Anon Night comes, and with her wings brings things, Such as, with his poetic tongue, Young sung; The gas up-blazes with its bright white light, And paralytic watchmen prowl, howl, growl, About the streets and take up Pall-Mall Sal, Who, hasting to her nightly jobs, robs fobs. Now thieves to enter for your cash, smash, crash, Past drowsy Charley, in a deep sleep, creep, But frighten’d by Policeman B 3, flee, And while they’re going, whisper low, “No go!” Now puss, while folks are in their beds, treads leads, And sleepers waking, grumble--“Drat that cat!” Who in the gutter caterwauls, squalls, mauls Some feline foe, and screams in shrill ill-will. Now Bulls of Bashan, of a prize size, rise In childish dreams, and with a roar gore poor Georgy, or Charley, or Billy, willy-nilly;-- But Nursemaid in a nightmare rest, chest-press’d, Dreameth of one of her old flames, James Games, And that she hears--what faith is man’s--Ann’s banns And his, from Reverend Mr. Rice, twice, thrice: White ribbons flourish, and a stout shout out, That upward goes, shows Rose knows those bows’ woes! DOMESTIC ASIDES; OR, TRUTH IN PARENTHESES. “I really take it very kind This visit, Mrs. Skinner! I have not seen you such an age-- (The wretch has come to dinner!) “Your daughters, too, what loves of girls-- What heads for painters’ easels! Come here and kiss the infant, dears,-- (And give it p’rhaps the measles!) “Your charming boys I see are home From Reverend Mr. Russel’s; ’Twas very kind to bring them both,-- (What boots for my new Brussels!) “What! little Clara left at home? Well, now, I call that shabby: I should have loved to kiss her so,-- (A flabby, dabby babby!) “And Mr. S., I hope he’s well; Ah! though he lives so handy, He never now drops in to sup,-- (The better for our brandy!) “Come, take a seat--I long to hear About Matilda’s marriage; You’re come of course to spend the day!-- (Thank Heav’n, I hear the carriage!) “What, must you go? next time I hope You’ll give me longer measure; Nay--I shall see you down the stairs-- (With most uncommon pleasure!) “Good-bye! good-bye! remember all, Next time you’ll take your dinners! (Now, David, mind I’m not at home In future to the Skinners!”) JOHN DAY. A PATHETIC BALLAD. “A Day after the Fair.”--OLD PROVERB. John Day he was the biggest man Of all the coachman-kind, With back too broad to be conceived By any narrow mind. The very horses knew his weight When he was in the rear, And wished his box a Christmas-box To come but once a year. Alas! against the shafts of love What armour can prevail? Soon Cupid sent an arrow through His scarlet coat of mail.