sleep, and to the hope he entertained that all the suspicions of the murder would fall upon her. The report of a surgeon was obtained, from which it appeared that the wounds had been inflicted on the deceased by the means of a sharp-cutting instrument, such as described. This evidence, together with the fact that the man, soon after the murder, had spent money very profusely, which it is probable he could not have obtained honestly, the relation of the servant-girl, and the confession of the monster himself, were considered sufficient ground for his condemnation and execution, which took place shortly afterwards. L'ALLEGRO. No. X. ANTIPATHIES: Henry III. of France could not stay in the room where there was a cal; though so immoderately fond of dogs, that the Duke de Sully says, on his first audience, he had a basket full of young puppies, suspended by a black string from his neck, and was playing with them all the time of the conference. The Duke d'Epernon would faint at the sight of a leveret. Marshal d'Arbert could not endure a wild boar, nor a sucking pig. Ulidislas, King of Poland, was distracted at the sight of apples. Nor could Erasmus even smell fish without being greatly agi tated. Scaliger trembled at the sight of water-cresses. Tycho Brahe felt his limbs sink under him, when he met either a hare or a fox. Bacon swooned at the eclipse of the moon; and Boyle fell into convulsions on hearing the sound of water drawn from a cock. James I. could not endure the sight of a drawn sword; and Sir Kenelm Digby tells us, "that the king's hand shook so much in knighting him, that he would have run the point of the sword into his eye if the Duke of Buckingham had not directed it to his shoulder." La Motte de Vauger could not endure music, but delighted in thunder. An Englishman in the seventeenth century was near expiring whenever the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah was read to him; and a Spaniard, about the same period, fell into a syncope when he heard the word lana (wool) mentioned, though his coat was made of that substance. DAVENPORT THE TAILOR. This man, who acquired a considerable fortune with a good character, asked Foote for a motto for his coach. "Latin or English?" asked the wit. "Poh! English to be sure; I don't want to set up for a scholar." "Then I have got one from Hamlet, that will match you to a button-hole: 'List! list! oh, List!'" THE PARSON HIS OWN GLEBEHOLDER. A well-beneficed old parson being in a large company at a public dinner, he entertained them with nothing but the situation and profits of his parochial livings, the glebe of which he said he kept entirely to himself. The company were much teased with this for some time; when Foote, observing the parson stretch across the table a pair of dirty brown hands, instantly exclaimed, "Well, doctor, I don't know what the rest of the company may think of you, but for my part, I now see you do keep your glebe in your own hands." JUDICIOUS DECISION. In a party where two men attempted to sing, but neither possessing the most melodious voices ever heard, that he was the best singer of the two, one offered to bet the other a guinea, "Done!" cried the second. An umpire being appointed, each one sung a cluded, the umpire declared, that he stave by way of sample. Having conwho accepted the bet was the worst singer he had ever heard. "Bravo,” cried his opponent, " down with your "Hold," said the guinea, my boy!" umpire, "tis true he is the worst I ever heard, but I'll be d-d if you can sing at all." AN ORIGINAL: A certain lord, having a termagant wife, and at the same time a reverend chaplain, who was a tolerable poet, desired him to write a copy of verses on a shrew. "I cannot imagine," said the parson, "why your lordship should want a copy, who has so good an original." ANOTHER STOP THIEF. The Rev. R. Hill, in a charity sermon, stating the worthlessness of an unfeeling man, said, "If I was to see the Devil running away with an uncharitable man, I would not call out Stop Thief!" SIR FRANCIS B GRANDMOTHER. It is related that the grandfather of Sir Francis B-tt was in the com THE HOUSEWIFE. No. XI. CURE FOR THE BITE OF A Take a table-spoonful of common METHOD OF PRESERVING PEAS Put into a kettle of hot water any quantity of fresh shelled green