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Was the orchestra led by MARTENO, M.D. Who was what Lady Morgan would call a top-sawyer;" And M. D. must surely mean "Music Destroyer;"

For ne'er did the bitterest foe to sweet strains, To murder an Overture take so much pains, As he, with his fiddlestick, strove to undo "The glory of England at famed Waterloo." + Knees, elbows, and all, went to work-Oh! ye gods!

What rasping and scraping, what stamps and what nods!

Then his attitudes too! each was well worth a guinea, Surpassing the feats of the best Fantoccini. Says Dick, "let us all sing out 'high diddle diddle,'

For here is the sign of the 'Cat and the Fiddle.'"

* Terms used by Mr. Kramer, Music Director to the King, in a recommendatory testimonial which Mr. J. carries with him to assist his depredations. Mr. Kramer ought to deny the authenticity of this document, or give his reasons for entertaining the opinions expressed therein,

+ Quere Kramer's? Printer's Devil.

‡ The title of this gentleman's overture

I mean, put to the torture,-poor God save the King.

You never, dear Granny, have heard in your days,

Such screams in the treble, such groans in the bass;

One cannot describe by the power of speaking, This compound of roaring, and grunting, and squeaking.

Suffice it to say that we pay for it still,
For we've all of us been most excessively ill, -
Though Jacob bewitched swears 'twas all

"plenty curious," §

At the loss of his cash poor papa is quite furious;

He sits in his chair and does nothing but cry, "Of the shame of this take-in I surely shall die."

Whilst Dick answers, fearless his anger to kindle, "If you do, Sir, it well may be called a dead swindle.". DOLLY GOLDSMITH.

was, "The Glory of the English in the Battle of Waterloo;" which, we are sorry to say, suffered considerably in his hands.

§ "Plenty curious" is a familiar phrase by which this Arch-humbug designates his performances, and so they are, indeed.

Varieties.

BEAU BRUMMELL AND ALDERMAN COMBE.

The late Alderman Combe was a great gamester, and made as much money by his dexterity at play, as he did by brewing. One evening, whilst he filled the office of Lord Mayor of London, he was busily engaged at a full hazard-table at Brookes's, where the wit and the dice-box circulated together with great glee, and where Beau Brummell was one of the party. "Come, Mash-tub," said Brummell, who was the caster, "what do you set?" "Twenty-five guineas," answered the Alderman. "Well, then," returned the beau, "have at the Mayor's pony* only-and seven's the main. He continued to throw

until he drove home the brewer's twelve ponies, running; and then getting up, and making him a low bow, whilst pocketing the cash, heexclaimed, "Thank you, Alderman; for the future I shall never drink any porter but your's." wish, Sir," replied the brewer, "that every other blackguard in London would tell me the same."

HAWKING NOT SHOOTING.

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A poor country hawker being detected in the act of shooting a butcher bird, was taken before a justice, "So, fellow," cried Mittimus, " you think fit to shoot with out a license, aye?" "Oh, no, your honor," cried the offender, "I have

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ANECDOTE OF DEAN SWIFT.

Swift always sat at the head of his own table, and opposite to him stood a large pier glass, so that he could see whatever his servants did at the sideboard behind his chair. He was served wholly with plate, and in great elegance. The beef being one day over-roasted, he sent for the cook, and told her to take it into the kitchen and do it less; the girl innocently answered that she could not.

a licence for hawking!" so saying, gravely, that as the cook was a

he handed him his pedlar's license, and the bird shot being proved a hawk, the man was discharged.

PHENOMENON AND PHENOMΕΝΑ.

The Rev. J. L. Garret was met, a few years ago, by a young ecclesiastic of Oxford University, accompanied by a few pupils under

By gamesters, 25 guineas (rolled up in paper) are called a Pony, and 50, a Rouleau.

"Why, what a hussy you are, says the Dean, "to commit a fault which cannot be mended!" Then, turning to a gentleman who sat next to him, he said very woman of genius, he should, by this mode of arguing, convince her, in a year's time, that she had better send the meat up too little than too much done; at the same time, he ordered the men-servants, that whenever they thought the meat was

ready, they should take it up, spit and all, and bring it to him by force, promising to assist them if the cook should be rebellious.

