prietor, who in return presented him with part of the kitchen furniture. How delightful to reflect on these traits of reciprocal generosity!

CAT AND DOG.--I do not love a

Cat--his disposition is mean and suspicious. A friendship for years is cancelled in a moment by an accidental tread on his tail or foot. He instantly spits, raises his rump, twirls his tail of malignity, and shuns you; turning back, as he goes off, a staring vindictive face, full of horrid oaths and unforgiveness, seeming

to say,

"Perdition catch I hate you you, for ever!" But the dog is my delight; tread on his tail or foot, he expresses for a moment the uneasiness of his feelings, but in a moment the complaint is ended. He runs around you, jumps up against you; seems to declare his sorrow for complaining, as it was not intentionally done, nay, to make himself the aggressor; and begs, by whinings and lickings,

that his master will think of it no more.

Many a time when Ranger, wishing for a little sport, has run to the gun, smelt to it, then wriggling his tail, and, with eyes full of the most expressive fire, leaped up against me, whining and begging, have I, against my inclination, indulged him with a scamper through the woods or in the fields; for many a time he has left a warm nest, among the snows of winter, to start pleasure for me. Thus is there a moral obligation between a man and a dog!-Peter Pindar.

image richly dressed, by which perhaps, in this classical age, they would signify Ceres; this they keep moving about, while men and women, men and maidservants riding through the streets in the cart, shout as loud as they can till they arrive at the barn."-InSuffolk husbandry, harvest with the sickle or the scythe, is the man who goes foremost through the honored with the title of Lord,' and at lects what he can, for himself and brethe Horkey, or harvest-home feast, colthren, from the farmers and visitors, to

make a frolic afterwards, called the thanks, they immediately leave the seat largess spending.' By way of returning of festivity, and with a very long and repeated shout of largess' seem to wish of surrounding farms, whilst the number to make themselves heard by the people of shouts is regulated by the sums given. Before they rejoin the company within, they play a number of pranks, and give Cambridgeshire, customs nearly similar themselves up to jollity. In Norfolk and still exist: in the latter county, the following lines are used to celebrate Har

vest-home

HARVEST HOME.

"Who has not seen the cheerful Harvest Home

Puns.

gay

The slow decline of Autumn? All around
The yellow sheaves, catching the burning
beam,
Glow golden lustred."

Some curious ceremonies have been and are still used in various parts of the kingdom at the conclusion of the harvest. The manner of celebrating harvest home in Queen Elizabeth's time, is thus described by Paul Hentzner :---“ As we were returning to our inn, we happened to meet some country people celebrating harvest home: their last load of corn they crown with flowers; having besides an

ting a fashionable watering-place, inquired for lodgings, and were informed they could only have indifferent bed-rooms on the second floor. They had not long agreed for them, and returned to their inn, when one received a note from the owner of the rooms, stating, "that on account of the press of company, &c. they could only have the garrets!" The other, observing his chum musing over the letter, asked him what he was reading. "What (says he) I read quite enough of before I left the UniversityAn Epistle to Attic-us."

PUN MUSICAL.--Of a person, as remarkable for his irregularity of conduct as for his musical talents, it was aptly remarked, that the whole tenor of his conduct was thorough bass.

THE PUN MEDICAL.---A gentleman, who was in the habit of taking pills for his amusement,was continually changing them; on which a friend remarked, that he resembled the capital of Turkey, as he was Constant-to-no-pill.

A POOR Poet, dining the other day with a gentleman who had lately set up a very splendid equipage, was desired by him to write some lines on his carriage. Oh! certainly replied the poet, there cannot be a better subject for the mews---[Muse.]

A PUNNING EPITAPH
ON AND BY A PUNSTER.

[A report having been circulated in the four courts, of the death of a certain great law lord-he himself was supposed to be the author of it, for the purpose of affording him the opportunity of giving the following lines to the public, and of enjoying the merit of them in his life time.]

