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Tho' rais'd from this earth to a station on high,

When I think on her merits, forgive me the sigh,

Forgive me the tear while to sorrow I bend, For the Dame was my mate, my companion, and friend.

Thro' life's rugged path-way together we stray'd,

Nor murmur'd she once at her lot; And when kind prosperity brighten'd the shade,

Nor her God, nor her friends, were forgot.

Humility, pity, and mercy, she own'd, And a hand to relieve where adversity moan'd;

For this she must live where the seraphs adore,

But ah! she shall live for my comforts no

more.

Full many a summer since youth's bridal day,

Full half a long centum of time Have roll'd their rude scenes and their pleasures away,

Since the priest taught us lessons divine. From these she ne'er swerv'd, she was faithful to me;

Still kind, but discreet, as a partner should be;

Nor shone forth her merits in wedlock alone,

Her examples might brighten a cot or a throne.

While left to encounter the crosses below, This bounty of Heaven I crave,

With the fairest of flow'rets the spring can bestow,

O, lead me to sprinkle her grave! Tho' sad at the pangs her infirmities drew, Not a flow'r was so sweet, or so brilliant to

view;

The tongue of Reflection ne'er rang for the past,

She was peaceful with all, and resign'd to the last.

And tell to the world all the virtues she taught

To her offspring, who lov'd her so dear? But alas! all she taught, all her lessons are o'er,

We shall learn from her love and her precepts no more,

This comfort remains, if her ways we pursue,

We shall rise like herself with an heav'n in view. T. N.

On seeing Mrs. K-B-aged upwards of Eighty, nurse un Infant.

A sight like this might find apology
In worlds unsway'd by our Chronology;
As Tully says, (the thought's in Plato)-
"To die is but to go to Cato."

Of this world Time is of the essence,-
A kind of universal presence;
And therefore Poets should have made him
Not only old, as they've pourtray'd him,
But young, mature, and old-all three
In one-a sort of mystery-
(Tis hard to paint abstraction pure.)
Here young-there old-and now mature—
Just as we see some old book-print,
Not to one scene its hero stint ;
But, in the distance, take occasion
To draw him in some other station.
Here this prepost'rous union seems
A kind of meeting of extremes.
Ye may not live together. Mean ye
To pass that gulf that lies between ye
Of fourscore years, as we skip ages
In turning o'er historic pages?
Thou dost not to this age belong :
Thou art three generations wrong:
Old Time has miss'd thee: there he tar-
ries!

Go on to thy contemporaries!

Give the child up. To see thee kiss him Is a compleat anachronism.

Nay, keep him. It is good to see

Race link'd to race, in him and thee.

The child repelleth not at all

Her touch as uncongenial,

But loves the old Nurse like another-
Its sister or its natural mother;
And to the nurse a pride it gives

How can I do less in the moments of To think (though old) that still she lives

thought

Than sigh for a friend so sincere,

With one, who may not hope in vain To live her years all o'er again!

London: -Printed by G. Larrance, Dorset Street, Salisbury Square. PUBLISHED FOR THE PROPRIETORS AT 42, HOLYWELL STREET, STRAND.-MAY BE HAD ALSO OF SHERWOOD, NEELY, AND JONES, PATERNOSTER ROW; SIMPKIN AND MARSHALL, STATIONERS' COURT; AND OF ALL OTHER BOOKSELLERS,

THE

TICKLER MAGAZINE.

No. 5. VOL. III.]

Anecdotes.

LONDON, MAY 1, 1821.

DUKE OF MEDINA CELI. IN consequence of the defeat at Saragossa, and the very low state to which France was reduced, Philip* apprehended he should be obliged to relinquish his pretensions to the throne of Spain. Amongst others, it was suspected, that the Duke of Medina Celi was in the interest of his competitor Charles. To render so powerful a prince inactive, would be almost equal to a victory; but the method to effect it seemed difficult, especially in the exhausted state to which Philip was reduced. Sir Patrick Lawless, an Irish gentleman, then a colonel in the French service, charged himself singly to secure the person of the Duke. Having previously concerted all his measures, he repaired to the ducal palace, as charged with a special commission from Philip. He invited the Duke to take a walk on a fine terrace, in order to converse the more freely. As the conversation was interesting, they insensibly rambled to a considerable distance from the suite of the Duke, until they came to a passage which led to the high road, where the Colonel had a carriage in waiting. Lawless in a few words told his Highness, that he must directly, and without the least appearance of constraint, take a seat in the coach; as he had engaged, at the hazard of his head, to bring him to Madrid, where he would find Philip ready to receive him with open arms. The determined tone with which these words were uttered, the appearance of the man, and above all, his character for resolution and bravery, induced

* Philip V.

