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'Friend,' quoth the razor-man, I am no knave;

As for the razors you have bought,

Upon my soul, I never thought

That they would shave.'

Not think they'd shave!' quoth Hodge, with wond'ring eyes,

And voice not much unlike an Indian yell;

'What were they made for, then, you dog?' he cries,
'Made!' quoth the fellow, with a smile, to sell.'

THE CONCERT.

OH! what mirth and melody now meet my ear!

The glasses are sparkling on the board;

Yonder a young buck strives eagerly to please his dear,
And Mr. Dedimus's song is encored.

Spoken.] I say, Vaiter! Vaiter! bring me a glass of brandy and water, as cool as a zephyr and as bright as a flash of lightning. Well, shiver my timbers, if ever I heard a better than that. Howsomdever, I'll rig the milksop-may I never get spliced to pretty Sue else! Holloa, Waiter! Come, steer a head here, yard arm and yard-arm, nor dare weigh anchor till I give you sailing orders. Now, ye lubber, fetch me a can of brandy as hot as hell and as strong as my old messmate Jack Junk. Alas! poor Jack ! I shall never forget thy bleeding remains as we lowered thee over the sides of the gallant Ariel. Splash! splash! the waves closed over thee; and although hid in the bosom of the ocean, you are always present to the recollection of your brother sailors. Why, shiver my topsails, not off yet! Spread all canvass and away. If you don't return with a good cargo of brandy, sugar, and lemons, why damme, I'll spoil your figure-head without more palaver-that's all, my water spaniel. -Now, Mr. Chairman, I, as president of this august meeting, call upon you for the next song, and I'll in the meantime accordingly give my orders, and command order. And I beg to make one remark, as the poet says-and that is, that you have committed an egregious error in the delivery of your speech, or address, inasmuch as you called this an August meeting, when in fact and in truth it is now the month of July; that, you'll allow, is not according to Cocker.-Ladies and Gentlemen, your polite attention is particularly requested, as Miss Alice Grey is on the eve of obliging us with a sentimental song.-Bravo! bravo! a sentimental song, by all means.-[Sings.

I'd be a butterfly, born in a bower,

Where roses and lilies are pretty and sweet:
Roving for-

Ladies and Gentlemen, I really must claim your kind indulgence, as I am greatly suffering under the prevailing epidemic, which has thrown a transient cloud over the vocal abilities which I am acknowledged by all parties to possess. But lest you should for an instant imagine that I flatter myself into any such belief, I'll e'en make my obeisance. Bravo! the lady's excuse is accepted, and―

Oh, what fun, what mirth! oh, what jollity,

What sparkling eyes! what sparkling wine! and angel faces dear! Our old friend December, to sing a song his best he'll tryHe who would see life must come and see it here.

Spoken.] Now, Mr. Chairman, I rise to propose a national toast-The King, Army, and Navy.-Bravo! pass it alongwe can't have too much of a good thing. May it be re-echoed from pole to pole-the King, Army, and Navy !-Who are you, sir, that talks so loudly of poles? Remember, sir, that I am de grand frizeur to his Majesty; and, sare, if you dare to offer any insult to my profession, I will have de satisfacteong.What now, mounseer, do you think I meant such poles as you have to exercise your shears on? No, no, you cannot excite me to destroy such a butterfly as you are: live on, and enjoy your soup meagre and frogs, while England's sons keep up their strength by her good roast beef and rich gravy.-Well, sir, I shall never forget the last battle I was in; that was the memorable Waterloo ! In the heat of the engagement, we found that we were without ammunition, having discharged all but a small quantity of powder. What was to be done? General consulted general-officer consulted officer-and the enemy was pressing forward in all directions. In a moment a briliant thought struck across my mind which illuminated all present-in an instant the orders were given, and a thousand bright swords glittered in the sun, and we mowed down our prisoners in all directions-the trenches by which we were surrounded were filled with blood, which formed an impassable river, and which would have been certain death, had the enemy attempted to ford it !-Prodigious! But where was the use of this slaughter, otherwise than as forming a red sea around you, which, by your own account, only served to keep the enemy at a respectable distance.-Why it served to

With songs, recitations, glees, and choruses, to make

The time fly swiftly, and drive dull care away,

I've strived to please, but if I've failed I'll your kind indulgence take, And hope success may crown my wishes on some other day.

THE GAMESTER.

A DRAMATIC RECITATION.

THE heavy bell proclaim'd the hour of one,
No noise throughout Sir Edward's mansions ran,
Except the thunder, which anon on high

Roll'd in loud peals, and light'ning lit the sky.

'Twas such a night when nature's mighty Lord
To devastation seems to give the word;
To rule o'er all with overpow'ring sway,
And his own noble works in ruins lay.

