C.

Each paints the same dear sort of man;
One heart alone there seems to be
In our united family.

One heart, one hope, one wish, one mind,—
One voice, one choice, all of a kind,--
And can there be a greater bliss-
A little heav'n on earth-than this?
The truth to whisper in your ear,
It must be told !-we are not near
The happiness that ought to be
In our united family!

Alas! 'tis our congenial taste
That lays our little pleasures waste-
We all delight, no doubt, to sing,
We all delight to touch the string,

But where's the heart that nine may touch?
And nine "May Moons" are eight too much-

Just fancy nine, all in one key,

Of our united family!

The play-Oh how we love a play,
But half the bliss is shorn away;

On winter nights we venture nigh,
But think of houses in July!
Nine crowded in a private box,

Is apt to pick the stiffest locks-
Our curls would all fall out, though we
Are one united family!

In art the self-same line we walk,
We all are fond of heads in chalk,

We one and all our talent strain
Adelphi prizes to obtain ;

Nine turban'd Turks are duly sent,
But can the royal Duke present
Nine silver palettes-no, not he―
To our united family.

Our eating shows the very thing,
We all prefer the liver-wing,

H

Asparagus when scarce and thin,
And peas directly they come in,
The marrow-bone-if there be one-
The ears of hare when crisply done,
The rabbit's brain-we all agree
In our united family.

In dress the same result is seen,

We all so doat on apple-green;

But nine in green would seem a school
Of charity to quizzing fool—

We cannot all indulge our will

With "that sweet silk on Ludgate Hill,"

No remnant can sufficient be

For our united family.

In reading hard is still our fate,

One cannot read o'erlooked by eight,

And nine "Disowned "--nine "Pioneers,"

Nine "Chaperons," nine "Buccaneers,"

Nine "Maxwells," nine "Tremaines," and such,

Would dip into our means too much—

Three months are spent o'er volumes three,
In our united family.

Unhappy Muses! if the Nine

Above in doom with us combine,

In vain we breathe the tender flame,
Our sentiments are all the same,

And nine complaints address'd to Hope
Exceed the editorial scope,

One in, and eight put out, must be

Of our united family!

But this is nought—of deadlier kind,

A ninefold woe remains behind.

O why were we so art and part?
So like in taste, so one in heart?

Nine cottages may be to let,

But here's the thought to make us fret,
We cannot each add Frederick B.

To our united family.

THE DEAD ROBBERY.

"Here's that will sack a city."-HENRY THE IVTH.

F all the causes that induce mankind

To strike against themselves a mortal docket,
Two eminent above the rest we find-
To be in love, or to be out of pocket:
Both have made many melancholy martyrs,
But p'rhaps, of all the felonies de se,

By ponds, and pistols, razors, ropes, and garters,
Two-thirds have been through want of £. s. d.!
Thus happen'd it with Peter Bunce ;
Both in the dumps and out of them at once,
From always drawing blanks in Fortune's lottery,
At last, impatient of the light of day,
He made his mind up to return his clay
Back to the pottery.

Feigning a raging tooth that drove him mad,
From twenty divers druggists' shops
He begg'd enough of laudanum by drops
T'effect the fatal purpose that he had ;

He drank them, died, and while old Charon ferried him,
The Coroner convened a dozen men,

Who found his death was phial-ent- and then
The Parish buried him!

Unwatch'd, unwept,

As commonly a Pauper sleeps, he slept ;
There could not be a better opportunity
For bodies to steal a body so ill kept,
With all impunity.

In fact, when Night o'er human vice and folly
Had drawn her very necessary curtains,
Down came a fellow with a sack and spade,
Accustom'd many years to drive a trade,
With that Anatomy more Melancholy
Than Burton's!

The Watchman in his box was dozing;
The Sexton drinking at the Cheshire Cheese;
No fear of any creature interposing,

The human Jackal work'd away at ease :
He toss'd the mould to left and right,
The shabby coffin came in sight,

And soon it open'd to his double-knocks,—
When lo! the stiff'un that he thought to meet,
Starts sudden up, like Jacky-in-a-box,

Upon his seat!

Awaken'd from his trance,

For so the laudanum had wrought by chance, Bunce stares up at the moon, next looking level,

He spies a shady Figure, tall and bony,

Then shudders out these words "Are-you-the-Devil?' "The Devil a bit of him," says Mike Mahoney,

"I'm only com'd here, hoping no affront,

To pick up honestly a little blunt-"

"Blunt!" echoes Bunce, with a hoarse croak of laughter,"Why, man, I turn'd life's candle in the socket,

Without a rap in either pocket,

For want of that same blunt you're looking after !"
"That's true," says Mike, "and many a pretty man
Has cut his stick upon your very plan,

Not worth a copper, him and all his trumps,
And yet he's fetch'd a dacent lot of stuff,

Provided he was sound and fresh enough,
And dead as dumps."

"I take," quoth Bunce, with a hard wink, "the fact is, You mean a subject for a surgeon's practice,

I hope the question is not out of reason,

But just suppose a lot of flesh and bone,

For instance, like my own,

What might it chance to fetch now, at this season?" "Fetch, is it?" answers Mike, "why prices differ,— But taking this same small bad job of ours,

I reckon, by the pow'rs!

I've lost ten pound by your not being stiffer!"

"Ten pounds!" Bunce echoes in a sort of flurry, "Odd zounds!

Ten pounds,

How sweet it sounds,

Ten pounds!"

And on his feet upspringing in a hurry—
It seem'd the operation of a minute-

A little scuffle-then a whack-
And then he took the Body Snatcher's sack
And poked him in it!

Such is this life!

A very pantomime for tricks and strife!
See Bunce, so lately in Death's passive stock,
Invested, now as active as a griffin,
Walking-no ghost-in velveteens and smock,
To sell a stiff'un!

A flash of red, then one of blue,
At last, like lighthouse, came in view;

Bunce rang the nightbell; wiped his highlows muddy;
His errand told; the sack produced;

And by a sleepy boy was introduced

To Dr. Oddy, writing in his study

The bargain did not take long time to settle,

"Ten pounds,

Odd zounds!

How well it sounds,

Ten pounds,"

Chink'd into Bunce's palm in solid metal.

With joy half-crazed,

It seem'd some trick of sense, some airy gammon,
He gazed and gazed,

At last, possess'd with the old lust of Mammon,
Thought he, "With what a very little trouble,
This little capital I now might double—”
Another scuffle of its usual brevity,-

And Doctor Oddy, in his suit of black,
Was finishing, within the sack,
His "Thoughts upon Longevity!"

The trick was done. Without a doubt,
The sleepy boy let Bunce and burthen out;
Who coming to a lone convenient place,
The body stripp'd; hid all the clothes; and then,
Still favoured by the luck of evil men,
Found a new customer in Dr. Case