of repair. Between nine and twelve at night, when
the gentleman had retired to rest, he was alarmed by hearing a noise; he
listened, the noise increased till the house rung with the repeated shocks;
he hastily sprung out of bed, and imagining it was the Rebels, he rushed
into the room where his servant slept; "Patrick, get up, the Rebels are
breaking in," said he, "Don't you hear the noise?" "Lord bless yer honor's
worship and glory, it's only the Daunder." "Daunder, sir, you rebel, the
Daunder, what do you mean?" The servant explained that the knocking was
regularly heard every night at the same time, and such was the case.
Various parts of the wall were pulled down, and the house almost rebuilt,
but to no purpose.

_Foley Place._
AN ANTIQUARY.

* * * * *

POEMS BY A KING OF PERSIA.

(_To the Editor._)

It is rather an unusual thing in the present age to hear of monarchs being
authors, and much more so of being poets. It is true, there have been
instances of this kind in former times; but perhaps none deserved more
notice than Fath Ali Shah, the King of Persia. The author of a collection
of elegies and sonnets, Mr. Scott Waring, in his "Tour to Sheeraz," has
exhibited a specimen of the king's amatory productions. He also states that
the government of Kashan, one of the chief cities in Persia, was the reward
of the king to the person who excelled in poetical composition.

The four subjoined poems are the production of this celebrated monarch.

WILLIAM RUNTING.

I.

She who is the object of my love
Has just declared she will not grant me
Another kiss, but at the price of my existence:
Ah! why have I not a thousand lives,
That I might sacrifice them all on these conditions.

The flame which she has enkindled in my heart
Is so bright, that it dazzles the universe:
It is a torch enclosed within crystal.
This heart is a Christian temple,
Wherein Beauty has established her sanctuary;
And the sighs which escape from it
Are like the loud ringing bells.[5]

Ah! too fascinating object! how dangerous
Are thy looks!--they wound indifferently
The hearts of young and old: they are
More to be dreaded than the fatal arrows of the mighty Toos.[6]
Delight us with a glimpse of thy lovely form;
Charm our senses by the elegance of thy attitudes;
Our hearts are transported by thy glances.
The proud peacock, covered with confusion,
Dares n