He's dead alas! facetious punster,
Whose jokes made learned wigs with fun
stir;

From Heaven's high court a tipstaff's sent,
To call him to his punishment;
Stand to your ropes, ye sextons, ring,
Let all your clappers ding-dong-ding;
NOR-BURY him without his due,
He was himself a TOLER * too!

* Lord Norbury's name.

Satire.

THE CRITIC. *

What hideous thing is that I see
With pale and deadly sneer,
That creeps along uneasily,
As if in abject fear?

A critic, and a malevolent spirit, may be now looked upon as synonymous, if we consider the despicable trash which appears monthly and weekly in our magazines aud

It is the thing we CRITIC call,

Of quick and loathsome breed, That clings to every fruitful wall,

Like an obnoxious weed.

It's blighted many a noble tree,
And many an opening flower;
God, that a thing so vile should be
Possest of any power!

It loves to blow its pois'nous breath
Upon the fairest fame,
And blast by an untimely death
The proudly rising name.

It is an instrument of hell

Forged by some envious spirit, And sent on earth to toll the knell Of genius, and of merit.

And to that hell it may return,

Unless perchance mid-way By Acheron's stream, it should sojournt,' And in his waters play. M. R. S.

Scraps.

PORTRAIT OF A PARISIAN
COQUETTE.

I WENT with a friend to the new Opera; we had scarcely taken our places in the front of the Amphitheatre, when a beautiful elegante, accompanied by an elderly cavalier, who it was easy to see was her husband, took the second row, (by the bye, English gentlemen would have yielded to the lady and her husband the front seat). The lady was beautiful, her tourneure distinguished, her toilette elegant, and an air of languishing candour and enchanting amenity struck every spectator. The heat induced her to take

newspapers, under the head of Literary' or Theatrical Criticism.' It is wonderful the strong desire these critics evince, to detract from merit, and point out, with the insulting pen of ridicule,every minute blemish, instead of endeavoring to raise the good into notice, or mentioning the errors with that generous manly zeal which would bespeak an interest in their amendment, rather than an ignoble love of exposure and abuse. They should recollect, that-to espy the inconvenience of a house when built, is easy; but to lay the plan well at first, is matter of chiefest consequence, and speaks the praise of a good contriver.

+ Acheron, an infernal river, whose waters are extremely bitter.

off her hat, and we discovered the most superb comb of polished steel terminating in points of diamonds. By and by, a buckle of hair escaping from the comb, obliged her to take off a glove, and left us to admire a hand and arm of the most polished symmetry, and of the most healthful freshness, enriched with precious rings and bracelets: the arm was exposed to the shoulder. It no doubt cost her some pain to conceal for a time. her finely turned neck, but it was necessary that her rich cachemere should produce its effect. At length, however, the cachemere dropt, and discovered the finest shoulders in the world, and a bosom the most seductive. Either my companion or I could not avoid from time to time, in audible whispers, to praise short sleeves, naked shoulders, and ornamented necks,-compliments which did not escape the attention of the lady and her husband. The latter perhaps found the air, from the occasional opening of the door, a little too keen, and he said with great sweetness," Ma bónne Amie, I entreat you to draw on your shawl, and your gloves." "I assure you," she said in return, "I do not feel the air from the door; but yet I thank you for your attention, and I will instantly give you a proof of it, my Love." And in less than a minute we could see nothing. Happily for me, a little old lady was placed by the side of the elegante. I offered her my place on the front seat, and in a moment I took her station. In a minute or two my beautiful neighbour taking advantage of her husband's eye being turned, pulled off a glove to re-adjust her comb, and suffered her cachimere to fall off one shoulder which she gathered round the arm; and the husband being on her other side, could not observe the fact; so that the glove and the shawl remained off during the rest of the performance. I had not an eye to the stage. On rising to depart, the husband said, " perhaps I have a little ehagrined you, my dear, your robe is so beautiful—but your health is every thing." "O! I have given you pleasure," she replied, “and that is every thing to me."

