Epitaph on old SCARLETT the Sexton, in Peterborough Cathedral. Above the Epitaph is his Picture: He is represented holding the Keys of the Cathedral in one hand, a Shovel in the other, a Skull and Mattock under his Feet. The Inscription is: You see old Scarlett's picture stand on hie, His office by theis tokens you may know, And this townes householders in his life's space Was done: No doubt his soule does live for aye In heaven, tho' kere his body clad in clay. Yet credit but lightly what more may be said; For we flatter ourselves, and teach marble to lie. Yet counting so far as to fifty his years, His virtues and vices were as other men's are; High hopes he conceiv'd, and he smother'd great fears, In a life party colour'd, half pleasure, half care. Nor to business a drudge, nor to faction a slave, He strove to make int'rest and freedom agree; In publick employments industrious and grave; But alone with his friends, Lord! how merry was he! Now in equipage stately, now humbly on foot, This verse, little polish'd, tho' mighty sincere, And no mortal yet knows too if this may be Fierce robbers there are that infest the highway, So Matt may be kill'd, & his bone never found; False witness at court, and fierce tempests at sea, So Matt may yet chance to be hang'd or be drown'd. Epitaph, written by COWLEY, for himself. Hic, O Viator, sub lare parulo, Sorte, supervacueque vita. Divitiis animosus hostis. Terra sit illa levis, precare. Vatis adhuc cinerem calentem. Bring flowers; the short-liv'd roses bring, And sweets around the poet strow, In Salisbury Cathedral, over the Figures of Alasse, death, alasse a blessful thing that were, Grastles galante in all thy luste and pryde, Queen Catharine, and Mary, Queen of Scots, Be holde thayne well considere and see, afterwards removed to Westminster. For such thay ar, such shalt yow be. EPITAPH for HIMSELF, by Mr. POPE. Under this marble, or under this fill, Or under this turf, or e'en what they will; Whatever an heir, or a friend in his stead, Or any good creature shall lay o'er my head, Lics one who ne'er car'd, & still cares not a pin, What they said, or may say, of the mortal within: But, who living and dying, serene still and free, Trusts in God that as well as he was he shall be. On the Monument of the EARL of ARGYLE, No stain of error, no black vice's brand, A SCOTCH EPITAPH. HERE fast a sleep lies Saunders Scott, Lang may he snort and snore; For gude he nae regarded, To satisfy his brethren double: The bread of life was offer'd him, For to abate his evil; But he refus'd, and sae he's dead; Frayment. THE WIFE. THE storm still raged, and Ellen's heart still beat with terror.-In the pauses of the thun dering elements, the raven's shrieks alone were heard, and to her startled ear they sounded like the shrieks of death. She prest her burning forehead, and leaving the tremendous forest, rushed wildly over a drawbridge, swift as her feet would bear her. The place she entered was an ancient desolated hall, where flapped with solemn murmuring to and fro, as many a tattered trophy hung around, which the winds whistled through the broken casements. She stopped for breath, and, trembling, turned her eyes to see if still the assassin followed-but all was dark. Scarce knowing how to act, she leaned against a mutilated pillar, and clung, like the ivy's tendrils, round it for support. Awhile the thunder ceased, but still the rain poured down in torrentssinking on her knees, her lips breathed holy wishes, and she addressed herself to Heaven; but soon again the thunders rolled, and as the lightnings darted round, once more she saw the ruffian whom she dreaded-uttering a convulsive cry, which fortunately was buried in the raging of the tempest, she clung still nearer to the pillar, and scarcely dared to breathe- her eyes were fixed upon him; at in tervals the flashes made him visible-he advanced-again-still nearer-she now heard his footsteps he was within a stride of where she lay-in suspensive agony she watchedhe was opposite her, muttering some words of dark intent-another flash, more vivid than the rest, glanced o'er a dagger which he held; it met her eye, and she sank insensible on the pavement. When Ellen awoke to feeling, the storm fiend howled no more, the thunder's bursts were hushed, and the feeble moon appeared attempting to break through the heavy clouds that still encompassed and almost concealed her. The hapless lady looked around, but no forbidding object met her sight. She pressed her beating heart, and tried to recollect her self, but her thoughts were all confused."Oh! what a night have I encountered," she exclaimed. A