hould be pasted up.

Fog. 'Tis said the Deptford Sheer-hulk has been cleared
Of all its vagabonds, to bring it here.

Hot. This beats Whitechapel hollow. What's its weight?

Fog. About three hundred tons.

Bot. All solid steel?
A pond'rous weapon for a lady's handling!

Fog. No, stone with scratches on't; and here they say
They're making five-mile telescopes to read them!

But. Zounds! what a strapping hand she must have had!
Who was the sempstress?

Fog. Sir, a giantess,

About ten thousand yards--without her shoes,
Her thimble has been guessed, tho' rotten now,
To fill the place they call the Lake of Maris,
By Alexandria!--Nay, the noseless tilings
That sit upon their tails in Russell Street,
Were Cleopatra's pebbles, taws and dolls!

Bot. Why, what a monstrous thread she must have used!

Fog. The Chronicle here says--a patent twist
Of elephants' legs, and dromedaries' spines,
And buffaloes' horns!

Got. What was her favourite work?

Fog. (Rising majestically) Sir, she sewed pyramids!

All lift their hands and eyes in silence.--The Council adjourns.

~166~~ its lofty summit in Regent Place, and the western will shortly
outrival the eastern wonder of the metropolis.{1}

1 The Monument.

"Where London's column pointing to the skies,
Like a tall bull! lifts its head and lies."

"By the bye, let us once more extend our excursion to the Monument, the
day is delightful, and the atmosphere unclouded. We will approximate the
skies, and take a bird's-eye view of the metropolis." In conformity
with this suggestion the Squire submitted himself to the guidance of
his friend, and an aquatic trip being agreed on, they directed their
progress to Spring Garden Gate, and thence across the Park, towards
Westminster Bridge.

"A boat, a boat, your honour," vociferated several clamorous watermen,
all in a breath; of whose invitation Dashall took not any notice; "I
hate importunity," he observed to his friend. Passing towards the stairs
he was silently but respectfully saluted by a modest looking young man,
without the obtrusive offer of service.--"Trim your boat, my lad,"
this was the business of a moment; "now pull away and land us at the
Shades--'of Elysium,'" said the Squire, terminating the instructions