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Vol. II. 







** anvir 'a 


Vol. II 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, 
in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the Southern 
District of New York. 

13 Clmmbera Sueet. N. T. 


S3S IX^ 



Pakdemus Poltolott 7 

Three Goblets or Wine (from the 6reek)L 25 

Judy Callaghan (rendered into Latin Verse) 26 

MoNsiEUB Judas (after B6ranger)L 28 

Roger Ooodfellow (after B^ranger). 80 

Backe and Side go Bare (in Latin Verse) 82 

At mt Time of Day 83 

Farewell, Beggarly Scotland (in Latin Verse). 84 

French Slang Song from Vidooq 36 

Death nr the Pot 41 

LuoruH ON THE Deatu of Sir Daniel Donnelly 47 

Child Daniel, by Lord Byron. — Sorrow is Dry, by Dr. Scott» the 
Odontist — Letter from Wordsworth; Extract from a Great Auto- 
Biographical Poem; Sir Daniel Donnelly, a Ballad. — Letter from 
Odoherty; Odonnelly, an Ode by Morgan Odoherty. — Letter from 
Mr. Seward; (Jllaloo, a Greek Elegy. — Latin Version of the Ulla- 
loo. — Hebrew Dirge, by Dr. John Barrett — Jenning's Dirge over 
Donnelly. — Greek Epitaph on the Broiser. — Dowden's Lamenta- 
tion. — Speech at the Cork Institution 50 

John Gilpin and Mazeppa 88 

The Embalmer (Hatin Translations). 93 

Take thy Old Cloak about Thee.— July the First— The Groves of 

Blarney. — Mary Ambree — Sir Tristrem. — Epitaphs 96 

Ibbh Melodies 108 

St Patrick ("A fig for St Dennis of France.**) — Lament of a Con- 
naught Ranger. — Rafferty's Advice. — The Gathering of the Maho- 

nys. — A Real Irish " Fly not yet** — The Impassioned Wave. 108 

Letter- Wrfting •* . . . 118 

Byron to Murray <,,, 125 

Ode to Mi^ Flanagan 127 

Ode to Mamhat. Gbougby « « 'S^^ 



No. 1. — Winifred Jenkins. 13S 

No. 2. — Dicky Gossip 139 

No. 8. — Author of Waverley. 145 

Dbink Away! 152 

Drouthiness (a Parody) 153 

A Ladleful from the Devil's Punch Bowl 156 

A Festal Ode. — What constitutes a Feast f — Lord Byron's Combolio . 1 67 
Royal Visit to Ireland (August, vdoogxxi) — 
The King's Landing. — A Welcome to His Majesty. — Odoherty's Im- 
promptu. -^Translation of the Royal Adventus. . ♦.• 164 

Who wrote "The Groves of Blarney"? 181 

Free and Easy Translations of Horace 182 

Remarks on Shelley's " Adonais". 190 

First Notes of an Incipient Ballad-Metre-Monoer • 201 

The Wine-Bibber!8 Glory — A New Song. 205 

Latin Translation of the same 206 

A RxTNNiNo Commentary on the Rfiter Bann 210 

Gritiqub on Lord Byron 219 

Modern English Ballads — 

Spring's Return. — The Lament for Thurtell 226 

Moore-ish Melodies — 
The Last Lamp of the Alley. — Tis the Last Glass of Claret — Rich 
and Rare. — Tom Stokes Lived Once. — Billingsgate Music -^ To a 

Bottle of Old Port — To the Finish I Went 230 

Anecdotes and Facetue 234 

The Route 245 

A Happy New-Year 248 

Henderson tde Historian 250 

Parody on Wordsworth 263 

A Traveller's Week. , 264 

Letter from a Washerwoman 279 

The Night Walker 292 

Song of the Sea. 800 

New Horatian Readings 801 

Fibst Love 804 

Tbe Crabstick. 318 

Sonnet * . . , 814 

Paneoybio on Colonel Pride 815 

The Equality of the Sexes ; 823 

Letters from the Dead to the Living 327 

"iDne Last Words of Charles Edwards, Esq. 843 



srtie ^^notftvt^ ^nptva. 

It has been well observed by aomebody, that any man could 
make an interesting book if he would only give, honestly and 
without reserve, an account of such things as he himself had 
seen and heard ; but if a man should add to this a candid history 
of his remarkable friends and acquaintance, how infinitely would 
he enhance the interest of his own ! Some folks call this method 
of biography prosy— Heaven help their unphilosophical 8hoi*t- 
sightedness ! Wherein consists the charm of Benvenuto Cellini's 
account of himself, which nobody can deny to be the ne plug 
ultra of all conceivable autobiographies % Why, it clearly arises 
from these two sources-: first, from his not scrupling to give a 
straightforward narrative of every shadow of an adventure he 
lighted upon, not hesitating a moment to tell the whole truth at 
least, however often he may be so obliging as to favour us with 
a matter of ten times as much as that same ; and, secondly, from 
the number of persons and personages he introduces his reader 
to, from the magnificent Francis to the unhappy engraver (I 
think), whom he despatched in so judicious a manner by that 
memorable thrust of his dagger into the back of the poor man's 

* Thii article, evidently suggested by Father Prout's admirable translations 
and paraphrases, appeared in BUukwood for October, 1837. ^ M. 


neck, whereby he so scientifically separated the vertebraj, and 
interrupted the succession of the spinal marrow, to the immedi- 
ate attainment of his laudable object — to wit, the release of his 
fellow-sinner from his worldly sorrows. Again, in the other sex, 
from the lovely and capricious Duchess of Florence, with her 
rings and cameos and trumpery, down to the frail fair one whose 
fondness for Benvenuto so repeatedly jeopardized his capacity 
for enjoying ,the same. But there is a third charm about the 
good artist's book, and this may, perhap% outweigh the other 
two — namely, his introduction of the heroes and magnates of 
his age en deskahille. Truly, if he who can show us a king, two 
popes, a reigning duke or two, duchesses, nobles, courtiers, and 
cardinals by the squadron, all in dressing-gowns and slippers, be 
not set up in the high places among those who have delighted 
their fellows, wherewithal shall a man claim that distinction 1 
But I flatter myself, that chaiming as Benvenuto is, I must even 
supersede him by as much as learning is of more account than 
throat or marble-cutting, and learned men than heroes, &c. 

But the world is not going at this time to enjoy the full bene- 
fit of my experiences. Let it suflSce for the present that I afford 
mankind a glimpse of one of the most remarkable of men ; one 
of those who leave their "reputation as a legacy to their species, 
having had the uncommon forbearance to abstain from impaiiing 
the same in any degree by enjoying it themselves. 

Without farther preface then, reader, give me leave to pre- 
sent to you Doctor Pandemus Polyglott, LL.D., Lugd. Bat. Olim. 
Soc, member of no end of societies, literary, and antiquarian, 
historical, philosophical, &c. &c. I would give you his tail of 
initials at full length, if it were not that I have generally found 
the dullest people take most pains in this behalf — and the Doc- 
tor is not dull — and, moreover, he has won by his pen a tail so 
considerable that it could not be doubled up in less than twice the 
space of that which the great Hero of the age, WcUmgton, has 
carved out with his sword, and which may be found occupying a 
good half page of the Army List. Besides, Dr. Polyglott is a liv- 
ing character ; and though now as fine a specimen of an octoge- 
narian as may be met with in a June day's march, yet he has not 
done winning to himself those bright scholarly honours which so 


safely ensure to their possessers an enviable obscurity with ref- 
erence to the generality of people. 

The Doctor, though a colossus of mind, has had the firmness 
through life to forego all those mundane advantages which his 
wondrous powers must have obtained for him, had such been his 
pleasure ; and as in early life he gave himself up to the allure- 
ments of classical literature, so with a constancy seldom rivalled 
did he in manhood, and in age still does he adhere to the same 
sweet mistress. The fruits of this affection are manifold, as some 
forty MS. folios testify ; but while the Doctor lives, his intimates 
alone will have the benefit of their acquaintance ; for he is far 
too chary of his own personal comfort, too sensible of his own. 
dignity, to sacrifice the one, or diminish his own proud sense of 
the other, by trusting the smallest of his learned labours to the 
capiice or indifference of a world engaged for the most part in 
pursuits which he looks down upon with pity, and would regard, 
if he were less good than he is, with contempt. 

But these limits will not allow me to do justice to a tithe of 
the merits of my worthy Nestor ; so, reader, we (you and I) 
must be content with what the allotted space will admit. You 
will not be surprised, after the slight insight I have given you 
into the character of Dr. Polyglott's mind, and the extent of his 
erudition, to learn that the good cheerful old man is altogether 
" wrapt and throwly lapt" in reminiscences and thoughts, the 
beginning, middle, .and end whereof are classical. 

"Ay, ay, boy," said he to me (I am forty-five) one day, when 
I had been lauding and magnifying sundry of our own poets in 
his presence,- "Ay, ay, boy, call *em poets if you will — mere 
mushrooms — Shakspere — didst ever hear of Sophocles? — 
Jonson — Bah ! — poor neoteric stuff — vernacular. There is but 
one good couplet in the language, only one." 

"And whose is that, sir?" I ventured to ask. 


I was thunderstruck, so often had I heard the old man revile 
" Pope, the Anti-Homeric," as he delighted to call him, " the 
clipper of the old Greek's solid coin, to reduce it to the beggarly 
standard of wit's imderstanding." 

" Pope's, sir," said I, in wonder ; " pray, repeat it." 



Slowly and deliberately did the Doctor recite — 

" They who a living marble seek, 
Must cane in Latin or in Greek." 

Never till tliis hour had I dreamt of the possibility of the 
Doctor having read a line of English poetry, except m a trans- 
lation, and I ventured to hint thus much. 

" Not read English poetry !** said he, " why, half my amuse- 
ments would be at an end were it not for your so-called poets — 
common plagiarists. Not one of them but goes out on the high- 
way to plunder the old Greeks and Romans, Oh ! how I love 
to nab the filchers." 

Here was new ground broken between me and the Doctor, 
and right well have I profited by it ; in almost every branch of 
modem poetry have I tried him, and almost invariably has he 
shown me that our great men are but pickers-up of the crumbs 
that have fallen from the tables of their masters, of old parallel 
passages that most men can quote. But what astonishes me 
most, is the readiness with which the Doctor detects whole 
pieces translated from the more obscure ancients ; many of them, 
indeed, whose works are generally believed to be lost entirely. 
Having been frequently startled at this, I thought I would set 
him with a poem, for which he could have no ancient parallel ; 
accordingly, one evening, I read him, from the Anti-Jacobin, 
Canning's Knifegrinder. 

" The variet !" cried the Doctor, "reach me vol. 17 of the MSS." 

I gave it him, and forthwith did he spread before my eyes the 
following : 

Sair^fKO. Saj*phica. 

h tfuXca^Opwiros km 6 ffidripoTtKruv. Philanthropus kt Faber Ferrarius. 
^i\av0p6nrot, Di algous. 

mj fiaZt(€iSf vruXe <n9ripoT€icrov ; Philanthropus. 

Tj 0* Wo$ orv^\Tif ff<f>d\€pot 6* 6 Kv " Hinc ita quonam, Faber o egene f 

kXos • Et via horrescit, rota claudicatque ; 

4a;xpos ci, Kaxovtri irepiffKeXriy km Flat notus ; rimis petasus laborat, 

rprifM ya\ripos, Tritaque bracca. 

obK iyctvos oiSf, ci^ripoT^KTov, " O Father languens, patet baud su- 

6<mt iv Zi^pois fiaXwcoKTi KXivei, perbis, 

Zfiyov &s Kpa^cu ** ^fxXidas re ^ye9 Appia ut rbedis habet otiantes. 

Tide fJMXcupas." Quid sit ad cotem vocitare cultms 

Fissaque ferra. 



riv Tvpavvos o*' iupv^oi ^9iirt} ey / 
^ fityas (T* 6 yatOKparofp ; 6 wp€<rfivs s 
il K^tKos alffxp^si 

^Simif' i ycuoKparrctp ff€ B-^prnv 
Kfifi€V09u ; il <^ €ic86icaT6i;s* 6 wptfffivs s 
^ *k5(icot XpoTijs dreyeyjcc <roi; to 

(oitrOa TofJLTovov **Mtpoiruy to xpf" 

(TrayfjLaT* oiicroi* ip fi\t^apoiv Tpwvffa', 
iiar€(royT* itirifs droroy <rv viKpas 
/A»$oy iiwias, 

fivBov; wTovof ivos oitK ix» Ti* 
iy iea'wri\€i^ 8* 6t* irwoy ix^^h 
fiov yaXripoy ^8€ wtpurK^Kii ris 
8puifr* iy &ymyL 

kWa pafitovxot rort /a* eiAoy hfipts, 
iiyayoy 8c /*' a&riKu irpos 8fica(rn}y • 
X09 BiKcumis woioKcucj} fi* iOrjKty 
uffrt irXayrjra, 

yvv 8ff x^P^^V^ A^^T" ^01 wpowtytty, 
8c(nrora, (uOov 8cirar, ct (rv 8o<))r 
tpaxM"* ^(Miy* * &\X* ouirore fioi ra fiw 
vokiriKa /ucXAci. 

dpax^a (Toi : rax* ^^' arSvjy &rcA.0f, 
o'x^i'^^^t ^* TU'cii' Kojca Tocr^r* &i3ovX€<St 
^vA*, ityaiffOijr\ oSoKtftourr*, &€iKf t, 
^ici3oXi/u\ cuppoy. 

" Die, Faber, cultros ticuisse quia te 
£gil7 anne in to locuples tyniniius 
Saevii ? tcme dominus ? siiccrdos 7 
Cuusidicusvo 1 

" Ob fenu terne dominus necatua ? 
Aut tenax poscens decumaa saccrdos f 
Lite vel i^em causidicus malignd 
Abstulit omnem? 

" Nonne ndsti * Jura Horainum* Paini T 
Ecce ! palpebris lacrymse tremiscunt, 
Inde casune simul explicftris 

Tristia fata." 

"Fata — Dii magni ! nihil e«t quod 

Ni quod hcstemt ut bibercm in popini 
Nocte lis orta ! heu ! periere braccse 
Atque galeius. 

" Pacis occurrunt mihi turn ministri, 
Meque Praetoris ropiunt ad aulam : 
Praetor erronis properat numellil 
Figcre plnntas." 

" Jnmque gaudebo tibi si propinenfi 
Poculum, tete mihi dante nummum; 
Me tamen stringo, neque, pro virili, 
PubJica euro." 

"An tibi nummum? potius ruinnm; 
Ferdite, ulcisci mala tanta nolens ; 
Sordide, infeliXi inhoneste, prave 

Turpis et excors." 

The Friend of Humanity and the Knifbgrinder 

Friend of Humanity. 
" Needy Knifegrinder ! whither art thou going? 
Rough is the road ; thy wheel is out of order; 
Bleak blows the bhist; your hat has got a hol« in»t, 
So hava your breeches. 


" Weary knifogrindor, little know the proud ones. 
Who in their coaches roll along tho turn pike- 
Road, what hard work 'tis crying all day, * Knives and 
Scissors to gi-ind 0/ 

" Tell me, Knifegrinder, liow came you to grind knives 7 
Did some rich man tyrannically use you 7 
Was it tho 'squire 7 or parson of the parish 7 
Or the attorney 7 

" Was it the 'squire for killing of his game 7 or 
Covetous parson for his tithes destraining 7 
Or roguish lawyer made you lose your little 

All iu a lawsuit 7 

'* Have you not read the ' Rights of Man' hy Tom Puine 7 • 

Drops of coniposijion tremble on my eyelids, 
Ready to fall as soon as you have told your 
Pitiful story." 

** Story ! God bless yoii7 I have none to tell, sir; 
Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers, 
This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were 
Torn in a scuffle. 

** Constables came up for to take me into 
Custody ; they took me before the justice ; 
Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish 

Stocks for a vagrant. 

" I should be glad to drink your honor's health in 
A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence; 
But for my part I never love to meddle 

With politics, sir." 

Fiiend of Humanity. 
** I give thee sixpence ! I will see thee damn'd first. 
Wretch, whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance ; 
Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded. 

Spiritless outcast." 

"There, sir," cried the Doctor; "even George Canning's 
hands were not quite so clean, you see ; now I will tell you 
how, as I take it, he came by the original. In the University 
Library at Leyden, where I first got my fellowship, were near 
a cart-load of MSS. of various ages and languages. The greater 
part of these had, as far as I could learn,, never been examined, 
and they were indeed considered as little better than lumber. 


Fired by the success wliich had attended Angelo Mai's research- 
es in a similar field, I diligently set about examining, collating, 
and transcribing these MSS. Among the rest was a small vol- 
ume of <iattei*ed parchment*, of singularly ancient appearance, and 
grievously decayed by the action of damp and vermin. To this, 
which was apparently a MS. of the tenth century, I devoted my 
most serious attention, and succeeded in deciphering the present 
very curious dialogue, which is, I believe, unique, and two other 
poems. The Latin version was made by Professor Groetbaum, 
who printed the three poems, and circulated an impression of 
^ve copies among his most select friends. One of these copies 
was purchased at the sale of Professor Krautstuffer's library, 
after his death, by an Englishman named Heber, I think, who 
came express from London upon the occasion, and gave for the 
tract a sum equal to about forty-two pounds English. From 
this copy, I doubt not, arose George Canning's translation." 

Turning over the leaves of the folio the Doctor had bid me 
reach for him, my eye lighted upon the following anacreontic, 
which I very easily i-ecollected as an old English acquaintance, 
in spite of his present Greek costume. I named this fact to the 
Doctor, and ventured to suggest the possibility of his having 
been imposed upon by some of his scholarly friends at Leyden : 
but I will first transcribe the poems, Greek and English, and 
then give the reader Dr. Polyglott's highly interesting account : — 

th /xvMv TTtvovffOp otvov. Written extempore by a Oentlematij oe. 

iroXuf/ry«, woXvxpayfiov, canoned by a fiy drinking otU of hi§ 

iy€ SijTo, ffvfJimu/JLty '* Busy, curious, tliirsty fly, 

fieya X"^^ ' ^^' f''^^ ^"^^ Drink with me and drink as I ; 

fifOv iray rod\ ^v Zvytitr-p Freely welcome to my cup, 

po<p€€iy viv fxpoipuv Tc. Couldst thou sip, and sip it up. 

dp€vt vw fiiov ra rtpirva, Make the most of life you mny, 

iXijos fiios, $paxvs re. Life is short and fades tfway. 

6 9* ifMS re cos $* dfioiw, " Botli alike are mine and thine, 

T€\os a/i^w elarpcxovTt, Hastening quick to their decline ; 

Oepof iv ffos eo-T* ifxoi 56 Thine*8 a summer, mine no more, 

rr\€oy ovBey itrrip, ii km Though repeated to threescore. 

rpit iv€<mw iiKoa' aitrtp. Threescore summers, when they're gonei 

0«p«* &s rpis uKoff* *t(ray, WiU oppear as short as one! 
fipax** &s KM kv ^cvovrrai. 


" Marvellous !" cried the Doctor, when I had recited to hhn 
this well-known song — " Mai-vellous ! That ode, sir, I doubt 
not, was written by Anacreon himself. That the Aovywor al y^vaius* 
should be admitted into all collections, while this is rejected, ap- 
pears to me the consummation of critical injustice/' 

" As how, sir r 

" Why, you know, tlie Xeyatv «. X. r.' was discovered by Henri 
Estienne on an old book-cover. 

" Assuredly, sir," continued the Doctor. " When the vellum 
came to be stripped from the cover, and strictly examined, on 
the other side appeared the ode, of which this unknown transla- 
tor has tried to palm off his version upon us for an original drink- 
ing-song. Too bad — too bad ! No doubt, copies of both odes 
were taken, and, less doubt, they were distributed among the 
literati of that time, by which means some stray copy having»in 
a later age fallen into the hands of our anonymous plagiary, he 
has done this evil thing." 

The Doctor, like most other persons of taste, is much addicted 
to music, and in his early days was no mean proficient therein ; 
but his great age now materially interferes with his enjoyment 
of this pleasure, for he is somewhat deaf, and, as he facetiously 
observes, there are trumpeters enough in concert-rooms without 
him. However, he does not altogether abstain from the delights 
of harmony, for it is his rule to attend one concert, and only one, 
during the season. On these occasions I am always his com- 
panion ; and in the course of this duty last season, I had a veiy 
striking proof of his readiness in detecting plagiarism. We were 
at the Hanover Square Booms, and it was a benefit concert, I 
forget whose, but all the musical magnates in London were there. 
Presently appeared Henry Phillips* to sing his admirable ditty, 
" Woman." During the song I observed that the Doctor ap- 
peared surprised and somewhat puzzled ; when it was over, he 
desired me to refer to the libretto, and tell him the author's name ; 
it was written down as by Geo. Withers. 

" It is a robbery," said the Doctor. 

" It is a mutilation," said I. " Some hod-and-mortar litera- 

* The celebrated bnn'rone wnger.— M. 


tear has been paring down to concert-room dimensions one of 
the few lyrics that give Withers a claim to the title of poet." 

. " Oh ho !" cried the Doctor ; " then when we get home I will 
show yon what a thief even a puritan may be." 

Our conversation was here interrupted by the .ippearance of 
an elegant young lady, who came forward and sung the follow- 
ing song, which, to my no small amusement, and tlie equal an- 
noyance of sundry of his neighbors, the Doctor actually accom- 
panied with its monkish original ; thus — ^ 

Dr. Poltglott. Youno Ladt. 

O Terns ptiella, Child of Eaitli, 

Auricoma, bella. With the golden hnir! 

MenA puraque, et ora Thy soul is too pure, 

Te vptant decoi-a And thy face too fair, 

Incolere tribus To dwell with creatures 

Mortalium, quibus Of mortal mould, 

Sunt verba fervoHs Whose lips ure warm 

At corda rigoris. As their henits are culd. 

Nobiscum vognre. Roam, Roam 

Fit domus in aere ; To our fairy home. 

O Terne puella, Child of Earth, 

Auricoma, bclla ! With the golden hair ! 

Sis pars chorearum Thou shalt dunce 

Cum summa nymphamm With the Fairy Queen 

In nocte lestiva, O' summer nights 

Sub Cynthia viva. On the moon-lit green, 

Dum Musica tales To music murmuring 

Dat sonitus quales Sweeter ftir 

Non quisquam audivit Than ever was heard 

Sub sole qui vivit 'Neath the morning star. 

Roam, i*oam, &c. 

Great was the Doctor's glee at this detection, and greater was 
mine at his mode of making it known. Indeed all was glee with 
ns that evening ; and when we had returned home, and disposed 
of that sine quh non of all sensible amusement-hunters, a light 
supper after the play or concert, or whatever it may be, and the 
Doctor's meerschaum (one of his Leyden habits) was in high 
puff, we naturally took to talking over the evening's entertain- 
ment. Of course the various performers passed in review, and, 
among the rest, Phillips escaped not the hearty commendatioqs 
of both of us. 



" By the by," said the Doctor, " you called his * Woman* a 
mutilation — have you the ballad as written by Withers?" 

" I have," said I, producing a volume of Ritson's Collection. 

" And here is its original," said the Doctor, laying his hand 
on one of the aforenamed vols, of his MSS. *' Now let us read 
— begin thou" — and I began — 

Dr. Poltolott. 

Anno ego deposit! s tabescam viribns exspes, 

Et patiar cum sit fcemina pulcra mori ? 
Anne meas pallore genas cum anxia tinget, 

Quod petit alterius mala colore rosam ? 
Exsuperet splendore diem sine labe venustas, 

Florigerumve parit quod nova Maia decus; 
Illi ni videar qui aim bene dignus amalu, 

Egregium refert quid decus omne mihi 7 

Anno ego collabi patiar mea corda dolore, 

Quod mansueta fuit faemina visa mihi ? 
Ingonio vel qaae cum sit bene prsedita culto, 

Ora simul monstret qualia adoret amor? 
Si pietute su&, si mansuetudine laudes 

Turtui-is exsuperet, vel, pclicane, tuas ; 
In mo ni pia sii, ni sit mansueta puelbi. 

Quid refett pietas ojQ^ciosa mihi ? % 

Fcemina quod pi-aestatreiiquisbonitate, movcbit 

Ergone dum peream me muliebris amor? 
Sint menta illius summi dignissima laude, 

Nonne igitur meriti sim mempr ipse mei ? 
, Actu si bonitas ita conspiciutur in omni, 

Ut ductum e mentis Optima nomen ent; 
Me nisi paiticipem placeat bonitatis habere, 

Quid refert quanta sit bonitate mihi ? 

Quod Fortuna nimis videatur lorga puellse, 
Anne ego desipiens in mala fata ruam ? 
Mos estingeniumqueis nobile, puraque mens 
Exigute quandd comperiuntur opes. 
Quid cum divitiis fkcerent reputare salaces 

Qui gazi fiunt deficiente proci. 
Et nisi fas in eS talem mihi ceraere mentem 
^uid refert, quamvis magna puella mihi T 


Shall I wasting in despair, 
Die because a woman's fairf 
Or make pale my cheek with care, 
Because another's rosy are f 
Be she fairer than the day, 
Or the flowei7 fields in May ; 
If she think not well of me. 
What care I how fair she bef 

Should my heart be grieved or 

'Cause I see a woman kind f 
Or a well-disposed nature 
Joined with a lovely feature? 
Be she meeker, kinder than 
Turtle-dove or pelican ; 
If she be not so to me, 
What care I how kind sho be T 

Shall a woman's virtues move 
Me to perish for her love ? 
Or her well-deservings known 
Make me quite forget my own f 
Be she with such goodness blest 
As may gain her name of Best : 
If sho be not such to me, 
Wh^it care I how good sho bet 

'Cause her fortune seems too high. 
Shall I play the fool and die? 
Tiiose that bear a noble mind. 
When they want of nches find, 
Think what with them ihey 

would do, 
Who without them dare to woo ; 
And unless that mind I see , 
What care I though great she 



Magna siti atit bona, sit mtiusueta aut deniqtie Great, or good, or kind, or fair, 

pulchra, I will ne'er the mom despair— 

Spem me non igitur desliluisse sinam ; If she love me, lliis believe, 

lu me, crede milii, foveat si pectas amorem, I will die ere she shall grieve ; 

Ipse prtus patiar qu&m gemnt ilia mori ; If she slight me when I woo. 

Quod si sincerd parvi me pendat amantem, I can scorn and let her go; 

In i-em contemptae fns sit abire molam : If she be not made for me, 

Scilicet lit plncent mihi ni sit fucla pnellti, Whnt cure I for whom she bef 

Quid i-efeit cui sit facta puella milii ? 

" A pretty tolerable proof of disregard to the Eighth Com- 
mandment, I think," contmned the Doctor ; *' but don't let us 
be too hard upon poor George ; he was a fine fellow in his waj, 
and, sorry as was the imbbish he perpetrated in after time, this 
song must be admitted to be far above much of the same kind 
of poetry at that day; — it is, at least, a most excellent trans- 

" Surely, sir," said I, ** the author of that poem must haye 
been proud of his translator." 

" Possibly," replied the Doctor, " if he understood English ; 
but I suspect two bars to the author's enjoyment — first, his not 
understanding the language ; and, secondly, his not having lived 
to Withers' s time. In short, the author is unknown. I take him 
to have been some one of the Belgic writers of the earlier part 
of the 16th century — Hadrian Marius, perhaps, or one of those 
bright satellites, revolving round the planet of Julius Gsesar 

I ventured to suggest to Dr. Polyglott the possibility of some 
more modem bard having translated Withers's English into 
Latin ; and reminded the Doctor of the great number of excel- 
lent songs produced about the date of that under discussion, viz. 
1620. I remember particularly specifying Waller's " Rose," as 
of surpassing excellence in its line. But I had taken an unfor- 
tunate view of the matter : my first suggestion called forth from 
the Doctor a most vigorous expression of contempt for my judg- 
ment. Good old man ! I think I see him now, as, im* 6(ppwr' ii<av, 
and emitting a fog of reek from both ends of his ecujne de mer, 
he curled his lip and cried, " Translate English into Latin ! Fie, 
oh, fie ! The world never yet held a fool capable of such ab- 
surdity. Why sir, it would be to dress a lazar in a royal robe. 


But it is too gross a notion to be entertained — pooh !" and forOi 
mshed another eruption of smoke and sparks from the bowl ; for 
his pipe was finished, and the act of refilling it alone restored 
him to sufficient composure to notice my mention of Waller. 

" That ' Rose' you talk of," said the Doctor, " I know it well: 
that robbery of Waller's was the death of a professor at 

" How, sir V* asked I, modestly. 

"Thus," replied the Doctor. "Watinstem, in those days 
Professor of Humanity, foolishly fell in love ; and disdaining, as 
m duty bound, if not in taste, the vernacular, wrote the original 
of the * Rose,' upon the obdurate Fran Jacqueline von E^rakert- 
sting ; and it was rumored, would have won her by it, had she 
chanced to have understood the language it was written in. 
Copies were multiplied among the literati, and much fame re- 
sulted to the Professor, who, upon the ill success of his forlorn 
hope upon the damsel, pined and became consumptive. One 
day a friend, thinking to delight him (for he was what is called 
an excellent English scholar) brought him Waller's version, 
which was just then in high vogue ; Watinstem read and ad- 
mired it ; but finding that the Briton had jiot acknowledged the 
Batavian origin of liis poemation, and, moreover, had omitted 
the fine pair of moral couplets which close it, fell into so violent 
a train of angry objurgation upon his meanness, that excessive 
wrath produced an attack of hsemophthysis, which, in a few days 
carried off the Professor, who is reported to have expired mut- 
tering Martial's line : — 

* Stat contrd dicitqne tilii tua pagina fur es.* 

But here is Watinstem's poem : place Waller's alongside it, and 
judge for yourself what cause the fonner had for his wrath. 

Watinstern. Waller. 

I, Rosa, puiT)urei flos jocundissime prati. Go, lovely Rose, 

Die cui labo pari tempora meque terit, Tell her, that wastes her time and me, 
Illius laudes tecum perseepe paranti, That now she knows, 

Quam pulchra et dulcis visa sit ilia When I resemble her to thee, 

niihi. How sweet and fair she seems to be. 

Die cui flore datur primo gaudere ju- Tell her that's young, 

vent«B, And shuns to have her beauties spied. 

Gratia quae verd ne videatur avet ; That hadst thou sprung 



Nescia fortd vinim si te genuisset eremus, 
Mortem tu laudJs neifcia passa fores. 

Nil valet omnind lucem male passaven- 
In lucem veniat protenus ilia, jube. 
Quam petit omiiis amor yirgo paliatur 
Nee, cum miretur, quis stet in ore 

Turn inorere, ut rerum videat communia 

. Rararum, futo conscia facta tuo. 
Parte frui fas est quam parv& temporis 
Queis tantum veneris tantaque forma 

Sed quamvis monare, tamen post fata 
Qui fait ante tuis frond ibus adsit odor. 
Temnere sic discat Pietatem Tempoiis 
arma j 
Vivere Virlutem cum roera Forma 

In volleys wbere no men abide, 
Tbou migbt'st bave uncommended 

Small is tlie worth 
Of Beonty from tbe light retired ; 

Bid lior come forth, 
Suffer herself to bo desired, 
And not blush so to be admired. 

Then die ; that she 
The common fate of all things rare 

May read in thee ; 
How small a part of time they share, 
Tbot are so wondrous blight and fair. 

Yet though they fade, 
From thy dead leaves let fragrance 
And teach the maid 
That goodness Time's rude hand de- 
And virtue lives when beauty dies. 

•• Hold thee»" cried the Doctor, as I read the last stanza of 
the " Rose ;" " why, how is this ? Surely Waller did not trans- 
late Watinstem's four last lines after all ?*' 

I replied, hy showing the Doctor how Kirke White had added 
that stanza, and how it was found, in his autograph, upon the 
margin of his copy of Waller. 

" There again !" cried my learned friend, " you see they are 
all alike ; not one will acknowledge that he is a mere translator. 
I dare he sworn Ben Jonson, if he were alive, would deny his 
ohligations to Joannes Secundus, Muretus, &c., for some of his 
hest amatory pieces. You know of course how much lie is their 

I confessed my ignorance of the matter. 

*• I thought as much," said Dr. Polyglott. " I was led to sus- 
pect it, when I lighted the other day in a collection upon a little 
poem, professing to be an original of Ben's and beginning, 
* Take, oh take those lips away,* &c." 


" Surely," said I, "that is gennine." 

" Oh, surely !" replied the Doctor, with a smile, " as genmne 
a translation as possible of this poem of Secundus." 

He ha^ded me a volume of his MSS., and I began, according 
to his direction, to read. 
, " Stop !" inteiTupted the Doctor, " Do you know the English I** 

" I do," said I. 

** Well, then, repeat it, line for line, with tlie original, and you 
will be better able to judge how far the Englishman is indebted 
to him of the Hague." 

I read as follows : — 

Carmen: — Auctorjs Joanne Sk- Song bt Bkn Jonson. 
cuNDO Haoensi. 

Takr, oh tnke those lips away, 

HiNC ista, hinc procul amove labella, That so sweetly were forsworn ; 

Quae tain dulc^ fuere perjui-ata ; And those eyes, the break of day, 

Aurorse et radiis pares ocellos, Lights thut do mislead the morn: 

Luces mane novum e \ii trahentes. But my kisses bring again. 

At refer mihi basia hue, sigilla, Seals of luve, but scal'd in vain. 
FrustiiL impressa tamen, sigilla amoris. 

Oh ! cela nivis ista colla, cela, Hide, oh liide those hills of snow, 

Ornant quae gremium tibi gelutum ; Which thy rozen bosom bears ; 

Quorum in culmiiiihus rosae vigentes Qn whose tops tlie pinks that grow 

Sunt quales referunt Aprilis hoi-ae ; Are of those that April wears ; 

At primum mea corda 'liberato, But first set my poor heart free. 

His a te golidis ligata vinclis. Bound in these icy chuin« by tliee. 

" It is veiy strange," murmured I, reluctantly forced to admit 
the Doctor's charge against " Rare Ben.** " But how does it 
happen that this poem does not appear in any of the numerous 
editions of Secundus V* 

"Oh! that is easily accoui\ted for,*' answered the Doctor; 
*' none of Secundus's works were published during his life. In- 
deed it was probably owing to the piracy of a Gennan booksel- 
ler of the 16th century that they were not suffered to perish." 

I begged the Doctor to relate the story to me ; and he con- 
tinued — "Upon the execution of Sir Thomas More, you know, 
all Europe rung with indignant reproaches against the ro^al 
monster of England ; and Secundus, then a spirited youth of 
two-and- twenty or so, 'wrote an epitaph and nenia upon the mur- 
dered ex- Chancellor. These were only circulated among his 


private friends (being considered somewhat too hard npon his 
patron, the Emperor's uncle, for publication), until a copy fell into 
the hands of the above-mentioned bibliopole, who printed and 
published the two poems in the early part of the year 1536 ; but 
the pirated copy was so unlike that which Secundus had writ- 
ten, that Hadrian Marius, in vindication of his brother's scholar- 
ship, had the poems printed from his own copy ; and they were 
published during the same year at Louvain. Much postliumous 
fame accrued to Secundus from this publication ; and in 1538 
the men of Leyden gave the world the first edition of the same 
author's justly celebrated Basia. Secundus's works were now 
much sought after by the scholars of Leyden, and there are still 
several pieces of his preserved among the MSS. in the Univer- 
sity Library. You will find copies of them all in that volume. 
This is among the number, and I, at least, have no doubt what- 
ever of its authenticity." 

