sitions into their Album. Senseless objection! These are the very evidences of their genuineness, and I would no more have them removed, than would Martinus have wished to scrub the precious ærugo from the brazen shield, and invest it with a new polish. When Mr. Capel Lofft told us that he had merely corrected a few verbal inaccuracies in Bloomfield's early productions, their charm was at once broken; for we knew not the extent of these revisions, and what was wonderful in a peasant would have been poor enough in a gentleman. As to Miss Caustic's assertion, that Mr. Crump inquired of her whether Mount Etna was to be spelt with a whipthong, (meaning diphthong,) I believe it to be a spiteful fabrication; and as to her pretended regret, that he would no longer be able to drive his cart straightforward, because I had completely turned his head, I consider it a mere impertinence. To the thoughts and descriptive parts of his elegy no objections can be urged; it is obvious that he paints from the life, and the allusion to the regular appearance of his master's gig at the door, so perfectly in accord with the punctual habits of that respectable tradesman, is a felicity of local truth which must come home to the bosom of the most careless reader. However, jealousy of a rising luminary prevailed; the remainder of the elegy, declared to be inadmissible, has gone to join the lost books of Livy and the missing comedies of Terence, and I esteem myself happy to have preserved the exordium, which I now confidently present to a candid and judicious public. In casting my eye over our Album, I venture to extract the following epigram and epitaph, from the pen of Mr. Skinner the Tanner: Here lies my dear wife, a sad vixen and shrew ; Were the subject of this inscription a stranger, I should scruple to circulate this couplet; but, as she was a particular friend of mamma's, who declares the character to be strictly merited, I hesitate not to give it publicity. From Mr. Schweitzkoffer's serio-comic epic, "The Apotheosis of Snip," of which I promised you further extracts, I select for my present communication the description of the hero. "His lank and scanty hair was black, As broad and strong as Plato's; In shape his phiz was like a river, Then he'd a nose-oh, such a nose! It was not certainly so bad As that which Slawkenbergius had, Nor that recorded by the poet Whose owner could not reach to blow it; For this was just as much too short. The mutilated Sphinx Egyptian, So flatten'd, that it neither gave I know not what to call a snout Described before by no man, It would have been a Roman. Although there was a cavity And Buckhorse an Adonis." As conjugal portraits should be always hung up in couples, I send you the drawing of his wife, with which I shall conclude at present, in the full assurance that the delineation of so tempting a creature will excite an intense curiosity for a further developement of her charms in future communications. "His rib-(to judge by length alone, I ought to call her his back-bone,)— Two feet of which alarming space (Her chin was full a span); Nay, no incredulous grimaces, As if afraid of being wet, Beneath her nose's bridge would get. PETER PINDARICS. Patent Brown-Stout. A BREWER in a country town Had got a monstrous reputation; And though some envious folks would utter At Heidelberg- -and some said fatter. His foreman was a lusty black, But one who had an ugly knack Having to cross the vat aforesaid, Like Clarence in his butt of Malmsey. In all directions round about The negro absentee was sought, That our fat Black was now Brown Stout, Until the lees flow'd thick and thicker; When, lo! outstretch'd upon the ground, Once more their missing friend they found, As they had often done-in liquor. See! cried his moralizing master, I always knew the fellow drank hard, Next morn a publican, whose tap Had help'd to drain the vat so dry, |