ELESSDÉ. In the following lines, which first appeared in the Manchester Advertiser, the Mammon-worshipping spirit of the age is depicted with a strength of hand and a poetic power, which very unfrequently occurs in the 'Original Poetry' columns of the newspaper. In a certain fair island, for commerce renown'd, Whose fleets sail'd in every sea, A sect of fanatics, men say, there was found, Many heads had the monster, and tails not a few, And temples they built him right goodly to view, Moreover, at times would their frenzy attain That his soul-blinded votaries did not complain, As for morals, this somewhat unscrupulous race Men would poison their friends with professional grace, For the sake of the fiend Elessdé. Then forgery flourish'd, and rampant and rife Was each form of diablerie; While the midnight assassin, with mallet and knife, There were giants of crime on the earth in that day, Although, peradventure, some sceptic will say TO MAKE A PASTORAL: A RECEIPT. From the Wit's Magazine, 1787. TAKE quantum sufficit of meadows and trees, While your zephyrs most wantonly play in each breeze; Let Phoebus and Flora together combine To make the sky smile and the meadows look fine. Your nymphs and your swains must be sorted in pairs; Your swains should be love-sick, your nymphs be all fairs : Let them prattle awhile, as their hay they are tedding ; Your prospect must lour, your swains must look pale: "No!' let him reply, ''tis not this gives me pain; From this kind assurance his mind is at ease, And they hie to their cottage-to eat bread and cheese. AN ORIGINAL LOVE-STORY. HE struggled to kiss her. She struggled the same But, as smitten by lightning, he heard her exclaim, But when he returned, with the fiendishest laugh, And threaten'd by main force to carry her off, She cried 'Dont!' and the poor fellow donted. When he meekly approached, and sat down at her feet, That she would forgive him and try to be sweet, Then softly he whispered, 'How could you do so? But come thou with me, to the parson we'll go; THE TOPER AND THE FLIES. PETER PINDAR. A GROUP of topers at a table sat, With punch that much regales the thirsty soul: Flies soon the party join'd, and join'd the chat, Humming, and pitching round the mantling bowl. At length those flies got drunk, and for their sin, Wanting to drink—one of the men And drank-then taking care that none were lost, He put in every mother's son agen. Up jump'd the Bacchanalian crew on this, Taking it very much amiss Swearing, and in the attitude to smite :— 'Lord!' cried the man with gravely-lifted eyes, 'Though I don't like to swallow flies, I did not know but others might' THE DOUBLE TRANSFORMATION. OLIVER GOLDSMITH. SECLUDED from domestic strife, Jack Book-worm led a college life; A fellowship at twenty-five Made him the happiest man alive; He drank his glass, and crack'd his joke, Such pleasures unallay'd with care, Or Flavia been content to stop At triumphs in a Fleet Street shop; Miss frown'd, and blush'd, and then was married. The honey-moon like lightning flew, |