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open their ponderous jars. Hark! they bage-stalks are there in this great garden, speak ; I must write down what they say, the world!-how many hypocrites who for sure it must be the pith and marrow have neither heart oor honesty! It was of excellency. No distinct sounds are once green and full of sap, but now it is heard yet, nothing but muttering. The dried up and withered : and what is the spirit is absent: it has taken its abode falc of mad but that of a cabbage-stalk ? among the grege porcorum, a herd of Nay, I am told that a person who wanls swive, or among some of the literali of
to display his oratorial powers, must, if St. Giles's. Now they begin to arlicu. he means to do it advantageously, uclate, hush ! Parturiunt montes !
tually imagine that all his hearers are The thundering eloquence of deep
real cabbage-stalks. It is then that soft mouthed Dullness and Stupidity ; or
persuasion, like Hyblean honey, flows a soporiferous, letheag Dissertation on
froin his lips. It is then that the blaze a Cabbage Stalk.
of eloquence warms his audience. Hap
py is ihe man, whose imagination cau A cabbage-stalk! A fine subject for
thus metamorphose human beings !-By Dulloess and Stupidity to expatiate Jove, my reflections are over : my two upon !- The root is the first thing which
couosellors begin to nod; their mouths ought to be taken notice of; for with.
are closed. And so there is an end of out it, the subject of this Dissertation
the Dissertation on a Cabbage Stalk. had not existed. Observe how nume.
Fail pol to print this, and let your cusrous and how long the filaments are, by tomers read it when they put on their means of which it received its nutrition.
night-caps, and I wish them a good night, Were we but as deeply rooted and ground.
and bon repos.
A COMMON SCOLD.
PROM the following paragraph, ex
Iracted from one of the American pative part, and the head is the conclusion. There is in every thing two ends and a
pers, it will appear that the custom of middle, or rather a beginning, a medium,
punishing women for being common
scolds is still ealant in North America:and an end, I mean only with respect to this world. The root of wisdojn is the Philadelphia, September 8. --Catharine fear of the Lord, the stalk is patient Fields was indicted and convicted for continuance in well doing, and the head being a conimon scold. The trial was is the prize of high calling. May all excessively amusing, from the variety of mankind so run as to obtain this glorie testimony, and the diversified manner in ous reward!
which this Zantippe pursued ber viruThis root is like the King; if you leol propensities. " Ruder than March cannot guess why, don't be too iinpa. • winds she blew a hurricane;" and it was lient, and I'll tell you. Because, as all given in evidence that after baviog honour and power are ultimately derived scolded the family individually, the bifrom the King, so the stalk and head of peds and quadrupeds, the neighbours, a Cabbage, derive their very existence pigs, poultry, and geese, she would from the root. And as the stalk and head throw the window open at night to scold are reciprocally an honour to the root, the watchmay. Her countenance was 80 the King is indebted to his subjects an index to her temper-sbarp, peaked, for his wealth, power, and splendour, sallow, and small eyes. The root is the King, the stalk the no Can any Reader of your Miscellany bility and gentry, and the hcad is the infurin me of the nature of the punishplebeians ; ergo, the plebeians are the meat ioflicted by the Philadelphiaos on head of this pation. Blame me not for these disturbers of the public peace? this logic ; remember I only write what
I am, Sir, slupidily dictates. I perceive this stalk
Your's, &c. is hollowi-malas ! how many human cab
P.S. In the article on the ancient punish.
With welcome shouts, each greets again the ment for the above offence, ioserted in
“ Stranger," page 173, your prioter and me are at
Or joy-transported runs to see th'
" Exile." war, aud between us, Priscians bead seems to come off but sorely: But with the approbation of the former, we will
FOLLY AND WISDOM, make the following errata :
Lubin, altho' he has a tongue, Live mlb from the bottom, col. 1st,
To use it never tries, for Commuseis, read Communis.
If wise, be surely is a fool, Line 13 from the boltoni, col. 2., for
And, if a fool, is wise, Fulcruad, read Fulcrum.
