exist in London without what the faculty call anxietas circa præcordia, that is, a degree of fretfulness and impatience, which may be attended with very serious effects.

TOBY TOSSPOT.

[From the same.]

ALAS! what pity 't is that regularity,
Like Isaac Shove's, is such a rarity!
But there are swilling wights in London town,
Term'd Jolly Dogs-Choice Spirits-alias Swine;
Who pour, in midnight revel, bumpers down,
Making their throats a thoroughfare for wine.
These spendthrifts, who life's pleasures thus outrun,
Dozing, with head-aches, till the afternoon,
Lose half man's regular estate of sun,

By borrowing too largely of the moon.
One of this kidney-Toby Tosspot hight-
Was coming from the Bedford late at night:
And being Bacchi plenus-full of wine-
Although he had a tolerable notion

Of aining at progressive motion,
'T was n't direct-'t was serpentine.
He work'd, with sinuosities, along,

Like Monsieur Corkscrew worming through a cork; Not straight, like Corkscrew's proxy, stiff Don Prong, a fork.

At length, with near four bottles in his pate,

He saw the moon shining on Shove's brass plate;
When reading "Please to ring the bell;"
And being civil, beyond measure,
Ring it!" says Toby-" very well;
I'll ring it with a deal of pleasure."

Tuby, the kindest soul in all the town,
Gave it a jerk that almost jerk'd it down;
He waited full two minutes; no one came;

He waited full two minutes more-and then-
Says Toby" If he 's deaf, I'm not to blame;
I'll pull it for the gentleman again."

But

THE BOARDING-HOUSE.

But the first peal 'woke Isaac in a fright,
Who, quick as lightning, popping up his head,
Sat on his head's Antipodes in bed-

Pale as a parsnip-bolt upright.

At length he wisely to himself did say—
Calming his fears-

221

"Tush! 't is some fool has rung, and run away"
When peal the second rattled in his ears.

Shove jump'd into the middle of the floor;
And, trembling at each breath of air that stirr'd,
He grop'd down stairs, and open'd the street door,
While Toby was performing peal the third.
Isaac ey'd Toby fearfully askant,

And saw he was a strapper-stout and tall---
Then put this question-Pray, Sir, what d'ye want ♪”
Says Toby "I want nothing, Sir, at all."

"Want nothing!-Sir, you 've pull'd my bell, I vow,
As if you'd jerk it off the wire "

Quoth Toby-gravely making him a bow-
"I pull'd it, Sir, at your desire."

"At mine!" "Yes, yours-I hope I've done it well;
High time for bed, Sir; I was hast'ning to it
But if you write up Please to ring the bell,

Common politeness makes ine stop and do it."

Cheltenham, Aug. 21. THE following poetical epistle was picked up near Stiles's boarding-house, and has created considerable amusement in the circles of strangers who have scudded hither to drink water. It is evidently a ruse de guerre in favour of some boarding-establishment :—

THE BOARDING-HOUSE.

[From the same.]··

Eamus quo ducit gula.

Miss Priscy Jones, sweet belle of Dowgate-hill,
Or whate'er name the parish-priest has given you,
Come live with us in style, and eat your fill;

Ah! quit that hovel where the Fates have driven you.

2.3

Every

Every thing here is monstrously genteel,
Nothing indecorous, or low, or rude;
I won a pool on Tuesday at quadrille,
And yesterday Miss Coppercase was loo'd.
Each dormitory looks upon a field,

Where Nature blazons, while the king-bees suck her;
There breathe all sweets the circling year can yield;
Here Flora laughs in her best bib and tucker.
When the wind 's southward kindly Zephyrs rise,
And waft their perfumes while the lodger dozes;
Steal in our chambers from their kindred skies,
And bathe our members with the balm of roses.
Such water-basins, bidets, and all that,

To aid you in your fav'rite hydrostatics; Such stylish articles for lean or fat,

There's not a bit of Delft but in the attics! No polling 's here at whist, as at East Bourne, For none dare practise it if they were willing;

We've no cards mark'd, although they 're six weeks worn; No mean confed'racies to fob a shilling.