I thanked the Doctor for his nai-rative, and hazarded an ex- 
pression of surprise at his peculiar readiness in detecting this 
kind of literary buccaneering. 

" My dear boy," replied he, ** you can have no idea how gen- 
eral the evil practice is. Indeed I wonder other scholars have 
not taken up the cudgels in defence of the plundered Grecians 
and Latinists. Now you yourself might do the state some ser- 
vice in this respect if you would, and you cannot conceive how 
entertaining the pursuit is." 

I modestly professed my incapability. 

"Why, truly," said the Doctor, " you are not at present quick 
at detecting a plagiarism ; but by practice and the aid of my 
volumes, you would in a few years become capable of filling my 
place in the learned world when I shall vacate it. But you must 
devote yourself to a severe course of study, ere you can hope to 
attain the requisite amount of proficiency. Why, it is a curious 
fact that I heard you not many days ago unconsciously chant- 
ing a bacchanalian ode of Caesius Bassus." 

"Me, sir!" cried I, in amazement; "Why I thought there 
were no remains of that lyrist extant 1" 

" So think many," said the Doctor ; " but I know the reverse. 
Among the shockingly mutilated MSS. whence I rescued the 


Greek Sapphics, which 1 showed you the other day, beghming 
ir/i 3aSt^cis'y r. r. X. was a vcry mnch injured paper MS. containiug 
several fragments of lyric odes, one only of wliich I was enabled 
to make out entirely ;*and that only after much toil, and by the 
aid of a good deal of conjecture. That ode I heard you vocali- 
zing in its Anglicised condition, as * The Glasses sparkle on the 
Board.* Gome now, chant it again, and I will reward you with 
the Alcaic original as an accompaniment." 

I did as I was bid ; and after this manner was the Doctor's 
asseilion proved : — 
Carmen: Auctoke Goes io Basso. Song: The Glasses sparkle. 

En! pocia mensis compositis micant; The glasses sparkle on the board, 
Vini i*efulget parpureus color; The wine is ruby bright; 

Regnant voluptates, feruntque The reign of pleasure is restored, 
Graudia deliciasquo secum. Of ease and gay delight : 

Invitnt EuhcB ! nox ; absit dies ; The day is gone ; the night's our owiiy 
ludulgeamus nune genium mero, Then let us feast the soul ; 

Morgamus et curse vel atii Should any pain or care remain, 
Quod superest cyatho doloris. Wiiy drown it in the bowl. 

Sunt qui gravari tristitiS ferunt This world they sny *s a world of wo ; 
Vitam ; sed o ! ne credite fabulum— But that I do deny ; 

An Liber effundit dolorem ? Can sorrow from the goblet flow ? 
An Veneris lacrymas ocelli? Or pain from beauty's eye 7 

Omnis Catonum copia desipit The wise are fools with all their rules, 
Vinclis volentum stringere gaudia;— Who would our joys control— 

Si vita fert luctum, sodales, If life's a pain, I say't again, 
Heus iterum ! cyatho lavemus. Why drown it in the bowl. 

Poeta labi qti&m rapids monet That time flies fast the poet sings, 
Tempos ; quid ergo, quid sapientius Then surely 'twould be wise 

Qud.m spargere in pennis Falernum, In rosy wine to dip his wings, 
Cumque roovet celeres morari 7 And catch him as he flies. 

Heec nostra nox est; nos quoque floribus This night is ours: then strew with flow'rt 
Spargemus horas usque volubiles ; The moments as they roll ; 

Mergcmus et cur» vel atri If any pain or care remain. 
Quod superest cyatho Doloris. Why drown it in the bowl. 

" And is that an ode of Gflesins Bassus, su: V* asked I ; ** what 
a pity you could not recover any more." 

" Ah !" cried the Doctor, " it was a pity 5 the more so, as the 
MS. is unique." 


" By the by," said I, " how did yon discover it to belong to 
Bassus V 

"Why, thus: — Upon a very much tattered leaf, detached 
from the rest (the MS. was in the form of a book), I found the 
letters; the hiatus are obviously to be 
filled up thus : Csesii Bassi Carmina." 

I own I was hardly satisfied ; but I did not like to hazard 
offending my fnend by a doubt ; so I drew his attention to a 
copy of choiiambics, with a translation appended, being the only 
specimen of English poetry contained in the volume. 

" Those poems," said the Doctor, in reply to my enquiries, 
" were a joint tribute from myself and our excellent and talented 
friend, Matthew Child, to the widow Schwartz, upon the loss of 
her only son, a youth of the highest promise. The lady was an 
Englishwoman ; so, remembering the fate of Watinstem's poem 
in former days, I determined to procure an English translation 
to present with my poem to my friend's widow. I selected my 
old friend Mat. for this office, and right well did he respond to 
my application. Gome, indulge me by reading the poems, Latin 
and English." I read them thus : — 


Eheu ! Ill gemitus, nate, tibi ; vita relabitur; 
Jamque olim rosois pallida Mors insidet In genis. 
Amisere oculi jam radios ; vocis abest melos ; 
Et fi-actus quasi flos tarbinibus, preeteriit decus. 
.Actum est. Amplius baud corda micant—cum lacrymis parens^ 
Haud ingrata tamen, quod tribuit Jupiter, accipit : 
Luctus corda premit ; gutta frequens ex oculis cadit 
Matris, dum tibi post fata patent setberese domus. 
Ridentem genetricem ossoliti ssepe pedes sequi, 
Nomen bisesa loqui murmuribus lingua paertise ; 
Auratfe niveug quas modo frons exhibuit comsB ; 
Far labrumque rosee; pallida Mors! haec ubijam latent? 
Dextr& csesa tu4, quern facis heu ! cuncta tenet sopor ; 
Dum matri superest nil, tacitss nil nisi lacbrymse, 
Aut vocen simulans hei milii ! vox Fantaseos tuam ; 
Aut fiii8tr4 in pueri, dum repeto, flere cadavera. 
Mox condet tumulus reliquias ex oculis meis, 
Dum vitSB miseram meesta viam solaque persequar ! 
Manes inter ^mans sedem habitat primus et unicus, 
Bxtromieque hodie tecum abeunt dolicie, puer. 


The Widow to her Dting Child— by Matthew Child. 

That aigli's for thee, thou precious one; life's tide is ebbing fust, 
And o*er tliy once all-joyous face death's sickly hue is cast. 
Thine azure eye hath lost its my, thy yoice its buoyant tone, 
And, like a flower the storm has crush'd, thy beauty's past and gone. 

Another pang, and all is o'er — the pulseless heart is slill. 
Meekly, thoug^h sad, thy mother bows to the Almighty's will; 
Giief presses heavy on my heart, my tears fall thick and fast, 
But thou — thou art in heaven, my child, life's chequer'd di-eam is past. 

The busy feet that gladly ran thy mother's smile to greet ; 

The prattling tongue that li«p'd her name in childhood's accents sweet ; 

The glossy curl that beam'd like gold upon thy snowy brow ; 

The lip, meet rival of the rose, O Death ! where are they now T 

Wither'd beneath thine icy touch ; lock'd in thy dull cold sleep ; 
While all the joy a mother knows is silently to weep ; 
Or start as Fancy's echo wakes thy voice to mock her pain, . 
Then turn to gaze upon thy corse, and feel her grief is vain. 

_ I 

The grave, the dark cold grave, full soon will hide thee from my view, 
While I my weaiy way through life in solitude pursue ; 
My early and my only love is number'd with the dead. 
And ihou — my lust sole joy on earth — lliou too, my boy, hast fled. 

" I read somewliere but a few days ago this very translation, 
without any hint of its being so." 

" Impossible !'* cried the Doctor, "Mat. is too honourable 
a man for that, and you may well be sure I did not publish it." 

" Nevertheless," pei*sisted I, " I could swear I saw it ; and 
now I come to recollect, it is in this book." Taking up a vol- 
ume of the Saturday Magazine, I searched, and lo ! there it was 
at page — — , vol. , signed, K. D. W. 

"That beats all," cried Dr. Polyglott, "K. D. W. then has 
robbed us both — hocus-pocusing Mat.'s translation into an ori- 
ginal of his own, and plundering me at the same moment." 

The Doctor was seriously affected; seeing which I recom- 
mended his pillow to him, the rather as daylight was breaking 
in — for, what with the meerschaum and the Latin, the Doctor 
had lost all ken of time, and the night had sped away like a 
winged dream. My young-hearted old patron took my hint and 
weDt to bed, and so our conversation ended ^ — from the which. 



if our reader have derived neither pleasure nor profit, Heaven 
help him ! If, however he have enjoyed either the one or the 
other, or hoth, let him rejoice in the gratifying expectancy of 
farther revelations, in future days, of the learned lucubrations 
of Dr. Pandemus Polyglott. 

ffiljrce (Siobltte of toine.* 

Tpcis ydp fiopovs KpaTTjpat ijKtpayv^u 
ToU «3 ^poKOvcTi • rhp ix\v vyu[ai tva. 
"Ov Tpciroy iicwlyovffi • rhp Bt Btvrtpoy 
*EpwTos fi^oif^s r«* rby 8i rplroy B* 

"Op fls »(orrcj Si tro^l K€K\Krifji4yoi 
"OiKoZt fiaZi(ova*, 6 8i r4rapros ovniri 
''Hfi4Tfp6s i<rr*i oAA* 0/3pc»r. h 8i r^^- 

ITTOf, iSo^f. 
"Ektos h\ fxavlas, flScrrc Koi fidWtiy 

HoXhs yitp etf tp fiiKphy ayy^^oi/ x^^^h 
*Vw(MrK9\t(ei ^arra rohf reirwKiJras. 

Three goblets of wine 

Alone shoulil comprise 
The extent of tiie tipple 

Of those that are wise. 

The first is for health ; 

And the second I measure, 
To be quaffed for the sake 

Of love, and of pleasure. 

The third is for sleep ; 

And, while it is ending, 
The prudent will homeward 

Be thinking of wending. 

The fouith, nut our own. 
Makes insolence glorious ; 

And the fifth ends in shouting. 
And clamour upniarious 

And those who a Kixth 

Down their wcasands are pouting. 
Already arc bruising, 

And fighting, and flooring. 

Oil ! I ho tight little vessel. 

If often we fill it, 
Huw ^t trips up the heck 

Of those who may swill it ! 

• This was published in Blackwood for May, 1834, as sung at The Noctes. 
The Greek was there represented as written by Eubulus, a comic poet, con- 
icmporary with Eubilides of Miletus, the preceptor of Demosthenes. I suspect 
that Maginn wrote the Greek us well an the English. — M. 

Vol. II.— 2 



Itibs CaUagljan.*' 

'TwAS on a windy night, 

About two o'clock in the momingi 
An Irish lad so tight, 

All wind and weather scorning, 
At Judy Caliaghan's door, 

Sitting upon the palings, 
His love-tale be did pour. 

And this in part his wailings : 
Only say 

YouMl be Mrs. Brallaghan ; 

Don't say nay, 

Charming Judy Callaghan. 

Erat turbida nux 

Hora secunda mane* 
Quando proruit vox 

Carmen in hoc inane ; 
Vii-i miseri mens 

Meditabatur hymen, 
Hinc puellse flens 

Stabat obsidens limen. 
Somel tantum die 

Eris nostra Lalage; 
Ne recuses sic, 

Dulcis Julia Calage. 

Oh ! list to what I sny, 

-Charms you've got like Venus; 
Own your love you may, 

There's the wall between us. 
You lie fast asleep, 

Snug in bed a-snoring ; 
Round the house I creep,. 
Your hard heart imploring. 

Only sny 
You'll have Mr. Brallaghan ; 

Don't sny luiy, 
Charming Judy Callaghnn. 

Planctibus aui*em fer, 

Venere tu formosior ; 
Die hos muros per, 

Tuo favore potior ! 
Voce beatum fac ; 

En, dum dermis, vigilo, 
Nocte obumbulans hac 

Domum planctu stridulo. 
Semel tantum die 

Eris nostra Lnlngo ; 
Ne recuses sic, 

Dulcis Julia Cjihigo. 

* After much search, (having vainly sent to England for a copy.) I have found 
this Latin translation of the well known Insh Ballad of "Judy Callaghan," in 
an old number of the Southern Literary Messenger. It is there stated to have 
been given to the Editor by the late Mr. Reynolds, the eminent classical teacher 
in the Richmond Academy, and is credited to " a Keiry Latinfst.'* It is very 
true that all the County Kcny men (*' conticuere omnes") are excellent Latin 
scholars, but equally true that Maginn wrote the version which I here present. 
It was affiliated on him, in his life-time, and even named as his before his face. 
Besides, it has Maginn's peculiar mark — it imitates the veiy rythm of the ori- 
ginal. The air of ** Judy Callaghan" was composed, in Dublin, by the late Jon- 
athan Blewitt, who died in 1854. He was an Englishman, but had accurately 
caught the particular characteristics of an Irish jig tune. The words were written 
long after the music — authorship unknown. — In the magnzino, the Latin trans- 
lation is given as " The Sabine Farmer's Serenade. Being a newly-recovered 
fragment of a Latin qpcra."— M. 



I've got a pig and a sow, 

I've got a stye to sleep 'em, 
A calf and n brindled cow, 

And cabin, too, to keep *eni ; 
Sunday bat nnd coat. 

An old grey mare to ride on ; 
Saddle and bridle to boot, 

Tbnt yon may ride astride on. 
Only sny 

YouMl bo Mrs. Brallagluin ; 

Don't say nay. 

Charming Judy Callnghan. 

Est mihi prsegnans sus, 

Et porccllis stnbulum ; 
Villula, grex, ct nis 

Ad vaccanim pabulum; 
Feriis corneres me 

Splcndido vestimonto, 
Tunc heus, qnam bene te 

Veherom in jnmcnto ! 
Semel tan turn die 

Eris nostra Lalage, 
Ne recuses sic, 

Dulcis Julia Calage. 

IVe got an acre of ground, 

I've got it set wilb praties ; 
I've got of 'baccy a pound, 

I've got some tea for ladies : 
I've got the ring to wed, 

Whiskey to make us gaily; 
I've got a feather bed, 

And handsome new sliilelagb. 
Only 5«ny 

You'll have Mr. Brnllnghan ; 

Don't sny nny. 

Charming Judy Callnghan. 

Vis poma tenw T sum 

Uno dives jugere; 
Vis lac et mella, cum 

Bacclii succo, sugere T 
Vis aqnie vitie vim ? 

Plumogo somnum saccule T 
Vis ut pnralus sim 

Vel annnlo vel baculo T 
Semel tantnm die 

Eris nostra Lalngo ; 
Ne recuses sic, 

Dulcis Julia Calnge. 

You've got a charming eye ; 

You've got spelling and rending. 
You've got, anil so have I, 

A taste for gentle breeding; 
You're rich, and fair, and young, 

As every body's knowing. 
You've got a dncent tongue 

Whene'er 'tis set u-going. 
Only sny 

You'll have Mr. Brnllaghan ; 

Don't say nay, 

Chai*miilg Judy Callaghan. 

Littcris operam dos; 

Lucido fulges oculo ; 
Dutcs insuper quas 

Nummi sunt in loculo. 
Novi quod apta sis 

Ad procreandam sobolom ! 
Possides (nesciat quis?) 

Lingua m satis mobilem. 
Semel tantum die 

Eris nostra Lalage ; 
Ne recuses sic, 

Dulcis Julia Calage. 

For a wife till death, 
I am willing to take ye 

Conjux utinam tu 

Ficres, lepiduui cor, mi! 



But, ocli, I waste my brenth, 

Tlio ticvil sure cnn*t wnko yo, 
'Ti« just beginnings to rain, 

So I'll got under cover ; 
To-morrow I'll c<«me again, 

And be your constant lover. 
Only any 

You'll be Mrs. BniUnglinn ; 

Don't sny nny, 

Cliarming Judy CuUaghnn. 

Hulitum perdimus, hcu, 

Te sopor urgct. Dortni 
Ingruit imber trux — 

Jam sub trcto pellitur 
Is quern crostina lux 

Referet liuc fideliter. 
Semel tuntum die 

Eris nostra Luluge; 
No recuses sic, 

Dulcis Julia Cu1n?e. 

SXlonsitnv Jnbas.* 

MoNstiRUR Judas est un drolc 
Qni soutient avec chaleur 
Qu'il n'a jou6 qu'un seul role 
Et n*a pn's qu'une couleur. 
Nous qui d^testons les geuA 
Tuntot rouges, tantot blancsi, 

Parlous bas, 

Pnrlons ban, 
• Ici pres j'ui vu Judas, 
J'ai vu Judas, j'ui vu Judas. 

Curieux et nouvelliste, 
Get observatcur mond 
Parfois so dit journaliste, 
Et trancbe du liberal ; 
Mais voulons-nous r6clainer 
L<» droit de tout imprimer. 

Parlous bas, 

Pnrlons bas, 

Ici prds j'ui vu Judas, 

J'ai vu Judas, j'ai vu Judas. 

Hkrr Judos, witli a face wbere shame 

Or honor ne'er was known to be, 
Maintaining he is still the same. 

That ho ne'er rattled— no — not he. 
But wc must spurn the grovelliuf^ hack, 
To-duy all white — to-morrow black, 
But hush ! he'll hear. 
He'll hear, he'll hear; 
Iscariot'a near — Iscariot's near! 

The moral Surface swears to-<1ay 

Defiance to the priest and Pope ; 
To-morrow, ready to betray 

His brother churchmen to the rope. 
But lot us trust the hangman's string 
Is spun for him — the i-ecrennt thing! 
But hush ! Iie'll hear, 
Ht^'li iioar, he'll hear; 
lucanot's near — Iscariot's near! 

* Tliis parody upon one of B6i*anger's most popular satires, wos sung by Odo- 
heity at The Noctes, and was published in Blackwood for July, 1829. It was 
republished by eveiy ultni-Protestant journal in the United Kingdom, as levelled 
nt Sir Robert Peel, who had brought in and carried Catholic Emancipation, to 
which the whole of his preceding twenty years of public life had been constantly 
and energetically opposed. Peel's own plea was that ho was as Anti-Calholic 
as ever, but the crisis arose when ho had to choose between Emancipation and 
O/r/J Wsu', um\ he pixjfcrred tlxj fonner. — M. 



Sang respect du camctdro. 
Suuvent ce lache effroi)i6 
Porte rhabit niilitaire 
Avec la croix au cote. 
Nous qui fuidons volontiers 
L'^loge de no8 guemors, 

Parlons bas, 

Parlons bas, 
Ici prds j'u vu Judas, 
J*ai vu Judas, j*ai vn Judas. 

Enfin, sa bouche fletrie 
Ose prendre un noble accont, 
Et des maux de la patrie 
Ne paile quVn gemissant. 
Nous qui laisous le proofs 
A lous les mauvais Fi'an9ais, 

Parlons bas, 

Parlons bus, 

Ici pi-^s j*ui vu Juilas. 

J'ui vu Judas, j'ai vu Judas. 

Monsieur Judn^, sans mnlice, 
Tout baut vous dit; " Mes amis, 
Les limiers do la police 
Sont 4 craindro en cc pays.'* 
Muis nous, qui de mains brocards 
Poursuivons jusqu'aux mouchards, 

Parlons bas, 

Parlons bas, 
Ici pi-ds j'ai vu Judas, 
J*ai vu Judas, j'ai vu Judas. 

All character that knave has lost; — 

Soon will the Neophyte appear. 
By priestly hands bedippM, be-crossM, 
Begreased, bechrism'd, with holy 
Soon may he reach his final home, 
•' A meml>er of the Church of Rome.'** 
But hush ! he'll hear. 
He'll hear, he'll hear ; 
Iscnriot's near — Iscariot's near! 

Now from his mouth polluted flows- 
Snuffled in Joseph Surface tone- 
Laments o'er hapless Ireland's woes. 
O'er England's dangerous state a 
Ere long beneath the hands, of Ketch, 
Sigh for thyself, degraded wretch ! 
But hush ! he'll hear. 
He'll hear, he'll hear; 
Iscariot's near— Iscariot's near! 

Judas ! till then the public fleece. 

For Uin and cousins scheme and job, 
Rail agaiijst watchmen and police,! 
Inferior swindlers scourge or rob. 
At last, another crowd before. 
Thou slialt speak once — and speak on 
more ! 
But hush ! he'll hear. 
He'll hear, he'll hear ; 
Iscariot's near— Iscariot's near! 

* The ordinary conclusion of a gallows speech in Ireland, — "I die an un- 
worthy member of the Church of Rome." — M. OD. 

t When Irish Secretaiy, Peel established the constabulary force, by which 
Ireland is governed,— the members of it are familiarly called ** Peelers." In 
1829-'30, when Home Secretaiy, he organized the present excellent police of 
London. — M. 



ftoger (SoobfelloQ). 


To be song to all sorry rascals* 

Aux gciis atrabiluii-C'8 
Pour exempic donn6, 
En un teinf>8 do niis^res 
Roger Bontemps est n6. 
Vivre obscur k sa guise, 
Nnrguer Ics mecontents ; 
Eh gui ! c*est la devise 
Du gros Roger Bontemps. 

Du chapeau de son p6i-e, 
Coiff(§ duns de grands jours, 
De roses ou de lierre 
Lo nvjeunir toujours : 
Mettrc un mantenu de bure. 
Vieil ami de vingt ans : 
Eh gai ! c'est la paruro 
Du gros Roger Bontemps. 


Posseder dans sa hutte 
Uiie table, un vieux lit, 
Des cartes, une flCire, 
Un broc que Dieu remplit, 
Un portniit do mnitresse, 
Un cofTre et licn dedans; 
Eh gai ! c'est la nchessc 
Du gros Roger Bontemps. 


Aux cnfunts de la ville 
Montrer dc petits jeux, 
Eire un faiseur habile 
De contes graveleux ; 

Small sirs, so melancholy 

In patriotic wo,— 
To cui-e your carking folly 

Comes Roger Goodfellow ; 
To live as best it list him, 

To scorn who does not so — 
Ha, hn, this is the system 

Of Roger Goodfellow. 


At field the earliest whistling ; 

At kirk the doucest seen ; 
On holydays a-wrestling 

The stoutest on the green; 
Thus on in frank enjoyment 

And grateful glee to go — 
Ha, ha, 'tis the employment 

Of Roger Goodfellow. 


Round Roger's cabin dangle, 

From curious carved pins, 
All wonders of the angle, 

All mysteries of gins; 
While in his cupboard niche, ib 

A pewter pot or so — 
Hii, ha, these are the riches 

Of Roger Goodfellow. 


To know the wind and weather 
Will mnke the salmon spring; 

To know the spot of heather 
That hides the strongest wing ; 

* This parody upon B^ranger's ** Roger Bontemps," to the air of ** Ronde 
du camp de Grandpr6," sung at The Nodes, was published in Blackwood for 
Februaiy, 1832.— M, 



Ne par er que de daiiso 
Et d'almanaclis chantaiits ; 
£h gai ! c'est la science 
Du gvoB Roger Boii temps. 


Faute de vin d*^Hte, 
Sabler ceux du canton : 
P»*6ferer Marguerite 
Aux dames du grand ton ; 
De joie et de tendresse 
Rcniplir tous ses instants ; 
Eh gai ! cVst la sagesse 
Du gros Roger Bontemps. 


Dire au ciel : Je me fio, 
Mon pdre, k ta bont^ ; 
De ma philosophic 
Pardonnez la gait6 ; 
Que ma saison denii^re 
Soit encore un printcmps: 
Eh gai ! c*e8t la priSre 
Du gros Roger Boptemps. 

Vous, pouvres pleins d'envie, 
Vous, riches d^sireux ; 
Vous, dont la char d6vio 
Aprds un cours heureux; 
Vous, <y]i perdoez peut-dlro 
Des titres ^clatants, 
Eh gai ! prenez pour maitre 
Le gros Roger Bontemps. 

To tell the moon's compliance 
With hnil, rain, wind, and gnow— 

Ha, hn, this is the science 
Of Roger Goodfellow. 


For wine to think nought of it, 

With jolly good ale when lined ; 
Nor ma'am my lady covet. 

So housewife Joan be kind ; 
While of each old state-housewife he 

Doth nothing ask to know-— 
Ha. ha, 'tis the philosophy 

Of Roger Goodfellow. 


To say, " O mighty Maker, 

I bless thee, that thou here 
Hast made me thus partaker 

Of love and lusty cheer : 
As older still, oh, gayer. 

And jollier may I grow,"— 
Ha, 'tis a worthy prayer 

Of Roger Goodfellow. 


Ho, ho, ye wheezing whiners ; 

Ye kill-joys of the land ! 
State-malady-diviners ; 

Yarns-pinners out of tand ! 
On common-sense who'd trample, 

And lay religion low ; 
For God's sake take example 

By Roger Goodfellow. 


Batkt anb 6ibt go Sore, 90 Bavt* 


Backh and side go bare, go bare. 

Both foot and hande go colde : 
But, bellve, God sende thee gt>od ale 3renoiigh, 

Whether it be newe or olde. 
I cannot eat but lytle meate. 

My storoacke is not good ; 
But sure I thinke that I can drynkc 

With him that weares a hood. 
Though I go bare, take ye no rare, 

I am noihing a colde ; 
I stuff my skyu so full within. 

Of jolly good ale and olde. 
Backe and side go bare, go bare. 

Both foote and hande go colde ; 
But, bellye, God sende thee good ale enongbe. 

Whether it be ncwe or olde. 

Si ST nuda dorsum, latere — 

Pes, manus, algens sit ; 
Dum ventri vcteris copia 

Zythi novive fit. 
Non possum raultum edere, 

Quia stomachus est nullus ; 
Sod volo vel monacho bibere 

Quanqoam sit huie cucullus. 
Et quamvis nudus ambulo, 

De frigore non est metos ; 
Quia semper Zytho vetulo 

Ventriculus est impletvs. 
Sint nuda dorsum, latera-- 

Fes, manus, algent sit ; 
Dum Tentri veteris copia 

Zythi noWre fit. 

I love no rost, but a nut-brown e toste. 

And a crab laid in the fyre ; 
A little breade sliall do me stead, 

Much breade I not desyre. 
No frost nor snow, nor winde, nor Irowe, 

Can hurt me if I wolde ; 
I am so wrapt, and llirowly Inpt, 

Of jolly good ale and olde, 
Backo and side go bare, &c. 

And Tyb, my wyfe, that, as her lyfo, 

Loveth well good ale to seeke ; 
Full of drynkos shee, tyll ye may see 

The teares run down her cheeke : 

Assatum nolo— tostum toIo — 

Vel |>omum igni situm ; 
Nil pane careo — pavum habeo 

Pro pane appetitum. 
Me gelu, nix, vel ventus vix 

Afficerent injuria ; 
Hfec sperno, ni adesset mi 

Zytlii veteris penuria. 
Sint nuda, &c. 


Et uxor Tybie, qui semper sibi 
Vult quserere Zythum bene, 

Ebibit haec pers«pe, nee 
Sistit, dum madeant geitte. 

* This chant, (cmiously rendered into Latin verac, in the exact measure of 
the original, with its single and double rhj-mes,) was sung by Odoherty, at 
The N^ctetj and published in Blackwood^ for July, 1822. — The original Eng- 
lish ballad was written by John Still, Bishop of Bath and Wells, who flourished 
in the reign of Elizabeth, and died in 1607. He is the reputed author of 
" Gammer Gurton's Needle,*' a dramatic piece of low humor, very character- 
istic of the manners of the English in that day. The chant, " Back and side 
go bare,'' is introduced into this drama. — M. 



Then dowih she trowle to mee the boule, 
Even ns a mault-worme shuld ; 

And sayth, ** Sweete hart, I took my parte 
Of this jolly good ale and olde." 
Backe and side go bare, &c. 

Et mihi turn dat cantharum, 
Sic mores aunt bibosi ; 

Et dicit ** Cor, en ! impleor 
Zythi dulcis et annosi." 
Sint nuda, &c. 

Now let them diynke, till they nod and wynke, 

Even as good felowes should doe : 
They shall not mysse to have the blysse 

Good ale doth bringo men to. 
And all poore soules that have scrowr'd boules, 

Or have them lustely troide, 
God save thelyves of. them. and their wyves, 

Whether they bo yonge or old. 
Backe and syde go bare, &c. 

Nunc ebibant, donee nictant 

Ut dccet vinim bonum; 
Felicitatis habebunt satis, 

Nam Zythi hoc est donum. 
Et omnes hi, qui canthari 

Sunt hauslibus Irotati, 
Atque uxores vel junioret 

Vel senes, Diis sint grati. 
Sint nuda, &c. 

at tng ffiime of SDaa. 

Je vou drois d mon Sge. 

(U en seroit temps,) 
Etre moins volage 

Que les jeunes gens, 
Et mettre en usage 
D'un vaillard bien sage 

Tous le sentimens. 
Je vou drois du vieil homme 

Etre separ^ ; 
Les morceau de pomme 

N'est pas dig6 ; 
Gens de bien, gens d'honneur. 

A votre scavoir faire 
Je livre mon cceur ; 

Mais laissez en tiere 

Et libre carriere 
A ma belle humeur. 

At my time o* day 

It were proper, in truth. 
If I could be less gay 

Than your frolicsome youth, 
And now, old and gray 
To plod on my way 

Like a senior, in sooth. 
I wish my old tricks 

I could wholly forget ; 
But the apple here sticks. 

Undigested as yet. 
Let the good folks who will 

With my plan disagree, 
They may scold me their fill. 

If I only am free 

To retain in full glee 
All my good humor still. 

* This was sung at the Noctes, and published in Blackwood for September, 
1825. North, (into whose mouth it was put,) said : " I shall give you a song 
wiitteu by Coulanges, when he was about eighty, and I heard it first sung by n 
man of the same age who heard Coulanges himself singing it a very short time 
before he died, which was in 1715, or peihaps 1716. I heard it perhaps sixty 
years after, if not more."— The original was sung by North, and the transla- 
tion chanted, as improvised by Odoherty. — M. 



^aumell, Seggarls Qtotlanb. 



Valedico, Scotia, tibi, 

Mendica, egens, frigida gons 
Diabolus me rcportet ibi 

Si unquam tibi sum rediens. 
Arbor unus nascitur ibi, 

Isque patibulus est decens, 
Bos ipse Austiiim suspicit, sibi 

Alas ut (ugerct cupicns. 

Vale, vale, Scotia mendica, 

Avense, siliqus, crambe, fur ! 
Ridentes vii^ines, Anglia antiqua, 

Salvete, at zylhum cui nil est par ! 

* The oiiginal English song, as well as the above translation, was sung by 
Odoherty at The Noctes, and published in Blackwood, for November, 1824. 
As ah attack on Scotland, it gave great offence to many readers of Maga. It 
appeared, however, that Odoherty was innocent of the authorship of the Eng- 
lish original, which belonged to Allan Cunningham. In a tale of his, culled 
•* Corporal Colville," published in the London Magazine, for February, 1823, 
this very " Farewell to Scotland'' had first appeared. It is subjoined, to test 
the accuracy of Maginn's Latin translation. — 

Farewell, farewell, beggarly Scotland. 

Cold and beggarly poor countrie ; 
If ever I cross thy border again, 

The muckle deil must cairy me. 
There's but one tree in a' the land. 

And that's the bonny gallows tree ; 
The very nowto look to the south. 

And wish that they had wings to flee. 


Farewell, farewell, beggarly Scotland, 

Brose and Bannocks, crowdy and kale ! 
Welcome, welcome, jolly old England, 

Laughing lassos and foaming nle ! 


Cum redirem Carlilam Isetom 

Risu exeepi efiuso ter, 
8i unquam Sarcaxn rediens petam 

Diubole ingeng ! tu me for ! 


Vale popellug tunicatiu 

Crinibus crassis, et cum his 
Tibicen precans si quid afflatilt 

Famelici emere asse vis ! 
Capros pascerem Cadwalladero, 

Cui cibus ex cepis et caseo fit, 
Totius quam degam cum populo fero, 

Cui vestis sine fundo sit. 

'Twas when I came to meny Carlisle, 

That out I laughed loud laughters three. 
And if I cross the Sark again, 

The muckle dcil maun caiiy me. 

Farewell, farewell, beggarly Scotland, 

Kilted kimmers, wi* can'oty hair, 
Pipers, who beg that your honors would buy 

A bawbee's worth of their famished air. 
I'd rather keep Cadwallader's goats. 

And feast upon toasted cheese and leeks, 
Than go back again to the beggarly North, 

To herd 'mang loons with bottomless breoks. 



ifrenci) Blang Bong from b|b0Ci|.* 

As from ken* to ken I was going^,t 
Doing a bit on the prigging lay ;' 

Who should I meet but a jolly blowen,' 
Tol loly lol loly tol derol, ay ; 

Who should I meet but a jolly blowen, 
Who was fly* to the time o* day.* 

Who should I meet but a jolly blowen, 
Who was fly to the time o* day ; 

I pattered in flash'^ like a covey/ knowing, 
Tol lol, &c. 

"Ay, bub or grubby,® I say." 

I pattered in flash, like a covey, knowing, 
"Ay, bub or gi'ubby, I saj."— 

* Ken — shop, house.. 

' Prigging lay — thieving busi- 

' Pfotpcn— girl, strumpet, sweet- 

* Fly — (contraction of JUuik) 
awake, up to, practised in. 

* Time o* ^^— knowledge of 
business, thieving, &c. 

^Pattered in flatk — spoke in 

'^ C^Mwy— man. 

* Bubf /grwft— drink, food. 

* Moginn prided himself upon this paraphrase, on a song in Vidocq's Me- 
moirs, in which he had brought his intimate knowledge of London slang to 
interpret that of Paris. It was given in Blackwood for July, 1829, as sung at 
The Noctes. — M. 

t Here is subjoined the original slang song, to show the fidelity and spirit 
of the translation. — M. 

En roulant de vergne en vergne.* 
Pour apprendre a goupiner,' 
.T*ai rencontr^ la mercandi^re,^ 
Lonfa malura dondaine, 
Qui du pivois solisair,'* 
Lonfa malura dond^. 

J*ai renconti*^ la mcrcandidre. 
Qui du pivoia solisait. 
Je lui jaspine en bigome,* 
Lonfa malura dondaine, 
Qu*as-tu done k morfiller ?^ 
Lonfa malura dond6. 

Je lui jaspine on bigome 
Qu*as-tu done d morfiller T 
J'ui du chenu pivois sans lance^ 
Lonfa malura dondaine, 
£t du larton savonne,® 
Lonfa mnium dond6. 

^Cily to city. 

^ To work. 

^ The Shopkeeper. 

*Sold wine. 

^I ask him in slang. 
^ To eat. 

''Qood wine without water. 
• White bread. 



" Lots of gatter,"^ quo she, " are flowing, • Qaiter — porter. 

Tol lol, &c. 
Lend me a lift in the family way.*° *° Family — the thieves in gen- 

• ernl. The Family Way — thethiev- 

" Lots of gatter," quo she, "are flowing, iiig lino. 

Lend mo a lift in the family way. 
You may have a ciib^^ to stow in, *^ Crib — bo<l. 

Tol lol, &c. 
Welcome, my pal,^^ as the flowers in May. ^' Pal'— fiiend, companion, par- 
" You may have a bed to stow in ; 

Welcome, my pal, as the flowers in May." 
To her ken at once I go in, 

Tol lol, &c. 
Whei-e in a comer out bf the way. 

To her ken at once I go in. 

Where in a comer out of the way, 

With his smeller,^' a trumpet blowing, 
Tol lol, &c. 

