A MANUAL, MORE ANCIENT THAN THE ART OF PRINTING, AND NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY CATALOGUE. THERE is a book, which we may call (Its excellence is such) Alone a library, though small; The ladies thumb it much. Words none, things numerous it contains: Ofttimes its leaves of scarlet hue A golden edging boast; Nor name nor title, stamp'd behind, But all within 'tis richly lined, The whitest hands that secret hoard Thence implements of every size, And form'd for various use, (They need but to consult their eyes) They readily produce. The largest and the longest kind A sort most needed by the blind, The full charg'd leaf, which next ensues, The smaller sort, which matrons use, The third, the fourth, the fifth supply Perform a nicer task. But still with regular decrease From size to size they fall, In every leaf grow less and less; The last are least of all. O! what a fund of genius, pent How luminous and clear. It leaves no reader at a loss Or posed, whoever reads: No commentator's tedious gloss, Search Bodley's many thousands o'er! Nor yet in Granta's numerous store, No!-rival none in either host Of this was ever seen, Or, that contents could justly boast, AN ENIGMA. A NEEDLE, Small as small can be, For little, and almost for nought, Yet though but little use we boast, Nor few artificers it asks, All skilful in their several tasks, One fuses metal o'er the fire, A second draws it into wire, The sheers another plies; Who clips in length the brazen thread A fifth prepares, exact and round, His follower makes it fast: And with his mallet and his file To shape the point, employs awhile Now therefore, Edipus! declare Its purpose with so much ado SPARROWS SELF-DOMESTICATED IN TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE. NONE ever shared the social feast, Or as an inmate or a guest, Beneath the celebrated dome Where once Sir Isaac had his home, Their nest they weave in hope of crumbs, And oft as with its summons clear The warning bell salutes their ear, Sagacious listeners to the sound, They flock from all the fields around, None more attentive to the call. FAMILIARITY DANGEROUS. As in her ancient mistress' lap They gave each other many a tap, But strife ensues. Puss waxes warm, And with protruted claws Ploughs all the length of Lydia's arm, Mere wantonness the cause. At once, resentful of the deed, She shakes her to the ground With many a threat that she shall bleed With still a deeper wound. |