'(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine?) Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,

Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your

Pitiful story.'

KNIFE-GRINDER.

'Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir,
Only last night, a-drinking at the Chequers,
This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were
Torn in a scuffle.

'Constables came up for to take me into Custody; they took me before the justice; Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish

Stocks for a vagrant.

'I should be glad to drink your Honour's health in A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence ;

But for my part, I never love to meddle

With politics, sir.'

FRIEND OF HUMANITY.

'I give thee sixpence! I will see thee damn'd firstWretch! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to venge

ance

Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,

Spiritless outcast!'

[Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a trans port of Republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy.】

ELESSDÉ

In the following lines, which first appeared in the Manchester Advertiser, the Mammon-worshipping spirit of the age is depicted with a strength of hand and a poetic power, which very unfrequently occurs in the 'Original Poetry' columns of the newspaper.

In a certain fair island, for commerce renown'd,
Whose fleets sail'd in every sea,

A sect of fanatics, men say, there was found,
Who set up an idol and worship around,
And call'd it by name Elessdé.

Many heads had the monster, and tails not a few,
Of divers rare metals was he;

And temples they built him right goodly to view,
Where oft they would meet, and, like idolists true,
Pay their vows to the great Elessdé.

Moreover, at times would their frenzy attain
('Twas nought less) to so high a degree,

That his soul-blinded votaries did not complain,
But e'en laid down their lives his false favour to gain,--
So great was thy power, Elessdé.

As for morals, this somewhat unscrupulous race
Were lax enough, 'twixt you and me;

Men would poison their friends with professional grace,
And of the fell deed leave behind ne'er a trace,

For the sake of the fiend Elessdé.

Then forgery flourish'd, and rampant and rife

Was each form of diablerie;

While the midnight assassin, with mallet and knife,
Would steal on his victim and rob him of life,
And all for thy love, Elessdé.

There were giants of crime on the earth in that day,
The like of which we may not see;

Although, peradventure, some sceptic will say
There be those even now who acknowledge the sway
Of the god of the world—£ s. d.

TO MAKE A PASTORAL: A RECEIPT.

From the Wit's Magazine, 1787.

TAKE quantum sufficit of meadows and trees,

While your zephyrs most wantonly play in each breeze; Let Phoebus and Flora together combine

To make the sky smile and the meadows look fine.

Your nymphs and your swains must be sorted in pairs; Your swains should be love-sick, your nymphs be all

fairs:

Let them prattle awhile, as their hay they are tedding;
Then wind up the whole with a church and a wedding.
But if grief elegiac you'd wish to assail,

Your prospect must lour, your swains must look pale:
Let Damon ask Corydon why droops his head;
If his Celia's unkind, or his lambkins are dead.

'No!' let him reply, "'tis not this gives me pain;
But young Colin is dead, the delight of the plain !'
Then let him invoke skies, angels, and saints,
Trees, meadows, and riv'lets, to join their complaints :
Till Damon, to ease him, and end these sad cries,
Assures him that Colin has mounted the skies.

From this kind assurance his mind is at ease,

And they hie to their cottage-to eat bread and cheese.

AN ORIGINAL LOVE-STORY.

HE struggled to kiss her. She struggled the same
To prevent him so bold and undaunted;
But, as smitten by lightning, he heard her exclaim,
'Avaunt, Sir!' and off he avaunted.

But when he returned, with the fiendishest laugh,
Showing clearly that he was affronted,

And threaten'd by main force to carry her off,
She cried 'Dont!' and the poor fellow donted.

When he meekly approached, and sat down at her feet,
Praying aloud, as before he had ranted,

That she would forgive him and try to be sweet,
And said 'Cant you!' the dear girl recanted.

Then softly he whispered, 'How could you do so?
I certainly thought I was jilted;

But come thou with me, to the parson we'll go ;
Say, wilt thou, my dear?' and she wilted.

THE TOPER AND THE FLIES.

PETER PINDAR.

A GROUP of topers at a table sat,

With punch that much regales the thirsty soul: Flies soon the party join'd, and join'd the chat, Humming, and pitching round the mantling bowl.

At length those flies got drunk, and for their sin,
Some hundreds lost their legs and tumbled in;
And sprawling 'midst the gulph profound,
Like Pharaoh and his daring host, were drown'd.

Wanting to drink-one of the men

Dipp'd from the bowl the drunken host,

And drank-then taking care that none were lost, He put in every mother's son agen.

Up jump'd the Bacchanalian crew on this,

Taking it very much amiss—

Swearing, and in the attitude to smite :—

'Lord!' cried the man with gravely-lifted eyes, 'Though I don't like to swallow flies, I did not know but others might

THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

SECLUDED from domestic strife,

Jack Book-worm led a college life;