together:--
(Oh, Wit! thou'rt like a little blue,
Soft cloud, in summer breaking through
A frowning one, and lighting it
Till darkness fadeth bit by bit;
And Whim to thee is near allied,
And follows closely at thy side;
So oft, oh, Wit! I'm told that she
By some folks is mista'en for thee;
Yet I may say unto my eyes,
Just whereabouts the difference lies;
One's diamond quite, and, to my taste,
The other is but _Dovey's Paste.)_--
He there a ready welcome found
From one who travell'd England round:
"Sir, your obedient--quite alone?
I'm truly happy you are come:
Pray, sir, be seated;--business dull;--
Or else this room had now been full;
Orders and cash are strangers here,
And every thing looks dev'lish queer;
Bad times these, sir, sad lack of wealth;
Must hope for better;--Sir, your health!"
Then added, with inquiring face,
"_Come to take Orders in this place_?"

"Yes, sir, I am," replied the priest:
"With that intent I came at least."
"Ha! ha! I knew it very well;
We business-men can others tell:
Often before I've seen your face,
Though memory can't recal the place--
Ah! now I have it; head of mine!
_You travel in the button line_?"

"Begging your pardon, sir, I fear
Some error has arisen here;
You have mista'en my trade divine,
But, sir, the worldly loss is mine--
_I travel in a much worse line_."

THE GIPSY'S HOME.

A GLEE.

Sung by Messrs. PYNE, NELSON, Miss WITHAM, and Master
LONGHURST.--Composed by Mr. ROOKE.

We, who the wide world make our home;
The barren heath our cheerful bed;
Careless o'er mount and moor we roam,
And never tears of sorrow shed.
But merrily, O! Merrily, O!
Through this world of care we go.

Love, that a palace left in tears,
Flew to our houseless feast of mirth:
For here, unfetter'd, beauty cheers,
The heaven alone that's found on earth!
Then merrily, O! Merrily, O!
Through this world of care we go.

SONNET.

THE BEGGAR.

Of late I saw him on his staff reclined,
Bow'd down beneath a weary weight of woes,
Without a roof to shelter from the wind
His head, all hoar with many a winter's snows.
All trembling he approach'd, he strove to speak;
The voice of misery scarce my ear assail'd;
A flood of sorrow swept his furrow'd cheek,
Remembrance check'd him, and his utt'rance fail'd.
For he had known full many a better day;
And when the poor man at his threshold bent,
He drove him not with achi