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ing altogether. Alas! bad habits would || for doing the same thing which, in my not leave me. I had turned off Jenny, but prosperity, had set many a table in a roar. I was instrumental in demoralizing the What What were the gradations I then went principles of other females. Church I through! I attempted to colour the plates looked on with horror. I had not forgot- for Ladies' Magazines; I became puffer at ten the three times a day at the conven- an auction, and a bailiff's follower; I openticle; and my mamma, by her practice, did ed an à-la-mode beef shop, and became, not exalt her theory. At length I cast my under covert of the night, an itinerant eyes on a beautiful black-eyed girl, near hawker of hot plumb-pudding-but in the theatre, whose father kept her a piano these two last occupations I had only myin a little back parlour, upon which she self for a customer. I was, indeed, glad played when the shop was empty. In a enough to eat the commodity 1 should few weeks I thought myself desperately in have vended, but my want of credit would love with her, and her father, anxious to soon put a stop to these professions, and 1 wed her to one who was not a tradesman, was fain to run away, and draw upon my gave his consent for me to marry her; al- resources in another part of the town; and though he must know, by the customers I last week was reduced to write to my wife, brought to his shop, that I was not nice who associates herself with a performer at in my connections: however, I received the one of our minor theatres, in the hope of fair hand of Amelia Melton, and with her gaining one more meal, but was refused. one thousand pounds, gained by hard la- Gin, and an irregular life, brought me to the bour in vending oysters and potatoes. This state in which you saw me, Sir, yesterday; was soon squandered away. My pretty and before I die I would do an act of justice, black-eyed wife, as it may be imagined, by informing the world of the dire effects was desperately vulgar, and I left her in that spring from the early indulgence of search of greater refinement. My coat children; and you, Sir, will perhaps hand now became threadbare, my jo jockey-boots it to the editor of some respectable publi❤. and buckskins cried out that they belonged cation. You may conclude the detail of 1 to a married man of small fortune, and I my unhappy life by saying, ‘Behold here a was at length compelled to sponge on the young man, born apparently for a better humblest of my friends for a dinner. At fate, who might have lived contented and length, left without one, what could I do? died happily, now lying in misery, a vic It was whispered me by a waiter at Richard- tim to the selfish indulgence of a parent, son's that he thought I might do in Mat- who rather than that her child should 1 thews's line, for I sung, and was a mimic, shock her ears with its infant grief, hath I applied at the O. P. Tavern, and got an caused it, in maturer age, to drop the conengagement at ten shillings per week; tinual tears of bitter repentance—yet of for-when I wanted to employ, for gain, the giveness for her folly, who was the sole only talent I possessed, the people refused cause of of her child's misery,' to acknowledge it, and I was discharged

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THE MENAGERIE FROM THE FRENCH.

A LADY, whom we shall distinguish by the title of Madame d'Etoriles, has long resided at Paris, and in one of the most retired streets of that capital; she has a very curious establishment, which might vie with any modern or ancient cabinet of natural history. dol Madame d'Etoriles was married at a very early age, to a gentleman who was

over every distant sea, every wilderness, mountain and valley,-every peopled town and lonely desert.

an

Monsieur d'Etoriles was a professed botanist; he made immense collection of different plants, roots, and seeds of foreign produce; while his lady collected together every different species she could find of living animals, or those that t by transport-2a great traveller, and she accompanied himing to a different clime might perish, she

had stuffed; and every curiosity in the whole world of natural history, she might be said to have collected together.

These patterns of conjugal (attachment, on their return to France, their native country, settled in Brittany, where the gentleman's collections were the subjects of every one's discourse.

is an ape which has learnt to perform its military exercise. He is dressed like a Mamaluke, has a pair of boots on, and walks along the gallery striking his spurs against his sabre, as we see many military bucks of the present day.

Two parrots are perched on a kind of tree, who are constantly uttering the most foolish vulgarisms to all the married men who approach them. It is a matter of wonder to every one, to think who could be the instructor of the little dog that is on his bind legs from morning to night, bowing to young ladies, and obstinately refusing to pay his obeisance to those who are no longer so!

