LOSS OF MEMORY.

The count Grammont, who had attached, if not engaged himself to Miss Hamilton, abruptly went off for France; count George Hamilton, her brother, pursued and overtook him at Dover, when he thus addressed him: "My dear friend, I believe you have forgotten a circumstance that should take place before your return to France." To which Grammont replied, True, my dear friend; what a memory I have 1 quite forgot that I was to marry your sister; but I will instantly accompany you back to Loudon, and rectify that forgetfulness."

A DISGUISE.

A remarkably dirty man, soliciting his friend's advice how he should dress himself for a masquerade, received the following answer: "Only just wash your hands and face, put on a clean shirt, and I'll be hanged if any one will know you."

ELEGIAC EXPOSTULATION TO AN UNFORTUNATE

TAILOR

O thou whose visionary bills unpaid,

Long as thy measure, o'er my slumber stream; Whose goose, hot hissing through the midnight shade, Disturbs the transport of each softer dream! Why do imaginary needles wound?

Why do thy shears cut short my fleeting joys!
Oh why, emerging from thy hell profound,

The ghost of shreds and patches, awful rise?
Once more look up, nor droop thy hanging head;
The liberal linings of that breast unfold;
Be smiles, far brighter than thy buttons, spread;
And nobly scorn the vulgar lust of gold.
Though doom'd by fortune, since remotest time,
No meaner coin of moderate date to use,
Lo! 1 can well reward with sterling rhyme,
Stamp'd by the sacred mintage of the muse.
Why mourn thy folly, why deplore thy fate,
Why call on every power in sore dismay?
Thy warmest oraisons, alas! are late:

Reflect-didst thou e'er know a poet pay?

Vain from thy shopboard the eternal sigh ;
Can guineas from the vacant pocket fly?
Vain thy devotions from that sable shrine:

Can sorrow fill this empty purse of mine!
Ah me! so long with dire consumption pined,
When shall that purse ill omen'd proudly swell
Full as the sail that holds the favouring wind?
Mysterious ministers of money, tell!

Fond man! while pausing o'er that gloomy page
That tells thee what thou art in terms too plain,
O'er the capacious ledger lose thy rage,
Nor of unsettled debts again be vain.
There lords and dukes and mighty princes lie,

Nor on them canst thou for prompt payment call
Why starts the big drop in thine anguish'd eye 1
One honest genuine bard is worth them all.
A common garment such as mortals wear
(Dull sons of clay, the ready price who give),
Thou mad'st, and lo! it lasted one short year;
But in my garment thou shalt ever live.
Time ne'er shall rip one consecrated seam

Of cloth, from fancy's loom all superfine; Nor shall I cruel haunt thy softer dream, E'en when I dress thee in a suit divine. Let sage philosophy thy soul inform

With strength heroic every ill to bear, Not better broadcloth braves the angry storm; And constant patience is delightful wear. Be patient then, and wise, nor meanly shrink Beneath despondency's tumultuous blast: The reckoning day may come when least you think A joyful day, though miracles are pass'd.

SHORT COMMONS.

DERMODY.

A gentleman being at St. Margaret's, Westminster, on a fast day, observed to another that there were very few of the members of the house of com assembled. "Is that to be wondered at returned the other? Why I thought you understood the nature of the proclamation better; observe you not that it strictly enjoins short commons every where !

A BOTTLE CONJUREK.

An Irish gentleman, sojourning at a dashing hotel, felt much annoyed at the smallness of the bottles, considering the high price of wine. One evening, taking his glass with a friend in the coffee-room, the pompous owner came in, when the gentleman after apologizing, told him, he and his friend had laid a wager, which he must decide, by telling him what profession he was bred to. Mine host, after some hesitation at the question, answered, that he was bred to the law. Then," said the gentleman, "I have lost, for I laid that you was bred a packer." "A packer, sir!" said the host swelling like a turkeycock, what could induce you, sir, to think I was bred a packer?" " Why, sir," said the other, "I judged so from your wine measures, for I thought no one but a skilful packer could put a quart of wine into a pint bottle."

A DAY TOO LATE.

La Fontaine was so absent as to call and visit a friend whose funeral he had attended. He was much surprised at first, but recollecting himself, said "It is true enough, for I was there."

