miserable for a man to come home at night, let himself in, every body gone to bed, nobody waiting for him but the rushlight. Who can take care of persons and purses like a wife? Who can give gentle advice with such force as a wife, and how can a man ever be said to be starving when he has a rib. Oh, the delights of wedlock! tea and buttered toast.

I'm resolved,

I'm resolved, this moment to be married.

THE MARCH OF INTELLECT IN THE BUTCHERING LINE.

I KEEP a snug shop, which had once a good stock in,
But the life I now lead is indeed very shocking;

I contrive to get money by industry's plan,

My family spend it as fast as they can.

My spouse, who once work'd hard as any wife going,
By this march of intellect's" so genteel growing,
She dresses herself and her daughters up fine,
Although I am but in the butchering line.

Spoken.]-She takes in all the penny publications, though she can't read without spelling the hard words-makes poetry, though she can't write; and as to blank verse, makes nothing of itshe has made herself a halbum out of a old day-book,-and my eldest daughter writes down all the good things they can scrape together-if she goes into the shop to serve a quarter of a pound of suet, or a pennyworth of lights, she puts on a pair of white kid gloves, with the fingers cut off-and it's all through the march of intellect.

She dresses herself and her daughters so fine,
Although I am but in the butchering line.

I get back from market each morning at seven,
But wifey ne'er rises till after eleven:
She don't condescend to take breakfast with me,
For chocolate's much more genteeler than tea.
She quarrels with what she calls my vulgar manner;
She's just order'd home a bran new pye anner;
Of course we must have a music master so fine,
Although I am but in the butchering line.

Spoken.]-We've got two daughters and one son-Georgiana Matilda learns the pye-anner and singing, 'cause she's got a

woice; and there she is strumming and sol fa-ing from morning till night, enough to drive all the customers out of the shopIsabella Caroline, she learns French and parly vous like a good un, only we dont understand her. The music-master has hard cash for his notes; but the French teacher having got on the books, "For sundry legs of mutton and beef," we takes it out in lessons-the girls are all the mother's delight-while the poor little boy, Augustus Henry William, runs about in ragged breeches; and his mother don't like him at all, because he never wipes his nose-and it's all through the march of intellect.

The mother and daughters together combine,
And cock up their noses at the butchering line.

In vain 'bout extravagant whims I do rate her,
'Tis useless, for if I go to the theatre,

In dress-circle boxes her feathers she nods,
While I has a sixpen'worth along with the gods.
Though my daughters are young, they have each got a lover
They wear long frill'd trousers, their ankles to cover,
Their mother's determin'd to make them both shine,
Although I am but in the butchering line.

Spoken.]-She scolds me for drinking porter, 'cause it's so vulgar; drinks Cape Madeira at eighteen-pence the bottle-she puts all the washing out 'cause the steam's unwholesome-all her gowns are made like frocks, and all the girls' frocks like gowns-milliners' bills come in by the dozen-she has a new front from the barber's every month, 'cause the fasion changes so-and she wants me to order a pair of false whiskers for Sundays, and 'cause I won't she never gives me a civil word-and what d'ye think? though we've been married eighteen years, she says it's very vulgar to sleep together-and so we have separate beds-and it's all through the march of intellect.

These genteel ideas may be very fine,

But she'll soon make an end of the butchering line.

PENN, NATHAN, AND THE BAILIFF.

(Dr. Walcot.)

As well as I can recollect,

It is a story of famed William Penn,

By bailiffs oft beset without effect,

Like numbers of our lords and gentlemen.

William had got a private hole to spy

The folk who oft with writs, or 'How d'ye do?"
Possessing too a penetrating eye,

Friends from his foes the quaker quickly knew.

A bailiff in disguise one day,

Though not disguised to our friend Will,
Came to Will's mansion compliments to pay,

Concealed the catchpole thought with wond'rous skill.

Will's servant, Nathan, with a straight-haired head,
Unto the window gravely stalked, not ran,

'Master at home?'-the bailiff sweetly said,

'Thou canst not speak to him,' replied the man.

