The squire opened the cover, and when he saw a real instead of a figurative blister, grew crimson with rage. He could not speak for some minutes, his indignation was so excessive. "So!" said he, at last, "Mr. Murtough Murphy--you think to cut your jokes with me, do you? By all that's sacred! I'll cut such a joke on you with the biggest horsewhip I can find, that you'll remember it. '_Dear squire, I send you the blister._' Bad luck to your impidence! Wait till awhile ago--that's all. By this and that, you'll get such a blistering from me that all the spermaceti in M'Grane's shop won't cure you." TO A LYRIC AND ARTIST. (_Which we received from a Correspondent, and could not possibly insert in a more appropriate place than this._) No wonder that Painters are "drawing long faces," And Poets write badly, the while they discover How truly the Muses, how fondly the Graces, Receive the addresses of one little LOVER. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF RICHARDSON, THE SHOWMAN. _With a Peep at Bartholomew Fair._ BY THE AUTHOR OF FISHER'S NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY. _Seventeenth Edition, 4to._ In a periodical like the present, a contributor, if he really have anything in him, ought to set off at score. Such is my determination. Works of the sort can only be produced by the exhibition of three rare qualities, namely, Wit, Humour, and entertaining Fiction. The first has been compared to a razor, which "cuts the most when exquisitely keen;" the second I will venture to liken to a table-knife, which slashes away at all on the board, and the best when broadly shining and tolerably sharp in the edge; and the last is familiar enough to everybody, under the term of "throwing the hatchet." But whatever the instrument, be it razor, or knife, or axe, it is quite essential that it should never lose its temper. Mais l'audace est commune, et le bon sens est rare; Au lieu d'être piquant, souvent on est bizarre: which, being freely translated, means, In life there's so much impudence, And very little common sense, That writers trying to be witty, Are only foolish: more's the pity! "The Showman,"--for so was this eminent individual designated by the world at large, and so upon memorable occasions he called himself;--was, it will be felt, a title of high distinction. When we look around us, and see how many men are playing showmen, and how miserably they succeed, we shall at once be convinced that nothing but very superior merit could have won for Richardson the glory of the definite "the." _He_ was not showing off himself, but others: he was nor showing off his own follies, but the follies of society. Thus, instead of being a laughing-stock, he laughed in his own sleeve; and by keeping a fool, instead of making a fool of himself, he eschewed poverty, and ultimately died in the odour and sanctity of wealth.