In consequence of which, your welcome boon
Did not arrive till yesterday at noon;

In consequence of which some chanc'd to die,
And some, though very sweet, were very dry.
Now Madam says, (and what she says must still
Deserve attention, say she what she will,)
That what we call the diligence, be-case
It goes to London with a swifter pace,
Would better suit the carriage of your gift,
Returning downward with a pace as swift;
And therefore recommends it with this aim-
To save at least three days,-the price the same;
For though it will not carry or convey

For less than twelve pence, send whate'er you may,
For oysters bred upon the salt sea-shore,
Pack'd in a barrel, they will charge no more.

News have I none that I can deign to write, Save that it rain'd prodigiously last night; And that ourselves were, at the seventh hour, Caught in the first beginning of the show'r; But walking, running, and with much ado, Got home-just time enough to be wet through, Yet both are well, and, wond'rous to be told, Soused as we were, we yet have caught no cold; And wishing just the same good hap to you, We say, good Madam, and good Sir, adieu!

VERSES PRINTED BY HIMSELF ON A FLOOD AT OLNEY.

To watch the storms, and hear the sky
Give all our almanacks the lie;

To shake with cold, and see the plains
In autumn drown'd with wintry rains;
'Tis thus I spend my moments here,
And wish myself a Dutch mynheer;
I then should have no need of wit;
For lumpish Hollander unfit!
Nor should I then repine at mud,
Or meadows deluged with a flood;
But in a bog live well content,
And find it just my element
Should be a clod, and not a man ;
Nor wish in vain for Sister Ann,
With charitable aid to drag
My mind out of its proper quag;
Should have the genius of a boor,
And no ambition to have more.

EXTRACT FROM A SUNDAY-SCHOOL HYMN.

HEAR, Lord, the song of praise and pray'r,

In heaven, thy dwelling-place,

From infants, made the public care,

And taught to seek thy face!

Thanks for thy word, and for thy day,
And grant us, we implore,
Never to waste in sinful play
Thy holy Sabbaths more.

Thanks that we hear-but, oh! impart

To each desires sincere,

That we may listen with our heart,
And learn, as well as hear.

ON THE RECEIPT OF A HAMPER.

(IN THE MANNER OF HOMER.)

THE straw-stuff'd hamper with his ruthless steel He open'd, cutting sheer th' inserted cords,

Which bound the lid and lip secure.

Forth came

The rustling package first, bright straw of wheat,
Or oats, or barley; next a bottle green

Throat-full, clear spirits the contents, distill'd
Drop after drop odorous, by the art

Of the fair mother of his friend-the Rose.

ON THE NEGLECT OF HOMER.

COULD Homer come himself, distress'd and poor,
And tune his harp at Rhedicina's door,
The rich old vixen would exclaim, (I fear,)
"Begone! no tramper gets a farthing here."

SKETCH

OF THE

LIFE OF THE REV. JOHN NEWTON.