THE EARNEST PRAYER,
thwart her pray'r. Indeed, says Nell, 'lis what I am pleas'd to
· hear; For now I'll pray for your long life, iny
ON JONAS HANWAY.
In Westminster Abbey.
The BRITAH MERCHANI,
The Citizen of the WORLD.
and ruin, und trained to serve and to
IN BROMLEY CHURCH-YARD.
"Aged 101 years.
lived to her second.)
On the re-appearance of Mr. Young, after,
a considerable absence, in the characters
of the “Stranger” and the “ Ezile," The Drama's pride, long long from home a
ranger, Again returns our winter to beguile,
ON A LIEUTENANT OF MARINES.
But Virtue Would not suffer her to be childless: Au jufant, to whom, and to whose father and mother she had been
nurse, (Such is the uncertainty of temporal pros
the necessaries of life ; to
with filial affection, And she was supported in the feebleness of age, by him whom she had cherished in the helplessness of
LET IT BE REMEMBERED, That there is no station, in which industry will not obtain power to be
versally sure. How few are allowed an equal time of pro
bation ! How many, by their lives, appear to pre
sume upon more!
person, But yet more to perpetuate the lesson of
IN A COUNTRY CHURCH-YARD.
IN GUILDFORD CHURCH-YARD. Reader pass on, ne'er waste your time On bad biography, and bitter rhyme: For what I am, this cumb'rous clay insures And what I was, is no atfair of yours.
ON WINTER. Now the brown woods their leafy load re
sign, And rage the tempests with resistless
force; Mantled with snow the silver mountains
shine, And icy fetters chain the rivulet's course.
No pleasing object charms our wearied
view, No waving verdure decks the dreary
glade; Save that o'er yonder tomb the mournful
Short is the spring, and short the summer
hour, And short the time that fruitful autumn
reigns; But tedious roll the days when winter's
power Asserts its empire o'er pur wasted plains.
Mark this, and boast your fancied worth no
more, Ye great, ye proud, ye learned, and ye
brave ! With hasty lapse somc circling years are
o'er, And lo!'ye slumber in the silevt grare! Why views the sage fair pleasure's tran
sient charm, And all her rot'ries gay with scowling
eye? Alike he stoops to Fate's superior arm,
Alike he suffers, and alike must die!
THE CITY COMMON HUNT.
Say, what avails it then, with brow severe,
The silken bands of luxury to despise; To bring by thought the day of horror
near, Aud view the tempest ere the clouds
The Citizens of Londop were formerly permitted to bunt and bark in certain districts; and one of the clauses in the royal charter granted to them by Henry the first, says, that they "may have chases, and hunt as well and as fully as their ancestors have bad: that is to say, in the Chiltre, in Middlesex, and Surrey.". Filzstephen, who wrote in the reign of Henry the Second, says, that the Lon doners delight themselves wilh hawks and hounds; for they bave the liberty of hunting in Middlesex, llertfordshire, all Chilton, and in Kent, to the waters of Grey, which extends the limits far beyond the words of the Charter. These exercises were not much followed by the cilizens at the close of the sixteenth cen. tury : “not," says Stowe, " for want of Laste for the amusement, but for want of leisure to pursue it." Strype, however
, so late as ihe reign of George the First, mentions, among the modern amusements of the Londouers, “ riding on horseback, and hunting with my Lord Mayor's hounds, when the common hunt
Better with laughing nymphs in revels gay, To give the hours to VENUS, wine and
song; And, since the rapid moments never stay; To catch some pleasures as they glide
Deludcd man! whom einpty sounds be
guile, What transports here await thy anxious
soul? Koow, love abhors the venal harlot's
smile, And Hell-born fury rages in the bowl. Seek virtue to be blest, but seek her far,Far from those gloomy son's of letter'd
pride, Who 'gainst the passions wage eternal war, And, foes to nature, nature's dictates
Let mirth, not madness, crown the temper
