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poetry.
POETRY RUN MAD.
t.
There'# something very curious in the
manner
In which you can twist words into rhymes.
Single and double;
To see how one thing with another chime 9;
Thai is, if you have not wit enough to plan a
Story, or something else to write about
‘Without
Much trouble.
n.
Suppose we try it now. One Asa Stokes,
One of those men whom every thing pro
vokes,
A surly temper’d, evil minded, bearish,
111 Matured sort of being;
He was the Deacon of the parish,
And had ihe overseeing
Ol some small matters, such as the ringing
Ol the church-bell, and * took the lead\n sing
ing.’
m.
Well, Deacon Stokes had gone to bed one
night
About eleven—
*Twas in December, if my memory’s right,
’Twas cold enough to make a Russian shiver.
I think! never
Knew one
Colder than this—in faith, it was a blue one!
As by the Almanack foretold, ’tw.is
A real Lapland night—Good Lord, how cold
’twas.
IV
There was a chap about there, named E*
zekial,
A clever good for nothing fellow.
Who often us.-d to get quite mellow;
Ol whom the Deacon often used to speak ill;
For lie was fond of cracking jokes,
On Deacon Stokes;
To show on,
W hat terma he stood, among the viomen folkt
And so on.
v.
It came to pass, that on the night I spake of
Kzekial left the tavern bar-room, where
He’d spent the evening for the sake of
Drowning his care.
By partaking
Os the merry making
And the enjoyment
Ol some good fellows there, whose sole eno
ployment
“Was, in all kinds of weather,
On every night,
“By early candle light,”
To get together,
Beading the papers, smoking pipes, and
chewing.
Telling ‘long yarns.’ and pouring down *ih<
rum.^
VI.
‘Pretty well corned,’ and ‘up to any thing.’
‘Drunk as a lord,’ and ‘happy as a king,’
‘Blue as a razor,’ from his midnight revel,
Not tearing muskets, women, or the Devil!
With a light heart,
Much lighter than a feather;
With a light soul
That spurned the freezing weather;
And with a head
Ten times as light as either;
And a purse, perhaps as light as all together,-
On went Ezekial, with a great expansion
Os thought.
Until he brought
Up at a post before the Deacon’s mansion.
VII.
HVith one arm round the post, awhile he stood
In though'ful mood,-
With one eye turned
Up towards ihe window where,
With feeble glare,
A candle burned;
Then with a serious
Face, and a grave mysterious
Shake of the head,
Ezekial said—
(His right eye once more, thrown
Upon the beacon
That from the window shone:)
‘‘l’ll start the Deacon.”
VI IT.
Rap, rap, rap, rap, went Deacon Stokes’s
knocker,
But no one stirred. Rap, rap, it went again;
‘Bv George! it must be after ten o’clock, or
They have taken an early hour for turning in.
IX.
Rap, rap, rap, rap—my conscience! how
they keep
A fellow waiting! Lord, how sound they
sleep,’
x.
The Deacon then began to be alarmed;
And in amazement,
Threw up the rasement,
And with cap on head,
Os fiery red.
Demanded, what the cause of the riot
That thus disturbed his quiet.
XI.
‘Quite cool this evening, Deacon Stokes,’
replied
The voice below—‘Well, well, sir, what’s
the matter?’
‘Quite chilly Deacon; how your tee.h do
chatter!’
‘You vagabond; a pretty time you’ve chosen
To show your wit; for f am almost frozen;
Be off; or I’ll come down & put the lash on.’
‘Why bless you, Deacon, don’t be in a pas
sion.’
’Twas all in vain.
To speak again;
For with the Deacon’s threat about the lash,
Down went the sash.
XII.
Bap, rap, rap. rap, the knocker went again;
And neither of ’em was a very light rap.
Thump, thump, against the door, went Ze
kiel’s cahe,
And that once more bro’t Deacon Stokes’
night cap.
xm.
•Very cold weather, Deacon Stokes, to
night.’
Begone you vile
Insolent dog, or I’ll
Give you a warming; and should serve you
right,
You villian; it is time to end your hoax.’—
‘Why, bless your soul and body, Deacon
Stokes—
Don’t be so cross;
tv hen I’vm come here,
In this severe
Night, which is cold enough to kill ahorse,
For your advice
Upon a very difficult and nice
Question; —now, Lord bless you.
Deacon do make haste and dress you.”
xtv.
‘Well, well, out with it, if it must be so;
Be quick about it,
I’m very cold.”
•Well Deacon, I don’t doubt it—
In a few words the matter can be told.
