Twisting and twining ;

The jemmy handle Twizzle's door-post graced ;-
And just beneath a brazen plate was placed,
Lacquered and shining,

Graven whereon, in characters full, clear,
And legible, did Mr. Shove" appear;-

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And, furthermore, which you might read right well,
Was, "Please to ring the bell."

Alas! what pity 'tis, that regularity
Like Isaac Shove's is such a rarity.

But there are swilling wights in London town,
Term'd "Jolly Dogs-Choice Spirits "-alias swine,
Who pour, in midnight revel, bumpers down,
Making their throats a thoroughfare for wine.

These spendthrifts, who life's pleasures thus run out,
Dozing with headaches till the afternoon,
Lose half men's regular estate of sun,
By borrowing too largely of the moon.

One of this kidney-Toby Tosspot hight-
Was coming from the Bedford late at night :
And being Bacchi plenus,-full of wine,
Although he had a tolerable notion
Of aiming at progressive motion,
'Twasn't direct-'twas serpentine.
He work'd with sinuosities along,

Like Monsieur Corkscrew worming through a cork, Not straight, like Corkscrew's proxy, stiff Don Prong, a fork.

At length, with near four bottles in his pate,

He saw the moon shining on Shove's brass plate,
When reading, "Please to ring the bell,"

Toby, the kindest soul in all the town,
Gave it a jerk that almost jerk'd it down.
He waited full two minutes-no one came ;

He waited full two minutes more; and then

Says Toby, "If he's deaf, I'm not to blame,
I'll pull it for the gentleman again."

But the first peal woke Isaac, in a fright;
Who, quick as lightning, popping up his head,
Sat on his head's antipodes, in bed,
Pale as a parsnip,—bolt upright.

At length, he wisely to himself doth say,-
Calming his fears,-

"Tush! 'tis some fool has rung and run away;"
When peal the second rattled in his ears!

Shove jump'd into the middle of the floor;

And, trembling at each breath of air that stirr'd, He groped down stairs, and open'd the street door ; While Toby was performing peal the third.

Isaac eyed Toby, fearfully askant,

And saw he was a strapper-stout and tall; Then put this question-" Pray, sir, what d'ye want?" Says Toby, "I want-want nothing, sir, at all."

"Want nothing, sir!-you've pull'd my bell, I vow, As if you'd jerk it off the wire."

Quoth Toby,-gravely making him a bow,—

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I pull'd it, sir, at your desire."

"At mine!". -"Yes, yours; I hope I've done it well:
High time for bed, sir; I was hastening to it;
But, if you write up- Please to ring the bell,'
Common politeness makes me stop and do it.”

COLMAN.

HODGE AND THE VICAR.

HODGE, a poor honest country lout,
Not over-stock'd with learning;
Chanced on a summer's eve to meet
The vicar, home returning.

"Ah! master Hodge," the vicar cried,
What still as wise as ever?

"We'll try your skill," the parson cried, "For learning what digestion:

"And this you'll prove or right or wrong, By solving me a question.

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Noah, of old, three babies had

"Or grown-up children rather,

Shem, Ham, and Japhet they were called:
Now who was Japhet's father?"

"Rat it!" cried Hodge, and scratched his head, "That does my wits belabour;

"But howsomede'er, I'll homeward run,
"And ax old Giles, my neighbour."

To Giles he went and put the case,
With circumspect intention;

"Thou fool," cried Giles, "I'll make it clear

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"To thy dull comprehension.

Three children has Tom Long, the smith,

"Or cattle-doctor rather;

"Tom, Dick, and Harry, they are called; "Now who is Harry's father?"

Adzooks, I have it," Hodge replied, "Right well I know your lingo;

"Who's Harry's father?-stop-here goes,— "Why Tom Long Smith, by jingo.'

Away he ran to find the priest,

With all his might and main;

Who with good humour instant put
The question once again,

"Noah, of old, three babies had,
"Or grown-up children rather;

Shem, Ham, and Japhet they were called :
"Now who was Japhet's father?”

"I have it now," Hodge grinning cried,

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'I'll answer like a Proctor;

"Who's Japhet's father? Now I know;
"Why Long Tom Smith, the doctor."

ANON.

LODGINGS FOR SINGLE GENTLEMEN.

WHO has e'er been in London, that over-grown place,
Has seen "Lodgings to Let" stare him full in the face.
Some are good and let dearly; while some, 'tis well known,
Are so dear, and so bad, they are best let alone.

Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and lonely,
Hired lodgings that took Single Gentlemen only;
But Will was so fat, he appeared like a tun,
Or like two Single Gentlemen rolled into One.

He entered his rooms, and to bed he retreated;
But all the night long he felt fevered and heated;
And, though heavy to weigh, as a score of fat sheep,
He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep.

Next night 'twas the same! and the next! and the next!
He perspired like an ox; he was nervous and vexed;
Week past after week, till by weekly succession,
His weakly condition was past all expression.

In six months his acquaintance began much to doubt him; For his skin, "like a lady's loose gown," hung about him. He sent for a Doctor, and cried, like a ninny,

"I have lost many pounds-make me well-there's a guinea."

The Doctor looked wise:-" a slow fever," he said;
Prescribed sudorifics,-and going to bed.

"Sudorifics in bed," exclaimed Will, "are humbugs!
'I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs!"

Will kicked out the Doctor:-but when ill indeed,
E'en dismissing the Doctor don't always succeed;
So, calling his host-he said-Sir, do you know,
I'm the fat Single Gentleman, six months ago?

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Look ye, landlord, I think," argued Will with a grin, "That with honest intentions you first took me in: "But from the first night-and to say it I'm boldI've been so very hot, that I'm sure I caught cold!"

Quoth the landlord,-" Till now, I ne'er had a dispute;
"I've let lodgings ten years,-I'm a baker to boot;
In airing your sheets, sir, my wife is no sloven;
"And your bed is immediately-over my oven.'

"The oven!!!"—says Will;-says the host, "Why this passion?

In that excellent bed died three people of fashion.

Why so crusty, good sir?"-" Zounds!" cried Will in a

taking.

"Who wouldn't be crusty, with half a year's baking?"

Will paid for his rooms-cried the host, with a sneer, "Well, I see you've been going away half a year.”

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'Friend, we can't well agree;—yet no quarrel" Will said: But I'd rather not perish, while you make your bread."

LOGIC; OR, THE BITER BIT.

COLMAN.

AN Eton stripling, training for the law,
A dunce at syntax, but a dab at taw,
One happy Christmas, laid upon the shelf
His cap and gown, and stores of learned pelf,
With all the deathless bards of Greece and Rome,
To spend a fortnight at his uncle's home.
Arrived, and passed the usual " How-d'ye-do's,"
Inquiries of old friends, and college news: