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HELL AND PURGATORY.

And there, good lack! she found the poker
With salt-box, pepper-box, and kettle,
And all the culinary metal.

There'd been, she swore, some devil or witch in,' To rob and plunder all the kitchen, A Venetian nobleman was one day rallied by One night she to her chamber crept, a priest, upon his refusing to give something to the Where for a moment she'd not slept, church, which the priest demanded for the deliver- Curse on the author of these wrongs, ance of him from purgatory; when the priest In her own bed she found the tongs! asking him, if he knew what an innumerable num-Hang Thomas for an idle joker! ber of devils there were to take him? he answered, "Yes, he knew how many devils there were in all," "Indeed, how many?" says the priest, his curiosity being raised by the novelty of the an"Why, ten millions, five hundred and deven thousand, six hundred and seventy-five devils and a half," says the nobleman. "A half?" says the priest, 66 pray what kind of a devil is that?"-"Yourself," says the nobleman,for you are half a devil already, and will be a whole one when you come there; for you are for deluding all you deal with, and bring is soul and body into your hands, that you mayed by the arguments of the latter, who, however, be paid for letting us go again."

swer.

WHERE'S THE POKER

The poker lost, poor Susan storm'
And all the rites of rage perform❜d,
As scolding, crying, swearing, sweating,
Abusing, fidgetting, and fretting;

Nothing but villany and thieving!
Good heavens! what a world we live in!
If I don't find it in the morning,
I'll surely give my master warning.
He'd better far shut up his doors,
Taa keep such good-for-nothing w——s,
For wheresoe'er their trade they drive,
We virtuous bodies cannot thrive."
Well may poor Susan grunt and groan,
Misfortunes never come alone,

But tread each other's heels in throngs,
For the next day she lost the tongs;
Jee salt-box, cullender, and grate
Soon shar'd the same untimely fate,
In vain the vails and wages spent

Ca rew ones-for the new ones went.

Be warn'd, ye fair, by Susan's crosses,
Keep chaste, and guard yourselves from losses,
For if young girls delight in kissing,
No wonder that the poker's missing.

THE LESS OF TWO EVILS:

The doctrine of purgatory was once disputed between the Bishop of Waterford and Father O'Leary; it is not likely the former was convinc

man

66

closed it very neatly by telling the bishop-
"Your lordship may go farther, and fare worse."
HOW TO SAVE ONE THOUSAND POUNDS.
It was observed that a certain covetous rich
never invited any one to dine with him.
"I'll lay a wager," said a wag, I get an invi-
tation from him." The wager being accepted, he
went the next day to the rich man's house, about
the time that he was known to sit down to dinner,
and told the servant that he must speak with his
master immediately; for that he could save him a
thousand pounds. "Sir," said the servant to his
master, "here's a man in a great hurry to speak
with you, who says he can save you a thousand
pounds." Out comes the master, "What's that
you say, sir? That you can save me a thousand
pounds?"-"Yes, sir, I can; but I see you are
at dinner. I'll and dine myself, and call
again."-" Oh, pray, sir, come in, and take a
dinner with me."-" Sir, I shall be troublesome."
"Not at all." The invitation was accepted;
and, dinner being over, and the family retired-
Well, sir, said the man of the house, now to our

go

138

THE LAUGHING PHILOSOPHER,

business. Pray, sir, let me know how I am to save this thousand pounds."-" Why, sir," said the other," I hear you have a daughter to dispose of in marriage."—" I have."— Aud that you intend to portion her with ten thousand pounds!" "I do so."-" Why then, sir, let me have her, and I'll take her with nine thousand."

WRITTEN ON THE DOOR OF A CERTAIN HOUSE.

world of the English language; and while I am
coming into port, with a fair wind on a fine sun-
shiny day, my Lord Chesterfield sends out two
little cock-boats to tow me in. I am very sensi
ble of the favour, Mr. Moore, and should be sorry
I cannot help thinking he is a lord among wits,
to say an ill-natured thing of that nobleman: but
and a wit among lords.

LETTER FROM AN IRISH GENTLEWOMAN TO
HER SON IN LONDON.

