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Their conscience is a worm within,

That gnaws them night and day.

Ah, Moore thy skill were well employ'd,
And greater gain would rise

If thou couldst make the courtier void
The worm that never dies.

Thou only canst our fate adjourn
Some few short years, no more;
E'en Button's wits to worms shall turn,
Who maggots were before.

SURNAMES.

By James Smith, one of the Authors of The Rejected Addresses.

MEN once were surnamed for their shape or estate (You all may from history worm it),

There was Louis the bulky, and Henry the Great,

John Lackland, and Peter the Hermit:

But now, when the doorplates of misters and dames. Are read, each so constantly varies;

From the owner's trade, figure, and calling surnames
Seem given by the rule of contraries.

Mr. Wise is a dunce, Mr. King is a whig,
Mr. Coffin's uncommonly sprightly,
And huge Mr. Little broke down in a gig
While driving fat Mrs. Golightly.

At Bath, where the feeble go more than the stout
(A conduct well worthy of Nero),

Over poor Mr. Lightfoot, confined with the gout,
Mr. Heavyside danced a bolero.

Miss Joy, wretched maid, when she chose Mr. Love,
Found nothing but sorrow await her;

She now holds in wedrock, as true as a dove,
That fondest of mates, Mr. Hayter.
Mr. Oldcastle dwells in a modern-built hut;
Miss Sage is of madcaps the archest;
Of all the queer bachelors Cupid e'er cut,
Old Mr. Younghusband's the starchest.

Mr. Child, in a passion, knock'd down Mr. Rock;
Mr. Stone like an aspen-leaf shivers ;

Miss Pool used to dance, but she stands like a stock
Ever since she became Mrs. Rivers.

Mr. Swift hobbles onward, no mortal knows how,
He moves as though cords had entwined him ;
Mr. Metcalf ran off upon meeting a cow,
With pale Mr. Turnbull behind him.

Mr. Barker's as mute as a fish in the sea,
Mr. Miles never moves on a journey,
Mr. Gotobed sits up till half after three,

Mr. Makepeace was bred an attorney.
Mr. Gardener can't tell a flower from a root,
Mr. Wild with timidity draws back,
Mr. Ryder performs all his journeys on foot,

Mr. Foot all his journeys on horseback.

Mr. Penny, whose father was rolling in wealth,
Consumed all the fortune his dad won;
Large Mr. Le Fever's the picture of health;
Mr. Goodenough is but a bad one;
Mr. Cruikshank stept into three thousand a year
By showing his leg to an heiress :

Now I hope you'll acknowledge I've made it quite clear
Surnames ever go by contraries.

THE LITERARY LADY..

RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN.

Richard Brinsley Sheridan, statesman, wit, and author of The Rivals and The School for Scandal, etc., was born at Dublin in 1751; died, 1816.

WHAT motley cares Corilla's mind perplex,
Whom maids and metaphors conspire to vex!
In studious dishabille behold her sit,
A letter'd gossip and a household wit;
At once invoking, though for different views,
Her gods, her cook, her milliner, and muse.
Round her strew'd room a frippery chaos lies,
A chequer'd wreck of notable and wise,
Bills, books, caps, couplets, combs, a varied mass,
Oppress the toilet and obscure the glass;
Unfinish'd here an epigram is laid,

And there a mantua-maker's bill unpaid.

There new-born plays foretaste the town's applause,
There dormant patterns pine for future gauze.
A moral essay now is all her care,

A satire next, and then a bill of fare.

A scene she now projects, and now a dish ;

Here Act the First, and here, Remove with Fish.
Now, while this eye in a fine frenzy rolls,

That soberly casts up a bill for coals;

Black pins and daggers in one leaf she sticks,
And tears, and threads, and bowls, and thimbles mix.

THE COUNTRY SQUIRE.

YRIARTE.

Don Tomas Yriarte, an eminent Spanish poet, was born at Teneriffe, 1750. He is chiefly known to English readers by his 'Fabulas Literarias' (Literary Fables) published 1782. These fables have been frequently translated in this country and in America. The latest, and by far the most successful translation, is that by Mr. Robert Rockliff, published in Liverpool, 1854. Mr. Rockliff has caught the happy manner and free versification of his author in no ordinary degree, and his complete collection of Yriarte's Fables is one of the most excellent translations from a foreign language which has appeared of late years. died in 1798.

A COUNTRY Squire, of greater wealth than wit
(For fools are often bless'd with fortune's smile),
Had built a splendid house, and furnish'd it

Yriarte

In splendid style.

'One thing is wanted,' said a friend; for, though

The rooms are fine, the furniture profuse,

You lack a library, dear sir, for show,

If not for use.'

'Tis true; but, zounds!' replied the squire with glee, 'The lumber-room in yonder northern wing

(I wonder I ne'er thought of it) will be

The very thing.

'I'll have it fitted up without delay

With shelves and presses of the newest mode And rarest wood, befitting every way

A squire's abode.

'And when the whole is ready, I'll despatch
My coachman-a most knowing fellow-down,
To buy me, by admeasurement, a batch

Of books in town.'

But ere the library was half supplied
With all its pomp of cabinet and shelf,
The booby Squire repented him, and cried

Unto himself :—

'This room is much more roomy than I thought; Ten thousand volumes hardly would suffice

To fill it, and would cost, however bought,

A plaguey price.

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