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After sonic time, a little Frenchman came,

One hand ilisplay'd a rushlight's trembling flame,

The other held a thing they call cnlotte; An old strip'd woollen nightcap grae'd his head, A tatter'd waistcoat o'er one shoulder spread,

Scarce half awake, he heav'd a yawning note. Though ihus untimely rous'd he courteous smil'd, And soon a.!dressed our wag in accents mild,

Bending his head politely to his knee— 'Pray, sare, vat vantyou, datyou come so late; * I beg yonr pardon, sare, to make you vait;

'Pray tell me. sare, vat your commands vid me?' 'Sir,' reply'd King, 'I merely thought to know, 'As by your house I chane'd to-night to go—.

'But really. I disturb'd your sleep I fear—'I say. I thought, that you perhaps could tell, 'Among the folks who in this street may dwell,

'If there 's a Mr. Thompson lodges here?' The shiv'ring Frenchman, tho' not pleas'd to find The business of this unimportant kind.

Too simple to suspect 'twas meant in jeer, Shrugg'd out a sigh that thus his rest should break, Then with unalter'd courtesy, he spake—

'No, sare, no Monsieur Tonson lodges here.' Our wag begg'd pardon, and toward home he sped, While the poor Frenchman crawl'd again to bed;

But King, resolv'd not thus to drop the jest,
So the next night, with more of whim than grace,
Again he made a visit to the place,
To break once more the poorolil Frenchman's rest.

He knocked—but waited longer titan before;
Mo footstep seem'd approaching to tiie door,

Our Frenchman lay in such a sleep profound; King, with the knocker, thunder'd then again, Firm oti his post determin'd to remain f

And oft indeed ho made the door resound.


At last King hears Iiim o'erthe passage creep, Wondering what fiend again disturb'd his sleep; .

The wag salutes him with a civil leer; Thus drawling out, to heighten the surprise, (While the poor Frenchman rubb'd his heavy eyes)

'Is there—a Mr. Thompson—lodges here?' The Frenchman faulter'd with a kind of fright— 'Vy, sare, I'm sure I told you, sare. last night—

(And here he labnur'd with a sigh sincere)
No Monsieur Tonson in de varld I know,
No Monsieur Tonson here—1 told you so;

Indeed, sare, dare no Monsieur Tonson here!'
Some more excuses tender'd, off King goes,
And the old Frenchman sought once more repose*

The rogue next night pursued his old career— 'Twas long indeed before the man came nigh, And then he utter'd in a piteous cry,

'Sare, 'pon my soul, no Monsieur Tonson here!' Our sportive wight his usual visit paid, And the next night came forth a prattling maid:

Whose tongue indeed than any jack went faster; Anxious she strove his errand to enquire, He said ''tis vain her pretty tongue to tire,

He should not stir till he had seen her master.'

The damsel then began, in doleful state,
The Frenchman's broken slumbers to relate,

ATid begg'd he'd call at proper time of day— King told her she must fetch her master down, A chaise was ready, he was leaving town,

But first had much of deep concern to say.

Thus urg'd she went the snoring man to call,
And long indeed was sheoblig'd to bawl,

E're she could rouse the torpid lump of clay—
At last he wakes—he rises—and he swears,
But scarcely had he totter'd down the stairs,

When King attacks him in the usual way.


The Frenchman now perceiv'd 'twas all in vain
To this tormentor mildly to complain,

And strait in rage began his crest to rear— •Sare, vat the devil make you treat me so? 'Sare, I inform you, sare, three nights ago, 'Got tam, 1 swear, no Monsieur Tonson here!' True as the night, King went and heard a strife Betsveen the harrass'd Frenchman and his wife,

Which would descend to chase the fiend away;
At length to join their forces they agree,
And strait impetuously they turn the key,
Prepard with mutual fury for the fray.
Our hero, with the firmness of a rock,
Collected to receive the mighty shock,

Utt'ring the old enquiry, calmly stood—
The name of Thompson rais'd the storm so high,
He deem'd it then the safest plan to fly,

With, "Well, I'll call when you 're in gentler mood.' In short, our hero, with the same intent, Full many a night to plague the Frenchman went—

So fond of mischief was the wicked wit; They threw out water—for the watch they call, But King expecting, still escapes from all—

Monsieur at last was fore'd his house to quit:
Ithappen'd that our wag about this time,
On some fair prospect sought the Eastern clime,
Six ling'ring years were there his tedious lot;
At length, content, amid his rip'ning store,
He treads again on Britain's happy shore,

And his long absence is at once forgot.
To London, with impatient hope he flies,
And the same nigfit, as former freaks arise,

He fain must stroll the well known haunt to trace; 'All, here's the scene of frequent mirth,' he said, 'My poor old Frenchman, I suppose, is dead— < Egad, I'll knock and see who holds his place.'


With rapid strokes he makes the mansion roar, And while he eager eyes the op'tiing door, »

Lo! who obeys the knocker's rattling peal? Why e'en our little Frenchman, strange to say, He took his old abode that very day— .

Capricious turn of sportive Fortune's wheel!

Without one thought of the relentless foe,
Who fiend-like, haunted him so long ago,

Just in-his former trim he now appears;
The waistcoat ami tlie night cap seem'd the same,
With rushlight as before, he creeping came,

And King's detested voice, astonish d. hears.

As if some hideous spectre struck his sight,
His senses seem'd bewilder'd witli affright,

His face, indeed bespoke a heart full sore— Then starting, heexclaim'd, in rueful strain, 'Begar! here \s Monsieur Tonson come again!'

Away he ran—and ne'er was heard of more!



Who has e'er been in London, that overgrown

place, Has seen • lodgings to Let.' stare him full in the face: Some are good, and let dearly; while some, 'tis

well known. Are so dear, and so bad, they arc best let alone.

Will Waddle, whose temper was studious and

lonely, Hired lodgings that took Single Gentlemen only; But Will was so fat he appear'd like a tun ;— Or like two Single Gentlemen, roll'd into One.


He enter'd his rooms, and to bed he retreated; But, all the night long, he felt fever'd and heated; And, tha' heavy to weigh, as a score of fat sheep, He was not, by any means, heavy to sleep.

Next night 'twas the same!—and the next;—and

the next; He perspired like an ox; he was nervous, and vex'd; Week pass'd after week ; till by weekly succession, . His weakly condition was past all expression.

In six months, his .acquaintance began much to

doubt him; For his skin,' like a lady's loose gown, hung about

him; He sent for a Doctor and cried, like a ninny, 'I have lost many pounds—make me well—there's

a guinea.'

The Doctor look'd wise:—' a slow fever,' he said: Prescribed sudorificks,—and going to bed. 'Sudorificks in bed, (exclaim'd Will) are humbugs; 'I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs.'

Will kick'd out the Doctor:—hut when ill indeed, E'en dismissing the Doctor don't always succeed; So. calling his host.—he said,—' Sir do you know, 'I'm the fat single Gentleman, six months ago?

'Look 'e, landlord, I think,' argued Will, with a

grin, 'That with honest intentions you first took me in; 'But from the first night—and to say it I'm bold'1 have been sodamn'dhot, that I'm sure I caught


Quoth the landlord-' till now, I ne'er had a dispute; 'I've let lodgings ten years;—I'm aBaker to boot; E

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