COPP. What, Mary, my little blossom, what cheer? what cheer? Keep close, my little heartwhy do you stir out of port? Here be cruizers abroad.

MARY. Who are those people, uncle, that make such a noise?

COPP. Two hearty blades-mad roysterers-oons how they drink. I was obliged to part company, old cruiser as I am, or they would soon have had me on my beam ends.

MARY. Are they sailors, uncle?

COPP. To be sure they are: who else would fling about money as they do, and treat a whole bar-room? The tallest in particular is a very devil. Hollo, Captain Copp, cries he every minute, another bottle to treat my brother tars.

MARY. By their swaggering about so, they must be very rich.

COPP. Pho, child, 'tisn't the deepest laden ships that make the most rolling.

MARY. But they spend their money so freely. COPP. A sure sign that it's running out. The longest cable must come to an end. He that pays out fastest, will soonest be brought up with a round

turn.

Suppose

MARY. To what ship do they belong? COPP. That's more than I can say. they're a couple of man-of-war's-men just paid off, who think they've a Spanish mine in their pocket(shout of laughter from within). Ah, the jolly tars! I was just the same at their age.

COPP. Well, and can't you sing without him?
MARY. Without him I can't sing well.
COPP. And what's become of him?

MARY (pettishly). I can't tell, its very tiresome. If he did not mean to come again, he might have said so.

MARY. Ah, my good uncle, you are always so careful of me.

COPP. And why not? What else have I in the whole world to care for, or to care for me? Thou art all that's left to me out of the family fleet-a poor slight little pinnace. I've seen the rest, one after another, go down; it shall go hard but I'll convoy thee safe into port.

MARY. I fear I give you a great deal of trouble, my dear uncle.

COPP. Thou'rt the very best lass in the whole kingdom, and I love thee as I loved my poor brother; that's because you're his very image. To be sure, you haven't his jolly nose, and your little mouth is but a fool to his. But then, there are his eyes, and his smile, and the good humored cut of his face-(sighing) poor Philip! What: I'm going again, like the other night-(wiping his eyes). Psha! let's change the subject, because, d'ye see, sensibility and all that, it does me no good-noneso let's talk of something else. What makes thee so silent of late, my girl? I've not heard a song from thee these three days!

MARY. It's three days since I've seen my music

master.

MARY (eagerly). Oh no, on no account; I dare say he is not well, some accident has happened. Besides, there is no other teacher in town equal to him, he sings with such feeling.

COPP. Ah! girl, if I had my old messmate, Jack Ratlin, here, he'd teach thee to sing. He had a voice-faith it would make all the bottles dance, and glasses jingle on the table!-Talk of feeling! Why, when Jack would sit of an evening on the capstan when on watch, and sing about sweethearts and wives, and jolly tars, and true lovers' knots, and the roaring seas, and all that; smite my timbers, but it was enough to melt the heart of a grampus. Poor Jack, he taught me the only song I ever knew; it's a main good one though(SINGS A STAVE.)

In the time of the Rump,
As old Admiral Trump,

With his broom swept the chops of the Channel;
And his crew of Tenbreeches,
Those Dutch sons of

MARY (putting her hand on his mouth.) Oh, uncle, uncle, don't sing that horrible rough song.

COPP. Rough? that's the beauty of it. It rouses one up, pipes all hands to quarters like a boatswain's call. Go in, Mary, but go in at the other

So good-natured Phoebus gave Phaey the seat, With his mittens, change, way bill, and stage horn complete;

To the breeze of the morning he shook his bright locks,

Blew the lamps of the night out, and mounted the

box.

The crack of his whip, like the breaking of day, Warmed the wax in the ears of the leaders, and they,

With a snort, like the fog of the morning, cleared out For the west, as young Phaey meant to get there

about

Two hours before sunset.

He looks at his "turnip,"

And to make the delay of the old line concern up, He gave 'em the reins; and from Aries to Cancer, The style of his drive on the road seemed to answer; But at Leo, the ears of the near wheel horse pricked, And at Virgo the heels of the off leader kicked; Over Libra the whiffle-tree broke in the middle, And the traces snapped short, like the strings of a fiddle.

One wheel struck near Scorpio, who gave it a roll, And set it to buzz, like a top, round the pole; While the other whizzed back, with its linchpin and

hub,

Or, more learnedly speaking, its nucleus or nub;
And, whether in earnest, or whether in fun,
He carried away a few locks of the sun.

The state of poor Phaeton's coach was a blue one,
And Jupiter ordered Apollo a new one;
But our driver felt rather too proud to say "Wo!"
Letting horses, and harness, and every thing go
At their terrified pleasure abroad; and the muse
Says, they cut to this day just what capers they
choose;

That the eyes of the chargers as meteors shine forth;

That their manes stream along in the lights of the north;

That the wheels, which are missing, are comets,

that run

As fast as they did when they carried the sun;
And still pushing forward, though never arriving,
Think the west is before them, and Phaeton driving.

