DEAR RIG.—Have you read my famous book, About the wonderful route I took; Through frost and snow, how I went so far, To stare in vain at the polar star, And how I sought by night and noon To bag the beams of the arctic moon; And how it was far beyond a joke To think my steam should end in smoke; With all the spiteful things I said, As I knock'd the engine on the head; And how I've fill'd up countless pages With sneers at the "Useful Knowledge" sages; And about the land of the Esquimaux, Where I gave a squeeze to many a squaw; But sighed to think that a time must come To clear them off by "the force of Rum;" And how I came to an island blest, Which foot of man had never press'd, And grateful to the Spinning _Gin_-ny, That lined my purse with many a guinea, I straightway handed down to fame A Smithfield _Booth's_ immortal name? I did such deeds as would make you stare; 'Twere a bore to tell how I kill'd a bear; Or how, for want of a better meal, I seal'd the fate of many a seal. And have you read that, to crown the whole, I'm almost sure I found the Pole; ('Twas twirling round, on its centre set, Like an opera dancer's pirouette,) And though the fog as thick did look As a certain stupid quarto book, One night I saw a vision fair, Of knighthood's honours in the air; And how, agog to reach my glory, I hasten'd home to print my story; And how I thought 'twould have been no blame To have left behind the halt and lame, Dead weights that, everybody knows, Are only fit to feed the crows? For if, Dear Rig., you'll only look, All this, and more, is in my book. * * * * * THE COMET, which has so long been looked for, suddenly made its appearance here on the 5th inst. between the hours of four and five in the morning, and the servant maids were pretty particularly astonished when they arose, to find that its tail had lighted all their fires, and boiled all their kettles for breakfast. For this piece of service they have christened it the "tail of love."—_American Paper._ [Illustration: OCTOBER.—'S^t. Crispin's Day' ]