"ON MISS JENNER AND MISS EMILY WORTHINGTON TEARING THE "GLOBE" NEWSPAPER. "The greatest curse that hath a name Most certainly from woman came. Two of the sex the other night-- Well arm'd with talons, venom, spite,-- Pull'd caps, you say?--a great wonder! By Jove, they pull'd the globe asunder!" Dr. Jenner was very fond of scribbling _currente calamo_ such verses as these. The following specimens of his literary prowess have, we believe, never before been published. HANNAH BALL.--A SONG. "Farewell, ye dear lasses of town and of city, Sweet ladies, adieu to you all! Don't show a frown, though I tune up a ditty In praise of fair Hannah Ball. "T'other eve, as I rambled her snug cottage by, Sly Cupid determined my fall, The rogue, 'stead of darts, shot the beams of her eye, The eye of my fair Hannah Ball. "So sweetly she look'd, when attired so fine, In her Dunstable hat and her shawl, Enraptured I cried--''Tis a Goddess divine.' 'No indeed'--she replied--'Hannah Ball.' "The bosom of Delia, tho' whiter than snow, Is no more than black velvet pall-- Compared with my Hannah's--I'd have you to know-- The bosom of fair Hannah Ball. "The honey the bee from her jessamine sips You'd swear was as bitter as gall, Could you taste but the sweets that exhale from the lips, From the lips of the fair Hannah Ball. "What's rouge, or carmine, or the blush of the rose? Why, dead as the lime on the wall, Compared with the delicate colour that glows On the cheek of my fair Hannah Ball. "When David melodiously play'd to appease The troubled emotions of Saul, Were his sounds more enchanting--ah, tell me, than these? 'Hannah Ball, oh! the fair Hannah Ball.' "Near yonder fair copse as I pensively rove In an eve, when the dews 'gin to fall; To my sighs how kind echo responds from the grove-- 'Hannah Ball, oh! the fair Hannah Ball.' "With graces so winning see Rossi advance But what's all his grace?--Why a sprawl-- With my Hannah compared, as she skims through the dance-- The lovely, the fair Hannah Ball. "The song of the Mara--tho' great is her skill, Believe me's no more than a squall, Compared with the rapturous magical trill Of my charming, my fair Hannah Ball. "For oft in the meads at the close of the day, Near yon murmuring rivulet's fall, Have I heard the soft nightingale's soul-piercing lay, And thought 'twas my fair Hannah Ball. "To her eyes in Love's language I've told a soft tale, But, alas! they replied not at all; Yet bashfulness oft will our passions conceal; Oh! the modest, the fair Hannah Ball.