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provoking practice may be collected from the 440th Number of the Spectator, wherein he describes a society, who had established among themselves an infirmary for the cure of all defects of temper and infractions of good manners. "After dinner a very honest fellow chancing to let a pun fall from him, his neighbour cried out, To the infirmary!' at the same time pretending to be sick at it, as having the same natural antipathy to a pun which some have to This produced a long debate. a long debate. Upon the whole, the punster was acquitted and his neighbour sent off."-Pope's authority we have already cited. Gay was probably the author of the play upon his own name, when he observed that the great success of his Beggar's Opera, whilst Rich was proprietor of the theatre, had made Gay rich, and Rich gay. But what shall we say of Swift, the punster's Vademecum, the Hierarch, the Pontifex, the Magnus Apollo of the tribe; the Alpha and Omega, the first and last of the professors of equivocation; whose mind was an ever-springing fountain of quiddets, and the thread of whose life was an unbroken string of puns from his first to his second childhood? Impossible as it is to do justice to the memory of so great a man, I feel the eulogomania swelling within me; and that I may effectually check its yearnings, I leap athwart a measureless hiatus, and revert to that lugubrious, somnolent, single-sensed, and nowitted Anti-punster, whom I apostrophised in the

outset.

And now, thou word-measurer, thou line-and-rule

mechanic, thou reasoning but not ruminating animal, now that I have produced these authorities, limited to a narrow list from the want of room, not of materials, wilt thou have the ridiculous arrogance to affect contempt for a pun? That genuine wit which thou pretendest to worship, (as the Athenians built an altar to the unknown Deity,) has been defined to be an assimilation of distant ideas; and what is a pun but an eliciter of remote meanings? which, though they may not always amount to a definite idea, are at all events the materials of one, and therefore ingredients in the composition of real wit. These Protean combinations are the stimulants of fancy, the titillators of the imagination, the awakeners of the risible faculties; and to condemn them because the same happy results may be produced by a more rare and difficult process, is either an exemplification of the fox and the sour grapes, or the pride of mental luxury, which would quarrel with all gratifications that are cheap and accessible. The sterling commodity is scarce-let us prize it the more when we encounter it; but in the mean time let us not reject a good substitute when it is presented. Gooseberry wine is no very lofty succedaneum for sparkling Champagne, but it is better than fasting. Some may not like the flavour of the beverage, but none would think of abusing the caterer who puts upon the table the best liquor that his cellar affords. These sullen stupidities are reserved for an Anti-punster.

PETER PINDARICS.

Blindman's Buff

THREE Wags (whom some fastidious carpers Might rather designate three Sharpers) Enter'd at York the Cat and Fiddle,

And finding that the host was out

On business for two hours or more,
While Sam the rustic waiter wore

The visage of a simple lout,

Whom they might safely try to diddle, They order'd dinner in a canter—

Cold or hot, it matter'd not, Provided it was served instanter; And as the heat had made them very

Dry and dusty in the throttles,

They bade the waiter bring three bottles

Of prime old Port, and one of sherry.

Sam ran with ardour to the larder,
Then to the kitchen,

And, as he briskly went to work, he
Drew from the spit a smoking turkey,
With sausages embellish'd, which in
A trice upon the board was spread,
Together with a nice cold brisket;
Nor did he even obliviscate
Half a pig's head.

To these succeeded puddings, pies,
Custards and jellies,

All doom'd to fall a sacrifice

To their insatiable bellies;

As if, like camels, they intended

To stuff into their monstrous craws
Enough to satisfy their maws

Until their pilgrimage was ended.

Talking, laughing, eating and quaffing,
The bottles stood no moment still;
They rallied Sam with joke and banter,
And, as they drain'd the last decanter,
Call'd for the bill.

'Twas brought-when one of them who eyed
And added up the items, cried,

66

Extremely moderate indeed!
I'll make a point to recommend
This inn to every travelling friend;
And you, Sam, shall be doubly feed."
This said, a weighty purse he drew,
When his companion interposed,
“Nay, Harry, that will never do,

Pray let your purse again be closed ;
You paid all charges yesterday,
'Tis clearly now my turn to pay.”

Harry, however, wouldn't listen
To any such insulting offer;
His generous eyes appear'd to glisten

Indignant at the very proffer;

And though his friend talk'd loud, his clangour
Served but to aggravate Hal's anger.

"My worthy fellows," cried the third,
"Now really this is too absurd;
What! do both of ye forget,
I have not paid a farthing yet?
Am I eternally to cram

At your expense?—'tis childish quite ;
I claim this payment as my right—
Here-how much is the money, Sam?"
To this most rational proposal

The others gave such fierce negation,
One might have fancied they were foes all,
So hot became the altercation,

Each in his purse his money rattling,
Insisting, arguing, and battling.

One of them cried at last-"A truce!--
This point we will no longer moot;
Wrangling for trifles is no use,

And thus we 'll finish the dispute.-
That we may settle what we three owe,
We'll blindfold Sam, and whichsoe'er
He catches of us first, shall bear
The whole expenses of the trio,
With half-a-crown (if that's enough)
To Sam, for playing Blindman's Buff."

Sam liked it hugely-thought the ransom,
For a good game of fun, was handsome;
Gave his own handkerchief beside,
To have his eyes securely tied,

And soon began to grope and search;

When the three knaves, I needn't say, Adroitly left him in the lurch,

Slipp'd down the stairs, and stole away.

Poor Sam continued hard at work ;-
Now o'er a chair he gets a fall;
Now floundering forward with a jerk,
He bobs his nose against the wall;
And now encouraged by a subtle

Fancy that they're near the door,
He jumps behind it to explore,

And breaks his shins against the scuttle,-
Crying, at each disaster-Drat it!
Dang it! 'Od rabbit it! and Rat it!
Just in this crisis of his doom,
The host, returning, sought the room;
And Sam no sooner heard his tread,
Than, pouncing on him like a bruin,
He almost shook him into ruin,
And with a shout of laughter said-
"By gom, I have cotch'd thee now! so down
With cash for all, and my half-crown."

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