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business. Pray, sir, let me know how I am to save this thousand pounds."-" Why, sir," said the other," I hear you have a daughter to dispose of in marriage."" I have."-" And that you intend to portion her with ten thousand pounds!" —“ I do so.” Why then, sir, let me have her, and I'll take her with nine thousand."

WRITTEN ON THE DOOR OF A CERTAIN HOUSE.

world of the English language; and while I a coming into port, with a fair wind on a fine su shiny day, my Lord Chesterfield sends out t little cock-boats to tow me in. I am very se ble of the favour, Mr. Moore, and should be so to say an ill-natured thing of that nobleman : I cannot help thinking he is a lord among w and a wit among lords.

LETTER FROM AN IRISH GENTLEWOMAN HER SON IN LONDON,

My dear child,

Gold rules within, and reigns without these doors,
Makes men take places, and poor maids turn w-s.
Her blooming virtue's sold, his trust's betray'd,
Debauch'd the member falls, alike the maid!
Each pleads excuse, tho' profit each does move-you know that your only living sister, Ca
His is the sov'reign's service, her's is love.

I thought it my duty incumbint upon me, t Mac-Frame, has been violently ill of a fit of

The world sees through the sham in which bothness, and is dead; therefore we have small join,

He votes for interest, as she yields for coin.

PATRONAGE.

The late Earl of Chesterfield was universally esteemed the Mæcenas of the age in which he lived. Dr. Johnson addressed the plan of his dictionary of the English language to him on that account; and his lordship endeavoured to be grateful by recommending that valuable work in two essays, which, among others, he published in a paper intituled the World, conducted by Mr, Moore and his literary friends. Some time after, however, the doctor took great offence at being refused admittance to Lord Chesterfield, which happened by a mistake of the porter; and just before the work was finished, on Mr. Moore's expressing his surprise that Dr. Johnson did not intend to dedicate the book to his lordship, the lexicographer declared he was under no obligation to any great man whatever, and therefore should not make him his patron. Pardon me, sir," said Moore, "you are certainly obliged to his lordship for the two elegant papers he has written in favour of your performance."-" You quite mistake the thing," returned Johnson," I confess no obligation. I feel my own dignity, sir; I have made a Commodore Anson's voyage round the whole

hopes of her gitting bitter. Your dear mo constantly prayed for a long and speedy reco

I am sorry to acquaint you, that your godf Patrick O'Conner, is also dead. His dith w casioned by ateing rid-hirrings stuffed wid tes, or parates stuffed wid rid hirrings, 1 know which; and notwithstanding the su attended him for three weeks, he died sud for want of hilp on the day of his dith, whi Sunday night last. The great bulk of his comes to an only dead child in the family. I have made a prisent of your sister's dis ring to Mr. O'Hara, the great small-beer t for three guineas; and I have taken th corner-house that is burnt down, on a re lase.

I have sint you a Dublin Canary-bird, have carefully put up in a rat-trap, wi food in a snuff-box, which will come fre charges, only paying the captain for the p

Pray sind me the news of the prosadein House of Commons nixt week; for we h have given us leave to import all our pa England, which is great news indeed.

Write immediately, and don't stay for Dirict for me nixt door to the Bible an in Copper Alley, Dublin, for there I but I shall remove to-morrow into my ne

n't sind to me in a frank again; for the last er that came free was charged thirteen-pince. no more at prisent from

Your dutiful modther,

CAMEY CARRNAYL MAC FRAME,

5. I did not sale this litter, to prevint it from eing broke open; therefore send word if miscarries. Your cousin-in-law, Thady 'Dogharty, is gone for a light-horseman among e marines.

IMPOSSIBLE TO SCREEN A FOOL.

A master tailor, as tis said,

y buckram, canvass, tape, and thread,
air cloths, and wadding, silk, and twist,
ad all the long extensive list

ith which their uncouth bills abound
hongh rarely in their garments found :)
ith these and other arts in trade,
soon a handsome fortune made;
ad did, what few have ever done,
ft thirty thousand to his son.

The son, a gay young swagg'ring blade,
borr'd the very name o' the trade,
A, lest reflections should be thrown
him, resolv'd to leave the town,
d travel where he was not kuown.

To Oxford first he made his way,

gilded coach and liv'ries gay; bucks and beaux his taste admire, equipage and rich attire; #nothing was so much adored as fine silver-bilted sword;

small, and short, 'twas vastly neat, sight was deem'd a perfect treat; Banter begg'd to have a look, when the sword in hand he took, sware, by Jove, it was an odd thing,

just like a tailor's bodkin. Sared was gall'd at his expression, anking they knew his mean profession; angki sword be sneak'd away, drove for Glo'ster the same day.

There soon he found new cause of grief For (dining on some fine roast beef) They asked him which he did prefer, Some cabbage or some cucumber.

