racing Calendar-neck and neck-by the lord Harry-from Talavera-at the wrong side of the-Morning Post-and Mrs. Clarke turned tail-on-at least one half of the officers of the GuardsHis Royal Highness-never struck a stroke-stakes down-will not do-the scene of the highwayman-when Lord Chatham came back-got in at Pit-price -with his fingers in his mouth-along Pall Mall-and nothing but cries of off, off, off-turn him out-poor Mrs. Liston -as broad as its long-sound sense in the King's-a pretty period to talk of Merino sheep-with brown hats onpantaloons and pipes in their mouthsBonaparte will play hell with-such a Cabinet-of curiosities-fools-and an army of-pickpockets-Heaven deliver us from-Ministers-and the Property tax."

If you like this specimen and

will please to insert it, you shall have

more another time from

Swan-Tavern,

near St. Martin's-lane,

Sept. 20, 1809

PETER PUNCH.

To the Editor of the Morning-Chronicle.

SIR,

I request you will be so kind to me and to yourself, as to give a speedy insertion in your paper, to the following wonderful Predictions: if you do, you must be aware that the prophetic character will become a sort of joint property, and be shared almost equally between us.

Unless I am very much mistaken indeed, the Morning-Post of next Thursday, will contain an undue proportion of servility, false grammar, execrable puns, and verses too tender to live long.

The Baron de G-b will

be seen driving through the streets after his own whiskers, and Mr. Romeo Coates after his poultry.

The Thames will be actually

wringing wet; and the pavement of PallMall will be in many places as hard as

stones.

Multitudes who appeared

abroad on the preceding day, elegantly clothed and in charming spirits, will, on the fatal morning of Thursday, behold themselves poor, bare, forked animals, nearly naked and their eyes half closed; while their mouths, hideously distended, will utter a sort of puling dissonance, between a howl and a groan.

There will that day, about noon, be a great noise throughout London; before sun-set, an enormous quantity of blood will be shed; and by twelve o'clock that night, two-thirds of the population of this great and ancient City will be laid low.

Swan-Tavern, Sept. 1811.

F 2

NEMO.

Morning-Chronicle.

ORIGINAL POETRY.-To SOPHIA.

And was that kiss a parting kiss,
And was that sigh a parting sigh;
And shall my woe-devoted head
No more on that soft bosom lie!

Shall we no more with arms entwin'd Stray fondly over hill and dale; Nor tread again the green-wood path, Nor taste the moonlight in the vale?

No more? for ever then farewell!
The victim of disgrace and sorrow,
The Teivil take me bot I will

Cut bodth mine whishkers off to

morrow.

Aug. 1811.

THE BARON DE G*.

*The illustrious Baron is supposed to be also one of the versifiers on the establishment of the Morning