But this good man was poisoned by one of those precious plants which he had brought from Patagonia; his widow quitted those scenes which only served to remind her of her beloved husband, and she repaired to Paris, where she now lives on a very easy fortune, encircled always by a crowd of young soi-disant perfumed literati. In one corner sits a great he-goat, smokNear her boudoir is a gallery supporteding a pipe: this is a capricious invention by pillars, disposed in the Italian style, but with glazed windows, and heated gently by stoves to a moderate and wholesome degree of warmth.

There are collected together, in dens, cages, and recesses, every species of every different cat in the universe.

Those who have studied natural history are sensible that under the genus of animals of the cat kind, is the lion of Zara, the tiger of Tonquin, the panther and leopard of Senegal and Congo, the lynx and the civet cat, with the house cat, who certainly does not live in very good harmony with the wild cat: all these beasts, however, are only stuffed, except the two latter sort of cats.

This learned lady has a curious cat which has long ears, contrary to all its other species; she brought it from China. It belonged to the wife of a Mandarin, who doated on it, fondled it, and gave it to the French lady as the most valuable present

she could bestow on her.

After the cats comes a collection of monkies, of which the menagerie has a complete assortment. Amongst them there

of the good lady. He has before him a large folio volume, which is said to be a book dug out of Herculaneum or Pompeii: he seems absorbed in literary reveries. This must have some allusion to the eleventh or twelfth centuries; for now learning does not exclude the fresh and blooming votary of youth; and even in literary societies, those gain easiest admittance who have the rose of spring on their cheek, and an air of fashion in their appearance.

collection is a little sparrow, a brisk and The most charming article in the lady's cunning little creature, who eats out of the hand of his mistress, and drinks out of her thimble. He is the cleanest and most entertaining little bird in the world.

It is impossible, however, to describe all the members that compose this menagerie in detail; but it is not just to pass over noticing an owl and a coek which are fastened by a steel chain to a marble pillar, and which are quarrelling every hour. It is somewhat similar to the paper war of wits, politicians, and quack doctors. S. G.

FUGITIVE POETRY.

Replies to the Letters of the Fudge Family.
Edited by Thomas Brown, Esq. One
Volume 12mo. Pinnock and Maunder.

THOUGH Some of these replies are not entirely fraught with the principles we cherish, or that we wish to inculcate, yet

they are by no means devoid of wit and spirit. We cannot, however, bestow praise on satire levelled at our government, our rulers, nor on those who ably steer the helm of our state against refractory aud factious men. We have told the writer our

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Whilst, in London, barouche, ma cher amie, and greys,

To my taste, I must think, 'no small compliment pays."

"A MODERN YOUTH'S ADVICE TO A FRIEND.

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gave the lie:

His Lordship then gave me a check for an hunstea dred,

And I gave him my bond-I confess that I won-
*idered

He his favours unask'd shon'd so lib'rally show'r,
But he taught me to feel I was now in his pow'r;

*What a rum quiz you are Bobtis certainly And directly employ'd me in writing a tract, "pleasing,

That whilst you grow degen'rate my fame is
increasing;

And the prosing logician, of college the Guy,
Can to shew equal spirit, old cronies defy.
Whilst togg'd out â-la-mode to the Boulevards
you trip,

To prove truth was a libel-and libel a fact;
I completed the task-my Lord sunil'd-Davy'

then

I had first earn'd a smile by a prostitute pen;
Tagain wrote, and won-not my own heart's→→

applause,

For my pen now supported a sycophant's cause: By the guy four-in-hand club I'm call'd a prime || But stang to the soul-by my conscience conwhip;

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victed,

Each lie I produc'd the same pen contradicted. Thus proceeding, I was to have shewn my Lord's daughter

The use of the globes, which he wish'd to have
taught her;

But to study myself I with pathos besought her.
She was handsome, warm-hearted, affectionate,

chaste,

And, in short, would exactly have suited my

taste;

Mem

Thongh her natural sense education had spoil'd, Such as she had receiv'd, native genius had foil'd:

But she heard the soft tale I repeatedly told her
With a smile of content, as she'd lean o'er my
shoulder;

A little bombast I was forc'd to employ,
And whilst urging the lady to hasten my joy,

She consented; and thus when my point I had
carried,

We had nam'd the next day t' have been privately * married."

INTERESTING LINES ON SCOTLAND.

