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know of bound to follow their example, except R. Warren, of No. 30, Strand. He may embowel himself, if he likes—I shall not. Hanging is obviously not even to be named. It does not accord with a gentleman's ideas. I have always lived independent, and have no fancy for dying dependent on anything. A man is a long time in suspense. I hate your pas setts upon nothing, and never should wish to earn thirteenpence halfpenny by such a plebeian occupation, particularly when executed upon myself. I do not see, moreover, but it would be an unfair and poaching kind of intrusion on the office of the king's final magistrate. Sheriff Laurie—I beg his pardon— Sir Peter Laurie would have cause of indignation against me, if I were to cheat his new drop of its legal right to turn off all pensile people, within his bailiwicks of London of Middlesex.—There must be a great many disagreeable sensations about being hanged. I knew a man once, who had escaped the gallows after having been turned off, and he told me that you felt as if a lump of something edible stuck in your gullet, while you were at the same time knocked with a chuck down an interminable precipice. Then you saw all kind of flashing fires before your eyes, and after you were at rest, a flaming bolt appeared to enter each of the soles of your feet, and 1o make way up rapidly, but gradually, to your pericranium. Who could feel pleasure in a posture of this kind? Your neck-attitude, too, is mighty unseemly. Look at the picture of Lord Coleraine— beretofore George Hanger—in the second page of his memoirs, or of old Izaak Walton, in the present exanbition at Somerset-House, and you will see how , woward a crick-in-th'-neck-like position it is. Why vainwright thought proper to exhibitold Izaak as just fter being hanged, I do not know, and firmly believe * he has no warrant for it in any biography of the fi piscator; but look at No. 268, in the above exhibi...a, and you will see him there evidently with the rry-neck twist of the gallows about him. In a word, ofo not choose to be strung up. Hang puppies and 2-hwaymen with all my heart. Drown myself?

from one of my windows in the Temple. It looks tempting.

“Says she, my dear, the wind sets fair,
And you may have the tide.”

So sung Katharine Haynes a hundred years ago– but so sing not I. There are many grave objections to drowning a man's self. First, you are choked with water, and I never could prevail on myself to swallow as much as a half pint of that liquid.

“Had Neptune, when first he took charge of the sea,
Been as wise, or at least been as merry as we,
He'd have thought better on't, and instead of his

brine, Would have filled the vast ocean with generous wine.”

In that case there might have been a difference in my ideas; but water—and Thames water too—the thought is intolerable. If you succeed, what a neat article you are when you are found. In nine days, I ana j. a body inevitably rises, and how does it rise? A colony of prawns and shrimps have fastened themselves on you, and are making free with your person in the most gourmand fashion. A crab has eaten out your eyes—a cod is fattening his sounds on the drums of your ears—and a turbot has revenged himself for all the liberties you have taken with his tribe, by making your face as flat as his own spine. As one of our poets—I forget his name—says on a similar occasion: “The perch did perch between his ribs; the sole, Sole reveller, feasted on his nibbled jowl; The plaice was placed where'er he pleased ; the pike Shouldered itself, yet lay levelled in act to strike; A maiden sought his hand, but sooth to say, That amorous maiden was a maiden ray.” &c.

I never could agree with old Demouax in Lucian, that it is merely an act of gratitude to let the fishes eat you, ofter you have eaten so many of them. Then too, there are many chances of your not succeeding. There is the whole body of the Humane Society, including Alexander of Russia, regularly leagued and

