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POETRY.

"John Day; a pathetic Ballad.
A Day after the fair.-Old Proverb.
John Day he was the biggest man
Of all the coachman-kind,
With back too broad to be conceived
By any narrow mind.

The very horses knew his weight
When he was in the rear,
And wish'd his box a Christmas-box,
To come but once a-year.
Alas! against the shafts of love,
What armour can avail?
Soon Cupid sent an arrow through
His scarlet coat of mail.

The bar-maid of the Crown he loved,
From whom he never ranged;
For though he changed his horses there,
His love he never changed.

He thought her fairest of all fares,
So fondly love prefers;
And often, among twelve outsides,
Deemed no outside like her's.
One day, as she was sitting down
Beside the porter-pump-

He came, and knelt with all his fat,
And made an offer plump.
Said she, My taste will never learn
To like so huge a man;

So I must beg you will come here
As little as you can.'

But still he stoutly urged his suit,
With vows, and sighs, and tears,
Yet could not pierce her heart, although
He drove the Dart for years.

In vain he wooed, in vain he sued;
The maid was cold and proud,

And sent him off to Coventry,

PRICE 8d.

tune, like Robinson Crusoe and Alexander Sel- dry land was to drink. There was a little kirk, to be thrown on such a desolate spot; brook at hand, to which we applied ourselves and I felt so lonely, though I had a follower, till it seemed actually to murmur at our inorthat I wish Moore had been there. I had the dinate thirst. Our next care was to look for honour of being in that tremendous action of some food; for though our hearts were full at Finisterre, which proved an end of the earth our escape, the neighbouring region was dreadto many a brave fellow. I was ordered with a fully empty. We succeeded in getting some boarding party to forcibly enter the Santissima natives out of their bed, and ate them, poor Trinidada. But in the act of climbing into things, as fast as they got up, but with some the quarter-gallery,-which, however, gave no difficulty in getting them open; a common quarter, was rebutted by the but-end of a oyster-knife would have been worth the price marine's gun, who remained the quarter-master of a sceptre. Our next concern was to look of the place. I fell senseless into the sea, and out for a lodging; and at last we discovered should, no doubt, have perished in the waters an empty cave, reminding me of an old inscripof oblivion, but for the kindness of John Mon- tion at Portsmouth- The hole of this place day, who picked me up to go adrift with him to let.' We took the precaution of rolling in one of the ship's boats. All our oars were some great stones to the entrance, for fear of carried away-that is to say, we did not carry last lodgers,-that some bear might come home away any oars; and while shot was raining, from business, or a tiger to tea. Here, under our feeble hailing was unheeded. In short, as the rock, we slept without rocking; and when, Shakespeare says, we were drifted off by the through the night's failing, the day broke, we current of a heady fight.' As may be supposed, saw, with the first instalment of light, that we our boat was any thing but the jolly-boat; for were upon a small desert isle, now for the first we had no provisions to spare, in the middle of time an Isle of Man. Accordingly, the birds an immense waste; we were, in fact, adrift in in this wild solitude were so little wild, that a the cutter, with nothing to cut. We had not number of boobies and noddies allowed themeven junk for junketing, and nothing but salt-selves to be taken by hand, though the asses water, even if the wind should blow fresh. were not such asses as to be caught. There Famine, indeed, seemed to stare each of us in was an abundance of rabbits, which we chased the face-that is, we stared at one another; unremittingly, as Hunt runs Warren; and but if men turn cannibals, a great allowance must be made for a short ditto. We were truly in a very disagreeable pickle, with oceans of brine, and no beef; and, like Shylock, I fancy we would have exchanged a pound of gold for a pound of flesh. The more we drifted Nor, the more sharply we inclined to gnaw; but when we drifted Sow, we found nothing like pork. No bread rose in the east; and in the opposite point we were equally disappointed. We could not compass a meal any how-but got mealy-mouthed, notwithstanding. We could see the sea-mews to the eastward, flying over what Byron calls the Gardens of Gull. We saw plenty of grampus; but they were useless to all intents and porpusses, and we had no bait for catching a bottle-nose. Time hung heavily on our hands-for our fast days seemed to pass very slowly, and our strength was rapidly sinking, from being so much afloat. Still we nourished Hope, though we had nothing to give her. But at last we lost all prospect of land-if one may so say, when no land was in sight. The weather got thicker as we were getting thinner; and though we kept a sharp watch, it was a very bad look-out. We could see nothing before us but nothing to eat and drink. At last the fog cleared off, and we saw something like land right a-head; but, alas! the wind was in our teeth as well as in our stomachs. We could do nothing but keep her near; and as we could not keep ourselves full, we luckily suited the course of the boat; so that after a tedious "If the author of the Irish Melodies had beating-about-for the wind not only gives ever had a little isle so much his own as I have blows, but takes a great deal of beating-we possessed, he might not have found it so sweet came incontinently to an island. as the song anticipates. It has been my for-landed; and our first impulse on

While on his way to Stroud.

