THE VENTRILOQUIST.

SIR WALTER SCOTT.1

F yore, in Old England, it was not thought good

To carry two visages under one hood:

What should folks say to you? who have faces so plenty,
That from under one hood you last night show'd us twenty!

Stand forth, arch deceiver, and tell us in truth,
Are you handsome or ugly, in age or in youth?
Man, woman or child—a dog or a mouse?

Or are you, at once, each live thing in the house?
Each live thing did I ask?-each dead implement, too,
A workshop in your person-saw, chisel, and screw!
Above all, are you one individual ?—I know

You must be, at least, Alexandre and Co.
But I think you're a troop, an assemblage, a mob,
And that I, as the sheriff, should take up the job:
And, instead of rehearsing your wonders in verse,
Must read you the riot-act, and bid you disperse!

Addressed to Monsieur Alexandre, a popular ventriloquist. 2 Sir Walter Scott was Sheriff of Selkirkshire.

MINERVA'S THIMBLE.

THOMAS MOORE.

OUNG Jessica sat all the day,

In love-dreams languishingly pining. Her needle bright neglected lay.

Like truant genius idly shining.

Jessy, 'tis in idle hearts

That love and mischief are most nimble ;

The safest shield against the darts

Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble.

A child, who with a magnet play'd,

And new its winning ways so wily,

The magnet near the needle laid,

And laughing, said, "We'll steal it slily."

Minerva's Thimble.

The needle, having naught to do,

Was pleased to let the magnet wheedle, Till closer still the tempter drew,

And off, at length, eloped the needle.

Now, had this needle turn'd its eye

To some gay reticule's construction,
It ne'er had stray'd from duty's tie,
Nor felt a magnet's sly seduction.
Girls, would you keep tranquil hearts,
Your snowy fingers must be nimble ;
The safest shield against the darts
Of Cupid, is Minerva's thimble.

A PUBLISHER'S EPISTLE.

THOMAS MORE.

ER post, sir, we send your MS.-look'd it through-
Very sorry-but can't undertake-'twouldn't do.
Clever work, sir!—would get up prodigiously well
Its only defect is-it never would sell.

And though statesmen may glory in being unbought,
In an author 'tis not so desirable thought.

Hard times, sir,-most books are too dear to be readThough the gold of Good-sense and Wit's small-change are fled, Yet the paper we publishers pass, in their stead, Rises higher each day, and ('tis frightful to think it) Not even such names as F-tzg-r-d's can sink it!

However, sir-if you're for trying again,

And at somewhat that's vendible-we are your men.

Since the Chevalier C-rr took to marrying lately.
The trade is in want of a traveller greatly-
No job, sir, more easy-your country once plann'd,
A month aboard ship and a fortnight on land
Puts your quarto of Travels, sir, clean out of hand.

An East-India pamphlet's a thing that would tell-
And a lick at the Papists is sure to sell well.
Or-supposing you've nothing original in you—
Write parodies, sir, and such fame it will win you,

A Publisher's Epistle.

You'll get to the blue-stocking routs of Albinia!
(Mind-not to her dinners--a second-hand muse
Mustn't think of aspiring to mess with the blues.)
Or-in case nothing else in this world you can do—
The deuce is in't, sir, if you cannot review !

Should you feel any touch of poetical glow,

We've a scheme to suggest-Mr. Sc-tt, you must know, (Who, we're sorry to say it, now works for the Row,) Having quitted the Borders, to seek new renown,

Is coming, by long quarto stages, to town;

And beginning with Rokeby (the job's sure to pay)
Means to do all the gentlemen's seats on the way.

Now, the scheme is (though none of our hackneys can beat him)

To start a fresh poet through Highgate to meet him ;

Who, by means of quick proofs-no revises-long coaches— May do a few villas, before Sc-tt approaches.

Indeed, if our Pegasus be not curst shabby,

He'll reach, without found'ring, at least Woburn-Abbey.

Such, sir, is our plan-if you're up to the freak,

"Tis a match! and we'll put you in training next week. At present, no more-in reply to this letter, a

Line will oblige very much

Yours, et cetera.

Temple of the Muses.