think, to suit, If I could bring my courage to 't."

With thoughts like these her mind is cross'd:

The dame, they say, who doubts, is lost.
"But then the risk? I'll beg a slice
Of Father Raulin's good advice."

Prankt in her best, with looks demure,
She seeks the priest; and, to be sure,
Asks if he thinks she ought to wed:
"With such a business on my head,

I'm worried off my legs with care,

And need some help to keep things square.

I've thought of Guillot, truth to tell!

He's steady, knows his business well.

What do you think?" When thus he met her:

Oh, take him, dear, you can't do better!"

"But then the danger, my good pastor,

If of the man I make the master.

There is no trusting to these men."

“Well, well, my dear, don't have him then!" "But help I must have, there's the curse.

I may go further and fare worse."

Why, take him then!” "But if he should

Turn out a thankless ne'er-do-good,—

In drink and riot waste my all,

And rout me out of house and hall ?”
"Don't have him, then! But I've a plan
To clear your doubts, if any can.
The bells a peal are ringing,-hark!
Go straight, and what they tell you mark.
If they say 'Yes!' wed, and be blest—
If 'No,' why-do as you think best."

The bells rung out a triple bob:
Oh, how our widow's heart did throb,
And thus she heard their burden go,
“Marry, mar-marry, mar-Guillot !"
Bells were not then left to hang idle :
A week,--and they rang for her bridal.
But, woe the while, they might as well
Have rung the poor dame's parting knell.
The rosy dimples left her cheek,
She lost her beauties plump and sleek;
For Guillot oftener kick'd than kiss'd,
And back'd his orders with his fist,
Proving by deeds as well as words,
That servants make the worst of lords.

She seeks the priest, her ire to wreak,
And speaks as angry women speak,
With tiger looks, and bosom swelling,
Cursing the hour she took his telling.
To all, his calm reply was this,—
'I fear you've read the bells amiss.
If they have led you wrong in aught,
Your wish, not they, inspired the thought.

Just go, and mark well what they say.

Off trudged the dame upon her way,

And sure enough the chime went so,

"Don't have that knave, that knave Guillot !"

"Too true," she cried, "there's not a doubt: What could my ears have been about!"

She had forgot, that, as fools think,

The bell is ever sure to clink.

THE KING OF BRENTFORD'S TESTAMENT.

W. MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.

THE noble king of Brentford
Was old and very sick;
He summoned his physicians
To wait upon him quick;
They stepped into their coaches,
And brought their best physic.

They crammed their gracious master
With potion and with pill;

They drenched him and they bled him:
They could not cure his ill.

"Go fetch," says he, "my lawyer;

I'd better make my will."

The monarch's royal mandate
The lawyer did obey;

The thought of six-and-eightpence

Did make his heart full gay.
“What is't,” says he, "your majesty
Would wish of me to-day?"

"The doctors have belabored me
With potion and with pill:
My hours of life are counted
O man of tape and quill!

Sit down and mend a pen or two,
I want to make my will.

"O'er all the land of Brentford
I'm lord and cke of Kew:

I've three per cents and five per cents;

My debts are but a few;

And to inherit after me

I have but children two.

"Prince Thomas is my eldest son, A sober prince is he;

And from the day we breeched him,

Till now he's twenty-three,

He never caused disquiet

To his poor mamma or me.

“At school they never flogged him;
At college, though not fast,
Yet his little go and great go
He creditably passed,
And made his year's allowance
For eighteen months to last.

"He never owed a shilling, Went never drunk to bed,

He has not two ideas

Within his honest head; In all respects he differs

From my second son, Prince Nęd.

"When Tom has half his income
Laid by at the year's end,
Poor Ned has ne'er a stiver
That rightly he may spend,
But sponges on a tradesman,
Or borrows from a friend.

"While Tom his legal studies
Most soberly pursues,
Poor Ned must pass his mornings
A-dawdling with the Muse;
While Tom frequents his banker,
Young Ned frequents the Jews.

"Ned drives about in buggies,

Tom sometimes takes a 'bus; Ah, cruel fate, why made you My children differ thus? Why make of Tom a dullard, And Ned a genius ?”