Deacon, the case is this:—l want to know,
If this cold weather holds all summer here,
What time green peas will be along next
year?”
FROM AN ENGLISH PAPER.
THF. HONEY MOON.
Journal kept by Mr. Samuel Snacks,
Monday , April I. — All fool’s day.—
Quite otherwise with me, who on this
auspicious day have done the only wise
thing I ever did, viz. taken unto myself
a wife. After the ceremony, the hap-;
py couple (Mrs. Snacks and myself,)
set off in a cnaise and four, for Rams-j
gate. Journey delightful; how could !
it be otherwise? Thought I never saw j
my Amanda look so divine; Canova’s!
Venus seems modelled from her; the
same deep languishing eye; the same
clustering ringlets; the same snowy vo
luptuous bosom; the same—Oh! what
a lucky dog I am!
Tuesday , 2.—Evening: overwhelm
ed by the tumuli of my thought. Felt
quite young again (by the bye, lam
only 49, after all) and indited the fol
lowing letter to my friend Tomkins of
the Temple—“ Dear ‘l orn, burn your
books and marry. Marry immediate
ly, my old boy. Nothing like matri
mony; it is a paradise itself, pure, gen
uine and unsophisticated.”—Read my
note to Amanda, imprinted on her soft
cheek a husband’s tenderest kiss, and
set down to a hot supper.
Wednesday , 3—lndulged in a pen
sive stroll along the sea shore, filled
with connubial ecstacy. Thought on
Thompson’s exquisite lines on d< mes*
tic bliss, “Oh happy they,” &c. I need
scarcely add thai my Amanda accom
panied me in this ramble, with her ring
lets waving like gossamer to the wind,
and a small countenance. Enchanting
girl! She wanto nothing of an angel but
the w ings.
Thursday, 4 —How genuine, how
lasting is domestic bliss! Study has its
advantages; but, compared with the
ecs'acies ol H vmen, it is nothing, abso
lutely nothing. Middleton and Milton
I remember, both speak with enthusi
asm of “wedded love.” Gibbon fre
quently alludes to it as “the most ten
der of human connexions,” Johnston
says “that there is no happiness with
out it;” and indeed all authors who are
good for any thing are loud in its
praise. By the Roman law, however,
a wife was expressly called “a thing,”
a part of the domestic furniture, which
might be sold by her husband; so that,
on making a catalogue of his goods he
might thus enumerate them:—Lot No.
1. Four solas, two tables, three pillow
cases, one wash tub, a wife, and a bed
candlestick. Only conceive a wife (my
Amanda for instance) placed side by
side with a wash tub!
Friday , 5 —Of all joke?, the most
absurd are those launched against wo
men, and wives in particular.—For this
reason, I am resolved, should my A
manda ever bless me with children, to
prevent them learning the Eton Latin
Grammar, from its observing in one of
the rules of syntax, that “the mascu
line gender is more worthy than the
femenine, &c. Monstrous violation
both of grammer and gratitude!
******
Sunday 14.—Continued rain. What
a hore is a wet Sunday in the country
Amanda, oy the bye, said, pleasantly
enough, that wet weather might be ex
pected in a watering plaee. Attended
morning church, and inquiied of a fat
clerk whether there was any evening
service. Lunr hed by way of amuse
men’. Looked out of the window, and
busied nryself in counting the eave
drops Thought of my books in Lin
coln’s Inn. Untied my shoe strings, in
order to tie them up again. Picked
my best breeches to pieces, (or one
must do something.
Mem. —lt seems a long time foi din
ner.
Monday —Diove over to Margate,
Amanda dtessed in the extreme of fash
ion, and lull, as usual, of vivacitv; we
walked together on the fort. Met one
captain Dermot O’Dorherty, a long I
rishman ol Baiiyshannon, and a former
suitor of my wile (till he found she had
nothing.) Formally introduced to him,
and shaken on the spot by a hand as
hard as a deal board.
Mem. —Amanda seems much taken
with him—but this of course, for the
follow is full of cravat and compliment,
and stands six feet high, but about thtee
broad. Cml say I like his looks.
Tuesday 16.—Received a visit from
the long Irishman. Offered Amanda
and myself tickets for the Margate As
sembly. Kicked her under the table
as a hint to decline them. No use, one
might as well kick a post. Fellow
staid a full hour, during which Mrs.
Snacks never ceased talking. A pert,
silly, giggling—but wliat can you ex
pect from a woman. And yet notwith
standing, Solomon, in his Proverbs, has
the assurance t* say, “Whoso findeth a
wife, findeth a good thing.” Can’t say
I think so.