groan was heard in answer, and she started up it seemed, though distant, to come from an unfortunate-another followed, and then some words, which she could not perfectly distinguish, though their import was of murder. She heaved a shuddering sigh, and the warm blood icicled in her veins.And now at the extremity of the hall, there beamed a glimmering light-she looked a man, whose eyes scowled cruelty and malice from beneath his bushy eye brows, bore it, and in the other hand he grasped a poniard.Again she looked and beheld, oh heaven! the wretch who had traced her through the forest, and caused her terrors-he spoke, she eagerly listened, and faintly caught these words"The storm is over, and dost thou still trem ble, Maurice? Art thou still afraid, dastard?” -"But to stab him!" muttered the other.and Ellen's brain throbbed. "And why not he sleeps," They paused, and gazed upon 46 each other; the one who bore the lamp seemed to shudder, for it trembled in his hand.Sleeps?" murmured he. Aye, soundly too."-" And in such a night as this, Irwan. Oh God! oh God! when shall I sleep?"Thou fool?"-Ellen heard no more; for they had crossed the hall, and unbarring a ponderous door, they slowly ascended some steps, which apparently led to the upper apartments, and disappeared. Again her thoughts were chaos.-"Stab him while he sleeps!" the cried, "Oh God!" A sudden thought gleamed upon her brain, and quick as her trembling legs would carry her, she followed the murderers' track. Passing the heavy portal, she listened, but heard them not-wildly she rushed on; the winding steps flew beneath her; she ascended an immense height, in pitchy darkness, fearful every moment, in her baste, of dashing down some broken chasm, At length a light glimmered on the rugged stones, of which the tower (for such appeared what she was now encompassed by) was formed, and presently she beheld those whom she pursued. Slackening her pace, she breathed awhile, though still keeping them in view. Seeming to have gained the height, they forced open an iron door, and entered. Regardless of her danger, for the events of the night had followed in such quick succession, that they had nearly unthroned her reason) she still continued on, nor stopped till she had also reached the entrance. Beyond appeared a dismal prison, and in a niche, some one stretched on straw, in slumber-no doubt the murderers' victim. Not daring to advance further, she saw but imperfectly, though understanding that their intention was to morder while he slept, she was surprized to hear Maurice, as his companion named him, awake the stranger. Are ye then come?" in feeble accents he exclaimed. She thought she knew the sounds, but remembrance told her not whose they were. "And has the curst, the cruel Baron, then determined? what has his malice at length invented? Am I to be hurled from the casement of this tower, to dash from rock to rock, until I reach my grave-the waves that wash its base? or has he still more 66 lingering torments for me?"- "The Baron is merciful, you may still live," cried Ellen's persecutor, but on this condition-consent to let the Baron possess your wife, the beauteous " and Ellen started, for herself was named.-Heavens! was it possible? could it be her idolized Edmund they were going to murder? Where was she? Who was the Baron? And how came her husband there? All passed over her thoughts, and she vainly tried to recollect. "Never," cried Edmund, " never will I consent-sooner would I cherish the envenomed adder in my bosom, than see her rest on his!-sooner would I suck the poison with my lips, than see him steal a honied kiss from hers! Consent!-No, no, ere my tongue utters such a word, may lightnings blister be done?" asked Maurice. her time to consider," replied Irwan," our deeds must be instantaneous-this, this," continued he, "shall effect it."-Ellen gazed, and saw her child in the feil monster's gripe-her head whirled round, and madness raged within. The casement was thrown open, and the waves, swelled by the late storm, were heard, in hollow, chilling sounds, to dash against the tower. Already had Irwan raised the boy, who crying, stretched his little arms for safety to his mother.