_Editor._ Wait a moment, and I’ll give them to you. ( Writes.)--“Mackarel are just now in season, and remarkably cheap. We are glad of it, for they furnish an economical and wholesome meal to the poorer classes, with a few potatoes.” “The metropolis was visited by a violent storm last night. The rain fell in torrents. We have not heard it extended beyond the immediate vicinity of London.” “If the hot weather continues much longer, there will be too much of it. The farmers are already crying out sadly for rain.” “As a man was driving a pig yesterday down the Haymarket, the obstinate animal ran between the legs of an old woman who was carrying a heavy basket of cabbages on her head, and threw her down. The poor old creature bruised her elbow shockingly. The pig ran off in the direction of St. James’s-square. The writer of this saw the accident. What are the street-keepers about, to allow fellows thus to drive their pigs on the foot-pavement, in one of the most crowded thoroughfares of the metropolis?” “_Anecdote_.--An exquisite, that is, a tiptop dandy, was calling a coach the other day, opposite Southampton-street in the Strand. The delicate creature could not make his voice heard; when a rough Jack-tar, who happened to be passing by, hailed coachee, in a voice like a speaking-trumpet. “‘Here,’ said Jack, looking unutterable things at the dandy, ‘here’s _something_ wants you.’” “_A Legal Conundrum_.--When a ship of war has but an indifferent crew, and is ill provided with cannon, she is in want of the assistance of two learned counsel. Who are they! _Man_-ning and _Gun_-ning.--N.B. This is not one of Lord Norbury’s _lasts_.” There are half-a-dozen _pars_, for you. If you do not want them all to-day, use any of them that will fit, and keep the rest for another time. _[Exit Mr. Pica. The Editor puts away his letters and papers--locks up his writing-desk--washes his hands--adjusts his cravat--buttons his coat--puts on his hat and gloves--and sallies forth into the Strand? to enjoy the fresh air, while Mr. Pica is usings all necessary diligence to get the paper ready for publication.]_ [SHARPE’S MAG.] [Illustration: 373] THE NIGHTMARE. I come in the gleams, from the land of dreams, Wrapp’d round in the midnight’s pall; Ye may hear my moan, in the night-wind’s groan, When the tapestry flaps on the wall;-- I come from my rest in the death-owl’s nest, Where she screams in fear and pain; And my wings gleam bright in the wild moonlight, As it whirls round the madman’s brain; And down sweeps my car, like a falling star, When the winds have hush’d their breath; When ye feel in the air, from the cold sepulchre, The faint damp smell of death.