Jest of Taylor, the Water Poet, who wrote it 150 years ago. There was a Pope, who being dead, it was said that he came to Heaven's gate and knocked: St. Peter (being within the gate) asked who was there? the Pope answered, "brother, it is I; I am the last Pope deceased," St. Peter said, "If thou be the Pope, why dost thou knock? thou having the keys mayest unlock the gate and enter?" The Pope replied, saying, "that his predecessors had the keys, but since their time the wards were altered."

Grantham, March 19.-A few days ago, four bucks assembled at an inn in this neighbourhood, to drink a glass, and play a game at cards. The glass circulating very briskly, before midnight they became so intoxicated, that not one of them was able to determine how the game stood; and several disputes, interspersed with a considerable number of oaths ensued, till they agreed to let the cards lie, and endeavour to drink themselves sober. Shortly after, they resumed the game, and each man imagining himself capable of directing the rest, they soon came again to very high words; when the waiter, fearful that some bad consequences might ensue, let them know that it was near three o'clock, and if any of the gentlemen pleased, he would wait on them home; but instead of complying with his request, the geniusses looked upon it as an indignity offered them, and declared, with the most horrid

imprecations, that not one of them would depart till day-light. But in the height of their anger, an uncommon noise in the chimney engaged their attention, when looking towards the fire-place, a black spectre made its appearance; and crying out, in a hollow, menacing tone," my father has sent me for you, infamous reprobates," they all in the greatest fright, flew out of the room without staying to take their hats, in broken accents confessing their sins, and begging for mercy.—It appears, that the master of the inn, finding he could not get rid of his troublesome guests, and having a chimney-sweeper in the house, sweeping some chimnies, he gave the boy directions to descend into the room as above related, while he stood at a distance, and enjoyed the droll scene of the bucks' flight.

The following Anecdote of the late famous Mr. Roubiliac deserves to be recorded.-Some years since that celebrated statuary found a parcel of Bank notes in the church-yard of St. Martin in the Fields, to the amount of £7000, the property of a Yorkshire gentleman, who advertised a reward of £500; in consequence of which Mr. Roubiliac returned the notes, but generously refused to take the reward, though at that time he was greatly distressed for money: the gentleman charmed at his behaviour, made him a present of a fine set of plate, and left him £1000 in his will,

in case he survived him; but Mr. Roubiliac dying first, rendered the gentleman's grateful intention of no effect.

Parody of the Soliloquy in Hamlet.

To hunt, or not to hunt? That is the question-
Whether 'tis prudent in the soul to suffer
The pangs of self-denial, or to urge
With enthusiastic rage and bold defiance
The rapid chace-to hunt-to ride

No more-and by that ride to say we fly
From thought, that cankerworm to gay desires;
From cares, that feed upon the lamp of life;
'Tis a fruition devoutly to be wish'd.

To hunt-to ride to ride-perchance to fall;
Ay, there's the rub

For in the mad pursuit what falls may come,
When ev'ry hound each hardy sinew strains,
And every breeze conveys enrapt'ring sounds:
Must give us pause.-There's the respect
That gives the fatal blow to promis'd joys;
That taints with baleful blight each blooming hope.
Who wou'd forego this madness of delight,
Who without pain could hear a chace describ'd,
Or silent sit while others boast their feats,
When he himself might mount the neighing steed,
And urge the sprightly chace? Beneath a roof,
Who wou'd wear out the tedious, doleful day,
Oppress'd with discontent and dire remorse?
But that the dread of fall precipitate,
That unknown field, where, destitute of aid,
With shiver'd limb he haply may repent
His forward zeal and fury uncontroul'd,

Puzzles the will, and makes us rather pine
In humble cell than seek for distant joys

Where pain and death th' advent'rous hunter wait.
But hark-

The hunter's notes, on Zephyr's pinion borne,
Assail my ears-

Already Phoebus gilds the mountain top.

Great Phoebus, patron of the hunting crew,
Propitious smile and vanish ev'ry doubt!

The Greyhound:-A Fable.

Altera poscit opem res, et conjurat amice.

As o'er his prey a greyhound stood,
And lick'd his lips upon his food;
Thus in himself he justly weighs,

Which of his limbs deserves most praise.
The tail suggests,-'tis I thee steer;

The legs reply, but we thee bear;

I, says

the nose, the

prey

must trace;

We, say the eyes, direct the chace;

True, says the mouth, but prithee hear,

Can either of ye catch a hare?

Cease strife, says Spring, distraction smother,
For none subsists without another.

Lymington, April 3, 1765.

E. L

HOR.

27

A letter from Algernon Sidney, Esq. in answer to one, persuading his return to England quickly after the Restoration.-Sir,-I am sorry I cannot in all things conform myself to the advice of my

friends; if theirs had any joint concernment with mine, I would willingly submit my interest to theirs; but when I alone am interested, and they only advise me to come over as soon as the act of indemnity is past, because they think it is best for me, I cannot wholly lay aside my own judgment and choice. I confess we are naturally inclined to delight in our own country, and I have a particular love to mine; I hope I have given some testimony of it. I think that being exiled from it is a great evil, and would redeem myself from it with the loss of a great deal of my blood. But when that country of mine, which used to be esteemed a paradise, is now like to be made a stage of injury; the liberty which we hoped to establish oppressed; all manner of profaneness, looseness, luxury, and lewdness set up in its height, instead of piety, virtue, sobriety, and modesty, which we hoped God, by our hands, would have introduced; the best of our nation made a prey to the worst; the parliament, court, and army corrupted; the people enslaved; all things vendible; and no man safe but by such evil and infamous means as flattery and bribery; what joy can I have in my own country in this condition? Is it a pleasure to see all that I love in the world sold and destroyed? Shall I renounce all my old principles, learn the vile court arts, and make my peace by bribing some of them? Shall their corruption and vice be my safety? Ah! no better is a life among strangers than in my own country upon such conditions. Whilst I