[PRICE 6d.

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SIR THOMAS MORE. SIR John Danvers's House at Chelsea stands in the very place where was that of the Lord Chancellor Sir Thomas More, who had but one marble chimney-piece, and that plain.

Where the gate then stood there was in Sir Thomas More's time a gate-house, according to the old fashion. From the top of this gate-house was a most pleasant and delightful prospect as is to be seen. His Lordship was wont to recreate himself in this place to apricate and contemplate, and his little dog with him. It so happened, that a Tom o'Bedlam got up the stairs when his Lordship was there, and came to him and cried, "Leap Tom, leap!" offering his Lordship vio lence to have thrown him over the battlements. His Lordship was a little old man, and, in his gown, not able to make resistance; but having presentness of wit, said, "Let us first throw this little dog over." The Tom o'Bedlam threw the dog down: "Pretty sport !" said the Lord Chancellor: "go down and bring him up again, and try again." Whilst the madman went down for the dog, his Lordship made fast the door of the stairs and called for help: otherwise he had lost his life.

M

Note of Mr.Aubrey's on Tom O'BEDLAMS.

Till the breaking out of the civil wars, Tom o'Bedlams did travel about the country. They were poor distracted men, that had been put into Bedlam, where, recovering some soberness, they were licentiated to go a begging: i. e. they had on their left arm an armilla of tin, printed in some works about four inches long. They could not get it off. They wore about their necks a great horn of an ox, in a string or bawdry, which, when they came to a house, they did wind, and they did put the drink given them into this horn, whereto they had a stopple. Since the wars I do not remember to have seen any one of them.

Blunders.

BLUNDERS OF ARTISTS. TINTORET, in a picture which represents the Israelites gathering manna in the desert, has armed the Hebrews with guns; and a modern Neapolitan artist has represented the Holy Family, during their journey to Egypt, as passing the Nile in a barge as richly ornamented as that of Cleopatra.

BRENGHELI, a Dutch painter, in a picture of the Eastern Magi, has, according to the grotesque fashion of his country, drawn the Indian king in a large white surplice, with boots and spurs, and bearing in his hand, as a present to the Holy Child, the model of a Dutch seventy-four.

LANFRANC has thrown churchmen in their robes at the feet of our Saviour, when an infant; and Algarotti relates, that Paul Veronese introduced several Benedictines among the guests at the feast of Canaa.

An altar-piece in a church at Capua, painted by CHELLA DELLE PUera, representing the Annunciation, is a curious collection of absurdities. The Virgin is seated in a rich arm-chair of crimson velvet, with gold flowers; a cat and parrot placed near her, seem extremely attentive to the whole scene; and on a table are a silver coffee-pot

and cup.

A modern Italian has painted the same subject in a similar way. The Virgin is on her knees near the toilette; on a chair are thrown a variety of fashionable dresses, which show that, in the painter's opinion at least, she must have been a practised coquette; and at a little distance appears a cat, with its head lifted up towards the angel, and its ears on end, to catch what he has got to say.

PAULO MAZZOCHI painted a piece representing the four elements, in which fishes marked the sea, moles the earth, and a salamander the fire. He wished leon; but not knowing how to draw that to have represented the air by a came

scarce animal, he contented himself, from a similarity of sounds, to introduce a camel, who extending his long neck, snuffs up the breezes around him.

But of all the blunders which artists have committed, none is perhaps so great as that of the painter, who, in a picture of the Crucifixion,represented the confessor holding out a crucifix to the good thief who was crucified with our Saviour.

Anachronisms of this description have been so often noticed, that they are now scarcely worth collecting; but there are others of a rarer sort, which owe their existence to the barbarous transformations which pictures, originally correct, have undergone, to please the passions and prejudices of a day; and which it is well to treasure up, as marks of the impotence of power, when it would torture genius into a violation of sincerity

and truth.

