from the tone of the gallant Colonel's complaints, that the public mention of Mrs. T.'s "age" has given offence; and our correspondent is pronounced to be totally misinformed on that as on other points. We grant this to be possible; we did not vouch for the accuracy of Mr. Sly's statement, and are of opinion that no gentleman can know a lady's age

so well as she knows it herself. Our maxim is, that every lady has a right to be, at all periods of her life, exactly what age she pleases-thirty odd at sixty-two if she likes. We also admit that every lady has a right to go into hysterics as often as she sees occasion; but because Mrs. T. chooses to exercise these sacred privileges of her sex, we do not recognise Col. Talker's right to threaten us with "law," or to attempt to frighten us with notices of "action." We are not to be intimidated there; we have too many lawyers among our acquaintances, and very pleasant fellows they are too.

But, after all, we cannot conceive that there is any very great harm done; for we are perfectly well aware, whatever Col. Talker may say, that Mrs. T.'s "fit" was not of a nature to show that her sensibilities had been very seriously shocked, and we shall at once let the Colonel into our secret. We beg to tell him candidly that we know all about it. The fact is, that a correspondent of ours happens to reside exactly opposite Mrs. T.'s first floor, and without wishing to spy into other people's apartments, or affairs, could not help being a spectator of the scene he thus describes.

He says that Col. T., entering Mrs. T.'s apartment on the first floor aforesaid, found that lady in a state of great excitement, the "Omnibus," No. 7, in her hand. After pointing in a very agitated manner to the last page, she drew forth her pocket handkerchief. The gallant Colonel paced the room evidently moved; he then appeared to be attempting to soothe her, but in vain-she shook her bonnet vio

lently, and went off in a fit. The Colonel hereupon, instead of rushing to the chimney-piece for the smelling-bottle, seized a pint decanter, and hastily quitted the house. Immediately after, the bit of a girl was seen attempting to force a glass of cold water upon her mistress, which only seemed to make her worse; for she kicked the girl's shins with those dear little bits of black legs of hers most violently, something in the manner of Mr. Punch after he has been thrown from his horse. The gallant Colonel, after a short absence, knocked at the street door, and the moment the girl left the room to admit him, up

jumped Mrs. Toddles-fact !-ran to the looking-glass over the fire-place, put her bonnet to rights, completing the adjustment with the usual side glances right and left, and then, to the utter astonishment of our informant, she resumed her seat-and her fit !-Oh, Mrs. T.!

We suppress the remainder of our informant's description, merely remarking, that the pint decanter, when Colonel T. drew it from his pocket, contained, to all appearance, some strong restorative, the virtue and quality whereof the Colonel at once tested, by tossing off a bumper in the most gallant manner. We have since ascertained that it was peppermint.

Whether our statement will be satisfactory to Colonel Walker we neither know nor care; but with respect to Mrs. Toddles we have expressed our contrition, and promise never to mention her age again. Any kindness we can render her will be at all times hers, and as a slight token of our sincerity, we respectfully beg that lady's acceptance of a pound of mixed tea, (eight-shilling green, and six-shilling black, very good,) which is left at our publisher's, if she will send her girl for it.

Designed Etched & Published by large bruke shank. January 1st 1842 JACK O POCTERY

JACK-O'LANTERN.

EVERY man has his Jack-o'lantern ;-in dark night, in broad noon day in the lonely wild, or in the populous city-each has his Jacko'lantern.

To this man Jack comes in the likeness of a bottle of old port, seducing him from sobriety, and leaving him in a quagmire; to that man, he appears in the form of a splendid phaeton and a pair of greys, driving him into bankruptcy, and dropping him into the open jaws of ruin. To one he presents himself in the guise of a cigar, keeping him in a constant cloud; to another he appears in no shape but that of an old black-letter volume, over which he continues to pore long after his wits are gone. Here you see Jack blazing in scarlet, and luring his dazzled follower on by military trappings alone to the pursuit of glory; and there Jack jumps about in the brilliant motley of harlequin, tempting a grave and leaden-heeled victim to dance away his nights and days. Jack-o'lantern is to some people, a mouldy hoarded guinea-and these he leads into the miser's slough of despond; with others, when he pays them a visit, he rolls himself up into the form of a dice-box-and then he makes beggars of them.

