Mamma, who praises her own self,
Instead of Jane or Ann,

And lays "her girls" upon the shelf—
I'm not a single man !

Ah

VI.

me, how strange it is the change, In parlour and in hall,

They treat me so, if I but go

To make a morning call.
If they had hair in papers once,
Bolt up the stairs they ran;
They now sit still in dishabille-
I'm not a single man!

VII.

Miss Mary Bond was once so fond
Of Romans and of Greeks;

She daily sought my

cabinet

To study my antiques.

Well, now she doesn't care a dump
For ancient pot or pan,

Her taste at once is modernized—

I'm not a single man !

VIII.

My spouse is fond of homely life,

I

And all that sort of thing;

go to balls without my wife,

And never wear a ring:

And yet each Miss to whom I come, As strange as Genghis Khan, Knows by some sign, I can't divineI'm not a single man!

IX.

Go where I will, I but intrude,
I'm left in crowded rooms,
Like Zimmerman on Solitude,

Or Hervey at his Tombs.
From head to heel, they make me feel,
Of quite another clan;

Compelled to own, though left alone-
I'm not a single man!

X.

Miss Towne the toast, though she can boast A nose of Roman line,

Will turn up even that in scorn

Of compliments of mine:

She should have seen that I have been

Her sex's partisan,

And really married all I could—

I'm not a single man!

XI.

'Tis hard to see how others fare,
Whilst I rejected stand,-
Will no one take my arm because
They cannot have my hand?
Miss Parry, that for some would go

A trip to Hindostan,

With me don't care to mount a stair

I'm not a single man!

XII.

Some change, of course, should be in force,
But, surely, not so much-

There may be hands I may not squeeze,
But must I never touch ?-

Must I forbear to hand a chair

And not pick up a fan?

But I have been myself picked up—
I'm not a single man!

XIII.

Others may hint a lady's tint

Is purest red and white

May say

her eyes are like the skies,
So very blue and bright-

I must not say that she has eyes,
Or if I so began,

I have my fears about my ears—-
I'm not a single man!

XIV.

I must confess I did not guess
A simple marriage vow,
Would make me find all women-kind
Such unkind women now;—

I might be hashed to death, or smashed,
By Mr. Pickford's van,
Without, I fear, a single tear-
I'm not a single man!

THE BURNING OF THE LOVE-LETTER.

"Sometimes they were put to the proof, by what was called the Fiery Ordeal."-HIST. ENG.

No morning ever seemed so long!—
I tried to read with all my might!
In my left hand "My Landlord's Tales,"
And threepence ready in my right.

'Twas twelve at last-my heart beat high !-
The Postman rattled at the door!—
And just upon her road to church,
I dropt the "Bride of Lammermoor!"

I seized the note-I flew up stairs-
Flung-to the door, and locked me in-
With panting haste I tore the seal-
And kissed the B in Benjamin!

'Twas full of love-to rhyme with dove-
And all that tender sort of thing-

Of sweet and meet--and heart and dart-
But not a word about a ring!—

In doubt I cast it in the flame,
And stood to watch the latest spark-
And saw the love all end in smoke-
Without a Parson and a Clerk!

THE APPARITION.

In the dead of the night, when, from beds that are turfy,

The spirits rise up on old cronies to call,

Came a shade from the Shades on a visit to Murphy Who had not foreseen such a visit at all.

Don't shiver and shake, said the mild Apparition,
I'm come to your bed with no evil design;
I'm the Spirit of Moore, Francis Moore the Phy-

sician,

Once great like yourself in the Almanac line.

Like you I was once a great prophet on weather, And deemed to possess a more prescient knack Than dogs, frogs, pigs, cattle, or cats, all together, The donkeys that bray, and the dillies that quack.

With joy, then, as ashes retain former passion,
I saw my old mantle lugged out from the shelf,
Turned, trimmed, and brushed up, and again
brought in fashion,

I seemed to be almost reviving myself!

But, oh! from my joys there was soon a sad cantleAs too many cooks make a mull of the broth

And Joddry began to look blacker than black; "By Mumbo! by Jumbo!-why here is a man, That won't be made happy do all that I can ; He will not be married, lodged, clad, and well fed,

Let the Rham take his shangwang and chop off his head!"

THE ANGLER'S FAREWELL.

"Resigned, I kissed the rod."

WELL! I think it is time to put up!
For it does not accord with my notions,
Wrist, elbow, and chine,

Stiff from throwing the line,
To take nothing at last by my

motions!

I ground-bait my way as I go,
And dip in at each watery dimple;
But however I wish

To inveigle the fish,

To my gentle they will not play simple!

Though my float goes so swimmingly on,
My bad luck never seems to diminish;
It would seem that the Bream
Must be scarce in the stream,

And the Chub, tho' it's chubby, be thinnish !

Not a Trout there can be in the place,
Not a Grayling or Rud worth the mention,
And although at my hook

With attention I look,

I can ne'er see my hook with a Tench on!