He fretted all the way to Stroud,
And thence all back to town;
The course of love was never smooth-
So his went up and down.

At last her coldness made him pine
To merely bones and skin;
But still he loved like one resolved
To love through thick and thin.
Oh, Mary! view my wasted back,
And see my dwindled calf;
Though I have never had a wife,
I've lost my better half.'
Alas! in vain he still assail'd,

Her heart withstood the dint;
Though he had carried sixteen stone,
He could not move a flint.
Worn out, at last he made a vow
To break his being's link;

For he was so reduced in size,

At nothing he could shrink.

Now some will talk in water's praise,
And waste a deal of breath;
But John, though he drank nothing else,
He drank himself to death.

The cruel maid that caused his love,
Found out the fatal close;

For looking in the butt, she saw

The butt-end of his woes.

Some say his spirit haunts the Crown-
But that is only talk;

For, after riding all his life,

His ghost objects to walk."

PROSE.
"The Island.

Oh, had I some sweet little isle of my own!'- Moore.

when coats and trousers fell short, we clothed our skins with theirs, till, as Monday said, we each represented a burrow. In this work Monday was the tailor; for, like the maker of shadowy rabbits and cocks upon the wall, he could turn his hand to any thing. He became a potter, a carpenter, a butcher, and a baker— that is to say, a master butcher and a master baker, for I became merely his journeyman. Reduced to a state of nature, Monday's favourite phrase for our condition, I found my being an officer fulfilled no office to confess the truth, I made a very poor sort of savage; whereas Monday, I am persuaded, would have been made a chief by any tribe whatever. Our situations in life were completely reversed—he became the leader, and I the follower; or rather, to do justice to his attachment and ability, he became like a strong, big brother to a helpless little one. We remained in a state of nature five years; when at last a whaler of Hull, though the hull was not visible, shewed her masts on the horizon-an event which was telegraphed by Monday, who began saying his prayers and dancing the college hornpipe at the same time with equal fervour. We contrived, by lighting a fire, literally a feu-de-joie, to make a sign of distress, and a boat came to our signal deliverance. We had a prosperous passage home, where the reader may anticipate the happiness that awaited us-but not the trouble that was in store for me and Monday. Our parting was out of the question; we would both rather have parted from our sheet-anchor. We attempted to return to our relative rank; but we had lived so long in a kind of liberty Here we and equality, that we could never resume our coming to grades. The state of nature remained upper

One of the sisters, of a domestic and managing turn (the other is sentimental), writes:

most with us both, and Monday still watched There's a pond full of frogs, but we won't pelt out nothing but onions and kidney potatoes, over and tended me, like Dominie Sampson them till you come; but let it be before Sunday, and her ten-week stocks have not come up in with the boy Harry Bertram; go where I as there's our own orchard to rob, and the fruit's twenty. But, as Shakspeare says, Adversity would, he followed with the dogged pertinacity to be gathered on Monday. If you like suck- is a precious toad-that teaches us Patience is of Tom Pipes; and do what I might, he in- ing raw eggs, we know where the hens lay, and a jewel.' Considering the unsettled state of terfered with the resolute vigour of John Dory mother don't; and I'm bound there's lots of coming in, I must conclude, but could not re. in Wild Oats.' This disposition involved us birds' nests. Do come, Bob, and I'll shew you sist giving your friendliness a short account of daily, nay hourly, in the most embarrassing the wasp's nest, and every thing that can make the happy change that has occurred, and our circumstances; and how the connexion might you comfortable. I dare say you could borrow increase of comforts. I would write more; but have terminated I know not, if it had not been your father's volunteer musket of him, without I know you will excuse my listening to the speedily dissolved in a very unexpected manner. his knowing of it; but be sure any how to calls of dumb animals. It's the time I always One morning poor Monday was found on his bring the ramrod, as we have mislaid our's by scald the little pigs' bread and milk, and put bed in a sort of convulsion, which barely enabled firing it off." saucers of clean water for the ducks and geese. him to grasp my hand, and to falter outThere are the fowls' beds to make with fresh 'Good bye! I am go-going-back-to a state straw, and a hundred similar things that eous. of nature." "Altho' things may not turn out to wish at try people are obliged to think of. The chil From the foregoing entire specimens in verse present, yet all well-directed efforts are sure to dren, I am happy to say, are all well, only baby and prose, our readers may perceive that Mr. meet reward in the end; and altho' I have is a little fractious; we think from Grace se:Hood continues to sustain his fame, as the best chumped and churned two days running, and ting him down in the nettles, and he was shortplayer upon words extant in the English tongue. it's nothing yet but curds and whey, I should coated last week. Grace is poorly with a cold, His facetie, with occasional resemblances to be wrong to despair of eating butter of my own and Anastasia has got a sore throat, from sitforegone ideas, are of undiminished oddity; and making before I die. Considering the adulter- ting up fruitlessly in the orchard to hear the when we thus see the year's harvest of his hu- ation committed by every article in London, I nightingale; perhaps there may not be any in mour gathered into one comic granary, we was never happier in any prospect than of the Fens. I seem to have a trifling ague and wonder at the multitude of strange and ludi- drinking my own milk, fattening my own rheumatism myself; but it may be only a stiff. crous images which his mind has conjured up, calves, and laying my own eggs. We cackle ness from so much churning, and the great not merely from the realm of orthoepy, but so much, I am sure we new-lay somewhere, family wash-up of every thing we had directly from the superior region of wit. As we have, though I cannot find out our nests; and I am we came down, for the sake of grass-bleaching however, in several preceding Gazettes, en-looking every day to have chickens, as one on the lawn. With these exceptions, we are tertained various remarks on punning, we pepper-and-salt-coloured hen has been sitting all in perfect health and happiness, and unite shall not here, in our reviewing department, these two months. When a poor ignorant bird in love.' enter upon that debatable subject. Suffice it sets me such an example of patience, how can I to say, that if drollery in picture and in lan- repine at the hardest domestic drudgery! Moguage be entertaining, the Comic Annual will ther and I have worked like horses, to be sure, be found to be a very entertaining companion; ever since we came to the estate; but if we die and, to augment our praise in the style most in it, we know it's for the good of the family, likely to promote the wide diffusion of its po- and to agreeably surprise my father, who is pularity in these days, we will add, that it still in town, winding up his books. For my must be strongly anti-cholera-morbific. own part, if it was right to look at things so selfishly, I should say I never was so happy in my life; though I own I have cried more since coming here than I ever remember before. You will confess my crosses and losses have been unusual trials, when I tell you, out of all my makings, and bakings, and brewings, and preservings, there has been nothing either eatable or drinkable; and, what is more painful to an affectionate mind, have half-poisoned the whole family with home-made ketchup of toadstools, by mistake for mushrooms.”

It begins with the Pugsley papers, giving a laughable account of a Cockney family, trans. ported, by a freak of fortune, from a shoe-shop in the Barbican to an estate in the fens of Lincolnshire. Of their several agricultural pursuits, the father, mother, daughters, and sons, write their several descriptions to friends in town; and the whole is a pleasant burlesque on family papers. For example, in the first letter from Master Richard Pugsley to Master Robert Rogers, 132, Barbican, he invites him to come and enjoy the country sports:

"Now, Bob, I'll tell you what I want. I want you to come down here for the holydays. Don't be afraid. Ask your sister to ask your mother to ask your father to let you come. It's only ninety mile. If you're out of pocket money, you can walk, and beg a lift now and then, or swing by the dickeys. Put on cordroys, and don't care for cut behind. The two prentices, George and Will, are here to be made farmers of; and brother Nick is took home from school, to help in agriculture. We like farming very much, it's capital fun. Us four have got a gun, and go out shooting; it's a famous good un, and sure to go off if you don't full cock it. Tiger is to be our shooting dog, as soon as he has left off killing the sheep. He's a real savage, and worries cats beautiful. Before father comes down we mean to bait our bull with him. There's plenty of New Rivers about, and we're going a-fishing as soon as we have mended our top joint. We've killed one of our sheep on the sly, to get gentles. We've a pony, too, to ride upon, when we can catch him; but he's loose in the paddock, and has neither mane nor tail to signify to lay hold of. Isn't it prime, Bob? You must come. If your mother won't give your father leave to allow you-run away. Remember, you turn up Goswell Street to go to Lincolnshire, and ask for Middlefen Hall.