Wednesday , 17.—1 had a tiff with
Mrs. Snacks about the long Irishman
In return she called me jealous; shows
how little she knows of human natute.
How can I be jealous of such an un
couth, raw-boned, disjointed jacka
napes? Called him so before his faie,
and got nicknamed “an old frump,” in
reply.
Mem. —That’s all one gets for one’s
good nature—“old ft ump” indeed.—
Think of that now. I should not mind
her catling me a “frump,” but “old!”
besides, ’tis no such thing, I shall noi
bo fifty till next Michaelmas day
; Went to bed in a rage and dreamed of
the long Irishman
Thursday , 18.—Walked out before
breakfast, and met the long Irishman
i I detest swearing; but d—n him. what
does he mean by it? Dined at three
o’clock, and helped twice to cheese by
way of something to do. Went halt 1
price to the theatre, and at itie comet
of the stage box hobbled against tire
long Irishman. Mrs. Snacks smiled
on him. I think at leas: she-dtd; nay,
I’ll swear she did —I’ll take my oath
she did—by Heaven she did! conceive
what a jackass I must In.vr looked
Friday , 19—Frit exceedingly awk
ward about the temples, and dieam< and
that Mrs. Snacks, like Diana, bad turn
ed me into a stag. Received three
letters of congratulation on my mar
riage. Loung’ dat Laddali’s libiaty,
and met on my return, the long Irish
man in earnest conversation with Mrs.
Samuel Snacks. How could Ms.
Snacks imagine it was possible to be
jealous of such a wretch! Had a quar
rel with her about him (not that I think
him wor’h quarreling about) and turn
ed in a rage to the theatre.
Mem —I foigot to men ion that Mrs.
Snacks went with me.
Saturday , 2 —Another quarrel.—
Astonishing M>s Snacks cant keep her
temper. Threatened to throw the best
blue sugar basin at my hand. Wnat a
vixen! But it’s no use, I see clearly
how it is, I’m a wretch for life. Re
ceived a letter or condolence fiom
Tomkins. Replied by return as 10l
low*,:-—Dear Tom, if you have not al
ready married, avoid it like the devil—
hanging is a mere joke to it.”
from the Batchelor’s soprsal.
salathiel.
Ji story of the past, the present, and the future.
I his is a work of vei y pei ultsr cha
racter. I is in fact, the autobiography
of the Wandering Jew, and contains a
history ot the troubles, insui lections,
massacres, persecutions, &r which su
pervened in Judea, immediately after
the death of Christ. Mr. Gioley has
succeeded very well in depicting tire
Jewish character and wartare; and has
entered with considetabie felicity into
what it is probable would be the feel
ings of such a being as the impious and
miserable wandeter whose history he
writes. The following are extracts:
“A portal ot the arena opened, anct
the combatant, with a mantle thrown
over his face and figure, was led in,
surrounded by the soldiery. The lior.
roared and ramped against the bars oi
its den at the sight. The guard pm a
sword ard buckler in the ban is of ihe
Christian, and he was left atone. He
drew the mantle horn his face, & bent
a slow and fit m look round the amphi
theatre. His fine countenance and
lofty bearing raised an universal sound
of admiration, He might have stood
for an Apoilo, encountering the Py
thon. His eye at last turned on mine.
Could I believe my senses! Constan
tius was befote me!
“All my rancor vanished. An hour
past I could have struck the betrayer
to the heart; I could have called on
the severest vengeance of man and
Heaven to smite ihe destroyer of my
child. But, to see him hopelessly
doomed; the man whom I had honor
ed for hi 6 noble qualities, whom I had
loved, whose crime was at worst but
the crime of giving way to the strong
est temptation that can bewilder the
heart of man; to see this noble creature
flung to the savage beast, dying in tor
tures, torn piecemeal before my eyes,
& this misery wrought by rue; I would
have obtested heaven and earth to save
him. But my tongue cleaved to the
roof of my mouth. My limbs refused
to stir. I would have tliiown myself
at the feet of Nero; but I sat like a
man of stone—pale, paralysed—ihe
beating of my pulses stopped—my eyes
alone alive.