In the chapel of one of the principal colleges in Paris, there was a picture representing the general in chief of the aides-de-camp,paying a visit tothe plague army of Egypt, attended by soïne of his hospital. Since the restoration of the Bourbon family to the throne of France, BONAPARTE has been converted into Christ, and his aides-de-camp into apostles. The artist who has made these al

terations, has not, however, thought it necessary entirely to change the costumes, and our Saviour appears in the boots of NAPOLEON.

An instance of similar absurdity occurred at Naples, where to preserve GROSS's magnificent picture of the Battle of Aboukir, a Neapolitan General, who never set foot in Egypt, has been substituted for MURAT.

Bon Mots.

THE profligate doctor Barrowby, whose wit had too often a strong tincture of illnature, was one evening very hard upon Mr. Hill, an apothecary, who had been in great distress. Hill took no notice of him at first, but suffered him to run on till he changed the subject, and among other things, the doctor mentioned his having been out of town for a week. "Aye," said Hill," that was published in all the Saturday's papers."-"In what form?" says the doctor. "Why, decreased in the burials this week, one hundred and forty-four."

MUSIC.---The Athenians were in the habit of publicly reviling Themistocles for his ignorance of the manners of the world, and of the usual accomplishments of polite breeding. His only answer to these inconsiderate railers was, that "it was true indeed he never played on a lute, but he knew how to raise a small and insignificant state to greatness and glory." When Antisthenes was informed that Ismenias played excellently upon the flute, he replied, and, says Plutarch, properly enough," then he is good for nothing else."---It was also an observation of Philip of Macedon to his son, Alexander the Great, upon hearing him sing very skilfully at an entertainment, "Are you not ashamed to sing so well?" There is perhaps a good deal of justice in these two latter observations; for we find, from experience, in the present times, that those persons, whose lives are devoted to the study of music, generally betray an inaptitude for any more important pursuits. A mere fiddler is of all characters the most contemptible. To this it may be added, that Music, which was banished from the Commonwealth of Plato, was also held in great disdain amongst the ancient Egyptians.

REPARTEE. --- A certain great man, more celebrated for pride than liberality, being much plagued by some tiresome country acquaintance to give them a treat, Oh! yes, he replied, treat you--to be sure I will---I'll treat you---with scorn!

WHEN the periodical paper called The World was published, Mr. Owen Cambridge became a principal contributor to it. One Sunday morning, a note addressed to that gentleman from Mr. Moore, the editor, requesting an essay, was put into his hands just as he was going to church. Mrs. Cambridge observing him rather inattentive during the sermon, whispered him: "What are you thinking of?" He replied, "Of the next World, my dear."

Epigrams.

They say that you repeat your lines,
And borrow what yourself hath writ;
But this I doubt,-for this inclines
To a right cunning wit!

Those who are doom'd to hear you through
Long verses, worthy of the shelf,
In sooth, I think must envy you

The stealing from yourself.

AN ATTEMPT AT AN EPIGRAM.

Says Tom one day to Dick, dost know
That Farmer Giles to Sea does go;
'Tis strange a man unfit as he,
Should go to brave the stormy Sea.
No, faith 'tis not, pert Dick replies,
The choice he's made just proves him wise.
Wise, Dick?-yes, Tom! I'll tell ye how,
Of this indeed you've a wrong notion,

He's poor, and has no land to plough,
So now he'll help to plough the Ocean.

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 Neptune of 70 guns, Asia 64, Europa 64, Spanish line of battle ships, were sunk at the entrance of the harbor. The Tiger of 70 guns, Reyna 70, Soverauo 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 that brilliant following Epigram on victory.

SPAIN, jealous and proud, sorely vex'd to be told, [and gold, Her Havannah was lost, her ships, castles,

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without finding any clue to their meaning, they were about giving it up as an hopeless task, when an arch Lad, on examining the Lines for a few minutes, explained them in the following manner, which on reading the Epitaph appears to be the meaning naturally enough.

Beneath this Stone lies Catharine Gray,
Chang'd from a busy life to lifeless clay;
By earth and clay she got her pelf,
And now she's turn'd to earth herself:
Ye weeping friends, let me advise,
Abate your grief, and dry your eyes;
For what avails a flood of tears?
Who knows but in a run of years,
In some tall pitcher or broad pan,
She in her Shop may be again.

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