peas; and after just letting them boil up, pour them into a colander. When the liquor is drained off, pour them into a large thick cloth, cover them with another, make them quite dry, and oven to harden a little; after which set them once or twice in a cool them up in the kitchen for use. To put them into paper bags, and hang prepare them when wanted, they are first to be soaked well for an hour or more, and then put into warm water and boiled with a little butter. SHEEP. Take of quicksilver one pound, spirit of turpentine one quart, hog's lard sufficient to make it into a thick ointment-let the quicksilver and the turpentine be mixed in a mortar till the globules disappear, then add the lard; this to be used every night, and to be well rubbed on the part affected. mission of the peace, and resided at Faremark, in Derbyshire: that his wife was much pleased and amused by sitting on the bench, and hearing the justice business, but that she always retired whenever a case came on to be heard calculated to shock the ears of discretion. A fellow of more wit than CURE FOR THE MAGGOT IN prudence, it appears, often occasioned the departure of the lady justice, being charged six or seven times a year, at least, with increasing the population without deference to the service of matrimony; and as it was necessary to go into the detail, his appearance was always a signal for Lady B-tt's retreating. On one of these occasions she met him at the door, and seeing him rather dejected, said, "Ah! "Yes, Charlton, what here again?" my lady," replied the fellow," and for the old offence." "Fie, fie, upon you," replied her ladyship, " fie upon you, Charlton, why won't you leave the maid's alone, why don't you see "So I does someand get a wife." times, my lady," said Charlton, "but a then the husbands make such pother." THE HONEYMOON: Dr.Thompson, in his amusing travels in Sweden, mentions the following remedy for sea sickness. "It is brisk bottled porter, a few glasses of which taken after the sickness has continued a day or so, I have never seen fail to produce almost immediate relief. This may, perhaps, in some measure depend upon the briskness of the porter; but certainly not altogether, for ale, although equally brisk, has not the same effect." The following specific is so simple and cheap, that no person ought to be ignorant of it: it is merely one part muriatic acid mingled with seven parts of water, with which the feet must be well rubbed for a night or two, before going to bed, and perfect relief will be experienced. The application must of course be made before the skin breaks, and it will be found not only to allay the itching, but prevent the farther progress of the chilblains. The feet may be a little tender for a short time, but this slight inconvenience will soon disappear. Here's prompt posssession-I might A thousand merits; come and try. How oft beneath its folds lay hid To keep it yet--but, no! not I, THE MUSES' WILD WREATH, I would 'twere gone! for I confess SONNET. Ye fettering barriers of vile Poverty, Numb'd by the cold chill blasts of penury, How few, with Zeal's firm resolution, can Burst thro' the obstructing bondage which conceals Beauty, in all her fine forms, from the eye! Genius! thou'rt like the primrose, which reveals Its charms in loneliness, and oft doth die Ere the mean world puts Reputation's guise On thy cold sickening numbers. Ah! then fly Young worshipper of Fancy! shut thine eyes To all the Muse's well-known flattery: Ply the strong staff of labour in some shed; Do any thing but spin thy brains for bread! ERNOT. WHO'LL BUY A HEART? WHO'LL Long hast thou teazed me-thou and I They offered three testoons-but no! Like mendicants from door to door. I'm tired--and longing to be freed; Who'll buy a heart? who'll buy? Once-twice-and thrice-the money down, The heart is now transferred to you; And may it ever bless you too! JOY IN WOE. There is a joy in woe, 'tis said And I can well the tale believe, When Henry holds my drooping head, And kindly bids me cease to breathe. And when I hear his soothing voice, Or meet his kind, expressive eye, Amidst affliction I rejoice, While joy and woe divide my sigh. Then let affliction wade my cheek, And be mine eyes with sorrow dim, So Henry's eyes of pity speak, And this pale cheek be press'd by him. Whate'er the world may fancy bliss, For his compassion I'd foregoMore dear than mirth that pitying kiss, Which makes me feel as joy in woe. While verse can charm,-or beauty warm, We'll ne'er forget the Tartan pladdie. Then love was free from sordid guile, And freedom warm'd each gallant laddie, And worth alone could win the smile Of bonny lass in Tartan pladdie. O! the graceful Tartan pladdie, That deck'd, of yore, the lass and laddie! So brave-so rare!