* We have pored on the sea till we're weary, And taking our pleasure a bore. For it's O! what will become of us? SAINT PETER AND THE BLACKSMITH. doubt she took another cup on the strength of this assurance. But our Lord was desirous to testify his thank the man also, and promised to grant him foer wades “Well," said the smith, "I am heartily obliges P you, and wish, that if any one climbs up the pear-tres behind my house, he may not be able to get down without my leave." This grieved St. Peter not a little, for he thought that the smith ought rather bat wished for the kingdom of heaven. Batr Las, with his wonted kindness, granted his petits The smith's next wish was that if any one set dewa sp his anvil, he might not be able to rise with permission: and the third, that if any one cup his old flue, he might not get out without her In Roman Catholic countries it was a very ancient St. Peter said, Friend smith, beware wild t custom for the preacher to divert his congregation dost. These are all wishes that can bring thes in due season with what is termed an Eastern tale, vantage. Be wise, and let the remaining which was received by the auditors with peals of everlasting life with the blest in heaven." The Eastern laughter. During Lent the good people had was not to be put out of his way, and thus promise mortified themselves and prayed so much, that they" My fourth wish is, that my green cap ay began to be discontented and ill tempered; so that to me for ever; and that whenever I sit dosa the clergy deemed it necessary to make a little fun no power or force may be able to drive me from the pulpit for them, and thus give as it were the first impulse towards the revival of mirth and cheerfulness. This practice lasted till the seventeenth century. The following is by the Rev. Father Attansy. Our Lord was journeying with St. Peter and had passed through many countries. One day he came to a place where there was no inn, and entered the house of a blacksmith. This man had a wife who paid the utmost respect to the strangers, and treated them with the best that her house would afford. When they were about to depart, our Lord and St. Peter wished her all that was good, and heaven beside. Said the woman: "Ah! if I do but go to heaven, I care for nothing else." "Doubt not," said St. Peter," for it would be contrary to scripture if thou shouldst not go. Open thy mouth. Did I not say so? Why, thou canst not be sent to hell, where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth-for thou hast not a tooth left in thy head. Thou art safe enough; be of good cheer." Who was so overjoyed as the good woman? Without Thereupon our Lord went his way with S. and the smith lived some years longer with woman. At the end of this time, gum peared, and summoned him to the other agri a moment," said the smith; "let me jas clean shirt, meanwhile you may pick ser pears on yonder tree." Death climbed but he could not get down again; he was i submit to the smith's terms, a respite for torty! before he returned. When the twenty years were expired be peared and commanded him, in the name of and St. Peter, to go along with him. [ Peter too," said the smith; "sit down inv anvil, for thou must be tired; I will just a to cheer me, and take leave of my old be with thee presently." But death co again from his seat, and was obliged to smith another delay of twenty years When these had elapsed, old Satza would fain have dragged the smith wer THE LAUGHING PHILOSOPHER. 'Halloo, fellow!" said the latter, "that won't do. [ have other letters and whiter than thou with thy Tack carta bianca. But if thou art such a conjurer to imagine that thou hast any power over me, let see if thou canst get into this old rusty flue." No oner said than the old one slipped into the flue. we smith and his men put the flue into the fire, then rned it to the anvil, and hammered away at the old e most unmercifully. He howled, and begged, and yed; and at last promised that he would have hing to do with the smith if he would but let him Dart. rance. At length the smith's guardian-angel made his ap- TRAGEDY AND COMEDY. ON THE LATE LORD ELLENBOROUGH TERMING He held his passions in command, Said he (which some will think but odd) My conscience, and my friend." Which truth must still commend. Who made such kind advances : BEQUEATHING THE AGUE. A farmer, in a parish not far from Liverpool, had been sorely afflicted with the ague for between two and three years; it was sometimes quotidian, sometimes tertian, and for a long time together quartan. This lingering strange disorder had, in short, reduced this poor man to a perfect skeleton; his spirits were exhausted, and nature seemed to be quite worn out; usseau makes this distinction between tragedy he expected nothing but death; yet as he was, wheu omedy. In comedy, the plot turns on marriage; in health, a jocose merry man, he thought he would After bequeathing some small legedy, it turns on murder. The whole intrigue, appear jocular in bis will, which his friends advised one and the other, turns on this grand event; him to make. , the parson of the hey marry? will they not marry? will they gacies, he says, " Item, I give and bequeath these will they not murder? There will be a mar-plaguy ague fits to Mr. there will be murder; and