Still, although for economy we should condemn none,
In an αναξ ανδρων, like the great Agamemnon,

To give up to slaughter
An elegant daughter,

After all the French, Music, and Dancing they'd taught her And Singing,-at Heaven knows how much a quarter,

In lieu of a Calf!

It was too bad by half!

At a "nigger"* so pitiful who would not laugh,
And turn up their noses at one who could find
Mo decenter method of "Raising the Wind?"

No doubt but he might,

Without any great Flight,

Have obtain'd it by what we call "flying a kite."
Or on mortgage-or sure, if he could'nt so do it, he
Must have succeeded " by way of annuity."

But there it appears,

His crocodile tears,

"

His "Oh!s and his "Ah!s his "Oh Law!s

"Oh dear!s"

Were all thought sincere, so in painting his Victim
The Artist was splendid but could not depict Him,

His features and phiz awry
Shew'd so much misery,
And so like a dragon he,
Look'd in his agony,

That the foil'd Painter buried-despairing to gain a
Good likeness-his face in a printed Bandana.
-Such a veil is best thrown o'er one's face when one's hurt
By some grief which no power can repair or avert!-

-Such a veil I shall throw o'er Aunt Fan-and My
Shirt!

MORAL.

And now for some practical hints from the story
Of Aunt Fan's mishap, which I've thus laid before ye;

For, if rather too gay,

I can venture to say,

A fine vein of morality is, in each lay

Of my primitive Muse, the distinguishing trait!

First of all-Don't put off till to-morrow what may,

Without inconvenience, be managed to-day !

That golden occasion we call " Opportunity"

Rarely's neglected by man with impunity!

And the "Future," how brightly soe'er by Hope's dupe

colour'd,

Ne'er may afford

You a lost chance restored,

Till both you, and YOUR SHIRT, are grown old and peasoup-colour'd!

I would also desire

You to guard your attire.

Young Ladies, and never go too near the fire!-
-Depend on't there's many a dear little Soul
Has found that a Spark is as bad as a coal, -
And "in her best petticoat burnt a great hole!"

Last of all, gentle Reader, don't be too secure ! -
Let seeming success never make you "cock-sure!"

But beware!-and take care,
When all things look fair,

How you hang your Shirt over the back of your chair !

-" There's many a slip

'Twixt the cup and the lip!"

Be this excellent proverb, then, well understood,
And DON'T HALLOO BEFORE YOU'RE QUITE OUT OF THE

WOOD!!!

It is to my excellent and erudite friend, Simpkinson, that I am indebted for his graphic description of the well-known chalk-pit, between Acol and Minster in the Isle of Thanet, known by the name of the "Smuggler's Leap." The substance of the true history attached to it he picked up while visiting that admirable institution, the "Sea-bathing Infirmary," of which he is a "Life Governor," and enjoying his otium cum dignitate last summer at the least aristocratic of all possible watering-places.

Before I proceed to detail it however, I cannot in conscience, fail to bespeak for him the reader's sympathy in one of his own

MISADVENTURES AT MARGATE.

A LEGEND OF JARVIS'S JETTY.

MR. SIMPKINSON (loquitur).

WAS in Margate last July, I walk'd upon the pier,

I saw a little vulgar Boy-I said "What make you here?-The gloom upon your youthful cheek speaks any thing but joy;" Again I said, "What make you here, you little vulgar Boy?"

He frowned, that little vulgar Boy, -he deem'd I meant to

scoff

And when the little heart is big, a little "sets it off;
Heput his finger in his mouth, his little bosom rose, -
He had no little handkerchief to wipe his little nose !

"Hark!

don't you hear, my little man?-it's striking Nine," I said,

"An hour when all good little boys and girls should be in bed.

Run home and get your supper, else your Ma' will scoldOh! fie!

It's very wrong indeed for little boys to stand and cry!'

The tear-drop in his little eye again began to spring,
His bosom throbb'd with agony,-he cried like any thing!
I stoop'd, and thus amidst his sobs I heard him murmar-
"Ah!

I haven't got no supper! and I haven't got no Ma'!!

My father, he is on the seas, -my mother's dead and gone!

And I am here, on this here pier, to roam the world alone; I have not had, this live-long day, one drop to cheer my

heart,

Nor 'brown' to buy a bit of bread with, let alone a tart.

"If there's a soul will give me food, or find me in employ,

By day or night, then blow me tight!" (he was a vulgar Boy ;)

" And now I'm here, from this here pier it is my fixed intent

To jump, as Mister Levi did from off the Monu-ment!"

"Cheer up! cheer up! my little man-cheer up! I

kindly said,

"You are a naughty boy to take such things into your head:

If you should jump from off the pier, you'd surely break your legs,

Perhaps your neck-then Bogey'd have you, sure as eggs are eggs!

"Come home with me, my little man, come home with me and sup;

My landlady is Mrs. Jones-we must not keep her up