a

For, if the hatter mounts a block,
He fills it with the sense of Locke;
A curate, with a rusty beaver,
Should have been bred a smith or weaver,
Though he should like an angel preach,
And practise more than bishops teach,
Then, dearest coat, it grieves my heart,
To think that you and I should part ;
For we have liv'd whole years together,
And buffetted all sorts of weather;
How oft have you imbib'd the rays
Of summer suns in noontide blaze!
How oft, when clouds dissolv?d in rain,
Remote from shelter on the plain,
You clasp'd me closely round the waist,
As close as pie-crust clasps the paste;
And not content in sun or wet
To pay what you conceiv'd a debt,
You follow'd me to bed at night;
And if the quilt chanc'd to be light,
You spread your arms in friendly aid ;
Nor did you think the debt was paid,
Unless you hung around my chair, ,
To guard me from the chilling air,
Oft as I read, or lonely sat,
In conversation with the cat;
And still, as this were not enough,
I can't forget the plianț cuff,
That to my finger ends would run,
Instead of gloves, for I have none.
Then, dearest coat, where shall I find
A substitute so good and kind?

Shall

Shall I exchange thy sable hue,
For dirty red, or spotted blue?
Alas! such colours quickly fade !
They fly before the tailor's paid;
And oft the wearer takes the hint,
And flies along, too, with the tint.
What colour may with thine compare?
In ev'ry charm you boast a share;
In ev'ry age the sable brow
Has claim'd the lover's earliest vow.
In love it still maintains its power;
In short, ’t is beauty's richest dower ;
Whilst those that make the least pretence
To gravity or common sense,
The murky garb all, all assume ;
It spreads a reverential gloom.
Religious books are bound in black,
But never letter'd on the back;
For that would be a grying sin,
To take the silly buyer in.
Thus, often struck with outside graces,
With dimpled smiles and painted faces,
We take a vixen in disguise,
Because we trusted to our eyes.
A widow at a midnight ball,
In sable stole and muslin shawl,
Like snow upon a raven's wing,
Outrivals all the sparkling ring;
Then, Buonaparte*, how could you

Raise such objections to this hue, * Buonaparte, in February 1803, prohibited, under a severe penalty, the intermarriage of blacks and whites.

As

2

As to decree that black and white
In wedlock bands should not unite?
As well, vain man, you might decree,
That Britons should not rule the sea,
As to suppose that nature's rules
Should yield to you and all your

fools!

JOHN LYNN.

..

ON the 12th of August 1762, the Havannah surrendered to the British arms under the command of General Lord Amherst, Admiral Sir George Pocock, and Commodore Keppel. The Neptuno of 70 guns, Asia 64, Europa 64, Spanish line of battle ships, were sunk at the entrance of the harbour. The Tiger of 70 guns, Reyna 70, Soverano 70, Infanta 70, Aquilon 70, America 60, Vinganaza 24, Thetis 24, and Marte of 18 guns, surrendered to the British commander in the harbour of the Havannah, besides two ships of war that were on the stocks, with a considerable number of merchantmen. John Lynn, a journeyman baker, wrote the fol. Jowing epigram on that brilliant victory : SPAIN, jealous and prond, sorely vex'd to be told, Her Havannah was lost, her ships, castles, and gold, Charg'd her governor home, for surrend'ring the place, So much to his own and his country's disgrace.

A place,

A place, said the court, so strong in each part,
Defended by nature, and aided by art;
So impregnable thought, that we cannot conceive
How you could yield it up-what excuse can you gire?
To which he replied, with a confident air,
Sirs, my plea is, that Keppel and Pocock were there.

JEREMIAH Twomey was executed at Gallows Green, near Cork, on Easter Sunday, the 18th of April 1767, for a burglary in the dwellinghouse of Johanna Norton, at Crosses Green, near the said city. The robbers treated her husband in so shocking a manner, that he died in the course of a few days after. Twomey, was convicted of the robbery only; and as some circumstances appeared in his favour on his trial, the mob entertained an opinion that he was innocent; in consequence of which, they brought him from the place of execution in his coffin, to the door of the prosecutrix, where they bled him, took the rope off his neck, threw it in at the window, after which they broke all the windows with stones, &c. Mrs. Norton resolutely defended the house, threw the rope into a river that ran by it, and fired several shots among the mob; many persons were hurt, but none mortally wounded. A party of soldiers at length came to her assistance, and took one of the ringleaders into custody, who was afterwards whipt through the town as a part of his punishment.

CAMDEN.

The three following Articles are copied from a MS.

in the British Museum, entitled, Alphabetical List of Lives, by EDWARD EARL of OXFORD and MORTIMER.

THERE is an account of Mr. Camden's life put before Edmond Gibson's edition of the Britannia, 1695, in folio, in English, dedicated to my Lord Somers. The same life of Mr. Camden, with a few alterations, is added to the new edition of the Britannia, published 1722, by the same Edmond Gibson, now become Bishop of Lincoln. I will only take notice of the great partiality of this worthy author. In the preface to the first edition, he mentions Dr. Charlet, Master of University College, with great respect, as he had many obligations to him, and being then at the same university, fellow of

Queen's