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The character of Sir John Falstaff is made up by Shakspeare wholly of incongruities:–a man at once

oung and old, enterprising and fat, a dupe and a wit, .. and wicked, weak in principle and resolute by constitution, cowardly in appearance and brave in reality; a knave without malice, a liar without deceit ; and a knight, a gentleman, and a soldier, without either dignity, decency, or honour: this is a character, which, though it may be decompounded, could not have been formed, nor the ingredients of it duly mingled, upon any receipt whatever : it required the hand of Shakspeare himself to give to every particular part a relish of the whole, and of the whole to every particular part;-alike the same incongruous, identical, Falstaff, whether, to the grave chief justice, he vainly talks of his youth, and offers to coper for a thousand; or cries to Mrs. Doll, “I am old, I am old,” though she is seated on his lap, and he is courting her for busses.

on A celer, RATED PHY's ICIA N, WHO THOUGH NOT A Good shot, w As A G REAT SHOOTER. Doctor—all game you either ought to shun, Or sport no longer with th' unsteady gun: But, like physicians of undoubted skill ; Gladly attempt what never fails to kill ; Not lead's uncertain drop, but physic's deadly pill. as a Jo it lox G pow. Major Longbow was the most poetical proser of his day, a complete egotist; his subject himself; his maxim, I by myself I ; and called by his friends the modern Munchausen ; and has been, as he said, at every battle from the taking of Seringapatam to the O. P. war at Covent-garden theatre. But his maxims are not to be told, let him speak for himself in the following dialogue —" How do you do, major "“How do I do ; how should I do eh? Better than any man living—there's muscle, strongest man living. How do I do, poh no man so well as I am. I am reckoned the finest piece of anatomy that was ever sent upon the face of the earth. Upon my life it's true; what will you lay it's a lie 1 Hit me with a sledge ham

mer if you like, can't hurt me, there's muscle.” “Are you inclined to go up, major " “Up ! What in that thingumy, a balloon? why I can walk up higher than you'll go in that thing. When I was in India, I walked up an inaccessible mountain ;walked for five days running, four hours every day; took me seven days coming down; run the whole of the last day, and danced at the governor's ball at night. Upon my life it's true; what will you lay it's a lie ". “But now, major, you have an opportunity of purchasing notoriety at prime cost.” “Prime cost, trouble you not to mention prime cost.” “Why?” “I tell you what : a few weeks ago I bought a Tilbury at prime cost. As I was driving through the streets of London, a beautiful blood mare down Hayhill.” “Sire Munchausen, I suppose.” “Poh, don’t be foolish : well, sir, I was driving at the rate of nine and twenty miles an hour.” “Nine and twenty, surely major.” “I)—e, do you doubt me. I repeat it, nine and thirty miles an hour. Well, sir, I was driving at the rate of nine and forty miles an hour, my usual pace, I met an internal coal cart, seven horses in a string, all as fat as Falstaff, crash goes my wheel against the coal cart—upset me—and away went poor prime cost into a million of shivers; up spins I-made three somersets in the air—came feet foremost through the bow window of the pastry cook's shop, corner of Berkley-street, flat, upon my feet, and said with the utinost coolness to Mrs. Gunter, who was seated behind her own counter, Madam, your most obedient, how do you do never saw a woman more astonished—Was nt hurt a bit; there’s muscle-lpon my life it's true: what will you lay it's a lie.” Thr cou NTY J U ST1 CE. Now justices of peace must judge all pieces Of Inischief of all kinds, and keep the game And morals of the country from caprices Of those who have not a licence for the same And of all things, excepting tithes and leases, Perhaps these are most difficult to tame Preserving partridges and pretty wenches Are puzzles to the most precautious benches.

N Ews PAPER in Nov ATIons.