this forms act the parish." Whether it was by making this bequest There will be no marriage; there will be no that the fits left him, our readers are at liberty to and this gives birth to act the second. A guess; but leave him they did, and the next day oie of marrying and of murdering is prepared seized upon the poor parson, and handled him se A new difficulty impedes the mar-verely. The parson, on being told that his neighbour third act. -had bequeathed them to him in his will, was so The murder, which the fourth act discusses. J The marriage and the murder are effected much exasperated that he would not speak to the poor man for some years after. benefit of the last act. We have pored on the sea till we're weary, And lounged up and down on the shore Till we find all its gaiety dreary, And taking our pleasure a bore. There's nothing so charming as Brighton, We cry as we're scampering down; But we look with still greater delight on The day that we go back to town. For it's O! what will become of us? SAINT PETER AND THE BLACKSMITH. In Roman Catholic countries it was a very ancient custom for the preacher to divert his congregation in due season with what is termed an Eastern tale, which was received by the auditors with peals of Eastern laughter. During Lent the good people had mortified themselves and prayed so much, that they began to be discontented and ill tempered; so that the clergy deemed it necessary to make a little fun from the pulpit for them, and thus give as it were the first impulse towards the revival of mirth and cheerThis practice lasted till the seventeenth The following is by the Rev. Father fulness. century. Attansy. Our Lord was journeying with St. Peter and had passed through many countries. One day he came to a place where there was no inn, and entered the house of a blacksmith. This man had a wife who paid the utmost respect to the strangers, and treated them with the best that her house would afford, When they were about to depart, our Lord and St. Peter wished her all that was good, and heaven beside. Said the woman: "Ah! if I do but go to heaven, I care for nothing else." "Doubt not," said St. Peter, "for it would be contrary to scripture if thou shouldst not go. Open thy mouth. Did I not say so? Why, thou canst not be sent to hell, where there is wailing and gnashing of teeth-for thou hast not a tooth left in thy head. Thou art safe enough; be of good cheer." Who was so overjoyed as the good woman? Without doubt she took another cup on the strength of this assurance. But our Lord was desirous to testify his thanks to the man also, and promised to grant him four wishes. "Well," said the smith, "I am heartily obliged to you, and wish, that if any one climbs up the pear-tree behind my house, he may not be able to get down again without my leave." This grieved St. Peter not a little, for he thought that the smith ought rather to have wished for the kingdom of heaven. But our Lord, with his wonted kindness, granted his petition. The smith's next wish was that if any one sat down upoa his anvil, he might not be able to rise without his permission: and the third, that if any one crept into his old flue, he might not get out without his consent. St. Peter said, "Friend smith, beware what thou dost. These are all wishes that can bring thee no advantage. Be wise, and let the remaining one be lar everlasting life with the blest in heaven." The su≫th was not to be put out of his way, and thus proceeded; My fourth wish is, that my green cap may belong to me for ever; and that whenever I sit down upon it no power or force may be able to drive me away.” Thereupon our Lord went his way with St. Peter, and the smith lived some years longer with lus old woman, At the end of this time, grim death peared, and summoned him to the other world. ** S: 4 a moment," said the smith; "let me just put on i clean shirt, meanwhile you may pick some of the pears on yonder tree." Death climbed up the tree, but he could not get down again; he was forced submit to the smith's terms, a respite for twenty yeas, before he returned. When the twenty years were expired, he again up peared and commanded him, in the name of the Lina and St. Peter, to go along with him. "Ion Su Peter too," said the smith; "sit down a little an anvil, for thou must be tired; I will just drink ar to cheer me, and take leave of my old woma), be with thee presently." But death could not again from his seat, and was obliged to promise smith another delay of twenty years When these had elapsed, old Satan eatzz. would fain have dragged the smith away by THE LAUGHING PHILOSOPHER. Halloo, fellow!" said the latter," that won't do. I have other letters and whiter than thou with thy black carta bianca. But if thou art such a conjurer as to imagine that thou hast any power over me, let me see if thou canst get into this old rusty flue." No sooner said than the old one slipped into the flue. The smith and his men put the flue into the fire, then carried it to the anvil, and hammered away at the old one most unmercifully. He howled, and begged, and prayed; and at last promised that he would have nothing to do with the smith if he would but let him depart. At length the smith's guardian-angel made his appearance. The business was now serious. He was obliged to go. The angel conducted him to torment. Satan, whom he had so terribly belaboured, was just then attending the gate; he looked out at the little window, but quickly shut it again, and would have nothing to do with the smith. The angel then conducted him to the gate of heaven. St. Peter refused "Let me just peep in," said the to admit him. smith, "that I may see how it looks there." No Booner was the wicket opened than the smith threw in his cap and said: "Thou knowest it is my property, I must go and fetch it."