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Curious Inscription-Queen Elizabeth-Pedant and Illiterate Magistrate.

haste. I only came for a coat replied he. I had much rather, said the counsellor, it had been a suit.

Curious Inscription. The following curious inscription is written over a door in a village in Somersetshire, in these words:Petticoats mended, children taught reading, writing, and dancing; grown up people taught to spin; roses distilled, and made in resistance with water; also old shoes bought and sold.

Queen Elizabeth.-A Carter had three times been at Windsor with his cart to carry away upon summons of a removal from thence, some part of the stuff of Queen Elizabeth's wardrobe: and when he had repaired thither once, twice, and a third time, and they of the wardrobe told him the third time, that the removal held not, the Queen having changed her mind; the Carter clapping his hand on his thigh said, "Now I see that the Queen is a woman as well as a wife; which words being overheard by her Majesty, who then stood at the window, she said, “what a villian is this?" and so sent him three angels to stop his mouth.

The Pedant and Illiterate Magistrate. A gentleman from England wishing to establish a school, for teaching English in a certain town in the north of England; on his arrival addressed himself to the chief magistrate for permission, informing him that he intended to give Prelections, Orthographical and Rhetorical.The worthy magistrate, to whom these high sounding words were entire strangers peremptorily refused him, as he said they never gave encouragement to Legerdemain slight of hand work.

Irish Roads.-An Englishman having once asked an Irishman if the roads in Ireland were good. "Yes," said he, so fine, that I wonder you do not import some of them into England. Stay, let me see-there's the road to Love, strewed with roses-to Matrimony, through the nettles-to Honour, through the camp-to prison, the law-and to the Undertakers, through physic. "Have you any road to Preferment?" said the Englishmau. "Yes, but it is the dirtiest in the kingdom."

A Quandary-Cross readings from the Newspapers.

Soda Water.-When Soda Water was so much in vogue, the clerks of a certain Banking House were in the habit of sending out for it, and quenching their thirst without quitting their posts. One of them, a Highlander, from whom they always exacted a contribution, but who uniformly refused to partake, conceiving it to be far beneath his notice from its windy appearance, was sitting at his desk one day, when an Irish porter belonging to the bank entered. Perceiving some of the empty jars, and knowing the Highlander's contempt for their late contents, he roguishly asked, was there never nothing in these leetle pigs there?" "Yes," (cried the enraged mountaineer,) "there was ance naething in them, but they took it out!"



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A Quandary sailor travelling in New England, fell in company with a man possessing a full share of Yankee curiosity, who, after many important questions, such as, where he came from, where he was travelling, &c. observing his companion had lost an arm, inquired, “ Pray may I make bold to ask how you lost your arm?" "i'll tell you says the other) if you won't ask me another question." "Well I won't" says he." Then 'twas bit off," the sailor. The honest Yankee was about as bad off now as before. He kept silence for a few minutes; but at length, in an ague of impatient curiosity, but, too mindful of his promise to ask the question direct, he burst forth with this ejacculation-" I wish I knew what bit it off!"


Cross Readings from the Newspapers.-Yesterday a violent thunder storm-was bound over to keep the peace for seven years.

The new jail for the County of persons of respectability will be admitted. A new bank was lately opened atreturned.

-is finished-none but

No money

to be

The Speakers public dinners will commence next weekadmittance three shillings while the animals are feeding. The health of Mr. Cobbet was then drunk inbottles of Day and Martin's Japan Blacking.

Last week a poor women was safely delivered of sergeant, one corporal and thirteen rank and file.




On the Birth of Burns.


Monday, the 25th of January being the anniversary of the Ayrshire Bard, the whole members of the Thistle Club, Kilmarnock, met in Roger's Turf Inn. After dinner and a few usual and appropriate toasts were given, the following verses written by a gentleman of Kilmarnock, now residing in Glasgow, were recited, and received with the greatest approbation. We shall be glad to hear from the author on some favourite. subject. Ed.


Ye sons of Scotia, pour the lay

To hail our Poet's natal day!

And garlands strew upon that tomb,
Where laurels shall forever bloom;

While youthful bards with streaming eyes

Point where the Poet lowly lies!

Who tun'd his reed on Scotia's plains,

And pour'd along his dulcet strains,

In fancy's warmest glowing fire
On Caledonia's native lyre,

Yes! sons of Scotia, hail that, morn→→
That Burns our rural Bard was born!

That day Apollo's lyre was strung,
And all the Muses round him sung,
And as they tun'd their harps with joy,
Each gave her off'ring to the boy,
And while Parnassus rung with mirth,
They hail'd the land that gave him birth.

A wreathy meed to deck his brow,
They cull'd from off the holly's bough;
With "rustling leaves and berries red,"
To bind around the Poet's head,
And in Castalia's fount they laid
The laurel, that it ne'er might fade.

When years had fled on wings away,
And brought the boy to manhood's day,

On the Birth of Burns..

Apollo then did give command
Unto the Muses to descend;
And his inspiring mantle throw,
Around his fav'rite son below;
And on his brow to plant the bays
They wove for him in early days.

To Scotia's isle they hied away, Bedeck'd with flow'rs and garlands gay, An airy band with harp and song, Through floating clouds they mov'd along, By mountains hoary, tipt with snow, And beauteous wolds that spread below, With glassy lakes and gurgling streams, That sported in the lunar beams, 'Mong hills, and dales, and vallies wide, Where torrents pour'd on every side, To Coila swift they onward flew, For all the land of song they knew..

Then, did the Genius of the land,
Descend with harp and airy band;
And round the mantle, she did bind,
Like shepherd's plaid, with knot behind;
And on his brow the chaplet laid,
The Muses' hands for him had made,
And "wear thou this" the Genius said,
And wreath'd the laurel round his head;
And as she fleeted from the earth,

She bless'd the day that gave him birth!

Then woke the numbers, smooth and free,
In sweetest strains of minstrelsy;
And thrilling rapture pour'd along
The torrent of immortal song!

To scenes by Doon where oft he stray'd;
By wimpling stream and sylvan shade,
'Mong airy songsters of the grove,
To breathe the tender notes of love;


Or, by the winding banks of Ayr,
Through scenes his Mary render'd dear,
Which mem'ry twin'd around his heart,
Where first they met, and last did part;
Or by the Nith in after days,
That heard the latest of his S.


Mute now that once melodious tongue,
To living numbers sweetly strung!!
And silent laid, that glowing fire,
That wak'd the Caledonian lyre!
In notes that bear the soul along
Like magic spell or Fairy song.

Immortal shade! (with awe profound),
I see thee on our native ground

With beck'ning hand-with soaring eye,
And pointing to yon ambient sky,

Where cloudless thought, in beauty sweet,

And heav'nly fancy boundless meet,

Where thou, with bards who sang their lays

In years that roll'd in other days,

Art seated now in flow'ry pride,

By Homer and by Ossian's side!

Yes! sons of Scotia, hail that morn,

That Burns our rural Bard was born.


Thou art sweet as the dew on new-blown lily,
And dearer to me than the spring to the valley,
And more cherish'd and lov'd than the light of the day;
For what were that beam were my Ellen away?
And wilt thou leave me then for ever?
And wilt thou leave me then for ever?

And canst thou wend thy distant way
Far from the cairns of Aberlay?

Thou art beauteous as moon-beam the still wave adorning,
But fickle and strange as a dream of the morning,


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