Amongst all the improvements of the age, none perhaps are more striking than those which have recently been made, and indeed are at present making, in the language of ordinary life. Who in these days ever reads of boarding-schools?—Nobody: they are transformed into academies for boys and seminaries for girls; the higher classes are “Establishments;” a coach-maker's shop is a “Repository for Carriages;” a milliner's a “Depot;" a thread seller's an “Emporium.” One buys drugs at a “Medical Hall,” wines of a “Company,” and shoes at a “Mart,” blacking is dispensed from an “Institution,” and meat from a “Purveyor.” Instead of reading in our newspapers, that after a ball the company did not go away till daylight, we are told that “the joyous group continued tripping on the light fantastic toe until Sol gave them warning to depart.” If one of the company happened on his way to tumble into a ditch, we should be informed that “his foot slipped, and he was immersed in the liquid element.” A good supper is described as making the “tables groan with every delicacy of the season.” A crowd of briefless lawyers, unbenificed clergymen, and half-pay officers, are enumerated as a “host of fashion” at a watering-place, where we are also informed that ladies, instead of taking a dip before breakfast, “plunge themselves fearlessly into the bosom of Neptune.” A sheep killed by lightning is a thing unheard of: the animal may be destroyed by the “electric fluid;" but, even then, we stauld not be told that it was dead; we should be informed that “the vital spark had fled for ever.” If the carcass were picked up by a carpenter or shoemaker, we never should hear that a journeyman tradesman had found it: we should be told that its remains had been discovered by an “operative artisan.” - All little girls, be their faces ever so plain, pitted or pitiable, if they appear at a public office to complain of robbery, or ill-treatment, are invariably “intelligent and interesting;" if they have proceeded very far in crime, they o called “unfortunate feB

males;” should they by any accident have a prospect of becoming mothers, we are informed “that they are in a way that ladies wish to be who love their lords.”. Child-murder is elegantly termed “infanticide;" and when it is punished capitally, we hear, not that the unnatural mother was hanged, but that “ the unfortunate culprit underwent the last sentence of the law, and was launched into eternity.”

No person reads in the newspapers, . t a house has been burnt down : he perhaps will find “ that the house fell a sacrifice to the flames.” In an account of a launch we learn, not that a ship went off the slip without any accident, but that “she glided securely and majestically into her native element,” the said native element being one in which the said ship never was before.

To send for a surgeon if one's leg be broken, is out of the question ; a man indeed “may be despatched for medical aid.” There are now no public singers at tavern, dinners—they are “the professional gentlemen ;” and actors are all “professors of the histrionic art." Widows themselves are scarce : these are all “interesting relicts;” and as for nursery-maids, they are now a days universally transformed into “ young persons, who superintend the junior branches of the family"

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The body we'll bury, but pray where's the huny."
Why lord, sir, the corpse it does stay.
You fool, hold your peace, since miracles cease,
A corpse, Moses, can't run away. *
Then Moses he smil'd, saying, sir, a small child
Cannot long delay your intentions;
Why that's true by St. Paul, a dead child that is small
Can never enlarge its dimensions.
Bring Moses some beer, and bring me some, dye hea,
I hate to be call'd from my liquor;
Coune Mioses, the King, 'tis a scandalous thing,
Such a subject should be but a Vicar.
Then Moses he spoke, sir, 'tis past twelve o'clock,
Besides there's a terrible shower.
Why Moses, you elf, since the clock has struck twelve,
I'm sure it can never strike more.
Besides, my dear friend, this lesson attend,
Which to say and to swear I'll be bold,
That the corpse, snow or rain, can’t endanger that's
But perhaps you or I may take cold.
Then Moses went on, sir, the clock has struck one,
Pray master look o at the hand,
Why it ne'er can strike less, 'tis a folly to press
A man for to go, that can't stand.
At length hat and cloak, old Orthodox took,
But first cramm'd his jaw with a quid :
Each tipp'd off a gill, for fear they should chill,
And then stagger'd away side by side.
When come to the grave, the clerk humm'd a stave
While the surplice was wrao’d round the priest,
Where so droll was the figure of Moses and Vicar,
That the parish still talk of the jest.

Good people let's pray; put the corpse t'other way
Or perchance I o over it stumble,
'Tis best to take care, tho' the sages declare,
A mortuum caput can't tremble.
Woman that's born of man; that's wrong, the kafa
Oh! Man that is born of a woman, stors,
Can't continue an hour, but is cut down like a flower,
You see, Moses, death spareth no man.

Here Moses do look, what a confounded book, Sure the letters are turned upside down,

Such a scandalous print, sure the devil is in't, That this fellow should print for the crown.

Prithee Moses you read, for I cannot proceed,
And bury the corpse in my stead. Amen, Amen.

Why Moses you're wrong, pray hold still your tongue
You've taken the tail for the head.

O where's thy sting death, put the corpse in the earth,
For believe me 'tis terrible weather.
So the corpse was interr'd without praying a word,
And away they both stagger'd together.
Singing tolde rol, &c.


