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of such moments as follow the delirium of the drunkard. Their dead faces shall express what their spirits were, and are to be, by a lingering smile of memory and hope.

Ahem! Dry work, this speechifying; especially to an unpractised orator. I never conceived, till now, what toil the temperance lecturers undergo for my sake. Hereafter, they shall have the business to themselves. Do, some kind Christian, pump a stroke or two, just to wet my whistle. Thank you, sir! My dear hearers, when the world shall have been regenerated, by my instrumentality, you will collect your useless vats and liquor casks into one great pile, and make a bonfire, in honor of the Town Pump. And, when I shall have decayed, like my predecessors, then, if you revere my memory, let a marble fountain, richly sculptured, take my place upon the spot. Such monuments should be erected everywhere, and inscribed with the names of the distinguished champions of my cause. Now listen; for something very important is to come next.

There are two or three honest friends of mine and true friends, I know they are—who, nevertheless by their fiery pugnacity in my behalf, do put me in fearful hazard of a broken nose, or even a total overthrow upon the pavement, and the loss of the treasure which I guard. I pray you, gentlemen, let this fault be amended. Is it decent, think you, to get tipsy with zeal for temperance, and take up the honorable cause of the Town Pump, in the style of a toper, fighting for his brandy bottle? Or, can the excellent qualities of cold water be no otherwise exemplified, than by plunging, slap dash into hot water, and wofully scalding yourselves and other people? Trust me, they may. In the moral warfare, which you are to wage--and, indeed, in the whole conduct of your lives--you cannot choose a better example than myself, who have never permitted the dust and sultry atmosphere, the turbulence and manifold disquietudes of the world around me, to reach that deep, calm well of purity, which may be called my soul. And whenever I pour out that soul, it is to cool earth's fever, or cleanse its stains.

One o'clock! Nay, then, if the dinner bell begins to speak, I may as well hold my peace. Here comes a pretty young girl of my acquaintance, with a large stone pitcher for me to fill. May she draw a husband, while drawing the water, as Rachel did of old. Hold out your pitcher, my dear! There it is, full to the brim; so now run home, peeping at your sweet image in the pitcher, as you go; and forget not, in a glass of my own liquor, to drink—“Success to the Town Pump !''

JOHN BULL AND THE PHIAL.-ANON.

JOHN BULL was sick, and taking whey,

(Whig's the true name of the solution)
In hopes his fever to allay

And mend his shattered constitution,
When Mr. King, the apothecary,
One morning in a strange vagary,
That moved his patient's deep amazement,
Toss'd all his potions from the casement,
And placing in their stead a phial,

Exclaimed-“ take this--you've no idea
What good 'twill do; a single trial
Will show

you

'tis a panacea
For every ill-so make no faces,
But swallow it without grimaces.”
Said John, when Galen left the room,

Eyeing the draught—"Excuse me, sir,
If I'm too bold—may I presume,

Good Mr. Bottle Conjurer!
Just to inquire your nostrum’s nature ?"

“ Most worthy sir,” a voice replied,
Insinuating, soft, and placid,

6 Throw every prejudice aside,
And hear me,I am Prussic Acid.
Ever, so help me Bob! your fervent
And most obsequious humble servant.

Nay, start not thus with looks of terror;

Alas, what an illiberal folly 'tis,
To think I have not seen the error

Of all my deleterious qualities.
Yes—always friendly to expedients,

I have reformed and changed my state,
And being mixeđ with new ingredients,

Such as corrosive sublimate,
Hemlock, arsenic, and some others,
Worthy of such worthy brothers.
All my diagnostics deadly
Have vanished in this precious medley;
Wherefore

my

firm belief and trust is, (Pursued the glossing, wheedling phiale)

That you in candid sense of justice, Will give us one and all a trial.”

Trial.” cried Bull, with face of scarlet, “ Out of my sight, cajoling varlet !

You and your ratsbane coadjutors
Presume to come to me as suitors !
Do you, convicted, old offenders,
Set up for constitution-menders ?
You, whose whole nature is at strife
With every principle of life!
Trial, indeed! I'll try to throttle
Your poisoned throats, and break your bottle,

So quit my sight, and tell your mixer,
However he may fume and storm,

He must return to the elixir,
That's labelled with the word “Reform.'"

66

THE LAND VERSUS THE SEA.-ANON.

OH! give me to tread the steadfast Earth,

With a firm step bold and free:

For surely a rood of land is worth

More than an acre of sea :
The pleasure that lies in the deep, deep sea,

Lieth all too deep for me.
The tiller I leave where the fierce winds blow,

And I'll be a tiller of ground:
The only bark that I wish to know,

Is the bark of my faithful hound:
For the pleasure that lies in the deep, deep sea,

Lieth all too deep for me.
A summer-day's eruise 'neath a squalless sky

Is doubtless a right merry thing,
As swiftly past Cape and headland we fly,

On our sea-gull's snowy wing;
Yet the pleasure that lies in the deep, deep sea,

Lieth all too deep for me.

Though to woo the sea may be full of bliss,

Whilst her voice is sweet and low,
Yet her wavelet lips seem meeting your kiss

When you reel to the might of a blow.
Oh! the pleasure that lies in the deep, deep sea,

Lieth all too deep for me.
Then the night-capped waves grow wild in their glee,

And the wooer grows queerish and pale;
And the tribute he offers his mistress, the sea,

It seemeth of little avail :
Ah! the pleasure that lies in the deep, deep sea,

Lieth all too deep for me.

The perfumed Earth for a bride I take,

And our nuptial couch of flowers
Shall be placed by the brink of some reedy lake,

Where Nature rules the Hours ;
For the pleasure that lies in the deep, deep sea,

Lieth all too deep for me.

There the music tones of each brooklet and bird,

And the wind through the old woods sweeping,
In our leafy home shall alone be heard,

While our tryste we are fondly keeping:
Ah! the pleasure that lies in the deep, deep sea.

Lieth all too deep for me :

Then give me to tread the steadfast Earth,

With a firm step bold and free;
For surely a rood of land is worth

More than an acre of sea ;
The pleasure that lies in the deep, deep sea,

Lieth all too deep for me.

THE ART OF PUFFING.-R. B. SHERIDAN.

PUFF, DANGLE AND SNEER.

Puff. My dear Dangle, how is it with you?

Dang. Mr. Sneer, give me leave to introduce Mr. Puff to you.

Puff Mr. Sneer is this? Sir, he is a gentleman whom I have long panted for the honor of knowing-a gentleman whose critical talents and transcendent judgment-

Sneer. Dear sir

Dang. Nay, don't be modest, Sneer: my friend Puff only talks to you in the style of his profession.

Sncer. His profession!

PuffYes, sir; I make no secret of the trade I followamong friends and brother authors. Dangle knows I love to be frank on the subject, and to advertise myself vivi voce. I am, sir, a practitioner in panegyric; or, to speak more plainly, a professor of the art of puiling, at your service, or anybody else's.

Sneer. Sir, you are very obliging! I believe, Mr. Puff, I have often admired your talents in the daily prints.

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