ate feast; Let love and beauty joys relin'd impart: Though mere sensation charm the grovel
ling breast, 'Tis mutual passion fires the generous
This common hunt of the citizens, the only relic of which is in the Easter hunt, at Epping, is thus ridiculed in an old bal
. lad, in D'Urfey's “ Pills to Purge Melancholy,” called the London Customs:which shews Ibat of old, as now, cockney sporting was not held in the highest estimation. Next once a year into Essex they go; To see them pass along, O'tis a most pretty
show: Through Cheapside and Fenchurch Street,
and so to Aldgate pump, Each man with's spurs in horse's sides,
and his back sword 'cross his rump. My lord, he takes a staff in hand, to beat
the bushes o'er; I must confess it was a work he ue'er had done
The various blessings bounteous Heaven
bestows, With gratitude and charity repay ; "elieve thy suffering friend, or share his
woes, But from his failings turn thine cyes
A creature which bounceth from a bush,
made them all to laugh; My lord, he cried, a hare! a hare! but it
proved an Essex calf! And when they had done their sport, they
came to London, where they dwell, Their faces all so torn and scratch'd, their
wives scarce kuew them well; For 'twas a very great mercy so many
'scap'd alive, For of twenty saddles carried out, they
brought again but five,
Or can the rose in op'ning spring,
THE PETITION OF TOM DERMODY.
To the three fates in Council sitting. “ Right rigorous, and so forth! bumbled By cares and mournings, tost and tumbled, Before your ladyship's Tom Fool, Knowing above the rest you rule, Most lamentably sets his case, With a bold heart and saucy face. Sans shoe or stocking, coat or breeches, You see him now like midnight witches, His body worn like an old farthing, The angry spirit just a-parting, His credit rotten, and his purse As empty as a cobbler's curse; His poems too unsold, -that's worse! In short, between confonnded crosses, Patrons all vex'd, and former losses, Sure as a gun he cannot fail Next week to warble in a jail ; Which jail, to folks not very sanguine, Is just as good, or worse than hanging; Though in the first some vain hopes Maiter, But hopes quite strangled by the latter. Thus is poor rhyming rascal treated; Fairly or rather foully cheated Of all the goods from wit accruing; (Wit, that's synonimous with ruin,) Then take it in your head-piece, ladies, To set up a poor bard whose trade is Low fall’n enough in conscience: picy The master of the magic ditty, And turn your wheel ce more in haste, To see him on the summit plac'd. For well you wot that woes ('od rot 'em!) Have long time stretch'd him at the bottom, Where he who erst fine lyrics gabbled, With mire and filth was sorely dabbled. So plentifully pelted that He looks like any drowned rat. O Justice, Justice! take his part; Oh! lift him in thy lofty cart, Magnific Fame, and let fat Plenty Marry one poet out of twenty."
Indifference is only sweet When lips like yours the word repeat; But when the sense they wou'd impart, The lips are strangers to the heart. Then substitute a word more dear, More just to you, to us more clear: Of that dark Annulet beware: It ill becomes a band so fair. A circlet of a richer hue, Enchanting maid! is form'd for you. Then bail sweek sympathy, at once! Avaunt, “ LA Douce IndiFFERENGE!"
ON A LADY NO LONGER YOUNG. Whence comes it, Time, you leave no trace On that bewitching form and face? • Because whene'er my scythe I wield, Good humour spreads a sparkling shield, Anil dazzles so mine aged sight, I ne'er can aim one blow aright."
ON MISS TREE'S PERFORMANCE OF
THE “ PAGE” IN TWELFTH NIGHT. All own the Tree, whilst pleased they look, The sweetest page of SHAKESPEARE's book.
W. R. V.
On reading an account of the recent Tri
bute to the Memory of the immortal
Burns. ON SEEING THE FOLLOWING MOTTO.' “ La Douce Indifference."
Yes, Scotia's Bard did late most sweetly ON A LADY'S HATR-RING.
sing Say, tan the lily of the vale
And gave his hills and valleys endless Refuse its fragrance to the gale?