Thence, having achieved my impromptu, I went to the house where he lived and breathed and had his being;' and began forthwith to scatter the golden cobweb, (the stuff that dreams are made of), which I had spun, like a silk-worm, out of my own vitals. There was the very room- that! where the bard was born. I was perfectly sure of it. And why? because, the moment I set my foot there, a miracle happened. Being requested to write my name, as I had been requested before, both at the church and at the house of the woman what made plays, both of whom desired to be remembered to all my friends coming that way! (I could have told her that my friends were likely to go quite another way.) I seated myself and began to write; all at once-just when I had got as far as North America,' which sounds fifty times grander, in such a place, than United States, beside being altogether more intelligible to the great body of British statesmen, to say nothing of the multitude- the best of them being not much better informed to this day, respecting our geography, than they were when the Island of Virginia' was first mentioned in the house of Lords or the State of New-England' thought proper to set herself in array against the great President,' I came to a full stop! I had finished forever, as I thought, and was about to adjourn - by my faith it is truewhen a queer sensation-a sort of trickling from my heart a something, that went a rippling to

6

6

6

the finger ends,' prevented me. I tried to get upI could n't- to fling down the pen-it would n't budge so write I must, and writé I did; and the following real, honest, downright impromptu was the result.

The ground is holy here—the very air!

Ye breathe what Shakspeare breathed. Rash men, beware!

6

Oh, yes! Will Shakspeare was born here. The question was settled forever and ever. I could n't help sliding into extrumpery.' O, ye walls! covered with pencilled names, on whitewashed plaster! Kings! Princes! and Immortals - if they were ever there or, if only such as understood him had written there, no lights would be needed to show the manger of Shakspeare. The walls would be luminous with their handwriting the sign-manuals of them that write with imperishable fire, light burning not only under water, but under earth, and throughout all the earth. But enough-our story is about Wizard Will,'-not Will Wizard:' and therefore know we when to stop.

THE BACHELOR'S DREAM.

ANONYMOUS.

THE music ceased, the last quadrille was o'er,
And one by one the waning beauties fled;
The garlands vanished from the frescoed floor,
The nodding fiddler hung his weary head.

And I- a melancholy single man

Retired to mourn my solitary fate

I slept awhile; but o'er my slumbers ran
The sylph-like image of my blooming Kate.

I dreamt of mutual love, and Hymen's joys,
Of happy moments and connubial blisses:
And then I thought of little girls and boys,
The mother's glances, and the infant's kisses.

I saw them all, in sweet perspective sitting
In winter's eve around a blazing fire,
The children playing, and the mother knitting,
Or fondly gazing on the happy Sire.

The scene was changed. In came the Baker's bill:
I stared to see the hideous consummation

Of pies and puddings that it took to fill

The bellies of the rising generation.

There was no end to eating : — legs of mutton

Were vanquished daily by this little host;
To see them, you'd have thought each tiny glutton
Had laid a wager who could eat the most.

The massy pudding smoked upon the platter,
The ponderous sirloin reared its head in vain ;
The little urchins kicked up such a clatter,

That scarce a remnant e'er appeared again.

Then came the School bill: Board and Education
So much per annum; but the extras mounted
To nearly twice the primal stipulation,

And every little bagatelle was counted!

To mending tuck ; - A new Homeri Ilias;
A pane of glass; - Repairing coat and breeches;
A slate and pencil;- Binding old Virgilius ;-
Drawing a tooth; - An open draft and leeches.

And now I languished for the single state,

The social glass, the horse and chaise on Sunday, The jaunt to Windsor with my sweetheart Kate, And cursed again the weekly bills of Monday.

Here Kate began to scold·

I stampt and swore,

The kittens squeak, the children loudly scream ; And thus awaking with the wild uproar,

I thanked my stars that it was but a dream.

LAST HOURS OF A SINGLE GENTLEMAN.

ANONYMOUS.

THIS morning, April 1, at half past eleven, precisely, an unfortunate young man, Mr. Edwin Pinkney, underwent the extreme penalty of infatuation, by expiating his attachment to Mary Ann Gale, in front of the Altar railings of St. Mary's Church, Islington.

It will be in the recollection of all those friends of the parties who were at the Joneses' party at Brixton, two years ago, that Mr. Pinkney was there, and there first introduced to Mary Ann, to whom he instantly began to direct particular attentions — dancing with her no less than six sets that evening, and handing her things at supper in the most devoted manner. From that period commenced the intimacy between them which terminated in this morning's catastrophe.

Poor Pinkney had barely attained to his twentyeighth year; but there is reason to believe that, but for reasons of a pecuniary nature, his single life would have come earlier to an untimely end. A