Yet, underneath the rose, her teeth And yet objects to none : At pigeon-pie she is not shy, Her taste it never shocks, My markmanship has won, She cries "Lock up that horrid cup, I cannot bear a gun!" Like fool and dunce I got her once A box at Drury Lane, And by her side I felt a pride I ne'er shall feel again : To read the bill it made her ill, "Der Freyschütz, oh, seven shots; you know, I cannot bear a gun!" Yet at a hint from Major Flint, And quickly drest in all her best, Is off to Wormwood Scrubbs. With noise enough to stun, And never winks, or even thinks, "I cannot bear a gun!" She thus may blind the Major's mind In mock-heroic strife, But let a bout at war break out, And where's the soldier's wife, To take his kit and march a bit Beneath a broiling sun? Or will she cry, "My dear, good-bye, If thus she doats on army coats, And regimental cuffs, The yeomanry might surely be Secure from her rebuffs; But when I don my trappings on, To follow Captain Dunn, My carbine's gleam provokes a scream, "I cannot bear a gun!" It can't be minced, I'm quite convinced, Their feelings fine, and feminine, Are nothing else but sham; On all their tricks I need not fix, I'll only mention one, How many a Miss will tell you this, "I cannot bear a gun!" TRIMMER'S EXERCISE, FOR THE USE OF CHILDREN. IE ERE, come, Master Timothy Todd, Before we have done you'll look grimmer, You've been spelling some time for the rod, And your jacket shall know I'ma Trimmer. You don't know your A from your B, So backward you are in your Primer; This morning you hinder'd the cook, By melting your dumps in the skimmer; Instead of attending your book,— But I'll have you to know I'm a Trimmer. To-day, too, you went to the pond, And bathed, though you are not a swimmer: And with parents so doting and fond— But I'll have you to know I'm a Trimmer. After dinner you went to the wine, And help'd yourself—yes, to a brimmer; But I'll make you to know I'm a Trimmer. You kick little Tomkins about, Because he is slighter and slimmer; Then you have a sly pilfering trick, Your school-fellows call you the nimmer,-- For I'll have you to know I'm a Trimmer. To-day you made game at my back: You think that my eyes are grown dimmer, Don't think that my temper is hot, It's never beyond a slow simmer; But I'll have you to know I'm a Trimmer. Miss Edgeworth, or Mrs. Chapone, Might melt to behold your tears glimmer; Mrs. Barbauld would let you alone, But I'll have you to know I'm a Trimmer. AN ADDRESS TO THE STEAM WASHING COMPANY. "ARCHER. How many are there, Scrub? SCRUB. Five-and-forty, sir."-Beaux Stratagem. For shame-let the linen alone !"-Merry Wives of Windsor. ¡R. SCRUB—Mr. Slop-or whoever you be! M tee Of Associate Cleansers,-Chief founder and prime |