My dear child,

Gold rules within, and reigns without these doors,
Makes men take places, and poor maids turn w―s.
Her blooming virtue's sold, his trust's betray'd,
Debauch'd the member falls, alike the maid!
Each pleads excuse, tho' profit each does move-you
His is the sov'reign's service, her's is love.
The world sees through the sham in which both ness, and is dead; therefore we have small or no
join,

He votes for interest, as she yields for coin.

PATRONAGE.

The late Earl of Chesterfield was universally esteemed the Mæcenas of the age in which he lived. Dr. Johnson addressed the plan of his dictionary of the English language to him on that account; and his lordship endeavoured to be grateful by recommending that valuable work in two essays, which, among others, he published in a paper intituled the World, conducted by Mr. Moore and Some time after, however, his literary friends. the doctor took great offence at being refused admittance to Lord Chesterfield, which happened by a mistake of the porter; and just before the work was finished, on Mr. Moore's expressing his surprise that Dr. Johnson did not intend to dedicate the book to his lordship, the lexicographer declared he was under no obligation to any great man whatever, and therefore should not make him "Pardon me, sir," said Moore, his patron. you are certainly obliged to his lordship for the two elegant papers he has written in favour of -"You quite mistake the your performance.". thing," returned Johnson," I confess no obligation. I feel my own dignity, sir; I have made a Commodore Anson's voyage round the whole

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I thought it my duty incumbint upon me, to lit Mac-Frame, has been violently ill of a fit of sick know that your only living sister, Camey

hopes of her gitting bitter. Your dear modther constantly prayed for a long and speedy recovery.

I am sorry to acquaint you, that your godfather, Patrick O'Conner, is also dead. His dith was oc casioned by ateing rid-hirrings stuffed wid para. tes, or parates stuffed wid rid hirrings, I don't know which; and notwithstanding the surgeons attended him for three weeks, he died suddenly for want of hilp on the day of his dith, which was Sunday night last. The great bulk of his estate. comes to an only dead child in the family.

have made a prisent of your sister's diamondring to Mr. O'Hara, the great small-beer brewer, for three guineas; and I have taken the great corner-house that is burnt down, on a repairing lase.

I have sint you a Dublin Canary-bird, which I have carefully put up in a rat-trap, with some food in a snuff-box, which will come free of all Pray sind me the news of the prosadeings of the charges, only paying the captain for the passage. House of Commons nixt week; for we hear they have given us leave to import all our parates to England, which is great news indeed.

Write immediately, and don't stay for the post. Dirict for me nixt door to the Bible and Moon, in Copper Alley, Dublin, for there I am now ; but I shall remove to-morrow into my new house.

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ile ! Dan't sind to me in a frank again; for the last litter that came free was charged thirteen-pince. acto no more at prisent from

be m

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Your dutiful modther,

CAMEY CARRNAYL MAC FRAME. P.S. I did not sale this litter, to prevint it from being broke open; therefore send word if it miscarries. Your cousin-in-law, Thady O'Dogharty, is gone for a light-horseman among the marines.

IMPOSSIBLE TO SCREEN A FOOL.

A master tailor, as tis said,

By buckram, canvass, tape, and thread,
Hair cloths, and wadding, silk, and twist,
And all the long extensive list

With which their uncouth bills abound
(Though rarely in their garments found :)
With these and other arts in trade,
He soon a handsome fortune made;
And did, what few have ever done,
Left thirty thousand to his son.

The son, a gay young swagg'ring blade,
Abhorr'd the very name o' the trade,
And, lest reflections should be thrown
On him, resolv'd to leave the town,
And travel where he was not known.

To Oxford first he made his way,
With gilded coach and liv'ries gay;
The backs and beaux his taste admire,
His equipage and rich attire ;
But nothing was so much adored
As his fine silver-hilted sword;

Tho' small, and short, 'twas vastly neat,
The sight was deem'd a perfect treat;
Beau Banter begg'd to have a look,
But when the sword in hand he took,
He swore, by Jove, it was an odd thing,
And look'd just like a tailor's bodkin.
Beau Shred was gall'd at his expression,
Thinking they knew his mean profession;
Sheathing his sword he sneak'd away,
And drove for Glo'ster the same day.

