And as the stairs he darted down,

Called out, "My wager, Browne, I've won,—

'Twas that here I'd sup; and you're fairly done Of ham, chicken, and aquafortis!

"My boasted acquaintance with Lord De Vere, The tale of the street so dark and drear,

Was all improvisatoré !

You would pardon a lord, though a church he should rob,

Yet hang what T. P. Cooke would call a poor swab,'

And you're nothing at best but a tuft-hunting snob,
So I'll leave you alone in your glory.'"

Ve Moralle.

When once you are wed, bid a friendly adieu
To all bachelor chums, or keep just one or two,

And be sure they're not fast men, but moral and true;
And in order that Rasper-like insults you may shun,
Don't talk about lords upon every occasion,

But, like clerks at a terminus, keep in your station.

E. H. V.

THE OVERFLOWINGS OF THE LATE

PELLUCID RIVERS, Esq.

Edited by Edmund H. Bates.

"The

IN submitting to the public some of the productions of my lamented friend Rivers, I think it right to endeavour to sketch some faint outline of the career of their illustrious author. world knows nothing of its greatest men," says Philip Van Artevelde, and its general ignorance of Rivers clearly proves the truth of the remark.

Born of poor but respectable parents, in the parish of St. Pancras, at an early age Rivers evinced symptoms of that poetic talent which, in later life, made him so renowned-I mean, which would have made him so renowned, had he not been crushed by the wretched blindness and illiberality of the publishers of the metropolis. He could not have been more than five years of age when he first burst forth in metrical numbers; it was at the family dinner-table, when, pointing first to the smoking joint, then to the domestic implement by which he was conveying a portion of it to his mouth, he exclaimed

"Pork!
Fork!"

A moment after, indicating the beer jug, his juvenile "poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling," he continued, "chalk!" His meaning on this point was vague, but it is generally considered he implied that the liquid was not paid for at the time, but was chalked up behind the door to the family account- -a custom prevalent, I have ascertained, in many parts of the United Kingdom. From that period until his death he was constantly engaged in writing;—though his

name never appeared to any of his productions, they were most extensively read; indeed, one of his minor poems

"Dearest maid, I thee do love;

This my tender vows shall prove—
Little Cupid's thrilling dart

Has found refuge in my heart,"

has been considered so successful, that the publication of it is annually revived, and the fourteenth of February, sacred to St. Valentine, is the day usually chosen for its reappearance.

For the last twenty years of his life, poor Rivers laboured under severe fits of melancholy and depression, the cause of which he long held secret. Shortly before his decease, however, he confided to me the source of his grief. It was, that manuscripts which he had forwarded on approval to various publishers, had been returned as worthless, while a few months afterwards the same publishers would send forth books of poems in which the most direct plagiarisms from my poor friend's productions would appear. He made me solemnly pledge myself to see him righted in the opinion of the world, and hence the publication of these papers.

I regret exceedingly to be obliged to hold up to public odium names which have hitherto stood so highly as those of Mr. A-f-d T-ys-n and his publisher, Mr. M-x-n, but I defy any candid reader to peruse the following vigorous and striking stanzas of my poor friend's, and then turn to that weak and rambling production, "L-cks—y H-ll," without perceiving which is the grand original, which the mean and despicable parody!

VAUXHALL.

Cabman, stop thy jaded knacker; cabman, draw thy slackened. rein;

Take this sixpence-do not grumble, swear not at Sir Richard Mayne!