"A friend of mine who had the ague this Spring was, after the failing of several medicines and charms, advised by me to enter into a course of quibbling. He threw his electuaries out of his window, and took Abracadabra off from his neck, and by the mere force of punning upon that long magical word, threw himself into a fine breathing sweat, and a quiet sleep. He is now in a fair way of recovery, and says pleasantly, he is less obliged to the Jesuits for their powder, than for their equivocation." Several periodicals of a similar character were afterwards published by Steele and others, but they wanted the old "salt," and were not equally successful. Thus, in 1745, a humorous periodical of a somewhat different character was attempted, which went through eight weekly numbers. It was called "The Agreeable Companion; or an Universal Medley of Wit and Good Humour." There was little original matter in it, but the proprietor recognized the desirability of having pieces by various hands, and so made long extracts from Prior, Gay, and Fenton. Although there was a considerable number of epitaphs, riddles, and fables, nearly all the jests were well known and trite. But the subjoined have a certain amount of neatness. TO DORCAS. "Oh! what bosom must but yield, When like Pallas you advance, With a thimble for your shield, And a needle for your lance; Fairest of the stitching train, Ease my passion by your art, And in pity to my pain, Mend the hole that's in my heart." TO SALLY, AT THE CHOP-HOUSE. "Dear Sally, emblem of thy chop-house ware, As broth reviving, and as white bread fair; As small beer grateful, and as pepper strong, As beef-steak tender, as fresh pot-herbs young; Sharp as a knife, and piercing as a fork, Soft as new butter, white as fairest pork; Sweet as young mutton, brisk as bottled beer, Smooth as is oil, juicy as cucumber, And bright as cruet void of vinegar. O, Sally! could I turn and shift my love With the same skill that you your steaks can move, My heart, thus cooked, might prove a chop-house feast, And you alone should be the welcome guest. But, dearest Sal! the flames that you impart, Like chop on gridiron, broil my tender heart! Which if thy kindly helping hand be n't nigh, Must like an up-turned chop, hiss, brown, and fry; And must at least, thou scorcher of my soul, Shrink, and become an undistinguished coal."