“I he gate of the den was thrown,
back, and the lion rushed in with a toar
and a bound that bore him half across
the arena. I saw the sword gli.ter in
the air; when it waved again, it was
covered wnh blood. A howl told that
the blow had been driven home. The
lion, one of the largest from Numidia,
and made furious by thirst aud hunger,
an animal of prodigious power, couch
ed for an instant as if to make sure of
his prey, crept a few paces onward, k
sprang at the victim’s throat, lie was
met by a second wound, but his im
pulse was iriesistible, and Constantius
was flung upon the ground. A cry of
natural honor rang round the amphi
theatre. The struggle was now foi an
instant life or death. They rolled over
each other; the lion reared on his hind
feet, and, with gnashing teeth and dis
tended talons, plunged on the man; a
gain they rose together. Anxiety was
now at its wildest height. The sword
swung round the champion’s head in
bloody circles. They fell again, cov
ered with gore and dust. The handof
Constantius had grasped the lion’s
mane, and ihe furious bounds of the
monster could not lor.se the hold; but
his strength was evidently giving way;
ihe still suuck terrible blows, but each
| was weaker than the one befote; till,
j collecting his whole force for a last est
! for!, he darted one mighty blow into the
j lion’s throat, and sank. The savage
| yelled, and spouting out blood, fled
howling round the arena. But the
hand still giasped the mane, and his
conqueror was dragged whirling the
dust at his heels. A universal outcry
now arose to save him, if he were noi
already dead. But the lion, though
bleeding from every vein, was still too
terrible, and all shrunk from the ha
zard. At length the grasp gave way,
aud the body lay motionless upon the
ground.
“What happened for some moments
alter, I know not. There was a strug
gle at the poUal; a female forced her
way through the guaids, rushed in
alone, and flung herself upon the vic
tim. The Nig at of anew prey roused
the lion; he tore the g> ound with his
talons; he lifted up his mane, and bar
ed his fangs. But his approach was no
longei with a bound; he (headed the
sword, and came snuffling the blood on
the sand, and stealing round the body
in circuit* still diminishing.
The .on fusion in he vast assem
blage was now extreme. Voices in
numerable called for aid. Women
screamed and fail ted; men burst out
into indignant clamors at ibis prolong
ed tueliy. Even the hatd hearts of
the populace, accustomed as ihey were
to the sacrifice of life, were roused to
honest curses. The guards grasped
tneir arms, and waited but for a sign
from he Emperor. But Nero gave no
s gn
“I looked upon the woman’s face.—
It was Salome! I sprang upon my feel.
I called on her name; 1 called on her
by every feeling of nature to fly from
that place of death, to come to my
aims, to think of the agonies of all that
loved her.
“She raised the head of Constantius
eerier knee, and was wiping the pale
visage with her hair. At the sound of
my voice she looked up, and, calmly
casting back the locks from her fore
head, fixed her gaze upon me. She
still knelt; one hand supported the
head, with the other she pointed to it,
as her only answer. I again abjured
her There v/as the silence of death
among the thousands a'ound me. A
fiie fiisned into her eye—her cheek
burned. She waved her hand with an
sir o’ superb sorrow.
“I m come to die,’ she uttered in a
lofty lone. ‘This bleeding body was
my nusband 1 have no father. The
world contains to me but this clay in
my aims. Yet,* and she kissed ihe
ashy lips before her,‘yet, Constantius,
it was to save that lather, that vour ge
nerous heart defied the peril of this
hour. It was to redeem him from the
hand of evil, that you abandoned our
quiet home!—yes, cruel fathet, here
lies the noble being that threw open
your dungeon, that led you safe tluo’
the conflagration, that to the last mo
ment of his liberty, only thought how,
he might preserve and protect you.’—
1 ears at lengih fell in floods from her
eyes. ‘But,’ said she, in a font of wild
power, ‘he betrayed; and may the pow
er whose thunders avenge the cause of
his people, pour down just retribution
upon the head that dared !’
“I heard my own condemnation a
bout to be pronounced by the lips of
my child. Wound up to the last de
gree of si ffering, I tore my hair, leap
ed on the bars before me and plunged
into the arena by her side. The height
stunned me: I totiered forward a few
paces and fell. The lion gave a roar
and sprang upon me. I lay helpless
under him I felt his fiery breath—l
saw his lurid eye glaiing—l heard the
gnashing of his while langs above nre.
“An exulting shout arose. I saw him
reel as if struck; gore filled his jaws
Another mighty blow was driven to his
heart. He sprang high in the air with
a howl. He dropped; he was dead
The amphitheatre thundeied with ac
clamation.
“With Salome clinging to my bo
som, Constantius raised me fiotn the
ground. Ihe roar of the lion had
roused him from his swoon, and two
blows saved me. The falchion was
broken in the heart of the monster.—
The whole multitude stood up, suppli
cating for our lives in the name of fi
lial pity and heroism. Nero, devil as
he was, dared not resist the strength-of
the popular feeling. He waved a sig
nal to the guards; the portal w as open
ed; atid my dhildrcn, sustaining my
feeble steps, and showered with gar
lands and ornaments from innumerable
hands, slowly led me from the arena.”
