In the lott'ry of life, lest dame Fortune beguile,
This great truth we should ever premise,

That altho' the bright goddess may simper and smile,
She has always-two blanks to a prize!

If a husband you'd take, miss-or you, sir, a wife,

From this maxim divert not your eyes; For one and the other I'll venture my life,

There are more than-two blanks to a prize!

If in law you're entangl'd, why, then, silly man,
As a friend, give me leave to advise ;

Slip your neck from the collar, as fast as you can :
There are fifty-two blanks to a prize!

And if for preferment, you 're striving at court,
Or by merit expect you shall rise;

Then your chance is not worth, sir, three-fourths of a groat; There are ninety-two blanks to a prize!

ADDRESS OF A QUACK DOCTOR.-ANON.

LADIES and gentlemen, my name is Puff Stuff, the physician to that great and mighty Kou Kann, Emperor of all the Chinas; I was converted to Christianity during the embassy of the late Lord Macartney, and left that there country, and came to this here, which may be reckoned the greatest blessing that ever happened to Europe, for I've brought with me the following unparalleled, inestimable, and never to be matched medicines the first is called the great Parry Mandyron Rapskianum, from Whandy Whang Whang-one drop of which, poured into any of your gums, if you should have the misfortune to lose your teeth, will cause a new set to sprout out like mushrooms from a hot bed: and if any lady should happen to be troubled with that unpleasant and redundant exuberance called a beard, it will remove it in three applications, and with greater ease than Packwood's razor strops. I'm also very celebrated in the cure of the eyes; the late Emperor of China› had the misfortune to lose his eyes by a cataract. I very dexterously took out the eyes of his Majesty, and after anointing the sockets with a particular glutinous happlication, I

placed in two eyes from the head of a living lion, which not only restored his Majesty's wision, but made him dreadful to all his enemies and beholders. I beg leave to say, that I ave hyes from different hannimals, and to suit all your different faces and professions. This here bottle which I holds in my and, is called the great elliptical, asiatical, panticurial, nervous cordial, which cures all diseases incident to humanity. I don't like to talk of myself, ladies and gentlemen, because the man who talks of imself is a Hegotist, but this I vill wenture to say of myself, that I am not only the greatest physician and philosopher of the age, but the greatest genius that ever illuminated mankind-but you know I don't like to talk of myself: you should only read one or two of my lists of cures, out of the many thousands I have by me; if you knew the benefits so many people have received from my grand elliptical, asiatical, panticurial nervous cordial, that cures all diseases incident to humanity, none of you would be such fools as to be sick: I'll just read one or two. (Reads several letters.) "Sir, I was jammed to a jelly in a linseed oil mill; cured with one bottle." "Sir, I was boiled to death in a soap manufactory; cured with one bottle." "Sir, I was cut in half in a saw-pit; cured with half a bottle." Now comes the most wonderful of all.

"Sir, Venturing too near a powder-mill at Faversham, I was, by a sudden explosion, blown into a million of atoms; by this unpleasant accident I was rendered unfit for my business, (a banker's clerk,) but hearing of your grand elliptical, asiatical, panticurial, nervous cordial, I was persuaded to make essay thereof; the first bottle united my strayed particles, the second animated my shattered frame, the third effected a radical cure, the fourth sent me home to Lombard street, to count guineas, make out bills for acceptance, and recount the wonderful effects of your grand elliptical, asiatical, panticurial, nervou cordial, that cures all diseases incident to humanity.

IN

VILLAGE GREATNESS.-W. RAY.

every country village, where

Ten chimney smokes perfume the air,,
Contiguous to a steeple,

Great gentlefolks are found a score,
Who can't associate any more

With common "country people."

Jack Fallow, born amongst the woods,
From rolling logs, now rolls in goods,
Enough a while to dash on;
Tells negro stories-smokes cigars-
Talks politics-decides on wars—
And lives in stylish fashion.

Tim Oxford, lately from the plough,
A polished gentleman is now,

And talks about "country fellows;"
But ask the fop what books he's read,
You'll find the brain-pan of his head

As empty as a bellows.

To clear such rubbish from the earth,→
Though real genius, mental worth,
And science do attend you,-
You might as well the sty refine,
Or cast your pearls before the swine;
They'd only turn and rend you.

MONSIEUR TONSON.-ANON.

THERE liv'd as fame reports, in days of yore,
At least some fifty years ago, or more,

A pleasant wight in town, yclep'd Tom King,
A fellow that was clever at a joke,

Expert in all the arts to tease and smoke,

In short, for strokes of humor, quite the thing.

To many a jovial club, this King was known,
With whom his active wit unrivall'd shone-
Choice spirit, grave free-mason, buck, and blood,
Would crowd, his stories and bon mots to hear,
And none a disappointment e'er could fear,
His humor flow'd in such a copious flood.

To him a frolic was a high delight—
A frolic he would hunt for day and night,
Careless how prudence on the sport might frown.
If e'er a pleasant mischief sprang to view,
At once o'er hedge and ditch away he flew,
Nor left the game till he had run it down.

One night, our hero, rambling with a friend,
Near fam'd St. Giles's chanc'd his course to bend,
Just by that spot, the Seven Dials hight;
'T was silence all around, and clear the coast,
The watch, as usual, dozing on his post,

And scarce a lamp display'd a twinkling light.