PARISH JOBBING.---Look up at the inscription on that venerable building, defaced with plaster, what does it re

cord? "Beautified by Samuel Smeers and Daniel Daub, Church-wardens." And do these honest gentlemen call disguising that fine old stone building with a thick coat of lime and hair, or whitewash, beautifying it? What is the history of all this? Why, the plain matter of fact is, that every parish officer thinks he has a right to make a round bill on the parish, during his year of power: An apothecary physics the poor; a glazier, first in cleaning, breaks the church windows, and afterwards mends them, or at least charges for it; a painter repairs the Commandments, puts new coats on Moses and Aaron, gilds the Organ pipes, and dresses the little Cherubims about the loft as fine as vermillion, Prussian blue, and leaf-gold can make them. The late Churchwardens were a Silversmith and a Woollen Draper: the Silversmith new-fashioned the Communionplate; and the Draper new-clothed the pulpit, and put fresh curtains to the windows. All this might be modestly done, were they not to insult the goodsense of every beholder with their beautified---shame on them!

Good Advice from a Father to a Son.---I don't heed you taking a few glasses of wine in company, it cheers and enlivens, ' promotes mirth, spirits, and conversation; nay, if you can bear it, at those times, Tom, I don't much mind a whole bottle. But as you value yourself, and as you value my friendship, beware of t' other bottle. In all my experience in life, the mischief has been done by t other bottle. It is t' other bottle makes us drunk, quarrelsome, stupid, stay out late, keep bad hours, and bad company, and bad every thing. Therefore I say again, Tom, beware of t' other bottle.

Songs.

THE INEXPERIENCED
SHEPHERDESS;

A RUSSIAN POPULAR SONG.

I'm fourteen summers old, I trow, "Tis time to look about me now; 'Twas only yesterday, they said I was a silly, silly maid.

'Tis time to look about me now.

The Shepherd swains so rudely stare, I must reprove them, I declare : This talks of beauty-that of loveI am such a fool, I can't reprove; I must reprove them, I declare.

'Tis strange, but yet I hope no sinSomething unwonted speaks within : Love's language is a mystery; And yet I feel and yet I see

Oh, what is this that speaks within?

The Shepherd cries "I love thee, sweet:"

"And I love thee," my lips repeat: Kind words! they sound as sweet to me As music's fairest melody:

"I love thee," oft' my lips repeat.

His pledge he brings-I'll not reprove; Oh no! I'll take the pledge of love: To thee, my guardian dog I'd give, Could I without that guardian live;

But still I take thy pledge of love. My Shepherd's crook I'll give to theeOh no! my father gave it me— And treasures by a parent given, From a fond child should ne'er be rivenOh no! my father gave it me.

But thou shalt have yon lambkin fair— Nay! 'tis my mother's fondest care; For every day she joys to count Each snowy lambkin on the mount;

I'll give thee then no lambkin fair.

But stay, my Shepherd, wilt thou be
For ever faithful, fond to me?

A sweeter gift I'll then impart,
And thou shalt have a maiden heart,
And thou will give thy heart to me.

COSSACK SONG,

WRITTEN TO A RUSSIAN MELODY.
Zora lives on the tented plain,
In freedom roving :
Beauteous she is as her Arab steed,
And as fondly loving:

Light is her step, as the fleetest roe,
When swiftly flying:

Sweet is her voice as the gentlest breeze,
When softly sighing:

Zora is pure as the crystal drop
At yonder fountain:

Zora is true as the snowy wreath
Upon the mountain,
Twining for ever around the heart,
To which she's plighted;
Leaving it never to feel the woe

Of joy that's blighted. Roam we the desart then, Zora, dear, 'Till life forsake us ;

Then to the climes of yon Heaven above, Angels shall take us :

Thou who has lightened my brackless path,
Each pain redeeming;

There shalt illumine my purer soul,
It's bright star beaming.

HEBREW MELODY--

LORD BYRON.

Sun of the sleepless-melancholy star! Whose tearful beam glows tremulously far; That show'st the darkness thou can'st not dispel,

How like art thou to joy remembered well; So gleams the past,-the light of other days, Which shines, but warms not with it's powerless rays;

A night-beam-Sorrow watchet, to behold Distinct, but distant; clear-but, oh! how cold.

