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Hodge, now, affected wonderful surprise. And like a pig’s, just stuck, appear'd his eyes— “Lord, sir,” says he, and seemed to be contrite, Tho' bent, by trick, to pacify the knight— “lse be main sorry thus to give offence: But to a person of your worship's sense, Ise need not say, for that would be absurd, While a man drinks, he ne'er can hear one word ""— “Not hear, while drinking?” straight Sir Simon cries; Fill'd, in his turn, with a stuck pig's surprise: “Why, sure—why sure, Hodge, that can never be—

Egad, I'll fetch another jug, and see.”
Away the knight, with his best speed, now went,
To find the truth, as told by Hodge, intent:
And Hodge, meantime, contriv'd the means to
make
Sir Simon, what he said, for gospel take.
“Now, Hodge,” the knight returning, cried,
“we'll try
If what you tell me truth be, or a lie,
I'll drink, and you must bellow—'Stop, stop, stop!
Do pray, sir, you may add, leave me a drop.”
This, when I hear, I certainly will do;
So, as I drink, remember, Hodge, bawl you.”
Sir Simon heav'd the pitcher to his head;
Hodge op'd his mouth, but not a word he said:
Yet gap'd so wide, there seem’d abundant fear
The fellow meant to tear from ear to ear.
“This truth, so strange,” to Hodge Sir Simon cried,
“I ne'er could have believ'd, had I not tried :
Thus, Hodge, it is, though life wears fast away,
Wiser, and wiser, we grow ev'ry day !
This time thou hadst, I fairly own, most brains;
So freely take the liquor for thy pains.”
Hodge thus got paid, for playing off his wit;
And pleas'd his master was, though he was bit:
Convinc'd that he had gain’d a wrinkle more;
No matter where—than e'er he had before :

crest of Tile texiple. The Pegasus which appears over the principal entrance of the Inner Temple, and which is the crest

of that society, takes its origin from the seal use: by the first Knights Templars. Hugh de Poros =Geoffrey de St. Alden.or, had, it is said, e-stars: upon their seal the figures of two men ričiai –Pes one horse,_A type of their poverty. A rode representation of this seal may be seen in the otMinor of Matthew Paris. This emblem was corrupted by the lawyers, the successors to the Knights Templars, into a Pegasus, and to this day. remains their crest. The Society of the Mido Temple adopted the emblem of a lamb bearing a banner; or in heraldic language, a device of a 5-4 argent charged with a cross gules, and upon to nombrel thereof a holy lamb with its nimos = banner. These two devices, which are score: very liberally over all the gateways in the Iero, gave rise to the following

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As by the Templars’ holds you go,
The horse and lamb, display'd
In emblematic figures, show
The merits of their trade.
That clients may infer from thence
How just is their profession.
The lamb sets forth their innocence,
The horse their expedition.
O happy Britons' happy islet
Let foreign nations say,
Where you get justice without guile,
And law without delay.
ANswer. .
Deluded men, these holds forego,
Nor trust such cunning elves;
Those artful emblems tend to show
Their clients, not themselves
"Tis all a trick, these are all sham-
By which they mean to cheat you i
But have a care!—for you're the lambs;
And they the wolves that eat you.
Nor let the thought of no delay.
To these their courts misguide von.
"Tis you're the showy horse, and they
The jockeys that will ride you! .

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Vox PopULI. When the Rev. John Wesley, one of the founders of the religious society which bears his name, was vainly endeavouring to convince his sister that the voice of the people is the voice of God. “Yes,” she mildly replied, “it cried, crucify him, crucify him.” Liquid ATING claims. During a remarkably wet summer, Joe Vernor, whose vocal taste and humour contributed for many years to the entertainment of the frequenters of Vatixhall gardens, but who was not quite so good a turnist in money matters as in music, meeting an acquaintance who had the misfortune to hold some of his unhonoured paper, was asked by him, not uninterestedly, how the gardens were going on. “Oh, swimmingly "" answered the jocose Joe. “Glad to hear it,” retorted the creditor, “their swimming state, I hope, will cause the singers to figuidate their nutes.”

wit oles Alp A N to retail. In little trades more cheats and lying Are us'd in selling, than in buying; But in the great, unjuster dealing ls us'd in buying, than in selling. Butler. philological petitions. In this age of innovation, when the procreative genius of upstart linguists is aiming to subvert roumon-sense phraseology, the following petitions will be of as literary morceaux.

“The humble petition of who and which,
“Showeth,

“That your petitioners being in a forlorn and destitute condition, know not to whom we should apply ourselves for relief, because there is hardly any man alive who hath not injured us. We are descended of ancient families, and kept up our dignity and honour many years, till the jack-sprat that supplanted us. How often have we found ourselves slighted by the clergy in their pulpits, and the lawyers at the bar Nay, how often have we heard, in one of the most polite and august assemblies in the universe, to our great mortification, these words, “That that that noble lord urged;’ which if one of us had had justice done, would have sounded nobler thus, “That which that noble lord urged.” Senates themselves, the guardians of British liberty, have degraded us, and preferred that to us; and yet no decree was ever given against us. In the very acts of parliament, in which the utmost right should be done to every body, word, and thing, we find ourselves often either not used, or used one instead of another. In the first and best prayer children are taught, they learn to misuse us : “Our Father, which art in heaven ;” should be “Our Father, who art in heaven;” and even a Convocation, after long debates, refused to consent to an altcration of it. In our General Confession we say, “Spare thou them, O God, which confess their faults,” which ought to be “w to confess their faults.” What hopes then have we of having justice done us, when the makers of our very prayers and laws, and the most learned in all faculties, seem to be in a confederacy against us, and our enemies themselves must be our judges.

