the legs of an old woman who was carrying a heavy basket of cabbages on her head, and threw her down. The poor old creature bruised her elbow shockingly. The pig ran off in the direction of St. James's-square. The writer of this saw the accident. What are the street-keepers about, to allow fellows thus to drive their pigs on the foot-pavement, in one of the most crowded thoroughfares of the metropolis?"

"Anecdote.-An exquisite, that is, a tiptop dandy, was calling a coach the other day, opposite Southampton-street in the Strand. The delicate creature could not make his voice heard; when a rough Jack-tar, who happened to be passing by, hailed coachee, in a voice like a speaking-trumpet. 'Here,' said Jack, 1ooking unutterable things at the dandy, here's something wants you.'

"A Legal Conundrum.—When a ship of war has but an indifferent crew, and is ill provided with cannon, she is in want of the assistance of two

learned counsel. Who are they!

Man-ning

and Gun-ning.-N.B. This is not one of Lord Norbury's lasts."

There are half-a-dozen pars. for you. If you do not want them all to-day, use any of them that will fit, and keep the rest for another time.

[Exit Mr. Pica. The Editor puts away his letters and papers-locks up his writing-deskwashes his hands-adjusts his cravat-buttons his coat-puts on his hat and gloves-and sallies forth into the Strand, to enjoy the fresh air, while Mr. Pica is using all necessary diligence to get the paper ready for publication.]

THE NIGHTMARE.

I COME in the gleams, from the land of dreams,
Wrapp'd round in the midnight's pall;
Ye may hear my moan, in the night-wind's groan,
When the tapestry flaps on the wall;—

I come from my rest in the death-owl's nest,
Where she screams in fear and pain;
And my wings gleam bright in the wild moonlight,
As it whirls round the madman's brain;
And down sweeps my car, like a falling star,
When the winds have hush'd their breath;
When ye feel in the air, from the cold sepulchre,
The faint damp smell of death.

My vigil I keep, by the murderer's sleep,
When dreams round his senses spin;
And I ride on his breast, and trouble his rest,
In the shape of his deadliest sin;
And hollow and low is his moan of woe
In the depth of his strangling pain,
And his cold black eye rolls in agony,
And faintly rattles his chain,

The sweat-drops fall on the dark prison wall-
He wakes with a deep-drawn sigh;

He hears my tread, as I pass from his bed,
And he calls on the saints on high.

I fly to the bed where the weary head

Of the poet its rest must seek,

And with false dreams of fame I kindle the flame Of joy on his pallid cheek.

No thought does he take of the world awake.

And its cold and heartless pleasure,

The holy fire of his own loved lyre

Is his best and dearest treasure.

But neglect's foul sting that cheek shall bring

To a darker and deadlier nue;

The last dear token, his lyre, is broken,

And his heart is broken too.

When the maiden asleep for her lover may weep Afar on the boundless sea,

And she dreams he is press'd to her welcome breas
Return'd from his dangers free-

I come in the form of a wave of the storm,
And sweep him away from her heart,
And then in a dream she starts with a scream,
Tɔ think that in death they part;

And still in the light of her stream-bound sigh
The images whirl and dance,

Till my swift elision dispels the vision,
And she wakes as from a trance.

When the clouds, first-born of the breezy morn, In the eastern chambers roam,

I glide away in the twilight gray

To rest in my shadowy home;

And darkness and sleep to their kingdom sweep, And dreams rustle by like a storm;

But where I dwell no man can tell

Who hath seen my hideous form;
Whether it be in the caves of the sea,
Where the rolling breakers go,
Or the crystal sphere of the upper air,
Or the depths of hell below.

EQUUS.