“—­qualis eram, quum primam aciem Praeneste sub ipsa
  Stravi, scutorumque incendi victor acervos;
  Et regem hac Herilum dextra sub Tartara misi!!”

And in some evil hour my time must come.

—­I am well aware, indeed, of the fleeting existence even of this world itself, for I studied astronomy with the celebrated M. Olbers of Bremen, and assisted him in making many useful observations and discoveries, particularly regarding comets, in the course of which we came to this melancholy conclusion, that the comet which was afterwards visible in 1786 and 1795, will, in 83,000 years, approach the earth as nearly as the moon; and that in 4,000,000 years it will come to within a distance of 7,700 geographical miles;—­the consequence of which will be (if its attraction be equal to that of the earth) the elevation of the waters of the ocean 13,000 feet; that is to say, above the tops of all the European mountains, except Mount Blanc.  The inhabitants of the Andes and of the Himalaya mountains alone will escape this second deluge; but they will not benefit by their good fortune more than 216,000,000 years, for it is probable, that at the expiration of that time, our globe standing right in the way of the comet, will receive a shock severe enough to ensure its utter destruction!!!

Note.—­After reading over the above MS., I am inclined to come to this conclusion—­that our historian, while in a human form, must have been a Scottish nobleman—­that he probably was born about the year 1501—­and that he lived to about the age of 89.—­Ed.

* * * * *

THE FANCY BALL.

“A visor for a visor! what care I
What curious eye doth quote deformities!”
SHAKSPEARE.

“You used to talk,” said Miss Mac Call,
“Of flowers, and flames, and Cupid;
But now you never talk at all. 
You’re getting vastly stupid. 
You’d better burn your Blackstone, Sir,
You never will get through it;
There’s a Fancy Ball at Winchester—­
Do let us take you to it.”

  I made that night a solemn vow,
    To startle all beholders: 
  I wore white muslin on my brow,
    Green velvet on my shoulders—­
  My trousers were supremely wide,
    I learn’d to swear “by Allah”—­
  I stuck a poniard by my side,
    And called myself “Abdallah.”

  Oh! a Fancy Ball’s a strange affair,
    Made up of silks and leathers,
  Light heads, light heels, false hearts, false hair,
    Pins, paint, and ostrich feathers: 
  The dullest Duke in all the town,
    To-night may shine a droll one—­
  And rakes, who have not half-a-crown,
    Look royal with a whole one.

  Hail, blest Confusion! here are met
    All tongues, and times, and faces,
  The Lancers flirt with Juliet,
    The Bramin talks of races;
  And where’s your genius, bright Corinne? 
    And where your brogue, Sir Lucius? 
  And Chinca Ti, you have not seen
    One chapter of Confucius.