There soon he found new cause of grief For (dining on some fine roast beef) They asked him which he did prefer, Some cabbage or some cucumber.

What was design'd a complient,
He thought severe reflection meant;
His stomach turn'd, he could not eat,
So made an ungenteel retreat;
Next day left Glo'ster in great wrath,
And bade his coachman drive to Bath,
There he suspected fresh abuse,

Because the dinner was roast goose;
And that he might no more be jeer'd,
For Exeter directly steer'd.

There with the beaux, he drank about,
Until he fear'd they'd find him out ;
His glass not fill'd (as was his rule)
They said 'twas not a thimble full
The name of thimble was enough,
He paid his reckoning and went off.
Next day to Plymouth he remov'd,
Where he still unsuccessful proved
For tho' he filled his glass or cup,
He did not always drink it up;
The topers mark'd how he behav'd,
And said " a remnant should be sav'd."
The name of remnant gall'd him so,
He then resolv'd for York to go;
There fill'd his bumper to the top,
And always fairly drank it up;

"Well done," said Jack, a buck of York,
"You go through stitch, sir, with your work."

The name of stitch was such reproach,
He rang the bell, and call'd the coach;
But e'er he went, enquiry made
By what means they found out his trade.

You put the cap on, and it fits,
Replied one of the Yorkshire wits;
Our words, in common acceptation,
Could not find out your occupation;
'Twas you yourself gave us the clue,
To find out both your trade and you;

Proud coxcombs and fantastic beaux,
In ev'ry place themselves expose:
They travel far, at great expense,

To shew their wealth and want of sense;
But take this for a standing rule,
There's no disguise will screen a fool.

is a friend of his, and all his friends are “might good kind of men." He pulls off his hat t every third person he meets, though he knows no even the name of one in twenty !-A young ma born with this demonstrated propensity of" migh ty goodness," has every chance of advancin

CHARACTER OF A MIGHTY GOOD KIND OF A his fortune. Thus, if in orders, he will contriv

MAN.

to pick up a tolerable living, or become tutor t a dunce of quality. If "a mighty good kind o The good qualities of such a man (if he has any) man" is a counsellor, he will draw from the attor are of the negative kind. He does very little nies a large supply of chamber cases and specia harm, but you never find him do any good. He is pleadings, or bills and answers, he being greatly careful to have all the externals of sense and vir- qualified for a dray-horse of the law. If he is ad tue, but you never perceive his heart concerned in mitted into the college as M, D. he will have every any word, thought, or action. To him every body chance to be at the top of the profession, as the is his dear friend, with which he always begins all whole success of the faculty depends upon old wo his letters, and ends them with" Your ever sincere men, or fanciful young ones, hypochondriac me and affectionate friend." He is usually seen with and ricketty children; to the generosity of all persons older than himself, but always richer. He these nothing so much recommends a physician, a is not prominent in his conversation, but merely his being "a mighty good kind of a man." It i puts in his "Yes, sir," and "No, sir," to every past dispute that a good man, and a man of sense thing said by the elevated or overbearing; which should possess in some degree the outline describ confirms him in their opinion as "a very sensible ed; yet, if he possesses no more, he will be at leas and discerning person," as well as a " mighty good but a vapid and valueless character. Many su kind of a man."-He is so familiarized to assent perficial observers are deceived by French paste to every thing advanced, that I have known him it has the glitter of a diamond, but the want o approve opposite sentiments in the course of five hardness discovers the counterfeit, and points it minutes! The weather is a leading topic with "a out to be of no intrinsic value! If the head at mighty good kind of a man," and you may make heart are to be omitted in the character, you may him agree in one breath, that it is hot and cold, as well seek for female beauty without a nose o frost and thaw, and that the wind blows from every an eye, as expect a valuable man without underpoint of the compass! He is so civil and well-standing or sensibility. But besides this, it often bred, as to keep you in the rain, rather than ascend a carriage before you; and the dinner would grow cold in your attempt to move him from the lower end of the table. Not a glass approaches his lips unless he has disturbed half the company to drink their health. He never omits his glass with the mistress of the house, nor forgets to notice little master and miss, which with mamma always makes him "a mighty good kind of a man," and also assures her, that he would make a very good husband. No man is ever half so happy, or so general, in his friendships-every one he names

happens that those "mighty good kind of men" are wolves in sheep's clothing, and that the playsible cunning of their outward deportment is cal culated to entrap the unwary, and to promote sinister designs.

