O then come, rich and poor, young and old. Hullahbaloo ! There are Demons to worry the rich, Hullahbaloo ! There's Consumption to wither the weak, Hullahbaloo ! We may farm at a very high rent, Hullahbaloo ! Our acquaintance may cut us direct, Some are pallid with watching and want, Some have lost c'en a voice in the House; But they all will be able to sing Hullabaloo ! Some are deep in the Slough of Despond, Hullahbaloo! We may give up the struggle with Care, And the last little hope that would stop, We may strive with a Giant DespairFrom the very blue sky we may drop, By some sudden bewildering blow Hullahbaloo ! Oh! no matter how wretched we be, Hullahbaloo ! There's a music aloft in the air, Now it's high, now it's low, here and there, While the steeples are loud in their joy, Hullahbaloo ! EPIGRAM. WHEN would be Suicides in purpose fail Who could not find a morsel though they needed— If Peter sends them for attempts to jail, What would he do to them if they succeeded? MAGNETIC MUSINGS. SCEPTICAL, as we have always been, as to the imputed miracles of Phreno-Magnetism, the interests of science and truth demand the insertion of the following case, vouched for, as it is, by a medical gentleman, prepared to be answerable for unquestionable facts. It is proper to recal before-hand, that Coleridge published a Poetical Fragment, called Kubla Kahn, which he dreamt during a sleep obviously magnetic. The poet, indeed, implies as much, by calling the piece a Psychological Curiosity; which he would scarcely have done, if his verses had been merely composed, like a majority of modern poems, during a common doze. But whoever reads that splendid fragment, will recognize from its tone, that it was inspired, in a fit of somnambulism, under the influence of which he ascended to the top of Parnassus, as some persons, in the same state, have climbed to the roof of the house. In the present instance, the improvisatrice is a Mrs. Z—, a woman, in her ordinary or waking state, of rather a prosaic turn than otherwise; so much so, that it can not be traced that she ever attempted, even in a valentine, to throw her sentiments into rhyme. Certain phrenological developments, however, suggested to the family physician that the poetical faculty had a local habitation in her cerebrum, and only awaited the touch of the magician to awaken its tones. Accordingly, having thrown her, by the usual passes, into a mesmeric state, he placed his forefinger on the organ of Extempore Composition, whereupon she immediately improvised the following verses :— PASSING my brow, and passing my eyes, And passing the rest, I feel a something passing strange! Over my soul there seems to pass Passing my brow, and passing my eye, And passing the rest, feel a something passing strange ! Oh, Mr. Eyre, Lieutenant dear! Passing my ear, and passing my eye! |