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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