i.e. sun is shining bright on the Thames, as I see it

bonded to pull people out of the vasty deep molentes volentes. How awkward you would look on awaking, to find yourself stretched out upon a table, with a fellow puffing a bellows into your very ncstrils, or rubbing you with a hot cloth ! As for jumping off the Monument, “like Levi the jew,” (Rejected Addresses, hem () or any other height, that is quite out of the question. I get giddy even looking out of three pair of stairs window; how odious to my nerves it must be, therefore, to jump from one ! Poor Leyi, I understand, after he was fairly off, made a grasp with his hand back again at the balustrade of the Monument. How he must have felt during that second, when perfectly conscious of the entire desperation of his case ! I shudder to think of it just now, and am obliged to shut the window through mere nervousness. And when you are down, what a pretty looking lump of smash and abomination' You are lying on the ground like a lump of bloody mortar, prepared for dashing the front of the house of some Ogre-like King of Dahomey. Nor would starvation at all agree with me. I fasted one day on a pound of beef and a half quartern, and I could have cried when evening came on. Oh, no! whenever or however I die, let me go out of the world with a full stomach. When a man is hungry, hideous and beggarly ideas are apt to get into his head, and he cannot see his way clearly before him. A windy vapour rises from the stomach, which fills the brain with odious chimeras. I never could stand it. All my firmly fixed resolves on death, if I were to attempt it that way, would be knocked up by the smell of the first cook's shop, or the distant prospect of an alderman waddling up Fleet-street. It is impossible. Well then, shall I stab myself more majorum & Die in a Roman fashion, sheathing a dagger in my bosom like Lucretia, or falling on my sword like Brutus. It would be something pathetical and romantic. I am afraid, however, that the days of pathos and romance are most considerably gone by. To confess the fact honestly, I do not think, I could ever muster up courage to drive a long spit of cold steel into my breast; and as to falling on my sword, in the first so high and mighty, she may find her own way down. What! she's afraid of spoiling her fine shawl, I reckon, though you and I remember Mrs. Hoggins, when her five-shilling Welsh-wittle was kept for Sunday's church, and good enough too, for we all know what her mother was. Good Heavens ! here comes Undertaker Croak, looking as down in the mouth as the root of my tongue; do let me get out of his .*. I wouldn't sit next to him for a rump and dozen, he does tell such dismal stories that it quite gives one the blue devils, He is like a nightmare, isn't he Mr. Smart “He may be like a mare by night,” replied Mr. Smart, with a smirking chuckle, “but I consider him more like an ass by day.—He he he " Looking round for applause at this sally, he held out his elbows, and taking a lady, or rather a female, under each arm, he danced towards the hatchway, exclaiming, “Now I am ready trussed for table, liver under one wing and gizzard under the other.” “Keep a civil tongue in your head, Mr. Smart; I don't quite understand being called a liver—look at the sparks coming out of the chimney, I declare I’m frightened to death.” “Well, then you are of course no longer a liver,” resumed the facetious Mr. Smart; “so we may as well apply to Mr. Croak to bury you.” “O Gemini ! don't talk so shocking ; I had rather never die at all, than have such a fellow as that to bury me.” “Dickey, my dear!” cried Mrs. Cleaver to her son, who was leaning over the ship's side with a most woe-begone and emetical expression of countenance, “ hadn't you better come down to dinner * There's a nice silver side of a round o'beef, and the chump end of a line o' mutton, besides a rare hock of bacon, which I dare say will settle your stomach.” “O mother,” replied the young cockney, “ that 'ere cold beef steak and inguns vat you o in the pockethandkerchief, wasn't good, I do believe, for all my hinsides are of a work.” “Tell 'em it's a holiday,” cried Smart. “O dear, O dear!” continued Dick, whose usual brazen tone was subdued into a lackadaisical whine, “I want to reach and I can't—vat shall I do, mother?” “Stand on tiptoe, my darling,” * Smart, imitating the voice of Mrs. Cleaver,

Place I have not a sword to fall on, and it would be

quite absurd to buy one for such a purpose; and m the second place, if I had one, I am perfectly certain that I should miss it, or make some other fatal blunder—or rather some blunder which would not be fatal—if I attempted to fling myself on it. Then how like an unfortunate gaby I should look ' Let me cogitate for a short while. I have dismissed as unpracticable, shooting, throat cutting, poisoning, unbowelling, hanging, drowning, tumbling, starving, and stabbing. What remainst Softly awhile. My uncle Nicholas used always to say, that many a man killed himself by drinking—and my uncle Nicholas was a man of observation. Perhaps that would be in easy, comfortable, cosey kind of way of doing the besiness, after all, without tumult or stuff. However, I have no idea of doing it at a glass, and going to fore a coroner stretched upon a door, smellins use a rum cask, and open to the oppronous verdict of “Died by excessive drinking.” That is evideoty low. I, on the contrary, shall try if my uncle's Frediction of such suicide being slow but sure, were right, and if it poisons me, let it operate on the ike a skow poison— “So glides the meteor through the sky, And spreads along a gilded train, But when its short-lived beauties die, Dissolves to common air again.” Is not that very pretty and very poetic * Here then, Anthony, get you down to the Rainbow, and feo me a stoup of liquor, as the grave-digger in H=ale: has it. I am bent on death. “Come fill me a glass, fill it high, A bumper, a bumper, I'll have— He's a fool that will flinch, I'll not bate him an inch, Though I drink myself into the grave." I am bent on death. Perhaps, too, I may have to good luck to go off in a flash of flame, or be bor-to death by voluntary combustion, thereby to aford subject for a new novel by a new Brockden ilrrSu now “Farewell, fair world' and light of day, farewel" for I have closed the shutters.