What was design'd a complient,
He thought severe reflection meant ;
His stomach turn'd, he could not eat,
So made an ungenteel retreat;
Next day left Glo'ster in great wrath,
And bade his coachman drive to Bath,
There he suspected fresh abuse,
Because the dinner was roast goose;
And that he might no more be jeer'd,
For Exeter directly steer'd.

There with the beaux, he drank about,
Until he fear'd they'd find him out;
His glass not fill'd (as was his rule)
They said 'twas not a thimble full
The name of thimble was enough,
He paid his reckoning and went off.
Next day to Plymouth he remov'd,
Where he still unsuccessful proved
For tho' he filled his glass or cup,
He did not always drink it up;
The topers mark'd how he behav'd,
And said "a remnant should be sav'd."

The name of remnant gall'd him so,
He then resolv'd for York to go;
There fill'd his bumper to the top,
And always fairly drank it up;

"Well done," said Jack, a buck of York,
"You go through stitch, sir, with your work.”

The name of stitch was such reproach,
He rang the bell, and call'd the coach;
But e'er he went, enquiry made
By what means they found out his trade.

You put the cap on, and it fits,
Replied one of the Yorkshire wits;
Our words, in common acceptation,
Could not find out your occupation;
'Twas you yourself gave us the clue,
To find out both your trade and you;

Proud coxcombs and fantastic beaux,
In ev'ry place themselves expose:
They travel far, at great expense,
To shew their wealth and want of sense;
But take this for a standing rule,
There's no disguise will screen a fool.

CHARACTER OF A MIGHTY GOOD KIND OF A
MAN.

is a friend of his, and all his friends are “ mig good kind of men." He pulls off his hat every third person he meets, though he knows even the name of one in twenty-A young born with this demonstrated propensity of mi ty goodness," has every chance of advan his fortune. Thus, if in orders, he will cont to pick up a tolerable living, or become tuto a dunce of quality. If "a mighty good kin The good qualities of such a man (if he has any) man" is a counsellor, he will draw from the at are of the negative kind. He does very little nies a large supply of chamber cases and spe harm, but you never find him do any good. He is pleadings, or bills and answers, he being gre careful to have all the externals of sense and vir- qualified for a dray-horse of the law. If he is tue, but you never perceive his heart concerned in mitted into the college as M. D. he will have e any word, thought, or action. To him every body chance to be at the top of the profession, a is his dear friend, with which he always begins all whole success of the faculty depends upon old his letters, and ends them with“ Your ever sincere men, or fanciful young ones, hypochondriac and affectionate friend." He is usually seen with and ricketty children; to the generosity o persous older than himself, but always richer. He these nothing so much recommends a physicia is not prominent in his conversation, but merely his being "a mighty good kind of a man." puts in his "Yes, sir,” and “No, sir," to every past dispute that a good man, and a man of s thing said by the elevated or overbearing; which should possess in some degree the outline de confirms him in their opinion as "a very sensible ed; yet, if he possesses no more, he will be at and discerning person," as well as a "mighty good but a vapid and valueless character. kind of a man."-He is so familiarized to assent perficial observers are deceived by French to every thing advanced, that I have known him it has the glitter of a diamond, but the w approve opposite sentiments in the course of five hardness discovers the counterfeit, and Fo minutes! The weather is a leading topic with “a out to be of no intrinsic value! If the ben mighty good kind of a man," and you may make heart are to be omitted in the character, yo him agree in one breath, that it is hot and cold, as well seek for female beauty without a ni frost and thaw, and that the wind blows from every an eye, as expect a valuable man without point of the compass! He is so civil and well-standing or sensibility. But besides this, it bred, as to keep you in the rain, rather than ascend a carriage before you; and the dinner would grow cold in your attempt to move him from the lower end of the table. Not a glass approaches his lips unless he has disturbed half the company to drink their health. He never omits his glass with the mistress of the house, nor forgets to notice little master and miss, which with mamma always makes him "a mighty good kind of a man," and also assures her, that he would make a very good husband. No man is ever half so happy, or so general, in his friendships--every one he names

Man

happens that those "mighty good kind of are wolves in sheep's clothing, and that the sibie cunning of their outward deportment culated to entrap the unwary, and to pro nister designs.

MADAM, MY WIFE.

Ye lovers of quiet, and conjugal joys ;
Dread foes to contention, jars, tumult, and
Oh! fly from my dwelling, fly quickly for
Is't the plague? Ten times worse-'tis mad
wife.

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Cease,

ft me, with speed, to some island of peace; with thanks-Hark! the noise of drum, mpet, and fife!

I crack! stop my ears!-oh, 'tis madam, wife.

SIR ROGER DE COVERLY.

