Gnawed up one long kid glove, and all her bag,

Quite to a rag. Knowles has confessed he trembled as for life,

Afraid of his own “ Wife ;” Poole told me that he felt a monstrous pail Of water backing him, all down his spine,“ The ice-brook's temper”- pleasant to the

chine ! For fear that Simpson and his Co. should fail. Did Lord Glengall not frame a mental prayer, Wishing devoutly he was Lord knows-where? Nay, did not Jerrold, in enormous drouth, While doubtful of Nell Gwynne's eventful luck,

Squeeze out and suck More oranges with his one fevered mouth, Than Nelly had to hawk from North to South ? Yea, Buckstone, changing color like a mullet, Refused, on an occasion, once, twice, thrice, From his best friend, an ice, Lest it should hiss in his own red-hot gullet !


Doth punning Peake not sit upon the points Of his own jokes, and shake in all his joints,

During their trial ?

'Tis past denial. And does not Pocock, feeling, like a peacock, All eyes upon him turn to very meacock ? And does not Planché, tremulous and blank, Meanwhile his personages tread the boards,

Seem goaded by sharp swords,
And called upon himself to “ walk the plank ?”
As for the Dances, Charles and George to boot,

What have they more
Of ease and rest, for sole of either foot,
Than bear that capers on a hotted floor?


Thus pending — does not Mathews, at sad

shift For voice, croak like a frog in waters fenny ? Serle seem upon the surly seas adrift? — And Kenny think he's going to Kilkenny ? Haynes Bayley feel Old ditto, with the note Of Cotton in his ear, a mortal grapple

About his arms, and Adam's apple,
Big as a fine Dutch codling, in his throat ?
Did Rodwell, on his chimney-piece, desire
Or not to take a jump into the fire ?
Did Wade feel as composed as music can ?
And was not Bernard his own Nervous Man ?
Lastly, don't Farley, a bewildered elf,
Quake at the Pantomime he loves to cater,
And ere its changes ring, transform himself? —

A frightful mug of human delf?
A spirit-bottle — empty of “ the cratur” ?

A leaden-platter ready for the shelf ?
A thunderstruck dumb-waiter ?

To clench the fact,
Myself, once guilty, of one small rash act,
Committed at the Surrey

Quite in a hurry,
Felt all this flurry,

Corporal worry,
And spiritual scurry,
Dram-devil — attic curry !

All going well,
From prompter's bell,

Until befell
A hissing at some dull imperfect dunce -

There's no denying,
I felt in all four elements at once!
My head was swimming, while my arms were

flying, My legs for running — all the rest was frying !

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Thrice welcome, then, for this peculiar use

Thy pens so innocent of goose ! For this shall Dramatists, when they make merry,

Discarding Port and Sherry,

Drink — “Perry!”
Perry, whose fame, pennated, is let loose

To distant lands,
Perry, admitted on all hands,

Text, running, German, Roman,
For Patent Perryans approached by no man !

And when, ah, me! far distant be the hour !
Pluto shall call thee to his gloomy bower, .
Many shall be thy pensive mourners, many!
And Penury itself shall club its penny,
To raise thy monument in lofty place;
Higher than York's, or any son of War;
Whilst Time all meaner effigies shall bury,

On due pentagonal base,
Shall stand the Parian, Perryan, perriwiged

Perry, Perched on the proudest peak of Penman Mawr !


“ He shall not die.” — UNCLE TOBY.


Of all the verses, grave or gay,

That ever wiled an hour,
I never knew a mingled lay

At once so sweet and sour,
As that by Ladye Norton spun,
And christened the “ Undying One.”


I'm very certain that she drew

A portrait, when she penned

That picture of a perfect Jew,

Whose days will never end :
I'm sure it means my Uncle Lunn,
For he is an Undying One.


These twenty years he's been the same,

And may be twenty more;
But Memory's Pleasures only claim

His features for a score ;
Yet in that time the change is none —
The image of th' Undying One!

IV. . They say our climate's damp and cold,

And lungs are tender things; . My uncle's much abroad and old,

But when“ King Cole” he sings, A Stentor's voice, enough to stun, Declares him an Undying One.


Others have died from needle-pricks,

And very slender blows;
From accidental slips or kicks,

Or bleedings at the nose ;
Or choked by grape-stone, or a bun -
But he is the Undying One!

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