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ENGRAVED BY E. HACKER, FROM A PAINTING BY R. ANSDELL.

Holloa, Mr. Gillie ? --what means this fierce look?
I

say, sir, come just have a care!
But your business, may-be, no intrusion can brook,

Or why such a saucy “Who's there?”'

Hardish words, hardly spoken, when put with a frown,

Or your growl and dissatisfied air ;
And yet how they alter, as altered the tone,

That quietly asks you “Who's there?" 'Tis “somebody's" footstep--who else could it be?

And Miss Emmy sinks back in her chair ; There's a knock so expressive-she knows it is he,

As she murmurs out softly, “ Who's there?”

While you, silly dog, bouncing up to the door,

Would seem to say, “ Come, if you dare !” Down, Gillie, you stupid, you've seen him before; By this

you

should know " who is there.'
How ready that challenge, how much to be feared,

Poor Bunny has seen to his care ;
When flying from Scylla, Charybdis appeared

Too late has he found out “ who's there."

Poor Bunny! so cosily sitting below,

When, hark ! what is that coming here? Those little red eyes, that so curiously glow

Good gracious! what is it? Who's there?"

On quicker he comes, that long stealthy run

Nothing friendly can mean you, is clear : He pursues—Bunny's bolted—the business is done

Master Gillie has settled “who's there."

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'Tis so with us all ; from the scenes of our love

Fate ferrets us out, far and near ;
Oh! may some kinder spirit sit watching above,

To chcerily hail us, "Who's there? "

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15

TIIE UNSUCCESSFUL MAN;

OR, PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF TILBURY NOGO, ESQ.

BY FOXGLOVE.

CHAP. XXVII.

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" • Let me not live,' quoth he,

After my flame lacks oil, to be the snuff
of younger spirits, whose apprehensive senses
All but new things disclaim--whose judgments are
Mere fathers of their garments.'”

ALL's WELL THAT ENDS WELL.

“ Farewell! with him alone may rest the pain,
If such there were-with you, the moral of his strain.”

CHILDE HAROLD.

Life is a strange medley! As I sit here in lonely grandeur—the sole inhabitant of that great desert which constitutes the principal dining-room of the “Munchausen Club,” I can scarce believe that the middle-aged member, whose bristling whiskers and incipient crow's-feet I can too plainly discern in yonder unflattering mirror, is the same Tilbury Nogo who, but a few short years before, bounded up the steps of this exclusive caravanserie with all the buoyant elasticity of youth, and swaggered through its halls, in the pleasing consciousness that the world was all before him, where to choose.” The very waiter seems to glance incredulously at the country-made boots and ill-fitting attire of a gentleman, whom, it argues now no vanity to say, he remembers once the most particular in his “ chaussure,” the most scrupulously correct in bis attire. Well may he look as much astonished as a waiter is capable of looking—for these functionaries, like the chairs and tables with which they are chiefly associated, never grow old. For them the spring-tide and winter of life are not. Who ever recollects to have seen a waiter either in the bloom of youth or the decrepitude of old age? If he should be short-winded and gouty, your father remembers him afflicted with these inconveniences when he himself was a young man, If he is light, wiry, and active-light, wiry, and active he will remain, when you are tottering upon crutches, or writhing on a water-bed. Leave England to seek your fortune at the antipodes ; pursue your search after the fleeting jade from pole to pole ; and when half a lifetime has elapsed, return to London, bankrupt at least in health and constitution, and so altered as not to be recognized by the very cousin with whom you have been brought up from a boy ; walk into that

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