OPERA SINGERS AND DANCERS.-ANON.

MAINTAINED by the public in all the luxury of extravagance; while in the back ground are a maimed soldier and sailor, who were asking alms, and thrown down by the insolence of the opera-singer's carriage driver; yet the sailor lost his arm with the gallant Captain Decatur, and the soldier left his leg on the plains of Mexico. Instead of paying five dollars to see a man stand on one leg-would it not be better employed were it given to a man who had but one leg to stand on? But, while these dear creatures condescend to come over here, to sing to us for the trifling sum of eight or ten thousand dollars yearly, in return for such their condescension, we cannot do too much for them, and that is the reason why we do so little for our own people. This is the way we reward those who only bring folly into the country, and the other is the way and the only way, with which we reward our brave defenders. Fancy you hear the divine strains of Signor Squallo

Come, Carro, come attend affetuoso,

English be dumb, your language is but so so;

Adagio is piano, allegro must be forte,

Go wash my neck and sleeves, because this shirt is dirty.

Mon charmant, prenez guarda,

Mind what your signor begs,

Ven you vash, don't scrub so harda,

You may rub my shirt to rags.

Vile you make de vater hotter

Uno solo I compose.

Put in de pot de nice sheep's trotter,

And de lee-tle petty toes;

De petty toes are lee-tle feet,

De lee-tle feet not big,

Great feet belong to de grunting hog,

De petty toes to de leetle pig.

Come, daughter, dear, carissima anima mea,

Go boil de kittle, make me some green tea a,

Ma bella dolce sogno,

Vid de tea, cream, and sugar bono,

And a leetle slice

Of bread and butter nice.

A bravo bread, and butter
Bravissimo-imo.

KILLING A BLUE BOTTLE.

AT Neufchatel, in France, where they prepare
Cheeses that set us longing to be mites,
There dwelt a farmer's wife, famed for her rare
Skill in these small quadrangular delights,
Where they were made, they sold for the immense
Price of three sous a-piece;

But as salt-water made their charms increase,
In England the fix'd rate was eighteen-pence.

This damsel had to help her on the farm,
To milk her cows and feed her hogs,
A Gascon peasant, with a sturdy arm
For digging or for carrying logs,
But in his noddle weak as any baby,

In fact a gaby,

And such a glutton when you came to feed him,

6

That Wantley's dragon, who ate barns and churches.

As if they were geese and turkies,'

(Vide the Ballad,) scarcely could exceed him.

One morn she had prepared a monstrous bowl
Of cream, like nectar,

And wouldn't go to church (good careful soul)
Till she had left it safe with a protector;
So she gave strict injunctions to the Gascon,
To watch it while his mistress was to mass gone.

Watch it he did—and never took his eyes off,
But licked his upper, then his under lip,
And doubled up his fist to drive the flies off,
Begrudging them the smallest sip,
Which if they got,

Like my Lord Salisbury, he heaved a sigh,
And cried," O happy, happy fly,
How I do envy your lot!"

Each moment did his appetite grow stronger;
His bowels yearn'd;

At length he could not bear it any longer,

But on all sides his looks he turn'd,

And finding that the coast was clear, he quaff'd

The whole up at a draught.

Scudding from church, the farmer's wife flew to the dairy;

But stood aghast, and could not, for her life,

One sentence mutter,

Until she summon'd breath enough to utter

"Holy St. Mary!"

And shortly, with a face of scarlet,

The vixen (for she was a vixen) flew

Upon the varlet,

Asking the when, and where, and how, and who,

Had gulph'd her cream, nor left an atom;

To which he gave not separate replies,
But with a look of excellent digestion
One answer made to every question,
"The Flies!"

"The flies, you rogue !-the flies, you greedy dog
Behold your whiskers still are covered thickly;
Thief-liar-villain-gormandizer-hog!

I'll make you tell another story quickly."
So out she bounced, and brought, with loud alarms,
Two stout Gens-d'Armes,

Who bore him to the judge-a little prig,

With angry bottle-nose

Like a red cabbage-rose,

While lots of white ones flourish'd on his wig.

Looking at once both stern and wise,
He turn'd to the delinquent,
And 'gan to question him and catechise
As to which way the drink went :
Still the same dogged answers rise,
"The flies, my Lord-the flies, the flies!"

"Psha!" quoth the Judge, half peevish and half pompous

"Why you're non compos.

You should have watched the bowl, as she desired,

And so killed the flies you stupid clown."

"What is it lawful then ?" the dolt inquir'd,
"To kill the flies in this here town?"
"You silly ass-a pretty question this!
Lawful? you booby!—to be sure it is.
You've my authority, where'er you meet 'em,
To kill the rogues, and, if you like it, eat 'em."
"Zooks!" cried the rustic, "I'm right glad to hear it.

"Constable, catch that thief! may I go hang If yonder blue-bottle (I know his face)

Isn't the very leader of the gang

That stole the cream ;-let me come near it?"—

This said he started from his place,

And aiming one of his sledge-hammer blows

At a large fly upon the Judge's nose
The luckless blue-bottle he smash'd
And gratified a double grudge;

For the same catapult completely smash'd
The bottle-nose belonging to the Judge.

RAPS ON THE LAPSTONE.-G. W. BUNGAY.

OLD Crispin wore a paper cap,

And an apron made of leather;
He sat upon his bench to rap

Soles (not spirits) hours together.

He said his last days were his best,

Though he felt the thread unwinding;
His heart waxed warm within his vest,
And what he closed was binding.

When others spoke of this world's weal,
Crispin pointed to an upper;

He had the wondrous skill to heel,

But gave his earthly awl for supper.

He heeled more than the doctors did,

And helped the soles more than the preacher;

For a quid pro quo he gave a quid,

And used the strap more than the teacher.

Aye, Crispin was a good old man,

Yet sometimes he would bristle;

But do the very best we can,

"A pig's tail will not make a whistle."

UNFORTUNATE ATTEMPT AT COURTING.-ANON.

ABOUT the year 1794, a German recently imported into Bristol, happened to hear of Mrs. B., a wealthy widow, and thought it would be a good speculation to offer himself to the lady's notice, as well qualified to succeed the late Mr. B. He accordingly waited on the lady with that intention; but having no great familiarity with the English, he provided himself with a copy of a German and English dictionary, and on being announced to the lady, determined to open his proposal,