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TICKLER.

VOL. I. No. 2.] LONDON, FRIDAY, JANUARY I, 1819.

Anecdotes.

QUEEN ANNE BOLEYN.-AS Queen Anne, wife of Henry VIII., and Mother of Queen Elizabeth, was going to be beheaded, in the Tower, seeing a gentleman there of the King's Privy Chamber, she called him to her, and with a cheerful countenance, and a soul undaunted at approaching death, said to him, "Remember me to the King, and tell him he is constant in advancing me to the greatest honors. From a private Gentlewoman he made me a Marchioness; from that degree he made me a Queen; and now, because he can raise me no higher in this world, he is translating me to Heaven, to wear a crown of martyrdom in eternal glory." THEP

AND THE BRANDY BOTTLE.A certain Illustrious Personage, at no period of his life remarkable for abstinence, either in eating or drinking, was some years ago on a visit at the mansion of the Earl of ——. The P——, upon whose favoured head those blooming honours had not at that time been showered down, which now sit so thick upon him, addressed himself to one of the attendants in these words, "Tis cursed cold-bring me a glass of Brandy."-The order was obeyed, and within a few minutes afterwards the demand was repeated. ""Tis cursed cold," said his R—I'H——ss, "bring me another glass of brandy." Singular as it may appear, it is nevertheless true, that a very short period was suffered to elapse before another enquiry after the brandy bottle was made, from the same distinguished quarter; but, to the astonishment of the assembled company, a reason, precisely the reverse of that before advanced, was now assigned for repeating the call.- Tis cursed hot," exclaimed the P-, "let me have some more brandy!" Sheridan, who was present, could not resist the temptation which this whimsical proceeding presented to his ever-brilliant fancy, ever-fertile imagination. The enlightened satirist took his pencil, and upon a slip of paper produced the following extemporaneous lines, which the P- himself united in bestowing the meed of approval to the sterling

merit of.

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Tis cars'd cold, the P-- exclaim'd,
And still he plied the Rnmmer,
Till Swallow after Swallow came,
And brought the heat of Summer.

[PRICE 6d.

MICHAEL ANGELO.-Solitude had many charms for him. Retired completely from the world, he formed those sublime conceptions, which astonish mankind, in his sculpture and painting. He said, "painting is a very jealous lady, who endures no

rival to share my affections." He was ask

66

my

ed, why he did not marry?-He said, painting is my wife, and my works are with his great attachment to painting, used children." His father, not being pleased darling employment. One day he threw to scold, when he saw him engaged in his himself into a violent rage. The enthusiastic son, instead of saying a word, in answer to the old man's reproaches, fixed his eyes attentively upon him, and exclaimed, "What an admirable subject for the pencil is my father in this fine passion!"

Save

MICHAEL CERVANTES SAAVEDRA.—He gave a proof that his generosity was equal to his genius. He was, in the early part of his life, for some time, a slave in Algiers, and there he concerted a plan to free himself and thirteen fellow-sufferers. One of them traitorously betrayed the design, and they were all conveyed to the Dey of Algiers; and he promised them their lives on condition they discovered the contriver of the plot. "I am that person," exclaimed the intrepid Cervantes. my companions, and let me perish." The Dey, struck with his noble confession, ed, and permitted him to depart home. spared his life, allowed him to be ransomThis writer of an incomparable Romance, replete with character, incident, pleasantry, and humour, without any allay of vulgarity, obscenity, or irreligion, which is held in admiration throughout the civilized world, starved in the midst of a high reputation, and died in penury!

THE TRAGEDY OF GEORGE BARNWELL. George Barnwell,' in 1752, the son of -When Mr. Ross performed the character

of

an eminent merchant was so struck with

certain resemblances to his own perilous situation, (arising from the arts of a real Millwood,) that his agitation brought on a dangerous illness, in the course of which he confessed his error, was forgiven by his father, and was furnished with the means of repairing the pecuniary wrongs he had privately done his employer. Mr. Ross says though I never knew his name, or saw him to my knowledge, I had for nine or ten years, at my benefit, a note sealed up with ten guineas, and these words- A

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tribute of gratitude from one who was highly obliged, and saved from ruin, by witnessing Mr. Ross's performance of George, Barnwell.'"'

Epigrams.

THE REASON WHY WOMEN HAVE NO BEARDS.

How wisely Nature, ordering all below, Forbad a beard on Woman's chin to grow; For how could she be shav'd---whate'er the skill,

Whose tongue would never let her chin be still?

**

Said a harsh Parish Overseer, rude and unfeeling,

To a pauper, for alms near the vestry appealing,

"Hence, wretch! mend your habits, nor dare

this place baunt."

