Hymeneals.

WHAT a diff'rence it makes when lovers wed!

Love then is all stupidity:

Cupid flies off, and in his stead,

Leaves nothing but Cupidity.

The wedding-ring, that "hath no end,"
Alas! it soon has two!

Poor thing! all wedding-circles thus

By Time are broken into.

The lover sings of locks and bolts,
In bars of tender woe;

And his lady plays her light guitar
With six strings to her beau.

There's not a single single man
But rhymes at Cupid's pleasure;
The dullest ladies at his nod,

Return measure for measure.

STRONG MEASURES.

"

"Pray, Sir, have you any Dimity, hell-wide, at four-pence?" "No, Mem; but we've got some hellish wide at fi'pence."

The gayest men become more gay,
The gravest become gay men :
And ev❜n the Clergy, lackaday!
By Love are turn'd to lay-men.

It's all in vain 'gainst Love to strive,
He must be heard, and will;
And though a man be ne'er so arch,
Cupid's an archer still.

I AM MONARCH OF ALL I SURVEY.

I once went with Orlando Smith,
One dark night, a dear-stealing;
We stole to Mrs. Primer's school,
And stole out Mary Keeling.

Oh! Mary was a lovely lass,
As fair as Paris plaster;

Her nose and chin were à la Grecque,
Her neck was ala-baster.

Poor Mary was in love with Smith,
And one day, in her anger,
She tied her garters round her neck,
(Love! thou'rt a sad belle-hanger!)

THE BELL OF THE ROOM.

She's married now, and Miss is changed;
Aye! so is Master too!

And hanging now with Mrs. Smith,

Is the last thing she would do.

A maid-she was all smiles and love,
A wife-she's quite a fury:
And tho' she seems a turtle dove,
It's mock-turtle, I assure ye.

Then Rumour says she's fond of Gin,
Rum, Brandy, and Oporto;
The wags declare she studies much
From the Imperial Quart-o!

Both Mr. Smith and Mrs. Smith
Combine to make a rout;

And e'en when friends are dropping in,
They can't help falling out.

Their choler rises with the sun,
Their waking notes are surly;
Th' affrighted lark faints in the air
To hear their early-burly.

At breakfast, "Who broke all the cups?"
Orlando asks: says he,

"These break-fast cups so fast they break,

By Jove, they'll soon break me."

Then Mrs. Smith runs to the bell,

And rings a pretty rally;

And in comes pretty Sue, the maid,

Who gets a pretty sally.

"Who broke the cups?" the Missis cries, And stamps upon the floor;

Sue (what a cracker!) straight replies.

66

Ma'am, they was cracked before."

The fray grows hot, the toast grows cold,

Poor Sue gets all the blame;

She's "a forward minx," and " a backward slut,"
And an "ignorant, knowing dame."

If there's no coffee at the board,
(Sad facts! I blush to note 'em!)
Smith wants some sadly: if there is,
Then he prefers
66 tea totum."

And thus it is meal after meal;
At luncheon they grow louder,
At dinner monstrous is the din,
Their tea is all gunpowder.

And so 'twill be till Death pops in,

Grim Death, the body-snatcher;
Poor Mrs. Smith, she little deems
How soon that chap may catch her!

But stay! we must not take off Death;
For we know this to our sorrow,
That if we take off Death to-day,
He may take us off to-morrow.

SYLVANUS SWANQUILL.

HOW TO BECOME A CANDIDATE FOR ADMISSION INTO THE TRAVELLER'S CLUB.

A vat of melted tallow to explore

A hapless chandler sought his fragrant store,
The slippery path his faltering steps beguile,
But promptly saved, the dip provoked a smile.
Quoth he, "This is a terrible disaster,
But still for every sore there is a plaster."
Then in the Club of Travellers, quite bold,
A candidate he seeks to be enroll'd;

And thus his claim he swears shall never cease,
“For I have been," he cries," all over grease?"

THE MICHAELMAS GOOSE.

THE twelfth of August sportsmen hail

With glad and eager voices,

And in September's opening morn

Full many a heart rejoices.

These days I pass unheeded by;

My country seat's at Tooting;
I've got no manor's to preserve,
For grouse or partridge shooting.
But yet my Calendar contains
A day as fondly noted,
And that day yields to me a bird
To which I'm as devoted.

The day for me is Michaelmas,
My Bird a stubble Goose is,
What day so happy? Or what bird
So fit for household uses.

The Game Bill many praise who now
Are licenced for game-slaying;

My only bill's my poulterer's,

And that I've means of paying.

The weather matters not to me,
No Poachers me assail,

My birds are never wild nor scarce,
My aim can never fail.

But now the dinner hour draws near,

The smell is most inviting;

"Twill never do to be too late,

And so I'll leave off writing.

EPITAPH ON JOSEPH MITCHELL.

A famous Sportsman, on whose grave-stone is delineated a hare run down, and from a label at her mouth this motto:

"I have finished my course.'

If ever sport to thee was dear,

Drop on Joe Mitchell's grave a tear,
Who, when alive, with nimble eye
Did myriads of hares descry.
He was professor of the art,
Those animals to ken and start;
All arts and sciences beside,
This hare-brained hero did deride;
An utter foe to Wedlock's noose,
In which close state appear'd no muse.
Joe scorn'd this earth, he was above it,
But only for form sake did love it;
But Joe at length was spy'd by Death,
And cours'd and run quite out of breath;
No shifting, winding turn could save
Joe from the all-devouring grave.