This life, dear Corry, who can doubt, Resembles much friend Ewart's wine-- When first the rosy drops come out, How beautiful, how clear they shine! And thus, a while they keep their tint So free from even a shade with some, That they would smile, did you but hint, That darker drops would ever come. But soon the ruby tide runs short, Each moment makes the sad truth plainer-- Till life, like old and crusty port, When near its close, requires a strainer. _This_ friendship can alone confer, Alone can teach the drops to pass-- If not as bright as once they were, At least unclouded through the glass. Nor, Corry, could a boon be mine, Of which my heart were fonder, vainer, Than thus, if life grew like old wine, To have _thy_ friendship for its strainer! THOMAS MOORE. Brighton, June, 1825. [From Household Words.] THE APPETITE FOR NEWS. The last great work of that great philosopher and friend of the modern housewife, Monsieur Alexis Soyer, is remarkable for a curious omission. Although the author--a foreigner--has abundantly proved his extensive knowledge of the weakness of his adopted nation; yet there is one of our peculiarities which he has not probed. Had he left out all mention of cold punch in connection with turtle; had his receipt for curry contained no cayenne; had he forgotten to send up tongues with asparagus, or to order a service of artichokes without napkins, he would have been thought forgetful; but when--with the unction of a gastronome, and the thoughtful skill of an artist--he marshals forth all the luxuries of the British breakfast-table, and forgets to mention its first necessity, he shows a sort of ignorance. We put it to his already extensive knowledge of English character, whether he thinks it possible for any English subject whose means bring him under the screw of the income-tax, to break his fast without--a newspaper.