'What!' said the bailiff, won't he see me then?'
'Nay,' snuffled Nathan, let it not thus strike thee,
Know, verily, that William Penn

Hath seen thee, but he doth not like thee.'

JOE STANDFAST'S DESCRIPTION OF A SEA-FIGHT. WE were cruising off the Lizard: on Saturday, the 29th of October, at seven minutes past six, A.M. a sail hove in sight, bearing south-south-west, with her larboard tacks on board; clear decks; up sails, away we stood; the wind right east as it could blow; we saw she was a Mounsieur of superior force and damn'd heavy metal. We received her fire without a wince, and returned the compliment; till about five-and-twenty minutes past eight we open'd our lower deck ports, and, as we crossed, plump'd it right into her.-We quickly wore round her stern, and gave her a second part of the same tune: ditto repeated (as our doctor writes on his doses).-My eyes! how she rolled! she looked like a floating mountain! T'other broadside, my boys,' says our captain, and, dam'me, you'll make the mountain a mole-hill !'-We followed it up, till her lantern-ribs were as full of holes as a pigeon-box. By nine, she had shivered our canvass so, I thought she'd have got off, for which she crowded all sail. We turned to, however, and wore; and in half an hour, got along side a second time; we saw all her mouths were open, and we drench'd her sweetly! She swallowed our English

pills by dozens: but they griped her damnably! At forty minutes after nine, we brought all our guns to bear at once; bang -she had it! Oh! dam'me, 'twas a settler! in less than two minutes after, she cried, 'Peccavi!' in five more she took fire abaft! and just as we were going to board her, and clap every lubber upon his beam-end-whush !-down she went by the head! My eyes! what a screech was there !-Out boats; not a man was idle ! we picked up two hundred and fifty odd, sound and wounded; and if I did not feel more joy of heart at saving their lives, than atall the victories I ever had a share in, dam'me!

In clouds as dark as science metaphysic;

And had he single tarried

He might have smoked and still grown old in smoke,

But

-Richard-married!

His wife was one who carried

The female virtues almost to a vice,

She was so very nice,

That thrice a week, above-below

The house was scoured from top to toe,

And all the floors were rubb'd so bright,

You dar'nt walk upright

For fear of sliding

But that she took a pride in.

Of all things else, Rebecca Stripe

Could least endure a pipe

She rail'd upon the filthy herb tobacco,

Protested that the noisome vapour

Had spoil'd her best chintz curtains and the paper,
And cost her many pounds in stucco-

And then she quoted our King James, who saith,
Tobacco hath the devil's breath.'

When wives will govern, husbands must obey:
For many a day

Dick miss'd and mourn'd his favourite tobacco,
And

curs'd Rebecca!

At length the time did come his wife must die-
Imagine now the doleful cry

Of female friends, old aunts, and cousins,

Who to her fun'ral flock'd in dozens;

The undertaker, men and mutes,

Stood at the gate in sable suits,

With mournful looks,

Just like so many melancholy rooks.

Now cakes and wine and all are handed round,

Folks sigh and drink, and drink and sigh!

For grief makes people dry.

But Dick was missing, nowhere to be found,
Above- -below-

-about

They search'd the house throughout,

Each hole and secret entry,

Quite from the garret to the pantry

In ev'ry corner, cupboard, nook, and shelf;
And all concluded he had hang'd himself.
At length they found him-guess you where--
'Twill make you stare-

Close by Rebecca's coffin at his rest,
Smoking a pipe of Wishart's best.

NO GRUMBLING.

A TALE.

AN odd whim once possessed a country 'squire, that he would not hire any servant whatever, until ten pounds should be deposited between the master and servant; and the first that grumbled at any thing, let it be what it might, was to forfeit the money. Being in want of a coachman, not one round the country would venture to go after the place. Now it happened that one Thomas Winterbourn, a coachman of London, who had been discharged from a nobleman's family, was in that part of the country on a visit, and being acquainted with the oddity of the