PETTYFOG.

THE plates removed, three full decanters stand,
With rival wines, each from a foreign land;
And taper glasses wait at each right hand.
Meanwhile, my friends, two fine accomplished beaus,
Alternate song with mutual fires propose.

DANDICULE.

Let Pettyfog decide; for he has read,
What lawyers, judges, and reporters said;
And all law's winding labyrinths he knows;
When law have these; when equity have those;
And when the frightened client will agree,
To prop his cause by paying double fee.
And still, to give our wits a keener edge,
The victor bard shall win a forfeit pledge.
Be mine this massy watch, and chain of gold,
By Paxton made, and scarcely six months old;
With curious art contrived the time to tell,
In silver sounds, from tinkling, tiny bell;
And still so true, that by it Cleanwatch found,
The lazy earth too slow in turning round.

PUSHWELL.

Though my keen wit needs not a whetted edge,
I meet the challenge, and accept the pledge.
Be mine this quizzing glass, by Clelia worn,
And from her breast by this rash right hand torn;

When late I strove, to snatch a forfeit kiss;
While she, with covering hands, still barred my
bliss;

Till, struggling free, she fled, and left me this.
Its power, to aid the curious gazer's eye,
And bring one's nearest neighbor still more nigh;
With easy, graceful, astronomic stare,
To lend a charm to e'en the fairest fair;
Its golden chasing, set around with pearl,
And wrought with her own cipher's turning curl;
Its massy chain, which, but the other day,
An ample pawn for thirty guineas lay;
All these in this their mingling worth combine;
And make, at least, an answering pledge to thine.

DANDICULE.

Modern bards, like bards of old, Still confess the power of gold; Still 'tis Hymen's brightest charm; Still it points the warrior's arm. Still the senseless, and the sage, Men of every clime and age, Blushing maids and hoydens bold, Yield alike the palm to Gold.

PUSHWELL.

Gold, 'tis true, was once the rage, But, 'twas in a golden age.

Brass is all the fashion now;
For 'twill shine on any brow.
Brass will hide the silly red,
O'er the conscious forehead spread;
Brass will every stain disguise.
'Tis by brass that great men rise;
And each dull, conceited ass
Seeks, nor needs a better pass,
Than a sturdy front of brass.

DANDICULE.

See, at Miser Griptight's gate,
How the coach-borne gentles wait.
See, as you will see to-morrow,
When you go yourself to borrow,
How they'll bow and fawn and cringe;
Till on rusty creaking hinge,
Opes again the iron chest,
Where his hoarded treasures rest.
See their eyes, like gamesters, glower,
Till the prize is in their power;
Then their proud, majestic gait,
Fearless look, and brow elate:
And own, that honor, place and fame,
And all the homage great ones claim,
Like their vote, is bought, and sold,
With old Miser Griptight's Gold.

PUSHWELL.

Hear the brainless demagogue,
From a stump or rotten log,
On the next election day,
Like another jackass bray.
See the gaping, idiot crowd,
(While the numskull, bawling loud,
Up and down the gamut goes,
Like a man with stopt-up nose,)
Thickly clustering round him hang,
Charmed by his nasal twang,
As, 'tis said in days of yore,

Wiser brutes did once before;

When with the trees they ran to admire The music of the Orphean Lyre.

See him next, profoundly great,

Seated at the helm of state;
Where his empty, brazen air,
Goes for genius, thought, and care.
Hear him, lauded to the skies,
As the great, the good, the wise.
And own that nothing can surpass

The innate strength of native brass.

DANDICULE.

See the poor, industrious man,
Who, though under fortune's ban,
Still preserves a stainless mind.
See him, shunned of all his kind,
Just as though they feared to catch
Want contagious, of the wretch.
While the man of wealth and crime
Hears their flattery's cuckoo chime.
Though his hand, unshrinking, tore
The poor orphan's little store.
Though, to swell his useless heaps,
Many a houseless widow weeps.
See all this; and you must own,
That, to reach Distinction's throne,
Golden keys the path unbar;
That her easiest, swiftest car
Up and down the world is rolled,
On little truckle wheels of Gold.

PUSHWELL.

See, how modest merit lies,
All unmarked by common eyes;
Like the rich gem of the mine,
Thrown before the stupid swine.
See the mind, whose giant grasp
Might the weal of empires clasp
Strive to rise by worth, in vain;
While some fool, with shallow brain,
Mounts the car, and takes the rein.
See all this, and then confess,
That, in this age of brazenness,
Worth itself, ere it can pass,
Must be plated o'er with brass.

DANDICULE.

