trade an undertaker. He met, as he said, for the purpose of "a little conviviality," so he sat mute and smoked his pipe in apparent abstraction. He seldom cracked a joke himself, but he heard the jokes of others with a suppressed risibility, that showed a capability of appreciating, if not of practising; he was a valetudinarian, and the Doctors told him he had water on the brain; but he consoled himself with the remark, that he had only a drop in his head. He nightly discussęd one pot of ale, and four glasses of brandy-andwater, with infinite felicity, and as the clock bespoke one quarter past eleven, he inserted himself in his upper garment, touched the waitingmaid under the chin, grumbled out good night, and departed to his domus. He had passed this course uninterruptedly for twenty years, and always found his accustomed quantum give a certain energy to his action, and obliquity to his walk, which, however agreeable to himself, was by no means interesting to any accidental passenger who came within the swing of his pendulating arm. With all this, Joinem was merely an "Elevationist."

Jack Jewson, a worthy tar of 1764, was, as he candidly confessed, equally addicted to religion and liquor; he had a taste for every species of fluid, from inferior "strike me dead*," to the superlative grog. He loved drinking, for it reminded him of his former life, his companions, and his commanders; he drank out of a brown jug, and called it his Dun-can; he would get

"Strike me dead," a nautical term for small beer.

drunk with a hackney coachman, because he brought Jarvis to his recollection, and he was never so truly happy as when people said he was "How came ye so." His allowance was no more to Jack, than a single bottle to my Lord H. It happened that the body of an East Indian Governor was conveying home preserved in spirits, in a vessel of which Jack was one of the crew. Jewson, though on watch, was drunk every minute, and at length his back and a cat-o'-ninetails were about being introduced to each other, but his captain promised forgiveness if he would confess from whom he obtained the liquor. Please your Honour, he replied, I've been and tapp'd the Governor. Thus it clearly appeared, though the spirits could preserve the Governor, the Governor could not preserve the spirits. Jewson never deemed himself properly drunk unless he laid upon the ground and felt upwards for the earth; he was a Finisher, gentle reader, if thou wilt.

When I divided my drinkers into classes, I was well aware of the existence of a thousand ramifications of each species, but I wished to generalise my subject as much as possible-but allow me now to digress so far as to say a few words respecting the disciples of Ramo Samee. The propensity for swallowing, once inordinately indulged, is seldom overcome until it has overcome its votary, and this, as far as regards the juice of the grape, is natural enough: but we are indeed surprised when we see the system carried so far, that some have committed legal assaults upon their own stomachs, and swallowed swords, staves and knives. Circumstances have made

A

many a poor wretch in the rapidity of hunger or thirst, steal and swallow; but taste alone could induce a man to swallow steel, as Mr. Cummins * did, to the infinite delight of his messmates. Of this ostrich-like capacity there has been recently a dreadful instance, and the unhappy individual who suffered for his temerity, was an immoderate drinker; he was described at Liverpool as a thin pale man, who drank gin by pails-full; but this cannot be wondered at, for he who swallows iron must be a hard drinker. What would a set of jocund country gentlemen say to a guest, who, not content with drinking a bowl of punch, should afterwards swallow the ladle ?-how would Hall's digestive pills be thrown away upon such a stomach-"Mine aches to think of it," as Hamlet says. But to return more immediately to my subject, physicians allow a man to indulge once a month, yet they may have a sinister view in doing so; but that no loyal subject now a days can be present at a public dinner, and we all go to one once a month, without getting intoxicated, even though he drinks the toasts alone, is matter of public notoriety. What follows then? Wise men practise it-Poets inculcate it-Doctors do not forbid it-Health it is said requires itLoyalty compels it-our wishes enjoin it. Behold the phalanx that support that truly English amusement-inebriety. What is a poor, weak, yielding, good-tempered man to do under this

* Cummins, for the sake of a frolic, would swallow knives, pieces of wood, &c. After his death several things were found decomposing in his stomach.

conglomeration of circumstances? He must say, Mr. Editor, as I am now saying-"Waiter, bring another bottle!"

Bell's Weekly Dispatch.

COCKNEY SONNETS.

SONNET III.-THE DOGS.

HENCE, loathed Dogs!-From Houndsditch, though it be
Your seat appropriate, to the boundary far
Of Fleet-street's arching limit, Temple Bar,
None shall presume to wag its jaw at me.
Muzzled be all. And yet, within my heart
Compunction swells, to act so harsh a part,
When I revolve my own past history.

For had a muzzle in my days been placed
On every cur that yelped, or hound that howled,
Had doughty beadles, all relentless, chaced
Ev'ry poor puppy that at greatness scowled,

I fear my speeching talent had been waste,
And all unheard I should unchained have growled.

SONNET IV.-THE BLACK.

SWEET were the accents of the Hymettian Sage,
Whom Athens doom'd to die by poisonous bowl-
And sweet are Wilson's accents, when his soul
Impels him to relate how valorous rage
Sent him 'gainst Freedom's foes stern war to wage,
Spite of his rearward wound. And sweet the tone
Of Bennett, making froth, and dolorous moan

O'er Captain Callaghan in pris'ning case.

But Waithman! sweeter thine beyond belief, When to Bill Green, the huge two-fisted Black,

Thou giv'st advice-“Young man," quoth London's Chief, "If you would wish to train for the attack,

"And give full vigour to each ponderons whack,

"Eat-if you love Lord Waithman-eat raw beef!!!"

John Bull.

IN days of yore, as London gossips tell,

A Monarch's Palace stood in fam'd P-1 M-1,
Where oft the King, with wond'rous condescension,
(Beyond our skill in proper terms to mention)
His loving subjects graciously caress'd,
And subjects ne'er were so supremely blest!
Now, as these gossips say, this said P-1 M-1
Contained, besides the Palace, many a "Hell,"
And "Hells," we've heard, are places far from pleasant;
Be that though as it may,

These "Hells" have had their day,

And we of them have nought to say at present.
No! 'tis the Palace there, of royalty,

Demands our lays,

Which Palace, fam'd for love and loyalty,
Was, as the story goes,

Once in a blaze,

And what the consequences might have been,
Had not the smoke and fire been quickly seen,
No loyal subject knows!