“The Spanish proverb says, El sabio muda consojo, el necio no ; i. e. “A wise man changes his mind, a fool never will.” You are well able to settle this affair, and to you we submit our cause. We desire you to assign the butts and bounds of each of us; and that for the future we may both enjoy our own. We would desire to be heard by pur counsel, but that we fear in their very pleadings they would betray our cause: besides, we huve been oppressed so many years, that we can appear no other way but in forma pauperis. All which considered, we hope you will be pleased to do that which to right and justice shall appertain. “And your petitioners, &c.” THE JUST REMONSTRANCE OF AFF RONTED Til AT. “Though I deny not the petition of Messrs. who and wonch, yet you should not suffer them to be rude, and to call honest people names: for that 'bears very hard on some of those rules of decency winch you are justly famous for establishing. They ouay find fault, and correct speeches in the senate, and at the bar, but let them try to get themselves so often and with so much eloquence repeated in a sentence, as a great orator doth frequently introduce doc. “‘My lords, (says he) with humble submission, That That l say is this ; That, That That gentleman \mas advanced, is not That That he should have invved to your lordships." Let those two questionary petitioners try to do this with their Whos and their Whiches. “What great advantage was I of to Mr. Dryden in his Indian Emperor, “You force me still to answer you in That,' to furnish out a rhyme to Morato and what a poor figure would Mr. Bayes have made without his “Yogad and all That?' How can a judicious man distinguish one thing from another, without saying, * This here," or “That there: ' And how can a sober man, without using the expletives of oaths (in which indeed the rakes and bullies have a great advantage over others) make a discourse of any to'crable length without ‘That is ; and if he be a very grave man indeed, without ‘That is to say ” And how instructive as well as entertaining are those usual expressions in the mouths of great men, “Such things as That,’ and “The like of That." “I am not against reforming the corruptions of speech you mention, and own there are proper seasons for the introduction or other words besides

That; but I scorn as much to supply the place of a Who or a Which at every turn, as they are unequal always to fill mine ; and I expect good language and civil treatment, and hope to receive it for the future: That, That I shall only add is That “I am, yours, “THAT." ~ specTAToc.

FLATTEnv at vocatro.
They, that they do write in authors' praises,
And freely give their friends their voices,
Are not contin'd to what is true ;
That's not to give, but pay a due :
For praise, that's due, does give no more
To worth, than what it had before;
But to conmend without desert
Requires a mastery of art,
That sets a gloss on what's amiss,
And writes what shou'd be, not what is.

-- riTorvilex is or TANTalizatiox.

Virgil, who has cast the whole system of Platonic philosophy, so far as it relates to the soul of usa, into beautiful allegories, in the sixth book of his AEneid gives the following punishinent of a volortuary after death : Lucent genialibus altis Aurea fulcratoris, epulseque ante ora parate Regifico luxu : furiarum maxima juxta Accubat, et manibus prohibet contingere mou Exurgitolue facem attoilens, atque intona: ore. .iom. vii too. They lie below on golden beds display’d. And genial feasts with regal pomp are made: The queen of furies by their side is set, And snatches from their mouths the untosted meat ; Which, if they touch, her hissing snakes to rears, Tossing her torch, and thmnd'ring in their cirLowThe following story exhibits a lively repress-tion of a person lying under the torments of a kind of tantalism, or Platonic hell. Monsieur Pontignan, speaking of a love-adventure that happened to him in the country, gives the following account of it. “When I was in the country last summer, I was often in company with a couple of charming women, who had all the wit and beauty one could desire in female companions, with a dash of coquetry, that from time to time gave me a great many agreeable torments. I was, after my way, in love with both of them, and had such frequent opportunities of pleading my passion to them when they were asunder, that I had reason to hope for particular favours from each of them. As I was walking one evening in my chamber with nothing about me but my night-gown, they both came into my room, and told me they had a very pleasant trick to put upon a gentleman that was in the same house, provided I would bear a part in it. Upon this they told me such a plausible story, that I laughed at their contrivance, and agreed to do whatever they should require of me. They immediately began to swaddle me up in my night-gown, with long pieces of linen, which they folded about me till they had wrapt me in above a hundred yards of swathe. My arms were pressed to my sides, and my legs closed together by so many wrappers one over another, that I looked like an £gyptian mummy. As I stood bolt upright upon one end in this antique figure, one of the ladies burst out a laughing. “And now, Pontignan,” says she, “we intend to perform the promise that we find you have cztorted from each of us. You have often asked the favour of us, and I dare say you ire a better bred cavalier than to refuse to go to led to two ladies that desire it of you.”. After inving stood a fit of laughter, I begged them to mease me, and do with me what they pleased. ‘No, no,” said they, “we like you very well as ou are ;” and upon that ordered me to be carried o one of their houses, and put to bed in all my waddles. The room was lighted up on all sides: nd I was laid very decently between a pair of heets, with my head (which was indeed the only