See Miss Dumbey, come from school;
Just a little simpering fool;
Who knows not what to say or do,
Or if the sky be red or blue;
Yet, whose negroes and plantation,
Stand instead of animation.

See the young men, making at her;
See them bowing; hear them flatter;
Praise her eyes, her ears, her nose,
Knuckles, fingers, thumbs, and toes.
Sighing at each several feature.
Oh! the little heavenly creature.
See the little ninny caught

See her worthless husband bought.
See all this, and own at once,

That wits, and sages, fop, and dunce,
Like market pigs are bought, and sold,
For a paltry sum of gold.

She has doffed her useless dress,
Like poor Truth, to nakedness.
See her favors proudly sported:

See her sought, caressed, and courted;
Just because she will, and can
Stare down any mortal man.
See all this, and learn, what bait
Surest catches small and great.
See all this; and vanquished, own
That 'tis brass, and brass alone.

DANDICULE.

Gold has made me what I am.

All the rest is but a flam.

The same voters, who support me;

The same friends, who puff, and court me;
Do, what they had never done,
Had I been a poor man's son.
But my good old father, knowing
How the time and tides were going,
Gathered up, and left me clear,
Forty thousand every year.
And now, though my ideas flow,
As I confess, somewhat too slow,
No one calls me dull, or heavy.
Still I lead the brightest bevy;
Still am called through all the city,
Easy, learned, and brave and witty,
Which is just as good to me,
As though it were reality.
Cease then; cease thy impious song.
Own that thou wert in the wrong,
Thus to brave a power divine.
And, for penance at her shrine,
Still with pious care attend,
Some rich, strapping better half,
Making thee a golden calf.

PUSHWELL.

But for brass, what had I been?
And what a thousand other men?
Plain, honest fools, condemned to toil,
And earn our living from the soil.
But, thanks to my old mother's care,
never earned a mouthful there.
Warned by a strange, mysterious dream,
She sought a certain western stream,
Whose waters, like the Stygian wave,
Confer a charm on all who lave;

A brazen charm, from which Truth's lance,
And Shame's keen arrows harmless glance.
There, where mothers souse their billies,
As the Greek one did Achilles,
Mine soused me, all, but the heel;

The only place, where I can feel

One lingering spot of diffidence;
And I have been at some expense,

9

With brass heeled boots stout, firm, and stable,
Still to be invulnerable.

Cease then; cease thy song to wage,
'Gainst the genius of the age.
And oh! thou brazen deity,
Still propitious be to me.

I ask thee not for worth, or sense.
Grant me only impudence,
Grant me that unfailing pass,

A shame-proof mail of sturdy brass.

PETTIFOG.

Enough; enough. I know not which to praise.
You sing as much alike as two blue jays.

And Phoebus' self, were he to judge the strain,
Would find e'en his discrimination vain.

Let each take back his pledge, and, like twinbrother,

Present a pewter medal to the other.

THE lecture with which Dr. Gallgotha commenced his course in Paris, was the same that frightened the sovereign princess and her court into fits; but I will do the ladies of Paris the justice to say that they stood the display of our phrenological specimens, like heroines; whether it be that the French women are naturally bolder than the German, or that a certain fashionable philosopher had in some degree prepared them for scientific horrors, by his exhibition of fossil remains. The thing took amazingly-there was something new in the idea of looking at the back of the head, instead of the face, to ascertain the peculiarities of human character, and novelty is indispensable to the existence of people who have exhausted all other pleasures. There were indeed some ladies belonging to the coteries of the old lecturers, who affected to laugh at the doctor's theory, but even they were effectually silenced by a discovery of my master, that the organ of tune was developed in the head of the famous composer Rossini, to such a degree that it had actually monopolized nearly the whole of his cerebellum. There was no resisting this proof, not only that Rossini was a great composer of tunes, but likewise that the doctor's science was infallible. The fiddler and the doctor accordingly were the

two greatest men in Paris. The rage for cerebral developments became intense, and thenceforward every lady of the least pretensions to fashion or science procured a skull, marked and mapped confermably with the principles of the sublime science, which she placed on her toilet, in order that she might dress and study at the same time. Two or three of the most zealous female devotees actually fell in love with the doctor, being deeply smitten with his cerebral development. The fashionable gentlemen, whose sole business is to make love, began to grow jealous of Varus and his legions, and one or two ludicrous anecdotes occurred which set all Paris tittering. I will relate them, although I cannot vouch for their truth any farther than to say that every body believed them.

A young nobleman was deeply enamored of a beautiful lady of high rank, and particularly jealous of one of his rivals who wore powder in his hair. He had been absent some weeks on military duty, and returning to town one evening, proceeded directly to the house of his mistress intending to surprise her with a visit. Finding a servant at the door, he inquired for the lady, and was told that she was so deeply engaged that she could see nobody. The jealousy of the lover was alarmed, and pushing