We'll sleep through all its serious hours, And laugh through all its silly. Be mine such motley scene as this, Where, by established usance, Miss Gravity is quite amiss, And Madam Sense a nuisance! Hail, blest Confusion! here are met The Brahmin talks of races; And where's your genius, bright Corinne? Lo! dandies from Kamtschatka flirt O sweet Anne Page!-those dancing eyes Have peril in their splendour! "O sweet Anne Page !" '-so Slender sighs, And what am I, but slender? Alas! when next your spells engage So fond and starved a sinner, My pretty Page, be Shakspeare's Page, And ask the fool to dinner! What mean those laughing Nuns, I pray, From Mass and Matins, Priest and Pix, Were thus emancipated. Four Seasons come to dance quadrilles Fair Cleopatra's very plain, Puck halts, and Ariel swaggers; And Psyche's nose is broken. Our happiest bride,—how very odd !— And the heaviest foot that ever trod And what a Babel is the talk! “The Giraffe ”—“plays the fiddle”. "Macadam's roads "—"I hate this chalk". “Sweet girl !”—“ a charming riddle ”— "I'm nearly drunk with "-" Epsom salts". "Yes, separate beds ”—“ such cronies!”— "Good Heaven! who taught that man to waltz?" "A pair of Shetland ponies." י “Lord Nugent ”—“ an enchanting shape ". "Will move for "_" Maraschino ;" "Pray, Julia, how's your mother's ape?""He died at Navarino!"— "The gout, by Jove, is". -“ apple pie ;”— “Don Miguel "-" Tom the Tinker;' "His Lordship's pedigree's as high As"-"Whipcord, dam by Clinker." "Love's shafts are weak"-"my chestnut kicks" "Heart-broken "-" broke the traces;""What say you now of politics?”— "Change sides, and to your places!”. "A five-barred gate "-" a precious pearl "“Grave things may all be punned on !”— "The Whigs, thank Heaven, are "-" out of _י curl "Her age is ""four by London !" Thus run the giddy hours away, We dress in fancies quite as strange (1828.) A LETTER OF ADVICE. FROM MISS MEDORA TREVILIAN, AT PADUA, TO MISS ARAMINTA VAVASOUR, IN LONDON. "Enfin Monsieur, un homme aimable; Voilà pourquoi je ne saurais l'aimer."-Scribe. You tell me you're promised a lover, The hue of his coat, and his cheek? A vicar, a banker, a beau, Be deaf to your father and mother, Miss Lane, at her Temple of Fashion, I wear it wherever I go; I gave you a chain-is it broken? Oh! think of our favourite cottage, |