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THE HAUNTED CHAMBER.

wine ;

of his acquaintance that he had poisoned himself, So I stept into bed; and (I speak without boast) of which a lady observed, “ Surely, he must have Felt no apprehension of little Miss Ghost ; bitten bis own tongue."

For I must inform you (as gossips bad talk’d)

"Twas a lady whose sprite so appallingly walk'd. A poetical Epistle from a young Gentleman in the Well, nothing appear'd, and my eyes 'gan to Country to his Brother in London,

closeSafe seated at uncle's, to promises true,

It struck three, just as I was beginning to dozë,

When I fancied I heard the door gently unclose. I send the good news, my dear brother to you ; So cheerful the house of our worthy relation,

I started upright, and (conceive my atfright) 1

I saw gliding in a tall female in white ! never enjoy'd such a pleasant vacation ; Good sporting, good neighbours, good living, good 1 shiver'd with cold-rounds! it could not be fear !

I own I felt queerish, and shiver'd ;-but hear

The figure was clothed in a robe all beruffled, And the good of all goods-female beauty, divine !

Her features were hidden, her face was so muffled ; For all our fair cousins (don't envy me, pray)

She stalk'd to my bed, and the curtain undrew, Are handsome, accomplish'd, enchanting, and gay; Though, in all the attractions with which they are But, though a kind girl is my greatest delight,

Then lay herself down-as I live, it is true; blest,

I had no inclination to lie with a sprite ; The elegant Emily soars o'er the rest.

So I mov'd farther off, till I lay on the post, But 'tis time I descend from heroics, to tell

And left my warm bed to this comical ghost. The wond'rous adventure which lately befell.

While I cower'd, in a tremor, the bed-clothes beArriv'd at our uncle's old mansion, I found

neath, A numerous party assembled around, The chambers all occupied (so said our host)

I fancied I heard my strange bed fellow breathe ! Save one that was playu'd with--what think you ?— And louder it grew—till 'twas almost a snore

I listen'd—the breaihing I heard as beforea ghost! I thought they were quizzing ; but all our sair cousins It sure must be made of corporeal stuff';"

Thinks I, “ For a phantom, 'tis funny enoughMost gravely asserted that spirits by dozens Were seen from this terrible chamber to come,

So I softly extended my hand to the form,

And, touching it, found it substantial and warm ! And nobody ventur'd to sleep in the room.

And by her respiring so loudly and deep,
I laugh'd at the bugbear, and frankly declar'd
I'd sleep in the room, though the devil appear'd!

I judg'd 'twas some lady who walk'd in her sleep.

Thought I, “ To so lovely a ghost I could cling, My courage was highly extoll'd, as you'll think,

When I felt on her delicate finger a ring ; And, applauded by beauty, pray how could I shrink? I rais'd her soft hand, and remov’d it with care, I vowd that I'd cheer with good spirits my heart,

For says I to myself, " This will tell who you are. And that should keep all evil spirits apart.

That instant my bedfellow threw off the clothes, The gloomy old chamber was air’d for my birth,

And, tho' fast asleep, started up ou her toes ; And ihe evening pass'd gaily with music and mirth.

Then backwards and forwards she glided about, 'Twas midnight-we parted—and I, nothing daunted, And, as she came in, she at last glided out! Repair'd to this room so mysteriously haunted ; I laugh'd at the spectre that made all this riot, Here a fine blazing fire, with each comfort akin, And, after a yawn or two, rested in quiet. Wam'd my courage without, as good wine warm’d This curious event so disturb'd my repose, within ;

'Twas late in the morning before I arose :

you see?

THREE BLACK CROWS.

When I enter'd the breakfast-room, smiling and | roads were uncominonly bad, went to pay a visit to hearty.

a person of quality in the neighbourhood, when bis Assembled I found the whole family party:

coach was overturned in a slough, and the servauts Their inquirics at once were directed to me, were unable to extricate the carriage. As it was far With, • How did you rest, Sir ?" and, “what did from any house, and the weather bad, the coachman

freely told his master he believed they must stay there Said I, “ Ere I speak of this wonderful thing, all night,

for," said he, “ while your grace is pre: I must learn who it is owns this emerald ring.' sent, I cannot make the horses move." Astonished None claim'd the bright bauble, till Emily said, at this strange reason, his lordship desired him to ex“ Good Heav'n! 'tis my ring !--and where was it plain himself: “ It is,” said he, “ because I dare mislaid ?"