The tea made here comes down in Twining's hamper, No British heath-dust 's palm'd from mere economy;

On every Sabbath eve, by way of damper,

Miss Flyblow reads a page from Deuteronomy.

Plenty of beaus shed poison from their eyes,

In leers, and winks, and bosom-rending arrows;

Some in unwieldy shapes of fearful size,

And some hop up in groups like amorous sparrows!
An Irish Knight, who'd got a bloody hand,
Led me to dance on Monday I declare;

I call'd for Drops of Brandy" to the band,
But Lady Mull would have "Sir Hunter Blair."
Our inmates never mingle with the crowd.

If you should like a tart, toute soute they'll bake it;
No honour murd'ring prattle 's here allow'd;
Who talks the scandal is presum'd to make it.
Good manners, if not wit, at least goes round;
Duty 's on tiptoe to forestall each wish;
They never grumble if you eat three pound,
And change your plate with ev'ry greasy dish.

METEOROLOGICAL MORALITY.

We've table water-glasses ev'ry day;

223

But recollect this hint, and pr'ythee follow it, When you have rinc'd your mouth, 't is thrown away; Don't, like Miss Tabby Gulpen, gape, and swallow it. How can a spinster, with so large a heart,

Squat down with hawbucks to eat mutton cold; And fly the only booth there 's in the mart,

Where youth and beauty can be bought and sold? Would I munch mackarel, caught at least nine days, Swept from the rancid stalls of the metropolis, Fried on the coach-top by the solar rays,

Some miles ere it could reach the Chelt❜nham populace? Would I be fed with stomach-tearing slices,

And have my sugar measur'd by a rule;
Or frown'd on if you ask but where the spice is,
Stinted like younkers at a Yorkshire school ?
Would I tear out my teeth each time I feed,

With teguments of hens, which she calls pullets;
Or eat no peas until they 're fit for seed,

Yellow as kite's feet, or as hard as bullets? Would I, to gratify a mean cupidity,

Sit down and sigh, with half a portion cramm'd;
Or cry "No thankee," from mere timidity,

While the poor belly wants "No thankee" d-dì
We've one bed left, the furniture white chintz ;
If you'll enjoy it, you shall have the preference;

And as to character, Miss Flyblow hints,

As I have known you, there need be no reference. BELINDA BUCKSKIN.

THE

METEOROLOGICAL MORALITY.
[From the Morning Chronicle, Aug. 22.).

1

MR. EDITOR, HE influence of the stars on the destiny of mortals has long been acknowledged, and that of the moon on their actions is, perhaps, more universally experienced than some of us are aware of: but, strange to tell, the effect of the weather on the superior work

of nature is scarcely ever adverted to but in jest, notwithstanding the consequences of its varieties on her inferior productions are both obvious and admitted.One or two of our most celebrated writers have, to be sure, cautioned the fair sex against the operation of the spring months, and November is usually represented to be a busy time for the coroner; but, besides that these suggestions are infinitely too vague and general to be attended with any practical benefit, it does not appear that they have ever been received or even offered seriously. Do we not still find juries obstinately adhering to their old verdicts of lunacy or self-murder, although, on the principle stated, it is obvious that their decision should be-died through the inclemency of the weather?

For my own part, I am fully persuaded that the at mosphere has a very material influence on human conduct; and that when the barometer stands at particular points, the best of us has much occasion to pray that he may not be led into temptation. This theory will be found to abide the test of a rule to which philosophy is much indebted, which refers the validity of systems to the actual state of facts. The voluptuous inhabitant of the East passes his days within the precincts of the Harem, in a tranquillity as uniform as the temperature of his climate. As we advance northward, we find skies more unsettled and dispositions more disturbed; and in England, where our sunshine is almost as uncertain as our law, we are every moment incited to stare at the inconsistency of those around us, forgetful that by so doing we afford a glaring proof of our own.

Perhaps it would not be going too far to aver, that no cause but the one alluded to will be found equal to the vast and irreconcilable medley of effect which we have to account for; and that, by deducing the behaviour of some amongst us (and those of no slight note) from the particular state of the weather, we hit on

what