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But no four-legged Bull ever did pop Before into the Royal Exchange.

The Jews, Turks, and Infidels ran,

All commerce suspended was quite, The cry of " Mad Bull!" soon began, The People were all in a fright.

But the Colossus of Change stood erect, Crying "Blesh my shoul, vy such a riot? Shentlemans, I pray you reflect,

I command all the Bulls, to be quiet.

My judgment no one dare arraign,

I vill punish this impudent Ox,
If he ever should appear here again,

By G-d, I'll put him in the Stocks.”
And old Bruin, who heard his decree,

Did the Prince of Europa assail, Growl'd "I pray you be govern'd by me, And whip ALL the Bulls at the Cart's Tail.” Dec. 21.

Scraps.

W. H.

THE SCRIBBLERUS CLUB.-The Scribblerus Club, which consisted of PoPE, GAY, SWIFT, ARBUTHNOT, PARNELL, &c. &c. when the members were in town, were seldom asunder, and they often made excursions together into the country, and generally on foot. Swift was usually the butt of the company, and if a trick was played, he was always the sufferer. The whole party once agreed to walk down to the house of Lord B——, and whose seat was about twelve miles from town. As every one agreed to make the best of his way, Swift, who was remarkable for walking, soon left all the rest behind him, fully resolved upon his arrival, to choose the very best bed for himself, for that was his custom. In the mean time Parnell was de

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termined to prevent his intentions, and, taking a horse, arrived at Lord B- 's, by another way, long before him. Having apprized his Lordship of Swift's design, it was resolved, at any rate, to keep him out of the house, but how to effect this was the question. Swift never had the small-pox, and was very much afraid of catching it: as soon, therefore, as he appeared striding along, at some distance from the house, one of his Lordship's servants was dispatched to acquaint him, that the smallpox was then making great ravages in the family, but that there was a summer-house with a field-bed at his service, at the end of the garden. There the disappointed Dean was obliged to retire, and take a cold

supper that was sent out to him, while the rest were feasting within. However, at last they took compassion on him, and upon his promising never to choose the best bed again, they permitted him to make one of the company. There is something sa tisfactory in these accounts of the follies of the wise; they give a natural air to the picture, and reconcile us to our own. There have been few poetical societies more talked of, or productive of a greater va riety of whimsical concerts than this of the Scribblerus Club; but how long it lasted is not known. The whole of Paruell's poetical existence was not of more than eight or ten years continuance; his first excursions to England began about the year 1706, and he died in the year 1718, so that it is probable the Club began with him, and his death ended the connexion.

NATIONAL COMPLAINTS.-The Englishmen at Paris find fault with the French Roast Beef; the Frenchnen in London complain of the British Brandy.

The English who visit Paris, imagine that the tavern-keepers have served in the cavalry, as they are so expert in making a charge.

A foreigner enquiring the way to a friend's lodging, whom he said lived at Mr. Bailey's, senior, was shown to the Old Bailey, by a Bow-street officer. When he entered the Court, he imagined that it was his friend's levee.

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DAILY MORTIFICATIONS. (From the French.)-My shoemaker always gives me boots which pinch my ancle, and are too wide in the calf of the leg.-Iis shoes are too tight at the toe, while at the heel I am slip-shod. Nevertheless he is called an excellent workman.

My tailor, though a very celebrated man, makes me coats which slip from my shoulders; if I button them they confine my breast, though I have a particular dislike to that; but at the bottom they are quite slack, though I particularly wish to have them tight round my middle. Notwithstanding all this, every one says, how well my clothes are made, because they only while I feel.

see,

My seamstress, whatever directions I give her on the subject, has a strange predilection for making the collars of my shirts too high; my washerwoman starches them, and all day long they fret me, and rub the skin off my ears.

My hatter takes the size of my head with great care, and yet he always sends me hats which are too small; I order light hats, and he sends me heavy ones; I ask to have the brims made flat, and he sends them always turned up.

Sonnet.

ON READING A DESCRIPTION OF POPE'S GARDENS, AT TWICKENHAM.

Ab, might I range each hallow'd bow'r and glade

MUSEUS cultur'd, many a raptur'd sigh Would that dear local consciousness supply, Beneath his willow, in the Grotto's shade, Whose roof his hand with ores and shells inlaid!

How sweet to watch, with reverential eye, Through the sparr'd arch the streams he oft survey'd

Thine, blue THAMESIS, gently wand'ring by!