not swear in your presence : and, if I don't, we shall Mislaid,” said I, laughing, "where Miss lay herself; never get clear."" The bishop finding nothing could For you are the ghost, my fair cousin, yourself ; be done if the servant was not humoured, replied, And, strange as it seems, know, good people, I said, “Well, theu, swear a little, but not much." The Last night cousin Emily slept in my bed." coachman made use of his permission, and the horses, “ You're joking,” cried one, “ 'Tis too bad," cried used to such a kind of dialect, soon set the coach at another,

liberty While Emily tried her confusion to smother. “ 'Tis true,” I exclaim'd, “ and the truth must pre-Two honest tradesmen, neeting in the Strand,

vail,” Then frankly related my whimsical tale.

One took the other briskly by the hand ; All laugh'd, and declar'd I the secret must keer,

Hark-ye,” said he, " 'tis an odd story this When a lady commits a faux-pas in her sleep;

About the crows !"_" I'don't know what it is," While I thought all their mirth a confounded intrusion, Reply'd his friend—“No! l'am surpris'at that; For I saw lovely Emily sink in confusion.

Where I come from it is the cominon chat; At length our good uncle observ’d, with a smile,

But you shall hear; an odd afiair indeed!
Fauz-pas in the sleep are faux-pas without guile ; Not to detain you from a thing so strange,

And that it happened, they are all agreed.
And, since she has taken the place of a wife,
Suppose, my dear nephew, you take her for life.

A gentleman, that lives not far from 'Change, With her ten thousand pounds you may prudently wed, This week, in short, as all the alley knows, And you must take care, boy, to keep her in bed."

Taking a puke, has thrown up three black crows." I lik'd, the proposal--to Emily turn'd,

Impossible !"-"Nay, but 'us really true Whose check with the pure blush of modesty burn d

I have it from good hands, and so may you.' And ask'd, as a sign of consent, for a kiss : " Frem whose, I pray ?”—So having named the man, Her lips falter'd no, but her eyes implied yes. Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran. 'Twas settled; fair Emily's mine, with her pelf, Sir, did you tell"-relating the affairAnd, henceforth, I'll keep the sweet ghost to myself.

“ Yes, Sir, I did ; and if 'tis worth your care, The somnambulist shall not so favour ANOTTIEN, Ask Mr. Such-a-one, he told it me, So vows, my dear Tom,

But, by the by, 'twas two black crows, not three." Your affectionate brother. Resolv'd to trace so wondrous an event,

Whip to the third the virtuoso went.

* Sir,"-and so forth—" Why yes : the thing is fact, A bishop being at his seat in the country where the Tho' in regard to number, not exact ;

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SWEARING AND DRIVING.

VOLTAIRE AND HIS BOOKSELLER.

It was not two black crows, 'twas only one,
The truth of that you may depend upon;

At the rehearsal of one of Voltaire's tragedies, as The gentleman himself told me the case

Mr. Cramer, a bookseller at Geneva, was finishing "Where may I find him?'—"Why, in such a piace." bis part, which was to end with some dying sentences, Away goes he, and having found him out,

Voltaire cried out aloud-" Cramer, you lived like a “Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt"

prince in the four preceding acts, but in the fifth Then to his last informant he referr’d,

you die like a bookseller.” A medical gentleman And begg'd to know if true what he had heard : present, could not help interfering ; with, “ Why, "Did you, Sir, throw up a black crow ?” -"Not I-Mons. de Voltaire, can you expect gentlemen to be Blesz me! how people propagate a lie !

at the expense of dresses, and the fatigue of getting Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and up such long parts, if you thus upbraid them? On

the contrary, I think they all deserve the greatest And here I find all comes at last to none !

encouragement at your hands; and as to my friend Did you say nothing of a crow at all ?

Cramer, I declare, that, as far as I am a judge, he Crow-crow—perhaps I might ; now I recall

dies with the same dignity as he lived." Voltaire, The matter over."_" Ånd, pray, Sir, what was't ?"- who detested advice or information, made this cool "Why I was horrid sick, and, at the last,

answer ; “ Prithee, doctor, when you have got kings led throw up, and told my neighbour so,

to kill, kill them in your own way; but let me kill Seraething that was—as block, Sir, as a crow.”

mine as I please.”

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AN UNLUCKY CONFESSION

DEGREES OF INEDRIETY.

CURIOUS EPITAPHS.