"Amendment (said Lazarus) both of us want; "But as to my habits, your Worship offending, "They are mere shreds and tatters, and not

worth the mending."

A. Y.

"The instant," cried Richard, "I find the sweet maid,

"On whose rosy-ting'd cheek is pure virtue display'd;

"Who is free from all artful, coquetish vain pride,

"That same moment I'll make the dear

charmer my bride."

"If till then," answered WILL," you think

fit to tarry,

IN STAVERTON CHURCH-YARD.

Here lies the body of Betty Bowden,
Who would live longer, but she couden;
Sorrow and grief made her decay,
Till her bad leg card her away.

IN WREXHAM CHURCH-YARD.

Here lies a Church-warden,
A choice flower in that garden,
Joseph Critchley by name,
Who lived in good fame;
Being gone to rest,
Without doubt he is blest.

Here lies John Shore,
I say no more;
Who was alive
In sixty-five.

Here lies interr'd beneath these stones, The beard, the flesh, and eke the bones, Of Wrexham's Clerk, Old David Jones.

IN KINGSBRIDGE CHURCH-YARD. On a man who was too poor to be buried with his Relations in the Church.

Here lie I, at the Chancel door, Here I lie, because I'm poor; The further in the more to pay; Here I lie, as warm as they!

ON SIR FRANCIS VERE, At Landulph, in Cornwall.

“You never, I fear, my dear fellow, will marry." When VERE sought Death, arm'd with his

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Enscriptions.

IN EARL TEMPLE's GARDENS AT

STOWE.

TO THE MEMORY

OF

SIGNOR FIDO,

An Italian of good_extraction;
who came into England,

not to bite us, like most of his countrymen,
but to gain an honest livelihood.
He hunted not after fame,
yet acquired it:

regardless of the praise of his friends, but most sensible of their love. Though he liv'd amongst the Great, he neither learn'd nor flattered any vice. He was no bigot,

though he doubted of none of the 39
Articles.

And, if to follow Nature,
and to respect the laws of society,
be philosophy,

he was a perfect Philosopher,
a faithful friend,
an agreeable companion,
a loving husband,

distinguished by a numerous offspring, all which he lived to see take good courses. In his old age he retir'd

to the house of a clergyman in the country, where he finish'd his earthly race, and died an honour and an example to the whole species. Reader, This stone is guiltless of flattery, for he to whom it is inscrib'd was not a Man,

but a Greyhound!

ARIOSTO, the poet, built himself a small and plain house at Ferrara, and adjoining to it was a little garden, where he usually walked and composed his verses. He was asked why he did not build a more splendid residence, since he had so beautifully described in his "Orlando Furioso," many large palaces, fine porticos, and pleasant fountains? His reply was, "It is much more easy to collect words than stones." In the front of his house was this inscription, which, though concise, well expressed the sentiments of contentment and independence :

Parva sed apta mihi, sed nulli obnoxia, sed

non

Sodida, parta méo, sed tamen ore, domus. This Cot, both small and neat's design'd To speak its master's humble mind;

'Twas purchas'd at his own expense, And gives to neighbours no offence.

The Emperor, Charles V.crowned Ariosto with laurel, the year before he died, as a token of honour, and a presage of the perennial fame of his poems.

PLACED OVER THE DOOR OF A HERMITAGE.

BY MRS. HOWARD.

Oh, Solitude, bless'd state of man below, Friend to our thought, and balm of all our woe;

Far from thronged cities my abode remove, To realms of innocence, and peace, and love; That when the sable shades of death appear, And life's clear light no more these eyes shall cheer,

It's work may be fulfill'd, its prospects won, By virtue measur'd, not a setting sun.

IN THE CHURCH-YARD OF LODDEN, A Village in Norfolk.

When on this spot, affection's down-cast eye The lucid tribute shall no more bestow When Friendship's breast no more shall heave a sigh,

In kind remembrance of the dust below; Should the rude Sexton, digging near this tomb,

A place of rest for others to prepare, The vault beneath, to violate, presume,

May some opposing Christian cry, "Forbear

"Forbear, rash mortal, as thou hop'st to rest, When death shall lodge thee in thy destin'd bed,

With ruthless spade, unkindly to molest The peaceful slumbers of the kindred dead!"

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Maxims of Wisdom.

AGESILAUS. --This renowned King of Sparta did honour to the rigid institutions of his country. Mean in person, but exalted in mind, he was successful in his public conduct, and amiable in private life.

When Agesilaus heard any persons praised or censured, he remarked, "that it was as necessary to know the characters of the speakers as the characters of those who were the subject of their opinions."

A friend asked him, how true glory was to be acquired. He answered, by contempt of death."

