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THE TICKLER MAGAZINE.

Alone and sad, ordain'd to trace
The vast expanse of endless space;
To view, upon the mountain's height,
Through varied shades of glimmʼring light,
The distant landscapes fade away,
In the last gleam of parting day:
Or, on the quiv'ring lucid stream,
To watch the pale moon's silv'ry beam;
Or, when in sad and plaintive strains,
The mournful Philomel complains,
In dulcet notes bewails ber fate,
And murmurs for her absent mate:
Inspir'd by sympathy divine,

I'll weep her woes, for they are mine.
Driven by my fate, where'er I go,
O'er burning plains, or hills of snow;
Or, on the bosom of the wave,
The howling tempest doom'd to brave,-
Where'er my lonely course I bend,
Thy image shall my steps attend;
Each object I am doom'd to see,
Shall bid remembrance picture thee.
Yes, I shall view thee in each flow'r,
That changes with the transient hour;
Thy wandering fancy I shall find,
Borne on the wings of every wind;
Thy wild impetuous passions trace
O'er the white waves tempestuous space;
In every changing season prove,
An emblem of thy wav'ring love.

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'Tis night, and darkness reigns around; Now solemn stillness all,

Save where yon water-fall,

Or those wind-shaken poplars sound. "Tis then methinks of those dread sprites, Of which in ballad old

Such horrid tales were told;
Methinks I see those goblin sights,
Which make your blood flow coldly chill,
Your cheek the color fly,
Your heart within you die,

Your breast with trembling horror fill.
Vain thoughts, no more ye'll fill my breast,
Vain, empty thoughts, depart;
No more ye'll rack my heart,
No more ye'll rob me of my rest.

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London:- Printed by G. Larrance, Dorset Street, Salisbury Square. Published for the PROPRIETORS AT 42, HOLYWELL STREET, STRAND.-MAY BE HAD ALSO OF SHERWOOD, NEELY, AND JONES, PATERNOSTER ROW; SIMPKIN AND MARSHALL, STATIONERS' COURT; AND Of all other BOOKSELLERS.

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A CORONATION ANECDOTE. To the Editor of the TICKLER MAGAZINE. Sir---By the number of persons who are on tiptoe for the coronation, and who have been so tortured by the endless postponements of that rare and splendid pageant, I am reminded of a sad mistake made at court by the once beautiful and celebrated Duchess of Hamilton.

Shortly before the death of George the Second, and whilst he was greatly indisposed, the celebrated Irish beauty, Miss Gunning, upon becoming Duchess of Hamilton, was presented to his Majesty. The King, who was particularly pleased with the natural elegance and artlessness of her manner, indulged in a long conversation with her Grace. In the course of this tete-a-tete, his Majesty asked her if she had seen this, and if she had seen that; and how she liked such, and how she liked so. "Oh!" said the Duchess, with great animation, "I have seen every thing! There is only one thing in the world I wish to see, and I do long so much to see that." The curiosity of the Monarch was so greatly excited to know what was this wonderful thing she was so very anxious to see, that he eagerly asked her what it was? "A CORONATION," replied the thoughtless Duchess--nor was she at all conscious of the mistake she had made, till the king took her hand with a sigh, and with a melancholy expression replied, "I apprehend you have not long to wait. You will soon have your wish." Her Grace was overwhelmed with confusion.

B.

Three sisters of the name of Gunning, Irish beauties, were exalted from

the greatest distress to the most elevated fortune. Two were married to Dukes, and the third to the Earl of Coventry.

THE LATE SERJEANT HILL, of eccentric and facetious memory, was once invited to the country residence of a friend, where the strictest and most punctilious formality was observed. The Serjeant, as is well known, was never remarkable for the cleanliness of his person, or the polish of his manners; and as his legal character was very high in public estimation, his absence of mind, owing to the duties of his profession, proverbially eccentric. His wife, who was well acquainted with his occasional mental aberrations, advised him, previous to his departure, to pack up his wardrobe with care, and be sure, among other indispensables, to take down at least six shirts, which he might put on clean every morning for the week he expected to remain on this visit. The Serjeant, whose mind was busy during the curtain lecture with Coke, and Lyttleton, and Blackstone, heard merely the close of the exhortation touching the clean shirt for every morning, and cheerfully answered in the affirmative. The week was soon spent, and the Serjeant, contrary to his ordinary practice, was observed to be particularly smart and cleanly. On reaching home, his wife unpacked his wardrobe, when, behold, not a shirt was to be seen!---nothing even that imagination might torture into the appearance of one. The lawyer was examined, cross examined, questioned, and cross-questioned, and still persisted in his original declaration, that he had faithfully discharged his promise to his rib, by putting on a clean shirt every morning. With some difficulty the phe

P

nomenon was at last explained, when it was discovered, that the Serjeant, in defiance of all legal and habitual precedent, had certainly put on a shirt every day, but had forgotten to take off the dirty one, and at the moment of his departure was apparelled in the singular accumulation of a week's linen. The circumstance made a great laugh at the time.

