THE CHINA-MENDER.

GOOD morning, Mr. What-d' ye-call! Well! here's another pretty job!

Lord help my Lady!—what a smash!-if you had only heard her sob!

It was all through Mr. Lambert: but for certain he was

winy,

To think for to go to sit down on a table full of Chiny. "Deuce take your stupid head!" says my lady to his very

face;

But politeness, you know, is nothing, when there's Chiny

in the case:

And if ever a woman was fond of China to a passion

It's my mistress, and all sorts of it, whether new or old

fashion.

Her brother's a sea-captain, and brings her home shiploads

Such bonzes, and such dragons, and nasty, squatting things, like toads;

And great nidnoddin mandarins, with palsies in the head: I declare I've often dreamt of them, and had nightmares in my bed.

But the frightfuller they are-lawk! she loves them all the better:

She'd have Old Nick himself made of Chiny if they'd let her. Lawk-a-mercy! break her Chiny, and its breaking her very heart;

If I touch'd it, she would very soon say, "Mary, we must part."

To be sure she is unlucky: only Friday comes Master Randall,

And breaks a broken spout, and fresh chips a tea-cup

handle :

He's a dear, sweet little child, but he will so finger and touch,

And that's why my Lady does n't take to children much. Well! there's stupid Mr. Lambert, with his two great coat flaps,

Must go

and sit down on the Dresden shepherdesses' laps, As if there was no such things as rosewood chairs in the

room;

I could n't have made a greater sweep with the handle of the broom.

Mercy on us! how my mistress began to rave and tear! Well! after all, there's nothing like good ironstone ware for

wear.

If ever I marry, that's flat, I'm sure it won't be John Dockery,

I should be a wretched woman in a shop full of crockery. I should never like to wipe it, though I love to be neat and tidy,

And afraid of mad bulls on market-days every Monday and Friday.

I'm very much mistook if Mr. Lambert's will be a catch; The breaking the Chiny will be the breaking off of his own

match.

Missis would n't have an angel, if he was careless about

Chiny;

She never forgives a chip, if it's ever so small and tiny. Lawk! I never saw a man in all my life in such a taking; I could find in my heart to pity him for all his mischief

making.

To see him stand a-hammering and stammering, like a

zany;

But what signifies apologies, if they won't mend old Chaney ! If he sent her up whole crates full, from Wedgewood's and Mr. Spode's,

He could n't make amends for the crack'd mandarins and smash'd toads.

Well! every one has their tastes, but, for my part, my own self,

I'd rather have the figures on my poor dear grandmother's old shelf:

A nice pea-green poll-parrot, and two reapers with brown cars of corns,

And a shepherd with a crook after a lamb with two gilt horns,

And such a Jemmy Jessamy in top boots and sky-blue vest, And a frill and flowered waistcoat, with a fine bowpot at the

breast.

God help her, poor old soul! I shall come into 'em at her

death,

Though she's a hearty woman for her years, except her shortness of breath.

Well! you think the things will mend-if they won't, Lord

mend us all!

My Lady will go in fits, and Mr. Lambert won't need to call:

I'll be bound in any money, if I had a guinea to give,

He won't sit down again on Chiny the longest day he has to live.

Poor soul! I only hope it won't forbid his banns of mar

riage,

Or he'd better have sat behind on the spikes of my Lady's carriage.

But you'll join 'em all of course, and stand poor Mr. Lambert's friend;

I'll look in twice a day, just to see, like, how they mend. To be sure it is a sight that might draw tears from dogs and

cats;

Here's this pretty little pagoda, now, has lost four of its cocked hats:

Be particular with the pagoda: and then here's this pretty bowl

The Chinese Prince is making love to nothing because of this hole;

And here's another Chinese man, with a face just like a doll

Do stick his pigtail on again, and just mend his parasol. But I need n't tell you what to do; only do it out of hand, And charge whatever you like to charge-my Lady won't make a stand.

Well! good morning, Mr. What-d'ye-call; for it's time our gossip ended:

And you know the proverb, the less as is said, the sooner the Chiny's mended.

THE PAINTER PUZZLED.

"Draw, Sir!"—OLD PLAY.

WELL, something must be done for May,

The time is drawing nign

To figure in the Catalogue,
And woo the public eye.

Something I must invent and paint ;
But, oh! my wit is not

Like one of those kind substantives
That answer Who and What?

Oh, for some happy hit! to throw
The gazer in a trance :
But posé là-there I am posed,
As people say in France.

In vain I sit and strive to think,
I find my head, alack!
Painfully empty, still, just like
A bottle on the rack.

In vain I task my barren brain
Some new idea to catch,
And tease my hair-ideas are shy
Of "coming to the scratch."

In vain I stare upon the air,
No mental visions dawn;
A blank my canvas still remains,
And worse a blank undrawn ;

An "aching void" that mars my rest

With one eternal hint,

For, like the little goblin page,

It still keeps crying "Tint!"

But what to tint? ay, there's the rub,
That plagues me all the while,

As, Selkirk-like, I sit without
A subject for my ile.