A physiciail, who lived in London, attended a lady, As drunk as an owl, as drunk as a sow, as drunk who lived in Chelsea. After continuing his visits for as a bezgar, as drunk as the devil, as drunk as a some time, the lady expressed an apprehension that lord. These are the principal comparisons of drunk it might be inconvenient for him to come so far on her engess, and the explanation is as follows : a man is account. “Oh, Madam !” replied the doctor, “I as drunk as an owl, when he cannot see; he is as have another patient in this neighbourhood, and by drunk as a beggar, when he is very impudent; he is that means, you know, I kill two birds with one as drunk as the devil, when he is inclined to mischief; stone." " Doctor," replied the lady, “ you are too and as drunk as a lord, when he is every thing that goed a shot for me," and dispensed with his further is bad.

attendance.

EXTEMPORE
In a church-yard, in Sussex, is the following epi On a gentleman with very thin legs.
taph :

Sir, that you're brave you need not swear,
He lie two children dear,

The reason why I will disclose ;
Ope buried at Portsea, the other here.

A coward heart would take more care,
This is only equalled by another in France : The

Than trust itself to legs like those. mayor of a sinall provincial town having died on a Visit to the capital, where he was buried, his admi- EPITAPH ON A WOMAN WHO NEVER HAD CHILDREN. bistrators put up a monument to him in his parish Here lies the body of barren Peg, church, on which was engraved, “ Ci-git Monsieur Who had no issue, but one in her leg ; B***, qui a été enterré à Paris." Here lics Monsieur But while she was living, she was so cunning, B***, who was buried at Paris !

That when one stood still, the other was running,

A PLAY-WRITER

CHARACTERS BY SAMUEL BUTLER, excellently well to hide the pieceing and coarseness
Author of Hudibras.

of a bad stuff

, contributes mightily to the bulk, and makes the less serve by the many impertinencies it

commonly requires to make away for it ; for very few of our times is like a Fanatic, that has no wit in are endowed with abilities to bring it in on its own ordinary easy things, and yet attempts the hardest account. This he finds to be good husbandry, and a task of brains in the whole world, only because, kind necessary thrift; for they that have but a whether his play or work please or displease, he is little ought to make as much of it as they can. His certain to come off better than he deserves, and find prologue, which is commonly none of his own, is some of his own latitude to applaud him, which he always better than his play; like a piece of cloth could never expect any other way; and is as sure to that's fine in the begiuning, and coarse afterwards ; lose no reputation, because he has none to venture.

though it has but one topic, and that's the same that Like gaming rooks, that never stick

is used by malefactors when they are to be tried, to To play for hundreds upon tick;

except against as many of the jury as they can. 'Cause, if they chance to lose at play,

BUTLER'S CHARACTER OF A NEW SMONGER. Th’ave not one halfpenny to pay;

A newsmonger is a retailer of rumour, that takes tip And, if they win a hundred pound,

upon trust, and sells as cheap as he buys. He deals in Gain, if for sixpence they compound.

a commodity, that will not keep : for if it be not tresha Nothing encourages him more in his undertaking it lies upon his hands, and will yield nothing. True than his ignorance, for he has not wit enough to unor false is all one to him ; for novelty being the grace derstand so much as the difficulty of what he at- of both, a truth grows stale as soon as a lie : and as tempts; therefore he runs on boldly like a fool-hardy a slight suit will last as well as a better while the wit, and fortune, that favours fools and the bold, fashion holds, a lie serves as well as truth till den sometimes takes notice of him for his double capacity, ones come up: He is little concerned whether it be and receives him into her good graces. He has one good or bad, for that does not make it more or less motive more, and that is the concurrent ignorant news; and if there be any difference, he loves the judgment of the present age, in which his sottish fop bad best, because it is said to come soonest ; for he peries pass with applause, like Oliver Cromwell's would wil ingly bear his share in any public calarity oratory among fanatics of his own canting inelina to have the pleasure of hearing and telling it. He is tion. He finds it easier to write in rhymne than prose ; deeply read in diurnals, and can give as good an ac for the world being overcharged with romanees, he count of Rowland Pepin, if need be, as another man. finds his plots, passions, and repartees, ready made He tells news, as men do money, with his fingers; to his hand; and if he can but turn them into thyme, for he assures them it comes from very good hands. the thievery is disguised, and they pass for his own The whole business of his life is like that of a spaniel, wit and invention without question ; like a stolen to fetch and carry news; and when he does it well cloak made into a coat, or dyed into another colour. he is clapt on the back, and fed for it: for he does Besides this he makes no conscience of stealing any not take to it altogether like a gentleman, for his thing that lights in his way, and borrows the advice pleasure ; but when he lights on a considerable of so many to correct, cularge, and amend, what he parcel of news, he knows where to put it off for a has ill-favouredly patched together, that it becomes dinner, and quarter himself upon it, until he has like a thing drawn by council, and none of his own eaten it out; and by this means he drives a trade, performance, or the son that has no certain father. by retrieving the first news to truck it for the first He has very great reason to preser verse before prose meat in season; and, like the old Roman luxury, in his compositions ; for rhyme is like lace, that serves ransacks all seas and lands to please his palate ; for