This is the Poet's triumph; and it towers O'er Life's pale ills:-his consciousness of powers

That lift his mem'ry from Oblivion's gloom, Secures a train of these heart-thrilling hours, By his idea deck'd in Rapture's bloom, For Spirits rightly touch'd, through ages yet to come!

Tale.

ANNA SEWARD.

THE MONK AND THE JEW

OR,

CATHOLIC CONVERT.

BY MR. FISHER.

To make new converts truly bless'd, A recipe-probatum est.

Stern Winter, clad in frost and snow,
Had now forbade the streams to flow;
And skaited peasants swiftly glide,
Like swallows, o'er the slipp'ry tide;
When Mordecai-upon whose face
The Synagogue you plain might trace-
Fortune, with smiles deceitful, bore
To a curs'd hole, but late skinn'd o'er!
Down plumps the Jew, but, in a trice,
Rising, he caught the friendly ice.
He gasp'd, he yell❜d, a hideous cry;
No friendly help, alas! was nigh,

Save a poor Monk-who quickly ran,
To snatch from death the drowning man!
But when the Holy Father saw

A limb of the Mosaic Law,

His out-stretch'd hand he quick withdrew"For Heav'n's sake, help!"exclaims the Jew. "Turn Christian, first:" the Father cries: "I'm froze to death!" the Jew replies. "Froze!" quoth the Monk: "too soon you'll know,

"There's fire enough, for Jews below: "Renounce your unbelieving crew, "And help is near."-"I do, I do.”— "Damn all your Brethren, great and small;" "With all my heart-oh, damn them all! "Now help me out."-"There's one thing

more:

"Salute this Cross, and Christ adore.”—
"There, there! I Christ adore !"-" "Tis
well;

"Thus arm'd, defiance bid to Hell.
"And, yet, another thing remains,
"To guard against eternal pains:
"Do you our Papal Father hold
"Heav'n's Vicar, and believe all told
"By Holy Church?"-" I do, by God!
"One moment more-I'm food for cod!
"Drag, drag me out; I freeze, I die!"
"Your peace, my friend, is made on high,
"Full absolution, here, I give,
"Saint Peter will your soul receive,
"Wash'd clean from sin, and duly shriv❜n,
"New converts always go to Heav'n.
"No hour for death, so fit as this:
"Thus, thus, I launch you into hliss!"
So said the Father, in a trice,
His Convert launch'd-beneath the ice!

Verses.

THE BALM OF CONTENT.

I rov'd through early life's sad scene, Alone, forlorn and weary; And though my mind was still serene, The prospect still was dreary; For sorrow and grief are by Providence sent, And heal'd their deep wounds with the Balm of Content.

Aurora's vivid streaks of light

Disclose the early morning;
They break upon the dazzl'd sight,

The hemisphere adorning.

And hither these eyes are gratefully bent, While my heart is revived by the Balm of

Content.

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Hope, lovely maid! with smiles appears,

And rosy cheek advancing;

Her form each drooping mortal cheers, With pleasure ever dancing; "The rigours of fate have begun to relent, "And I bring you," she says, "the sweet Balm of Content.”

Ye Powers on high, who wisely guide,

The wond'rous path of Sorrow;
Let not fair Hope our griefs deride,

Nor vanish e'er to-morrow;

Her illusions delight us, and ever are meant,
To cheer human hearts with the Balm of

Content:

THE DEVIL'S WALK.
BY THE LATE PROFESSOR PORSON.

From his brimstone bed at break of day,
The Devil a-walking is gone,
To visit his snug little farm of the Earth,
And see how his stock gets on.

And over the hill, and over the dale,

He rambled, and over the plain,

And backwards and forwards he switched his long tail,

As a gentleman switches his cane.

And pray how was the Devil drest?
Oh he was in his Sunday's best;

His coat was black, and his breeches were blue,

With a hole behind, that his tail went through.

He saw a lawyer crushing a viper,

On a dunghill near his own stable;

And the Devil was pleas'd, for it put him in mind

Of Cain and his brother Abel.

He saw an apothecary on a white horse,
Ride by on his vocations;

And the Devil he laugh'd for he thought he
beheld,

His friend Death in the Revelations.

He saw a cottage, with a double coach-house
A cottage of gentility;

And the Devil was tickled, for his darling
vice

Is pride which apes humility.

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VOL. I. No. 3.]

TICKLER.

