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They all rush'd in, with sounds enough to stun,
Delightful things, I vow to heav'n!
We never should have been forgiv'n.
“Here, here, are clever things—good Lord !
And, sister, here, upon my word-
Why! how a body's heels might dance
Along from Launceston to Penzance,
Come, ladies, 't will be dark,” cried I—"I fear:
THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS.
Peter continueth to give great Advice, and to exbibit deep reflection-He telletb
a miraculous Story.
There is a knack in doing many a thing,
A fool on something great, at times, may stumble,
And consequently be a good adviser:
And never be a whit the wiser.
Yes! I advise you, for there's wisdom in 't,
The genius of each man, with keenness view-
A glorious bonfire up in you.
Of fam'd Columbus and his egg,
THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS.
A TRUE STORY.
A brace of sinners, for no good,
Were order'd to the Virgin Mary's shrine, Who at Loretto dwelt, in wax, stone, wood,
And in a fair white wig look'd wondrous fine. Fifty long miles had those sad rogues to travel, With something in their shoes much worse than gravel: In short, their toes so gentle to amuse, The priest had order'd peas into their shoes : A nostrum famous in old Popish times For purifying souls that stunk of crimes:
A sort of apostolic salt,
Which Popish parsons for its powers exalt,
But very diff'rent was their speed, I wot:
The other limp'd, as if he had been shot.
Had his soul white-wash'd all so clever; Then home again he nimbly hied,
Made fit, with saints above, to live forever.
In coming back, however, let me say,
“You lazy lubber!"
Are now as soft as any blubber.
What pow'r hath work'd a wonder for your toes :
While not a rascal comes to ease my woes ?
Merry, as if that naught had happen'd, burn ye?" "Why,” cried the other, grinning, “ you must know, That just before I ventur'd on my journey,
To walk a little more at ease,
ON THE DEATH OF A FAVORITE CAT,
DROWNED IN A TUB OF GOLDFISHES.
'T was on a lofty vase's side,
The azure flowers that blow,
Her conscious tail her joy declared ;
The velvet of her paws,
She saw, and purred applause.
Still had she gaz'd, but, 'midst the tide,
The Genii of the stream:
Betrayed a golden gleam.
The hapless nymph with wonder saw:
With many an ardent wisii,
What Cat's averse to fish ?
Presumptuous maid I with looks intent, Again she stretched, again she bent,
Nor knew the gulf between: (Malignant Fate sat by and smiled) The slippery verge her feet beguiled;
She tumbled headlong in.
Eight times emerging from the flood,
Some speedy aid to send.
A fav'rite has no friend!
From hence, ye Beauties! undeceived, Know one false step is ne'er retrieved,
And be with caution bold : Not all that tempts your wandering eyes, And heedless hearts, is lawful prize,
Nor all that glistens gold.
THE RETIRED CAT.
WILLIAM COWPER. A Poet's Cat, sedate and grave As poet well could wish to have, Was much addicted to inquire For nooks to which she might retire, And where, secure as mouse in chink, She might repose, or sit and think. I know not where she caught the trick; Nature perhaps herself had cast her In such a mold PHILOSOPHIQUE, Or else she learned it of her master. Sometimes ascending, debonair, An apple-tree, or lofty pear, Lodged with convenience in the fork, She watched the gardener at his work; Sometimes her ease and solace sought In an old empty watering-pot, There wanting nothing, save a fan, To seem some nymph in her sedan, Appareled in exactest sort, And ready to be borne to court.
But love of change it seems has place
A drawer, it chanced, at bottom lined With linen of the softest kind,