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'squire's whim, resolved to accept of the place, and, on application, was admitted into the family.

Thomas was greatly surprised, after living there for two months, that nothing was allowed him for breakfast, dinner, or supper, but bread and cheese and small beer. Being heartily tired of this kind of fare, he applied to the cook : Cookee,' says Thomas, “is it the standing rule of this family to keep their servants on nothing but bread and chesse ? What!' says the cook, 'do you grumble ?' 'No, no, by no means, cookee,' replied Thomas, being fearful of forfeiting the money. But recollecting his master's park was stocked with fine deer, he took a musket and shot a fawn, skinned it, and brought it to the cook. “Here, cookee,' said Thomas, “take and roast this fawn for me immediately ; for I have an acquaintance or two coming down from London to pay me a visit.' The cook seemed to object to it, having some meat to dress directly for her master; “What,' says Thomas, 'cookee, do you grumble ?' 'No,' replied the cook; so down to roast went the fawn.

The appointed time arrived that the master ordered dinner, and no sign of any coming to his table occasioned him to ring the bell, to know the reason of it; the cook acquainted the 'squire with all Thomas's proceeding, who in a great hurry bolted down stairs into the kitchen, where he found Thomas very busy in , basting the fawn. “How got you that fawn ?' says the 'squire. 'Shot it,' replied Thomas. Where ?' says the 'squire. In your park, replied Thomas. • By whose orders ? quoth the 'squire. Do you grumble ?' says 'l'homas. “No, Thomas,' says the 'sqnire ; and retired to his diniug-room, greatly perplexed at Thomas's proceedings.

He instantly wrote a letter to a gentleman who lived near six miles from his house, and ordered that Thomas should carry it immediately. Poor Thomas was obliged to comply, though with a sorrowful heart to leave the fawn. After his departure, the 'squire ordered the fawn, when dressed, to be brought to his table, which was done accordingly. On Thomas's return, he found himself fairly tricked out of the fawn ; and instead of it, to his mortification, bread and cheese, and small beer, his old diet ; however Thomas vowed within himself to revenge it the first opportunity.

A little while after, the 'squire (who was going to pay his addresses to a young lady) gave orders to Thomas to get the carriage, together with the horses and harness, well cleaned. Thomas obeyed the order, and on the road from the stable to the 'squire's house, he met a man with a small sand-cart, drawn by two remarkable fine jack-asses. · Thomas insisted upon an

exchange, the horses for the asses, which being obtained, he cut all his master's fine harness to pieces to fit these Arabian ponies, as he styled them. Matters being completed, he drove up boldly to the 'squire’s, and knocked at the gate ; the porter perceive ing the droll figure his master's equipage cut, burst out into an immoderate fit of laughter ! Cup cup,' says Thomas, what's the fool laughing at?—Go and acquaint the 'squire his carriage is ready.'

Shortly after the 'squire came, and seeing his carriage so beautifully adorned with cattle, was struck with astonishment. • Why, what the devil,' quoth the 'squire, ' have you got harnessed to my carriage ! "I will tell you,' says Thomas. As I was driving from your stables to the gate, I met a fellow driving a sand-cart, drawn by these two fine Arabian ponies, and knowing you to be fond of good cattle, I gave your horses for these two fine creatures ; they draw well, and are ornaments to your carriage ; only observe what fine ears they have got ?' 'D-n their ears and ornaments too,' says the ’squire: 'why, the fellow's mad! “What! cries Thomas, do you grumble ? "Grumble,' quoth the 'squire,' by G-d I think it is high time to grumble : the next thing, I suppose my carriage is to be given away for a sand.cart ?

On Thomas procuring the horses again, he paid him his wages and forfeit-money, being heartily tired of the oddity of his whims, and declared that Thomas the London coachman, was the drollest dog he ever met with.


TO. NIGHT no smuggled scenes from France we show;
'Tis English-English, sirs, from top to toe.
Our hero is a youth-by fate design'd
For culling simples—but whose stage-struck mind
Nor fate could rule—nor his indentures bind.-
A place there is, where such young Quixotes meet;
'Tis called the Spouting-club-a glorious treat !
Where prenticed kings alarm—the gaping street!
There, Brutus starts and stares, by midnight taper,
Who, all the day, enacts—a Woollen-draper !
There, Hamlet's ghost stalks forth, with doubled fist;
Cries out, with hollow voice, List, list! O list!'
And frightens Denmark's Prince-a young Tobacconist!

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The spirit too, clear'd from his deadly white,
Rises-a Haberdasher to the sight!
Not young Attorneys have this rage withstood;
But change their pens for truncheons, ink for blood ;.
And (strange reverse) !-die for their country's good!
To check these heroes, and their laurels crop,
To bring them back to reason and their shop,
Our author wrote. O you, Tom, Dick, Jack, Will,
Who hold the balance, or who gild the pill ;
Who wield the yard, and, simpering, pay your court,
And, at each flourish, snip an inch too short !
Quit not your shops: there thrift and profit call ;
While, here, young gentlemen are apt to fall.
But, hark! I'm called. Be warn'd by what you see,
O spout no more !-Farewell! "Remember me.'


My name is Norval: on the Grampian hills
My father feeds his flock; a frugal swain,
Whose constant cares were to increase his store,
And keep his only son, myseli, ai home.
For I had heard of battles, and I long'd
To follow to the field some wazlike lord;
And Heaven soon granted what my sire deried.
Yon moon, which rose last night round as iny shield,
Had not yet fill'd her horns, when, by her light,
A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills,
Rush'd like a torrent down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds filed
For safety and for succour. I alone,
With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows
Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd
The road he took, the hasted to my friends,
Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men,
I met advancing. The pursuit I led,
Till we o'ertook the spoil-encumber'd foe.
We fought, and conquer'd : ere a sword was drawn,
An arrow irom my bow had pierc'd their chief,
Who wore that day the arms which now I wear.
Returning home in triumph, I disdain'd
The shepherd's slothful life; and having heard
That our good king had summond his bold peers
To lead their warriors to the Carron's side,
I left my father's house, and took with me
A chosen servant to conduct my steps--

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