old bed-ridden Parson close by, who is greatly plagued, as it would seem, by a Constitution, at which he diverts his spleen with perpetually railing, because he has grown too feeble to take any further liberties with it.

On Dr. Solid's departure, I sat down to give you the substance of what he said, before it should slip my memory. By the by, on reading the letter in The Morning Chronicle" about chess-playing," he appeared hali inclined to make some observations on that game, which perhaps he may favour me with on a future occasion.

I am, Sir, your humble servant, and (except when this cursed Newsman plays me a trick) your constant reader,

W-bledon, Aug. 13, 1810.

HENRY HOPEFUL.

AN ARGUMENT FOR THE MODERN UNDRESS.

[From the Morning Herald, Aug. 18.]

UR Mother Eve, while free from vice,

OUR

Was free from dress, and knew no harm in't;

But when she sinn'd in Paradise,

"T was then she first put on a garment.

That vice and dress each maid abhors,
No man of sense can think so odd is,.
Since sinning plainly was the cause'

Of wearing clothes upon their bodies.

Now Ladies aigue to the letter,

And thus excuse their want of dress;
They prove unblemish'd virtue better,

Who show uncover'd nakedness!

E. P.

THE

THE TEARS OF MARGATE; OR, DECORUM IN

THE SUDS.

[From the same]

BELLA, horrida bella!-The spirit of revolution and usurpation is at work at Margate; and King Le Bus, like the Grand Turk, is now tottering on his throne! But hear the dreadful tidings, O reader!

One account says, that on the last Assembly night, when the widow Slyboots, from Crooked Lane, was calling to the band to play "The Devil among the Tailors," the monarch of the dance waved his necromantic wand of office, and the band ceased as suddenly as if Death had given the word of command. The waiter was ordered to put out the lights, as the prescribed hour of separation had arrived; when some officers (mirabile dictu!) broke the long extinguisher in two, and threw it into Cecil Square!

"There was a situation!"

"Why do you open that window?" questioned the M. C. strutting up to the offender like the King of Bantam-" To throw out a dirty stocking," rejoined the insurgents and the principal was in the act of seizing the little arbiter of elegance, when Terpsichore interfered, in the shape of the Spirit of Loyalty, and, by placing a slice of lemon under the left foot of the aggressor, he, luckily, stumbled, which gave the alarmed Monarch a happy opportunity to escape, which he incontinently did (a la sourdine) by strides, which his abridged anatomy was heretofore deemed unequal to. Thus the innovators remained masters of the field, while that demon Democracy hovered round the roof in ecstacy, flapping her sooty wings at this signal overthrow of royalty and right!

The M. C. was fortunately discovered the ensuing morning by one of the waiters, who "nosed him

going to the lobby." He had dexterously taken refuge in the china closet, and was found squatting, à la Turque, at the bottom of a punch-bowl, but without his regalia, and shorn of his beams-ah! how unlike his great self!

ANOTHER ACCOUNT.

Miss Debby Waddle, of Leather Lane, declared at the hoy fair, that the Sieur Le Bas remonstrated with a field-officer for dancing with spurs, contrary to his mandates, when the indignant son of Mars, taking his fair partner with one hand, and seizing the M. C. by the waistband of his inexpressibles with the other, rammed him into his coat-pocket, and actually finished the dance with this king of forms, thus incarcerated, who peeped and disappeared alternately, like the jacks of a harpsichord, when Dussek is running the allegro divisions of a sonata; calling lustily, but in vain, upon his merry subscribers for mercy, and a habeas corpus!

ANOTHER ACCOUNT.

Some say, that when he was dragged from the abyss of the punch-bowl, exhausted with lachrymal floods, and the pangs of a diseased soul, be was fanned into returning energy by Mr. Kidman's cook: when he first looked round him in wild dismay, like Ajax minor when he awoke in Tartarus, he ejaculated one emphatic exclamation, and no more, viz.

"All hell shall stir for this."

Three several committees of fashion have sate, successively, in Divan, upon this lamented event, in order to adjust the differences between the aggrieving and the aggrieved; but, ere they could come to a conclusion, the iron toe of pecuniary necessity hath kicked a majority on board of some friendly. Hoy, whose sails were unbending for the classical and renowned port of Billingsgate. Thus the affair stands at present, for rest it cannot.

We

We will not pledge ourselves for the literal verity of either of the above accounts, though we believe that each is substantially true.

The following is the remnant of a descriptive ditty which hath been made upon this unpleasant occasion, and is now sung through the Isle of Thanet, and promises to be as popular as "Chevy Chase," or " Malbrook." It is attributed to the powerful and poignant pen of Mr. Fawcett, the comedian, who is now here on a flying visit to Hygeia, to buy half a yard of health for winter's wear; and who is well known be au fuit on such emergencies.

God prosper long our noble King,
Who rules each sturdy Briton;
And eke our little King Le Bas,
Whom Athlete have spit on!

Pray read, Sir Clement Cottrel, read,
What now flows from my penna;
Publish it not in Gath, I trow,

Nor Paris, nor Vienna.

Where will the difference be betwixt
An assembly and a hop,
If King Le Bas foregoes his crown,
And's forc'd to-shut up shop?

Shall Elegance be now defunct?
Shall life's delights be o'er?

Shall Phryne flaunt where Virtue danc'd?
Shall Manners be no more?

Should Envy smile when Monarchs bleed
By Treason, or par hazard,
May gnawing Rheum infest his joints,
And Anguish writhe his mazzard!

Mild as Favonius greets the rose,
Kind as the May-morn breeze,
He urg'd politeness 'midst his mob,
And seem'd but pleas'd to please!

[From the same.]

IN

Margate, Aug. 22. N order to methodize, and, if possible, to soften the habitudes of some of the piebald gentry who visit this renowned port, Mr. Le Bas hath issued the following official announcement:

"The Master of the Ceremonies requests that no gentleman will come to the rooms in boots, or pantaToons, or trowsers (military gentlemen in uniform excepted), as they will not be admitted, it being contrary to the orders, and regulations of the place." The ensuing lines were posted, last night, under this Ukase of authority:

Tut! tút! Le Bas, ne'er fume and fret,
But advertise the shop's to let;

121

"And go, and live at Dover.

Here Vandal force, and impudence,

Have strangled manners, wit, and sense;

Here