"
To Bacchus, his saint, our dejected recruit.
One morn, about drill time, thus proffer'd his suit--
"Oh make me a sparrow, a wasp, or an ape--
All's one, so I get at the juice of the grape."
The God was propitious--he instantly found
His ten toes distend and take root in the ground;
His back was a stem, and his belly was bark,
And his hair in green leaves overshadow'd the Park.
Grapes clustering hung o'er his grenadier cap,
His blood became juice, and his marrow was sap:
Till nothing was left of the muscles and bones
That form'd the identical toper, Jack Jones.
Transform'd to a vine, he is still seen on guard,
At his former emporium in Great Scotland-yard;
And still, though a vine, like his fellow-recruits,
He is train'd, after listing, his ten-drills, and shoots.
_New Monthly Magazine_.
* * * * *
THE SELECTOR; AND LITERARY NOTICES OF _NEW WORKS_.
* * * * *
THE JUVENILE KEEPSAKE,
Edited by Mr. Thomas Roscoe, and dedicated to Professor Wilson, is no
less attractive than its "Juvenile" rivals. Indeed, a few of the tales
take a higher range than either of theirs,--as the Children's Island, an
interesting Story, from the French of Madame Genlis; the Ball Dress; the
Snow Storm; and the Deserted Village. The Heir of Newton Buzzard, a Tale
in four cantos, by the late Mrs.
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