I'd have a share of those good sav'ry things;
Enchained by turkey, in love with the pastry.
And floating in Champagne, while Bow bells ring.
Those who are cautious are skinny and fretful,
Hunger, alas! naught but ill-humour brings;
I'd be an Alderman, rich with a net full,
Rolling in Guildhall, whilst old Bow bells ring.

What though you tell me that prompt apoplexy
Grins o'er the glories of Lord Mayor's Day,
'Tis better, my boy, than blue devils to vex ye,
Or ling'ring consumption to gnaw you away.
Some in their folly take black-draught and blue-pill,
And ask ABERNETHY their fate to delay;
I'd he an Alderman, WAITHMAN'S apt pupil,
Failing when dinner things are clearing away.

_Monthly Magazine._


* * * * *


A PROVINCIAL REPUTATION.


I once resided in a country town; I will not specify whether that town
was Devizes or Doncaster, Beverley or Brighton: I think it highly
reprehensible in a writer to be _personal_, and scarcely more venial do
I consider the fault of him who presumes to be _local_. I will, however,