ADVANTAGES OF UGLINESS. In the reign of Lewis XIV. a gentleman, who had suffered by the law's delay, was promised speedy jus tice by a nobleman, who brought the gentleman to Versailles, to present him to his majesty. The request being granted by the king, his majesty asked the peer what connection he had with the man whose interest he had so warmly espoused. "Not any," replied he; "indeed, so far from it, that I never saw him in my life till the other day." "What!" replied the king, "had you never seen him before? How, then, could you be under that obligation to him which you talk of ? "O, sire !" exclaimed the nobleman, "has not your majesty perceived that, till he was brought forward, I was supposed to have been the ugliest man in your dominions? The exception he has enabled me to make is surely a very great obligation." THE DOCTOR AND CAPTAIN, A TALE FROM BATH. In Bladud's city, place of vast renown, To cut a splash, To dance, to play at cards, and drink the waters- One morn, the hero of the scarlet coat, He long'd to let the captain blood : "Give to your master doctor Pestle's card, With bridal cake beneath her head, Before her now the buck, the beau, The 'squire, the captain trips; For some she felt her bosom pant, She dreamt (for magic charms prevail'd, She kiss'd a sleeping parson. She dreamt-but O, rash muse! forbear, Yet blest above the gods is he, ADVERTISEMENT. A Margate advertisement, by an ass-lender, whose donkies are alternately employed by ladies and smug. glers Asses here to be let; for all purposes right, MONSIEUR TONSON. There liv'd, as fame reports, in days of yore, At least some fifty years ago, or more, A pleasant wight, on town yclep'd Tom King;, A fellow that was clever at a joke; Expert in all the arts to tease and smoke; In short, for strokes of humour quite the thing. To many a jovial club this King was known, With whom his active wit unrivall'd shone: Choice spirit, grave free-mason, buck and blood, Would crowd his stories and bon-mots to hear; And none a disappointment e'er could fear, His humour flow'd in such a copious flood. Careless how prudence on the sport might frown: Nor left the game till he had run it down. One night our hero, rambling with a friend, Near fam'd St. Giles's chanc'd his course to bend, Just by that spot the Seven Dials hight: Twas silence all around, and clear the coast; The watch, as usual, dozing on his post; And scarce a lamp display'd a twinkling light. Around this place there liv'd the num'rous clans Of honest, plodding, foreign artizans, Known at that time by name of Refugees: The rod of persecution, from their home Compell'd the inoffensive race to roam ; And here they lighted like a swarm of bees. Well! our two friends were saunt'ring through the street, In hopes some food for humour soon to meet; So tow'rds the gloomy dome our hero drew. "I'll ask," says King, "if Thomson lodges here." "Thomson!" cries t'other, "who the devil's he?" "I know not," King replies; "but want to see What kind of animal will now appear." After some time, a little Frenchman came- Scarce half awake; he heav'd a yawning note. Tho' thus untimely rous'd, he courtcous smil'd, And soon address'd our wag in accents mild, Bending his head politely to his knee Pray, Sare, vat vant you, dat you come so late? I beg your pardon, Sare, to make you vait : Pray, tell me, Sare, vat your coinmands vid ine! "Sir," replied King, "I merely thought to know, As by your house, I chanc'd to-night to ge But really I distb'd your sleep, I fear! Too simple to suspect 'twas meant in jeer, Shrugg'd out a sigh, that thus his rest should break; Then, with unalter'd courtesy he spake No, Sare; no Monsieur Tonson lodges here." Our wag begg'd pardon, and tow`rds home he sped, While the poor Frenchman crawl'd again to bed; But King resolv'd not thus to drop the jest: So, the next night, with more of whim than grace, Again he made a visit to the place, To break once more the poor old Frenchman's rest. He knock'd-but waited longer than before; No footstep seem'd approaching to the door : Our Frenchman lay in such a sleep profound. King with the knocker thunder'd then again, Firm on his post determin'd to remain ; And oft, indeed, he made the door resound. At last King hears him o'er the passage creep, Wond'ring what fiend again disturb'd his sleep, The wag salutes him with a civil leer; Thus drawling out, to heighten the surprise While the poor Frenchman rubb'd his heavy eyesIs there a Mr. Thomson lodges here?" The Frenchman falter'd with a kind of fright- Indeed, Sare, dere no Monsieur Tonson here!" "Sare, 'pon my soul no Monsieur Tonson here!" He should not stir till he had seen her master. And begg'd he'd call at proper time of day: But first had much of deep concern to say. Thus urg'd, she went the snoring man to call; And long, indeed, was she oblig'd to bawl, Ere she could rouse the torpid lump of clay : At last he wakes-he rises-and he swears; But, scarcely had he totter'd down the stairs, When King attacks him in the usual way. The Frenchman now perceiv'd 'twas all in vain, To this tormentor mildly to complain, And straight in rage began his crest to rear"Sare, vat de devil make you treat me so? Sare, I inform you, Sare, tree nights ago: Got dam, I swear, no Monsieur Tonson here!" True as the night King went and heard a strife Between the harass'd Frenchman and his wife, Which should descend to chase the fiend away: At length to join their forces they agree; And straight impetuously they turn the key, Prepar'd with mutual fury for the fray. Our hero, with the firmness of a rock, Utt'ring the old inquiry, calmly stood. With "Well, I'll call when you're in gentler mood." Monsieur, at last, was fore'd his house to quit. It happen'd that our wag, about this time, On some fair prospect, sought the eastern clime: Six ling'ring years were, there, his tedious lot! At length, content, amid his ripening store, He treads again on Britain's happy shere, And his long absence is at once forgot. To London with impatient hope he flies, And the same night as former freaks arise, He fain must stroll, the well-known haunt to trace. "Ah! here's the scene of frequent mirth," he said: My poor old Frenchman, I suppose, is dead. Egad! I'll knock, and see who holds his place." With rapid strokes he makes the mansion roar ; And while he, eager, eyes the op'ning door, Lo! who obeys the knocker's rattling peal? Why e'en our Frenchman! Strange perhaps to say, He took his old abode that very day : Capricious turn of sportive fortune's wheel! Without one thought of the relentless foe! Who, fiend-like, haunted him so long ago, Just in his former trim he now appears: The waistcoat and the nightcap seemed the same; With rushlight, as before, he creeping came; And King's detested voice astonish'd hears. As if some hideous spectre struck his sight, His senses seem'd bewilder'd with affright; His face, indeed, bespoke a heart full sore: Then, starting, he exclaim'd, in rueful straiu"Begar! here's Monsieur Tonson come again!" Away he ran; and ne'er was heard of more. THE PILGRIMS AND THE PEAS. A brace of sinners, for no good, Were ordered to the Virgin Mary's shrine, Who at Loretto dwelt, in wax, stone, wood, And, in a curl'd white wig, look'd wond'rous fine. In short, their toes, so gentle to amuse, A nostrum famous in old Popish times That Popish parsons for its powers exalt, The knaves set off on the same day, But very different was their speed, I wot: The other limp'd as if he had been shot. Made fit with saints above to live for ever. In coming back, however, let me say, "How now!" the light-toed, whitewash'd, pilgrim broke, "You lazy lubber!" "Od's curse it!" cried the t'other, My feet, once hard as any rock, "'tis no joke Are now as soft as blubber. Whilst I, just like a snail, am crawling, Now swearing, now on saints devoutly bawling, As merry, as if nought had happen'd, burn ya!' "Why," cry'd the other, grinning, "you must know, That just before I ventur'd on my journey, To walk a little more at ease, I took the liberty to boil my peas." P. PINDAR. A CHOICE. An Irishman was once brought up before a magistrate, charged with marrying six wives. The magistrate asked him how he could be so hardened a villain? Please your Worship, (says Paddy) I was trying to get a good one. A COOL RETORT. Henderson the actor was seldom known to be in a passion. When at Oxford he was one day debating with a fellow-student, who, not keeping his temper, threw a glass of wine in his face. Mr. Henderson took out his handkerchief, wiped his face, and coolly said, " That, Sir, was a digression; now for the argument." FRANK HAMAN. Frank Haman, once a brother of the brush, Had talents much distinguish'd in his day; But for his art he hardly car'd a rush, If some odd mischief stumbled in his way, This wag was deem'd by all the social tribe A jovial, easy, careless, pleasant fellow, Fond of a frolic, ready at a gibe, And sometimes in his cups a little mellow. He, being tempted by a pleasant day, After a long contention with the gout, Dangling behind, in piteous plight, As if each moment taking flight. On the look-out, was lurking close behind; A sly and subtle chap, Of most sagacious smell, Like politicians of a higher kind, Ready to snap At any thing that fell. The porter stagger'd on, the dog kept near, Now made a spring, and then drew back with fear, Nor need it wonderment excite, I ween, Then stops-as if to solemn thoughts inclin'dThe watchful dog was ready at his heels, And Haman hobbled on not far behind. The sight of this refreshing place, The scent that hails him from the door, Arrest at once his rambling pace As they had often done before. Mine host, with accents that were wond'rous kind, Invites him in, a jolly crew to join; The man the gen'rous courtesy declin'd, Merely, perhaps, for want of thirst-or coin. Straight on a bench without, he stretched along, Regardless of the passing throng, And soon his weary eyelids close, While Somnus soothes him to repose. The hare now prostrate at his back, This was the time to get a snack. The dog, unable longer to refrain, Gaz'd at the hare, Who caus'd his care, Jumpt and bit, jumpt and bit, jumpt and bit, and bit again. At length, when he had clear'd away the rest, Then having made a hearty meal, And here some sage, with moral spleen, may say, |