ALL saints CHURCH IN LANGHAM PLACE, - it egrent-st it he Et. “Whoever walks through London streets,” Said Momus to the son of Saturn, “Each day new edifices meets, Of queer proportion, |. attern : If thou, O cloud-compelling .. Wilt aid me with thy special grace, I, too, will wield my motley hod, And build a church in Langham-place,”

“Agreed,” the Thunderer cries; “go plant
Thine edifice, I care not how ill;
Take notice, Earth, I hereby grant
Carte blanche of mortar, stone, and trowel.
Go, Hermes, Hercules, and Mars,
Fraught with these bills on Henry Hase,
Drop with yon jester from the stars,
And build a church in Langham-place.”

Down, four in hand, to earth they go,
Pass by Palladio, Wren, and Inigo,
Contracting for their job, to show
How far four gods can make a guinea go.
This plan was Doric, argo bad,
And that Ionic, ergo base .
No proper model could be had,
To shape this church in Langham-place.

In deep confab they pass'd two hours;
Alcides on his club of tough oak
Leant, and exclaim’d, “Martello towers
Lie scatter'd on the coast of Suffolk •
Let one of those toward London swerve,
Mars, out of war, they're out cf place;
What can they better do, than serve
To form a church in Langharh-place?”

The word was said, the deed was done,
Light Hermes toil'd in vain to stir it,
When, with a kick, Alcmena's son
Soon tilted down the granite turret.
Like a huge hogshead up to town
The martial structure roll'd apace,
And, mortar-coated, settled down
Into a church in Langham-place.
2 B 3 -

But, ere with belfry or with bell
They graced its top, its side with casement,
They found an unexploded shell
Alive and burning at its basement.
The channell d air now upward drew
Flame after flame, in lurid race,
And gave a sort of glass-house hue
To their new church in Langham-place.

“'Twill never do,” Alcides cried,
“The Atlas will indict for arson,”
While Momus carelessly replied—-
“Phoo! never mind it—smoke the parson ''
Mars, at a push, had wit at will,
And said, “Your joint misgivings chase,
This round Martello tower shall still
Be a new church in Langham-place.”

To AEtna's red Vulcanian steeps,
Fly Mercury on feather'd sandal,
And, when the giant Titan sleeps, *
Snatch, god of thieves, his huge bed-candle:
Bear thence its tall extinguisher,
This conflagration to efface,
"Twill added dignity confer
On our new church in Langham-place.
The cone up-tilted, Momus bawls—
“Attention, all our loving people,
Here Mars's tower affords us walls,
And Titan's candlestick a steeple :
Our fane, thus martially endow’d,
Soon may some Boanerges grace,
And “Son of Thunder,' draw the crowd
To our new church in Langham-place :"

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who began to take in high dudgeon this horse-play of her neighbour, and was proceeding to manifest ber displeasure in no very measured terms, when she was fortunately separated from her antagonist, and hone down the hatchway by the dinner-desiring crowd, though sundry echoes of the words “jackanspos!" and “imperent fellow 7" continued audible above the confused gabble of the gangway. “Well, but Mr. Smart,” cried Mrs. Suet, as soon as she had satisfied the first cravings of her appetite, “you promised to tell Ine all about the steam, and explain what it is that makes them wheels go round and round as fast as those of our one-horse ctey, when Jem Ball drives the trotting mare.” “Why, ma'am, you must understand—” “Who called or sandwiches and a tumbler of negus 2" bawled to steward.—“Who called for savages and a tumbling negres?” repeated Mr. Smart.—" Yes, ma'am, scs saw the machinery, I believe—capital boiled icef there’s a thing goes up and a thing goes down, all made of iron; well, that's the hyostatic principle ; then you put into the boiler—(a moe leg of outts, Mrs. Sweetbread)—let me see, where was I ?–1the boiler, I believe. Ah! it's an old trick of trire to be getting into hot water. So, ma'am, you see they turn all the smoke that comes from the cre as to the wheels, and that makes them spin routd, jes as the smoke-jack in our chimnies turns the so: and then there's the safety-valve in case of oarser. which lets all the water into the fire, and so Patsest the steam at once. You see, ma'am, it's very sojo, when once you understand the trigonometry of it." “O perfectly, but I never had it properly expl. rei to me before. It's vastly clever, isn't it " How - a they think of it?” “Shall 1 give you a little of te sallado’ “La, it isn't dressed; what a shame" “Not at all,” cried Smart, “none of us dressed for dinner, so that we can hardly expect it to be dressed for us. He he he " “Did you or that, Mrs. H. 1" exclaimed Mrs. Suet, turning a Mrs. Hoggins, “that was a good one, warlot of Drat it, Smart, you are a droll one.” Here the company were alarmed by a terried groan from Mr. Croak, who ejaculated, “Heaven have mercy upon us! did you hear that whizzing noise t—there it is again there's something wrong in the boiler—if it bursts, we shall all be in heaven in five minutes.” “The Lord forbid!” ejaculated two or three voices, while others began to scream, and were preparing to quit their places, when the steward informed them it was nothing in the world but the spare steam which they were letting off. “Ah, so they always say,” resumed Croak, with an incredulous tone and woe-begone look; “but it was }. the same on board the American steam-boat that

