Poor Crotchet, who did them supremely, Come, Clarence ;—your idol Albina For one tear that trickles at Drury, Dread objects are scattered before her, The sword never seems to alarm her, She stabbed a bright mirror this morning,— TALES OUT OF SCHOOL. A DROPPED LETTER FROM A LADY. YOUR godson, my sweet Lady Bridget, But really, I'm all in a fidget Till the dear boy is taken away; You know I was half broken-hearted When the poor fellow whispered "Good-by!" As soon as the carriage had started I sat down in comfort to cry. The planter in sultry Barbadoes Is a terrible tyrant, no doubt; Severely men smart for their errors, Than these,--in the Windsor Express. I fancied the Doctor at College Had dipped, now and then, into books; But, bless me! I find that his knowledge Is just like my coachman's or cook's: He's a dunce-I have heard it with sorrow ;"Twould puzzle him sadly, I guess, To put into English to-morrow A page of the Windsor Express. All preachers of course should be preaching All tutors of course should be teaching Nothing else in the Windsor Express. Mrs. Martha, who nursed little Willy, Old John, who takes care of the filly, Says "He'll ne'er come to mount her again !" My Juliet runs up to her mother, And cries, with a mournful caress, "Oh where have you sent my poor brother? Look, look at the Windsor Express!" Ring, darling, and order the carriage; Whatever Sir Thomas may say,—— Who has been quite a fool since our marriage,— I'll take him directly away. For of all their atrocious ill treating, The end it is easy to guess ;— (OOT. 27, 1832.) PALINODIA. "Nec meus hic sermo est, sed quem præcepit." Horuce.. THERE was a time when I could feel All passion's hopes and fears, The days are gone! no more! no more, And though I'm hardly twenty-four, I'm not a lover now! Lady, the mist is on my sight, The chill is on my brow; My day is night, my bloom is blight, I never talk about the clouds, |