oor Quidnunc _now_ condemns
The Tunnel underneath Old Thames,
And swears, his science all forgetting,
Friend Brunel's judgment wanted _whetting;_
'Tis thus great characters are dish'd,
When they get _wetter_ than was wish'd,--
Brunel to _Gravesend_ meant to go
Under the water, wags say so,
And under that same water put
His hopes to find a shorter cut;
But when we leave the light of day.
Water hath many a devious way,
Which, like a naughty woman, leads
The best of men to strange misdeeds:
Had nearly, 'twas a toss-up whether,
Gone to his grave and end together.
How the performance went amiss
The _classical_ account is this--

The Naiads, Thames' stream that swim in,
Being _curious_, just like mortal _women_,
Dear souls! 'tis said, midst all their cares,
They love to peep at man's affairs,
And wondering at the workmen's hammers,
The noise of axes, engines, rammers,
Thought 'twould be well, nor meant the fun ill,
To make an opening through the Tunnel,
Just to see how the work went on,
And then, down dash'd they, every one;
When these same _belles_ began to dire,
'Twas well the workmen 'scaped alive:
Brunel, indeed, who knew full well
The nature of a _diving bell_,
Remain'd some time, nor made wry faces,
Within their aqueous embraces;
Nay, fierce and ungallant, adventured
To oust them by the breach they entered.
Vain man! 'twas well that he could swim,
Or, certes, they had ousted _him_.
Speed on great projects! though we rate 'em
_Rash_, for alluvial pomatum,
And under that a sandy stratum,
Will offer at a little distance
An insurmountable resistance.

How strange! to find the labour done
Just as the _sand_ begins to _run_;
In general human projects drop,
Just when our _sand_ begins to _stop!_

ANACREONTIC.

"THE WISEST MEN ARE FOOLS IN WINE."

The wisest men are fools in wine,
Experience makes us think:
Its magic spells are so divine,
We reason--yet we drink!

How short's the longest life of man,
How soon its brightest laurels fade--
Then, as our life is but a span,
Let all its hours be joyous made.

Wine o'er the ardent restless mind
Entwines its poppy chain;
A solace, then, the wretched find.
In fictions of the brain.

Oh! as the charmed glass we sip,
We conquer care and pain:
It woos like woman's dewy lip,
To kiss--and come again!

This Song has been admirably set to Music, and Sung with great
success, by MR. HENRY PHILLIPS.--It is published by MORI and
LAVENU, 28,