Sav. You should go to Switzerland. Sir C. I have been-nothing there-people say so much about everything-there certainly were a few glaciers, some monks, and large dogs, and thick ankles, and bad wine, and Mont Blanc; yes, and there was ice on the top, too; but I prefer the ice at Gunter's-less trouble, and more in it. Leech. Then if Switzerland would n't do, I'd try Italy. Sir C. My dear Leech, I've tried it over and over again, and what then? Sav. Did not Rome inspire you? Sir C. Oh, believe me, Tom, a most horrible hole! People talk so much about these things-there's the Colosseum, now-round, very round, a goodish ruin enough, but I was disappointed with it; Capitol-tolerable high; and St. Peter's -marble, and mosaics, and fountains, dome certainly not badly scooped, but there was nothing in it. Leech. Come, Coldstream, you must admit we have nothing like St. Peter's in London. Sir C. No, because we don't want it; but if we wanted such a thing, of course we should have it. A dozen gentlemen meet, pass resolutions, institute, and in twelve months it would be run up; nay, if that were all, we'd buy St. Peter's itself, and have it sent over. Leech. Ha, ha! well said, you 're quite right. Sav. What say you to beautiful Naples? Sir C. Not bad,-excellent watermelons, and goodish opera; they took me up to Vesuvius-a horrid bore; it smoked a good deal, certainly, but altogether a wretched mountain;-saw the crater-looked down, but there was nothing in it. Sav. But the bay? Sir C. Inferior to Dublin. Leech. The Campagna. Sav. Greece? Sir C. A morass ! Leech. Athens? Sir C. A bad Edinburgh! Sav. Egypt? Sir C. A desert! Leech. The Pyramids ? Sir C. Humbugs!—nothing in any of them! Have done --you bore me. Leech. But you enjoyed the hours we spent in Paris, at any rate? Sir C. No; I was dying for excitement. In fact, I 've no appetite, no thirst; everything wearies me-no, they fatigue me. Leech. Fatigue you!-I should think not, indeed; you are as strong as a lion. Sir C. But as quiet as a lamb-that was Tom Cribb's character of me: you know I was a favorite pupil of his. I'd give a thousand pounds for any event that would make my. pulse beat ten to the minute faster.-Is it possible, that between you both you cannot invent something that would make my blood boil in my veins,-my hair stand on end-my heart beat-my pulse rise-that would produce an excitement-an emotion-a sensation! THE REJECTED.-T. H. BAYLEY. NOT have me! Not love me! Oh, what have I said? Rejected and just when I hoped to be blessed! Remember-remember how often I've knelt, And talked about poison in accents so wild, Not have me! Not love me! Oh, what have I done? где My figure is wasted; my spirits are lost; And my eyes are deep sunk, like the eyes of a ghost. Remember, remember-ay, madam, you must I once was exceedingly stout and robust; Not have me! Not love me! Rejected! Refused ! Remember you 've worn them; and just can it be Nay, don't throw them at me!-You'll break-do not start- Not have me! Not love me! Not go to the church! Remember my letters; my passion they told; The amount of my notes, too-the notes that I penned― Not have me! Not love me! And is it, then, true That opulent Age is the lover for you? 'Gainst rivalry's bloom I would strive-'tis too much Remember-remember I might call him out; 10* THE GOUTY MERCHANT.-HORACE SMITH. IN Broad street buildings, on a winter night, With other be 'd beneath his nose The Public Ledger, in whose columns grubbing, Gums, galls and groceries, ginger, gin, "Your footman, sir, has gone his nightly track And left your door ajar, which I And thought it neighborly to give you notice." "Ten thousand thanks!" the gouty man replied; "You see, good sir, how to my chair I 'm tied ;— Ten thousand thanks! How very few get, In time of danger, Such kind attentions from a stranger! Assuredly that footman's throat is Doomed to a final drop at Newgate; And he well knows (the heedless elf!) He knows that rogues and thieves, by scores, And see, how easily might one Of these domestic foes, Even beneath your very nose, Perform his knavish tricks; Enter your room, as I have done; Blow out your candles--thus, and thus- And walk off-thus!" So said, so done;-he made no more remark, But marched off with his prize, Now canter will not do at all, The rail! the rail! it's all the rail When people are departing, They're wretched (n'importe how they're train'd) Till in a train for starting. The rail the rail! no slow-coach now! All agriculture 's at a stand, The railway laborers floor 'em, 'Twas very irksome once to dig, Now irksomeness is o'er, |