Mrs. Pugsley's details are perhaps yet more amusing.

"I take (she says, in writing to her sister, the opportunity of the family being all restive in bed, and the house all still, to give an ac count of our moving. The things all got here safe, with the exception of the crockery and glass, which came down with the dresser, abrut an hour after its arrival. Perhaps if we hadn't overloaded it with the whole of our breakshes. it wouldn't have given way-as it is, we have only one plate left, and that's chipt, and a mug without a spout to keep it in countenance. Or furniture, &c. came by the waggon, and I am sorry to say a poor family at the same time, and the little idle boys with their knives have carved and scarified my rosewood legs, ani what is worse, not of the same patterns: bat as people say, two Lincolnshire removes are as "I mean to attempt cream cheese as soon as bad as a fire of London. The first thing I & we can get cream,-but as yet we can't drive on coming down was to see to the sweeps going the cows home to be milked for the bull-he up-but I wish I had been less precipitous, for has twice hunted Grace and me into fits, and the sutty wretches stole four good flitches ď kept my poor mother a whole morning in the bacon, as was up the kitchen chimbly, que pigstye. As I know you like country deli- unbeknown to me. We have filled up the v cacies, you will receive a pound of my fresh cancy with more, which smoke us dreadf butter when it comes, and I mean to add a but what is to be cured must be endured. M cheese as soon as I can get one to stick to- next thing was to have all holes and cornes gether. I shall send also some family pork cleared out, and washed, and scrubbed, being for governess, of our own killing, as we wring left, like bachelor's places, in a sad state by d a pig's neck on Saturday. I did hope to give single W.; for a rich man, I never saw oce you the unexpected treat of a home-made loaf, that wanted so much cleaning out. There wer but it was forgot in the oven from ten to six, heaps of dung about, as high as haystacks, and and so too black to offer. However, I hope to it cost me five shillings a load to have it a surprise you with one by Monday's carrier. carted off the premises; besides heaps of goodAnastasia bids me add, she will send a nose-for-nothing littering straw, that I give to the gay for respected Mrs. Tombleson, if the plants boys for bonfires. We are not all to rights vet don't die off before, which I am sorry to say is but Rome wasn't built in St. Thomas's day. not improbable. It's really shocking to see the It was providential I hampered myself with failure of her cultivated taste, and one in par- cold provisions, for, except the bacon, there ticular, that must be owned a very pretty idea. were no eatables in the house. What old W. When we came, there was a vast number of lived upon is a mystery, except salads, for w flower-roots, but jumbled without any regular found a whole field of beet-root, which, all but order, till Anastasia trowelled them all up, and a few plants for Dorothy to pickle, I had charset set them in again, in the quadrille figures. It away. As the ground was then clear for sewe must have looked sweetly elegant, if it had up a crop, I directed George to plough it up, agreed with them, but they have all dwindled but he met with agricultural distress. He says, and drooped like deep declines and consump- as soon as he whipped his horses, the pligh tions. Her dahlias and tulips too have turned stuck its nose in the earth, and tumbled over

neither of my two sons in the business, nor the
two apprentices, have been so diligently punc-
tual in executing country orders with despatch
and fidelity, as laudable ambition desires, but
have gone about fishing and shooting-and
William has suffered a loss of three fingers, by
his unvarying system of high charges."

Newgate Ballads are humorous burlesques of
the ballad-making school of the day; and in
Domestic Didactics there is some fair jesting
with the recent publication of works from the
pens of servants. Of the former, lines to Mary,
a convict, are the most punningly and punish-
ingly pointed. Ex. gr.

