The work is a quarto page, surrounded with a handsome black border. "Take no thought for to-morrow, what thou shalt eat, or what thou shalt put on," says a certain writer, whose wisdom we all reverence, and then he adds "Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof"--a remark particularly applicable to the bards of Seven Dials, whose pens are kept in constant employment by the fires, rapes, robberies, and murders, which, from one year's end to the other, present them with a daily allowance of evil sufficient for their subsistence. But, at present, it is only one of these poets, "John Morgan," as he modestly signs himself, whom we are about to notice; and as some of our readers may be curious to see a specimen of the poetry of Seven Dials, we shall lay certain portions of John Morgan's last effusion before them, pointing out the beauties and peculiarities of the compositions as we go along. After almost lawyer-like particularity as to dates and places, the poem begins with an invocation from the murderer in _propria personæ_. "Oh! give attention awhile to me, All you good people of each degree; In Newgate's dismal and dreary cell, I bid all people on earth farewell." Heaven forbid, say we, that _all_ the people on earth should ever get in Newgate, to receive the farewell of such a blood-thirsty miscreant. "John William Marchant is my name, I do confess I have _been to blame_." And here we must observe that the poet makes his hero speak of his offence rather too lightly, as if, indeed, it had been nothing more than a common misdemeanour. "I little thought, my dear parents kind, I should leave this earth with a troubled mind." Now this _is_ modest; he is actually surprised that his parents are at all grieved at the idea of getting rid of such a scoundrel, and well he might be. "I lived as servant in Cadogan Place, And never thought this would be my case, To end my days on the fatal tree: Good people, pray drop a tear for me." There is a playfulness about the word "drop," introducing just here after "the fatal tree," which, in our mind, somewhat diminishes the plaintiveness of the entreaty; but we must not be hypocritical. * * * * * Then comes his trial and condemnation, the account of which is most remarkable precise and pithy. "At the Old Bailey I was tried and cast, And the dreadful sentence on me was past On a Monday morning, alas! to die, And on the eight of this month of July."