"Long may the Thistle wave her blooming
head

In that brave land where noble Wallace bled;
The land which has for ages given birth
To valor, learning, honesty, and worth;
Where science beams-where arts the mind im-
prove,

And Beauty's smile rewards a faithful love.
May Heaven's blessings, Scotia, on thy land
descend,

And ev'ry son of thine possess a faithful friend!”

ON IRELAND.

"Erin; thy Shamrock once so green, Is now a drooping emblem seen;

But yet, thongh scorn'd, no blame is thine-
The canker-worms its root entwine;
Corruption, thirst of pow'r and wealth,
Have caus'd the plant's decline of health;
Whose land for Britain trophies won-
The land of conq'ring Wellington!"

PROLOGUE TO THE NEW TRAGEDY
OF BRUTUS.

Written by a Friend, spoken by Mr. H. Kemble.

TIME rushes o'er us; thick as evening clouds Ages roll back-what calls them from their shrouds?

What in full vision brings their good and great,
The men whose virtues make the nation's fate,
The far, forgotten stars of human kind?
The Stage-the mighty telescope of mind!

If later, luckless arts that Stage profane,
The actor pleads not guilty of the stain :
He but the shadow flang on Fashion's tide-
Yours the high will that all its waves must guide:
Your voice alone, the great reform secures,
His but the passing hour-the age is yours.

Our pledge is kept. Here yet no chargers
wheel,

No foreign slaves on ropes or scaffolds reel,
No Gallic Amazons, half naked, climb
From pit to gallery-the low sublime!

In Shakespeare's halls, shall dogs and bears en-
gage?

Where brutes are actors, be a booth the stage!
And we shall triumph yet. The cloud has hung
Darkly above-but day shall spring-has sprung;

The tempest has but swept, not shook the shrine,
No lamp that Genius lit has ceas'd to shine!
Still lives its sanctity. Around the spot
Hover high spirits-shapes of burning thought-
Viewless but call them, on the dazzled eye
Descends their pomp of immortality:

Here, at your voice, Rowe, Otway, Southern
come,

Flashing like meteors thro' the age's gloom.
Perpetual here-king of th' immortal band,
Sits Shakespeare crown'd. He lifts the golden
wand,

And all obey; the visions of the past
Rise as they lived-soft, splendid, regal, vast.
Then Ariel harps along the enchanted wave,
Then the Weird Sisters thunder in their cave-
The spell is wound. Then shews his mightier
art,

The Moor's lost soul; the hell of Richard's beart,
And stamps, in fiery warning to all time,
The deep damnation of a tyrant's crime.

To-night we take our lesson from the tomb :
'Tis thy sad cenotaph, colossal Rome!
How is thy helmet cleft, thy banner low,
Ashes and dust are all thy glory now!

While o'er thy wreck, a host of monks and slaves,
Totter to "seek dishonourable graves."

The story is of Brutus, in that name
Tower'd to the sun her eagle's wing of flame!
When sank her liberty, that name of power,
Pour'd hallow'd splendours round its dying hour.
The lesson lived for man-that heavenward blaze
Fixed on the pile the world's eternal gaze.

Unrivall'd England! to such memories thou
This hour dost owe the laurel on thy brow;
These, fix'd, when earth was like a grave, thy
tread,

Prophet and warrior! 'twixt the quick and dead;
Those bade thee war for man-those won the name
That crowns thee-famed above all Roman fame.

Now, to our scene-we feel no idle fear,
Sure of the hearts, the British justice here;
If we deserve it, sure of your applause-
Then, bear for Rome, for England, for "our
cause!"

EPILOGUE.

Written by a Friend, spoken by Mrs. Glover.

MAY Mrs. Glover venture to appear?
She neither uses nor speaks daggers here:
She comes quite tame, in the old English way,
To hope you all have-wept at our new play.

Tullia no more, I tread on English ground;
There's pride, hope, courage, in the very sound;
Myself your debtor, many a changeful year
For generous kindness-never changing here;
I come to ask that kindness now for one
Unknown, or but by this night's fortune known,
To cheer a youthful votary of the nine,
And fill his heart with gratitude-like mine.