Ent of our society is a gentleman of WorTre, of ancient descent, a baronet, his Roger de Coverly. His great grandas inventor of that famous country-dance called after him. All who know that wery well acquainted with the parts and Sir Roger. He is a gentleman that is alar in his behaviour, but his singularied from his good sense, and are contrathe manners of the world, only as he world is in the wrong. However, this cates him no enemies, for he does nosourness or obstinacy; and his being to modes and forms, makes him but and more capable to please and oblige him. When he is in town, he lives are. It is said, he keeps himself a

bachelor, by reason he was crossed in love by a perverse beautiful widow of the next county to him. Before this disappointment, Sir Roger was what you call a fine gentleman, had often supped fought a duel upon his fifst coming to town, and with my Lord Rochester and Sir George Etherege, for calling him youngster. But, being ill-used kicked Bully Dawson in a public coffee-house, by the above-mentioned widow, he was very serious for a year and a half; and though his temper being naturally jovial, he at last got over it, he grew careless of himself, and never dressed afterwards. He continues to wear a coat and doublet of the same cut that were in fashion at the time of his repulse, which, in his merry humours, he tells us, has been in and out twelve times since he first wore it. It is said, Sir Roger grew humble in his desires after he had forgot this cruel beauty, insomuch, that it is reported he has frequently offended in point of chastity with beggars and gypsies! but this is looked upon, by his friends, rather as matter of raillery than truth. He is now in his fifty-sixth year, cheerful, gay, and hearty; keeps a good house both in town and country; a great lover of mankind. but there is such a mirthful cast in his behaviour, that he is rather beloved than esteemed. tenants grow rich, his servants look satisfied, all the young women profess love to him, and the young men are glad of his company; when he comes into a house, he calls the servants by their names, and talks all the way up-stairs to a visit. I must not omit, that Sir Roger is a Justice of the Quorum; that he fills the chair at a quartersession with great abilities, and three months ago gained universal applause by explaining a passage in the game act.

His

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THE SIX-FOOT SUCKLING.

With that low cunning, which in fools supplies,
And amply too, the place of being wise,
Which Nature, kind indulgent parent, gave
To qualify the blockhead for a knave;
With that smooth falsehood, whose appearance
charms,

And reason of each wholesome doubt disarms,
Which to the lowest depths of guile descends,
By vilest means pursues the vilest ends,
Wears friendship's mask for purposes of spite,
Fawns in the day, and butchers in the night;
With that malignant envy which turns pale,
And sickens even, if a friend prevail;
Which merit and success pursues with hate,
And dams the worth it cannot imitate;
With the cold caution of a coward's spleen,
Which fears not guilt, but always seeks a screen,
Which keeps this maxim ever in her view-
What's basely done, should be done safely too;
With that dull, rooted, callous impudence
Which, dead to shame, and every nicer sense,
Ne'er blush'd, unless, in spreading vices snares,
She blunder'd on some virtue unawares;
With all these blessings, which we seldom find
Lavish'd by Nature on one happy mind,
A motly figure, of the fribble tribe,

Which heart can scarce conceive or pen describe,
Came simpering on.

Nor male, nor female; neither, and yet both
Of neuter gender, tho' of Irish growth;
A six-foot suckling, mincing in Its gait,
Affected, peevish, prim, and delicate;
Fearful It seem'd, tho' of athletic make,
Lest brutal breezes should too roughly shake
Its tender form, and savage motion spread
O'er its pale cheeks, the horrid manly red.
Much did It talk, in Its own pretty phrase,
Of genius and of taste, of players, and of plays;
Much too of writings which Itself had wrote,
Of special merit, tho' of little note;

For fate, in a strange humour, had decreed
That what It wrote none but Itself should read
Much too It chatter'd of dramatic laws,
Misjudging critics, and misplac'd applause;
Then with a self-complacent pitting air
It smil'd, It smirk'd, It wriggl'd to the chair,
And with an awkward brisk ness-not Its own
Looking around, and perching on the throne,
Triumphant seem'd; when that strange sav
dame,

Known but to few, or only known by name,
Plain common sense appear'd, by nature the
Appointed, with plain truth, to guard the cha
The pageant saw, and blasted with her frowz
To Its first state of nothing melted down.
Nor shall the muse, (for even there the pride
Of this vain nothing shall be mortify'd,)
Nor shall the muse (should fate ordain her r
Fond, pleasing, thought, to live in after-tim
With such a trifler's name her pages blot;
Known be the character, the thing forgot
Let It, to disappoint each future aim,
Live without sex, and die without a name.
THE BACHELOR'S REGISTER.

At 16 years incipient palpitations are ma ed towards the young ladies.

17. Much blushing and confusion occur addressed by a handsome woman.

18. Confidence in conversation with th is much increased

19. Becomes angry if treated by them 20. Betrays great consciousness of charms and manliness.

21. A looking-glass becomes an indi piece of furniture in his dressing-roo some instances finds its way into the po☛ 22. Insufferable puppyism now exhib. 23. Thinks no woman good enoug the marriage state with him.

24. Is caught unawares by the sna pid.

25. The connection broken off from Lon his part.

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