ved the stars. P was a
poet, who produced pastorals, and prayed Mr. Urban to print them. Q
came in the corner of the page with a query. R arrogated to himself
the right of reprehending every one, who differed from him. S
sighed and sued in song. T told an old tale, and when he was wrong
U used to set him right; V was a virtuoso. W warred against
Warburton. X excelled in Algebra. Y yearned for immortality in
rhyme, and Z in his zeal was always in a puzzle."

We have already observed that the pictorial representations of demons,
which were originally intended to terrify, gradually came to be
regarded as ludicrous. There was something decidedly grotesque in the
stories about witches and imps, and Southey, deep in early lore, was
remarkable for developing a branch of humour out of them. In one place
he had a catalogue of devils, whose extraordinary names he wisely
recommends his readers not to attempt to pronounce, "lest they should
loosen their teeth or fracture them in the operation." Comic demonology
may be said to have been out of date soon after time.

Southey is not generally amatory in his humour, and therefore we
appreciate the more the following effusions, which he facetiously
attributes to Abel Shufflebottom. The gentleman obtained Delia's
pocket-handkerchief, and celebrates the acquisition in the following
strain--

"'Tis mine! what accents can my joy declare?
Blest be the pressure of the thronging rout,
Blest be the hand, so hasty, of my fair,
And left the tempting corner hanging out!

"I envy not the joy the pilgrim feels,
After long travel to some distant shrine,
When at the relic of his saint he kneels,
For Delia's pocket-handkerchief is mine.

"When first with filching fingers I drew near,
Keen hope shot tremulous through every vein,
And when the finished deed removed my fear,
Scarce could my bounding heart its joy contain.

"What though the eighth commandment rose to mind,
It only served a moment's qualm to move;
For thefts like this it could not be designed,
The eighth commandment was not made for love.

"Here when she took the macaroons from me,
She wiped her mouth to clear the crumbs so sweet,
Dear napkin! Yes! she wiped her lips in thee,
Lips sweeter than the macaroons she eat.

"And when she took that pinch of Mocabau,
That made my love so delicately sneeze,
Thee to her Roman nose applied I saw,
And thou