Yet there was one whose mind was sore oppress'd,
Within the house unknown, alas! to rest;
'Twas poor Ophelia, who, in mournful mood,
With eager looks, pale, at the casement stood;
The vivid lightning fiercely blaz'd on high,
Flash after flash unheeded pass'd her by,
Loud thunder shook in peals the troubled air,
Their sounds were noiseless to her list'ning ear;
For other sounds her deep attention sought,
But they, alas! no gen'rous fortune brought.
Still does she listen, and oft think she hears
The husband's welcome feet upon the stairs ;
Now joy dilates her heart-she pants, she smiles
Now disappointment all her bliss reviles;
'Alas! he comes not now-where can he be?'
"Twas morning since Ophelia did him see;
And now the dismal truth shot o'er her brain,
Gaming had lur'd him to his haunts again;
The haunts of folly where too oft he'd been,
And many a victim unto guilt had seen;
There on the rock of wild destruction toss'd,
His better riches long, long since he'd lost.
Still roll'd the thunder, still the lightning blaz'd,
And the wild wind the forest subjects rais'd.

Still did Ophelia mark the abbey's chime

That told the quick elapse of airy time!

Now two o'clock responded from the bell,

Now three-now four-their warning moments tell;
Still, still he comes not!' poor Ophelia cries,
While tears of anguish trickled from her eyes.

'Where can he be?' when a loud voice she hears,
Ophelia burst upon her attentive ears;
'Tis he, 'tis he!' she utter'd then in joy,
Which but a moment served to destroy;

A pistol's loud report then shook the air;
Ophelia fled-half trembling with her fear;

And now she reach'd the spot from whence it came,
Now hope, now fear, her bosom doth inflame;
She trembled to advance-a flash reveal'd

A well-known form-the sight her blood congeal'd;
'Twas Edward's form-stiff, mangl'd, red with blood,
O'er which Ophelia in distraction stood!

Too soon the truth appeared-that night he'd lost
At the curs'd gaming-table all his boast;
Beggar'd-and ruin'd-in despair he fled,

And, conscience-struck, he rushed to join the dead!
What more remains to tell? Since that sad night,
Ophelia's mind ne'er felt soft Reason's light.

Reader, beware! to gain a noble name,

Shun the base gamester's haunts, which lead to shame.

RECEIPT TO BREW A STORM.

Husband. Woman-ay?

Wife. You are always railing at our sex.
Husband. And without reason?

Wife. Without either rhyme or reason; you'd be miserable beings without us, for all that.

Husband. Sometimes; there is no general rule without an exception. I could name some very good women-

Wife. Without the head, I suppose?

Husband. With a head, and with a heart too.

Wife. That's a wonder!

Husband. It would be a still greater if I could not; for instance, there is Mrs. Dawson, the best of wives; always at home, whenever you call, always in good humour, always neat and clean, sober and discreet.

Wife. I wish you were tied to her. Always at home! the greatest gossiper in the parish; she may well smile, she has nothing to ruffle her temper; neat and clean-she has nothing else to do; sober-she can take a glass as well as her neighbours; discreet-that's another word, she can tip a wink-but I detest scandal; I am surprised you didn't say she was hand

some ?

Husband. So she is, in my eye.

Wife. You have a fine eye, to be sure; you're an excellent judge of beauty; what do you think of her nose ?

Husband. She's a fine woman in spite of her nose!

Wife. Fine feathers make fine birds; she can paint her withered cheeks, and pencil her eyebrows.

Husband. You can do the same, if you please.

Wife. My cheeks don't want paint, nor my eyebrows pencilling.

Husband. True; the rose of youth and beauty is still on your cheeks, and your brow is the brow of Cupid.

Wife. You once thought so; but that moving mummy, Molly Dawson, is your favourite. She's, let me see, no gossip, and yet she's found in every house but her own; and so silent, too, when she has all the clack to herself; her tongue is as thin as a sixpence with talking; with a pair of eyes burned into the bargain; and then as to scandal-but her tongue is no scandal. Husband. Take care, there's such a thing as standing in a white sheet!

Wife, Curse you! you would provoke a saint.

Husband. You seem to be getting into a passion.

Wife. Is it any wonder? A white sheet! You ought to be toss'd in a blanket. Handsome! I can't forget that word: my charms are lost on such a tasteless fellow as you.

Husband. The charms of your tongue.

Wife. Don't provoke me, or I'll fling this dish at your head. Husband. Well, I have done.

Wife. But I hav'n't done; I wish Thad drown'd myself the first day I saw you.

Husband. It's not too late.

Wife. I'd see you hung first.

Husband. You'd be the first to cut me down.

Wife. Then I ought to be tied up in your stead.

Husband. I'd cut you down.

Wife. You would?

Husband. Yes, but I'd be sure you were dead first.

Wife. I cannot bear this any longer.

Husband. Then 'tis time for me to withdraw; I see by your

eyes that the storm is collecting.

Wife. And it shall burst on your head.

Husband. I'll save my poor head, if I can. A good retreat is better than a bad battle.

[Husband Aies, the dish flies after him.

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