MADAM, MY WIFE.

Ye lovers of quiet, and conjugal joys;
Dread foes to contention, jars, tumult, and noise;
Oh! fly from my dwelling, fly quickly for life!
Is't the plague? Ten times worse-'tis madam my
wife.

What din and confusion; what clack of a mill;
Or swift-rolling torrent, that falls from yon hill;
Or cannon's loud roar? None of these, by my life,
The noise that you hear is-from madam, my wife,
Hark! murder's cry'd out; I am sure 'tis no

dream:

bachelor, by reason he was crossed in love by a perverse beautiful widow of the next county to him. Before this disappointment, Sir Roger was what you call a fine gentleman, had often supped fought a duel upon his first coming to town, and with my Lord Rochester and Sir George Etherege, for calling him youngster. But, being ill-used kicked Bully Dawson in a public coffee-house, by the above-mentioned widow, he was very Ran, neighbours, with speed, seize the murderer's serious for a year and a half; and though his Stop! stop! it is nothing—but madam, my wife.it, he grew careless of himself, and never dressed temper being naturally jovial, he at last got over Sare Bedlam's let loose! the fierce winds now afterwards. He continues to wear a coat and arise;

How dreadful the sound is! how shrill is the

scream!

knife!

The loud thander rolls, and disturbs all the skies;
The earth itself quakes; 'tis the element's strife;
Tis nature's last pang; no-is madam, my wife.
O grant, ye kind gods! that these tumults may

cease,

Or waft me, with speed, to some island of peace; en with thanks-Hark! the noise of drum, trumpet, and fife!

Whew! crack! stop my ears!-oh, 'tis madam,

my wife.

SIR ROGER DE COVERLY.

doublet of the same cut that were in fashion at

the time of his repulse, which, in his merry humours, he tells us, has been in and out twelve

His

times since he first wore it. It is said, Sir Roger grew humble in his desires after he had forgot this cruel beauty, insomuch, that it is reported he has frequently offended in point of chastity with beggars and gypsies! but this is looked upon, by his friends, rather as matter of raillery than truth. He is now in his fifty-sixth year, cheerful, gay, and hearty; keeps a good house both in town and country; a great lover of mankind but there is such a mirthful cast in his behaviour, that he is rather beloved than esteemed. The first of our society is a gentleman of Wor- tenants grow rich, his servants look satisfied, all testershire, of ancient descent, a baronet, his the young women profess love to him, and the name Sir Roger de Coverly. His great grand-young men are glad of his company; when he father was inventor of that famous country-dance comes into a house, he calls the servants by their fabich is called after him. All who know that names, and talks all the way up-stairs to a visit. sire are very well acquainted with the parts and I must not omit, that Sir Roger is a Justice of the merits of Sir Roger. He is a gentleman that is Quorum; that he fills the chair at a quarterVery singular in his behaviour, but his singulari-session with great abilities, and three months ago ties proceed from his good sense, and are contra- gained universal applause by explaining a passage dictions to the manners of the world, only as he in the game act. thinks the world is in the wrong. However, this bumour creates him no enemies, for he does nothing with sourness or obstinacy; and his being confined to modes and forms, makes him but the readier and more capable to please and oblige all who know him. When he is in town, he lives in Soho-square. It is said, he keeps himself a

A TOUCHSTONE FOR THE TIMES.

Midas (we read) with wond'rous art of old,
Whate'er he touch'd, at once transform'd to gold.
This modern statesmen can reverse with ease,
Touch them with gold, they'll turn to what you
please.

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