My dear Sir, –I am a tragedy actress, but I really in my heart love fun. There is a whimsicality in your letter that pleases me, and (win or lose) please GOD I will be with you on your present proposition, viz. five nights at Brighton—the last my own night—a clear half of the house—and four at Worthing—the fourth my own. I will give you the whole strength and force of my talent and spirit. You give me all the consequence that in these cases are given, where a London constellation comes down to glitter (sometimes with a false glare) over those who may be less fortunate but not always less worthy than themselves. Miss O'Neil came to a prosperous ho and therefore all went well with !. I came in support of a falling ruin; and as I am not an Atlas, why I have been obliged to be—a woman. I play Lady Macbeth on Monday—my last appearance this season ; so I may now make my own arrangements. Let me know when you wish me to be with you, and I will arrange accordingly. Let me know, as soon as you can, whether you want me by the fifteenth of July. I had rather not open the theatre if you can avoid it. Let Imogene be my first character. Will there be time for the manuscript play I mentioned, to be got up for my night, if I play the four nights in one week I send this off immediately on the receipt of yours–uncertain if you will get it to-night, as I have not a messenger. But I *.* letters will be for

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From the hag and hungry goblin
That into rags would rend ye,
All the spirits that stand
By the naked man,
In the book of moons defend yet
That of your five sound senses
You never be forsaken ;
Nor travel from
Yourselves with Tom
Abroad to beg your bacon.
Cho R U.S.
Nor never sing any food and feeding,
Money, drink, or clothing;
Come dame or maid,
Be not afraid,
For Tom will injure nothing.
Of thirty bare years have I
Twice twenty been enraged;
And of forty been
Three times fifteen
In durance soundly caged.
In the lovely lofts of Bedlam,
In stubble soft and dainty,
Brave bracelets strong,
Sweet whips ding, dong

And a wholesome hunger plenty.

With a thought I took for Maudlin,
And a cruise of cockle pottage,
And a thing thus—tall, -
Sky bless you all,
I fell into this dotage.
I slept not till the Conquest;
Till then I never waked ;
Till the roguish boy
Of love where I lay,
Me found, and stript me naked.
When short I have shorn my sow's face,
And swigg'd my horned barrel;
In an oaken inn
Do I pawn my skin,
As a suit of gilt apparel :
The morn's my constant mistress,
And the lovely owl my morrow ;
The flaming drake, -
And the night-crow, make
Me music, to my sorrow.
The palsie plague these pounces,
When I prig your pigs or pullen;
Your culvers take
Or mateless make
Your chanticleer and sullen ;
When I want provant with Humphrey I sup,
And when benighted,
To repose in Paul's
With waking souls
I never am affrighted.
I know more than Apollo ;
For, oft when he lies sleeping,
I behold the stars
At mortal wars,
And the rounded welkin weeping;
The moon embraces her shepherd,
And the Queen of Love her warrior
While the first does horn
The stars of the morn,
And the next the heavenly farrier.
With a heart of furious fancies, -
Whereof I am commander:
With a burning spear,
And a horse of air,
To the wilderness I wander

With a knight of ghosts and shadows,
I summoned am to Tourney:
Ten leagues beyond
The wide world's end ;
Methinks it is no journey!


The Englishmen at Paris find fault with the French roast beef; the Frenchmen in London complain of the British brandy.

The English who visit Paris, imagine that the tavern-keepers have served in the cavalry, as they are so expert in making a charge.

A foreigner inquiring the way to a friend's lodging, whom he said lived at Mr. Bailey's, senior, was shown to the Old Bailey, by a Bow-street officer. When he entered the court he imagined that it was his friend's levee.

Political LEGACI ps.

When William Pitt went to the grave,
For his and our repose,
His mantle he to Canning gave,
His walking-stick to Rose.
Satiric rogue ! he knew his men ;
And thought some clumsy joke,
Would Canning quite undo, and then
How much he'd want a cloak 1

PLEB El AN hu Mou R. When the king of France fled from Paris, a bo wrote against the corner of the street in chalk, “On est prie d'arrêter un gros cochon qui s'enfuit. On en sera dédommagé de ses peines par un Louis.”

Choice cox1 PAN. Y.

I'll send you my bill of fare, said Lord B. when trying to persuade Dr. Swift to dine with him.— . “Send me your bill of company,” was Swift's answer to him.


Mr. Pope was with Sir Godfrey Kneller one day. when his nephew, a Guinea trader, came in. “Ne-. phew, said Sir Godfrey,) you have the honour of :

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