Tales.

THE FARMER's BLUNDER.

A Farmer once to London went,
To pay the worthy Squire his rent;
He comes-he knocks-soon entrance
gains;

Who at the door such guest detains?
Forth struts the Squire exceeding smart,
"Farmer, you're welcome to my heart;
You've brought my rent then?" To a hair!
"The best of tenants, I declare."

The steward's called, account made even, And money paid, receipt is given. "Well," quoth the Squire, "you now shall

stay,

And dine with me, old friend, to day:
I've here some ladies, wond'rous pretty,
And pleasant sparks too, that will fit thee.
Hob scratch'd his ears, and held his hat,
And said, "No zur, two words to that,
For look, d'ye zee, when Ize do dine
With gentlefolk zo cruel fine,
Ize use to make, (and 'tis no wonder)
In deed, or word, zome plaguy blunder;
Zo, if your honour will permit.

I'll with your zarvant pick a bit."
"Pho," says the Squire," it sha'nt be
done,"

And to the parlour push'd him on.
To all around Hob nods and scrapes,
Not waiting-maid or butler scapes;
With often bidding takes his seat,
But at a distance mighty great;
Tho' often ask'd to draw his chair,
He nods, nor comes an inch more near;

By madam serv'd with body bended,
With knife and fork, and arms extended,
He reach'd, as far as he was able,
To plate, that over-hung the table:
With little morsels cheats his chops,
And in the passage some he drops :
To shew where most his heart inclin'd,
He talk'd and drank to John behind:
When drank to in the modish way,
"Your love's sufficient zur," he'd say;
And to be thought a man of manners,
Still rose to make his awkward honours;
"Pish," says the Squire, "pray keep your
sitting,"

"No, No," Hob cries, " zur, 'tis not fitting:

Tho' I'm no scholard, vars'd in letters,
I knows my duty to my betters."
Much mirth the Farmer's ways afford,
And hearty laughs go round the board.
Thus the first course was ended well;
But at the next, ah! what befel.
The dishes now were timely plac'd,
And table with fresh lux'ry grac'd,

When drank to by a neighbouring charmer,
Up, as was usual, stands the Farmer.
A wag, to carry on the joke,
Thus to his servant softly spóke :
"Come hither, Dick, step gently there,
And pull away the Farmer's chair."
'Tis done-his congee made, the clown
Draws back, and stoops to sit him down;
But by posteriors overweigh'd,
And of his trusty seat betray'd,
As men at twigs in river sprawling,
He seiz'd the cloth to save his falling;
In vain :-sad fortune! down he wallow'd,
And, rattling, all the dishes follow'd;
The foplings lost their little wits,

The ladies squall'd,-some fell in fits;
Here tumbled turkies, tarts, and widgeons,
And there minc'd pies, and geese, and
pigeons :

A pear pie on his belly drops,

And custard pudding meets his chops.
Lord, what ado 'twixt belles and beaux!
Some curse, some cry, and wipe their
clothes;

This lady raves, and that looks down,
And weeps and wails her spotted gown;
One spark bemoans his greased waistcoat,
One, rot him, cries, he's spoil'd my lac'd

coat.

Have cloathers daub'd with greaze and batter;

That cost"-He had gone on, but here Was stopt at once in his career. "Peace, brute! begone," the ladies cry, The beaux exclaim, " Fly, rascal, fy;" "I'll tear his eyes out," squeaks MissDolly; “I'll pink his soul out,” roars a bully; At this the farmer sweats thro' fear, And thinking 'twas ill tarrying here, Steals off, and cries, "Ay! kill me then, Whene'er you catch me here again.” So home he jogs, and leaves the 'Squire To cool the sparks and ladies' ire. Thus ends my tale; and now I'll try, Like Prior, something to apply. This may teach rulers of a nation, Ne'er to place men above their station; And this may shew the wanton wit, That whil'st he bites, he may be bit.

the man.