"Or, when my suit I first preferr'd,

To bring your coldness to repentance,
Before I hammer'd out a word,

head and heels. It seems very odd when plough- what is worse, all the cows after him-except ing is so easy to look at, but I trust he will do those that had burst themselves in the cloverbetter in time. Experience makes a King Solo- field, and a small dividend, as I may say, of one mon of a Tom Noddy. I expect we shall have in the pound. Another item, the pigs, to save bushels upon bushels of corn, though sadly bread and milk, have been turned into the woods pecked by the birds, as I have had all the for acorns, and is an article producing no returns, scarecrows taken down for fear of the children as not one has yet come back. Poultry ditto. dreaming of them for bogies. For the same Sedulously cultivating an enlarged connexion dear little sakes I have had the well filled up, in the Turkey line, such the antipathy to gipand the nasty sharp iron spikes drawn out of sies, the whole breed, geese and ducks inclusive, all the rakes and harrows. Nobody shall say removed themselves from the premises by night, to my teeth, I am not a good mother. With directly a strolling camp came and set up in the these precautions I trust the young ones will neighbourhood. To avoid prolixity, when I enjoy the country when the gipsies have left, came to take stock, there was no stock to take but till then, I confine them to round the house,namely, no eggs, no butter, no cheese, no as its no use shutting the stable door after corn, no hay, no bread, no beer-no water even you've had a child stole. We have a good many--nothing but the mere commodious premises, fine fields of hay, which I mean to have reaped and fixtures, and goodwill-and candour comdirectly, wet or shine; for delays are as dan-pels to add, a very small quantity on hand of the gerous as pickles in glazed pans. Perhaps St. last-named particular. To add to stagnation, Swithin's is in our favour, for if the stacks are put up dampish they won't catch fire so easily, if Swing should come into these parts. The poor boys have made themselves very industrious in shooting off the birds, and hunting away all the vermin, besides cutting down trees. As I knew it was profitable to fell timber, I directed them to begin with a very ugly straggling old hollow tree next the premises, but it fell the wrong way, and knocked down the cow-house. Luckily the poor animals were all in the clover-field at the time. George says it wouldn't have happened, but for a violent sow, or rather sow-west, and its likely enough, but its an ill wind that blows nothing to nobody. Having writ last post to Mr. P., I have no occasion to make you a country commissioner. Anastasia, indeed, wants to have books about every thing, but for my part and Dorothy's, we don't put much faith in authorized receipts and directions, but trust more to nature and common sense. For instance, in fatting a goose, reason points to sage and onions,why our own don't thrive on it, is very mysterious. We have a beautiful poultry yard, only infested with rats,-but I have made up a poison, that, I know by the poor ducks, will kill them if they eat it. I expected to send you a quantity of wall-fruit, for preserving, and am sorry you bought the brandy beforehand, as it has all vanished in one night by picking and stealing, notwithstanding I had ten dozen of bottles broke on purpose to stick a-top of the wall. But I rather think they came over the pales, as George, who is very thoughtless, had driven in all the new tenter hooks with the points downwards. Our apples and pears would have gone too, but luckily we heard a noise in the dark, and threw brickbats out of window, that alarmed the thieves by smashing the cowcumber frames. However, I mean on Monday to make sure of the orchard, by gathering the trees, a pheasant in one's hand is worth two cock sparrows in a bush. One comfort is, the house-dog is very vicious, and won't let any of us stir in or out after dark—indeed, nothing can be more furious, except the bull, and at me in particular. You would think he knew my inward thoughts, and that I intend to have him roasted whole when we give our grand house-warming regalia.-With these particulars, I remain."

The father's letter, negotiating for a return to his shop and business, is a happy adaptation of the style of town tradesmen's advertisements and common parlance. We copy a few sentences by way of sample.

"Our bull, after killing the house-dog, and tossing William, has gone wild, and had the madness to run away from his livelihood, and

How could I dream you'd heard a sentence?
Or when with all the warmth of youth
I strove to prove my love no fiction;
How could I guess I urged a truth
On one already past conviction?
How could I dream that ivory part,
Your hand-where I have look'd and linger'd,
Although it stole away my heart,
Had been held up as one light-finger'd?
In melting verse your charms I drew,
The charms in which my muse delighted-
Alas! the lay, I thought was new,
Spoke only what had been indited!
Oh! when that form, a lovely one,
Hung on the neck its arms had flown to;
I little thought that you had run

A chance of hanging on your own too!"
In the Domestic Didactics, the ascent to the
summut of Mount Blank is highly laughable.
The following we insert as an original poe-
tical jeu d'esprit, being a model for a new art
of writing blank verse in rhyme:

A Nocturnal Sketch.