Poetry is one man's Jack-o'lantern, and a spinning-jenny is another's. Fossil bones, buried fathoms deep in the earth, act Jack's part, and lure away one class to explore and expound; Cuyps and Claudes, in the same way, play the same part with a second class, and tempt them to collect, at the sacrifice of every other interest, or pursuit in life. Jack will now take the likeness of a French cook, and draw a patriot from his beloved country to enjoy a foreign life, cheap; and now he will assume the appearance of a glass of water, persuading the teetotaller, who "drank like a fish" in his young days, to go further astray, and drink a great deal more like a fish in his old days.

Jack-o'lantern has some attractive shape for every age and condition. In childhood, he lures us, by overhanging clusters of cherries and currants, into regions consecrated to steel-traps and spring-guns; in after-age, he takes us irresistibly into the still more dangerous region of love and romance, winning us by his best lights-the bright eyes of woman; and to the very end of our days he finds some passion or prejudice wherewith to woo us successfully-some straw wherewith to tickle us, how wisesoever, and unwilling we may be.

The very seasons of the year-each has its Jack-o'lantern. The bright glancing sunshine of a spring morning, when it tempts us into a sharp east-wind under promise of sultriness;-the rich luxuriousness of summer, when it fills us with aches and cramps, after revelling in romps among the grass. Christmas-yes, Christmas itself has its Jack-o'lantern. We do not mean the great blazing fire, which has been properly called the heart and soul of it; no, Jack plays his part amidst the roysters in the jovial time, by urging extra plum-pudding, which involves extra brandy with it; by suggesting mince-pies, and other irresistibles, that involve a

U

fit of indigestion; by conjuring up blind-man's-buff, to lead one into the peril of rent skirts, and bruised heads; or by appearing in the form of a pack of cards, to the loss perhaps of one's money or one's temper * * *

Moralize we no longer upon Jack-o'lantern; he has led us to Christmas, and let him leave us there in pleasant company.

CHRISTMAS.

BY SAM. SLY.

Now is the time

For all things prime!

Cramm'd Turkeys, dropsied Lambs, and oily Geese,
Forced Chickens, bloated Pigs, and tons of grease;
Sir-loins of suet-legs, and wings, of fat,

And boys from school, to say they "can't touch that;"
Mountains of Mutton, tubs of tails and blubber,
Larks by the yard, like onions on a string,
And giblets by the pailful is a thing
Enough to turn the stomach of a grubber,
Unless he tweak his nose and shut his eyes.
And then again there's piles of Lemon-peel,
Hillocks of nutmegs, currants, plums, and figs;
And children gazing "merry as the grigs,"
Longing (for that which joy cannot conceal)

That some of these may sweeten their "minced pies."
Now, men get civil-lads more mild appear,
Than they were wont to do throughout the year;
The hat is doff'd-civilities come fast

That after Christmas who shall say will last?

Now, pens are busy writing out "old scores,"

And birds get pert and hop about our doors,
Fighting their comrades for the largest crumbs.
See that old lady shivering as she goes,
Furr'd to the eyes, and muflled to the nose,

And he who thumps his sides to warm his thumbs.
Mark the lone berry on the Mountain Ash
Like a child's coral on a leafless twig-
Watch the Tom-tit

That's shaking it :

He's getting desperate-bolting it slap dash-
A decent mouthful for a throat not big.
Now here's a pretty lesson for all sinners,
Hunger's the sauce to sweeten Christmas dinners.
The fire burns blue-the nearest part gets roasted-
The "off-side" suffers in the frigid zone;

Just like a slice of bread that's been half. toasted-
One spot is brown'd-the other cold as stone.
The winds are hoarse, the sun gets shy and cool,
That is, he's not so warm with his embraces-
And old Jack Frost instead begins to rule,
So with his brush puts rouge on ladies' faces;

A tint more lovely than the finest powder,
And speaking to the eye and heart much louder.
Now friends get close-and cousins meet their cousins,
Babbies their daddies-aunts their pretty nieces;
The jokes go round, and lies perhaps by dozens,

And Jacky pulls his master all to pieces.
Now prayers and cards are all the go-
How's that you ask? Well, I don't know;
1 only know-the fact is so!