-Then slipping past, he clapped himself down upon it and said: "Now I am situng on my own property; I should like to see who dares drive me away from it.". Thus the smith got into heaven at last. TRAGEDY AND COMEDY. ON THE LATE LORD ELLENBOROUGH TERMING When Mrs. Pot behav'd amiss, Fearing the snare of vice, He held his passions in command, Said he (which some will think but odd) My conscience, and my friend." Which truth must still commend. Who made such kind advances : BEQUEATHING THE AGUE. A farmer, in a parish not far from Liverpool, had been sorely afflicted with the ague for between two and three years; it was sometimes quotidian, sometimes tertian, and for a long time together quartan. this poor man to a perfect skeleton; his spirits were This lingering strange disorder had, in short, reduced exhausted, and nature seemed to be quite worn out; Rousseau makes this distinction between tragedy he expected nothing but death; yet as he was, when After bequeathing some small leand comedy. In comedy, the plot turns on marriage; in health, a jocose merry man, he thought he would "Item, I give and bequeath these in tragedy, it turns on murder. The whole intrigue, appear jocular in his will, which his friends advised , the parson of the in the one and the other, turns on this grand event; him to make. will they marry? will they not marry? will they gacies, he says, murder will they not murder? There will be a mar- plaguy ague fits to Mr. riage; there will be murder; and this forms act the parish." Whether it was by making this bequest first. There will be no marriage; there will be no that the fits left him, our readers are at liberty to murder; and this gives birth to act the second. A guess; but leave him they did, and the next day new mode of marrying and of murdering is prepared seized upon the poor parson, and handled him se A new difficulty impedes the mar-verely. The parson, on being told that his neighbour for the third act. riage or the murder, which the fourth act discusses. J had bequeathed them to him in his will, was so poor man for some years after. At last, the marriage and the murder are effected much exasperated that he would not speak to the for the benefit of the last act. THE WIFE. Does fortune smile, how grateful must it prove, WYCHERLEY'S PLAIN DEALING. • Plain families do live exceedingly well out of the congregation of social souls, who meet together, from time to time, at noon and at even, to celebrate the orgies of Bacchus, in companies, perhaps to keep one another in countenance; and when we consider what sums are annually expended in the metropolis, Wycherley being at Tunbridge for the benefit of his whereby the cares of life are temporarily drowned by health, was walking one day on the Wells Walk with deep potations, it becomes a question whether the his friend, Mr. Fairbeard, of Gray's Inn, and just as he system of going to clubs, among people of mediocrity is not worthy of some attention. We all know very came up to a bookseller's shop, the Countess of Dro-well that the revenues flourish wonderfully through gheda, a young widow, rich, noble, and beautiful, this good fellowship of malt-and-spirit-drinking came to a bookseller's, and inquired for the citizens, and that they have friendly societies to boot, Dealer." Madam," said Mr. Fairbeard, "since where, under the pretence of laying by a shilling you are for the Plain Dealer,' there he is for you, a week, to help them to be buried comfortably, pushing Wycherley towards her. "Yes," says Wy- they spend another shilling on the back of it. cherley, "this lady can bear plain dealing; for she appears to be so accomplished, that what would be In the year 1745, was published "Ned Ward's compliment said to others, would be plain dealing complete and humorous Account of all the remarkspoken to her." No, truly, sir," said the countess, able Clubs and Societies in the Cities of London and "I am not without my faults, any more than the rest Westminster, from the Royal Society down to the of my sex; and yet I love plain dealing, and am Lumber Troop, &c." _It is dedicated “To that luci never more fond of it, than when it tells me of them." ferous and sublime Lunatic, the Emperor of the "Then, Madam," says Mr. Fairbeard, "you and the Moon; Governor of the Tides; Corrector of Female Plain Dealer seem designed by Heaven for each Constitutions; Cornuted Metropolitan of all revolv other." In short, Wycherley walked with the coun-ing Cities, and Principal Director of those Churches tess, waited upon her home, visited her daily while she was at Tunbridge, and afterwards, in London; where, in a little time, a marriage was concluded between them. most subject to Mutation." He then, after giving a The Virtuoso's Club.-Part of the notable inves |