he imports his narratives from all parts within the never cuts a man's cloaths but he cuts bis purse into geography of a diurnal, and eats as well upon the the bargain ; and when he makes a pocket, takes Russ and Polander, as the English and Dutch. By handsel of it, and picks it first himself

. He calls this means his belly is provided for, and nothing lies stealing danning, by a figure in rhetoric called the upon his hands but his back, which takes other effect for the efficient; and the place where he lodges courses to maintain itself by weft and stray silver all his thieveries hell, to put him in mind of his latapodas, straggling hoods and scarfs, pimping, ard sets ter end : and what he steals by retail the broker át l'ombre.

takes off his hands by wholesale. He keeps his wife BUTLER'S CHAPACTER OF A TAILOR.

in taffety to save charges ; for when her petticoats

are worn out, they serve him to line vests with, as A taylor came in with the curse; and is younger well as if they were new; and when he is unfurbrother to thorns, thistles, and death ; for if Adam had nished of these, old sattin and taffety-men supply not fallen, he had never sat cross-legged. Sin and him for ends of gold and silver. He gets more by he are partners; for as sin first brought him into the trimming and garniture of cleaths than all the employment, so he by cheating and contributing to rest ; for he can swallow ribands like a juggler, and pride and vanity, works to sin, and the old trade is put whole pieces more in his bill than ever he made still kept up between both. Our Saviour wore his use of, and stretch lace, as a shoe-inaker does leather, coat without seum, rather than he would have any with his teeth, when he sets it on. The mercers are thing to do with himn; and Elias, when he went to in fee with him to revive old rotten stuffs by giving Heaven, left his mantle behind, because it had been them new fantastic names; and he brings them into polluted by his fiugers. The Jews in all great cala- the mode by swearing they are new come up: in mities were wont to rend their garments, only to consideration of which he is allowed to buy cheap testify that they defied him and all his works. All and sell dear : for he is loa:h to undervalue his con. men love and admire cloaths, but scorn and despise science, and put it off at a mean rate, as long as he him that matle them, as princes approve of treason, sees his neighbours can make more of theirs He but hate traitors. He sits cross-legged to show that scorns that. he was originally a Turk, and calls himself MerchantTaylor upon no other account, but only as he de

BUTLER'S CHARACTER OF A DEGENERATE NOBLE. scended from Mahomet, who was a merchant's pren- A degenerate noble, or one that is proud of his birth, tice himself in his youth. And his constant custom is like a turnip; there is nothing good of him but of making the calves of his legs a stool to sit upon, that which is under-around; or rhubarb, a conhas rendered him so stiff in the hams, that he walks temptible shrub, that springs from a noble root. He as if he was newly circumcised, to distinguish him- has no more title to the worth and virtue of his anself from a Christian. He lives much more by his cestors, than the worms that were engendered in faith than good works ; for he gains more by trusting their dead bodies ; and yet he believes he has enough and believing in one that pays him at long running, to exempt himself and his posterity from all things of than six that he works for upon an even account for that nature for ever. This makes him glory in the ready-money. He never cuts his coat according to antiquity of his family, as if his nobility were the his cloth ; but always the more he is allowed the less better the farther off it is in time, as well as desert, he pats in a garment: and he believes he has reason from that of his predecessors. He believes the honour for it; for he is fain to take double pains in contriv- that was left him, as well as the estate, is sufficient ing how to dispose both what he steals, and what he to support his quality, without troubling himself to nuses, to the best advantage, which costs him twice as purchase any more of his own; and he meddles as trech labour as that which he gets nothing by. He little with the management of the one as the other,

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