LONDON, MONDAY, FEBRUARY 1, 1819.

Anecdotes.

CHATTERTON. That prodigy of genius, the unfortunate Chatterton, was amusing himself one day, in company with a friend, reading the epitaphs in Pancras Church-yard; he was so deep sunk in thought as he walked on, that not perceiving a grave that was just dug, he tumbled into it. His friend observing his situa tion, ran to his assistance, and as he helped him out, told him, in a jocular manner, he was happy in assisting at the resurrection of Genius. Poor Chatterton smiled, and taking his companion by the arm, replied, "My dear friend, I feel the sting of a speedy dissolution; I have been at war with the grave for some time, and find it not so easy to vanquish it as I imagined-we can find an asylum to hide from any creditor but that!" His friend endeavoured to divert his thoughts from the gloomy reflection: but what will not melancholy and adversity combined subjugate? In three days after, the neglected and disconsolate youth put an end to his iniseries by poison..

Mr. QUIN was a gentleman whose humour gave life to the conversation of thousands, who, perhaps, never had the pleasure of seeing him; many of whom, but for the repetition of his wit, would have been very dull companions: but the story that follows, does honor to his heart, and therefore it is here selected. Mr. Thomson, the justly-celebrated and universally-admired author of the Seasons, Poem on Liberty, Castle of Indolence, &c. &c. when he first came to London, was in very narrow circumstances, and before he was distinguished by his writings, was many times put to his shifts, even for a dinner. The debts he then contracted lay very heavy upon him for a long time afterwards; and upon the publication of his Seasons, one of his creditors arrested him, thinking that a proper opportunity to get his money. The report of this misfortune happened to reach the ears of Mr. Quin, who had indeed read the Seasons, but had never seen their author; and upon stricter enquiry, he was told that Thomson was in the hands of the Bailiffs, in a spunging house, in Holborn. Thither Quin went, and being admitted into his chamber, “Sir," said he, in his usual tone of voice, "you don't know me, I believe, but my name is Quin." Thomson received him politely, and said, "that though he could not boast the honour of a personal acquaintance, he was no stranger either to his name or his merit." Quin then told him, he was come to sup with him, and

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that he had already ordered the Cook to provide supper, which he hoped he would excuse. --Thomson made a suitable reply, and then the discourse turned indifferently on subjects of Literature. When supper was over, and the glass had gone briskly about, Mr. Quin took occasion to explain himself, by saying "it was now time to enter upon business." Thomson declared he was ready to serve him as far as his capacity would reach, in any thing he should command (thinking he was come about some affair relating to the Drama.) Sir," says Quin, ". you mistake me, I am in your debt hundred pounds, and am come to pay you." Thomson, with a disconsolate air, replied, "that as he was a gentleman, whom to his knowledge, he had never offended, he wondered he should seek an opportunity to reproach him under his troubles." "No, by God!" said Quin, raising his voice, "I'd be d-d before I would do that? I say I owe you £100, and there it is," laying a Bank-note of that value before him. Thomson was astonished, and begged he would explain himself. "Why," said Quin, "I'll tell you; soon after I had read had something in the world to leave behind me, your Seasons, I took it into my head, that as I when I died, I would make my will, and Author of the Seasons £100, and this day amongst the rest of my legacies, I set down the hearing that you was in this house, I thought I might as well have the pleasure of paying the money myself, as to order my executors to pay it, when, perhaps, you might have less need of it, and this, Mr. Thomson, is the business I came about.”—It were needless to paint Mr. Thomson's grateful expressions of acknowledgments, but leave every reader to conceive

them.

PETER THE GREAT.-This Monarch being at Westminster Hall in term time, and seeing multitudes of people swarming about the Courts of Law, is reported to have asked some about him, "What all those busy people were, and what they were about?" and being answered,

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They are Lawyers,”—“ Lawyers," returned he, with great vivacity, "why I have but four in my whole kingdom, and I design to hang two of them as soon as I get home.'