A regular swell-cove^* lushy^* lay. 

With his smeller a trumpet blowing; 
A regular swell-cove lushy lay : 

" Smeller —noae. Trumpet blote^ 
ing here is not slang, but poetry for 
snonng. , 

^^ Swell cove — gentleman, dandy. 

^ Lushy — drunk. 

J'ai du chenu pivois sans lunce 

Et du larton savonn6 

Une lourde, une tournantc^ 

Lon& malura dondaine, 

Bt un pieu pour roupiller^® 

Lonfa malura dond6. 

Une lourde, une toumante 
£t un pieu pour roupiller, 
J'enquille dans sa cambriole" 
Lonfa malura dondaine, 
Esperant de I'entifler^' 
Lonfa malura dond^. 

J'cnquille dans sa cambriole 
Esp^i-ant de Tentifler 
Je rembroque au coin du rifle'^ 
Lonfa malura dondaine, 
Un messidre qui pion^ait^^ 
Lonfa malura dond^. 

Jo rembroque au coin du rifla 
Un messidre qui pion^ait ; 

^A door and a key. 
^^A bed to sleep upon, 

* > / enter her chamber. 

^2 To make myself agreeable to 

^^I observe in the corner of the 

^*A man lying asleep. 



To his dies** my hoolcs*^ I throw in, *• Cliet — pockets. 

Tol lol, &c. ^7 Hook* — fingers ; in (till» tkieth 

And collar his dragons*' clear away. ing hooks, 

18 Collar hi* dragons — take his 
sovereigns ; on the obverse of a sovereign is, or was, a figure of St. George and 
the dragon, Tlio etymon of collar is obvious to all persons who know tlie 
taking-ways of Bow-street, and elsewhere. It is a whimsical coincidence, that 
the motto of the Marquis of Londondeny is ** Metuenda corolla draeoms^ 
Ask the city of London, if " I fear I may not collar the dragons," would not be 
a fair translation. 

To his dies my hooks I throw in. 
And collar his di-agons clear away ; 

Then his tickei**' I set agoing, 
Tol lol, &c. 

And his onions,^ chain, and key. 

Then his ticker I set agoing, 
With his onions, chain, and key. 

Next slipt off his bottom cloMng, 
Tol lol, &c. 

And his gingerbread topper gay. 

Next slipt off his bottom closing. 
And his gingerbread topper gay. 

^ Ticker — watch, 
slung is toequanta, 
^Onions — seals. 

The French 

J'ai sond4 dans ses valiades,*^ 
Lonfa malura dondaine, 
Son carle j'ai pessigu^^^ 
Lonfa malura dond6. 

J'ai sond6 dans ses vallades. 
Son carlo j*ai pessigu6 
Son carle, aussi sa tocquante*^ 
Lonfa malura dondaine, 
Et ses attaches de c&^^ 
Lonfa malura dond6. 

Son carle, aussi sa tocquante 
Et ses attaches de cd, 
Son coulant et sa montantc*' 
Lonfa malura dondaine. 
Et son combre galuch6^ 
Lonfa malura dond^. 

Son coulant ct sa montnnto 
Et son combre gahicli6, 

^''Search his pockets. 
^^Itook his money, 

^''His money and watch. 
^^His silver buckles, 

^^His chain and breeches, 
^Oold-edged hat. 



Then his other toggery^^ stowing, 

Tol lol, &c. 
All with the swag,^ I sneak away. 


Then his other toggery stowing, 
All with the swag I sneak away. 

** Tramp it, tramp it, my jolly blowcn, 
Tol lol, &c. 

Or be grabbed^ by the beaks'^ we may. 

" Tramp it, tramp it, my jolly bio wen, 
Or be grabbed by tlie beaks we may ; 

And we shall caper a-heel-and-toeing, 
Tol lol, &c. 

A Newgate hornpipe some fine day. 

** And we shall coper a-hcel-and-toeing, 
A Newgate hornpipe some fine day ; 

With the mots,^ their ogles^ throwing, 
Tol lol, &c. 

And old Cotton^'' humming his ]>ray.^ 

« Toggery '•^cloiiiefi [from Uh 
** Stoag — plunder. 

^ Ordbhed — taken. 

^ Beak$ — police-officers. 

^SATo/*— girls. 

* Ogle$ — eyes. 

37 Old Canton— then Ordinary ol 

^Humming his pray — saying 
his prayers. 

Son frusque, aussi sa lisette^^ 
Lonfa malura dondaine, 
Et ses tirants brodanch^s^ 
Lonfa malura dond6. 

Son frusque, aussi sa lisette 
Et ses tirants brodancli^s, 
Crompe, crompe, mercandi^re^ 
Lonfa malura dondaine. 
Car nous serions bequill^s^^ 
Lonfa malura dond6. 

Crompe, crompe, mercandidre. 
Car nous serions bequill6s 
Sur la placarde de vergne'* 
Lonfa malura dondaine, 
II nous faudrait gambillet^^ 
Lonfa malura dond6. 

Sur la placarde de vergne 
II nous fiiudrait gambiller 
Allum^s de toutes ces largues^ 
Lonfa malura dondaine, 
Et du trepe rassembl^'^ 
Lonfa malura dond6. 

^^Hi* coat and wautcoat, 
^^Embroidered stockings. 

^ Take care of yourself ^ shop- 


^-^On the Place de Ville. 
^To dance. 

^Looked at by all these women. 

40 THE odohehty papers. 

" With the mots their ogles throwing, 

And old Cotton humming his proy ; 
And the foglc-hunters^ doing, ^ Fogle^uniera — pickpockets. 

Tol lol, &c. 
Their morning fukc^ in the prigging lay. ** 3f(W»»;i/^/ai«— morning thier- 


Allumes de toutcs ccs lurgucs 

£t du trepe rassemhl^, 

Et do ces charlato bons dnllcs,^ ^Thieves; goodfellonr*, 

Lonfu malura dondaino, 

Tous abolant goupincr** ^All coming to rob, 

Lonfa mnlura dondd. 


HHeatlf in tt)e IQoU 

(letter from an elderly gentlewoman to MR. CHRISTOPHER NORTH.*) 

My Dear Mr. North, 
I MUCH fear that this is the last letter you will ever receivo 
from your old friend. " I*m wearin' awa, Kit ! to the land o* 
the leal !" and that, too, under the influence of a complication 
of disorders, wliich have been imdermining my constitution 
(originally a sound and stout one) for upwards of half a cen- 
tury. Look to yourself, my much respected lad — and think no 
more of your rheumatism. That, believe me, is a mere trifle 
— but think of what you have been doing, since the peace of 
1763, (in that year were you bom,) in the eating and drinking 
way, and tremble. I know, my dear Kit, that you never were 
a gormandizer, nor a sot; neither surely was I — but it matters 
not, — the most abstemious of us all have gone through fearful 
trials, and I have not skill in figures to cast up the poisonous 
contents of my hapless stomach for nearly threescore years. 
You would not know me now ; I had not the slightest suspicion 
of myself in the looking-glass this morning. Such a face ! so 
wan and wo-begone ! No such person drew Priam's curtains at 
dead of night, or could have told him half his Troy was burned. 

* In 1820, Mr. Frederick Accum> of old Compton Street, Soho, London, (self- 
described as " Operative Chemist, Lecturer on Practical Chemidtiy, Mineral- 
ogy, &c. &c.") published a startling^ Treatise on Adulterations of Food, and 
Culinary Poisons, exhibiting the Fraudulent Sophistications of Bread, Beer, 
Wine, spirituous Liquors, Tea, Coffee, Cream, Confectionary, Vinegar, Mus- 
tard, Pepper, Cheese, Olive Oil, Pickles, and other articles employed in domes- 
tic economy, and methods of detecting them. The book told many household, 
if not home truths and had a large sale. (Mr. Accum, it may be added, was 
subsequently detected in the act of cutting out leaves from valuable books in 
the British Museum, to save the trouble of transcribing their contents, and 
only escaped trial in a criminal Court, by returning to his native Germany, 
where he died.) Accum*s book was quizzically reviewed in Blackwood for 
February, 1820, with copious extracts, showing the adulterations upon articles 
of food in ordinary consumption. The review, (which was called " There is 
Death in the Pot: 2 Kings — chap, vi, verae 11,") was followed up, in the 
next number of Mnga, by this affecting epistle from Mrs. Susanna Trollopc. 
— M. 


Well — hear me come to the point. I remember now, per- 
fectly well, that I have been out of sorts all my lifetime ; and 
the causes of my continual illness have this day been revealed 
to me. May my melancholy fate be a warning to you, and all 
your dear contiibutors, a set of men whom the world could ill 
spare at this crisis. Mr. Editor — I have been PorsoNED. 

You must know that I became personally acquainted, a few 
weeks ago, quite accidentally, with that distinguished chemist, 
well known in our metropolis by the name of " Death in the 
Pot." He volunteered a visit to me at breakfast, last Thursday, 
and I accepted him. Just as I had poured out the first cup of 
tea, and was extending it graciously towards him, he looked at 
me, and with a low, hoarse, husky voice, like Mr. Kean's, asked 
me if I were not excessively ill : I had not had the least sus- 
picion of being so — but there was a temble something in 
"Death in the Pot's" face whichrtold me I was a dead woman. 
I immediately got up — I mean strove to get up, to ring the bell 
for a clergyman — but I fainted away. On awaking from my 
swoon, I beheld " Death in the Pot" still staring with his fate- 
ful eyes — and croaking out, half in soliloquy, half in tete-a-tSte, 
" There is not a life in London worth ten years' purchase." I 
implored him to speak plainly, and for God's sake not to look 
at me so malagragorously — and plainly enough he did then 
speak to be sure — "Mrs. Trollope, you are poisoned." 

" Who," cried I out convulsively, " who has perpetrated the 
foul deed 1 On whose guUty head will lie my innocent blood I 
Has it been from motives of private revenge ? Speak, Mr. Ac- 
cum — speak ! Have you any proofs of a conspu'acy ?" " Yes, 
Madam, I have proofs, damning proofs. Your wine-merchant, 
your brewer, your baker, yom* confectioner, your grocer, ay, 
your very butcher are in league against you ; and, Mrs. Trollope, 
YOU ARE poisoned !" " When — Oh ! when was the fatal dose 
administered ? Would an emetic be of no availi Could you 

not yet administer a " But here my voice was choked, 

and nothing was audible, Mr. Noi-th, but the sighs and sobs of 
your poor Trollope. 

At last I became more composed — and Mr. Accum asked me 
ivhat was, in general, the first thing I did on rising from bed in 


the morning. Alas ! I felt that it was no time for delicacy, and 
I told him at once, that it was to take oflf a bumper of brandy 
for a complaint in my stomach. He asked to look at the bottle. 
I brought it forth from the press in my own number, that tall 
square tower-like bottle, Mr. North, so green to the eye and 
smooth to the grasp. You know the bottle well — it belonged 
to my mother before me. He put it to his nose — he poured 
out a driblet into a tea-spoon as cautiously as if it had been the 
blackdrop, — he tasted it — and again repeated these terrible 
words, "Mrs. Trollope, you are poisoned.— It has," he 
continued, " a peculiar disagreeable smell, like the breath of 

habitual drankards." " Oh ! thought I, has it come to this ! 

The rtnell ever seemed to my unsuspecting soul most fragrant 
and delicious.'' Death in the Pot then told me, that the liquid 
I had been innocently drinking every mom for thirty years was 
not brandy at all, but a vile distillation of British molasses over 
wine lees, rectified over quick-lime, and mixed "with saw-dust. 
And this a sad solitary unsuspecting spinster had been imbibing 
as brandy for so many years ! A gleam of comfort now shot across 
my brain — I told Mr, Accum that I had, during my whole life, 
been in the habit of taking a smallish glass of Hollands before 
going to bed, which I fain hoped might have the effect of coun- 
teracting the bad effects of the forgery that had been committed 
against me. I produced the bottle — the white globular one you 
know. Death in the Pot tried and tasted — and alas! instead 
of Hollands, he pronounced it vile British malt spirit, fined by 
a solution of sub-acetate of lead, and then a solution of alum — 
and strengthened with graihs of paradise, Guinea, pepper, cap- 
sicum, and other acrid and aromatic substances. These are 
learned words — but they made a terrible impression upon my 
memory. Mr. Accum is a most amiable man, I well believe — 
but he is a stranger to pity. " Mrs. Trollope, you have been 
POISONED," was all he would utter. Had the brandy and Hol- 
lands been genuine there would have been no harm — but they 
were imitadonf and ** you are poisoned." 

Feeling myself very faint, I asked, natm'ally enough for a 
woman in' my situation, for a glass of wine. It was brought — 
but Mr. Accum was at hand to snatch the deadly draught from 


my lips. He tasted what used to be called my genniue oM 

And in tlie dcowl of Leaven hi« face 
Grew blutik ns ho wna sipping^. . 

"It is spoiled elder wine — rendered astringent by oak-wood 
saw-dust, and the husks of filberts — lead and arsenic. Madam, 
are *' but my ears tingled and I heard no more. I confes- 
sed to the amount of six glasses a-day of this hellish liquor — 
pardon my wannth — and that such had been my allowance for 
many years. My thirst was now intolerable, and I beseeched 
a glass of beer. It came, and Death in the Pot detected at 
once the murderous designs of the brewer. Gocnlus indicns, 
Spanish juice, hartshorn shavings, orange powder, cojfperas, 
opium, tobacco, nux vomica — such were the shocking words 
he kept repeating to himself — and then again, "Mrs. Trol- 
LOPE IS POISONED." " May I not have a single cup of tea, Mr. 
Accum," I asked imploringly, and the chemist shook his head. 
He then opened the tea-caddj^, and emptying its contents, rub- 
bed my best green tea between his hard homy palms. " Sloe- 
leaves, and white-thom leaves, Madam, coloured with Dutch 
pink, and with the fine green bloom of verdigris ! Much, in 
the course of your regular life, you must have swallowed !" 
"Might I tiy the coffee?" Oh! Mr. North, Mr. North, you 
know my age, and never once, during my whole existence^ have 
I tasted coffee. I have been deluded by pease and beans, sand, 
gravel, and vegetable powder ! Mr. Accum called it sham cof- 
fee, most infamous stuff, and unfit for human food ! Alas ! the 
day that I was bom ! 

In despair I asked for a glass of water, and just as the 
sparkling beverage was about to touch my pale quivering lipg, 
my friebd, for I must call him so in spite of every thing, inter- 
fered, and tasting it, squirted it out of his mouth, with a most 
alarming countenance. " It comes out of a lead cistern — it is 
a deadly poison." Here I threw myself on my knees before 
this inexorable man, and cried, " Mr. Death in the Pot, is there 
in heaven, on earth, or the waters under the earth, any one 
particle of matter that is not impregnated with death 1 What 
me^DS thia desperate mockery ? For mercy's sake give me the 


very smallest piece of bread and cheese, or I can support my- 
self no longer. Are we, or are we not, to have a morsel of 
breakfast this day V* He cut off about an inch long piece of 
cheese from that identical double Gloucester that you yourself, 
Mr. North, chose for me, on your last visit to London, and de- 
clared that it had been rendered most poisonous by the anotta 
used to colour it. " There is here, Mrs. Trollope, a quantity of 
red lead. Have, you, madam, never experienced, after devour- 
ing half a pound of this cheese, an indescribable pain in the re- 
gion of the abdomen and of the stomach, accompanied with a 
feeling of tension, which occasioned much restlessness, anxiety, 
and repugnance to food ? Have you never felt, after a Welch 
rabbit of it, a very violent cholic?" "Yes ! yes — often, often, 
I exclaimed.'' " And did you use pepper and mustard V* " I 
did even so.*' "Let me see the castors." 'I rose from my knees 
— and brought them out. He puffed out a little pepper into the 
palm of his hand, and went on as usual, " This, madam, is spuri- 
ous pepper altogether — it is made up of oil cakes, (the residue 
of linseed, from which the oil has been pressed,) common clay, 
and, perhaps, a small portion of Cayenne pepper (itself prob- 
ably artificial or adulterated) to make it pungent. But now for 
the mustard," — at this juncture the servant maid came in, and 
I told her that I was poisoned — she set up a prodigious scream, 
and Mr. Accum let fall the mustard pot on the carpet. • 

But it is needless for me to prolong the shocking narrative. 
They assisted me to get into bed, from which I never more ex- 
pect to rise. My eyes have been opened, and I see the horrors 
of my situation. I now remember the most excruciating cholic, 
and divers other pangs which I thought nothing of at the time, 
but which must have been the effect of the deleterious solids 
and liquids which I was daily introducing into my stomach. It 
appears that I have never, so much as once, either eat or drank 
a real thing — that is, a thing being what it pretended to be. Oh ! 
the weight of lead and of copper that has passed through my 
body ! Oh ! too, the gravel and the sand ! But it is unpossible 
to deceive me now. This very evening some Kread was brought 
to me. Bread ! I cried out indignantly — Take the vile decep- 
tion out of my sight. Yes, my dear Kit, it was a villanous loaf 


of clay and alum ! But my resolution is fixed, and I Lope to 
die in peace. Hencefoi*th, I shall not allow one particle of mat- 
ter to descend into my stomach ! Already I feel myself " of the 
earth, earthy." Mr. Accum seldom leaves my bedside — and 
yesterday brought with him several eatables and drinkables^ 
which he assured me he had analyzed, subjected to the test-act, 
and found them to be conformists. But I have no trast in 
chemistiy. His quarter-loaf looked like a chip cut off the cor- 
ner of a stone block. It was a manifest sham loaf. After be- 
ing deluded in my Hollands, bit in my brandy, and having found 
my muffins a mockery, never more shall I be thrown off my 
guard. I am waxing weaker and weaker — so farewell! Be- 
wildering indeed has been the destiny of 

Susanna Trollopb. 

P. S. — I have- opened my mistress's letter to add, that she 
died this evening about a quarter past eight, in excruciating tor- 

Sally Eooers. 


^'£ttcin6'' on tiie SDjeatI) 0f 0ir SDaniel SDontieUs. 


[We felt too deep sympatliy with tlie afflicted population of a 
sister kingdom, to venture the publication of the following Luc- 
tus, till time had in some measure alleviated the national suffer- 
ing — and, to borrow a figure from an oration attributed to Coun- 

* For ihe proper understamling of the '* Luctus" on Donnelly, it is necessary 
to state a few particulars relative to the career and character of that pugilistic 
worthy. Daniel Donnelly was an Irishman by birlh and a cnrpenter by trade. 
He possessed lofty stature, great agility, and powerful strength. His skill in 
throwing was great. His straight-forward blow would almost fell an ox. But 
he was deficient in science. He fought only two great battles. The first, with 
Cooper, on the Curragh of Kildare, was a great victoiy pver the English pugi 
list. Donnelly, on this occasion, had hecn tmined by the celebrated Captain 
Kelly, and was in fine condition, — Pierce Egan said *' strong as a lion, and 
active as a pnze-fighter." Tiie reputation this encounter procured for him 
caused him to visit London, where he was pitted against Oliver, who had some 
pretensions to the Championship. Donnelly was in voiy bad training for this 
battle, and, though he beat Oliver, displayed inferior science — not even suffi- 
ciently availing himself of his known power with the right hand. Tiiis fight 
came off in July, 1819.' He declined further contests, at that time ; extrava- 
gantly wasted the battle-money which he had won ; injured liis health by drink- 
ing and other excesses ; and actually returned to Ireland with only forty shillings 
in his pocket. A great reception awaited him on the green sod. A ridiculous 
report that tlie Prince Regent (afterward George IV.) had knighted him, ob- 
tained currency and credence among the mob of Dublin, and about 20,000 
persons assembled at Dunleary, to receive ** Sir Daniel Donnelly," and, mount- 
ing him on a white horse, escorted him to his Ijpuse in Townshend street, 
where he made them a speech and drank to tiTeir health in a noggin of the 
native.— Donnybrook Fair, (then a fact and now little more than a tradition,) 
commenced, (on August 27, 1819,) shortly after his amvul, and Sir Daniel ex- 
hibited himself in one of the tents or booths — spaning with Gregson and Coop- 
er, and realizing a good deal of money thereby. After this Sir Daniel retired 
into private life, in "the public" line, as landlord of The Shining Daisy in Fill 
Lane, where he fiourished for several months, making friends and money. But 
in February, 1820, having dranl» an almost incredible number of tuniblers of 
punch at one sitting, (out of mere bravado,) and swallowed half a bucket of 
cold water, while in a state of profuse perspiration, after the aforesaid tumblers, 
he burst a blood vessel and depaited this life in the 44th year of his age. His 
funeral, on a Sunduy, was quite a ** monster demonstration," as regards the num- 


sellor Phillips, " wiped oflf with his passing pinions the daily 
dews which a sympathetic people had poiu'ed on the shining daisy 
that sprung through the unshaven shamrock, round the gloomy 
grave of the demolishing Donnelly!" But as the moon has 
thrice renewed her horns since the demise of Sir Daniel, we trust 
that we shall not now be thought to be interfering " with the 
sacred silence of a nation's sorrow," by publishing a selection 
from the " numbers without number, numberless," of Luctus that 
have been for the last quarter pouring in upon us from every 
part of the united empire. We confess, that we are not of that 
school of philosophy, which considers the loss sust«uned by Ire- 
land in the death of Donnelly altogether and for ever irrepara- 
ble. Surely a successor will step into his shoes. But what 
although cepturies should pass by, without an Irishman willing 

bers who followed him to his last resting-plncc, in Bully's Aci*e. It was calcu- 
lated that 100 carriages, 400 boraemen, and over 50,000 of the " rag, tag, and 
bobtail" were in the procession. . The horses were unyoked from the hearse, 
which was drawn to the burial ground by the crowd, and most prominent among 
the trappings of woe were the Gloves (demonstrative of his Championship,) 
borne on a cushion in front of the hearse. There was a report that the Resur- 
rectionists had exhumed Donnelly's body, but this was strongly denied, eight 
of his friends having visited his grave on Febniary 24, 1820, and having opened 
it found that the body was untouched. They reported accordingly, and kept 
nightly watch until March 2, when a regular grave was built. A subscription 
wtis made to mise a monument to Sir Daniel, and a large sum was obtained, 
but I believe tliiit the monument never was erected. — In the sporting article 
entitled " Boxiaim, No. VI." which opened Blackwood for March, 1820, the 
death of Donnelly wns thus nlluded to: — " We feel that it is utterly impossible 
for us to conclude this article, without adverting, in such tenns as are becom- 
ing the melancholy occasion, to the great, indeed irreparable, loss which the 
boxing world has hitely susitained in the death of Sir Daniel Donnelly. Ireland, 
we understand, is inconsolable. Since the heroic age of Corcoran and Ryan 
no such leveller had appeared. Happy and contented with the fame he had 
enjoyed under his native skies, it never had been the desire of Sir Daniel to 
fight on this side of the Channel. Accordingly, he past his prime in and about 
Dublin, satisfied with being held the most formidable Buffer (so our good Irish 
friends denominate Pugilists) among a potato-fed population of upwards of five 
millions. No one who has been in Ireland will suppose that Sir Daniel Don 
nelly walked up to the " good eminence" of the championship, with his handf 
in his breeches-pockets. We are not in possession of the facts of his early 
career — we know not when ho dropped the sprig of shillelah, and restricted 
himself to the un weoponed fist. It must have been deeply interesting to h&vo 


to contend with the Champion of England ? What are centuries 
but short links in the long chain of time ? For ourselves, we 
shall be satisfied with the destinies of Ireland, should a Donnelly 
appear once in a thousand years. Whoever may be the Editor 
of this Magazine in the year 2820, let him pay particular atten- 
tion to our words, — and, if our views on the subject prove to be 
correct, we hope that all the subscribers to our work at that 
period, will purchase " sets" from the beginning. But these are 
idle speculations, — so let us address ourselves to graver matter. 
To prove our strict impartiality, we wrote the titles of their re- 
spective authors on separate slips of paper, which were all shaken 
strenuously in the Adjutant's old foragjng cap, and as the titles 
came out in the hand of Mr. Blackwood, (whom we occasionally 
admit into the divan,) so are they now printed. It is singular 

marked the transition. We have heard it said, and are inclined to think tlic 
theory true, that Sir Daniel's stylo of boxing showed, perhaps too strikingly, 
that he had excelled at the miscellaneous fighting of Donnybrook Fuir. He 
was not a istraight — nor yet a quick hitter. His education certainly had not 
been neglected, but it had been irregular. There were not only Iiicisms in his 
style— but even provincialisms which were corrected in the London ring, not 
without danger to the success of his first prize essay. But the native vigour of 
the man prevailed over the imperfect institutions of his countiy — and with all 
the disadvantages of an irregular, imperfect, and unfinished education, Sir Dan- 
iel Donnelly not only triumphed over all his compatriots, but sustained the hon- 
our of Ireland in a country, perhaps, too much disposed to disparage her; and, 
in his last battle, with the renowned Oliver, the shamrock sprang up beneath 
his feet, rejoicing in the blood that died its threefold beauty, more proudly than 
it ever rejoiced, wlien, sprinkled with the dews of morning, it waved its verdant 
locks to the breezes that swept the level expanse of the Bog of Allen, or the 
rugged magnificence of Macgillicuddy's reeks. The deatlr of this illustrious 
man has left unsolved a great problem, Was England or Ireland to have taken 
precedence in the rank of nations ? Could Donnelly have beat Cribb 7 Gould 
Carter have beat Donnelly ! Alas ! vain interrogatories ! The gloiy of Ireland 
is eclipsed — and ages may elapse before another sun shine in, what Mr. Egan 
beautifully calls, her pugilistic hemisphere. We have just i-eceived a vast 
number of Elegies on his death — from Cork, Limerick, Waterford, and Dublin 
-—some of them eminently beautiful. It was not to be thought that such a man 
would be permitted to leave us, without the meed of some melodious tear; 
and we ai'e happy to see among the " Luctus," the names of Moore, Maturin, 
Oroly, and Anster. Of these — anon." It happened, however, that Moore, 
Maturin, Croly, and Anster, did no£ figure in "The Luctus," published in 
May, 1820. — M. 

Vol. IL— 3 


that the names of the two greatest poets of the clay, Lord Byron 
and Dr. Scott, should have followed each other.] 


My DEAR North, 
My old Armenian has come in upon me, just as the' afflatus was 
rising, like a hlast along Loch-na-gar, and I should as soon think 
of offending my Lord Carlisle* as the gentleman now stroking 
his aged beard. I break abruptly off with the words " Beggar's 
dust." What the devil is Hobhouset about since he left New- 
gate 1 After all, there is no place like London for fun and frolic 
— yet I am at Venice. This sounds oddly. — Skimble Scamble 
stuff. Byron. 


In Fancy-land iherc is a burst of wo, 
The spirit's tnbute to the fallen ; see 

On each scan''d frout the clouds of sorrow grow, 
Bloating its spiigbtly shine. But what is he 
For whom grief's mighty butt is broach'd so free 7 

* The Earl of Carlisle (born 1748) was guardian of Lord Byron, who dedi- 
cated the " Hours of Idlene^!!s" to him, but afterwards quarrelled with hiro, 
and spoke, in ** English Bard," of 

" The paralytic puling of Carlisle." 
The Earl, however, had some poetical taste, and wrote several tragedies — two 
of which, at least, are above mediocrity. He died in 1825.— M. 

t John Cam Hobhouse, (created Lord Broughton in 1851,) had been com- 
mitted to Newgate for a libel on the House of Commons, and the result was 
his return, in conjunction with Sir Francis Burdett, by the electors of West- 
minster, as one of their representatives in Parliament. In those days he was 
fiercely radical, but subsequently became a cabinet minister (in the Whig ad- 
ministration) and finally hid his head in a coronet. He will be be«t re- 
membered, as Byron's early, and, perhaps, truest, friend. It was he who 
replied in the Westminster Review, to Captain Medwin's gossiping book on 
Byron. He was the literary executor of the poet, (who little expected that 
his liberal fi-iend would end his political career in the House of Lords,) and 
wag the best qualified to have w tten his lijJB. — M. 


Were liis brows sliaduw'd by the awful crown, 

The Bishop's mitre, or high phimery 
Of the mail'd warrior t Won he his renown 
On pulpit, throne, or field, whom death hath now struck down T 

He won it in the field where arms are none, 

Save those the mother gives to us. He was 
A climbing' star which had not fully shone. 

Yet promised in its gloi7 to surpass 

Our champion star ascendant ; but alas ! 
The sceptred shade that values earthly might, 

And powV and pith, and bottom, as the grass. 
Grave with his fleshless fist a buffet slight ; — ^ 
Say, bottle-holding Leach, why ends so soon the fight f 

What boots t' inquire? — 'Tis done. Grreen mantled Erin 

May weep her hopes of milling sway past by. 
And Gribb, sublime, no lowlier rival fearing. 

Repose, sole Ammon of the fistic sky. 

Conceited, quaffing his blue ruin high. 
Till comes the Swell, that come to all men must. 

By whose foul blows Sir Daniel low doth lie. 
Summons the Champion to resign his trust. 
And mingles his with Kings, Slaves, Chieftains, Beggars' dust ! 

" In Fancy-land there is a burst of w«." 
Why will Coleridge and Wordsworth continue to bother the world with their 
metaphysics ? Fancy and Imaginatiom ! Neither of them can tell the differ- 
ence. Sam, write another Christabel — but William, thou Sylvan Sage, no 
more Excursions, though, joking apart, thou art the best of all the Pond poets. 
Moulsey Hurst is the " green navel" of Fancy-land. — Btron. 

" For whom grirf*s mighty butt is broached so free,** 
I owe tliis line to my friend, Meux.* — Btron. 

" The bishop's mitre t or high plumery 

" Of the maiVd warrior V* 

I have no doubt that Donnelly would have made a very excellent bishop. 

He would have been powerful in the pulpit. The finest-armed man I ever saw 

was a bishop of the Greek Church, who had been a robber in his youth. Milo 

himself could not have shown nobler knuckles. Spirit of Pollux ! Donnelly 

• Meux and Company, brewers, at the corner of Tottenham Court Road and 
New Oxford Street, London. Sir Henry Meux, Baronet, who is the head of 
the firm, has represented Hertfordshire in Parliament since 1847. — M. 


was not a soldier— a hired blood-shedder ! He did not, like Shaw, close a 
life of honour by a disgraceful death ut the carnage of Mont St. Jean, fighting 
against the Man of the Age, who may yet be destined to be the liberator of 
Europe. — Btron. 

" Our champion star ascendant,** 
I am no enemy of Cribb's! But lives there a man so base as to sny that he 
has not been indebted more to fortune than to bravery or skill in all his battles? 
Was he not fast losing his first fight with Jem Belcher, when that finished pu- 
gilist's hands gave way? Was not the Monops out of condition in the second 
contest? When Gregson, by a chance fall, could not come to time, Oribb was 
dead-beat; and " Bob of Wigan, ring-honoured Lancaster," was comparatively 
fi*esh, and able to have renewed the combnt. What Biiton will dare to say, 
that Molyneux did not win his first battle with the Champion ? It seemed oth- 
erwise to the Umpires ; but neither Europe nor America was to be so satisfied ; 
and as my friend, Leigh Hunt, (he is my fnend according to common speech, 
and I have no fiiult to find with his dedication of Bimini,) has lately expressed 
a wish that Napoleon may be liberated from St. Helena, that he may fight the 
battle of Waterloo over again with Wellington, so do I wish that Pluto would 
send us back Molyneux to try his fortune once more with Tom Gribb. My 
own opinion is, that judgment would be reversed in both cases.— Btron. 

" Sayt hottle-holding Leach, why ends so soon the fight t" 
There is no allusion here to the Vice Chancellor of England, which the reader 
may have suspected from the previous note about reversals of judgment. 
Neither is there any allusion to William El ford Leach of the British Mu- 
seum. Had tliere been, the epithet would have been more apt, " beetle- 
holding Leach."* — Byroit. 

"And mingles with his Kings, Slaves, Chieftains, Beggars' dust!** 
The reader will pardon the tautology of this line. AVliere is the difference 
between them all? — Byron. 

* The late Sir John Leach, (who obtained the Vice Chancellorship of Eng^ 
land, in 1818, as a reward for his endeavore to obtain a divorce of the Prince 
Regent fi-om Caroline, Princess of Wales,) became Master of the Rolls in 1827, 
when Copley was made Lord Chancellor. It was Leach who advised the ap- 
pointment of the infamous Milan Commission, (to establish a system of espion- 
age, with bribery of her attendants, over the actions of Caroline of Brunswick,) 
and supervised the proceedings against her, when she became Queen. His 
decisions in Chancery were so frequently reversed, on appeal, that they have 
no weight. Romilly said that he preferred the tardy justice of Chancellor 
Eldon to the swift injustice of Vice Chancellor Leach. It was said, contrasting 
the delays of Eldon with the rapidity of Leach, that one had n Court of oyer 
sans terminer, and the other that of termiiier sans oyer.— M- 



Dear Mr. North — Understanding that your No. is to con- 
tain the " Luctus Variorum^* on the late champion of Ireland, 
I take the liberty of adding my small contribution in the shape 
of the following song, which has had the honour of being sung 
at the hodge-podge, the jumble, and the MiLLENiUM,*with great 
applause. It is adapted to your own favourite tune. The Sned- 
don March, or " The Paisley Weavers,'* one of the finest manu- 
facturing airs in our Scottish music. It is confidently asserted 
in the first circles here, that you and the Contributors are to be 
all West in a few weeks. Take the Tug to Grangemouth— 
track it thence in the Canal-boat — enjoy a week's cold punch 
here — and then steam it to Fort William or Belfast. But my 
pen, as usual, is running away with — Your faithfiil friend and 
coadjutor, James Scott, D. G. L. H. V. 

Glasgow, 7, MUlar-Streeif May IsL 


Being a New Songf by Dr. Jamet Scott. 

When to Peggy BauldieU daughter, first I told Sir Daniel's death, 
Like a glass of soda-water it took away her breath ; 
It took awoy your breath, my dear, and it sorely dimmM your sight, 
And oy ye let the salt, salt tear, down full for Erin's knight; 
For he was a knight of glory bright, the spur ne'er deck'd a bolder. 
Great George's blade itself was laid upon Sir Daniel's shoulder. 
Sing, Hey ho, ihe^ Sneddon, &c. 

I took a turn along the street, to breathe the Trongatet air, 
Carnegie's lass I chanced to meet, with a bag of lemons fair; 

* James Scott, a dentist in Glasgow, who never wrote a line in his life, was 
selected by Lockhart to father sundiy tkits, in prose and verse, which it was 
not quite convenient to have affiliated on the real author. Among other pro- 
ductions thus attributed to "Doctor" Scott, was Lockhart's now well-known 
" Captain Paton's Lament," given, as " by James Scolt, Esquire," in the lively 
aiticle called ChiHslopher in ike Tent, which preceded The Noctes Ambro- 
siANiE. — I have considerable doubt whether the communication from Dr. Scott, 
introduced into the ''Luctus'* was really written and interpolated by Lockhart, 
or an imitation by Maginn. I include it, however, — giving the reader what 
lawyers call " the benefit of the doubt.' — M. 

t The Trongate: — one of the princijml streets in the more antique portion 
of the City of Glasgow. — M. 


Says I, *' Gude Meg:, olion ! ohon .' you've heard of Dan's diMster— 
If Vm alivo, IMl come at five, and feed upon your master— 
A glass or two no harm will do to either saint or sinner, 
And a bowl with friends will make emends fur a so so sort of dinner." 
Sing, Hey ho, the Sneddon, &c. 

