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Men may be capable of a certain feeling of attachment; but to experience, in all its fusibility, the liquefaction of the Soul, is peculiar to woman. There is a burning boundlessness, an illimitable intensity, an expansibility of endless extent, an unfathomable profundity of deepness, and an inaccessible altitude of height, in the female heart, of which none but he who expatriates in the interminable mazes of its soul-intoxicating rapturousness, can form an adequate idea. Vainly would the plummet of Philosophy essay to sound that Ocean of Affection, the gigantic billows of whose incompressible immensity, swell, with an extensibility of eternal might, in her gentle breast.–SniveL ON SOFTER FEELINGS.

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Not the only tiger to a puppy.

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LOVE'S DOOM!

When I asked you to wed,

Whom so long I have courted, If“ Yes" you had said,

I had then been "transported !" But fancy my woe,

As, with pitiless breath, You firmly said "No,"

And passed "sentence of death !"

First night of the Pantomimes.—The tricks went off admirably!

SELF-LIGHTING SEALING-WAX.

· Shewinge howe a certaine younge man, makynge a lovinge

offere untoe a faire ladye, burned his fingeres therebye."

I wrote a letter full of love,

To her, to whom I'd fain reveal it;
The patent wax I bought, and thought

How well and quickly I should seal it !

My billet told of Cupid's fire,

O'er which the burning lover lingers ;
'Twas meant to melt her heart;—the smart

Of melting wax attacked my fingers !

Oh, thoughts that breathe, and words that burn,

With all the warmth of Love's igniting,
Are cold and tame, to that bright flame

From patent wax, I found self-lighting!

Yes, vain were all the vows I wrote,

She only laughed at my confession ;
My fate was sealed, and not my note, -

I never made the least impression !

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And parties that they give !

None more, in “

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our street !"

THE PRIDE OF OUR STREET.

METAMORPHOSES NOT TO BE FOUND IN OVID.

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CRITICISM.

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Hints on BATHING – A Sketch suggested by the Ramsgate Correspondence in The Times.

The Bull Dog. - Too

short, indeed! Pshaw! One

never has the nose too short.

The Owl.— I wonder what the committee think of my

statue.

COM

“Shiver my timbers! would you insult my Sally, you lubberly Horse Marine ?"

G*

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