I never to a ball will go, That poor pretence for prancing, Where Jenkins dislocates a toe, And Tomkins thinks he's dancing: And most I execrate that ball, Of balls the most atrocious, Held yearly in old Magog's hall, The feasting and ferocious. I execrate the mob, the squeeze, The rough refreshment-scramble: The dancers, keeping time with knees That knock as down they amble; Between two lines of bankers' clerks, Stared at by two of loobies— All mighty fine for city sparks, But all and each one boobies:— Boobies with heads like poodle-dogs, With curls like clew-lines dangling; With limbs like galvanizing frogs, And necks stiff-starched and strangling; With pigeon-breasts and pigeon-wings, And waists like wasps and spiders; With whiskers like Macready's kings', Mustachios like El Hyder's. Miss Jones, the Moorfields milliner, With Toilinet, the draper, May waltz—for none are willinger To cut cloth or a caper.— Miss Moses of the Minories, With Mr. Wicks of Wapping, May love such light tracasseries, Such shuffle shoe and hopping: Miss Hicks, the belle of Holywell, And pride of Norton Falgate, In waltzing may the world excel, Except Miss Hicks of Aldgate. Well, let them—'tis their nature—twirl, And Smiths adore their twirlings, Which kill with envy every girl That fingers lace at Urling's, I laugh while I lament to see A fellow, made to measure 'Gainst grenadiers of six feet three, "Die down the dance" with pleasure. I laugh to see a man with thews His way through Misses picking, Like pig with tender pettitoes, Or chicken-hearted chicken; A tom-cat shod with walnut-shells, A pony race in pattens, A wagon-horse tricked out with bells, A sow in silks and satins, A butcher's hair en papillote, And lounging Piccadilly, A clown in an embroidered coat, Are not more gauche and silly. Let atoms take their dusty dance, But men are not corpuscles: An Englishman's not made in France, Nor wire and buckram muscles. The manly leap, the breathing race, The wrestle, or old cricket, Give to the limbs a native grace— So, here's for double-wicket. Leave dancing to the women, Men— In them it is becoming;— I never tire to see them, when Joe Hart his fiddle's strumming, Or Colinet and mild Musard Have set their hearts quadrilling;— Then be each nymph a gay Brocard, And every woman killing. I love to see the pretty dears Go lightly caracolling, And drinking love at eyes and ears, With every look their soul in! I like to watch the swan-like grace They show in minuetting. It hits one's bosom's tenderest place, To see them pirouetting. But when a measurer of tape Turns butterfly and dandy, Assumes their grace, their air, their shape, I wish a pump were handy! I never to such balls will go, Those poor pretexts for prancing; Where Jenkins dislocates his toe, And Tomkins thinks he's dancing.

Monthly Magazine.

THE GATHERER

A snapper up of unconsidered trifles.

SHAKSPEARE.

FAMILY RECKONING

Two Irishmen lately met, who had not seen each other since their arrival from Dublin's fair city. Pat exclaimed, "How are you, my honey; how is Biddy Sulivan, Judy O'Connell, and Daniel O'Keefe?" "Oh! my jewel," answered the other, "Biddy has got so many children that she will soon be a grandfather; Judy has six, but they have no father at all, for she never was married. And, as for Daniel, he's grown so thin, that he is as thin as us both put together."

W. G. C.

VARY-WEEL WHILE IT LASTS

Two old Scotch gentlemen, having left their better halves in the Land o' Cakes, on quitting Covent Garden theatre were discussing the merits of the play, the School for Scandal. "I was vary gled to see Sir Peter and my Leddy Tizzle sic gude frinds agin, Mr. M'Dougal, what think ye?" "Eh, mon, vary weel while it lasts, but it's just Mrs. M'Dougal's way. I'se warrant they're at it agin afore we are doon in our beds mon." Poor Sheridan should have heard this himself.

One of his majesty's frigates being at anchor on a winter's night, in a tremendous gale of wind, the ground broke, and she began to drive. The lieutenant of the watch ran down to the captain and awoke him from his sleep, and told him the anchor had come home. "Well," said the captain, rubbing his eyes, "I think our anchor is perfectly right, for who the d– would stay out such a night as this?"

W. G. C.

Beer was first introduced into England in 1492; into Scotland as early as 1482. By the statute of King James I. one full quart of the best beer or ale was to be sold for one penny, and two quarts of small beer for one penny.

In the museum of Stuttgard, is a portrait of the Countess of Salzburg, who, at the age of 50 years, had mustachios, whiskers, and a beard, as long and as black as those of any man.

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The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 13, No. 355, February 7, 1829

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DANCING

THE GATHERER

FAMILY RECKONING

VARY-WEEL WHILE IT LASTS

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