Star.
London, England, 1830-10-12 00:00:00

if7NTILLAC.

LUNATIC LAYS.
?ROM TRH WNW MONTHLY MAGAZINT.
" Adieu my Moustachios ! farewell to my Tip."
Adieu my moustachins--farewell to my tip,
Lost, lost is the pride of my chin and my lip ;
His Majesty wills it, like Sampson I'm crops,
And the killing career of Adonis is stopt.
The razors arc ruthless—my honours they nip,
Adieu my moustachios—farewell to my tip !
Alas ! what avails the loud clank of ray spurs,
What signify tassels, and feathers and furs ?
The padding above that the waist may look slim,
The trowsers compress'd to exhibit the limb,
My form I no longer exulting equip,
Adieu my moustachios ! farewell to my tip !
I know they deride a Commander who stoops,
To all foreign fashions to deck British troops ;
But surely the biggest look rather more big,'
In moustachios and tip--like a judge in his wig
I know I look mall with my sword on my hip,
Adieu my mustachios ! farewell to my tip !
When Laura last saw me, she own'd that the trod !
Contaln'd no moustachios so charmingly curl'd ;
She thought my head foreign, and unlike the skull
Of the money-bag, mercantile fellow, John Bull !
But now she will call me " contemptible rip !"
Adieu my moustachios ! farewell to my tip f
I went to the levee both pensive and pale,
I felt like a puppy-dog robb'd of his tail ;
The Duke eyed me coldly when notice I craved,
—Ah ! would he had seen me before I was shay..,' !
And as I kised hands, I'm afraid I let slip
"Adieu my moustachios farewell to my tip !"
Alt, at a mess dinner, how graceful to dip
My napkin, and wipe of the mess from my lip !
Thehair that grew on it was steep'd In each dish,
And nourisled by gravy—soup—sauces of fish—.
They are gone—and my claret I pensively sip,—
Adieu my moustachious ! farewell to my tip !
They were red—and I dyed them—and nose at the st.i.,
Which remains on the skin I scrub daily—ln vain !
The hair is shaved off, but a something is seen
Which I fear may be thought to look rather unclear.
I hope It don't look like a chimney-sweep's lip—
Adieu my moustachious ; farewell to my tip !
My principal reason, I frankly confess,
For bring a soldier at all,—was the dress ;
The line on my lip, and the dot on my chin,
Became me—the change is a horrid take in—
might just as well now have gone on board ship.
Adieu my moustachios, farewel to my tip !
I know that they deem it unmanly to weep,
So into half-pay I'll despondingly creep !
The star of my beauty is lost in eclipse !
I'll sit in seclusion and sigh for hair-lips !
The tears down my nose now incessantly drip_
Adieu my mustachios ! farewell to my tip

AWFUL INSTANCE OF RASH PASSION.
I once bad a friend, and have reason to grieve he
E'er saw the daughter of Benjamin Levi ;
For, having seen the sweet girl of the Jcw, he sigh'il,
That, now's a virgin to drive one to suicide !
A Christian can't marry het ; no, yet her loss if I
Surer, I feel that my bean will soon ossify I
I'll do what'll prove more the love than the wit o'me,
I'll swallow oxalic, then surely she'll pity me,
And garnish my grave with some few sprigs of rosemary.
Ile did as he said, and died crying, " Here goes, Mary
Fraser's lifagazila•

A Spanish Refugee brought over with him a little dog from Spain.
who lately died ; and in commemoration of this melancholy event,
his composed a sonnet, of which the following is a translation made by
an English lady :
TO MORON.
Through unknown crowds with weary step I roam,
A woe-worn wanderer on a foreign shore ;
And when 1 seek my solitary home,
Thy friendly welcome meets my ear no more.

How oft the fond expression of thine eyel
Beamed through the anguish of thy suffering frame !
How did thy trembling limbs impatient try
To spring responsive to the well-knowa newel
My faithful Guard ! on you deserted bed,
Near thy sad master did'st thou love to rest ;
But Death's cold hand his cruel venom spread,
Stilled the warm throbbing. of thy generous breass—
Snatched the last solace of my exiled state,
And left the Wanderer to his lonely fate.