I found Cnrn(^gie in his nook, upon the old settee. 
And da^'k and dismal was his look, as blnck as black might be, 
Then suddenly the blood did fly, and Icnve his face so pale, 
That scarce I knew, in altered hue, the bard of Largo's vale ; 
But Meg was winding up the jack, so off flew all my pains, 
For, large as cocksi, two fnt earocks I knew were hong in chains. 
Sing, Hoy ho, the Sneddon, &c. 

Nevertheless, he did express his joy to see me there— 
Meg laid the clolh, and, nothing loath, I soon pull*d in my chair; 
The mutton broth and bouilli both came up in season due— 
The grace is said — when Provan's head at Uie door appears in view — 
The bard at work like any Turk, first nods an invitation; 
For who so free as all the three from priggish botheration f 
Sing, Hey ho, the Sneddon, &c. 

Ere long the Towddies deck the board with a cod's head and shoulders. 
And the oyster-sauce it surely was great joy to all beholders. 
To George our king a jolly cann of royal port is poured — 
Our gracious king, who knighted Dan with his own shining sword — 
The next we sip with trembling lip — 'tis of the cltiret clear— 
To the hero dead that cup we shed, nnd mix it with a tear. 
Sing, Hey ho, the Sneddon, &c. 

'Tis now your servant's turn to mix the nectar of the bowl: 
Still on the Ring our thoughts we fix, while round the goblets roll. 
Great Jackson, Belcher, Scroggins, Gas, we celebrate in turns, 
Each Chiistian, Jew, and Pagan, with the Fancy's flame that boms ; 
Carnegie's finger on the board a mimic circle draws. 
And, Egan-like, h' expounds the rounds, and pugilistic laws. 
Sing, Hey ho the Sneddon, &c. 

'Tis thus that worth heroic is suitably lamented. — 
Great Daniel's shade, I know it, diy giief had much resented — 
What signify your tear and sigh ? — A bumper is the thing 
Will gladden most the generous ghost of a champion of the King, 
The tear and sigh from voice and eye must quickly pass away, 
But the bumper good may be renewed until our dying day I 
Sing, Hey ho, the Sneddon, &c. 


letter from mr. w. w. to mr. christopher north.* 

Dear Sir, 
Had it not been one of the deepest convictions of mj mindy 
even from very early youth, that there was something in period- 
ical literature radically and essentially wrong, in rerum naturi, 
as Bacon Lord Verulam has wisely observed of a subject some- 
what different, I should certainly, before the commencement of 
the present portion of time, have sent divers yaluable commu- 
nications unto your Miscellany. For, concerning both the mat- 
ter and manner of Blackwood's Edinborough Magazine, it hath 
fallen to my lot in life, on six, eight, or ten different occasions 
— some of them not without their importance, considered in re- 
lation to the ordinary on-goings of the world which we inhabit, 
and others of them, peradventure, utterly and thoroughly worth- 
less; — I say, that it hath fallen to my lot in life to hear the 
Work, of which you are the Editor, spoken of in words of com- 
mendation and praise. It appeareth manifest, however, that to 
form a philosophical, that is, a true character of a work publish- 
ed periodically, it behooveth a man to peruse the whole series 
of the above-mentioned work seriatim, that is, in continuous and 
uninterrupted succession, inasmuch as that various articles, on 
literature, philosophy, and the fine arts, being by their respect- 
ive authors left unfinished in one number, are mayhap brought 
to a conclusion in a second — nay, peradventure, continued in a 
second, and even a third — yea, often not finished until a tenth, 
and after the intervention of divers Numbers free wholly and 
altogether from any discussion on that specific subject, but com- 
posed, it may be, either of nobler or of baser matter. Thus, it 
often fareth ill with one particular Number of a periodical work 
— say for June or January — because, that although both the 
imaginative and reasoning faculties may be manifested and 
bodied forth visibly and pdpably, so that, as I have remarked 
on another occasion, they ma^ " lie like surfaces," nevertheless, 
if there shall be the intervention of a chasm of time between 

• This diffuse inti-oduction, so much after the manner of Wordsworth, wag 
considered very well executed, and the Bard of Bydal told me, long after, 
that he had been greatly amused with it. — M. 


the first portion of the embodied act and the visible manifestation 
of the second — or again, between the second and third, and so on 
according to any imaginable or unimaginable series, — then I aver, 
that he will greatly err, who, from such knowledge of any work, 
(that is, a periodical work, for indeed it is of such only that it 
can be so predicated,) shall venture to bestow or to inflict upon 
it a decided and permanent character, either for good or for evil* 
Thus, for example, I have observed in divers Numbers of Black- 
wood's Edinborough Magazine, sarcasms rather witty than wise, 
in my apprehension, directed against myself, on the score of the 
Lyrical Ballads, and my Quarto Poem entitled the Excursion. 
In other Numbers again — I cannot charge my memory for what 
months or in what year, nor, Indeed, is it of vital importance to 
this question — methinks I have read disquisitions on my poetry, 
and on those great and immutable principles in human nature 
on which it is built, and in virtue of which I do not feel as if I 
were an-ogating to myself any peculiar gift of prophecy, when 
I declare my belief that these my poems will be immortal ; — I 
repeat, that in such and such Numbers I have perused such and 
such articles and compositions, in which I have not been slow 
to discern a fineness of tact and a depth of thought and feeling 
not elsewhere to be found, unless I be greatly deceived, in the 
criticism of this in many things degenerate, because too intel- 
lectual age. Between the folly of some Numbers, therefore, 
and the wisdom of others — or in other words of still more per- 
spicuous signification, between the falsehood of one writer, and 
the truth of another, there must exist many shades^ by which 
such opposite extremes are brought, without a painful sense of 
contrariety, before the eyes of what Mr. Coleridge has called 
the " Reading Public." Of all such shades — if any such there 
be — I am wholly unapprized — because I see the work but 
rarely, as I have already, observed, for I am not, to the best of 
my recollection, a subscriber to the Kendal Book-Club ; such 
institutions being, in small towns, where the spirit of Hterature 
is generally bad in itself and fatally misdirected, conducted upon 
a principle, or rather a want of principle, whiieh cannot be too 
much discommended. 
The npshot of the whole is this, that it is contrary both to 


mj theory and my practice to become a regular contributor to 
any periodical work whatsoever, forasmuch as such habits of 
composition are inimical to the growth and sanity of original 
genius, and therefore unworthy of him who writes for ** all time'* 
except the present. 

Nevertheless, it hath so happened, that in seasons prior to 
this, I have transmitted to the Editors of divers periodical Mis- 
cellanies, small portions of large »works, and even small works 
perfect in themselves ; nor would it be altogether consistent with 
those benign feelings which I am disposed to cherish towards 
your Miscellany, as a Periodical that occasionally aimeth at ex- 
cellence, and may even without any flagrant violation of truth, 
be said occasionally to approximate thereto, to withhold from it 
such slight marks of my esteem, as, upon former occasions, I 
have not scrupled to bestow upon others haply less worthy of 
them. I therefore send you first, an Extract from my Great 
Poem on my Own Life, and it is a passage which I have gi'eatly 
elaborated; — and, secondly, Sir Daniel Donnelly, a Ballad, 
which, in the next edition of my works, must be included under 
the general class of " Poems of the Imagination and the Af- 


It is most ventable, — that sage law 

Which tells ihat, at the wane of mightiness, 

Yea even of colossal guilt, .or power 

That, like the iron man by poets feigned, 

Can with upli-fted arm draw from above 

The ministering lightnings, all insensible 

To touch of other feeling, we do find 

That which our hearts have cherishM but as fear, 

Is mingled still with love ; and we must weep 

The vei-y loss of that which caused our tears. — 

E'en so it hnppcneth when Donnelly dies. 

Cheeks are besiillied with unused brine. 

And eyes disguis'd in tumid wretchedness, 

That oft have put such seeming on for him. 

But not at Pity's bidding! — Yea, even I, 

Albeit, who never "ruflSan'd" in the ring, 

Nor know of ** challenge," save the echoing hills; 

Nor ■** fibbing," save thai poesy doUi feign ; 



Nor heard his fame, but as the mutterings 

Of clouds contentious on Hclvellyn's side, 

Distant, yet deep, ogTiizc a strange regret, 

And moui-n Donnelly — Honourable Sir Daniel: — 

(Blessings be on them, and eternal praise,* 

The Knighter and the Knighted.) Love doth dwell 

Here in these solitudes, and our corporal clay 

Doth for its season bear the self-same fire, 

Impregnate with the same humanities, 

Moulded and mixed likd others. 

I remember, 
Once on a time, — 'twas when I was a boy, 
For I was childish once, and often since 
Have, with a cheerful resignation, learned 
How soon the boy doth prophecy the man, — • 
I chanced, with one whom I could never love, 
Yet seldom left, to thread a thorny wood, 
To seek the stock-doves' sacred domicile ; — 
Like thieves, we did contend about our crime, 
I and that young companion. Of that child 
Hi<9 biicf coevals still had stood in awe. 
And Fear did do him menial offices, 
While Silence walkM beside, and word breath'd none. 
Howbeit, mine arm, which oft in vassal wise 
Hnd borne liis satchel, and but ill defended 
From bufiets, half in sport, half tyrannous, 
With wliich I was reguerdon'd, — chanced prevail. 

His soul was thon subdued, and much and sore 
He wept, convulsive ; nay, his finn breast heav'd, 
As doth the bosom of the troublous lake 
After the whirlwind goeth ; and so sad 
Did seem the ruins of his veiy pride, 
I could not choose but weep with him, so long 
We sobb'd together, till a smile *gan dry 
The human rain, and he once more was calm ; — 
For sorrow, like all else, hath end. Albeit, 
Those tears, however boyish, were more fit. 
Since nature's self did draw them from their fiouire, 
Tiian aught that cunning'st poet can distil. 
By potent alchemy, from human eye. 
To consecrate Donnelly's grave. Even so; 
For they discours'd with a dumb eloquence, 

♦ " Blessings be on them, and eternal praise, 
The poets." — Wordsworth. 


Beyond the tongue of dirge or epitaph, 

Of that which posseth in man's heart, when Power, 

Like Babylon, halh fairn, and passed away. 


I CAMS down to breakfast— -And why all this sobbing, 
This weeping and wailing ? I hastily cried ; 
Has Grimalkin, my boy, ta'en away your tame Robin 7 
Has Duckling, or Pullet, or White Coney died ? 

Twas thus the short list of his joys I ran over. 
While the tears were fast coursing down Timothy's face, 
And strove the small darling his red cheek to cover. — 
What is this ? — thought my soul — Is it' grief or disgrace ? 

I looked on the Courier, my weekly newspaper, 
For I felt that the cause of his sorrow was there ; 
So quick is grieTs eye that no word could escape her-* 
** Dead is Daniel, the hero of Donnybrooke fair i" 

mournful was then the low song of the kettle, 
And long look'd my face in the bright polished grate ; 

Dull, dull clank'd the tongs, though composed of true metal, 
They seemed to my fancy tlie long shears of fiite. 

1 sought the fresh air, but the sun, like a firebrand 
In my dark bosom kindled griefs faggotty pile : 
Ah, me ! ye five Catholic millions of Ireland, 
What now will become of your bull>breeding isle 7 

Mine eyes met the earth, in their wandering uneasy ; 
And I thought, as I saw through the vanishing snow 
The flower of Sir Daniel, the bright shining Daisy, 
On that beautiful poem I wrote long ago. 

By tlie stroke of the thunder-stone split in its glory, 
On the eai-th lay extended a green-crested pine ; 
Then I dreamt, poor Sir Dan, of thy pitiful story. 
For the tiiink was as straight and as knotty as thine ! 

Thus sun, flower, and tree all, in blaze, blight, or blossom, 
The same sombre image of sorrow supplied. 
While Nature breathed forth from lier mountainous bosom, 
* Weep, weep for the day when Dan Donnelly died!" 



Killamey, Mny ^th. 
My dearest Kit, — Here am I, living at rack and manger, 
with my old schoolfellow, Blennerhasset ; and you and your 
Magazine may go to the devil, for any thing I care about either 
of you. We embark on the lake about 11 o'clock, after a de- 
cent breakfast, and contrive to kill the evening till about five, 
Boon after which, we enter ourselves for the sweepstakes, and, to 
use the phraseology of my friend, the Reverend Hamilton Paul, 
generally contrive to stow away under our belt, a bottle of black- 
strap, before tumbling in. You may think this monotonous ; but 
you are quite wrong. One day we fish trout, another eels, and an- 
other salmon, which produces an agreeable variety ; and it was 
only last Thursday, that Bowan Gashel and myself swam across 
the Devil's Punch Bowl,* on the top of Mangerton. "We also at- 
' tend wakes, fairs, funerals, and patrons, and go to church as regu- 
lar as clock-work. In short, I have some intention of marrying 
again, and settling for the remainder of my life, at least for a year 
or two, somewhere in Keny. I hear Mullcocky blowing his honi 
for us to join a batch of young ladies, on a party of pleasure, to 
the upper lake, and we are going to dine en cold provisions on 
Ronayne's Island, which is as beautiful and romantic a spot as 
ever you clapt eyes on. I enclose for you the only piece of poe- 
try I have composed since I passed through Cork. I jotted it 
down with a black-lead pencil, in a silver case, belonging to a 
young gentleman with a good-natured face, on the outside of the 
coach ; and I am sorry to say, that on parting from us, he for- 
got to ask it back again ; so I keep it for the sake of an agree- 
able travelling companion. You will observe, from its stopping 
short all at once, that the Poem is only a fragment. Mullcocky 

* Popular tradition relates that tlie great Ijollow on the top of Mangerton, at 
Killiimey, (called " The Devil's Puncli-Bowl," and filled with ice-cold water,) 
wns cnused hy the devil's having bitten a good mouthful from the summit of 
said mountain, and that, having slightly injured one of his wisdom-teeth there- 
by, he dropped the said mouthful in tlie heart of Tippcrary, where it remains, 
to tlw present dny, nsi "The Rock of Cashel." — M. 


is in a big passion, I hear, so good-b'ye Kit, prays ever your 
hearty clium, Morgan Odohkbty. 

P. S. Something seems to have gone wrong with the barge, 
so I have time for a P. S. I encountered the Champion's 
funeral ; and it was the biggest I ever witnessed. It was duly 
celebrated by games too ; for, as the story went, certain persons 
suspected of being young surgeons or their jackalls, were met 
and severely beaten by some of the champions of the fist, who 
jaloused, as your Scottish peasantry say, that they were on the 
watch for the hero*s remains. Another version of the story is, 
that the designs of the scalpel were all along suspected by the 
knights of the daddle, who appointed a trusty band to watch, 
for two days and nights, the holy shrine where their saint was 
laid. Having gone, however, to indulge themselves in a fune- 
ral libation for an hour or two, at the " honour" (a drinking bout 
at a burial) they found, on repairing to their post, that the enemy 
had been before them, and had, with infinite judgment, effected 
the resun-ection, before the champion was well warm in his grave. 
A deputation of very respectable gentlemen waited on the coi*p8e, 
next day, to ascertain the fact : but it is absolutely impossible 
to ascertain any fact in Dublin ; and you meet thousands and 
tens of thousands every day, and in every company, who main- 
tain that the champion is now in Edinburgh. If you have seen 
him on any of your dissecting tables there, pray let me know. — 
But I hear the ladies giggling, so I must bo after joining the 


When green Erin laments for her Iiero, removed 
From the Isle where he flourished, tlie I^Ie that he loved, 
Whrt-e he entered so often the twenty foot lists, 
And, twinkling like meteors, he flourished his fists, 
And gave to his foes more set downs and toss overs, 
Than ever was done by the greatest philosophers, 

In folio, in twelves, or in quarto, 
Shall the harp of Odoherty silent remain, 
And shall he not wiiken its music again 7 
Oh ! yes, with his soul and his heart too ! 



Majestic Odonnelly ! proud as thou art, 

Like a cedar on top of Mount Hormon, 

We lament that death shamelessly made thee depart. 

In the gripes, like a blacksmith or chairman. 

Oh ! hadst thou been felled by Tom Ciibb in the ring. 

Or by Carter* been milled to a jelly, 

Oh ! sure that had been a more dignified thing, 

Thau to kick for a pain in your belly ! 

A curse on the belly that robbed us of thee, 
And the bowels unlit for their office ; 
A curse on the potyeen you swallowed too free, 
For a stomach complaint, all the doctors agree. 
Far worse than a headach or cough is. 
Death, who like a cruel and insolent bully, drubs 
All those he thinks fit to attack, 

Cried Dun, my tight lad, liy a touch of my mulligrubi, 
Which soon laid him flat on his back ! 


Great Spirits of Broughton, Jem Belcher, and Fig, 

Of Corcoran, Pierce, and Dutch Sam ; 

WhetheV up stiiirs or down, you kick up a rig. 

And at intervals pause your blue ruin to swig. 

Or with grub, your bread baskets to cram. 

Or, whether for quiet you're placed all alone 

In some charming retired little heaven of your own, 

Where the tui-f is elastic, in short just the thing 

That Bill Gibbons would choose when he's forming a ring, 

That wherever you wander you still may turn to. 

And thrash and be thrashed till youVe all black and blue ; 

Where your favourite enjoyments for ever are near. 

And you eat and you drink, and you fight all the year; 

Ah I receive then to join in your milling delight. 

The shade of Sir Daniel Donnelly, knight; 

With whom a turn up is no frolic ; 

His is no white or cold liver. 

For he beat Oliver, 

Challenged Corter, and died of the colic. 

* John Carter was a rival pugilist who repeatedly challenged Donnelly, but 
always failed to *' post the coal," at tjie place and time appointed for jmying 
the depoaite or the battle-money. Like Sir Daniel, he settled down in Dublin, 
aa a publican. — M. 



Bad luck to my soul, 

But I'll fill the punch bowl, 
To the biim with good Btingo ; and so, Nelly, 

Don't let the toast pass you, 

But fill up your glusa to 
Demolishing Daniel Donnelly. 


Ch : Ch : April 1, 1820. 
My dear Sir, 
For the fuller explication of tlie subjoined Threne, the reader 
IS referred to tlie conclusion of tl^e last book of the Iliad, which 
has supplied a great part of the exequial diction — who, indeed, 
so fit as the mourners of a Hector to furnish with funeral- 
phrases those of a Donnelly 1 — and to the notes upon that unri- 
valled sketch of the manners of the Emerald Isle, Castle Rack- 
rent. For more immediate use, i. e. (to borrow Miss Edgeworth's 
own terms) "for the advantage of lazy readers, who would rather 
read a page than walk a yard, and from compassion, not to say 
sympathy with their infiimity," I have transcribed a small por- 
tion of the latter. 

Buller has just run up to town for his Easter holidays, or you 
should have had the whole of the notes in the customary lan- 
guage of classical commentary. As it is, you will come oflf with 
more text than annotation. We shall neither of us soon forget 
the cordial hospitality of the Tent last August.* — Yours ever 
very tmly, W. Seward. 


Magnoque vlulante iumultu, — Virq. 

ululaiibui omne 
ImplevSre nemua. — Ov. 

The body of the deceased, dressed in grave-clothes, and or- 
namented with flowers, was placed on a bier, or some elevated 

* Mr. Sewai*ci, of Christ Church, (in connection with Mr. Buller of Brazen- 
no«e,) was oi-ig^inally introduced as an interlocutor with Christopher in the Tent, 
in 1819, -^occasionally appeared at The Noctes, and was kept on hand 
through the Dies Borealos, as late as 1849-50. — M. 


spot. The relations and keeners {singing mourners) ranged 
themselves in two divisions, one at the head and the other at 
the feet of the corpse. The bards and croteries had before pre- 
pared the funeral " caoinan," or song. The chief bard of the 
head-chorus began by singing the first stanza in a low doleful 
tone, which was softly accompanied by the harp : at the conclu- 
sion the foot-semichorus began the lamentation, or "Ullaloo" 
(EXcXcv) from the first note of the preceding stanza, in which they 
were answered by the head-semichonis ; then both united in one 
general choiiis. The chorus of the first stanza being ended, the 
chief bard of the foot semichorus began the second " Gol," or 
lamentation, in which he was answered by that of the head ; and 
then, as before, both united in the general fall chorus. Thus, 
alternately, were the song and choruses performed during the 
night. The genealogy, rank, possessions, virtues, and vices of 
the dead were rehearsed, and a number of interrogations were 
addressed to the deceased ; as, " Why did he die ?" if married, 
** Whether his wife was faithful to him, his sons dutiful, or good 
hunters or warriors?** if a young man, "Whether he had 'been 
crossed in love V* or, " If the blue-eyed maids of Erin treated him 
with scorn." — Transacticms of the Royal Irish Academy, IV.) 

The crowd of people, who assemble at these funerals, some- 
times amounts to a thousand, often to four or five hundred. 
(N. B. Sixty thousand, it is said, attended Donnelly to his 
gi'ave !) They gather, as the bearers of the hearse proceed on 
their way ; and when they pass through any village, or when 
they come near any houses, they begin to cry, " Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! 
Oh ! Oh ! Agh ! Agh !*' raising their notes from the first Oh ! to 
the last Agh / in a kind of mournful howl. 

P. S. Scholars, with more of leisure and literature than belongs 
to myself, might have found in Pindar, what I have sought in Ho- 
mer — the appropriate archetype for a sublime choral ode. Was 
the " huge Diagoras of Rhodes, indeed, with all his accompani- 
ment of pugilist sons and grandsons — Damagetus, and Doreus, 
and Acusilaus, and Euclon, PisiiTothius — better entitled to the 
irvyfm^ airoLva bestoAved in the seventh Olympic Hymn, than 
Sir Daniel Donnelly ? By the bye, from the reception at first 
given to the claim preferred by his daughter, Aristopatira, to the 


honours of " a sitting'* at the grand spectcLcle of Pisa, (for we 
must carefully distinguish the 0€a of the scholiast from the Chi- 
nese beverage mentioned in the eleg}%) we may infer that the 
yvfivLKos ay(i>v of the ancients, as the epithet implies, involved 
somewhat more or an exposure even than is witnessed in our 
modern ball-rooms. See Blackwood's Magazine, XXXVI. 609.* 
In one respect the Rhodian, irv$ aperav cv/xov, appears to have 
differed from our illustrious Irishman ; as Pindar calls him 
evSvfiaxav, and Donnelly (we are told by the author of the 
" Boxiana," ib. 615.) was " hot a straight hitter." Neither have 
we any authority for applying the warcpoiv opOai ^cvcs of v. 168, 
to the intellects of the genuine sons of St. Patrick. Hacienui 

P. S. To my utter amazement, Buller has burst in upon me, 
all covered with mud, a well-booted Grecian. Heaven knows 
what has brought him back so suddenly to Oxford. Something 
is in the wind, no doubt. Hearing that I am writing to you, he 
begs to add a scrawl, though he has to cross and recross my 
letter, like that of a boarding-school Miss. Once more fare thee 

well. ' w. a. 

'•illnm superttre pugnis 

Nobilcm. — Hor. 

Non hcecjocosa conveniunt lyraB,—'lBii>. 

4cv mKTW¥ ToAv <li€ftrar§f ^cu Tptiro0i|re AONEAAE, 

Q\t* &V* amyos ^v fjutXa rou99 ytos, 
OuSc Tt troi irarpfit oariovri fitfiriKty Itfpyi}r, 

Ou9* i^ fivpiaS»y (^cv cXeXcv cXcXcv) 
0{ ffovy ofJupttToy ra^y euTfJuurty oyBpoictfMioi 

* In the l^xiana, No. 6, which is here refeiTed to, it was decided " that, in 
the hall-room, a woltzing-match is a more indecent exhibition than a boxing- 
match," — which it certainly is. — M. 

t AvipohayLQio, though not at present to be found in any Greek writer, may 
perhaps be justified by the analogy of IrTo^a/ioio, an epithet once deemed of so 
much consequence in the last lino of the Biad, by a scrupulous translator, that 
for Pope's closing couplet. 

Such honours Dion to her hero paid. 

And ])eaceful slept the mighty Hector's shade ; 


Bpi-nvwv c|apxo<v (^««' fXcAcw cXcXcv). 
Ol titv op' tdpriv€0Vf eir* 5c trrtpaxopro yuyauc%s, 
Kou Ttoy* afufxyrtpoi (^cv cXeXcv cXcXcv) 

which certainly somewhat embellisheB the simplicity of the original, imp tw 
aXqOif Xoyov ScSaiSaXfttvoi xptvitai iroiviXoif, he proposed to suhdtitute, 
Sach honours Lion to her prince decreed, 
To the great tamer of the gallant steed .'— W. 8. 

* Ilioy. '* All night there were tea-drinkings for the women, and punch for 
the men," (Edgeworth's Onnond, II. 375.) I remember to have seen a Greek 
ode, Elf rnv Qeavj and mnny Latin disquisitions upon the same fmgrant leaf, 
nearly coeval with its first introduction into Europe ; in all of which, as in its 
French appellation, the aspirate is pi*eserved. I cannot but suspect that, in the 
nigrum mtiis prafigere Theta^ which I would i*ead nigram vUiprceponere T^heian^ 
the preference of bohea to black-strap (aidom stviS) is suI>obscure]y adumbrated. 

Indeed, if I wore not afraid of attempting to tread in steps to which I feel 
myself unequal, I would Bulleiize so far as to conjecture, on the principle of tlie 
English proverb, " grief is thirsty," that pioftSf pinCy repme, &c. in our seroi- 
Grreek language may be taken from irtyo), and its deflections ; and would fkrUier 
connect the French /cit, " deceased," with the ^ev of Grrccian lamentation. 

Sliall I, before I close this hariolating note, give you one of our absent friend's 
scraps of erudition? Buller, you are aware, is one of those black swans at Ox- 
ford, a Whig ; and you will be but too ready to say politically, whatever share 
he may possess of your personal regard, Hie niger c«^ — But to his commentary. 
Upon Iliad, 12. 751, &c. he asks, in that modest tone of query, which iishered 
Newton's optics into the world:—** May not the poet, in the true spirit of vat- 
icination, here point to Lord C-stl-r-gh, (he is very delicate, you will observe, 
in involving his allusion, by omitting the vowels,) as the modern Achilles, where 
he says, 

ILpvoo-;^' hvriv^ eXeo-jcc (leg. cXc^«, cUgif cHgi, CUravit) irspnv &\os arpvytroio, 
I, c. Clarkio interprete, vendere Molebat^ on the other side of the chan- 
NEL?" The familiarity of the practice, he adds, was ceitified by that minimtu 
maximus of men, the lute Speaker [Abbot] : and in ovTtv, he thinks it not diffi- 
cult to trace the rudiments of a well-known and associated name, Quintin (sc. 
Dick.) He then proceeds to corroborative quotations. In which his talent of 
conjectural emendation is largely exercised ; 

Pulcrnm est digito monstrari, el ** Dick-buyer hie est!^^ 
Teriy cirratoritm eenium dictata fuisse * 

Pro nihilo pendes ? 
points out, with his usual felicity, the peculiar beauty of the vernacular so&r»- 
qvet, ** Dick-buyer ;" since, in some cases, (e. g. Saumaise's famous Httndreda, ' 
&c.) clossical language does not funiish a full equivalent; and then, after ob- 
serving that the influencing of the votes of a hundred Right Honourable dan- 
dies {Cvraiorvniy i. e. nobilium puerorumy Lubin.) is no light matter! rejects 
a proposed reading, senatorumy though of some plausibility, as the centum \n 


Av^pts IZnp TC fiiov* ro KpiBiwop, &< ^« ytmaucts 
'Hv KoXcouo-i Stay {pev cXfXcv cXcXcv)* 
" TiHTC if^aos \tiireiyf ro(r<ruy yttcrirtp ayeopuy" 

"E^tpfovs*, "eficAfj; (^cv cAf\ev cAcXcv) 
*' Moty rivos aWov epf yvyrj, tiir* ; 9} vlos artZpa, 

** OvZe fJ^X^" avtrKri ; (^cv cXc\cv cAcXcv) 
" H cTf tpi\ovvTa Kopcu y\cafKwirii€t, cvxos, Upytt, 
" OvK €t' ap* ayrttpiXovy ; (^cw cXcXcv cAcXcw) 
" AYyXup ov ri \oxoy fityoXoppw %v 5a7 ^^vypff 

" nuKTtKoy\ c88ci(ras (^cv cAcAtv cAcAcv). 
" AAA* ciTi; ff€ fity 'AWoSyt V OvXifiapotos wircroit 

'* H« KoiS'Ttipos ((p€v cAcAcv cAcAcv) 
" AAAa <ru rovy* cir€f crcrill Tapat<t>afi€yof KortpvKtSi 


that combination would so greatly undermte his lordship's range of ** dictation" 
— not that he call's him " a dictator !"— next cites 

Hie (Dick) est quern legis^ i. e. eligis; 
sHly subjoins, Non meus hie sermOf sed quern prceeeepU CfalluSy 

intimating that the suggestion had originated with the Irish Whig Duke of 
Leinster, Earl and Baron Ofalley ; and summons the aid of happier guessers l« 
restore the true reading of the very eorrupt pewon — pshaw, I mean passage — 
Monstor digito (Qu. Canning's ?)^ra;/er^n^i«m * * * fidicen. * * — W. 8. 

* 'Y^wp piVy almost literatim usquebagh, " an Irish nnd Erse word," says 
Johnson, ** which signifies the water of life." The French have the same mpta- 
phor in their £au de Vie. — W. S. 

t HvKTiKov. See II. Q. 779. By a similar substitution of revKriKOi for itvKivoi 
we read elsewhere, 

HvKTiKit b)S S'hrav avSp *arij Xafin — 

Qu. Does am, A. T. r^resent, atviyparbiiaiSj Turner or Tring 7 I don't know 
their Christian names, but I observe you call the latter Athletic. 

TlvKTiKov kit Ti poi tives sirof. 
AVhere the reader will note well the last two emphatic words. — W. S. 

X 'AXXos K. r. y. This, by a slight deflection from Homer's 

AXX' etris pe xai aWoi evi ptyapotatv evtirroij II. Q. 768. 
gives the veiy names of the English pugilists, whom Donnelly caused to " bite 
thedust," — W. S. ^ 

II KnuaiTi alludes to the phrase ttpeahing to a man, irapanpapevos is literally 
rendered admonishing, and KaTcpvxes means giving a cheek; all, I believe, 
cant teims in the noble science of boxing. For KarepvKtSj could I have gotten 
over the two slight objections of absolute non-resemblance and violated metre, 
I should have wished to substitute exoXa^es, punishedst, especially as connected 
with ffoXa^of, colaphus, and iroXaTrrw iundo, inndendo exeavo, which, when ap- 
plied (as it is by Aristotle) to the eyes, gives in ite first sense the " peepers 
queered" of English pugilists, and the American ** gouging" in the latter. But 
you will have remarked, that I am particularly nice in what regards the ductus 


"Ou 70f> fitiXtxos ijf (^ew cXeAci; cXcXev) 
" Kcu (Tov y* €V iroAa/UT^o'ii' o8o| iAev acnrcroy ov8af * 
" — Nuv 8€ ere juoi^a xix**' (^**' cXcAcv cXeXcw).** 
Xlf c^a<ray icAcuoi^rcf * eireoTci^e Sty/not artipooy, 
" Ox, Of, 01, oc, ox, ou, c, c, ai, e, t, ai.*'* 

My dear Kit, — Fearing you have forgotten jour Greek, I 
favour you with a Latin version of Will's " UUaloo." I have 
had glorious fun in town ; hut am off like a shot to Cheltenham. 
I am sick of Brazenose. — She is an Irish girl, with 700 per an- 
num, in the vicinity of the Bog of Allen. Keep a look out, and 
you will see me in the marriage-list. — Special license. — You old 
hoy. These cisauom. Bob Buller. 

Heu ! pugilum multp validissfme, heu tcr lugende Donellx ! 

Excidisti vitft heu ! valdd hdc juvenis. 
Neque quidquam tibi patiia abeunti curse fuit I6nie, 

Neque sex myriade« (heu I &c.) 
Qui tui curaverunt funus cantibus virdm-domitorin, 

Naerias auspicantibus (heu ! &c.) 
Hi quidem lugubro canebant, adgemebantque mulicree, 

Bibebantque ambo (heu ! &c.) 
Viri quidem Aquam vitse hordcaceam, faeminse verd 

Quam vocant Theam (heu! &c.) 
** Cur lucem relinquere, tot victor certaminum," 

Rogant, " voluisti ? (heu ! &c.) 
" Num aliquem alium amat uxor, die 7 vel filiiM aufugit 

" Neque pugnam euslinuit? (heu! &c.) 
" Vel te amantem virgines csesiis-oculis, dccus Ifimes, 

** Non redamabant ? (heu ! &c.) 
*' Anglorum nunquam cohortem magnanimus in pugni tiisti 

" Pugilum timuisti (heu ! &c.) 
" Sed si quis te vel Hallus, vel Olivarius in creparet, 

*' Vel Codpenis (heu ! &c.) 
** Tu contrd ilium verbis (Qu. verberibus) admoneus cohibebas, 

"Neque enim mitis eras (heu! &c.) 
" Et tuis manibus mordicus prehendit immensum solum 

— "Nunc v^ro to fatum consecutum est (heu! &c/') 
Sic dixerunt flentes ; adgemuit plebs immensa : 

"Oh: Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Agh! (fee." 

literarum^ &c. in my emendations ; and KarcpvKn and «/coXa^cf approach >-ery 
little nearer than Macedon and Monmouth. Even in its present reading-, how- 
ever, the line is — what Buller would have called versus verb jn»jrriwj.— W, 8. 
* Crescendo. 



{By the Eev. J. Barrett, D. D. S. F, T, C D. Professor of Hebrew m 
Trinity College^ Dublin.) 

Mr. North, 

Do you see me now,* my feelings wore never so much hurted 
as when I heard of the death of the man of the strong hand — 
wvf ayaBov — Dan, or Daniel, or Sir Daniel Donnelly. At Com. 
mons that day, I ate nothing to speak of, do you see me now 
nothing to speak of, only a matter of four pounds avoirdupois 
of heef; no delicacy,, except the half, or perhaps 3-5ths of a 
custard pudding, and drank nothing hut three pints of October. 
*A9> ^ said I, aTTcoXcro icoXo?. — though I know not whether he 
was icaXos or callous — AttwXcto, a, d, ay, ay, said Dr. Kyle,t for 
he is a man facetious in himself. Cheer up, doctor, said he, and 
take this cut of mutton. KdrOave koX IlarpoicXos — Damn Patro* 
clus, said I, Lord pardon me, do you see me now, for swearing,J 
what was he to Donnelly, 'IfiipviKo^ hnrora Aavt^X. 

At chapel next Sunday, I slept through three quarters of an 
hour, though Dr. Wall§ was preaching — for grief produceth 
somnolency. There was I inspired with a poetical eflfusion — 
nam me Phoebus amat — in the Hebrew tongue — the tongue 
despised by the ambubaiarum collegia Pharmacopolse mendici 
mimse balatrones — but dear to me, seeing that it bringeth me 
in a neat salary. Having heard then, most learned Mr, North, 
that you had summoned your bold bards to send their verses to 
Auld Reekie's town, I send you this. I hate long prefaces, and 
have ere now fined a refractory scholar for saying grace too tedi- 
ously, and thereby keeping the meat cooling — a thing, most 

* Dr. Barrett, waa Vice Provost of Trinity College, Dublin, and Professor 
of Hebrew also. — His spoken English was sui generis, ** Do you tee me 
now'' prefaced almost every sentence he uttered. But he will figure more 
largely in print, by and by, and all about him is reserved. -— M. 

t Provost of Trinity College, Dublin, and afterwards Bishop of Cork and 
• Boss. He had been Maginn'g College tutor. — M. 

t Barrettj albeit a Protestant Clergyman, was rather addicted to swearing. 
— M. 

