ANACREON IN THE VULGAR TONGUE.

So my spirit was moved and I flew to the door,

And bade him come in till the night-storm was o'er.

He was crouched on the ground, but he rose— Skipped trippingly by me, and flew to the fire; First stirred up the embers, about to expire,

And then wip'd off the drop from his nose.

123

His spirit was cheered, and his prattle was gay;
With his mirth and the wine-cup, the time wil'd away,
Till he thought of his arrows and bow

"Has the storm spoiled my bowstring I wonder?"-he

tried:

An arrow aimed at me, and, as he shot,—cried,

"Well-I'm blow'd if you've not got it now."

BY THE

66

EDITOR OF THE WAG" AND FIGARO IN LONDON."

SAID old Apollo to himself one day,

"The Muses keep a precious time away,

Something detains them, what the devil is it?

I'm getting curious their fate to know;
Therefore I'll take a little trip below,

And to them on the earth I'll pay a visit."

* We copy this article from No. 1 of "THE WAG," a clever periodical, "written expressly" (excepting, allow us to say, what is stolen) by "Figaro in London," our quondam Editor. We do this in retaliation: but, in doing so, we cannot disgrace ourselves by imitating our Contemporary's meanness, in extracting whole sheets of our little periodical into the columns of a newspaper, without the least acknowledgment. Figaro's prolific genius could well afford to be more independent: but, at any rate, he should be cautious how he himself openly violates the "honour" and "justice" which, upon this very subject, he so insolently and repeatedly dictates to his " BRETHREN OF THE PRESS, whether daily, weekly, monthly, quarterly, or annual." It would be very spiteful in us, but we might, with equal" honour** and "justice," reprint all the matter of his Sixpenny "NEWSPAPER" in one half of the space, for One Penny,