part I could move) upon a very high pillow : this

was no sooner done, but my two female friends

came into bed to me in their finest night clothes. You may easily guess at the condition of a man

that saw a couple of the most beautiful women in

the world undrest and a-bed with him, without

being able to stir hand or foot. I begged them to

release me, and struggled all I could to get loose,

which I did with so much violence, that about

midnight they both leaped out of bed, crying out

they were undone. But seeing me safe, they took

their posts again, and renewed their raillery. Find

ing all my prayers and endeavours were lost, I

composed myself as well as I could, and told them

that if they would not unbind me, I would fall

asleep between them, and by that means disgrace

them for ever. But, alas ! this was impossible;

could I have been disposed to it, they would have

prevented me by several little ill-natured caresses

and endearments which they bestowed upon me. As

much devoted as I am to womankind, I would not. pass such another night to be master of the whole: sex. My reader will doubtless be curious to knc rv what became of me the next morning. Why trily

my bedfellows left me about an hour before day,

and told me, if I would be good and lie still, they

would send somebody to take me up as soon as it

was time for me to rise. Accordingly about nine

o'clock in the morning an old woman came to un

swathe me. I bore all this very patiently, being

resolved to take my revenge of my tormentors, . and to keep no measures with them as soon as I

was at liberty; but upon asking my old woman what was become of the two ladies, she told me she believed they were by that time within sight of Paris, for that they went away in a coach and six: before five o'clock in the morning.” spectator.

nis AdvantAGES OF WIT.

A man of quick and active wit
For drudgery is more unfit,
Compar'd to those of duller parts,
Than running-uags to draw in carts. ... auriza,

Every-DAY. Pedants.

A man who has been brought up among books, and is able to talk-of nothing else, is a very indifferent companion, and what we call a pedant. But we should enlarge the title, and give it to every one that does not know how to think out of his profession and particular way of life.

What is a greater pedant than a mere man of the town 2 Bar him the play-houses, a catalogue of the reigning beauties, and an account of a few fashionable distempers that have befallen him, and you strike him dumb. How many a pretty gentleman's knowledge lies all within the verge of the court: He will tell you the names of the principal favourites, repeat the shrewd sayings of a man of quality, whisper an intrigue that is not yet blown upon by common fame; or, if the sphere of his observations is a little larger than ordinary, will perhaps enter into all the incidents, turns, and revolutions in a game. When he has gone thus far he has shown you the whole circle of his accomplishments, his parts are drained, and he is disabled from any farther conversation. What are these but rank pedants 2 and yet these are the men who value themselves most on their exemption from the pedantry of colleges.

The military pedant always talks in a camp, and is storming towns, making lodgements, and fight ing battles from one end of the year to the other. Every thing he speaks smells of gunpowder; if you take away his artillery from him, he has not a word to say for himself. The law pedant is perpetually putting cases, repeating the transactions of Westminster hall, wrangling with yon upon the most indifferent circumstances of life, and not to be convinced of the distance of a place, or of the most trivial point in conversation, but by dint of argument. The state pedant is wrapt up in news, and lost in polities. If you mention either of the sovereigns of Europe, he talks very notably; but if you go out of the Gazette, you drop him. In short, a mere courtier, a mere soldier, a mere

|

scholar, a mere anything, is an insipid pedant: character, and equally ridiculous. Of all the species of pedants, the book-pediata much the most supportable; he has at least as exercised understanding, and a bezd which is fil though confused, so that a man who converses with him may often receive hints from him of this that are worth knowing, and what he may possibly ten to his own advantage, though they are of little use to the owner. The worst kind of pedants among cared men, are such as are naturally endued with a very small share of common sense, and have resis great number of books without taste or disticetion. The truth of it is, learning, like travelling, to all other methods of improvement, as it finisse: good sense, so it makes a silly man ten throsio times more insufferable, by supplying vario of matter to his impertinence, and giving in a opportunity of abounding in absurdities. Shallow pedants ery up one another much to than men of solid and useful learning. To real the titles they give an editor, or collator of . manuscript, you would take him for the slot of the commonwealth of letters, and the wonor of his age, when perhaps upon examination on to that he has only rectified a Greek particle, or lo ont a whole sentence in proper commas. They are obliged indeed to be thus look of their praises, that they may keep one another = countenance; and it is no wonder if a great dea of knowledge, which is not capable ef tuski> → man wise, has a natural tendency to mass---a vain and arrogant. Accomford Ataxic huri-toxicWhen Sir Nicholas Bacon, the Lord Kolived, every room in Gorhaunbury was servić wo a pipe of water, from the ponds distani aro mile off. In the lifetime of Mr. Anthony Biothe water ceased ; after whose death, his laruscoming to the inheritance, could not recover * water without infinite charge. When he was lo Chaucellor, he built Verulam-house, close of"

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