$ The Bey. Dr. C. W. Wall, theik a Fellow and (sines 1847) Vice Provotl 
of Trinity. — M. 


eradite Star of Edinburgb, hateful to 1117 soul. Therefore, do 
you see me now, I shall not keep jonr expectation cooling, but 
let you fall to. Print my Hebrew properly. Mind the pomts. 
Pnt not a Patach for a Kametz, a Ghateph Saegol for a Tzere» 
a Kibbutz for a Sheva. Masoretically print it, diacritically com- 
pose it. So farewelL Vive valeque. 

J. Barrett. 
Dublin, April, 1, 1820. 

[By some accident, which we cannot explain. Dr. Barrett's 
dirge has come to us. much mutilated. We hasten, however, to 
print the fragments. It is a remarkable circumstance, that Dr. 
Barrett's lament bears a resemblance to a, lament of Mr. Hy- 
man Hurwitz's published in 1817. It must be accidental. 

Translated by the Rev. E, Hincks,* 
F. T. a D. 

L 1. 

! IT^Sai I'^T^K "^be^ Mourn Erin, sons of Erin mourn, 
- n *^l>Sna ni^K iSS Give utteranco to the inward throe, 

ptoTITlin nb^naai ^^ waiU of her first love forlorn, 
t.fl,«i|i.^^ L^2 «i^ The virgin clad in robes of wo. 

SI51 ^bl^ 


^Tiafia "nCK , 155 "^bj Moum for our Champion snatehed away 

'i'»1*!!P3a iJrTiya From the fair Currag's verdant ring ; 

fjp^j ^I^Jj^ ^T la ^y«j Mourn for his fist now wrapt in clay, 

" i'^d&n ni^^bn ii*\ ^^ more the ponderous thump to fling. 
• *,'«» - - -* 

• Author of Bonapatte, a poem ; I fear not extant Mr. H. has made Mr, 
Coleridge's translation of Hurwitz's dirge the basis of his. — M. OD. [Dr. 
Edward Hincks, (whose father was Professor of Hebrew in the Belfiut Insti- 
tution, and whoso brother Francis was Prime-Minister of Canada as late 
as 1854,) was one of the Fellows of Trinity, in Barrett's time, and vacated 
his Fellowship on taking a rich college living in the north of Ireland. As an 
Oriental scholar his reputation has long been great, and he ranks very high in* 
deed as a decypherer of liieroglyphics and of the peculiar writing discovered 
by Lajrurd and others at Nineveh. — M.] 

m. 3. 

Mourn for the daisy* flower that went, 
SLost* Ere half disclosed its boxing powers ; 

Mourn the green bud so rudely rent 
From Ireland's pugilistic bowers. 

IV. 4. 

no5 "IttiK Hisbj "'bS) Mourn for the universal wo, 

. ^ns^jj*!^ VIK '^SB With solemn dirge and faltering tongue, 

**&3'i'n bK^a^ *n*fb ni^a ^^^ Ireland's champion is laid low, 

* * ^- "^* l-^Vn ontsa ^^ stout, so hearty, and so strong. 

Of Mr. Hinck's translation we eball 
Cetera Hesunt. only give in addition the Otli, 11th, and 

12th verses. 


Mourn for old Ireland's hopes decayed. 
Her bruisers weep in mournful strain,. 
Their fair example ]>rostrate laid. 

By seven-and-forty tumblers slain. 

« • • • • 

Long as the Commons-hall is trod. 

Will I the yearly dirge renew. 
Mourn for the nursling of the 8od,t 

Our darling hurried firom our view. 

The proud shall pass forgot ; the chill, 

Damp, trickling vault their only moturner, 
Not so our daisy; no, that still 

Clings to the breast which first had worn her. 

letter from mr. jennings. 
Mb. Editor: 

Grief drives poetry from my mouth with as vehement an ex- 
plosion as that with which a hottle of soda water, in summer, 
expels the cork. Sir Daniel Donnelly's death has had this effect 

* The daisy was the flower of Sir Daniel, just as ahe violet was that of Bo- 
naparte. After his signal defeat of Oliver, he went home singing, " Down 
among the Daisies." —J. B. 

t The sod, «ar' t^oxnvf is Ireland. — J* B. 


on me ; it lias impregnated me with the gas of sorrow, and I 
effervesce in rhyme. My stanzas on the death of that great 
man may not be so good as those of others, bnt they are as sin- 
cere as the sincerest. Put them into your Boxiana collection. 
If you ever come to Cork, I shall be happy to supply you with 
soda water (quart bottles at 12d., pint ditto at 6d.,) with the ut- 
most despatch, and of the best quality. Don't be afraid of any 
of Mr. Death-in-the-Pot's nostrums. I remain, sir, your obedient 
servant, Thomas Jennings,* 

Cork, March 26th, 1820, 7 Broion Street. Soda Water Manufacturer. 

Tune— " Molly Asiore." 
As down Exchequer Srreett I strayed, 

A little time ago, 
I chanced to meet an honest blade, 

His face brimful of wo ; 
I asked him why he seemed so sad. 

Or why he sighed so sore ; 
O Grammachree, och Tom, says he. 
Sir Daniel is no more ! 


With that he took me straight away. 

And pensively we went, 
To where poor Daniel's body lay. 

In wooden waistcoat pent ; 
And many a yard before we rekched 

The threshold of his door, 
We heard the keeners as they screeched, 

Sir Daniel is na more ! 


We entered soft, for feelings sad 

Were stiiTing in our breast, 
To take our farewell of the lad, 

Who now was gone to rest ; 

* Mr. Thomas Jennings, who was an extensive and veiy scientific sodatwater 
manufacturer in " the beautiful city of Cork," never perpetrated a line of poe- 
tiy in his life. The greater the fun in presenting him, in the " Lucius,*' at 
tuneful and tearful over the death of Donnelly. — M. 

flnDublin.— T.J. 


We took a ctrop of Dan's potheen, 

And joined the piteous roar ; 
O, where shall be his fellow seen, 

Since Daniel is no more ! 


His was the fist whose weighty dint 

Did Oliver defeat, 
His was the fist that gave the hint 

It need not oft repeat. 
His was the fist that overthrew 

His rivals o*er and o'er; 
But now wo ciy in pillalu. 

Sir Daniel is no more ! 


Cribb, Cooper, Carter, need not four 

Great Donnelly's renown, 
For at his wake we're seated here. 

While he is lying down ; 
For Death, that primest swell of all. 

Has laid him on the floor. 
And left us here, alas ! to bawl, 

Sir Daniel is no more ! 

Here lies Sir Daniel Donnelly, 

A pugilist of fame ; 
In Ireland bred and bom was he. 

And he was genuine game ; 
Then if an Irishman you be. 

When you have read this o'er. 
Go home and drink the memoiy 

Of him who is no more. 

•^* Mr. Jennings' Epitaph is no doubt very beautifol, but 
we have been informed, by letter, from the committee, in Townes' 
Street, Dublin, appointed to erect the Donnelly testimonial 
(which, we are happy to say, will shortly be raised near the 
Wellington testimonial in that city,) that another epitaph has 
been decided on. We intend soon to devote a paper to the 
" Donnelly testimonial," in which we shall probably enter into 
a comparison between the two great Irishmen, for whom the 
gratitude of their country is raising these tributes — Wellington 
and Donnelly. Meanwhile, we subjoin the Epitaph. It may 

VoL.IL— 4 . 


not be amiss to state, that the committee laudably requested 
permission from the Earl of Huntingdon, to imitate the Epitaph 
on his great ancestor,* which his Lordship, an Irishman himselfy 
was most graciously pleased to grant. 

ICn^crncatl^ V^xs pillar ^x^^ 

fid S^iv Pantel ^onntiir^; 

St vfM a 0t0ut at(t> ^an^9 maiti 

Jin) people called l^im '^|lttffinj| 9ait;** 

|lnt0^t^oo) l^e tooK from George's smoxtff 

^n) tuell ^e more tt| bp mp moi) ! 

St ^ifb at la0t from fortp-f even 

^umblero of puncb M ^tank one even; 

CD'ertl^rouin bp punclpi un^arme) bp fistf 

St bie) unbeaten flugtliot ! 

^ucb a buffer ao Ponnellpi 

^relanb never again mill oee. 

0!>iit xiii® Kal. Martii MDCCOZX. 

letter from mr. richard dowdbn.t 

Mr. Editor, 

I SEXD you my mite, to join the other poets of Ireland in the 
universal wail over Sir Daniel Donnelly. The song I transmit 
is to the tune of the Groves of Blarney. If you have never 
heard the original worcls, which were written by the late Mr. 
Richard MillikinJ of this city, go get" Teny Magrath, my good 
fiiend and fellow citizen, who is at present in Edinburgh, to sing 
it for you. It is an excellent song, and he sings it divinely .§ I 
am sure, that after you have heard him you will participate in 
my indignation against Mr. Thomas Moore, poet and melodist, 

" Robin Hood. See the epitaph in Pei-cy*8 Reliquos, vol. i. p. 82, and else- 
where.— T. J. 

t This gentleman, who, to distinguish himself from all others of the same 
name, has adopted the peculiar signature of ** Richard Dowden (Richard)*' 
was the son-in-law, if I recollect rightly, of Thomas Jennings, whose business 
he conducted. — M. 

t Richard Millikin, well-known as author of " The Groves of Blarney," was 
an attorney in Cork. — M. 

j Mr. Magrath who resided in Edinburgh, for many years as professor of 
music, was a native of Cork. Sir Walter Scott greatly admired his singing.— > DA. 


for having travestied so delightful a poem in his song heginning 
with, " 'Tis the last rose of Summer." — I am, Sir, your very 
humble Servant, Eiciiard Dowdbn. 

Cork I.vstitdtion, March 31, 1820. 

P. S. — If you wish for minutes of the iuteresting proceedings 
of this Institute, whete I am bibliothecical assistant, I can help 
you. Or if you have any desire for the memoirs of the Cork 
Philosophical and Literary Society, I could give you some aid 
in that respect also. 

A Neio Song, to the tune of the Groves of Blarney, being in 
Lamentation for the unhappy death of Sir Daniel Donnelly, 
Kt. C. /.* By Richard Dowdbn. 


" What is it ails you, tye beauteous people 

Why ore yo dropping the salt, suit tear, 
Why does your tipple stand like a steeple, 

None cif yo stirring about the beer?** 
*Twas thus I spoke to some honest fellows, 

Sitting in grief in Cork's own town, ^ 
At Judy Kelly's, sign of the bellows. 

Over the best of tBenmish's brown. 

Hulla, hulln, hullti, hulla, bulla, mulla-gone. 


'Twas they that answered me in a minute, 

" Where do you come from, my honest man T 
If from Ireland, the devil's in it 

If you don't know 'lis all for Dan ! 
For brave Sir Dnnicl, thnt wiis no spaniel, 

But a true bull-dog of Ii-ish game, 
Who laid his whacks on the bullying Saxon f 
, All for the honour of Ireland's name. 

Hulln, hulla, &c. 

* C. L Champion of Ireland, not Cork Institution. Sir Daniel never was a 
profewor here. — B. D. 

t The beauteous people, or rather the beautiful people, is the classic appel- 
lation for Irishmen, as the "beautiful city" is Cork.— B. D. 

X Brown stout, brewed by Messrs. Beamish and Crawford, in the South Main 
Street, Cork, and good stuff it is.-— R. D. 

$ An Englishman, or a man of English descent, is called in Ireland (af In 
the Highlands of Scotland) a Sassenagh, or Saxon.-*- 'Be D. 



*' He treated Oliver, just as Gulliver* 

Treated the Lilliputian's house ; 
For he was a buffer that would not suffer 

Crossbuttock, cuff, or thump like a mouse ; 
But like a lion, or bright Orion, 

Or ould King Brian, surnamed Boro*, 
Who made the Danes, Sir, quit Clontarf's plains, Sir, 

As fast as Boney quit Waterloo. 
Hulla, bulla, &c. 


** Our worthy Regent was so delighted 

With the great valour he did evince, 
That Dan was cited, ay, and invited 

To come be knighted by his own Prince ; 
Sir Richard Phillips, or Sir Bob Wilson,t 

Gould not compare with him in worth ; 
For this transaction, may satisfaction 

Crown eveiy action of George the Fourth. 
Hullu, bulla, &c. 


** Was I a poet, 'lis I would show it. 

And all should know it this cruel night; 
I'd give the nation a bold oration 

In declamation and letters bright 
From Cork and Kerry to Londonderry 

A mullagone I'd sadly roar, 
With sweet Poll Cleary, and Judy Leary,t 

The blood-relations of my Lord Donoughmore. 
Hulla, liuUa, &>c. 

" O Counsellor Connell, iEneas M*Donnel,} 
And Charley Phillips, my speaking man, 

" ■ ■ • ■ ' m 

* Vide Gulliver*8 travels. Verbum Sap. — R. D. 

t Two ii-ue knights. — R. D. [Sir R. Phillips, a publisher and fludior, 
knighted by George III., when Sheriff of London, and Sir Robert Wilton, dis- 
missed from the British Army, for interfering, on behalf of the people, at Queen 
Caroline's funeral, (in 1821) but subsequently restored, raised to the rank of 
General and Governorship of Gibraltar, and died in 1849. — M.] 

t Bon-owed from a MS. addition, (which, though never published, fs always 
in singing put) to the Groves of Blarney, to the great comfort of the noble 
Lord.— R. D. 

$ Three Irish orators. — R. D. 


How you would svfa^ge.r m trope and figure, 

If you were pnid for pniising Dan I 
But without money, none of 'em, honey, 

Can bear to wag their liumbugging jtiw ; 
They're not worth naming, the »et of scheming, 

Boguish, mnke-gaming limbs of the law." 
Hulla, bulla, &c. 


So sung this sporter, over his porter. 

Chanting as sweet as a nightingale ; 
Even Nebuchadnezzar, or Julius Ciesnr, 

Would gladly stay Sir, to hear the tule. 
I bet a penny, that Mr. Rennie,* 

And Mr. Qavy,t himf»elf beside, 
Wouldn't make a ditty one lialf so pretty, 

On brave Sir Daniel, our Irish jNride, 
Hulla, hulla, &c. 


Cork, May 14M, 1820. 
Mr. Editor, — The Article Boxiana, in your Magazine for 
March last, afforded me as much satisfaction as ever I recollect 
to have experienced in the perusal of any periodical paper. 
Your heartfelt interest in the grand national quere, " Could Don- 
nelly have heat Oribb? Could Carter have heat Donnelly?" 
has induced me, as Secretary to the Cork Philosophical and 
Literary Society, to communicate to you the truly eloquent and 
pathetic eloge, delivered before that society, immediately subse- 
quent to the notification of the Death of the never-to-be-suflS- 
ciently lamented Sir Daniel Donnelly. The Cork Philosophical 
and Literary Society justly ranks as the first public institution 
in th^ South of Ireland, and is inferior to none in the British 
Dominions in general utility ; its proceedings, therefore, can not 
but be acceptable to every true lover of science, {a) — Early 

* A Glasgow lecturer on metaphyidcs, &o. in Cork. — R. D. 
• t Professor of Chemistry, and secretary to the Cork Institution.— R. D. 
£Dr. John Davy, brother and biographer of Sir Humphrey Davy, P. B. S.— M.] 

Of A quarto volume of its transactions is in the press, and will speedily be 
published under the supei-intendenee of J. Rennie of Glasgow, A. M. who lately 
arrived in Cork. From the high literary fame of Mr. Bennie, and the innate 
value of the papers themselves, it is expected the ptiilosophical world will be 
furnished u iih a treat, unparalleled in any transactions of modem days.— 'W. H. 



on the evening of Wednesday, the 22d March, tiA assembly of 
talent and beauty, {b) in the Hall, (c) belon^ng to the society, 
was unprecedented in the memory of the oldest member ; the 
chair was richly ornamented with crape and other fonereal em- 
blems, and the lamps and a superb lustre were decorated with 

bt For llie further elucidution of this siiliject, it mny be necessary to inform 
yuii that ladies are admitted to our Society, provided, for the three hours they 
sit there, they remain silent; this, by some of the members, is conceived to be 
a very great hardship, that ladies who are capable of delivering their senti- 
ments, and contributing to the interest of the discussion, should be restricted 
from that privilege which so peculiarly belongs to the sex. This law lias been 
transgressed in one solitary instance, (mirabjle dictu !) when, during the read- 
ing of a paper a short time since on the obstetric art, a respectabfe widow lady 
begged to oflfer a few remarks in opposition to the theory brought forward by 
the learned author of the paper. She was instantly called to order, and se- 
verely censured ; this was certainly carrying the restriction too far, as one prac- 
tical observation, connected with the subject, was worth folios of theory. — W. H. 

e. As an illustration of the above, I transmit you a drawing of the hall, and 
shall feel particularly obliged, jf you yourself will attend to its execution. 

No. 1, The chair, a little elevated above the floor, and strewed round with 
shamrocks, emblematical of the country that gave " the Donnelly" biith. No. 
2, Tlie trenstirer*s seat and a desk, a large willow branch waving over him. 
No. 3, The secretaiy, with a similar desk, &c., a branch of cypress. No. 4, A 
circular table nt which the reader sits, and fronts the president, the table cov- 
ered with a black cloth, and furnished with wax candles, decanters of water* 
rummers, &c. No. 5, 5, 5, 5, The ladies* seats. No. 6, 6, 6, 6, The gentl»o 
moil's seats. No. 7. The onli-uiice. 


festoons of cypress and willow, producing an effect solemn and 
impressive beyond description, and the dead and awful silence 
that prevailed was only interrupted at broken intervals by the 
long drawn breath and suppressed sigh ; (d) at length the Pres- 
ident, having taken the Chair, Mr. Richard Dowden arose, and 
in a tremulous tone of voice, that evidently betrayed the inward 
tumult and agitation of his soul, addressed the meeting as fol- 
lows : 

" Mr. President ! — Never have I so forcibly experienced 
my utter incapacity to do justice to an important subject — 
never have I felt myself so truly embarrassed as on the present 
distressing occasion.* (hear/ Jicar /) When I look around, 
and behold the galaxy of genius that surrounds me, (Jiear / 
hear /) my heart sinks -within me, and my faltering tongue al- 
most denies its office. I confess my weakness. I declare my 
inability. I throw myself upon your candour. I confide in the 
liberality of a generous, an enlightened public. {Jiear ! hear f) 
Yes, I experience by anticipation that indulgence from you, that 
will kindle a flame of gratitude in my breast, never to be ex- 
tinguished but by death! {Jiear! hear!) Mr. President! How 
vain are all things here below ! The gay smiling morn of life 
is the dark gloomy evening of Death ! The dawn of intellect 
is the twilight of the grave ! * The cloud-capt towers, the gor- 
geous palaces, the solemn temples, the great globe itself, yea, 
all that it inhabit, shall dissolve, and like the baseless fabric of 
a vision, leave not a wreck behind !* * Pallida morse aequo pul- 
sat pede pauperum tabemas regumque turres.' He ! [Iiear /) 

df Amongst the deconitiong mentioned above, I had nimost forgotten to no- 
tice a beautiful transparent full length portrait of Sir Daniel, elevated consid- 
erably above the chair, illuminated from behind by b\k urgand patent himps, 
and foiming an exquisite contrast \^'itli the gloom and sorrow that reigned be- 
low. It was executed for the occasion by Mr. Topp, portrait painter to the 
Society, and reflects equal honour on that gentleman for his talents as an artist, 
and his feelings as a man. A.fter it had been exposed for a sufficient time in' 
the Exhibition Galler}', it is the benevolent intention of Mr. Topp, to present 
it to the sorrowing widow, as a " sweet remembrancer" of her never-to-be-for- 
gotten partner. — W. H. 

* Mr. Dowden is one of the most eminent speakers in our Society, I may 
say the Demosthenes of the Society : He was much attached to the late Sir 
Daniel, and had the benefit of his instraction several years. — W. H. 



wlw bst a few sLozt dajs sbcc w ^ ^o^T ^ oar kad; He! 
\hearf} wLo«e inteHecauI aad cosposcdL ca c igj e s vcn tlie 
clieme of erezj tongue; He! ^i&Asr boiL) wIm basked in ftQ 
tLe inrwhrne ot* prospeziiy ; He [ \Jkiar /> viio^ vk all Ike pride 
cf cijiLsdf^izs dxgnicj, sCdcd on the kftiest panude cf inne and 
Lofioxir ; He ! (l<Ar /^ wLoee TiitiKS were a& tLe Tefresbbi^ dews 

o£ Heaven ; He! u gene ! ! ! Tlie inexotaUe aim of the 

Bling of Terrors La3 wi-Iowed every lieart ©f seiisn>ifitj. The 
chnilng gloom of despair has finozen ererj aovL Gribb is glad ;* 
Carter rejokea ; Hall, Cooper, and Crtirer, are arenged ! Eng- 
land trhcmpbju * Don'iv is dead, and Enn is no more !* (« ^e»- 
tral hurtt of fttLimg ; tke aobs of tkt Jadu9 gnaily ^^ndotmmaMr 

^ Great Shade £* where art thon now ? O I that the tbin aiij 
presence of thj spirimalhy were boTering rmmd ns, to bear the 
bumble tribute paid to thj departed w<»tb — to heboid thj 
memorj watered with a nation's tears !^ {hear fiix !) Sir Daniel 
was descended, by the mother s side, £rom the iUostiions Peter 
Corcoran, a hero, Leneath whose arm proud Albion oft did 
crouch, and through his father, from the mighty Byan, the for- 
midable opponent of the irresistible Johnson. The blood oi 
heroes circulated in his reins ; the acts of his forefathers fired 
his imagination ; the genius of Erin presided at his birth, and 
nursed Lim with a parent's care ! Of his deeds what shall we 
say ? His actions, who shall record ? Who amongst us is ade- 
quate to the task of speaking his praise 1 What language is 
capable of conveying, even in the faintest degree, any just con- 
ception of his more than human talents ! !{ Unpossessed of the 
advantages which a regular education affords, relying solely on 

* Here the learned gentleman addressed the full length portrait of Sir Daniel 
brforo allnded to. — W. H. 

t Mr. Dowden*8 voice was now completely oveqwwered by the sobbing of 
the ladioij; it gained such an ascendency, that it required the united efforts of 
prosidciit, vice, censors, and myself, to restore order. — W. H. 

t Sir Daniel's great abilities were known but to few; he was a rcmurkoldy 

modest mnn, and dreaded publicity; he was a warm and passionate admirer of 

the fine arts, particularly poetry and music, which often ** soothed his soul to 

melancholy ;'* ho was deeply skilled in Oiientid literature, and is suppos<Hl by 

many to have been the author of Anastasius. — W. 11. 


the gigantic force of his own stupendous capabilities, like the 
blazing comet, he arose before the astonished world, remained a 
short period above the horizon, eclipsing all competition, dazzling 
every eye with the brilliancy of his career, and at length sunk 
to rest amidst the acclamations of an applauding country ! {hear! 
hear /) As when the sun, arising in the morning, quickly dispels 
the dark clouds, thick mists and vapours, which surrounded him, 
and which vainly attempted to obscure his rays and dim his 
brightness, breaks forth in all the meridian blaze of unclouded 
noon, spreading around him life, and light, and gladness ; then 
at the approach of evening, he calmly sinks, with inconceivable 
splendour, into the western wave, leaving the world, it is true, 
in tenfold darkness, but still living and existing in the memory 
of those who were crowned with his blessings, who were sup- 
ported and nourished by his beneficent bounties ! {heart hear!) 

'* The domestic life of Sir Daniel was marked by all the most 
endeai-ing featui'es that characterize the tender husband, the 
fond father, the sincere, the generous friend. Early in life he 
formed a connexion with an amiable and enlightened female 
of the Society of Friends, who was the balm of every wound 
in life, the soft and pleasing pillow upon which he reclined his 
head in the awful hour of death. During all the conquests 
which diffused such lustre round his manly brow, she {hear him !) 
was ever the object of his thoughts ; and though the leveller of a 
Cooper, and the Jacer of an Oliver, might for a moment have 
interrupted the train of his reflections, the remembrance of his 
beloved Eebecca recalled his fainting powers, stimulated him to 
fresh exertions, and finally enabled him to prostrate in the dust 
his haughty foe ! ! ! {tumultuotis applame,)* 

*'At daybreak, on the morning of his interment, the inhabit- 
ants of Dublin manifested their attachment to their. adored 
champion, by eveiy mark of attention and respect. The bells 
of the several parish churches were muffled, minute guns were 
fired in the Park ; and the concourse of people assembled in the 
streets was beyond all precedent. During that eventful day, 

* Here the reaHing of the paper wa« again partially intermpted, by the 
removal of two female fiiends, whose philosophy was completely subdued by 
feeling.— W. H. 



tlic shops remained shnt, public business was suspended, the 
theatres were closed, and the gloom of sorrow and the depres- 
sion of anguish pervaded every countenance. 

"At ten o'clock the procession moved from Sir Daniel's man- 
sion in Sackville-street, towards St. Patrick's Cathedral. At 
twelve the coffin was lowered into the silent vault, and Mozart's 
celebrated Requiem was performed under the immediate direc- 
tion of Sir John Stevenson, with an uncommon and impressive 

Such honours Erin to her hero paid, 

And peaceful slept the mighty Don'ly*^ 9hade. 

" It was the dying request of Sir Daniel that no external 
pomp should adorn his grave. A plain marble slab marks the 
spot where he is laid, < who once had beauty, titles, wealth, and 


* Yet shall thy grave with rising flowers be dressed. 
And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast; 
There shall the mom her earliest tears bertow, 
There the firat roses of the year shall blow ; 
While angels with their silver wings o'ershade 
The ground now sacred by thy reliques made.** 

But let US drop the curtain, the feelings of humanity forbid us 
to dwell longer on the harrowing scene ! ! (Jiear ! hear /) 

* Jnmque opus exegi : quod nee Jovis ire, nee igncs, 
Nee poterit ferrum, nee edax nbolere vetustas.' " 

Mr. Dowden then sat down, cheered from all sides of tlie 

The publication of the above will probably induce me to favour 
you with the proceedings of our Society. — I remain your 
obedient Servant, Wm. HoLT.t 

P. S. — I will thank you to present my compliments to Dr. 
Thompson, when you see him, and tell him I have nearly finish- 
ed the iieteorological Table for the next month's Annals. 

* The anticipations of the writer have been agreeably realized. We un«li'f 
stand, since his interment, some respectable ladies who knew him, and value«t 
the deceased, have adorned his gmve with " rising flowers,** among which the 
Narcissus appears predominant. We also understand that the Royal Society 
have directed the Marquis Canova, to exert his superior abilities in the produc- 
tion of a statue of Sir Daniel in his favourite attitude. — C. North. 
/ yVillium Huhf a bookseller in Cork, calculated and published an alinanacli 
there, and \va» known as u profound Tnal\\CTm\\\c\u\\. — "SX. 


Soi)n ®il)]in (tub Ma^tppa* 

Had the poem of John Gilpin "appeared immediately after 
that of Mazeppa, we should have believed, in this age of parody, 
that Oowper wished to have his joke upon Lord Byron. As it 
is, we cannot help suspecting that his Lordship has been aiming 
a sly hit at the bard of Olney ; and though his satire is occa- 
sionally rather stiff and formal, it cannot be denied that, on the 
whole, the Hetman of the Cossacks is a veiy amusing double 
of the train-band captain of the Cockneys. 

" John Gilpin" has always appeared to us a very fine chival- 
rous poem. Unquestionably, the author sometimes indulges in 
a strain of humour which,, to fastidious minds, lessens the sub- 
limity of the principal character, and of his destinies ; yet, we 
believe, that by more philosophical readers, this mixture of the 
ludicrous with the terrible, is felt to present a more true and af- 
fecting picture of human life. 

In childhood and early youth we are, after all, the best judges 
of representation of human passion. We see objects, incidents, 
and events, as they really are ; we estimate their effect on the 
agents engaged with them, free fronv all bias ; and mere words, 
mere poetry, however much they "may delight us, arc, dunng 
that wise and blessed age, unable to pervert our judgment, or 
mislead the natural affections of our heart. 

Accordingly, " John Gilpin" is that poem which has drawn 
from 3'outh more tears and smiles than, perhaps, any other in 
the whole range of English poetry. It is treasured up in every 
amiable and sensitive heart, and that man is little to be envied 
whose conjugal affection would not kindle at the inn of Edmon- 
ston, or whose filial piety would not grow warmer at the Gallen- 
der's house at Ware. 

It is not our intention to give an elaborate analysis of '' John 
Gilpin," or a philosophical exposition of the principles on which 
that great poem is constructed. This would necessarily lead us 

* Mjizeppa, written in the autumn of 1818, «t Ravenna, was published in 
1819. This article, treating it us n parody on, or imitation of, Cowper's ballad 
of John Gilpin, appeared in Blackwood in July, 1819.— M. 


into a discussion of the principles of all poetry, whicli we prefer 
giving some months hencei in a separate treatise. Mr. Wprds- 
worth has, to be sure, done this already, in his preface to the 
" Lyrical Ballads ;" but, unless we are greatly mistaken, (ni 
fallor) he has not exhausted the subject — and ^e do not fear 
that among the numerous quartos yet to be written thereupon^ 
ours can fail of attracting some portion of that public regard, 
which we gratefully acknowledge to have hitherto been so'lav- 
ishly bestowed on our lucubrations. 

It seems to have been Lord Byron's intention to shew what 
John Gilpin's feeling would, in all probability, have been, had 
he been placed in circumstances different from those in which 
he found himself on the anniversaiy of his marriage with Mrs. 
Gilpin ; and surely the least imaginative reader will be of opin< 
ion that the noble lord has attained this difficult object in Ma* 
zeppa. After the perusal of the two works, we all feel that if 
John Gilpin's stars had permitted it, he was just the man to 
have become the monarch of the Ukraine ; and vice versOf that 
Mazeppa, but for the accident of his birth, &c. might have 
established a highly respectable finn in Oheapside. 

Cowper has not given us any account of the antenuptial loves 
of John Gilpin, but introduced him at once to our acquaintance, 
as a married man, with a considerable family, and in a thriving 
trade. Mazeppa, on the other hand, had involved himself, early 
in life and the poem, in a very improper intrigue. But human 
nature is the same in all countries ; and no good objection could 
have been brought against either bard, though John Gilpin had 
been described as gallanting a citizen's wife on a water-party to 
Richmond, and Mazeppa comfortably settled with a wife and 
family in some mercantile town on the frontiers of Poland. As 
Mr. Wordsworth remarks, " similitude dissimilitude," is one of 
the chief sources of the sublime in poetry. 

That principle being once admitted, Mazeppa will probably 
seem to every one sufficiently like John Gilpin, in character and 
sitiiation in life. Let us next look at the two gentlemen after 
they are fairly mounted. There is no occasion to quote the 
whole description of John, for it is probably familiar to our read- 
ers Snffice it to remind them that 


''John Gilpin, at his horse's side, 
Fast seized the flowing mane/' 

And that afterwards, 

" Then over all, that he might be 
** Equipped from top to toe, 

His long red cloak, well brushed and neat, 
He manfully did throw." 

Lord Byron is more minute in his description ; and from it we 
suspect tliat, on the whole, Mazeppa was better mounted than 
John Gilpin. 

'* Biing forth the hoi*se— the horse was brought— 
In truth he was a noble steed, 
A Tartiir of the Ukraine breed." 

John Gilpin's horse was, we have reason to know, an Irish- 
man — his friend the Callender having imported him from the 
county of Tipperaiy.* On the other hand, though better 
mounted, Mazeppa was worse drassed, for he was 

",In nature's nakedness." 

This being the case, he was probably in the long run no better 
off than John Gilpin, of whom it is written that 

** The snorting^ beast began to trot. 
Which galled him in his seat." 

Hitherto the similarity between the Heitman and the Linen- 
draper has been sufficiently apparent ; but it is much more strik- 
ing after they have fairly started, 

" So, fair and softly, John he cried, 
But John he cried in vain. 
That trot became a gallop soon, 
la spite of curb or rein. 

" So stooping down, as needs he must. 
Who cannot sit upright, 
He gntsped the mane with both his hands, 
And eke with all his might. 

** His horso, who never in that sort 
Hud handled been before, 
What thing upon his back had got. 
Did wonder more and more." 

♦ He was bred by— — Blennerhasset, Esq. — See Sporting Magazine for 
thaiyear.— M. OD; 


Nothing can be finer and more headlong than this, except 
what follows: — 

" * Away, away ! my brentli had gone 
I saw not where he hurried on ! . 
Twas scarcely yet the break of day, 
And on ho foamed, away, awny !* " 

In one very remarkable particular, John Gilpin is distmgnisb- 
ed fi'om Mazcppa. 

" So stooping down, as needs he mast, 
Who cannot sit upright, 
He grasped the mane with both bit hands, 
And eke with all his might." 

On the contraiy, Mazeppa says, 

" Wiih sudden wrath I WTenched my hand, 
And snapped the cord, which to the mane 
Had bound my nock in lieu of rein.*' 

It would appear, therefore, that on first starting, Mazeppa (it 
will, no doubt, be said involuntarily) had his anns round his 
hoi-se's neck, but afterwards held them more like a gentleman 
who had taken lessons in riding, whereas John Gilpin, first of 
all, probably attempted to elevate his bridle-hand, but afterwards 
conceived it more salutary to embrace the neck of his Bucepha- 
lus* This, however, is a circumstance scarcely worth mention- 
ing. Lord Byron then goes on to say, 

" Away, away, my steed and I, 
Upon the pinions of the wind !" 

And Cowper in like manner writes, 

'* Away wont Gilpin neck or nought, 
Away went hnt and wig," 

Which last line does, we confess, convey to our mind a more 
lively idea of the rapidity of motion, than any single image in 

It is impossible, however, to admire sufiiciently the skill with 
which Lord Byron has contrasted the general features of Ma- 
zeppa*s ride with those of John Gilpin's. John's steed gallops 
along the king's highway, and Mazeppa's through the desert. 
Yet, if danger or ten*or be one source of the sublime, we humbly 
hold that there is a sublimity in the situation of the London cit, 
far bejroDd that of the Polish gentleman. For, in the first place. 


Mazeppa being securely botind to his horse, need entertain no 
apprehensions of a severe fall, whereas Johti's adhesion to his 
nag seems to the reader almost in the light of a continued miracle, 
little accustomed as he must have been to that sort of exercise. 
Secondly, would not any person whatever prefer gallopping along 
turf, sand, or dust, to a causeway leading from the metropolis of 
a great empire 1 Nothing surjfrises us so much in the poem of 
John Gilpin, as that the Callender's horse does not come down, 
which would almost force us to suspect that John was a better 
horseman than the world in general give him credit for. Indeed, 
though not much of a metaphysician ourselves, having read little 
on that subject, save some of the works of the celebrated ^lacvey 
Napier, Esq., we think that we may venture to assert, that a con- 
jsiderable portion of the delight with which we peruse or rather 
pursue John Gilpin, arises from our admiration of his skill in 
horsemanship. This admiration of the rider is also blended with 
affection for the man. 

