Now spent tallow-candle-grease fatten'd the soil,
And the blue-burning lamp had half wasted its oil,
And the black-beetle boldly came crawling from far,
And the red coals were sinking beneath the third bar;

When "one" struck the clock-and instead of the bird
Who used to sing cuckoo whene'er the clock stirr'd,
Out burst a grim raven, and utter'd" caw! caw!"
While puss, though she 'woke, durst not put forth a claw.

Then the jack fell a-going as if one should sup,

Then the hearth rock'd as though it would swallow one up; With fuel from hell, a strange coal-scuttle came,

And a self-handled poker made fearful the flame.

A cinder shot from it, of size to amaze,

(With a bounce, such as Betty ne'er heard in her days,)
Thrice, serpent-like hiss'd, as its heat fled away,
And lo! something dark in a vast coffin lay.

"Come Betty!"-quoth croaking that non-descript thing, "Come bless the fond arms of your true Cinder-King! Three more Kings, my brothers, are waiting to greet ye, Who-don't take it ill!-must at four o'clock eat ye.

"My darling, it must be! do make up your mind;
We element brothers, united, and kind,

Have a feast and a wedding, each night of our lives,
So constantly sup on each other's new wives."—

In vain squall'd the cook-maid, and pray'd not to wed;
Cinder crunch'd in her mouth, cinder rain'd on her head,
She sank in the coffin with cinders strewn o'er,
And coffin nor Betty saw man any more.

LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN.

GEORGE COLMAN THE YOUNGER.

HO has e'er been in London, that overgrown place,
Has seen "Lodgings to let" stare him full in the face:
Some are good, and let dearly; while some, 'tis well known,
Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone.

Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely,
Hired lodgings that took single gentlemen only;
But Will was so fat he appear'd like a ton,
Or like two single gentlemen roll'd into one.

He enter'd his rooms, and to bed he retreated;
But, all the night long, he felt fever'd and heated;
And, though heavy to weigh as a score of fat sheep,
He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep.

Next night 'twas the same.

And the next.

And the next:

He perspired like an ox; he was nervous and vex'd;
Week past after week; till, by weekly succession,
His weakly condition was past all expression.

In six months, his acquaintance began much to doubt him :
For his skin, like a lady's loose gown, hung about him.

He sent for a doctor; and cried, like a ninny,

"I have lost many pounds. Make me well. There's a guinea."

The doctor look'd wise :-" A slow fever," he said:

Prescribed sudorifics,-and going to bed.

"Sudorifics in bed," exclaim'd Will, “ are humbugs! I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs!"

Will kick'd out the doctor :-but, when ill indeed,
E'en dismissing the doctor don't always succeed;
So, calling his host, he said :-" Sir, do you know,
I'm the fat single gentleman, six months ago?

66

"Look'e, landlord, I think," argued Will, with a grin,
"That with honest intentions you first took me in:
But from the first night-and to say it I'm bold—

I have been so damn'd hot, that I'm sure I caught cold."

Quoth the landlord-" Till now, I ne'er had a dispute;
I've let lodgings ten years; I'm a baker, to boot;
In airing your sheets, Sir, my wife is no sloven;
And your bed is immediately over my oven."

"The oven!" says Will. Says the host, "Why this passion? In that excellent bed died three people of fashion. Why so crusty, good Sir ?”—“ Zounds!" cries Will, in a taking, "Who wouldn't be crusty, with half a year's baking?"

Will paid for his rooms:-cried the host, with a sneer, "Well, I see you've been going away half a year."

"Friend, we can't well agree,—yet no quarrel❞—Will said ;— "But I'd rather not perish, while you make your bread."

MAN, in many a country town, we know,

Professes openly with death to wrestle; Ent'ring the field against the grimly foe, Arm'd with a mortar and a pestle.

Yet, some affirm, no enemies they are;
But meet just like prize-fighters, in a fair,
Who first shake hands before they box,
Then give each other plaguy knocks,
With all the love and kindness of a brother:
So, many a suff'ring patient saith,
Though the Apothecary fights with Death,
Still they're sworn friends to one another.

A member of this Esculapian line
Lived at Newcastle-upon-Tyne:
No man could better gild a pill,
Or make a bill,

Or mix a draught, or bleed, or blister,
Or draw a tooth out of your head,
Or chatter scandal by your bed,
Or give a clyster.

Of occupations these were quantum suff. :
Yet, still, he thought the list not long enough;
And therefore midwifery he chose to pin to't.
This balanced things:-for if he hurl'd

A few score mortals from the world,

He made amends by bringing others into't.

His fame full six miles round the country ran;
In short, in reputation he was solus :
All the old women call'd him " a fine man!"
His name was Bolus.

Benjamin Bolus, though in trade,

(Which oftentimes will genius fetter)

Read works of fancy, it is said,

And cultivated the Belles Lettres.

And why should this be thought so odd?

Can't men have taste who cure a phthisic;

Of poetry though patron-god,

Apollo patronises physic.

Bolus loved verse ;-and took so much delight in't, That his prescriptions he resolved to write in't.

No opportunity he e'er let pass

Of writing the directions, on his labels,
In dapper couplets,-like Gay's Fables ;

Or, rather, like the lines in Hudibras.