-so kind-so fair! Was youth and lass in Tartan pladdie. But not on days like those I call, Nor sing of Highland lass or laddie; High-bosom'd maid in Ossian's Hall, Ör antique chief in Tartan pladdie. But O! the modern Tartan pladdie For Sarah wove by skilful laddie. My verse essays-to sing the praise Of Sarah in her Tartan pladdie. Soft is her air: no sweeter smile E'er won the heart of faithful laddie, Nor bosom more estrang'd to guile Was ever deck'd with Tartan pladdie. O! the modern Tartan pladdie! That wins the heart of every laddie. The proudest fair-in fashion's glare, Might envy Sarah in her pladdie. But should I sing her charms of mind, My verse would fire each list'ning laddie, Her temper gentle, free, and kind, And gayer than her Tartan pladdie O! the lass in Tartan pladdie! How blest shall be that favour'd laddie, The guileless youth-whose fervent truth Shall win the lass in Tartan pladdie. Thus do the Loves and Graces blend In her, who wears the Tartan pladdie, In every nymph she finds a friend, A lover in each youthful laddie. O! the graceful Tartan pladdie! That wins, alike, the lass and laddie! Long may the pair-each blessing share, And charms us with her Tartan pladdie! For one, whose wedded love is plight Yet-O! the lass in Tartan pladdie, My verse shall tell to every laddie, In friendly lays,-the peerless praise Of Sarah in her Tartan pladdie! Yes, Stella! thine's the sigh of love And well thou know'st thy faithful laddie; But friendship's flame thoul't still ap prove For Sarah, in her Tartan pladdie. O! the lass in Tartan pladdie While I still prove a brother's love EPITAPHS. REMARKABLE EPITAPH. ON A STONE IN BUNHILL FIELDS BURIAL GROUND. Mr. Francis Smith, Fines, Corporeal Punishments, His Constitution; Yet this spot did not receive him Of CHRISTIANS, and Of BRITONS. pected phrases of an epitaph. His virtues, indeed, if he had any, were too little for him to propose as matter of praise to himself or as example to thee: let his vices be buried together. As to an example of manners, if you seek that, you have it in the Gospel; of vices, I wish you to have one no where. Of mortality, certainly, and may it profit you, you have one here and every where, This stone, which will itself perish in a short time, records that he was born August 29, 1632, that he died October 21, 1704.” AN AFFECTIONATE HUSBAND. IN BRISTOL CATHEDRAL. Mary, daughter of William Sherman, of Kingston-upon-Hull, Esq. and wife of the Rev. Wm. Mason, died March 27, 1767, aged 28. "Take, holy earth, all that my soul holds dear Take that best gift which Heav'n so lately gave; To Bristol's fount I bore with trembling care Her faded form-she bowed to taste the wave, And died. Does youth, does beauty read the line Does sympathetic fear their breasts alarm? Speak, dead Maria, breathe a strain divine, Ev'n from the grave thou shalt have power to charm ; Bid them be chaste-be innocent like thee; Bid them in duty's sphere as meekly move; He died Keeper of the Custom House And if so fair, from vanity as free, To that great Prince, Dec. 22d, 1691. This tomb was restored by his de scendant THOMAS COX, Citizen of London, in 1761, As firm in friendship, and as fond in love. Tell them, tho' 'tis an awful thing to die 'Twas ev'n to thee-yet the dread path once trod, Who hopes to rest with his family in Heav'n lifts its everlasting portals the same place. Epitaph on the celebrated Locke, translated from the original written in Latin, by Locke himself. "Near this place lieth John Locke! If you ask what kind of man he was, he answers that he lived content with his own fortune. Bred a scholar, he made his learning subservient only to the cause of truth. This thou wilt learn from his writings, which will show thee every thing else concerning him, with greater truth than the sus |