A REPROOF.

Bright wreath!-thy vermeil flow'rets seen
So richly clust'ring 'mid thy green
And silken leaves, to worldlings say, -
"My wearer-lo! how rich! how gay!"
Misjudging-superficial few !

They'd scarcely envy, an' they knew
The thoughts which agonize me, while
My racked head shines, my sad lips smile.
Discarded wreath! tell them, thy bloom
Like floral deckings o'er some tomb,
Marks mockingly, where late hath past
Fierce desolation's fellest blast!

The late Dowager Countess of Rossmore being at church one day, on an occasion which drew together a crowded congregation, a lady was ushered into her pew, magnificently attired. When the collection (as is customary in Irish churches) was made, the fair one gave no more, than two or three pence, which it seems quite shocked Lady Rossmore, who was ever remarkably Faintly my sad heart beats, beneath munificent in her charities; for, A rich array; whilst thou, red wreath, Art but a circlet, bounding, where upon the conclusion of the service, Lie deep, th' envenom'd darts of care. she turned to the stranger, and with Distraction! Death! go wreath, tell those great dignity, uttered a reproof, Who envy, thou wert fram'd for brows, only excusable, perhaps, from the Where love and bliss are sparkling fair, age, rank, and well-known oddity And clouds and darkness hang not there! of the reprover: : "Really Madam, Tell such, as dream not of distress, it does surprise me, that a lady. That thou, all light and loveliness, Art, for thy hollow falsity, like you, dressed in that very hand- By me, but spurn'd indignantly! some new pelisse, and elegant bonnet, and evidently occupying an, exalted station in society, should have no more to bestow upon the poor, than a few paltry half-pence." So saying, the Countess quitted the pew, leaving her astounded companion to the sweets of reflection!

AN ACADEMY,

*

An ignorant hair-dresser having adorned his house with the word "Academy," one of his lodgers, much annoyed, good-naturedly hinted, that "Repository was the word he intended to use, Academy, meaning a place where young gentlemen were received to be instructed in." "Then," interrupted the enraged friseur, "Academy is what I meant, for I receive young gentlemen into my house, to instruct them in Hairdressing and Wig-making!"

Poet's Corner.

THE DISCARDED WREATH.

*

THE SENSIBLE IDIOT,

1

A Rev'rend Divine, not a great way from

Bath,

Like Liston in Mawworm, and thin as a lath, Whose sermons for DULLNESS," were never :

excell'd,

From whence grace and ornament long were expell'd;

Was dealing out "FAITH" to his flock of lost
sheep,

When lo! all his auditors fell fast asleep
Except a qoor Black, who, of reason depriv'd,
By the bounty of Christians his pittance

derived;

Indignant, the Pastor look'd all round the
#church,
Found himself quite deserted, and left in the
lurch;
"Good God," he exclaimed, no respect, love,
or fear,
"All snoring aloud, save this poor "Ίριος"

here!"

"Ah! Massa," cried Mungo, "what poor * blackee do?

"If me had not been Idiot, me fast asleep too !!!

Published by J. ROBINS, Bride Court, Fleet Street, where all communications (post paid) are requested to be addressed; and sold by J. DUNCOMBE, 19, Little Queen Street,

Wreath! hang thou there! Why should I be Lincoln's Inn Fields; SHERWOOD AND CO.

Array'd in Flora's jewelry?
'Tis not for pageantry like thine

To wave o'er brows, so sad as mine!

Paternoster Row; SUTHERLAND, Edinburgh; MAC PHUN, Glasgow; and all Booksellers and Newsmen.

Written after returning from a Ball.