Aye, this is England-well its signs I know, Beauty above, around me, and below:

Such cheeks of rose, such bright bewitching eyes!
Well may the kneeling world give you the prize!
Where, where on earth does woman wear a smile,
Like yours, ye glory of " the glorious isle!"
But, bless me what, two nondescripts together,
The she a pile of ribband, straw, and feather;
Her back a pillion, all above and on it

A church-bell? cradle? tower?-No, faith, a bonnet!

Aye, and an actual woman in it, able-
Rouse but her tongue, to make that tower a Babel!

Now for the he, the fellow nondescript, Whence has that mockery of man been shipt? Have Ross or Buchan brought him to console The quidnnnes for the passage to the Pole? While, on her iceberg, howl some Greenland

squaw,

Robbed of her pretty monster till next thaw!
No, Paris has the honour.-" Ah que oui,"-
"Voila"-the air, grace, shrug-smell of Paris!
France gave his step its trip, his tongue its phrase,
His head its peruke, and his waist its stays!
The thing is contraband.-Let's crush the trade,
Ladies, insist on't-all is best home made.
All British, from your shoe-tye or your fan,
Down to that tantalizing wretch call'd man!
Now for this compound creature:-first, the wig,
With every frizzle struggling to look big;
On the roug'd cheek the fresh dyed whisker
spread,

The thousandth way of dressing a calf's head. The neckcloth next, where starch and whalebone vie

To make the slave a walking pillory.
The bolster'd bosom, ah! ye envying fair,
How little dream you of the stuff that's there!
What straps, ropes, steel, the aching ribs com-
press,

To make the Dandy " beautifully less."
Thus fools, their final stake of folly cast,
By instinct, to strait waistcoats come at last.
Misjudging Shakespeare! this escaped thine eye,
For tho' the brains are out, the thing won't die.

And now, farewell! But one word for the Bard,
The smile of Beauty is his best reward;
Then smile upon him, you, and you, and you!
1 see the Poet's cause is won. Adieu!

ORIGINAL POETRY.

HYMN ON THE DEATH OF HER
MAJESTY THE QUEEN.

QUEEN of Albion, art thou gone
To celestial realms of glory?
Long thy virtues grac'd a throne,

Long thy worth shall live in story;
While thy spoiless soul shall rise
Welcome to her native skies.

||

Blessed spirit, art thou fled

From this scene of pain and anguish ? Guardian seraphs round thy bed,

Pitying saw thee pine and languish, Then triumphant bade thee rise, "Welcome, sister, to the skies! "Welcome to a land of peace,

"Endless pleasures still bestowing; "Welcome to a throne of bliss!

"Joys unceasing, ever flowing! "Come, and claim the heav'nly prize, "Welcome, sister, to the skies!"

C. C. RICHARDSON.

ADDRESS TO THE NIGHTINGALE.
BY MRS. M'MULLAN.

FULL many a lonely grove and dell,
With thee I've sought, sweet Philomel!

Whilst oft thy wild notes chaunted,
Have stay'd the list'ning Zephyr's flight,
Have charm'd the ear of gloomy Night

In groves that Echo planted.

Full quickly comes the hunter's moon,
And thou, lov'd warbler! ab, too soon,

Wilt find a leafless mansion :
Winter's fierce winds will journey fast,
To throw the keen, the icy blast,

Through all the chill'd expansion.
Yon murin'ring lake forgets to flow,
Yon mossy bank enwreath'd in snow,
Not e'en thy song inspiring:
Though Dian checks her silver car,
And lingers with the midnight star,
Thy vesper hymn admiring.

Naiades that on the waveless stream,
Assembled at thy plaintive theme,

To list thy faithful sadness,
Now lend their murmurs to the shell,
And softly whisper-" Fare thee well!"
In strain uncheer'd by gladness.
Delightless sweeps the minstrel string,
That buil'd thee in the joyous spring,
When life was worth possessing;
Yet come, lone warbler! follow me,
And minstrel-harp will give to thee,

Its simply gratefu! blessing.

When Winter from his ice-built throne
Proclaims the snow-wrapt world his own,
And his the storm-clad mountain:
Come to my cell, and thou shalt share,
The crumb, the warmth, the genial air,
And sip the crystal fountain.
From humble store enough shall be
Allotted, Philomel, to thee,

To sooth thy pensive sorrow:
Then baste-nor tuneless linger here,

To minstrel-bosom thou art dear-
Haste fly with me to-morrow.

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