FROM A LATE LONDON PAPER.
MEJVTAL ABSTRACTION.
The power of tecollecling thingsihat
are past, is exceedingly wonderful in
some people: on the other hand there
are some whose memory is like a sieve;
it is the vessel of the Dainades; every
thing enters, nothing stays in it. Mr.
Gould, an Irish banister, in the House
of Commons, session 1819, could re
member as little as possible upon an
electioneering subject. These slips of
memory were, in people’s thinking,not
of the natural order; nor was the fol
lowing instance of Count Gar mmol,
who had attached, if not engaged him
self to Miss Hamilton, and all on a
sudden went off to Fiance; Count Geo.
Hamilton, her brother, pursued and o
vertook him at Dover, when he thus
addressed him: “My dear friend, I be
lieve you have forgotten a circumstance
that should have taken place before
vour return to France.” To which
G ram moil t replied: “True, my dear
frtend; what a memory I have! I quite
forgot that I was to marry your sister;
but I w ilt instantly accompany you back
to London, and rectify that forgetful’
ness.” It is needless to add that Gram
mom’s personal courage was of ihe
smallest calibre. Thus, also, Claudius
Caesar, though no wit, had a very
treacherous memory; after he had his
wile Messalina murdered, he would ask
why the Ernpiess did not come to sup
pei as usual; and many ethers, whom,
afie>- having been graciously pleased to
put to death, he the next day invited to
the councils, or to throw dice; and as
they made but small haste, he sent
messengers to reprove them for their
delay.
Bishop Burnet was very remarkable
in this: in the days of the great Marl
borough, he obtained an interview with
him, and was even asked to dine, but
continued to be on his guard and not
commit himself. Among other great
company was Prince Eugene, who see
ing a dignified Clergyman present, ask
ed who he vas, and having heard he
had been at Paris in 1630, asked him
how long it was since he left it. Bur
net flutteiing, answered with precipita
tion, he could not recollect the year,
but it was at the time that the Countess
of Soissons was impiisoned rn suspi
cion of practising a concealed mode of
poisoning people. This lady happened
to be the mother of Prince Eugene,
and both panics’ eyes being fixed up
on each other, then only he perceived
his mistake, stammered, apologised,
and retired in the utmost contusion.—
Upon another occasion, the Bishop di
ning one day with Sarah, Dutchess of
Marlborough, conversation turned up
on the ingratitude of Government to
the Duke, who had just lost his place.
Burnet aptly compared him to Belisa
rius; when her Grace asked what was
the occasion of his downfall? “Oh! ma
dam, (says Burnet,) poor Belisarins had
a shocking brimstone ot a wife.”
When the learned Selden’s library
was brought into that of the Bodleian,
in 1659, several pair of spectacles were
found in the books, which Mr. Selden
had sot gotten.
Dr. Thomas (Bishop of Salisbury,)
forgot the day he was to be married,
and was surprised at.hi/servant’s bring
ing him anew dyess. A gnat stinging
him in the leg, the Doctor stooped and
scratched another gentleman’s instead,
who stood next.
Joseph Scaliger positively declared,
that he knew nothing of the massacre
of St. Bartholomew, though it took
place all around him in Paris. His
closestodiestothe Hebrew tongue pre
vented his hearing the clashing of arms
the cries ol children, the shrieks of wo
men, and the groans of men.
La Fontaine was so absent as to call
and visit a friend whose funeral he had
attended. He was much surprised at
first, but recollecting himself, said, “It
is true enough, for I was there.” Nic
olas was so absent, as to often ask his
servant if he had bathed or dined.
Mrs. Vesey, a lady of great fashion,
and a sort of rival to Mrs. Montague in
her day, once declaimed to a lady of
quality, in public company, against se
cond martiages; the lady whom she
addressed had been twice married; and
Mr. Vesey was her own second hus
band. When reminded oi this, she ex
claimed, “Bless me! my dear, I had
quite forgotten it.”
Bank of Darien, July 22. 1828.
RESOLVED. I'hat a call be made upon
those indebted to this Bank, for the en
suing year, of thirty per cent.; one third
payable on the first of December, of this
year, one third on the first of March, ami
one third on the first of June, 1828.
Extract from the minutes,
aug 12—31 F.BEN. S. REES, Casino