IMPRESSIVE ANECDOTE.---In the rising of 1745, a party of Cumberland dragoons were hurrying through Nithsdale in search of rebels. Hungry and fatigued, they called at a lone widow's house, and demanded refreshment. Her son, a lad about sixteen, dressed up lang kale and butter, and the good woman brought new milk, which she told them was all her stock. One of the party inquired, with seeming kindness, how she lived. "Indeed," quoth she, "the cow and the kale-yard, wi' God's blessing, 's a' my mailen." He arose, and with his sabre killed the cow, and destroyed all the kale. The poor woman was thrown upon the world, and died of a broken heart; the disconsolate youth, her son, wandered away beyond the inquiry of friends or the search of compassion. In the continental war, when the British army had gained a great and signal victory, the soldiery were making merry with wine, and recounting their exploits. A dragoon roared out, "I once starved a Scotch witch in Nithsdale. I killed her cow, and destroyed her greens; but," added he, "she could live for all that on her God, as she said?" "And don't you rue it?" cried a young soldier, starting up--" Don't you rue it?" "Rue what?" said he---"Rue aught like that?"" Then, by my God," cried the youth, unsheathing his sword, "that woman was my mother? draw, you brutal villain, draw." They fought: the youth passed his sword twice through the dragoon's body, and, while he turned him over in the throes of death, exclaimed, "had you rued it, you should have only been punished by your God!"

AMANUENSES.---The Earl of Peterborough could dictate letters to nine amanuenses together, as (says Pope) I was assured by a gentleman who saw him do it, when ambassador at Turin. Ile walked round the room, and told each

in his turn what he was to write. One was, perhaps, a letter to the Emperor; another, to an old friend; a third, to a mistress; a fourth, to a statesman; and so on; and yet he carried so many and so different connexions in his head, all at the same time.

MEMORY.---Professor Porson, when a boy at Eton School, discovered the most astonishing powers of memory. In going up to a lesson one day, he was accosted by a boy in the same form-"Porson, what have you got there?" "Horace."--" Let me look at it." Porson handed the book to the boy; who. pretending to return it, dexterously substituted another in its place, with which Porson proceeded. Being called on by the master, he read and construed Carm. 1. x. very regularly. Observing the class to laugh, the master said, "Porson, you seem to me to be reading on one side of the page, while I am looking at the other; pray whose edition have you?" 'Porson hesitated. "Let me see it," rejoined the master; who, to his great surprise, found it to be an English Ovid. Porson was ordered to go on, which he did easily, correctly, and promptly, to the end of the ode.

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16.

There's blood upon young Roland's blade, There's blood on Sir Richard's brand;; There's blood shower'd o'er their weeds of steel,

And rain'd on the grassy land!

But blood to a warrior's like dew to the flower;

in, when having with some difficulty ascertained the Demoiselle skilled in spiking the English, she attempted to converse with her about a hat which she was trying on. After many vain attempts on both sides, the young French woman at last, observing that the hat was too small, exclaimed-" Is Matame, he is

The combat but wax'd still more deadly too little big."

and dour.

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PARISIAN ENGLISH.---Our old Poet Chaucer laughs at the French spoken in his days at London,

After the School of Stratford at the Bow. The Parisians have probably some such school in their neighbourhood, for teaching the English language; and the abundant influx of our countrymen into the French metropolis of late years has brought this dialect into much repute. We often see emblazoned in large letters, over a shop window, meant probably as a decoy, but more likely, one would think, to operate as a warning to English travellers:

Here they spike the English: Which (being translated) does not intimate any blood-thirsty intention of impaling our countrymen alive, but merely declares the ability to speak English.

A lady from London, perceiving this inscription over a milliner's door, went

In the Rue St. Honore, a hair dresser has the following captivating invitation: "Hear te cut off hares in English fashion."

The Rue du Faubourg Poissonniere boasts a lady named Canraiz, whose sign-board announces, that she is a

"Washer-woman and wash embroideries, lace, gazes, silk-stockings, also household's furniture's in linen table cloths, napkins, and calenders all at one's desire; she will also charge herself of the entertaining the works that is to be done to all sorts of linen for the body, and will be exactly delivered at one's desire."

At the Montesquieu Baths Englishmen are informed, by a neat card, that

"As for the brothes, liquid or any breakfast, and, in one word, all other bathes, the persons will be so good as things relatives to the services of the

to direct themselves to the servant bathers, who will satisfy them with the greatest attention.

"The Publick is invited not to search to displace the suckets and the swannecks, in order to forbear the accidents which may result of is, in not calling the servants bathers to his aid.

"The servant bathers, in consequence of having no wages, desire the bathers do not forgot them."

The ticket of a boarding house in the Rue Grange Buteliere has the following P.S.:

"One would find a pretty furnished chamber to let."

The invitations to the minor theatres

have generally something to captivate the English; thus M. Oliver's bill notifies his wonderful performances.

"He shall begin with the cut and burnt handkerchieves, who shall take their primitive forms.-The watch thrown up et nailed against the wall by a pistol shot-the enchanted glass wine. The flying piece of money, and an infinity of Legerdemains, worthy to excite the curiosity of spectators.-The handsome

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