-Already he appeared to cast him from him, when, regardless of every other tie, she darted from her husband's side, snatched her Henry from his threatened death, and, sinking with him to the ground, was raising her eyes towards her God, when they encountered Maurice, who at that moment plunged his dagger in her husband's heart! Uttering a dreadful piercing shriek, she awoke-finding herself encircled in her beloved Edmund's arms, while her sweet boy lay calmly slumbering by her. Her joy was unutterable-imprinting a kiss upon his rosy cheek, and enfolding her husband still closer to her heart, she breathed a silent, grateful prayer to Heaven, that 'twas but a-Dream. Humour. TRAVELLING BY STEAM; A VOYAGE TO THE MOON. Old Plum one morning scratch'd his pate, We for a ship were looking; Such as the patent Cooking. And fetch my muslin dresses home, Away went Mistress Plum, with speed, And from his chair then Old Plum rose, And thro' transcendant Thames-street went Her liquid course she urges, The fishes flew-the Lord knows where! And Mister Plum and his dear spouse, Of every trembling Craven, But fate, who loveth frequently To universal cholic. While dance the crew in merry reel, Reckless of care and evil, And fall again to ocean. But Mister Plum and his dear wife, Then quoth this frighted citizen, "This may be good intention, A simple ship will please me well, I bargain'd with the lubber loon, Not for a voyage to the moon, But for a trip to Margate." ON A COLD DAY. Ah! what a task it is to rise And leave th' inviting bed; When nippling frost spreads cold around, And snow hangs o'er your head. And when at length the mighty work, By valiant efforts done, Your tingling fingers soon announce Now creeping to the parlour fire, You shiv'ring take your seat; Crying the while your fast you break "It is too cold to eat." When breakfast's o'er-then what to do Alack! you cannot tell ; It is too cold to walk abroad, "Tis colder to sit still. The dinner-hour at length arrives, With joy you hail the sound; In hopes 'twill make your stomach warm; But cold e'en here is found; For should fat mutton be your fare, You've scarce a mouthful eat, Before the rest with grief you see Turn cold upon the plate. Thus on, till bed-time, you complain, But 'twixt the sheets there's little warmth For ah! your feet, by cold benumb'd, Or yet more cruel chilblains' twitch, A HOT DAY. WRITTEN IN A HOT DAY. What a plague's a summer's breakfast, Eat whate'er you will; A roll is but a nasty thing, Toast is nastier still. Then how to pass the time away Till dinner-there's the doubt; You're hot if you stay in the house, You're hot if you go out. The dinner comes-Lord help us all; You're hotter if you do. No knowing where to rove; The gentlemen are hot below; The ladies hot above. And now the kettle comes again; That's not the way to cool one; But then, an evening walk's the thing; For he who sweats when he sits still, To make bad worse, I wot, For supper, while it heats the cool, And bed, which cheers the cold man's heart Helps not the hot a pin; For he who sweats when out bed, Impromptus. To the Editor of the Tickler Magazine. SIR:-The man who wrote the following curious Letter, which is of undoubted authenticity, had long been suspected of giving trea On seeing a Child cutting her teeth in great sonable information to the enemy; in conse pain whilst I was losing one. C Though tortur'din a different way, And mine are cutting me, quence of which, Government set a spy over him, by whose exertions the Letter, directed to a house in Paris, was intercepted. At first they imagined they had hit on the wrong per son, but a few days afterwards, a second Letter was stopt from the same hand, bearing the same address, and containing only the figures as under. This was soon discovered to be a key to the former; the writer was, therefore, On Recovery from a Scene of Sickness and apprehended, and kept in close confinement, Affliction. TO thee, O God! before whose throne I bow, What thanks can I, unworthy, fitly give? Enscriptions. For a Statue of CUPID. till, at the earnest intercession of his friends, he was suffered to leave the Country, under a promise of not returning during the war. "Dear Friend:-As I find there is an opdaughter Mary, who was seventeen last week, portunity, I wrote to say how we are. My has an offer; the man is a Sail-maker, honest and industrious; he is very sober, and is of respectable family. As to the trade, we do not object, since workmen in that Line are sure of employment. My wife has been almost ready to go distracted with pain at her head. After suffering for some days, she Spit blood, which greatly relieved her Head; then again became affected, and How long her illness may continue, heaven knows. Any commands you may have to execute, will be carefully attended to by your's, TRULY. Your clever readers will perceive that the first Column of figures is to denote the word, and the second column the lines. In order to assist those whose are not quite so brilliant, I have put the emphatical words in Italics. |