TOM KING, One of Thalia's greatest favorites, but whose cause the blind goddess but seldom espoused, meeting with a certain sporting gentleman under the Piazza, in Covent Garden, they retired to an adjacent tavern to take a main at hazard for five guineas. Tom soon lost his first stake, and with much resignation eat his supper and drank his bottle. His ad

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versary, however, after supper, proposed to him a second main, which Tom at first refused engaging in, saying he had not, he believed, money enough about him to answer the bet; but this was over-ruled by his adversary reply ing, his word was sufficient for a hundred.They renewed the party, and in a few hours Tom won two thousand four hundred guineas. Tom's wife, who by the bye, was a very good one, had sat up all night as usual, after having sent every where in search of him, without being able to gain any tidings; when he returned from his lucky vigil. Her enquiries were naturally very pressing, to know where he had been, and what had kept him out so long; to all which he made no other answer than very peremptorily saying, "Bring nie a Bible." A Bible!" she re-echoed with some ejacu lation, "I hope you have not poisoned your continued Bring me a Bible," Tom-"I suppose," she resumed, “you've lost some great sum-but never mind, we can work for more." "Bring me a Bible, I say," still uttered Tom.-" Good Lord, what can be the matter?" said Mrs. King, "I don't believe there's such a thing in the house, without it be in the maid's room.' Thither she went, and found of one, without a cover; when, havpart ing brought it to Tom, he fell upon his knees, and made a most fervent oath never to touch a die or card again; whilst she all the time endeavoured to alleviate his grief, of which she considered this as the effusion, owing to some very considerable loss. When he had finished, and rose up, he flung fourteen hundred pounds in bank-notes upon the table, saying, "There, my dear, there's fourteen hundred pounds I've won to-night, and I shall receive a thousand more by to-morrow noon, and I'll be d-d if I ever risque a guinea of it again."

DEAN SWIFT.-As this eccentric divine was once upon a journey, attended by a servant, they put up at an inn, where they lodged all night; in the morning the Dean called for his boots; the servant immediately took them to him. When the Dean saw them, "How is this, Tom, (says he) my boots not yet cleaned?”"No,Sir, (replied Tom) as you are going to ride, I thought they would soon be dirty again."

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Very well (says the Dean) go and get the horses ready." In the mean time, the Dean ordered the landlord to let his man have no breakfast. When the servant returned, he asked if the horses were ready. "Yes, Sir," says the servant. "Go bring them out then," said the Dean. "I have not had my breakfast yet, Sir," replied Tom. "Oh! no matter for that, (said the Dean) if you had you would soon be hungry again." They mounted and rode off. As they rode, the Dean pulled a book out of his pocket, and began to read. A gen tleman met them, and seeing the Doctor reading, was not willing to disturb him, but passed by till he met the servant. Who is that Gen

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My master,

tlenian?" said he to the man. Sir," said Tom. “I know that, you blockhead,

(said the gentleman) but where are you going?"-"We are going to Heaven, Sir," replied Tom. "How do you know that?" said the gentleman. "Because I am fasting, and my master is praying, Sir, so I think we are in the right road to that place."

Bon Mots

Dr. HENNIKER being in private conversation with the Earl of Chatham, his Lordship asked him, anong other questions, what was Wit, according to his opinion? "Wit" he replied,

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my Lord; is what a pension would be, given by your Lordship to your humble servant; a good thing well applied."

Dr. BALGUY,-a preacher of great celebrity, after having preached an excellent discourse at Winchester Cathedral, the text of which was "all wisdom is sorrow," received the following eloquent compliment from Dr. Wharton, then at Winchester School :

"If what you advance, dear Doctor, be true, "That wisdom is sorrow,-how wretched are you ?"

QUALITIES OF A GOOD WIFE.-To the Ladies. -That a good Wife should be like three things, which three things she should not be like :First-she should be like a snail, always keep within her own house; but she should not be like a snail, to carry all she has upon her back. -Secondly, she should be like a echo, to speak when she is spoke to: but she should not be like an echo, always to have the last word.Thirdly, she should be like a town-clock, always keep time and regularity; but she should not be like a town-clock to speak so loud that all the town may hear her.

It was some years ago said, in the Parliament House, at Edinburgh, that a gentleman, (who was known to have a pretty good appetite) had eaten away his senses. Poh!" replied H-y E--e, 66 they would not be a mouthful to him," When FOOTE was at Salt Hill, he dined at the Castle, and when Partridge produced the bill, which was rather exorbitant, Foote asked him his name.-" Partridge, an't please you," said he. "Partridge!" returned Foote, it should be Woodcock, by the length of your bill."

A literary lady expressing to Dr. Johnson her approbation of his Dictionary, and in particular, her satisfaction at his not admitting into it any improper words. "No, Madam,' plied he," I hope I have not soiled my fingers. I find, however, that you have been looking for them."

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