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open their ponderous jaws. Hark! they speak; I must write down what they say, for sure it must be the pith and marrow of excellency. No distinct sounds are heard yet, nothing but muttering. The spirit is absent: it has taken its abode among the grege porcorum, a herd of swine, or among some of the literati of St. Giles's. Now they begin to articu late, hush!-Parturiunt montes!

The thundering eloquence of deepmouthed Dullness and Stupidity; or a soporiferous, lethean Dissertation on a Cabbage Stalk.

A cabbage-stalk! A fine subject for Dullness and Stupidity to expatiate upon!-The root is the first thing which ought to be taken notice of; for without it, the subject of this Dissertation had not existed. Observe how numerous and how long the filaments are, by means of which it received its nutrition. Were we but as deeply rooted and ground ed in love, our fruits would be answerable. But on the contrary, we had rather vegetate in a vicious soil; and on covetousness, which is the root of all evil, graft the whole fraternity of vices. There is another reason why we should begin with the root, because it represents the exordiùm of a discourse, the stalk is the ratiocination, or argumentative part, and the head is the conclusion. There is in every thing two ends and a middle, or rather a beginning, a medium, and an end, I mean only with respect to this world. The root of wisdom is the fear of the Lord, the stalk is patient continuance in well doing, and the head is the prize of high calling. May all mankind so run as to obtain this glorious reward!

This root is like the King; if you cannot guess why, don't be too impatient, and I'll tell you. Because, as all honour and power are ultimately derived from the King, so the stalk and head of a Cabbage, derive their very existence from the root. And as the stalk and head are reciprocally an honour to the root, so the King is indebted to his subjects for his wealth, power, and splendour. The root is the King, the stalk the nobility and gentry, and the head is the plebeians; ergo, the plebeians are the bead of this nation. Blame me not for this logic; remember I only write what stupidity dictates. I perceive this stalk is hollow:-alas! how many human cab

bage-stalks are there in this great garden, the world-how many hypocrites who have neither heart nor honesty! It was once green and full of sap, but now it is dried up and withered and what is the fate of man but that of a cabbage-stalk ? Nay, I am told that a person who wants to display his oratorial powers, must, if he means to do it advantageously, actually imagine that all his hearers are reat cabbage-stalks. It is then that soft persuasion, like Hyblean honey, flows from his lips. It is then that the blaze of eloquence warms his audience. Happy is the man, whose imagination can thus metamorphose human beings !-By Jove, my reflections are over my two counsellors begin to nod; their mouths are closed. And so there is an end of the Dissertation on a Cabbage Stalk. Fail not to print this, and let your customers read it when they put on their and bon repos. night-caps, and I wish them a good night,

A COMMON SCOLD.

TO THE EDITOR OF THE TICKLER MAGAZINE.

SIR, FROM the following paragraph, extracted from one of the American papers, it will appear that the custom of punishing women for being common scolds is still extant in North America:

Philadelphia, September 8.-Catharine Fields was indicted and convicted for being a common scold. The trial was excessively amusing, from the variety of testimony, and the diversified manner in which this Zantippe pursued her virulent propensities. "Ruder than March winds she blew a hurricane;" and it was given in evidence that after having scolded the family individually, the bipeds and quadrupeds, the neighbours, pigs, poultry, and geese, she would throw the window open at night to scold the watchman. Her countenance was an index to her temper-sharp, peaked, sallow, and small eyes.

Can any Reader of your Miscellany inform me of the nature of the punishment inflicted by the Philadelphians on these disturbers of the public peace? I am, Sir, Your's, &c.

N. J.

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Epitaphs.

ON JONAS HANWAY.
In Westminster Abbey.
Sacred to the memory of

JONAS HANWAY,

Who departed this life, Sept, 5th, 1786; aged 74,

But whose name liveth, and will ever live,
Whilst active piety shall distinguish
The CHRISTIAN,

Integrity and truth shall recommend
The BRITISH MERCHANT,

And universal kindness shall characterise
The CITIZEN of the WORLD.
The helpless INFANT, nurtured through
his care,

The friendless PROSTITUTE, sheltered and reformed,

The hopeless YOUTH, rescued from misery and ruin, und trained to serve and to defend his country.

Uniting in one common strain of gratitude, Bear testimony to their Benefactors'

virtue,

This was the Friend and Father of the

Poor.

The expence of its erection is defrayed by voluntary subscriptions of his Friends, and that laudable body the Marine Society.

IN BROMLEY CHURCH-YARD. Near this place lies the body of ELIZABETH MONK, Who departed this life the 27th day of August, 1753, "Aged 101 years. She was widow of Jous MONK, late of this parish, blacksmith; her second husband;

To whom she had been a wife near fiity years;

By whom she had no children. (And of the issue of her first marriage none lived to her second.)

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So when the wintry storms of death are past

In brighter skies, and æther more serene, Thy wither'd boughs shall bud again, to Jast

For ever blooming, and for ever green,

Humour,

THE CITY COMMON HUNT.

The Citizens of London were formerly permitted to hunt and hawk 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 had: that is to say, in the Chiltre, in Middlesex, and Surrey." Fitzstephen, who wrote in the reign of Henry the Second, says, that the Londoners delight themselves with hawks and hounds; for they have the liberty of hunting in Middlesex, Hertfordshire, 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 citizens at the close of the sixteenth century; "not," says Stowe, "for want of taste for the amusement, but for want of leisure to pursue it." Strype, however, so late as the reign of George the First, mentions, among the modern amusements of the Londoners," riding ou horseback, and hunting with my Lord Mayor's hounds, when the common hunt goes out."

This common hunt of the citizens, the only relic of which is in the Easter hunt, at Epping, is thus ridiculed in an old ballad, in D'Urfey's " Pills to Purge Melancholy," called the London Customs;which shews that 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 ne'er had done before:

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 knew them well;

For 'twas a very great mercy so many 'scap'd alive,

For of twenty saddles carried out, they brought again but five,

THE PETITION OF TOM DERMODY.
To the three fates in Council sitting.
"Right rigorous, and so forth! humbled
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 confounded 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 flatter,
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: pity
The master of the magic ditty,
And turn your wheel once 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."

Impromptus.

ON SEEING THE FOLLOWING MOTTO. "La Douce Indifference."

ON A LADY'S HAIR-RING.

Say, can the lily of the vale

Refuse its fragrance to the gale?

Or can the rose in op'ning spring,
For bear perfuming Zephyr's wing?
Can the bright dew-drop in the bow'r
Deny its freshness to the flow'r?
Or can the stream flow thro' the plain,
And not enrich the growing grain?
Say, does the seed, in bed profound,
Conceal its virtues under ground?
Or do the blossoms, as they blow,
Belie the parent seed below?
Does the gay lark refuse to sing,
And usher in the bashful spring?
And does not bashful spring improve
The universal soul of love?
Search nature round, Sophia fair,
Say, can you find indiffrence there?
"Tis sympathy's wide reign I see,
Where all obey, yet all are free.
The sweetest part of her domain,
Must she then claim your heart in vain?
Shall beauty's richest blossoms shoot,
And overpow'r the embryo fruit?
To you fond nature has been kind,
And lagging art you've left behind:
Then conquer in fair nature's cause,
But ah! forbear to wound her laws.

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