refpective fituations, and laughs at the abfurdity of her former projects when the aspired to the character of a philofophic wife.

BENEVOLUS.

MODERN SONNET..

ARTHUR.-A SUBLIME DESCRIPTIVE PIECE.

DARK was the night, and loud the wind-fform howl'd;;
Around, above, the vivid lightnings glare:.
The thunder's awful noife unceafing roll'd
In dreadful peals along the froubled air!
When Arthur, filent, bent his careful way
Acrofs the landing's dun and dang'rous gloom;
Seiz'd on the maffy door-that straight gave way-
And enter'd flow the horror-breathing room!
Trembling, with dumb amazement now he trod,
While hope and fear his breaft alternate sway'd!'
Reach'd where full well he knew there erfst had stood
A table dimly gleaming in the fhade.

He felt but utter'd, with terrific fear—
"G-d-n the tinder-box! it is not here! ! !?

QUIZL

MODERN NOVELS..

[From the Oracle.]

EVERY abfurdity has an end--and, as I obferve that almost all novels are now of the terrific caft, I hope the infipid repetition of the fame bugbears will at length work its own cure. In the mean time, should any of your female readers be defirous of catching the feafon of terrors, they may compofe two or three very pretty volumes, from the following recipe::

Take-An old caftle, half of it ruinous;

A long gallery with a great many doors, fome fecret

ones;

Three murdered bodies, quite fresh;

As many skeletons, in chefts and preffes;.

G..5

An

An old woman hanging by the neck, with her throat

cut;

Affaffins and defperadoes, quant. suff.

Noifes, whispers, and groans, threescore at least. Mix them together, in the form of three thin pills, or volumes, and let them be taken or fwallowed, at bedtime or any other hour, in any city, village, or watering-place, in England or Wales, and the town of Berwick upon Tweed (as proclamations are), where they will be found equally palatable and fanative by young and middle-aged ladies; with or without pockets! I mean in the way of fashion only !-No offence to the provincial ladies, from

PROBATUM EST.

THE SQUEAKING GHOST!

A TALE IMITATED FROM THE GERMAN, ACCORDING

то THE TRUE AND GENUINE PRINCIPLES OF THE

HORRIFIC, BY M. G. LS, ESQ. OF Spectre Hall, IN THE County OF Hobgoblin.

[From the fame.]

THE wind whistled loud! Farmer Dobbin's wheat stack
Fell down! The rain beat 'gainst his door!
As he fat by the fire, he heard the roof crack!
The cat 'gan to mew and to put up her back!
And the candle burnt-just as before!

The Farmer exclaim'd, with a piteous figh,
"To get rid of this curs'd noise and rout,

Wife gi'e us fome ale." His dame ftraight did cry,

Hem'd and cough'd three times three, then made this reply. "I can't mun!"—" Why ?"—" 'Cause the cafk's out!"

66

By the fide of the fire fat Roger Gee-ho,

Who had finifh'd his daily vocation :

With Cicely, whofe eyes were as black as a floe,
A damfel indeed who had never said no,

And becaufe-she ne'er had an occafion!

All these were alarm'd by fome loud piercing cries,
And thrown into a terrible ftate; .

Till opening the door, with wide-ftaring eyes,
They found to their joy, no lefs than furprise,
"T was the old fow faft fuck in a gate!"

THE IRISH GHOST..

BY OLD.. NICK.

[From the British Prefs.].

O nuova, o fiera, o ftrana maraviglia * ! !
IN days of yore, but fince the flood,
While Teague in bed was fnoring,
A fpectre 'fore him ghaftly stood,
And wak'd him with its roaring..
No nose it had, nor e'en an eye,
Nor mouth to eat its bread;

And, would you know the reason why?
Alas! it had no head!

With horrid gape Teague view'd the fprite,,
Then cried, "Ah! now be spaking,
And aife me from my fad affright,
And tell me if I'm waking?"

"Arrah, my dear," the shade replied,,
"I cannot pake, you know;
But I'm thy father's ghost, who died, .
Beheaded, Lord knows how !??

"Alack, poor ghoft!" the fon exclaim'd,',

"No wonder thou 'rt not frifky,

For he most furely must be d

-d,

Who cannot drink his whifkey."

This ejaculatory line is taken from the 11th canto of the Ricciardetto of Forteguerri, where it relates to a certain gentleman much more cunning than our Irishman, who, after his head had been cut off by Count Orlando, fnatched it up, and carried it down ftairs with him,, to the great furprife of the good Count.

Il buon Conte),
Non cade il tronco bufto, anzi s'inchina;
E la recifa tefta in mano piglia,

E le fcale difcende.-ST. 16.

A

"Ah, honey, true!" the sprite resum'd,
"Therefore I laive the dead;

And that I mayn't to H-be doom'd,
I'm looking for my head!"

THE WAY TO BE WISE.

POOR Jenny, am'rous, young, and gay,
Having by man been led aftray,

To nunn'ry dark retir'd:
There liv'd, and look'd fo like a maid
So feldom ate, so often pray'd,
She was by all admir'd.

The Lady Abbefs oft would cry,
If any filter trod awry,

Or prov'd an idle flattern;
"See wife and pious Mrs. Jane;
A life fo ftrict, fo grave a mien,
Is fure a worthy pattern."
A pert young flut at length replies,
"Experience, Madam, makes fools wife;
'Tis that has made her fuch:

And we, poor fouls, no doubt fhould be
As pious and as wife as fhe,

If we had known as much."

THE LETTER-CARRIER.

WAG at the gallows, who relish'd a jeft,
With a rifible phiz, thus the hangman addrefs'd;

"Well, Jack, I am going to vifit that place

Where your father is gone, and the rest of your race;
'Tis a chance but I fee him-and you, my good friend,
May by me your refpects to your family fend."
Ketch gravely replied, as he faften'd the twine,
"I'll beg leave to trouble you, Sir, with a line!"
Lewes.

JACK

1

JACK KETCH AND THE FRENCHMAN
A JEU D'ESPRIT.-BY AMBROSE PITMAN, ESQ.
[From the Morning Poft.]

A

FRENCHMAN once, at fome affizes,
'T was Nottingham, the Mufe furmifes,
Fell justly by the course of law,
A victim for-un grand faux pas.
When he approach'd the fatal tree,
(Un autre Place de Greve pour lui,)
And when Jack Ketch prepar'd to tie
The noofe that did exalt him high,
Inftead of praying to the Lord,

Monfieur exclaim'd, “Ah! mifericorde !"
"Meafure the cord?" replied Jack Ketch;
"Measure the cord yourself, you wretch!"
Still mifericorde was all his cry;

"Ah! mifericorde! dat I fhould die!
Ah! mifericorde! good folk, good by!"
"Measure the cord! you fniv'ling cur!"
Rejoin'd the executioner:

"'T is long enough-I know 't will do
To hang a score fuch rogues as you;
And fince you've been a thieving elf,
Meafure the cord, I fay, yourself."

ON OPERAS.

N Opera, like a pill'ry, may be faid

AN

To nail the ears down, but expose the head!

QUAVER.

}

ENVY AND IMPOTENCE.

AGAINST me letters Vindex writes, 't is faid
That is not publish'd, which is never read.

BON