REMEDY FOR DULNESS.

An author reading a tragedy to a friend who was a proctor, when he had gone through three acts, asked him his opinion. "Why really," replied the proctor, the third act is so full of distress, that I do not see how you can possibly heighten it in the following ones; and then consequently it will grow flat." "O!" said the author, let me alone for that, I intend in the very next act to put my hero into the spiritual court."

ALL SAINTS' DAY.

A man having borrowed money of an acquaintance, gare a bill for the sum, making it payable on a Saint's day which was not mentioned in the calendar, by which means he thought to render the bill invalid and defraud the lender, but the business being brought into court and the cause being heard, the judge de cided that the money should be refunded on the day * All Saints,

MODERATE WISHES.

Let Alexander's discontented soul
Sigh for another world's increased control!
Il-weaved Ambition has no charm for me,
Nor, sordid Avarice, am I slave to thee.

I only ask twelve thousand pounds a year,
And Curwen's country house on Windermere-
A beauteous wife, and sensible as fair,
And many a friend, and not a single care.
I am no glutton--no! I never wish
A sturgeon floating in a golden dish-
At the Piazza satisfied to pay
Three guineas for my dinner every day.

I

What though shrewd Erskine at the bar we view, As famed as Crassus and as wealthy too; only ask the eloquence of Fox, To jump like Ireland, and like Belcher box, To act as Garrick did-or any how Unlike our heroes of the buskin now; To range, like Garnerin, through fields of air, To win, like Vs, England's richest faironly ask these blessings to enjoy, And every varied talent well employ, Thy life, Methuselah! or, if not thine, An immortality of love and wine.

THE GHOST OF HAMLET

HODGSON.

During the time of Mr. Garrick's performance in Goodman's-fields, the stage rose so much from the lamps to the back scenery, that it was very difficult for a performer to walk properly on it, and unfortunately it was then the custom to introduce their ghosts in a complete suit, not of gilt leather, but of real armour. The dress for this august personage was one night, in honour of Mr. Garrick's Hamlet, borrowed from the Tower, and was consequently rather too ponderous for the ghost of the royal Dane. The moment, therefore, he was put up at the trap door, unable to keep his balance, he rolled down the stage to the lamps, which catching the feathers of his helmet, the ghost seemed in danger of being consumed by mortal fires, till a gentleman roared from the pit,

THE DEFUNCT INSOLVENT.

MM. Triphook & Co. having directed a letter, "To George Hardinge, Esq. if living; if dead, to his executors;" beginning "Sir, or Gentlemen," and stating that not having heard from Mr. Hardinge after repeated application for settling an enclosed account, they concluded he must be dead; and if that melancholy circumstance was true, requesting it might be settled by his executor; Mr. Hardinge immediately wrote,

"Oh' Messieurs Triphook, what is fear'd by you,
The melancholy circumstance is true;
For I am dead; and more afflicting still,
My legal assets will not pay your bill.
For oh! to name it, I am broken-hearted,
My mortal life, insolvent, I departed;

So, gentlemen, I'm yours, without a farthing,
For my executors and self, GEORGE HARDINGE."
P.S. Excuse the postage which these lines have cost,
The dead their franking privilege have lost.

We thinkna on the lang Scots miles,
The mosses, waters, slaps, and styles,
That lie between us and our hame,
Whare sits our sulky sullen dame,
Gathering her brows like gathering storm,
Nursing her wrath to keep it warm.

This truth fand honest Tam o' Shanter,
As he frae Ayr ae night did canter
(Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a town surpasses,
For honest men and bonnie lasses.)

O Tam! hadst thou but been sae wise,
As ta'en thy-ain wife Kate's advice!
She tauld thee weel thou was a skellum,
A blethering, blustering, drunken blellum;
That frae November till October,
Ae market day thou wasna sober;
That ilka melder, wi' the miller.
Thou sat as lang as thou had siller;
That ev'ry naig was ca'd a shoe on,
The smith and thee gat roaring fou on;
That at the Ld's house, ev'n on Sunday,
Thou drank wi' Kirton Jean till Monday.
She prophesy'd, that late or soon,
Thou would be found deep drown'd in Doon;
Or catch'd wi' warlocks in the mirk,
By Alloway's auld haunted kirk.