** We love him for tlio dangers bo is passing, 
And he loves ua hocausc wo pity them." . 

And this leads us, in the third place, to remaik that those 
dangers are of the most formidable kind. We may safely as- 
sert that before he reached Edmonton, he had brushed by at 
least 200 carriages, coming and going, of all sorts, from the 
broad-wheeled waggon to the shandrydan. Yet it does not ap- 
pear that he drove any of them into pieces, or in any one in- 
stance transfixed his friend's galloway on the pole of a carriage 
coming lip to town. He seems to us to be a man under the pro- 
tection of Providence. And then, what majestic calmness and 
composure are his ! Why, not two men in eight millions, that 
is to say, no other man but John Gilpin, in the whole then popu- 
lation of England, would have exhibited such heroism. — Ma- 
zeppa, too, no doubt, had his diflficulties to contend with — but 
they were not of so formidable a description. His feelings must 
have been very uncomfortable as he " neared the wild wood," 
" studded with old sturdy trees," and he probably laid his ac- 
count with many a bang on the shins ; —but Lord Byron ought 
not to have told us that the trees " were few and far between ;" 
for* in that case, the forest must have been very pretty riding. 


" He rustled tlirough the leaves like wind, 
Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind." 

It would almost seem from these lines, ss if Mazeppa were 
under such alarm, as to imagine the shrubs and trees to be 
chasing him, as well as the wolves. This is a touch of poetry 
beyond any thing to be found in John Gilpin. His dangers 
were of another sort. 

"The dogs did bark, the children screamed, 
Up flew the windows uU" — 

The extreme folly of thus suddenly throwing open their win- 
dows (an ugly trick by which many an honest man has come to 
an untimely end,) is almost redeemed by the deep interest which 
these worthy but thoughtless people take in the fortunes of the 
flying Cockney. 

"And every one cried out — well done! 
As loud as he could bawi." 

We never read this agonising poem (for the interest is so in- 
tensely kept up as to be indeed agonising) without blessing our- 
selves for the fortunate delusion of the various tumpikemen by 
which John Gilpin was saved the necessity of taking many dan- 
gerous leaps, one or other of which would, in all human prob- 
ability, have proved fatal. 

" He carries weight — he rides a race." 

This exclamation, borne before him, and just before him, on 
the wings of the wind, gives one a tnily awful idea of velocity, 
and well might Cowper exclaim, * 

" 'Twn3 wonderful to view 
How ill a tiice the tumpikemen 
Their gntos wide open flew.'* 

No sooner did the public mind take up the belief " he rides a 
race," than by a wonderful process of thought, it discovers the '' 
amount of the wager he had laid, 

" 'Tis for u thousand ppund." 

an immense sum at that time, when horse-racing had not nearly 
reached its meridian splendour, and when only a veiy few num- 
bers, if any, of the Sporting Magazine had been published. In 
all this, Cowper has manifestly the advantage over Byron. 


Compared with the fine passages now quoted from Gilpin,. how 
tame are the following words of Mazeppa. 

" Untiied, untamed, and worse than wfld, 
All fuiious ns a favoured child 
Balked of its wish — • or fiercer still, 
A woman piqued, who has her will." 

Here Mazeppa's gallantly altogether forsakes him, nor can 
we imagine a more inelegant compliment to the mistress whom 
he was then leaving, than to compare her, or indeed any of her 
sex, to a wild Tartar diorse, on whom he was then tied "in na- 
tm'e's nakedness." 

It does not appear that Gilpin lost his senses or his presence 
of mind during any portion of the Excursion, a Poem. Mazep- 
pa, on the other hand, was completely done up, and absolutely 

** He who dies, 
Cnn die no more than then I died, 
O'er-tortufed by that ghastly ride." 

Presence of mind is a quality indispensable in the character 
of a true hero. "We pity Mazeppa, but we admii-e Gilpin. 

Mazeppa complains frequently of hunger during his ride — 
but no such weakness degrades Gilpin, who seems almost raised 
above all the ordinary wants of nature. 

** Slop ! stop .' John Gilpin — here's the housci 
They all at once did ciy— 
The dinner waits, and we are tired ; 
Said Gilpin— so am I!" 

Not a single word of wgret does he utter for the want of that 
dinner which lias so long waited for him, but which, from the 
impatient appetites of Mrs. Gilpin and the children, he well 
knows is then trembling on the brink of destruction. One soli- 
tary exclamation is all that proceeds from his lips, as he hurries 
by below the balcony, 

"So am I!" 

An ordinary writer would have filled his mouth with piany 
needless words. Lord Byron has evidently very closely copied 
this sublime passage in an early part of Mazeppa's career. 

" Writhing half my form about, 
HuwlM back my cur:«R; but 'miihit the irond, 


Tho thunder of my couner'n upeed. 
Perchance they <Hd not hear nor heed." 

It may be questioned, however, if this, fine as it is, does not 
want the concise enei^ of the original. 

The dangers which Gilpin and Mazeppa encounter, arise not 
onlj from land bnt water. Thus qnoth the Pole : 

" Methoii^ht the da*h of vrare* was nig;fa, 
The trild horse swims the wilder ftream." 

In like manner, we are told by Gowper , 

" Thus all tlirough merry IsKngtuo, 
Tliese gambols did he play 
Until he came unto the Wash 
Of Edmonton so gay. 

And there he threw the wash about 
On Loth sides of the way, 
Just like unto a trundling mop. 
Or a wild goose at play." 

These images are homely, but they are not, on that account, 
the less expressive. That of the " trundling mop," simply ex- 
presses the appearance of the "Wash," thrown off on both sides 
of the way by the poney en passant; that of the wild goose at 
play, makes a direct appeal to the imaginative faculty, and sug- 
gests to our minds nt least, a much more poetical feeling of a 
good galloppor, than his Lordship's images of the crying baby, or 
the scolding mistress. It gives one a momentary flash of the 
higher and hidden powers of that roadster, and convinces us that 
his owner would not part with him for a very considerable sum 
of money. This is one of those sudden and unexpected touches 
so characteristic of Cowper, and that prove what great things he 
might have accomplished, had he turned his genius more sys* 
tematically to the cultivation of the higher provinces of poetry. 

After swimming the river, Mazeppa's horse is not in tho least 
degree tired, but 

" Willi glossy skin, and dripping mane, 
And reeling limbs and reeking finiik, 
Tlie wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain 
Up the repelh'ng bank." 

Here Lord Byron strictly follows the original. 

" But yet his horse was not n whit 
Inclined to tav^-y i\\evo, &.c. 


and what is still more strikingly similar, the two horses have the 
very same motives for their conduct. 

'* For why? his owner had a house 
Full ten mileg off at Ware." 

Mazeppa's horse had hitherto been accustomed to lead a free 
and easy life, rather more than ten miles off in the Ukraine — 
and thither accordingly he set off at score, making play all the 
way, pretty much after the fashion of a steeple-hunt. It may 
perhaps be worth while to quote, for a particular reason, the fol- 
lowing verse : 

'* So like an arrow swift ho flew, 
Shot by an archer strongs ; 
So did ho fly, which brings nie to 
The middle of my song.** 

Now, it is very remarkable — and we think the coincidence 
cannot be acddental — that the corresponding passage in Ma- 
zeppa also occurs just about the middle of the poem, which sat- 
isfactorily shews, that the original structures of the two great 
works do in their dimensions exactly coincide. 

The termination of Gilpin's excursion therefore, evidently sug- 
gested that of Mazeppa's. But Byron has contrived to give quite 
a new turn to his poem — so that m the final catastrophe he 
almost seems to lose sight of the original. At Ware Gilpin's 
horse stands stock still at the door of his master's house, which, 
by the by, proves that he had not that unchancy trick of bolt- 
ing into the stable, ** sans ceremonie,*' which has incommoded 
many a sober-headed gentleman. Mazeppa's horse, in like man- 
ner, falls down the instant he reaches home, so we observe that 
the transition from motion to repose is in both cases equally ab- 
nipt. Mazeppa's sufferings are now at an end — and being put 
instantly into a good warm bed, he soon comes to himself — mar- 
ries — and in good time becomes the father of many children, 
and Hetman of the Cossacks. Gilpin, on the other hand, has 
scarcely had leisure to put on a new hat and wig, than off he 
sets again without ever drawing a bit — but it is unnecessary to 
follow him farther with any minuteness. Conclude we cannot 
without recalling to the memory of our renders one stanza which 
ever awakens in our minds a profound sense of the depth of Mrs. 


Gilpin's conjagal affection, and of the illimitable range of the 
imagination when flying on the wings of terrified love. 

" Now Mrs. Gilpin, when she saw 
Her husband posting down 
Into the countiy far away, 
She puird out half a crown.*' 

That one line, " into the country far away," gives to us a vaster 
idea of distance — of time and space — that the whole 1000 lines 
of Mazeppa. The reader at once feels how little chance there 
is of the post-boy overtaking Gilpin — and owns that the worthy 
man ought to be left entirely to himself and his wild destinies. 

"We need pursue the parallel no farther. But we may remark, 
that though we have now proved John Gilpin to have been the 
prototype of Mazeppa, yet the noble author has likewise had in 
his recollection the punishment which used sometimes to be in- 
flicted on criminals in Bussia. They were boimd on the back 
of an elk, and sent into Siberia or elsewhere. We refer our 
readers to the Sporting Magazine, where they will find a very 
affecting picture of a gentleman on his elk. It was always the 
practice to shave the criminal before he mounted, and in the pic- 
ture we speak of, he has a beard of about six inches long, which 
infoinns us that he had been on his travels probably several 
weeks. Ut pktura poesis. 


ffil)e (Smbalmtr.* 

Vero con todo esto me pnrece, que el traducir de una lengua en otra, como 
no 8cn He Inn Beynus dc las leng^as, Gnega y Latina, et como quien mira los 
tnpices Flamencos por el rev6s que aunque se ve^n las figuras son Ilenns de 
hilos que las obscurecen, y no so ven con la lisura y tez de la hae; y el traduci'r 
de lenguas fuciles ni arguye ingenio, m elocucion, como no le arguye el que 
traslada ni el que copia un papel de otro papel ; y no por esto quiero inferir 
que no sea loable este excercicio del tniducir porque en otras cosas peores se 
podria occupar el hombre, y quo menos proTecho lo truxessen. 

Don QvizoUt p. 2, c. 62. 

In spite of the angry motto against translators which I have 
here prefixed, I yet must say I look upon them as a very 
valuable body of men, and you may take my word for it, 
that my respect for the corps is not at all diminished by the cir- 
cumstance of my having occasionally figured in it myself. But 
I do not much value those of our brotherhood who are contented 
with oversetting, as the Germans phrase it, works into the mere 
vernacular. They are only writers for a day — nothing but 
ephemerals. Non sic itur ad astra. If the original be worth 
knowing, people will read it in its native tongue, so that there 
is no good done for any but the igriorant or lazy part of man- 

My department, I flatter myself, is rather higher. It has been 
long complained, that all living languages are in a state of such 
continual flux, that it is almost wasting a man's talents to write 
in them. Geoffry Crayon, if I do not mistake, most pathetically 
laments this affair in his Sketch Book. Chaucer strikes us as 
more antique reading than Homer ; and a man finds more diffi- 
culty in getting through Gawain Douglas than through Virgil. 
It is a melancholy reflection for the thousand-and-one writers of 
the present day, that even such of them as have the good luck 
to survive half a dozen centuries, must submit to the misfortune 
of being read through the musty medium of comments and glos- 

I have often turned my thoughts towards the prevention of 

^ This appeared in Blaekwood, for July, 1821.— M. 


this calamitous event, but, until a few days ago, in vain. An 
idea then suddeul}^ struck me, as I lay in bed one morning, so 
felicitous, that I instantly jumped up, and set about putting it 
into execution. My project is, to translate all works of modem 
tongues at once into ancient; — a dead language, as my Lord 
Byron very properly remarks, in his late pamphlet on Pope, 
being the only immortal thing in this world. By this means we 
should embalm our authors ; and I intend to take upon me at 
once the office of Embalmer General, in which capacity I may 
perhaps appear at the coronation, and offer the King a mummy 
case, as an appropriate homage fee. The works of our poets — 
for our prose writers I leave to Dr. Bellendenus — will, I trust, 
be preserved by my preparations, at least as effectually as bodies 
are by the antiseptic drugs, or gross unguents of Sir Everard 
Home,* or that most magnificence personage, William Thomas 
Brande, Esquire, Secretary to the Eoyal Institution, and chief 
concocter of that highly amusing and agreeably authentic mis- 
cellany, the Quarterly Journal of Science. 

It may bo said, that translations always fall far short of the 
original, and sacrifice numberless graces. Perhaps this is true 
of all other translators now extant ; but in my particular case, 
all that I am afraid of is, that I may beautify the original too 
much, and that the charms of my style and composition may 
make the readers of my translations apt to value inferior pro- 
ductions too highly, from the beauty of the amber in which I 
shall enwrap them. However, as in such cases the ori^nals will 
perish, the world will be the better for having my versions in 
their *placo ; and a regard to the general interest of mankind 
ought to peiT-ade the breast of every good and benevolent person. 

I had some doubt as to what language I should patronize. 
Hebrew is by far too crabbed to write, and is, besides, lying 
under high professional censure. I understand, indeed, that a 
gentleman in Italy has translated the Satires of Horace success- 
fully into the language of Zion ; and that it is capable of beau- 
tiful and harmonious melody, every body who has read the pa- 

* Sir Everard Home, a Scottish surgeon who obtained reputation and prac- 
tice in London, was bom in 1756, and died in 1832. His ''Lectures on Com- 
paraiivc Anatomy" are in high esteem.*— M. 


tbetic dirge,* in the thirty-eighth Number of Blackwood, by the 
vice^proYOst of Trinity College, Dublin, must acknowledge. But, 
m spite of all this, a man's fingers get horribly cramped in jot- 
ting and dotting. It is tuesome work to be meddling with the 
kings and emperors of Hebrew accentuation — with Zakeph- 
Katons, Telisha Gedolas, Schalschelets, and other grim-titled 
little flourishes. And if the thing were to be done at all, it 
should be done Masoretically ; for I look on the Anti-Masorites 
to be complete Whigs {L e, very contemptible persons) in liter- 
ature. With respect to Greek, it is a very fit. language. We 
all remember Porson's elegant translation of Three Children 
Sliding on the Ice ; and I have read two or three neat versions 
of Sbakspere, done by Cambridge men for the prize founded 
by him. God save the King, too, has been done for the Classical 
Journal passably ; and Mr. Csecilius Metellus has given the com- 
mencement of John Gilpin so well, in the same periodical, that 
I wish he would finish it ; after which, he might try his hand at 
the celebrated imitation of Cowper's philosophical poem. Lord 
Byron's Mazeppa. I was inclined to follow these examples, but 
it most unluckily happened, that in the very first poem I took 
up, I had occasion to look for the precise signification of a word 
beginning with omega, which I wanted to use ; and not being 
quite satisfied with Stephanus's interpretation, I am obliged to 
wait until I see the opinion of the new Tkes, on the point, which 
will delay my Greekish intentions, until somewhere in the year 
1835. Latin, then, being all that remained, I have commenced 
operations on a grand scale. Vincent Bomne, honest dear fel- 
low, has done a great deal already in that way, but I shall soon 
surpass his labours. 

I was dubious, too, with respect to the metres, whether I 
should only use those of ancient Home, or conform myself to 
the modem versification. There are great authorities on both 
sides. Dr. Aldrich translated 

A soldier and a sailor, 
A tinker and a tailor, &c. 

into Latin of similar structure with the English, and Chevy- 
Chase has been done in the same. Many inferior names might 
* Vide ante, in die "Lucius on the Death of Donnelly." — M. 


be also adduced. The ofejeetion to it is, that Latin lines to Eng- 
lish tones, are as much ont of place, as English lines of Latin 

I send a few fragments, sweepings of my portfbBos, as sam- 
ples. The great works I am employed in, I shall keep for jonr 
private inspection. Below are a part of ^Take thy old doak 
about thee," of "July the ilrst," of "The Groves of Blarney,*' 
of " Mary Anibree," of " Sir Tristrem," and the epitaphs on Sir 
Patrick Sarsfield, John, Duke of Marlborough, Henry, Duke 
of Grafton, Bobin Hood, Earl of Huntingdon, and Sir Daniel 
Donnelly, champion of Lreland. I have used both Latin and 
English metres. 



Sung^ by logo in ike Second Ad of OAeOo, 

King Stephen was a wortLy peer, 

His breeches cost him but a crown. 
He held them sixpence all too dear, 

And so he call'd the tailor loon. 
He was a king, and wore a crown. 

Thou art a squire of low degree ; 
*Ti8 pride that pulls the country down, 

So take thy old cloak about thee. 

Rex Stephanus pnnceps fuit illustrissimus olim, 

Sexquo decern braccae constiterunt obolis. 
Assibus hoc pretium reputans sex charius (equo» 

Saitorem jurgat nomine furciferi. 
Die fuit dominus celso diademate cinctus, 

£t tu demissi nil nisi vema loci ; 
Eheu ! stemit hami nunc nostra supeihia regnom, 

Veste igitur trita contege tecga precor. 



July the first, in old Bridge town, 
There was a grievous battle,— 

* After a diligent collation of MSS. I have fixed on readings which difibr 
somewhat from the received text of his poem.— M. OD. 


Where many a man lay on the grround, 

And the cannon they did rattle. 
King James, he pitchM his tents between. 

His lines for to retire,* 
But William threw his bomb-balls in, 

And set them all on fire.* 

* « • « 

Tlie horse and cannon cross'd the stream, 

And the foot cnme following a*ter, ■ 
But bravo Duke Schomberg lost his life 

In crossing the Boyne Water. 
» * * ♦ 

A bullet from the Irish came. 

And gnizecl King William's arm — * 
They thought his majesty was slain. 

But it did him little harm.* 

« « # • 

The Protestants of Drogheda 

Have reason to be thankful, 
That they were all preserved that day, 

Though they were but a handful. 

In veteris pontis vico, Julique calendig 

Atrox pugna fuit, morientia millia campum 

Stemebant: Sonitum honibilem tormenta dedere. 

In medio spatio tendebat rex lacobus. 

Posset ut ex acie subducere longius,t autem « 

Igniferos jecit glandes Gulielmus in hoatem, 

Exussitque statim flammis tentoiia cuncta. 
» « « « 

Flumen transivere equites tormentaque primum, 

His instant pedites ; Dux Schonenbergius acer, 

Dum transit, vitam deperdit in amne Bubiada. 
# « # « 

Strinxit mox bumerum Gulielmi glans ab Hibernig; 

Nil nocuit, quanquam de regis niurte timerent. 
« « « « 

Sint Protestantes Drobedss super omnia Iseti, 
Quod parvi numero, stvlvi tunc Marte fuerunt. 

* To be pronounced— more Hibemico — reti-er, fi-er, ar-nim, har-rum.— 
M. OD. 

+ I fear I may have misunderstood this line — the original being rather ob- 
scure — something like Sir B. Phillip't common sense. — M. OD. 

Vol. IL— 5 




Tho groves of Biurney they are most eharmipg ' 
Blamaei nemomt sunt jucundissima visu. 

But I prefer the next verse. 

'Tis lacly Jeffries, that owns this station, 

Like Alexander or Helen fair ; 
There is no lady in all the nation 

For emulation can with her compare. 
She has castles round her, that no nine-pounder 

Can dare to plunder her place of strength, 
But Oliver Cromwell he did her pummel, 

And made a hole ih her battlement. 

Jeffries castellum regit, peiT)ulchra vhtigo, '^ 
Par ct Alexandre pulchrae Helenaequo simnl, 

Cui cunctas inter peperit quas dulcis leme, 
Dicere se similem fsemina nulla potest. 

Hcec castella tenet qua* non tormenta timerent, 
Quffi tcr tres libras honida ferro solenL 

Sed Cromwcllus eam giaviter concussit, hiatum 
In nido pntulum conficiens dominae. 

* Blarney certainly is a most inforcsling part of the world. Its famous old 
castle — " the statues gracing ihis noble place in"— its Charles the Twelfth, 
&c. — the various stones connected with it — but, above all, its celebrated 
stone, render it highly worthy of public attention. The stone is on the top of 
the battlements of the castle, and is bound with iron ; being struck, as it is 
mentioned in the above quoted verse, by a cannon shot, when Oliver Cromwell 
attacked the place; but we believe the story of his being there rests on rather 
weak foundations. Any person who kisses that stone, is privileged to talk 
blarney oil his life ; and many a gentleman has been seen from Ireland who has 
proved the efficacy of the ceremony. It is said, but the doctrine is not quite 
so authentic, that a dip in the Shannon gives the piivilege of never bhishing 
while in the act of committing blaniey. Certain specimens, however, have 
come under our notice of ingenious Irishmen, who, all unbaptized, were quiet 
free from the sin of changing complexion. Blarney (not the place, but the 
thing) is quite a distinct affair from humbug, as lexicographers must well know. 
Its fame is widely extended all over the world, as it was the only English word 
that the King of Abyssinia was acquainted with, as you may see by Salt's Trav- 
eJs. — M. OD. 

f Nemova — a long by c»8ura. — See Dr. Carey. — M. OD. 




When our brave commanders, wliom death could not daunt, 
Marcli*d off to the siege of the city of Gaunt; 
They counted their forces by two and by three. 
But the foremost in battle was Mary Ambree. 

Cum nostri ductores qui mortem spemehunt, 
Ad Gantii turres cingendns pergebanl, 
Et copias legebant per duos et tres, 
Fuit piima in pugna Maiia Ambros. 


[I have translated ike entire poem,"} 

Geten and bom was so, 

The child was fair and white, 
Nas never Rohand so wo, 

He wist not what to wito ; 
To childbed ded he go, 

His owhen wiif al so tite, 
Said he hnd children to, 

On hem was his delite, 
Bi Crist, 
In court men cleped him so, 

Tho Tram bifor the Triit* 

Sic genitus et satus. 

In mundum infans it; 
Rohan ti us contristatus 
Quid facere non scit. 
In lecto qui fuit stratus. 

Partus uxoris fit. 
Quasi filius fuit natus 
Quem multum dilexit. 
Per Christum 
Et fuit nppellatus 
Cum Tramo ante Tristum. 
■ — ' — ■ 

* In Percy's Eeliques. The lady is mentiooed also by Ben Jonson, as Bdaiy 
Ambree, who inarched so free, &c. — M. OD. 



Oil ! Putiick SarsHeld, Imittlid's wonder, 
Who fought in field like any thunder, 
One of King James's chief commanders, 
Now lies the food of crows in Flanders. 
Ohone I 

O ! Patrici Sarsfield, decus mirantis lemes, 

Cui tonitru simili cernere usus erat: 
Jacobi lieroas quo non prssstantior inter, 
Belgai-um corvis mortuus esca jace«. 


By Doctor Evans. 
Here lies John, Duke of Marlborough, 
Who i«n the Frenchman tliorongh and thorough ; 
Married Sarah Jennings, spinster, 
Died in Suiiit James's, and was burled in Westminster. 

Hie jacet Dux Marleburiensis, 
Qui Gnllos secuit tanquam ensis, 
Virginem duxit Jcnningiam Saram, 
Moiluus Jacobi od regiam claram, 
Sepultus ad Stephani Martyns aram ! 

I must apologize for introducing a supernumerary line, and also 

for bringing " regianfjalaram" rhythmi gratis. Both practices, 

however, are justifiable by high poetic authority in this and other 




Yet a bullet of Cork 
It did his work, 

* Under a very fine print of Sir Patrick, engraved, if I do not mistake, by 
Lady Bingham, his daughter. If she also wrote the epitaph, it reflects great 
credit on her poetical powers. Sir Patrick fought gallantly for James II. in 
Ireland, and left it on the overthrow of his party. On the continent he contin- 
ued his aversion to William HI., and was killed in the battle of Landen, in 
which that monarch was defeated. He was a brave man. — M. OD. 

i Siiot by a blacksmith, who turned out, quoth the Cork Remembmncer, from 
m forgo in the Old Poet Office lane, as he was crossing the river Leo. The 

THE £.\[BALM£R. 101 

Unhappy pellet ! 
With grief I tell it, 
It hat undone 
Great CflMar's son ! 
A statesman's spoil'd; 
A sohlier foil'd ; 
God rot him 
Who shot him,— 
A son of a — -,* 
I sny no more. 
Here lies Heniy, the Duke of Grafton ! 

Sed glans Corcensis stravit, miserabile telum, 

• Hon ! natum rapuit Caesaris egregrii, 
Excolsum pariter vol hello consiliisve: — 

Csedentis manus occupet aim lues I 
Diaporeat scorti soboles. — Nil amplius nddam. 

Hie sunt Heniici Graftonis ossa Ducis. 



Underneath this liltle stone, 
Lies Robert, Earl of Huntingdon ; 
Ho WHS in truth an archer good, 
And people call'd him Robin Hood. 
Such outlaws as he and his men 
England never will see again. 

[_ Alcaics.'] 
Farvo Robertus>hic situs est i, 
Huntingdonensis sub lapide ob 

Nemo negabit quum pentus, 
Missilibus fuerit sagittis. 
Vulgo vocatus Robin-aiHoodius 
Exlex in agris vivere maluit, 

In Anglia nunquam Roberto 
Vel sociis similes videbis. 

place where he fell is called Grafton's alley. The epitaph is taken from a book 
published in 1702, called Poems on Affairs of State, &c. 2 vols. It is written 
by Sir F. S d. — M. OD. 

* There is a pleasant equivoque here. We are left in the dark whether this 
opprobrious name is applied to the blacksmith, or the Duke, of whom we know 
it was. quite true.- Verbniggen, the comedian, cmckcd a similar joke on the 
Duke of Saint Albans, which I believe is in Joe Millar. I have endeavored to 
preserve the equivoque. — M. OD. 

t In Percy's Reliques. — M. OD. 




Underneath tliis pillar high, 

Lies Sir Daniel Donnelly ; 

He was a stout and handy man, 

And people call'd him huffing Dan. 

Knighthood he took from Georgo's sword, 

And well he wore it by my word I 

He died at last, from forty-seven 

Tumblers of punch he drank one even, 

O'erthrown by punch, unharm'd by fist) 

He died unbeaten pugilist^ 

Such a buffer as Donnelly, 

Ireland never again will see. 

Hie jacet sub column^ stratus, 
Daniel Donnellius eques auratus; 
Fortis et accr ab omnibus ratus, 
Plagosus Daniel cognominatus, 
Eques a Georgio fuit crealus, 
Oinavitque ordinem equitatus; 
Quudraginta septem tiiicidatus, 
Canthaiis punchi hie est allatus ; 
Potn, non pugno, ita dumatU8,t 
Cecidit heros nunquam aequatus; 
Hiberniae insulae qu^ fuit natus 
Vir talis non crit posthac datus. 

Enough of these. Manum quod aiunt de tabula, 
I strongly recommtod any poet who wishes for immortality, 
to take advantage of my recipe. I am ready to translate for 
any gentleman at a fair and reasonable rate. Nor shall I be 
over hard in requiring any conditions from him, except that there 
be a slight degree of intelligibility in what he writes — say about 
four degrees above Maturin's Universe,! — which, I hope, is not 
too much. 

* From that great work " Blaclv wood's Magazine," No. XXXVHI. — M. OD. 
t More antique for domitus. — M. OD. 

X A poem, in blank verse, written by Maturin, author of the tragedy of " Beiv 
trnm," and now quite forgotten. — M. 


Dear North, 
It has often struck me with astonishment, that the people of 
Ireland should have so tamely submitted to Mr. Thomas Moore's 
audacity, in prefixing the title of Iiish to his melodies. That 
the tunes are Irish, I admit ; but as for the songs, they in gen- 
eral have as much to do with Ireland, as with Nova Scotia. 
What an Irish affair, for example — " Go where glory waits 
thee," &c. Might not it have been sung by a cheesemonger's 
daughter of High Ilolborn when her master's apprentice was 
going in a fit of valour to list himself in the third Buffs, or by 
any other such amatoiy person, as well as a Hibernian Virgin ? 
And if so, where is the Irishism of the thing at all ? Again, 

When in death I shall calm recline, 

Bear my heart to my mistress dear ;t 
Tell lier it fed upon smiles and wine 

Tell her it fed upon fiddlesticks ! Pretty food for an Irishman's 
heart for the ladies ! Not a man of us from Camsore Point to 
Bloody Forland would give a penny a pound for smiles ; and as 
for wine, in the name of decency, is fJiat a Milesian beverage? 
Far from it indeed ; it is not to be imagined that I should give 
five or six shillings for a bottle of grape juice, which would not 
be within fivQ quarts of relieving me from the horrors of sobriety, 
when for the self-same sum I could st^ under my belt a full 
gallon of Roscrea, drink beyond comparison superior. The idea 
is in fact absurd. But there would be no end were I to point 
out all the un-Irish points of Moore's poetry. Allusions to our 
localities, it is true, we sometimes meet with, as thinly scattered 
as plumbs in the holiday puddings of a Yorkshue boarding 
school, and scattered, for the same reason, just to save appear- 
ances, and giv#:a title to the assumed name. There's the Vale 

* This article, iuten^ed to commence a series, appeared in Blackwood, for 
December, 1821.— M. 

t This expression, I own, t* Irish ; but it is lost by the common punctuation, 
mistress dear, which is just as bald an epithet as any man would wish to meet 
with on a day's journey — M. OD. 


of Ovoca, for instance, a song upon a valley in Wicklow, but 
whicli would suit any other valley in the world, provided always 
it had three syllables, and the middle one of due length. 

Were I in a savage mood, I could cut him up with as much 
ease as a butcher in Ormond market dissects an ox from the 
county of Tipperary ; but I shall spare him for this time, intend- 
ing, if I have leisure, to devote an entire paper to prove his utter 
incompetence ; at present I shall only ask, whether, in these 
pseudo-Irish Melodies, there is one song about our saints, fairs, 
wakes, rows, patrons, or any other diversion among usi Is 
there one drinking song which decent individuals would willingly 
roar forth after dinner in soul-subduing soloes, or give to the 
winds in the full swell of a thii'ty-man chorus? Not one — no 
— not one. Ilerc am I,-^who, any night these twenty years, 
might have been discovered by him whom it concerned, discus- 
sing my four-ancj-twcntieth tumbler, and giving the side of the 
festive board, or the chair presiding o'er the sons of light, with 
songs lit to draw nine souls out of one weaver, and, of course, 
hearing others in my turn — ready to declare that never was 
song of Moore's sung in my company ; and that is decisive. If 
any one should appeal from my long expeneuce — let such un- 
believing person leave the case to any independent jury, select- 
ed indifferently from all districts, — from the honest Inishowen 
consumers of the north, down to the wet gulletted devourers of 
Tommy Walker* in the south, and he will be convinced. la 
fact, my dear North, read over his " Fill the bumper fair," and 
you will find, that instead of givhig us a real hearty chanson-a- 
boire, as we say in Dunkirk, you have a parcel of mythological 
botheration about Prometheus, and other stale personages, which, 
in the days of heathenism, would be laughed at for its ignorance, 
as it is now, in the days of Christianity, voted a bore for its im- 
pertinence. And is this the national song-writer for this much 
injured and hard drinking island? — Perish the idea ! — As an 
oratorical friend of mine once said at an aggregate meeting in 
Fishamble Street, such a thought is a stigma upon humanity^ 
and a taint upon the iincr feelings of man ! 

A fair sort of young man, the Hon. Mr. O'Oallaghan, of the 

* Thomas Walker and Co., oxtensive whiskoy-distillern in Cork. — M. 

nUSfi MELODIES. 195 

White Kniglit's family,* lias been so strack with this deficiency 
of Mr. T. Moore, that he is going to give us a number of melo- 
dies in opposition to those of our little bard. I wish him suc- 
cess, but I am afraid that, though he is an ingenious person, he 
is not possessed of that ideal faculty which is requisite for the 
task. For fear he should fail, I have determined to start, and 
show the world a real specimen of true Irish melody, in a series of 
songs symphonious to the feelings of my countrymen. Neither 
Moore nor O'Callaghan will, I flatter myself, be much read after 
this series of mine. I hate boasting; but, — pocas polabras — 
as Christopher Sly observes. 

We were talking about the business last Thursday, at the 
Cork in Mary-street, while Talbot was playing most divinely on 
the Union pipes. There were present Terence Flanagan, Pat. 
Moriarty, Jerry O'Geogheghan, Phelim Macgillicuddy, Cal- 
laghan O'Shaughnessy, and some other equally well known and 
respected characters, who are to a man good judges of punch, 
porter, and poetry ; and they agreed it would be a sin if I did 
not publish a half-dozen of melodies, four of which I wrote in 
the tap-room the night before, just to get rid of a quarter of an 
hour or so, while I was finishing a few pints in solitary reflec- 
tion. No man can resist pressing of the kind, and I yielded. 
Talbot, in the handsomest manner, volunteered to set the airs — 
for which, though I offered him instant payment, he would not 
suffer me to remunerate him in any other manner than by per- 
mitting me to treat him to a hot glass. When it was asked 
what would be the best vehicle for giving them to the pubhc, 
we voted that the only Irish Magazine, [Bjjplfwood,] was the fit 
soil for the planting of Irish melodies ; aniit was carried unan- 
imously that they should be instantly transmitted to Mr. North. 

I have not aimed, or rather Talbot has not aimed, at bother- 
ing the plain and simple melody by any adventitious airs and 
graces. You h»yi them, unadorned, adorned the most — that 
is, stark naked. JHie piano trashery has bedevilled the tunes 
given by M9or^ f end this is another instance of the man's in- 

* There are yet, fa iffinerick and Kerry, three branches of one of the old 
Irish families, respectively headed by the White Knight, the Knight of Glyn, 
and the Knight of Kerry.—- M. 



snfficicncy. Just think of the piano being cbosen as the in- ' 
strumcnt for Ii-isli airs, when he had, as a sonthem correspondent 
of yours sings, 

The harp or bug^ipe, which you pleate, 

to melodize with ! Moore first had Sir John Stephenson as his 
composer, (who now is at work for Mr. 0*Gallaghan,) and then 
he took up Bishop — both fi-iends of mine, with whom I often 
have cleaned out a bottle, and therefore I shall not eny any 
thing derogatory of either. In short, let the public jndge be- 
tween Moore, myself, and O'Callaghan — Bishop, Talbot, and 
Stephenson — and God defend the right. I shall make a few 
remarks on the melodies I send, and then conclude. Indeed I 
had not an idea of writing half so much when I began. 

Melody the first is theological, containing the principal acts 
of our national Saint — his coming to Ireland on a stone — his 
never-emptying can, commonly called St. Patrick's pot — his 
changing a leg of mutton into a salmon in Lent time — and his 
banishment of the snakes. Consult Jocelyn.* 

Melody the second is pathetic, being the Lamentation of a 
Connaught Hanger, discharged. I had eleven cousins in that 
regiment. I may as well give it as my opinion, that the only 
cure for our present difiiculties, is to go to war without delay ; 
and I venture to say, if an aggregate meeting of the seven 
millions of us could be called any where, a war would be voted 
nem, co?i. I don't much care with whom, that being an after- 
thought, but I certainly would prefer having a shaking of those 
ugly-looking garlic-eaters, the Spaniards, who are now so impu- 
dent as to imagine they could have fought the French without 
us. I heard one Pedro Apodaca say as much, and I just knock- 
ed him down, to show him I did not agree with him in opinion. 
I would engage that 200,000 men would be raised in a day in 

this country, and if we would not batter the Dons , I leave 

it to the reader. 