"Even is come; and from the dark Park, hark,
The signal of the setting sun-one gun!
And six is sounding from the chime, prime time
To go and see the Drury Lane Dane slain,-
Or hear Othello's jealous doubt spout out,
Or Macbeth raving at that shade-made blade,
Denying to his frantic clutch much touch;-
Or else to see Ducrow with wide stride ride
Four horses as no other man can span;
Or, in the small Olympic pit, sit, split
Laughing at Liston, while you quiz his phiz.

And his, from Reverend Mr. Rice, twice, thrice;
White ribands flourish, and a stout shout out,
That upwards goes, shows Rose knows those bows'
woes!"

The life of Zimmerman, the Solitary, has also much originality ;-but we must now wind up with two or three miscellaneous quotations.

"A few Lines on completing Forty-seven.
When I reflect with serious sense,
While years and years run on,
How soon I may be summon'd hence---
There's cook a-calling John.

Our lives are built so frail and poor,
On sand, and not on rocks;
We're hourly standing at Death's door-
There's some one double-knocks.

All human days have settled terms-
Our fates we cannot force;
This flesh of mine will feed the worms-
They're come to lunch, of course.
And when my body's turn'd to clay,
And dear friends hear my knell,
O, let them give a sigh, and say-
I hear the upstairs bell."

Part of a letter from an old sportsman.

"The lads go out after Burds now and then, but I seldum cum at the rites of there shuting -you kno

Wat is Hits is Histery,

But what is mist is mistery.

Talking of shuting, hav you seen Ubbard's new guns like wauking sticks. there a cappital defence agin cappital offences; as you may ether stick a feller or Shute him; or boath togethir. I wish farmer Gale had carried one last friday, for he was Rob'd cuming from markit by a foot paddy Irish man, that knockd him down to make him Stand. Luckly he had nothin on him when Stopd but sum notes of the Barnsby bank that had been stopd the weak afore. In the fishing line I am quite Dead bait, tho I have had manny a Good run in my tim, Partickier when the keeper spide me out where I hadent got Leaf. The last tim I went I could hardly un do my rod for roomatiz in my joints, and I got the Lumbago verry bad wen I cum Back, and its atax I doant like. Beside wich I found very Little big fish on a count of the pochers, who Kil em al in colde blood. I used sumtims to flote and sumtims to fli, but our waters is so over fishd theres no fish to be had, and as I am very musicle, I dont like trolling without a catch, the last jack I caut was with my boot, and was only a foot long. As for raceing, I never cared much a bout it; and in regard of betting, I am Better with out it, tho I al ways take the feeld wen I am Able, and suport the Farmer's Plate with al my Mite. Our Wist club is going of, Some of the members go on so; two of em are perpetuly quareling like anny thing but double dummies, for one plays like Hoyle and the other like Vineger. The young men hav interduced Shorts, but I doant think theyle Last long. They are al so verry Sharp at the Pints, and as for drinking, I never se sich Liquorish Chaps in my life. They are al ways laying ods, even at Super, when theyle Bet about the age of a

Anon Night comes, and with her wings brings things Roosted foul, which they cal Chicken hazzard,

Such as, with his poetic tongue, Young sung;
The gas up-blazes with its bright white light,
And paralytic watchmen prowl, howl, growl,
About the streets, and take up Pall-Mall Sal,
Who, hasting to her nightly jobs, robs fobs.
Now thieves to enter for your cash, smash, crash,
Past drowsy Charley, in a deep sleep, creep;
But frighten'd by Policeman B. 3, flee,
And while they're going, whisper low, No go!'
Now puss,
while folks are in their beds, treads leads,
And sleepers waking, grumble-drat that cat!'
Who in the gutter catterwauls, squalls, mauls
Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill-will.
Now Bulls of Bashan, of a prize size, rise
In childish dreams, and with a roar gore poor
Georgy, or Charles, or Billy, willy nilly;-
But nursemaid in a nightmare rest, chest-press'd,
Dreameth of one of her old flames, James Games,
And that she hears-what faith is man's!-Ann's
banns

or about the Wait of a Curran py, wich they cal the Currancy question. They al so smoke a grate manny seagars, but they cant put the old men's pips out, wich it Wood be a Burning shame if they did. I am sorry to say politicks has Crept in; Sum is al for reform, and sum is al for none at al, and the only thing they agre in is, that the land Lord shant bring in no Bil. There is besides grate discushins as to the new game laws, sum entertaning douts when sum peple go out a shuting, wether even acts of Parlament will inable them to shute anny game."

"A horse-dealer" is one of Hood's most characteristic portraits,