The apples that grew on the fruit-tree of knowledge By woman were pluck'd, and she still wears the prize To tempt us in theatre, senate, or college-- I mean the love-apples that bloom in the eyes. - Horace Smith and James Smith,

The three black graces, Law, Physic, and Divinity.

I saw them go; one horse was blind, The tails of both hung down behind, Their shoes were on their feet.

For dear is the Emerald Isle of the ocean, Whose daughters are fair as the foam of the wave, Whose sons unaccustom'd to rebel commotion, Tho' joyous, are sober--tho' peaceful, are brave.

Midnight, yet not a nose From Tower Hill to Piccadilly snored!

Hail, glorious edifice, stupendous work! God bless the Regent, and the Duke of York.

Hence, dear delusion, sweet enchantment hence! - Horace Smith and James Smith,