The third is amatory. Compare this with the best of Tom 

* The tune to which these words are put is n great favourite. in Ireland. It 
is said the originul words ('* The night hefore Larrj' xtos stretched") were writ- 
ten hy a very learned gentleman, wlio is now a dignitary of the established 
church in Ireland. It is a first-rate slang song. — M. OD. [The Rev. Dr. Bui^ 
roives, Dean of Cork, wrote the song ii\ c\wc%\\on. — M."l 


Moore's ditties. But to be sure it is absurd to think of a man 
of his inches talking of making love to half the gu-ls in the 
country, as he does in Little's poems. 

The fourth is warlike — something in the manner of Sir Wal- 
ter Scott's Gatherings. It relates to a feud in Kerry.* 

The fifth is convivial, and was extempore. I did not write it 
with the other four, but actually chanted it on the spur of the 
occasion tliis morning, at the time noted. It is to the famous tune 
of Lillebullero — my uncle Toby's favourite ; and the tune, as 
you may see, by Burnet, with which Lord Wharton whistled 
King James, of the unsavoury surname, out of three kingdoms. 
It is among us a party air, and called the Protestant iPoys ; but 
honest men of all parties must approve of my words. They 
come home to every man's feelings. 

The last is sentimentaL I wrote it merely to prove I could 
write fine if I liked ; but it cost me a lot of trouble. I actually 
had to go to the Commercial Buildings, and swallow seven cups 
of the most sloppish Bohea I could get, and eat a quartern loaf 
cut into thin slices, before I was in a fit mood to write such stuff. 
If I were to continue that diet, I should be the first of your 
pretty song writers in the empire ; but it would be the death of 
me in a week. I am not quite recovered from that breakfast 
yet — and I do not wonder at the unfortunate figure the poor 
Cockneys cut, who are everlastingly suffering under the deleteri- 
ous effects of tca-drinklug. 

I have scribbled to the end of my paper, so must conclude. 


Song I. 

— 1^ — ^ 

?-i ^:jizr:£ 

for St. Den - nis of France, He*8 a 

* The tune of this (** Tlio Groves of the Pool") is indigenous of the South 
of Ireland. There is a'ftipilal song to this tune, hy R. Millikin, of Cork, be- 
ginning with "Now the war, dearest Nancy, is ended, and pence is come over 
from France." Millikin is the author of the Groves of Blarney, which Mathewg 
sings with so much effect.— M. OD. There is a sort of sketch of his in Byan's 
Won hies of Ireland. — C. North. 











trum-pe-ry fellow to brag on; A fig for St George and his lance, Which 




spitted a heathenish dragon : And the saints of the Welshman and Scot Are a 




pi - ti-ful couple of pipers, Both of whom may just travel to pot, If com- 








pared with the patron of swipers, St Patrick of Ireland, my dear ! 

A FIG for St. Dennis of France, 

He's a trumpciy fellow to brag on ; 
A fig for St. George and his lance, 

Which spitted a heathenish dragon; 
And the Saints of the Welshman or Scot 

Are a couple of pitiful pipers, 
Both of whom may just travel to pot. 

Compared with the patron of swipers, 

St. Patrick of Ireland, my dear ! 


He came to the Emerald Isle 

On a lump of a paving-stone mounted; 
The steam-boat he boat to a mile, 

Which mighly good sailing was counted: 
Says he, " The salt water, I think, 

Has made me most bloodily thirsty. 
So bring me a flagon of drink. 

To keep down the mulligrubs, burst ye, 
Of drink that is fit for a saint." 


He preach'd then with wonderful force. 

The ignorant natives a-toaching ; 
With a pint he wash'd down his discourse, 

" For," says he, " I detest your dry preaching." 
The people, with wonderment struck. 


At a pastor so pious and civil, 
Exclaim'd " We're for you, hiy old buck, 
And we pitch our blind gods to the devil, 
Who dwells in hot water below." 


This ended, our'worshipful spoon 

Went to visit an elegant fellow. 
Whose practice each cool afternoon 

Was to get most delightfully mellow. 
Thot day, with a black jack of beer. 

It chanced he was treating a party ; 
Says the s^int, *' This good day, do you hear, 

I drank nothing to speak of, my hearty, 

So give me a pull at the pot." * 

The pewter he lifted in spoit, 

(Believe me, I tell you no fuble,) 
A gollon he drank from the quart. 

And then planted it full on the table. 
"A miracle !" eveiy one said. 

And they all took a haul at the stingo; 
They were capital hands at the trade, 

And drank till they fell ; yet, by jingo ! 

The pot still frothed over the brim. 

Next day quoth his host, " *Tis a fast. 

But I've nought in my larder but mutton, 
And on Fridays who*d make such repast. 

Except an unchristian-like glutton ?'* 
Says Pat, *♦ Cease your nonsense, I beg. 

What you tell me is nothing but ganmion ; 
Take my compliments down to the leg. 

And bid it come hither a salmon !" 

And the leg most politely complied. 

You've heard, I suppose, long ago. 

How the snakes in a manner most antic, 
He march'd to the county Mayo, 

And trundled them into th' Atlantic. 
Hence not to nse water for drink 

The people of Ireland determine ; 
With mighty good reason, I think, 

Since St. Patrick has fill'd it with Termin, 
And vipers, and other such stuff. 




! lie was nn clogant blade, 

As you'd meet from Fair Head to Eilcnimper, 
And tliough under the sod hn is laid, 
Yrt here goes his health in a bumper! 

1 wisli he was liere, that my glass 

II(* might by urt magic replenish; 
But as he is not, why, alas ! 

My ditty must come to a finish— 

Because all the liquor is oat' 

•SoxG II. 

Air. — Lamentation over Sir Dan, 
With the melancholy expression of days gone by. 





I wish to St Patrick we had a new war, Pd not care who fwas 





with, nor what it was for ; With the French, or the Yankees, or 

^ tr 


bet- ter again, With the yel-low mulattoes of Lisbon or Spam. 
I WISH to St. Putnck wc had a new wnr, . 
I'd not core who 'twas with, nor what it was for: 
With the French, or the Yankees — or, better ogain, 
With the yellow Mulultties of Lisbon or Spain ! 

My heart is half broke when I think of the fun 

We had before Boiiey, poor fellow, was done ; 

Oil ! 'twas I who was soro when I heard ho was dead, 

For I thought on the days when he got me good broad. 

When he, who, Go<l rest him ! was never afraid. 
Sir Thomas,* commanded the Fighting Brigade; 

* Sir T. Picton, who commanded the 4th division in the Peninsular War. It 
was chiefly composed of Irishmen, and was called the "fighting division/* 



And the Rangers of Connniight — to see them wns life — 
Made game of the Frenchmen,* and g^ve them tiie knife. 


When abroad and at liome we had sport and content— 
Who cared then a damn for tithe, taxes, or rent? 
When each dnshing fine fellow who wishM to enlist, 
Might be off to the wars with his gun in his fist. 


Now the landlord is bothcr'd, and tenant bereft— 
The soldier's discharged,- and the sailor adiift, — 
Hnlf-|>ays to our captains poor living afford. 
And the Duke is no more than a Government Lord ! 


And our active light-bobs, and our bold gronadiei*8, 
Must dirty their fingers with plough, loom, or shears; 
Or if, just out of fun, we would venture a snap 
At no more than a proctor, we*re thrown into trap. 


So bad luck to the minute that brought us the peacci 
For it almost has ground the nose out of our face; 
And I wish to St. Patrick we had a new war, 
Och ! no matter with whom, no, nor what it is for! 



Air. — Limeiick Qlove. 

With uproarious jollity. 

^|-j_i_^^ ^^[-jv J j'^_J^-g-|j^-j^-j ^ 

When you go courting a neat or a dainty lass. Don't you be sighing or 

fe^ lr^ . ^ l"^ ^1t ^ s f ^ nHs ^ r ^ -fi- j^ 

ready to faint, alas I Little she'd dare for such pluckless philandering, 

from its constant activity in engaging. The Connaught Rangers (the 88ih) 
was one regiment of this most dashing hnga<le; and many a saying of Sir T/s 
is treasured up by them, for he was a great favourite, from his gallant habits.— 
M. OD. 

* A common phrase among the Irish soldieiy for charging with the bayonet. 
— M. OD. I 



And to Old Nick she would send jou a wandering. But^ yon tliiet 70a 

g^5fe^^E ^rjyL.!iMMj 

Togne, you rap - pa-ree, Arrah, have at her like Paddy O* Raf-fer - ty. 


When you go courting n nent or a dainty lassi 
Don't you be sighing ur ready to faint, alas ! 
Little shoM caro for such pluckless pliilandering, 
And lo Old Nick she would send you a wandering. 

But, you thief, you rogue, you rapparee ! 

Arrah, have at her like Faddy O^BajBTerty. 

. 2. 

Tip her the wink, and take hold of the fist of her; 

Kiss her before she'd have time to say Chiistopher; 

She may ciy out, " You're an impudent fellow, sir!" 

But her eye will unsny what her tongue it may tell you, sir. 
Oh, you thief, you rogue, you rapparee. 
You're a devil of a fellow, Paddy O'RHfferty. 


Give lior another, or rather a score of 'em, 
Siill you will find her ready for more of 'em; 
Press her, caress her, my dear, like a stylish man. 
For that is the way to go court like an Irishman. 
Oh, you, &c. 


Pilch to the devil sighings and " well-a-days," 
Oglings and singing of piperly melodies ; 
When in your arms you fairly have got her, siff 
Her heart it will melt like a lump of fresh butter, sir! 
Oh, you, &c. 


Oh, llio dear creatures — sure I am kill'd with 'em ! 

My heart, was it big as the sea, would be fill'd with *em ; 

Fur have I truff'd it, and surely where'er I went, 

'Twas with the girls I had fun and merriment. 

Oh, you thief, you rogue, you rapparee, 
You're a devU of a fellow, Paddy O'Rnfferly. 



Song IV. 

Tune — Oroves of the Pool. 
With indignant energy. 



Sevrj Ma-ho-nj, ar-rahtmy jew -el, Come, let us be 







off to the fair, For the Do - novans, all in their glo - ry, Most 






certainly mean to be there. Says they, "The whole Ma- ho- ny 





fac - tion well ba - nish 'em out clear and clean f But it 

ih r * # 



-n — ^ 

never was yet in their breeches, their bullaboo words to maintain. 

Jerry Mahont, arrah, my jewel, come, let us be off to the fair, 
Fur the Donovans all in their glory most certainly mean to be tliere; 
• Says they, ** The whole Maliony faction we'll banish 'em out clear and clean." 
But it never was y6t in their breeches, their bullaboo words to maintain. 


There's Darby to head us, and Barney, as civil a man as yet spoke, 
'Twould make your mouth water to see him, just giving a bit of a stroke; 
There's Oorney, the bandy-lfegg'd tailor, a boy of the true sort of stuff. 
Who'd fight though the black blood was flowing like buttermilk out of his buff. 


There's broken-nos'd Bat from the mountain— last week he burst out of the jail, 
And Murty the beautiful Toiy,* who'd scorn in a row to turn tail; 

* Tory, in Ireland, is a kind of pet name, " Oh ! you Tory," is ihe same as 
" Oh ! you rogue," used sportively. If a man wishes to call another a rogue 
seriously, he calls him Whig, the terms being convertible. — M. OD. 



Bloody Bill will be there like a darlin^r, nnd Jerry, och ! let him alonei 
Kut- giving his blackthorn a flourish, or lifting a lump of a stone. 


And Tim, who scrvM in the mililia, his bayonet has stuck on a pole; 
Foxy Dick has his scythe in good order, a neat sort of tool on the whole; 
A cudgel, I see, is your weapon, and never I knew it to fail; 
But I think that a man is more handy, who'figfats, as I do, witli a flail. 

We muster a hundred shillcluhs, all handled by elegant men. 

Who bntterM the Donovans often, and now will go do it again ; 

To-day we will teach them some manners, and show that, in spite of their talk, 

Wo still, like our fathers before us, are surely the cocks of the walk. 

Afror cutting out work for the sexton, by smashing'a dcKsen or so, 
We'll quit in the utmost of splendour*, and down to Peg Slatteiy's go; 
In gallons wcMI wash down the battle, and drink to the next merry day; 
When must'iiug oguin in a body, we all shall go leatliering away. 

Song V. 


[ Tune — LillihnUero. Time, four o'clock in the nMrning, or thereabout;*.] 





Hark 1 hark! from below, The rascal -ly row Of watchmen in chorus 



I h !- 

W-T- * d f- 

ba-wUng'Tourl" But spite of their noise, My rol- locking boys, Well 

Grand Choras. 
With practical accompaniments. 








stay till we* ve emptied one bottle more. Bumpers, bumpers, flowing bumpers, 

-•— p- 

Bumper your glasses high up to the brim^^nd he who is taUdng A 






word a - bout walk - ing, Out of the win - dow at once with him. 


Hark ! hnrk ! from below, 

The rascally row 
Of watchmen, in choiniSi bawlin|^ "Four I" 

But spite of their noise, 

My rollockiug boys ! 
We'll stay till we've emptied *one bottle more. 


Bumpers— bumpers — flowing bumpers ! 
Bumper your glasses high up to the brim ! 

And he who is talking 

A word about walking. 
Out of the window at ouco with him ! 


Our whiskey is good, 

As ever yet stood. 
Steaming on table from glass or pot : 

It came from a still, 

Snug under a hill, 
Where the eye of ihe ganger saw it not. 

Bumpers, &c. 


Then why should we run 

Away from the sun — 
Here's to his hcaUh* niy own elegant men ! 

We drank to his rest 

Last night in the west, 
And we'll welcome him now that he wakes again. 

Bumpers, &c. 


And here wo shall stop. 
Until every drop, 
That charges our bottles, is gone, clean gone ; 

• Of whiskey, viz. about thirteen tumblers. — M. OD. 

t We pronounce the word generally in Ireland as we sound the ch in church 
-Tchorus. — I think it is a preUier woy. — M. OD. 



\nd then, sallying out. 
We'll leather the rout,* 
Wbo've dared to remind us how time has run. 
Bumpers, &c. 


Soxa VL 
[ Tune—" Tlionum vm Though,"'] 
With ardent feeliny and pensive exprensum. 





Tvi sweet up-on th'impaaeicMi'd wave To hear the yoice of 









mu - sic stealing, And while the dark winds wildly raye. To 







catch the genuine soul of feeling; While all around, the ether blue Its 



- f- r *r 


dim ma - jcs - tic beam is shedding, And ro - sj tints of 




heavenly hue Are thro* the nud-night dark -ness spreading. 

'Tis swoet upon tlie impassIonM wave 

To lienr the voice of music stealing, 
And while the dark winds wildly rave. 

To catch the genuine soul of feeling ! 

* Beating the watch is a pleasant and usual finale to a social party in 
Dublin. I am compelled myself now and then to castigate them, merely 
for the impertinent clamour they make at night about the hours. Our ances- 
tors must have been in the depths of barbarity, when they established this un- 
gentlemanlike custom. — M. OD. 


While all around, the ether blue 

lis dim^ majestic beam is sbeddtng. 
And roseate tints of heavenly hue 

Arc through the midnight darkness spreading! 


So is it when the thrill of lovo 

Through every burning pulae is flowing; 
And like the foliage of the grove, 

A holy light on all bestowing ! 
O ! never from this feverM heart 

Shall dreams on wings of gold bo flying ; 
But e'en when life itself shall part, 

I'll think on thee, sweet maid, though dying! 

'Twas thus, upon the mountain's height. 

Young Dermod sung his plaint of sorroWi 
Regardless of the evening light, 

That ushers in the gay to-moiTow ! 
For love had of his cheek bereft 

That smile — that glow — of joyous gladness, 
And sympathy's cold sting had left 
Nought there — but pale and gloomy sadness ! 



Epistolary as well as personal intercourse is, according to 
the mode in wliicli it is carried on, one of the pleasantest 
or most irksome things in tlie world. It is delightful to drop 
in on a friend without the solemn prelude of invitation and ac- 
ceptance — to join a social circle, where we may suffer our minds 
and hearts to relax and expand in the happy consciousness of 
perfect security from invidious remark and carping criticism; 
where we may give the reins to the sportiveness of innocent 
fancy, or the enthusiasm of warm-hearted feeling; where we 
may talk sense or nonsense, (I pity people who cannot talk non- 
sense,) without fear of heing looked into icicles by the coldness 
of unimaginative people, living pieces of clock-work, who dare 
not themselves utter a word, or lift up a little finger, without first 
weighing the important point, in the hair balance of propriety 
and good breeding. It is equally delightful to lei the pen talk 
freely, and unpremeditatedly, and to one by whom we are sure 
of being understood; but a formal letter, like a ceremonious 
morning visit, is tedious alike to the 'writer and receiver — for the 
most part spun out with unmeaning phrases, trite observations, 
complimentary flourishes, and protestations of respect and at- 
tachment, so far not deceitful, as tliey never deceive any body. 
Oh the misery of having to compose a set, proper, well worded, 
coiTectly pointed, polite, elegant epistle! — one that must have 
a beginning, a middle, and an end, as methodically arranged and 
portioned out as the several parts of a sennon under three heads, 
or the three gradations of sli«ade in a school-girPs first landscape ! 
For my part, I would rather be set to beat hemp, or weed in a 
turnip field, than to write such a letter exactly every month, oi 
every fortnight, at the precise point of time from the date of our 
correspondent's last letter, that he or she wrote after the recep- 
tion of ours — as if one's thoughts bubbled up to the well-heai 
at regular periods, a pint at a time, to be bottled off for imme 
diate use. Thought ! what has thought to do in such a corre 
* From Blackwood for March, 1822. — M. 


spondence ? It murders thought, quenches fancy, wastes time, 
spoils paper, wears out innocent goose-quills — "I*d rather be a 
kitten and ciy mew ! than one of those same'* prosing letter- 
mongers. Surely in this age of invention something may be 
struck out to obviate the necessity (if such necessity exists) .of 
so taskmg, degrading the human intellect. Why should not a 
sort of mute barrel-organ be constructed on the plan of those 
that play sets of tunes and country dances, to indite a catalogue 
of polite epistles calculated for all the ceremonious observances 
of good-breeding ] Oh the unspeakable relief (could such a ma- 
chine be invented) of having only to grind an answer to one 
of one's " dear five hundred fiiends !*' Or, suppose there were 
to be an epistolary steam-engine — Aye, that's the thing — Steam 
does every thing now-a-days. Dear Mr. Brunei, set about it, I 
beseech you, and achieve the most glorious of your undertakings. 
The block machine at Portsmouth would be nothing to it — That 
spares manual labor — this would relieve mental drudgery, and 
thousands yet unborn - - - - But hold ! I am not so sure that 
the female sex in general may quite enter into my views of the 

Those who pique themselves on excelling in " I'eloquence du 
billet," or those fair scribblerihas just emancipated from board- 
ing-school restraints, or the dragpnism of their governesses, just 
beginning, to taste the refined enjoyments of sentimental, confi- 
dential, soul-breathing correspondence with some Angelina, Sera- 
phina, or Laura Matilda ; to indite beautiful little notes, with 
long-tailed letters, upon vellum paper with pink margins, sealed 
with sweet mottos, and dainty devices — " Je ne change qu'en 
mourant" — "Forget me not," or Capid with a rose, "L'une 
seule me suffit" — the whole deliciously perfumed with musk and 
attar of roses — Young ladies who collect " copies of verses," and' 
charades — keep albums — copy patterns — make bread seals — 
work little dogs upon footstools, and paint flowers without 
shadow — Oh ! no — the epistolary steam-engine will never come 
into vogue with those dear creatures — They must enjoy the 
" feast of reason, and the flow of soul," and they must write — 
Ye Gods I how they do write I 

But for another genus of female scribes — Unhappy innocents! 


who groan in spirit at the diro necessity of having to hammer 
ont one of those aforesaid terrible epistles — who having in due 
form dated the gilt-edged sheet that lies outspread before them 
in appalling whiteness — having also felicitously achieved the 
gracefal exordium, " My dear Mrs. P." or " My dear Lady V." 

or " My dear any thing else else," feel that they are im for 

it, and must say something — Oh, that something that nrast come 
of nothing! those bricks that must be made without straw! 
those pages that must be filled with words ! Yea, with words 
that must be sewed into sentences ! Yea, with sentences that 
must seem to mean something ; the whole to be tacked together, 
all neatly fitted and dove-tailed, so as to form one smooth pol- 
ished surface ! What were the labours of Hercules to such a 
task ! The very thought of it puts me into a mental perspira- 
tion ; and, from my inmost soul, I compassionate the unfortunates 
now (at this very moment, perhaps,) screwed up perpendicular 
in the seat of torture, having in the right hand a fresh-nibbed 
patent pen, dipped ever and anon into the ink bottle, as if to 
hook up ideas, and under the outspread palm of the left hand a 
fair sheet of best Bath post, (ready to receive thoughts yet un- 
hatched,) on which their eyes arc rivetted with a stare of discon- 
solate pei'plexity, infinitely touching to a feeling mind. To such 
unhappy persons, in whoso miseries I deeply sympathize - - - - 

Have I not groaned under similar horrors, from the hour when 
I was first shut up (under lock and key, I believe) to indite a 
dutiful epistle to an honoured aunt 1 I remember as if it were 
yesterday, the moment when she who had enjoined the task en- 
tered to inspect the performance, which, by her calculation, 
should have been fully completed — I remember how sheepishly 
I hung down my head, when she snatched from before me 
the paper, (on which I had made no further pwgress than " My 
dear antf") angrily exclaiming, " What, cliild ! have you been 
shut up hero three hours to call your aunt a pismire 1" FrcMn 
that hour of humiliation I have too often groaned under the en- 
durance of similar penance, and I have learnt from my own suf- 
ferings to compassionate tlioso of my dear sisters in affliction. 
To such unhappy persons, then, I would fain ofier a few bints* 
(the fruit of long experience,) which, if they have not already 


been suggested by tbeir own observation, may prove serviceable 
in tbe boiq: of emergency. 

Let tbem - - - or suppose I address myself to one particular 
sufferer— tberejs something more confidential in that manner 
of conmnnic&ting one's ideas — As Moore says, ''Heart speaks 
to heart" — I- say, then, take always special care to write by 
candlelight, for not only is the apparently unimportant operation 
of snuffing the candle in itself a momentary relief to the depres- 
sing consciousness of mental vacuum, but not unfrequently that 
trifling act, or the brightening flame of the taper, elicits, as it 
were, from the dull embers of fancy, a sympathetic spark- of for- 
tunate conception — When such a one occurs, seize it qmckly 
and dexterously, but, at the same time, with such cautious pru- 
dence as not to huddle up and contract in one short, paltry 
sentence, that which, if ingeniously handled, may be wire- 
drawn, so as to undulate gracefully and smoothly over a whole 

For the more ready practice of this invaluable art of dilating, 
it will be expedient to stock your memory with a large assort- 
ment of those precious words of many syllables, that fill whole 
lines at once ; " incomprehensibly, amazingly, decidedly, solici- , 
tously, inconceivably, incontrovertibly." An opportunity of 
using these, is, to a distressed spinner, as delightful as a copy 
all m's and n's to a child. " Command you may, your mind 
from play." They run on with such delicious smoothness ! 

I have known a judicious selection of such, cunningly ar- 
ranged, and neatly linked together, with a few mono-syllables, 
interjections, and well-chosen epithets, (which may be liberally in- 
serted with good general effect,) so worked up, as to form alto- 
gether a very respectable and even elegant composition, such as 
amongst the best judges of that peculiar style is pronounced to 
be "acharmmg letter!" Then the pause — the break — has 
altogether a picturesque effect. Long-tailed letters are not only 
beautiful in themselves, but the use of them necessarily creates 
such a space between the lines, as helps one honourably and 
expeditiously over the ground to be filled up. The tails of your 
^*8 and y's in particular, may be boldly flourished with a " down- 
Bweeping" cnirve, so as beautifully to obscure the Uicl^ >ask^^x^ 

Vol. II.— 6 


neath, without rendering it wholly ille^le. This last, how- 
ever, is but a minor grace, a mere illumination of the imuiii8cript» 
on which I have touched rather by accident than derflpi* I 
pass on to remarks of greater moment. Th^ it inoUiAr az- 
pedient of infinite efficacy, but requiring to be eiiipla(ni Mth 
such nice tact, that none but an experienced spinner dionM ven- 
ture on the practice of it. You may continue* by die llelp of a 
little alteration, amplification, and transposition of the precise 
terms, to amuse your correspondent with a recapitnlalion of the 
very matter that formed the groundwork of liis, or her last 
epistle to yourself. Should he detect you in this retort, (against 
which the chances are equal,) he will be restrained by good 
breeding from making any obseiTations to yourself on ^e sub- 
ject, aud in fact he will (if a candid and reasonable person) find 
no just cause of complaint against you, for refreshing his mem- 
ory, and thus impressing more indelibly on his mind a subject 
he had conceived of sufficient importance to be imparted to you. 
Again — you need not fear that he shall turn your own arms 
against you — their loading is spent in your retort, so that it will 
still be his business to furnish fresh matter, every thing (you 
perceive) in this game depending on the first throw. 

This species of manoeuvre, as I before obseryed, should by no 
means be rashly ventured, but it is an art well worth the trouble 
of acquiring, at the expense of some pains and study, one (in 
which you are so fortunate as to become a proficient) that will 
relieve you from all further anxiety, famishing you (at the ex- 
pense of your correspondents) with ample materials for your 
own epistolary compositions. As to the strict honesty of this, 
proceeding, no conscience need, I think, be so squeamish as to 
hesitate on the subject, for, in fact, what has conscience to do 
with the style of correspondence now under consideration % It 
were well if a fine lady's letter were oftener made up of such 
innocent ingredients, for (generally speaking) would not the ab- 
stract of such a one fairly translated run thus 1 

My dear Lady D You tiresome old toad : 

With feelings of the most in- You've manoBuvred off oniS 
expreadbly affectionate inter- of your gawky frights at lasti 



est, I take tip my pen to con- 
gratulate . jou on the marriage 
of jow lovely^ and accomplish- 
ed Alethea. 

'ffo.^iWl irip know every 
thotigl^tifE Vkf beart, it is al^ 
most nnfiecedsaiy. to say, that 
next to the maternal tenderness 
"with which I watch over my 
own girls, I feel the most anz- 
iotis BoHcitude in every thmg 
that relates to yonr charming 

That sweet love Alethea has 
always, you know, been my 
peculiar favourite, and tears of 
the sweetest exultation swell 
into my eyes, when I think of 
the brilliant establishment you 
have secured for her. 

Our long friendship, my be- 
loved friend, and my maternal 
affection for the dear creature, 
are pleas which I shall urge 
in claiming the delightful office 
of presenting her. at the next 

Soon, very soon, my dearest 
friend, may I have to congrat- 
ulate you on some equally ad- 
vantageous establishment for 
your sweet delicate Anna Maria. 

I earnestly hope that foolish 
story (which you of course have 
heard) about Lord V.'& keeping 
a lady at Paris, and having lost 

and I must say something on 
the occasion. 

How the deuce! did yon con- 
trive to hook in that moodle of 
alord, when I havebeen spread- 
ing my nets ever since he came 
of age, to catch him for my eld- 
est girl ? 

That pert minx Alethea has 
always been my particular aver- 
sion, and I am ready to cry 
with spite, at the idea of her 
being a countess. 

As you can't hobble to court 
on your crutches, I shall be ex- 
pected to present her ladyshipt 
and I must do it, though I know 
I shall expire with vexation at 
the sight of the V. diamonds in 
her odious red hair. 

One comfort is — you'll never 
be able to get off that little 
hump-backed thing Anna Ma- 
ria, and you know well enough 
there is no hope of it, so hate 
to be talked to about her. 

You won't care much about 
it, even if it was true, but I can 
think of nothing else to plague 
the old cat. I'll take care the 



e620,000 at the Salon, at one 
sitting, will not reach the ear 
of our sweet sensitive girl — 
But people are so malicious ! 

Where are your two lovely 
boys ? Dear fellows ! we have 
not seen them since they left 
Eton, and you know how I de- 
light in their charming spirits. 

&c. &c. &c. &c. &c. 

And remains ever, 

With the most inviolable at- 

My dearest Lady D.'s 
Most sincerely affec- 

Friend, M. G. 

young one shall know it some- 

I'd as lieve haare a couple of 
wild cats turned loose into the 
drawing room, as let in those 
two riotous cubs ; but I Ve nine 
girls to bring out yet, and the 
young D.'s will be tolerably 
good catches, though only hon- 

Fudge, fudge, fudge, fiidge, 

I think, I've given you enough 
for one dose, though I'm afraid 
you're up to me. I hate you 
cordially ; that*s certain. 



Btivon to iJlnrraa.* 

- Attacks on me were what I lookM for, Mtirmyi 

But why the devil do they badger you ? 
ThtiV godly newspapers seem hot as cuny. 

But don't, dear Publisher, be in a stew. 
They'll be so glad to see you in a flurry— 

I mean those canting Quacks of your Review — 
They fain would have you all to their own Set ; 

But never mind them — we're not parted yet,' 
They surely don't suspect you, Mr. John, 

Of being more than aeetmcheur to Cain ? 
What moital ever said you wrote the Don 7 

I dig the mine— you only fire the train ! 
But here — why, really, no great lengths I've gone — 

Big wigs and buzz were always my disdain — 
But ray poor shoulders why throw edl the guilt on T 
There's as much blasphemy, or more, in Milton. 

The thing's a drama, not a sermon-book ; 

Here stands the murderer — that's the old one there 
In gown and cassock how would Satan look 7 

Should Fratricides discourse like Doctor Blair 7 
The puritanic Milton freedom took. 

Which now-a-days would make a bishop stare ; 

* Tliis versified paraphrase of the letter written by Byron, to his publisher, 
(John Murray) on the excitement caused by the appearance of ** Cain a Mys- 
tery," was delivered by Odoherty at Thx Noctxs, in March, 1822. I subjoin 
the original : — 

Letter from Lord, Byron to Mr, Murray. 

Pisa, Feb, 8, 1822. 

Dear Sir— Attacks upon me were to be eiq>ected ; but I perceive one upon 
you in the papers, which, I confess, that I did not expect. How, or in what 
manner you can be considered responsible for what /publish, I am at a loss to 
conceive. If" Cain," be " blasphemous," Paradise Lost is blasphemous ; and 
the very words of the Oxford Gentleman, " Evil be ihou, my good," are from 
that very poem, from the mouth of Satan ; and is there any thing more in that 
of Lucifer in the Mystery 7 Cain is nothing more than a drama, not a piece of 
argument. If Lucifer and Cain speak as the first murderer and the first rebel 
may be supposed to speak, surely all the rest of the personages talk also ac- 
cording to their characters ; and the stronger passions have ever been permitted 
to the drama. I have even avoided introducing the Deity, as in Scripture 
(though Milton does, and not very wisely either;) but hav«^ adopted his angel, 
as sent to Cain, inittead, on purpose to avoid shocking any feelings oh the sub- 


But not to ghock the feelings of tlie nge, 

I only bring you angels on the stage. 

To bully You— yet shrink from battling Me, 

Is baseness. Nothing baser stains " The Times," 
While Jeffrey in each catalogue I see, 

While no one talks of priestly Playfair's crimets 
While Drummond, at Mai'seilles, blasphemes witfi'glee, 

Why all this row about my harmless rhymes f 
Depend on't, Fiso, 'tis some private pique 
'Mong those that cram your Quarterly with Greek. 
If this goes on, I wish you'd plainly tell 'em, 

'Twere quite a treat to in« to be indicted ; 
Is it less sin to write such books than sell *emf 

There's muscle ! — I'm resolved Fll see you righted. 
In mey great Sharpe, in me eonverte telum ! 

Come, Doctor Sewell, show you have been knighted. 
— On my account you never shall be dunn'd, 

The copyright, in part, I will refund. 
You may tell all who come into your shop, 

You and your Bull-dog both remonstrated ; 
My Jackall did the same, you hints may drop, 

(All which, perhaps, you have already said.) 
Just speak the word, I'll fly to be your prop, 

They shall not touch a hair, man, in your head. 
You're free to print this letter; you're^ fool 
If you don't send it first to the John Bull. 

ject, by falling short of, what all uninspired men must fall slioit in, viz., giving 
an adequate notion of the effect of the presence of Jehovah. The old myste- 
ries introduced him liberally enough, and all this is avoided in the new one. 

The attempt to bully you, because they think it will not succeed with me, 
seems to me as atrocious an attempt as ever disgraced the times. What! 
when Gibbon's, Hume's, Priestley's, and Dinimmond's publishers have been 
allowed to rest in peace for seventy years, are you to be singled out for a work 
o^ fiction f not of histoiy or argument ? There must bo something at the bottom 
of this — some private enemy of your own — it is otherwise incredible. 

I can only say, "A/e — me adsum qui feci," that any proceeding direetied 
against you, I beg may be transferred to me, who am willing and mtf^ht to en- 
dure them all; that if you have lost money by the publication, I will refund 
any, or all of the copyright ; that I dosiro you will say, that both yott and Mr. 
Gifford remonstrated against the publication, as also Mr. Hobhouse ; that I 
alone occasioned it, and I alone am the person who either legally or otherwise 
should bear the burthen. If they prosecute, I will come to England ; that is, 
if by meeting it in my own person, I con save yours. Let me know— yea 
sha*n't suffer for me, if I can help it. Make any uso of this letter which yoa 
please. Yours ever, Btrox. 


®b^ to MxB. Sianasan. 

By an Irish Gentleman, lately deceased* 

Mr. North, — A friend of mine died last montli in Tralee, 
sit ilJi terra levis. He left behind bim a large quantity of MSS. 
His wife, a woman of singular judgment, appointed mo to pre- 
pai-e tbem for the press ; and before I finally commit them en- 
tire to the public, I think it right to give a specimen of the 
poetical part. The public in this incredulous age might not wish 
to purchase a. couple of folios without some sample of their con- 
tents. I give, therefore, the first that comes to hand. 

It happens to be a poem, written about 1817, to a Mrs. Flan- 
agan of Youghall. Every gentleman who assisted me in my 
commentary is duly mentioned, after the laudable custom of 
those viri clarissimi, the variorum editors. 

I remain, sir, your most obedient, and very humble servant, 

Philip Forager. " 

Drumanigillibeg, Feb. 29, 1820. 

P. S. — I understand, that it is conceived by some of the 
critics who have perused this piece, that the hmt is taken from 
Horace. Perhaps so — I accordingly subjoin the ode. 

HoRATii, Carm. Lib. iii. Od. 7. MSS. No. I. 

Asferiem eonsolatur de Oygis absentia, To Mrs. Kitty Flanagan, comforts her 
et adjidem hortatur. on the absence of her husband, Jerry 

Flanagan, mate of the Jolly Jupiter, 
and drops a hint about a light dro' 

Quid fles, Asterie, quern tibi cnndidi Wht do cry, my sweet Mrs. Flanagan, 
Frimo restituent vero Favonii^ When you will soon have your own dear 

Thyni merce beatum, man again, 

Cou«tanti8 juvenem fide, ..Whom the first wind will bring home 

fjx>m the Delaware, 
Brimful of sovereigns, and such other 
yellow ware ? 

* This paitiphraie appeared in Blackwood for March, 1820 — M. 



He's driTen in to ■omejMrt to the west 
of !»,• 

(A thing tiiaC naght happen, dear, to 
the heat of us,) 

\Vhere he i» sighinfp, sobbing, and chat- 

Night and day long, of his own dear 

Altfaongfa his Inndlady, one Mrs. Gal- 
la gher,t 

Wants him to qnit. yoa, the rogne, and 
to fbHow h^. 