was telling you of fifty-two souls sitting at dinner, laughing and chatting for all the world as we are now, when there comes a whiz, such as we heard a while ago—God help us! there it is once more—and bang ! up blew the boiler—fourteen people scalded to death—large pieces of their flesh found upon the banks of the river, and a little finger picked up next day in an oyster-shell, which by the ring upon it was known to be the captain's. But don't be alarmed, ladies and gentlemen, I dare say we shall escape any scalding, as we're all in the cabin, and so we shall only go to the bottom smack Indeed we may arrive safe—they do sometimes, and I wish we may now, for nobody loves a party of pleasure more than I do. I hate to look upon the gloomy side of things when we are all happy together, (here another groan,) and I hope I haven't said any thing to lower the spirits of the company."

“There's no occasion," cried Smart, “ for I saw the steward putting water into every bottle of brandy.” The laugh excited by this bon-mot tended in some degree to dissipate the alarm and gloom which the boding Mr. Croak had been infusing into the party; and Smart, by way of fortifying their courage, bade thern remark that the sailors were obviously under no *ort of apprehension. “Ay,” resumed the persevering Mr. Croak, “they are used to it—it is their business —they are bred to sea,” “But they don't want to be bread to the fishes, any more than you or I,” retorted Smart, chuckling at his having the best of the rauaaense.

“Well,” exclaimed Mrs. Sweetbread, “I never tasted such beer as this—flat as ditch-water, they should have put it upon the cullender to let the water run out; and yet you have been drinking it, Smart, and never said any thing about it.” “Madam,” relied the party thus addressed, laying his hand upon |. heart, and looking very serious, “I make it a rule never to speak ill of the dead. I am eating the ham, you see, and yet it would be much better if I were to let it exemplify one of Shakspeare's soliloquies— Ham-let alone.” “La you're such a wag,” cried Mrs. Hoggins, “there's no being up to you ; but if you don't like the ham, take a slice of this edge-bone —nothing's better than cold beef.” “I beg your pardon, Madam,” replied the indefatigable joker“cold beef's better than nothing—Ha! has hal” “How do you find yourself now, my darling?” said Mrs. Cleaver to her son, who had been driven below by a shower, and kept his hat on because, as he said, his 'air was quite vet. “Vy, mother, I have been as sick as a cat, but I'm bang up now, and so peckish that I feel as if I could heat anything.” “Then just warm these potatoes,” said Smart, handing him the dish, “for they are almost cold.” “I’ll thank you not to run your rigs upon me,” quoth the young cockney, looking glumpish, “ or I shall fetch you a vipe with this here hash-stick. If one gives you a hinch, you take a hell.” “Never mind him, my dear,” cried his mother “eat this mutton-chop, it will do you good; there's no gravy, for Mr. Smart has all the sauce to himself. Haw haw haw "– “Very good!" exclaimed the latter, clapping his hands, “egad Ma'am, you are as good a wag as your own double chin.” This was only ventured in a low tone of voice, and as the fat dame was at that moment handing the plate to her son, it was fortunately unheard. Dick being still rather giddy, contrived to let the chop fall upon the floor, an occurrence at which Mr. Smart declared he was not in the least surprised, as the young man, when first he came into the cabin, looked uncommonly chop-fallen. Dick, however, had presently taken a place at the

table, and began attacking a buttock of beef with

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