Ah! gentle dames! it gars me greet,
To think how mony counsels sweet,
How mony lengthen'd, sage advices,
The husband frae the wife despises !

But to our tale: Ae market night,
Tam had got planted unco right;
Fast by an ingle, bleezing finely,
Wi' reaming swats, that drank divinely
And at his elbow, souter Johnny,
His ancient, trusty, drouthy crony.
Tam lo'ed him like a vera brither;
They had been fou for weeks thegither.
The night drave on wi' sangs an' clatter;
And aye the ale was growing better:
The landlady and Tam grew gracious;
Wi' favours, secret, sweet, and precions:
The souter tauld his queerest stories;
The landlord's laugh was ready chorus!

The storm without might raif and rustle,
Tam didna mind the storm a whistle.

Care, mad to see a man sae happy,
E'en drown'd himsel amang the nappy;
As bees flee hame wi' lades o' treasure,
The minutes wing'd their way wi' pleasure:
Kings may be blest, but Tam was glorious,
O'er a' the ills o' life victorious.

But pleasures are like poppies spread,
You seize the flower, its bloom is shed;
Or like the snow-falls in the river,
A moment white-then melts for ever;
Or like the borealis race,

That fit ere you can point their place;
Or like the rainbow's lovely form
Evanishing amid the storm-

Nae man can tether time or tide-
The hour approaches Tam maun ride;

That hour, o' night's black arch the key-stane,
That dreary hour he mounts his beast in;
And siç a night he taks the road in,
As ne'er poor sinner was abroad in.

The wind blew as 'twad blawn its last;
The rattling showers rose on the blast;
The speedy gleams the darkness swallow'd ;
Loud, deep, and lang the thunder bellow'd:
That night, a child might understand,
The deil had business on his hand.

Weel mounted on his grey mare Meg,
A better never lifted leg,

Tam skelpit on thro' dub and mire,
Despising wind, and rain, and fire;
Whiles hauding fast his guid blue bonnet;
Whiles crooning o'er some auld Scot's sonnet;
Whiles glowring round wi' prudent cares,
Lest bogles catch him unawares;
Kirk-Alloway was drawing nigh,
Whare ghaists and boulets nightly cry,

By this time he was cross the ford,
Whare in the snaw the chapman smoor'd;
And past the birks and meikle stane,
Whare drunken Charlie brak's neck-bane;
And thro' the whins, and by the cairn,
Whare hunters fand the murder'd bairn;

And near the thorn, aboon the well, Whare Mungo's mither hang'd hersel. Before him Doon pours all her foods; The doubling storm roars thro' the woods; The lightnings flash from pole to pole; Near and more near the thunders roll; When, glimmering thro' the groaning trees, Kirk-Alloway seem'd in a bleeze; Thro' ilka bore the beams were glancing; And loud resounded mirth and dancingInspiring bold John Barleycorn! What dangers thou canst make us seorn. Wi' tippenny, we fear nae evil; Wi' usquebae, we'll face the devil!The swats sae ream'd in Tammie's noddle, Fair play, he car'd na deils a boddle. But Maggie stood right sair astonish'd, Till, by the heel and hand admonish'd, She ventured forward on the light; And, Wow! Tam saw an unco sight! Warlocks and witches in a dance; Nae cotillion brent new frae France, But hornpipes, jigs, strathspeys, and reels, Put life and mettle in their beels. A winnock bunker in the east, There sat auld Nick, in shape o' beast; A towzie tyke, black, grim, and large, To gie them music was his charge: He screw'd the pipes and gart them skirl, Till roof and rafters a' did dirl.— Coffins stood round like open presses, That shaw'd the dead in their last dresses; And by some devilish cantrip slight, Each in its cauld hand held a light, By which heroic Tam was able To note upon the haly table, A murderer's banes in gibbet airns; Twa span-lang, wee, unchristen'd bairns; A thief, new cutted frae a rape, Wi' his last gasp his gab did gape; Five tomahawks, wi' bluid red rusted; Five scimitars, wi' murder crusted; A garter, which a babe had strangled; A knife, a father's throat had mangled,