OF AMUSEMENT AND INSTRUCTION,

IN

HISTORY, SCIENCE, LITERATURE, THE FINE ARTS, &c.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][graphic][merged small]

The capital of Ireland ranks next to the metropolis of Great Britain, in extent, in population, and in architectural magnificence. The public buildings are remarkable, not only for the classic elegance of their designs, but for their magnitude, convenience, and number: and the principal streets form spacious avenues enclosed by lofty and welldesigned mansions on either side, and are generally inclined to each other at such angles as do not fail to produce the most picturesque effects, and the most agreeable city views. The river Liffey, on whose banks the city stands, is enclosed by walls of square granite stone, forming two

VOL. I.

beautiful lines of quays, which extend to a length of nearly three miles. The exciting cause to the singularly rapid improvement of Dublin arises from the great facility which exists of procuring the most durable and beautiful building stone, the mountain granite, upon easy

terms.

One of the most spacious avenues, and finest views in Dublin, is College Green, on which stands the Bank of Ireland, and Trinity College. It is said that when Sir Walter Scott first viewed this spot he stood some minutes in mute astonishment, and then broke forth in panegyrics of the scene, declaring

16

the Bank to be one of the finest buildings he ever beheld. This superb pile was originally built for the Parliament House. The foundation was laid in 1729, and after undergoing a variety of alterations was finished in 1791, at an expence of £40,000. The Ionic is the prevailing order, with the exception of the eastern front which is Corinthian; this incongruity, however, is so skilfully managed as not to detract from this noble piece of architecture. The very look of which reminds one of ancient Greece or Rome.

THE MYSTERIOUS MONK;

OR, THE MOUNTAIN ROSE.
BY MRS. PAULSON.

(Continued from page 227.)

Seventeen years had elapsed subsequently to the commencement of my narrative, when the Duke di foralvidini visited his princely mansion, the Castle of Ranaldo, accompanied by his youthful and lovely heiress, the Lady Correlia St. Valori. The duke had spent many years abroad, and sad and bitter were his reflections when he thought of days long past.

"Welcome, welcome to thy native land, thy home, my child," said the duke, as he pressed her to his heart. " Dear father, why so sad?" answered the sweet Correlia: "now

I must be happy! to me the sky appears so bright, the flowers so sweet, the grass so green, and the very air so gently fans my cheek in such delightful fragrancy, as if it would say, Welcome, Correlia welcome to thy native land! Dear, dear land!" she added emphatically, "I should be so happy, father, could I but see you smile as sweetly as you are wont to do." Di Moralvidini did smile, as he gazed on her glowing, open, animated countenance; but a sigh escaped his lips, as he thought of her mother.

Newly ushered into life, Correlia

now rushed with avidity into every amusement to which her rank in life entitled her, but without losing her beautiful naivetè, and single openmindedness. The poor felt her benevolence, and the rich esteemed and loved her. Thus passed three months, to Correlia the most happy months she had ever known.

The duke was one day returning, after a short absence, to the Castle of Ranaldo, when he was surprised by observing a man evidently following him; and when the duke passed a retired corner in the square, a paper was placed in his hand by the stranger, who wore the habiliments of a monk, and who swiftly disappeared. Astonished at such a circumstance, the duke hastily tore open the note, and read as follows: "If you wish ever to behold your daughter again, repair to the cloisters of the Carthusian Priory to-night; fail-and you lose Correlia for ever!" "Lose Correlia for ever!" exclaimed di Moralvidini, as he read in amazement the note. "Good God! what can this mean?" He hastened home, and the answer to his anxious inquiries for his child was, that she had gone out unattended. Almost frantic, he sent in every direction, yet received no satisfaction. Di Moralvidini paced the room with unequal steps; hour passed after hour, but still no Correlia returned. Messenger after messenger was dispatched in search of her, but in vain, and the duke passed the time in the most agonizing distress. "Correlia! dear child! idol of my heart! sole relic of thy unfortunate mother! where art thou now?" he exclaimed in anguish. " Who can detain thee! See her no more! Oh, God! preserve me from this dreadful event!" He took up the note again 'Fail not!' "Ah! fear not that I shall fail, if by my punctuality I may regain Correlia!"

Di Moralvidini impatiently waited the appointed time; he thought

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