RAGUSAN.

COSTARD SLY!! (A noise heard within, as of some person endeavoring to suppress his laughter.)

WARING.

There he is again, by Jupiter!-Catch him

Have at him there!-Yooi! over!

CAPT. PARKENRATH.

Yo doit! Go along!

[A general rush towards the door,—in which Ragusan is thrown down, Walsingham falls over him, and Gaultiman tumbles upon Walsingham. The Count proves himself a kicker, and is with difficulty set upon his legs.-Much laughter, intermingled with groans, &c., &c.]

EXEUNT OMNES.

"THERE'S NO MISTAKE ABOUT THAT."

Put out the LIGHT and then

Othello.

!

EVERY body suspected-long, long ago,-that Edmund Sanderson was in love with--SOMEBODY! He had many of the lover's marks upon him. For instance, "a lean cheek; a blue eye, and sunken; an unquestionable spirit; and a beard (sometimes) neglected."

He ate the wings of boiled chickens,-the lover's meat. His favorite wine was the Liebfrauenmilch, (Anglice, dear mother's milk,)-the lover's drink. The hue of his "customary suit” was blue,—the lover's colour. He was frequently seen poring over a volume of Moore's Melodies (bound in calf)

the lover's book. Lastly, one of his button

holes was generally decked with a rose,-the lover's flower!

On the only occasion he was ever known to sing in company, Mr. Sanderson warbled those delicious ditties,-composed by Moore, one of which begins with "Oh !" and ends with "stream," and is generally known by the name of "Love's Young Dream;" and the other commencing with

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day.-

On singing the latter song, Mr. Edmund happened to fix his large blue eyes upon a middleaged gentleman-remarkable for his ugliness! I need say no more. You can imagine the effect produced on the company present.

But though the gossips did not hesitate to say that Mr. Edmund Sanderson was in love; though the Boston ladies (I mean, of course, the privileged class,) did not scruple to push him home on the subject;-though my excellent friend, Mr. Fielder (and, with all his little eccentricities, a warmerhearted man than Mr. F. does not exist,) though, I say, my friend Fielder did, every now and then, ask him when the champagne was to be produced, (a custom that, at the TREMONT, my dear reader, which calls upon a gentleman about to enter the holy state, or as soon as he has entered it, to make