When he was asked, if he was desirous to hear a man famous for imitating the notes of the nightingale, he declined the offer, saying, "I have heard the nightingale herself."

He was asked, "what ought children to be taught?" His answer was, they ought to learn that which will be proper for them to practise when they reach mature age."What is this, but the most concise and the most excellent description that ever was given of a right education ?" To a person applauding the happiness of the Persian King, who was very young, he said, "Priam was happy at his age."

Being once asked which virtue was superior, Fortitude or Justice? he answered were all men just, there would be no occasion for fortitude."

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"Inform me," said a friend to him, "of the means to establish a high reputation." His answer was, "Speak well, and act better."

ANACHARSIS.-A coxcomb, who had nothing else to boast but his being a native of Greece, viewing Anacharsis with eyes of contempt, reproached him with the bar barous state of Scythia. "I confess," said Anacharsis, "I have some reason to be ashamed of my country; but has your country no reason to be ashamed of you?" -This question of the philosopher is applicable to those norrow-minded men who traduce foreigners, without examining their pretensions to notice and respect, and who are ignorant that virtue and merit are not limited by degrees of longitude, but may be the fruits of every soil without distinction, from Russia to Peru.

King Henry the Sixth, on being rebuked for the meanness of his attire by the Earl of Warwick, is said to have replied, "It becomes a King to excel his subjects in virtue, not in vesture." What would our more glorious Regent have said?

Miscellanies.

HONOR'S BUT A WEIGHT.

A LETTER of Sir THOS. HOpeful. SIR,

I am a healthy hearty lad, of twelve years old. A month ago I was a happy one; now I am very miserable. I was then "Tom Hopeful," gay as a lark, ruddy as a milkmaid, and riding all day long on the back of a little Welsh pony, that ate thistles on the common; I was teased with no tasks, and perplexed with no good manners. Now, I am Thomas Hopeful, Baronet," possessed of an estate of three thousand a-year : no

"Sir

longer suffered to ride rough Bob after Squire Chase's hounds, nor to run wild on the common after the devices of my own heart. I have now a tutor and a Latin grammar, am made to wash my hands, hold up my head, and behave like a gentleman; and all this misery I owe to a fever, which carried off Sir Charles, my brother, who was a year and a half older than myself. He was broke into his honors, and the cares of the world sat lightly on him. He had been confined at his mother's apron string ever since the death of our father, which happened six years ago. To be sure the poor fellow never was healthy, and never had known what it was to feel the fresh air; as for sliding on the ice, or playing with snowballs, he had not an idea of either; and, I suppose, I shall be debarred from these, now that I have succeeded to the weight of his title. There is a little boy, four years younger than me, who would not mind being brought up in this gentlemanlike style. Would there be any harm in persuading my mother to let him be Sir Thomas, and to suffer me to leave off Latin and good manners? I do not know which I hate most of the two.

I am,

Your unfortunate servant, THOMAS HOPEFUL.

Satire.

To SIR HUDSON LOWE.

Effare causam nominis Utrum ne mores hoc tui Nomen dedere, an nomen hoc Secuta morum regula.

AUSONIUS.

Sir HUDSON LOWE, SIR HUDSON Low,
(By name, and, ah ! by nature so,)、
As thou art fond of persecutions,
Perhaps thou'st read, or heard repeated,
How Captain GULLIVER was treated,

When thrown among the Lilliputians.

They tied him down-these little men didAnd, baving valiantly ascended

Upon the mighty man's protuberance, They did so strut !-upon my soul, It must have been extremely droll

To see their pigmy pride's exuberance ;

And how the doughty manikins
Amus'd themselves with sticking pins

And needles in the great man's breeches;
And how some very little things,
That pass'd for Lords on scaffoldings

Got up and worried him with speeches.
Alas, alas, that it should happen,
To mighty men to be caught napping!
Tho' diff'rent too, these persecutions-—
For GULLIVER there took the nap,
While here the NAP, oh, sad mishap!
Is taken by the Lilliputians.

T. SHANDY.

ON THE RECENT PUGILISTIC COMBAT.

BY AN AMATEUR.

All hail to the Cove, see his Doxies have crown'd him

With gin-dripping shamrocks, just pluck'd from the plain;

See the Captain* and Caleb† are chuckling around him,

As he offers to scuttle a nob o'er again. Ab, Erin, be proud of the boy you have got, And toast his sweet name in the water of Life,+

Drink joys to his double-ups, strength to

his shot,§

And a laurel each time he embarks in the strife.

Oh, the Leak that beam'd gaily on Turner's clear brow,

Glitters still in the wind both purely and bright,

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And tho' the fast springing buds are close I've heard of a Bull in a china shop,

clipped round it now,

Of Bulls too, I've heard that would range,

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