She tells him the tale of die wife of old 

(Belating a fiict that will ne'er he forgot 
of her,) 

Who, firom a feeling malignant and sid- 

Gygen ? ille, Notes actos ad Oricum 
Post in Sana Cnpra sidera, frigiiias 
Nodes, nun «ine muitis 
Insomnisy lacrimis, agit. 

Atqni sollicitae nuncios hnspits, 
Suspirare Clo^n, et misenun tnis 
Dicens ignibus uri, 

Tentat mille vat'er modis. 
Ut Pitetum mulicr perfida credulom 
Fnlsis impulorit criminibns, nimis 
Cnsto Bellei-ophonti 

Matui-nre necem, rcferL. 

Had Joseph near hanged finr eschewng 

adultery : 
And from this basest, this vilest of wo; 
Narrat peni dnlum Pelea Tartaro, men, he 

Magnessom Hippolyten dmn fugit ah- Gets Mr. Hunt's smutty story of Bim- 
stinens: ini^l 

* Dingle-i-oouch» a celebnited harbour in the kingdom of Kerry. — ^P. F. 

t Mrs. Gtillaijhor (pronounced more Hibemico, GoIIagher) keeps the sipn 
of the cat-anj-basrpipcs in Dingrle, — a woman irreproachable in her conduct, 
amator}' in her ill imposition, fair in her dealing's, and a good hand in nmntng 
spirits. Touchino: tho colour of her hair, it is red, and she was a widow (at 
the time of this poem,) of her third husband for nearly three months — she has 
been since married. Miss Skinantlbone, a maiden lady in Dingle, tells me 
that her treatment of Flanasran was kind, and that he was no Joseph — but 
this may not be authenticated. — P. F. She appears to be a woman of taste 
and reading, by haying my poem in her house. — Leigh Hust. It was left at 
her house by a Cockney barber, who was running awny from his creditors, and 
taking ship on boartl the Yankiedoodle in Dingle ; he loft it with Mrs. G. as 
pledge for a tumbler of punch. — Roderick Mulshenan. Perhaps be found 
it too heavy to carry it any farther. — Z. 

X This allusion to Scripture, I think profane and reprehensible, Leigh 
Hu.VT. So do I, Btrov. So do I, Wm. IIone. So do I, Bedford. So do 
I, Sussex. So do I, T. Moore. So also many more Whig wits, men con- 
spicuous for respect for the Scriptures. Nobody understands profaneness bet- 
ter tlian they. — P. F. 

il The clear shown bay of Dingle rises, on my soul, with springy freshness 
from this circumstance. Mrs. Gallagher made the use I intended of my poem : 



Et peccare docentes 
Fallax historias monet : 

Frustm ; nam scopulis surdior Icari 
Voces audit, adhuc integer. At, tibi 
Ne vicinus Enipeus, 

Plus justo placeati cave ; 

Quamvis non alius flpctere equum 

JSqud conspicitur, gramine Martio ; 
Nee quiftquam citus eeqad 
Tusco denatat alveo. 

Primi nocte domum claude : neque in 

Sub cantu querulas despice tibiee : 
Et te saepd Vocanti 

Duram, difEcilis mane. 

By which, 'tis plain, she hopes to a 

Soon to corrupt his natural purity ; 
But he resists her arts and her flattery. 
Deaf and determined, just as a batteiy.* 
But there's a sergeant, one Patrick 

Hennessy, • 
Keep away, Kitty, from all such men as 

Though he's so smart, that he's always 

employed, as 
Rough-rider to the old Marquis of Drog- 

Though there are few so brawny and 

big, my dear, 
Or far better at dancing a jig, my dear, 
Close down your windows when he comet 

Shut both your doors and your ears to 

his vapouring. 
Mind not the songs or sighs of this Han- 

« nibal. 
But, looking at him, cross as a Cannibal, 
Ci-y, " Come be off as light as a tailor, 

I will be true to my own dear sailor- 

a rational piety and a manly patriotism should prompt a writer to excite those 
passions which nature has given us, and which tend to increase the population 
of the country. By smutty, is meant that I resemble Rembrandt in being dark, 
gloomy, and grand ; it is a dear coming-round metaphorical expression, quite 
feet-on-the-fenderish, and reminds one of a poker in the fire, and a chimney 
comer. — Leigh Hunt. 

* Deaf as a battery, is not the proper phrase : it must have been put in 
rytkmia gratia, I suggest the following : — 

" But he's a deaf— as deaf as the postesses 
To the design and the arts of his hostess's." 

John Keats. 
Postesses, in the Cockney tongue, signifies Po»t». — P. F. • 

t The most noble Charles, Marquis of Drogheda, K. S. P. Colonel of the 
18th hussars.— P. F. 



(9)be to MavBiial ®rottct)s* on t)i9 Uttntn. 

I SEND another specimen of my deceased. friend's poetry, and, 
mirabile dicta, it, as well as the former, bears a similitade to an 
Ode in ELorace ; indeed, I believe he wrote a set of parallel Car- 
mina to the Horatian, and if Archdeacon Wrangham were to 
see them, I think he would give np for ever the idea of attempt- 
ing to lay his versions before the public, for which reason I hope 
he never will see them. 

I should say more, but that I am in a hurry, being called 
awi^y to attend a coroner's inquest over the body of one Timothy 
Began alias Tighe a Breeshtha, who was killed yesterday, fight- 
ing at a fair, in a feud, a bellum intestinum, between the Shan- 
avests and Garavats. . Philip Forager. 

Drummanigillibeq, August 6th, 1820. 

HoR. Od. 7. Lib. ii. MSS. No. IL 

Ad PoMPEiuM. To Marshal Qrouchy tm his JRHum; or, 

Felicem ex infeliei meliiia redUum Congratulatory Address by Mtnu, '^. 

O ?AEPK mecum tempus in ullimum O welcome home, my marshal, my col- 

Deducte, Bi-uto militiae duce, league true and good, 

Quis te rcdonavit Quintem When under brave Napoleon we dabbled 

Dig patiiis, Italoque coelo. long in blood ; 

„ , . J 1. • Vf\\o brought you back to Paris in Boiur- 

rompei, meorum pnme sodalium 7 . , i , « 

^ ' J, ,. bon's royal days? 

Uum quo morantcm aaepe diem mero „, . »» i t. • 

_ ^ . . * Was It Madame Bonaparte's man, our 

Frogi, coronatiis nitentes »« . i i-, •. 

-, , , , ei • Ml own Monsieur de Oazes ?T 

Malobatliro Syno capillos. 

* Count Emanuel Grouchy, a Marshal of the French empire, was bom at 
Paris in 1766. Much tnisted by Napoleon, particularly in the Hundred Days 
of 1815, his indecision at Waterloo prostrated the Emperor. With 35,000 men 
and 800 pieces of cannon under his command, he remained immovable in a 
position which could only be justified by the strict letter of his orders. It is a 
mooted point whether he intended to betray Napoleon's cause. But Napoleon 
believed him an imbecile, not a traitor. He was included in the special am- 
nesty of 1819, and restored to his military rank on the accession of Louis Phil- 
ippe. He died in 1847. — This "Ode" appeared in Blackwood in September, 
1820.— M. 

t Hodie Due de Cazes, olim secretary to Madame Mere, the imperial mother 
of all the Bonapartes. — P. F. 



Tecum Philippos et coleretn fugom 
Sensi, relictl non bend parniuU ; 
Cum fracta virtus, et minaces 
Turpe solum tetigere^mento. 

Sed me per hostes Mercurius celer 
Denso paventem sustulit adre : 
Te rursus in bellum resorbens 
Unda fretis tulit aestuosis. 

Ergo obligatam redde Jovi dapem, 
Long&que fessum miHtid latus • 
Depone sub lauru met, nee 
Farce cadis tibi destinatis. 

Oblivioso levia Massico 
Ciboria exple : funde capacibus 

With thee I robbed through Pmssia, 

through Portugal, and Spain ; 
With thee I marched to Russia, and 

then — marched back again ; 
With thee I faced the red-coats awhile 

at Waterloo ; 
And with thee I i-aised the war-song of 

jolly* sauve qui peut. 

I took the oaths to Louis, and now with 

face of brass, 
I bawl against the royalists all in the 

Chambre Basse; 
But you my lad were exiled, a mighty 

ci*uel thing. 
For you did nothing surely, but fight 

against your king. 

Then drink a health to th' Emperor, and 

curse Sir Hudson Lowe ;t 
And decorate with stolen plate your 

honest-earned chateau ; 
And merrily, my marshal, we shall the 

goblet drain, 
'TIS a cfaalicet that I robbed one day, 

out of a church in Spain. 


Fill, fill the bumper fairly, 'tis Oham- 

bertin,|| you see, 

* Jelly ! Quoi f Jolly ! Ma foi, voila une epithete assez mal appliqud. 
— Marshal Grouchy. 

t Sir Hudson Lowe is a veiy bad man in not. letting the Emperor escape. 
Las Casas. He is a man of no soul. The world cannot decide whethex 
Bonaparte or Wellington is the greater general — I am sure the former is, with- 
out a second battle of Waterloo ; and here we have a simple knight preventing 
the solution of the question. He is an imbecile. I am sure he never had the 
taste to read my Amyntas. — Leigh Hunt. 

t It was an instrument of superstition ; and I, therefore, although a water- 
drinker, approve of its being tuiTied to any other use, just as I approved of the 
enlightened revolutionists of France turning the superstitious bells of Paris into 
cannon, although, on principle, a declared enemy of war.— Sir B. Philippb. 

n Bonaparte was fond of Chambertin. Teste Tom Moobi. I prefer whii- 
key.— P. F. 


Tbe Eaperai's fimmrite' Kqoor, and 
daat m pious glee, 

A mong of Monsieiir Pamj's* Miladi 
MoK;gui's b«rd« 

AmA cnne the taateleM Booibohii who 
voo^t His miue rennrd. 

Cin«tTtp mjito 1 qotm Temu arininnB Tliea vith our wigs all perfmned, and 
Dic«c bibendi ? wm e^ saa:^« our beaTers cocked so fierce, 

Bacchabor E3on»: res-epto Well throw a main together, or troll 

Dnkie mihi fanre rst amioo. the am orous Yerae ; 

And Fii get as drank as Irishm«i, a« 

Irishmen mothlen. 
After six-and-tfairty Uimhleffst in drink- 
ing b^ikhs to yon. 

* A pet poet of Lady Morgan V Tide her France. I wonder what the 
medical Kzii^bt, her caro ftposo, says, when he catches her reading " La Gaenre 
de* Dieax/"— P. F. 

t On lh» I most rrmai^, that nx-a»d-thirty tmnhlen Is ladier hard diinkiag. 
My friend Rice Hnsibpy, swears only to six-and-tweoty, though ho owns he has 
heard he dnuok two-andHhirry, but coold not with pn^iriety give his oath to 
it, as be was M»roewbat disnrdeneii by the liquiH*. There is nat a Frenchman 
in France xrowld dtick it : I iriM ]ay any wager on iliat. In fact, I back Ire- 
land against ihe vrond. A fi-w years ago, tbe Nurtbumberland, a very pretty 
English mi!it:a re^metir. commanded by Lord Loraine, who endeared himself 
wherever he x^eut in Ireland, by Lis a£Eable and social manners, amved in the 
city of Ci»rk. H;« cravo a dinner to thirty oflBcers of bis regiment, 
who each dmnk his bolllo. Wlien the bill was called for, he observed to the 
waiter with a smile, that the English g^entlcmea conUI <lrink as well as the 
Irish. ** Lord help your head, sir,*' s:iid the waiter, ** is that all you know 
about it ? Why. tliere^s five gentlemen next room, who have drank one bottle 
more than the whole of yees, and don't you hear them bawling like five devils 

for the other cooper, coming, gentlemen !" — P. F. — In Horace it is Bdoni, 

not Irishmen ; but that is quite correct. The Irish are of Scythian descent, so 
were the Thradans. — Thos. Wood, M. D. 


Biemiljotjce Biograpljujce.— Jfo. 1.* 


Leighton Buzzard, 6th July, 1820. 
Mr. North, — Since the affront whicli the "Author of Wa- 
verley" put upon Oaptain Clutterbuck, touching the manner by 
which he obtained the papers on which The Monastery is found- 
ed, it has been hardly worth while to aver any thing relative to 
singular discoveries of literary documents. Suffice it then, that 
the supellex necrologica, which I herewith transmit to you, be- 
longed to Q. Z. X., a deceased friend, who was a man of letters 
and industry. Among this immense mass of literaiy treasure, I 
do not find any one life thoroughly developed. Nevertheless, 
the subjoined specimen will demonstrate with what valuable ac- 
curacy he proceeded, and with what conscientiousness he admit- 
ted nothing into his collection which did not bear the stamp of 
authenticity. I am, learned sir, in the cause of letters, your 
brother and servant to command, 

Giles Middlbstitch. 


Stnopsis. Winifred, born of David and Martha Jenkins, 3d of November, 
1730, (day of St. Winifreda,) at Brambleton, Co. Monmouth ^lierded goats^ 
and knitted stockings till twelve — entered service of Mrs. Tabitha Bramble, 
and remained in it till her marriage — espoused Mr. Matthew Lloyd, com- 
monly called Humphrey Clinker, parish-clerk of Brambleton— became a widow 
in 1797, died 1804, leaving two sons and three daughters — age ou tomb- 
stone, 84. 

Documents. TYP. Adventures of Humphrey Clinker, 2 vols. London 
1766. — Walk through Monmoutlishire, by the Rev. R. Plodder, M. A. 1 vol. 
Bath. 1802. — MSS. Letters from Mrs. Clinker, Mr. Nichols, Mr. Kirby, Cer- 
tificate of birth and buri^, and epitaph, (quorum quicque exemplar penes. me. 

* From Blackwood for September, 1820. This article was much praised, at 
the time, as a quiz on the solemn manner in which literary antiquarians make 
FMeigrchet into the merefet trifles of biographical imcts^ — M. 


[Here follow mere transcripts from a well-known work, with 
which our facetious countryman, Dr. Smollett, long ago gratified, 
and still continues to gratify, every man, woman, and child, in 
his Majesty's dominions. We sahjoin, however, onur correspond- 
ent's note.] 

I conceive that the autographs of the letters, which Smollett 
used in drawing up the hiography of Mrs. CUnker's husband, are 
preserved among the " Bramble Papers," wherever they may 
now happen to be. When he edited them, they were in the 
possession of the Rev. Jonathan Dustwich, as appears by the 
preface. Now Smollett deserves thanks for having published 
them so faithfully, not correcting the spelling, as Ellis, Scott, 
and other injudicious editors have done. In fact, if this practice 
prevails, there will be no such thing as what may be called idio- 
syncratic orthography. The lamented Q. Z. X. would never 
fdter a tittle when he transcribed a writing for publication.*^. M« 

Extract from Plodder's Walk through Monmouthshire, pp. 
121, 122. 

[As the same objection of notoriety and popularity does by no 
means lie against this work, as against Smollet's, we give the 
extract, even though it is from a printed book.] 

" I descended a hill which afforded me a view of Brara- 

bleton-Hall on another eminence ; it is now in the occupation of 
a Mr. Melford, but formerly belonged to squire Matthew Bram- 
ble. Leaving it on the right, I went to the village of Bramble- 
ton, and there met with a curiosity. This was a widow Clinker, 
a little shrivelled old woman, with more smartness about her 
than the general run of cottagers have. She turned out to be 
the identical Winifred Jenkins, whose part in the tour which goes 
under the name of the Adventures of Humphrey Clinker, is. not 
the least amusing ; and indeed, her topographical remarks therein 
inserted are by no means despicable, though couched in singular 
phraseology. I ascertained that her husband could not estabhsh 
in the neighborhood his more ennobling name of Matthew Lloyd, 
80 was fain to' be called Clinker to his dying day, though he 


kept np a right to sign Matthew Lloyd on formal occasions, 
as it pointed out his alliance by blood, even if it were not by 
affinity, to the great folks at the Hall. The most edifying in- 
formation I obtained from the old dame (who retained all the 
Abigail-propensity to be loquacious) was, that she found it more 
difficult, at her time of life, to walk to the Hall, which was on 
an ascent, than to return from it, which, by consequence, was on 
a down-hill road. She owned that she was in easy circumstan- 
ces ; and showed, with some pride, many articles of use and or- 
nament, which Miss Lydia Melford gave her at the time of her 
marriage. I noticed an inlaid spinning wheel which had be^n 
kept in constant use, and which was one among these bridal 
presents ; but the old lady evinced more satisfaction in parading 
befbre my eyes two or three trinkets of an antiquated shape, and 
of which the use is almost forgotten in the present day." 

LeUer from Mrs. Clinker to Q. Z. X. 

Bramhiltun, l^th GuLly, 1799. 
Sib, — I am groan very howld, and my mimmery is not so 
good as it have a bin. You asks me vare I vas bom, and says 
you intend to cumpleat my bigrophagy, vich I hop you vill, if 
there is von belonging to me, and pleas to lit me know what sort of 
a think it is, and vether any boddy left it to me by lecksy in thur ' 
vill. As you minchin my burtb, praps I should send a sortofa- 
gut afore I can receve it, vich I can git from Pasin Heavens for 
ayteen pins, thof I should be loth to throe away my munney for 
wot is not munney*s wuth, so I shall wait for your ancer fust. 
As to your hinkwiries about my life, that is anuther mater, but 
He give you awl the settisfackshun as I can. I heird as how von 
mister Tubby Smallhat rit a print book all about my pore deer 
huzbeen, and I no as how he giv Molly Jones a nice inchey 
ankercher, spick and span new, all over rid flours on a yalow 
groun, to let him hav the litters' as I rit ven I was travaiKng 
vith our howld master, mister matthu Brambil eskwire. Mister 
Smallit called it a rummewnyrashun, but we calls it a ankercher 
in Vales. I thot I ott to have had it, as I had all the trubbU 
of righting, but Molly miiid the best of her market vile I vm 


avay, and vares tlie ankercber to this day a sunddays. I vas 
bum and bread vare I lives, sins jon vant to knowj and I tented 
ninny gots >nle I vas a yung tbink, til Mistress Tapifa Brambnil 
tuck me to lack after ber pnlltree, and tben I vaz Miss Lidcber 
Millfiirt's one made ; but yen I marred, I roes in tbe wbirl for 
my pore deer Unfry Clinker, (tbof bis naim was, by rites, Mister 
Matbew Loyd,) was a sun of Esqnewer Brambil, but not on tbe 
write side of tbe blenkit. Tbe skwire was verry kind to bim, 
and maid bim clarck, and griv ns tbe cottidge I am living in stil. 
My pore man dide of a cuff be got from a bevvy sbore saven 
ears agun last micklemace, and I live npon an annaty wbicb 
Mister Squeer Brampill left us, and I oanly spin a litil for past- 
tum and rackwrybessian. My sun Matbew, wbo is marred, 
manges our litil bit a land, and Jussuf is prentussed at Munmetb. 
Nin is mary'd, Pol izzent, but livs at tbe ball, and is lick to 
be buzkeeper ; and Jenny is dearymeed at Sqiar Owen's farm, 
and tbe bayleaf lucks sweat upon ber, so sbe will sun be perva- 
ded for. I reckalex notbing more pertickler. So no more at 
present from your bumble sarvant to commend, 

Winifred Clinkbr. 

Posecribb. Pleas dont forgit to let me know vot tbe big mf- 
fagee is tbat you say is to be finniebt for me, and it may cum by 
Jo Rice, wbo is always carrion partials to Abberjenny, and after 
its cum, He send you a jar of unicum mad by my one biz. 

Extract of a Letter from John Nichols^ Esq. F. A, S. Lond, Ed, 
and Ferth, 
• • • All tbat I can add to your store of information con- 
cerning W. Jenkins, relates to tbe sbape of her monument alone, 
and this I derive from a contributor to tbe Gent. Mag. Tbe cu- 
riosity of tbe tombstone is, tbat it is precisely after tbe same pat- 
tern as all tbe gravestones which have been generally used in 
Wales for tbe last two centuries, and differs in no respect what- 
ever. This induced me to have an engraving made of it, wbicb 
you will see in plate ccclvi. of Gent. Mag. between a view of 
tbe broad-nibbed pen, which Sir Isaac Newton is supposed to 
bave writ with, and a weapon found near an old farmhouse, and 


whicli finally proved to be an ancient sacrificial cultram, although 
it has been not more irreverently than absurdly stigmatized as 
a mpdem pig-knife. • • • • • 

I am, your's, &c. J. N. 

(I gather from the appearance of the above, that Q. Z. X. had 
written to Mr. N. on other points also of a similar nature, and so 
Mr. N. had probably satisfied him on many in the same letter, 
wherefore only a portion is here given, and the rest is distributed 
where the various parts tally with the subjects of inquiry. — G.M.) 

Letter from Mr, R, S. Kirhi/, of London-Hotise Yard, St, PauVs, 
Publisher of the Wonderful and Eccentric Museum, 

LoTidon-Ho, Yard, 17 March, 1806. 
Sir, — I can't say as how I know any thing about fhat there 
Mrs. Winifred Jenkins, alias Clinker, alias Lloyd, as you ask 
about ; but suppose she was a swindler, as most of the women 
in my museum, who have aliases to their names, are no better 
than they should be. There is a life of the famous Henry Jen- 
kins, who lived to be 169, (see vol. 5. p. 92,) and also a foil and 
true account in vol. 3d, how that Mery Jenkins, of Warminster, 
slept day and night for a month. Now, if this Winifred is any 
kin to them, you are welcome to copy out any part of their lives 
— though,, for doing so, it is only fair that you recommend my 
publication (the Wonderful and Eccentric Museum, in six vols. 
8vo, and a 7th nearly ready) to any body likely to buy it. But 
indeed it is a work that recommends itself, for it not only gives 
lives and true reports of all the most astonishing and notorious 
characters living or dead, but authentic portraits of many ; and 
indeed I do not scruple to say, that it is quite at the head of all 
the works in the amazing line. The Newgate Calendar sinks 
before it, and is, besides, a vulgar compilation ; whereas, I admit 
nothing ungenteel. As for the pamphlets set forth by Mr. 
Thomas Tegg, of Oheapside — a word is enough, when I say, 
that he indulges a fiction, sir — magnas est verity — I can assure 
you, that his measurements of the Eynesbury giant, and of Lady 
Morgan, the least woman in ' the world, were most incorrectly 
stated : and his portrait of her ladyship was a mere fancy like- 


ness ; now mine is done hj tlie same artist, wlio was universallj 
allowed to have been so saccessM in Sir John Dinely, and Mr. 
Martin Van Butchell. It has just come into my head, that there 
is a paragraph in the Life of Dr. Katterfelto,* (see my 4th vol.,) 
which may perhaps relate to the Mrs. Jenkins you desire to know 
about. It states, that the Dr.'s deceptions were so marvellous, 
that people were often frightened out of their wits by them ; 
and especially, it happened to one Miss Jenkins, that she fainted 
away, and remained in a swoon five minutes ; and when she 
came to herself, she said, " Oh Dr. Flatterandldlltoo, you knows 
more than you should — shall I ever be married to Humphry V 
taking him for a fortune teller, as it should seem. This is all I 
know : but if you should have any curious accounts of mon- 
sters, or of bigger or littler folks than common, or can let me 
into the right about the Sampford ghost, by shewing that it 
either was or was not a ghost thjit pinched Sally and beat Mr. 
Ghave, or any such like, I should bo glad to treat with you for 
it — but a gratis communication is what many gentlemen are in 
the habit of making to the Museum, and is thought more gentle- 
manlike. However, I am not unreasonable, nor above giving a 
proper consideration for any real original, extraordinary, and 
singularly surprising and incredible matters of fact, that are un- 
doubtedly true. I am, Sir, 

Your obedient humble servant, 

R. S. K 
P. S. Please to pay the postage of your letters, unless they 
contain an order for some copies of the Museum. 

CertificcUe of Birth and Decease of W, C. 
Bmmbleton Co. Monmouth. 

Baptisms. 12 Nov. 1730. WiniftccI, da. of David and Martha Jenkins. 
Burials. 6 Dec. 1804. Winifred, Widow of Matthew Lloyd. Aged 84. 
Tiuly extracted from the Registei-s; by me, 

Rice Evans, Curate. 

(* I presume that Dr. K. is the same person who is mentioned by a Mr. Wm. 
Cowper, in a copy of verses, called the Task, which was obligingly pointed out 
to me by a young gentleman, who hath a turn for poetry. He saith there is 
—— Katterfelto, with his hair on end, 
At his own wonders wondering for his bread. — G. M,) 


iMcription on her Tombstone in Bramhleton Churek-Yard, 

Here lies "Winifred, 
The Wyfe of Humfry Clinker, who was 
Clark of this Parrish. She 
Dyed, 3 of December, 1804. 

My dear Humphry Clinker, or rather, Matthew 
Lloyd «" for that was your name— I am come again to you. 
We lived together many years, but you fell asleep first — 
But we shall wake at the same time, and rise from the dust. 

0em|l)0rjce Bioivapiiittz.—UXo. 2.* 


LeighUm Buzzard, 1st Nov. 1820. 

Dear North, — My performance of posthumous justice to 
QZX., my late deceased and mucb deplored friend, has been 
somewhat interrupted by a short absence from the peaceful priv- 
acy I enjoy at Leighton Buzzard. 

I am much grieved, however, to hear -that the document, 
which purports to have come from Mr. Kirby, is apocryphal — 
and I fear some slur is thrown upon me, as if I were capable of 
knowingly sending you supposititious matter.t Since, Mr. Kirby 
has declared that he is not the author of the letter in question, 
(though I would that he had made an affidavit of it,) it shall be 
branded with the mal'k of apocryphal ; and if he has a copy of 
the authentic letter which he probably sent QZX., and will trans- 
mit it to you, I make no doubt you will insert it in some supple- 
mentary manner, that the integrity of Mrs. Clinker's biogi-aphy 
may be unimpaked. 

This ^xQBQni JascicultAs will be, I hope, as much approved as 
the former — I am, &c. Giles Middlestitch. 

♦ From Blackwoodf for December, 1820, 

t Mr. Kirby, the London publisher of ** Wonderful Characters," and other 
\vork8, wrote to Blackwood seriously complaining that the letter, in his name, 
touching Winifred Jenkins, (Mrs. Humphry Clinker,) was likely to injure him 
in his business. Accordiogly, Christopher North gravely apologised for the 
jeu d^espi-ii.^-M. 



Synopsis. Richanl, illegitimato son of Margaret Gossip, chambermaid at 
the Salutation Tavern, bom Isl April, 1735, his putative father was Jasper 
Quidnunc — ran on errands till ten years old — employed in a barber's shop in 
Seven Dials — in 1759, sets up trade as barber in the Barbican — marries 
Prudence Higgins, by whom he had one daughter, Tabitha, who survived him 
^iind the access to newt in London the cause of his neglecting hit business 
— removes in 1791 to the village of Jadsby, where he officiated not only as 
•haver, but also as apothecary, carpenter, and dentist— -died in 1801, aged 66. 

DocuMSNTs. TYP. " My grandmother/' by Prince Hoare, Esq. London. 
8vo. 1806. Works of the City Poet, 2 vols. 1778.— MS. Journal of Philip 
Vapour, Esq,— An original nuthograpliic Bill and Note. — Letter from John 
Oldbuck Esq. ^Register of birth, marriage, and buriaL (penet roe Q. Z. X.) 

[My friend begins with all Mr. Gossip's speeches, and with 
the famons song, whose chorus ends with " Dicky Gossip is the 
man/* from " My Grandmother," which is in the shape' of a 
farce ; although it cannot be doubted, that the real Dicky Gos- 
sip was the basis of the character there introduced. Unless, 
however, Air. P. Hoare can assure us of the authenticity of the 
words, (and possibly some Boswell or Spence noted them down,) 
I shall bo content to refer your readers to the printed work. 
The maiTOW of them is found in the synopsis.] G. M. 

Odes hy Q. Horatim Flaccu^, and the City Poet of 1788. 

Ad Thaliarchum. to dickt gossip. 

Dum Mnit hyemtj volnptati indul' While he thinks of tittle-tattle^ not to 

gendum. f^S^t his toiggery, 

ViDKS, ut alta stet nive candidum Do you see that stately coxon, 

Soi-acte, nee jam sustineant onus Which looks with all its whiteness, 

SihtB laborantes, geluque Like a hush oVrlaid with snow; 

Flumina constitcrint acuto. And the curls which range below. 

Stand stiff in frosty brightness. 

Dissolve frigus, ligna super foco Come, melt some sweet pomatum- 

Large rcponens ; atque benignius And, for powder do not stint us ; 

Depromo quadrimum Sabina, Draw your irons from the stove ; 

Thaliarche, mcrum diota. And, Dicky, quickly move. 

To make my old wig as portentous. 

Quid sit futurum eras, fuge quaerere ; et Don't ask of to-morrow*s matters, 
Quem sors dienam cunqiio dabit, lucro Since them, nor you, nor I, know; 


Appone ; nee dulces amores Mind your thop) my boy, nor spurn 

Sperne puer, neque tu choreas. From customerSf to earn, 

For scraping their muzzles, their rhino. 

Donee virenti canities abest Show yourself a wise wig-maker, 

Morosa. Nunc et campus, et arese For sure you've enough to handle, 
Lenesque sub noctem susurri As long as folks don*t wear 

Composita repetantur hora : Their own untrimmed gray hair. 

Without heeding the whispers of scandal 

Nunc et latentis proditor intimo Yet ah, those ears so itching ! 

Gratus puellas risus ab angulo. My muse can not restrain 'em ; 

Fign usque dereptum lacertis Should a laugh come from the street, 

Aut digito male pertinaci. Comb and razor you would quit. 

Nor longer could your fingers retain 'em. 

I grieve to say, that I cannot find out who the city poet of 
London was in 1788. In former times, John Taylor, Elkaneh 
Settle, and Thomas Shadwell, acquitted themselves finely in 
that office. Nor can I learn that the place is filled up at pres- 
ent ; the persons who occasionally come forward being volun- 
tary, and not official perfoimers. It is due to the young gentle- 
man mentioned in No. 1. to say, that the discovery of the 
resemblance between the English and Latin ode is his ; they are 
now printed, therefore, in juxtaposition, for the benefit of the 
curious, as indeed it is surprising, that two poets of such differ- 
ent ages should have hit on ideas so much alike. Q. Z/K. 

An Extract from tJie Private Journal of the late Philip 
Vapour, Esq, 

Tuesday — Low-spmted, cursed low — but not determined 
whether to shoot myself, drown, or go to Sir Matthew's. A fool 
of a fellow, who calls himself Dicky Gossip^ came to shave me 
— never heard such a prater in my life ; his tongue ran at such 
a rate, that I could get nothing from him but tattle. Soofi&ance 
did nothing but ejaculate Quel babiUard ! He put ms in' a pas- 
sion, and I forgot my blue devils. 

Thursday — To my infinite surprise, I found that my loquar 
cious barber is the very person acting as my apothecary. The 
fellow, however, is amusing ; and his boasts of being as much 
aufait in medicine as in Bhaving, are laaghaUe enough, particii- 


larlr as Lis gabble is mifiuling, continaons, fluent upon every 
topic, aud equally perdnent upon all, or rather impertinent. 

Monday — Flon^lla's trick has made me a happy fellow ; but 
who should the carpenter be that fitted up the sliding pannel, 
which enabled her to appear as the picture of her grandmother, 
but my redoubted barber and apothecary Dicky Gk^ssip ! He 
has a fourth occupation ; I wonder I did not want him in that 
department, as they say toothach is symptomatic of being in 
love — for the chattering rascal is a dentist also. Well may he 
sing, as Souffrance tells me he^does — 

For this trade or that, 

Ther wll come as pat as ther can ; 

For ffhavinif and tootb-d rawing, 

BleetlinfT, cabbagin|r, or sawing^, 
Dicky Go*np, Dicky Gowip is the man. 

The JVortkijifkJl Jlr, Alderman Pentweazle, 
17S7. Dr. to K Gossip. 

Jan. 4. For a new tie wigg . , c£8 8 

Feb. 6. Item for a powder puff . 2 6 

Mar, 17. Item for a broisTi scratch 3 3 

25, Item for a quarter's shaving 10 6 

oei2 4 

I shouldn't have sent your worship's bill, only as you desired 
me, I thought yoiur worship wou'd like to know, as how Captain 
Pursy, of the Train-bands, fell down in a fit just now, at Mr. 
Mudge'8 door — I can step up 'with the particklars in a minute, 
if your worship pleases. Also, Mrs. Morrison's marriage with 
Mr. Cruickshank's is broke off — some say that he trod upon her 
cat's tail, and others, that she has found out that he has another 
wife alive. If I can know for a sartainty, I will be with your 
worship in a minute. Your worship's old wigg is in pipes, and 
will be baked to-morrow. The day after next the address Ib to 


be carried tip to the £^g, by tbe Common Council. I bope 
your worship will go — nobody's bead shall be better or more 
handsomely dressed— and I am your worship's poor servant, to 
command, B. D. Gossip. 

Letter from. J. Oldbuch Esq. to QZX. 

Monkbams, 1th July, 1806. 
Sir, — I have applied to my barber, Jacob Caxon, according 
to your request, about the master of whom he learnt his notable 
art of torturing dead hair, and scraping chins, and bald pates. 
Not being acquainted with you, I do not venture to guess 
whether the information, which I have drained from his paucity 
of brains, will be looked upon ai| important — suum cuique. 
Caxon's mind has barely room for the entertainment of ideas 
arising from things present with him, and none hardly for those 
thai? are past. All he recollects is, that Dicky Qossip, who was 
his Magnus Apollo in the Barbican, in London, had a greater 
fondness for uttering news than for removing beards — that he 
was ambulatory rather than sedentary — and more inclined to 
pry into the secrets, under a wig, than to comb that useful ap- 
pendage itself. The only specific fact pertaining to your hoOi 
with which Jacob's memory seems charged, is, that Gossip ^nee 
cut sheer through a gentleman's cheek, to his grinders, in shav- 
ing him, because he, the said Dicky, could not forbear watching 
the progress of a matrimonial dispute, in the opposite house ; 
and, as it terminated in a leg of mutton being thrown out of the 
window by a vixen, before Dicky had completed his operation 
with the razor, so two catastrophes were simultaneous ; the hus- 
band lost the promise of his dinner, and the shavee found, on 
rising from under Rd's hands, two fissures in his face, through 
which he might, if he pleased, put his dinner into his mouth. 
This noticeable fact " lies like a substance" upon Jacob's mind 
— and on jogging his memory three times — three times have we 
stumbled upon it, and upon nothing else. And now, if this is 
of use to you, learned sir, you are heartily welcome to it. Your 
apologies, for intruding inquiries upon a stranger, are unneces- 
sary. The importance of what I can communicate, proves the 


propriety of your having made researches in this qoarter. 
Doubtless, you cannot always get such an eqniyalent as the 
present, for your outlay in postage. If you ever publish your 
work, I shall have great curiosity to see it ; but beg for time to 
deliberate, before I make myself responsible as a subscriber to 
it ; I am not at all ambitious that my name should be addressed 
as authority for what I have here supplied you mth .• With 
much respect for so pains-taking a man of letters as you are, 
for one who seems determined, not only to fish the great ocean 
of literature, but to catch the very sprats and shrimps in eveiy 
cjreek of it, — I am, Sir, your obedient humble servant, 

Jonathan Oldbuck. 

P. S. — If you have an^^ beggar's life in hand, I crave to re- 
commend, as a most usefbl coadjutor, Mr. Adam or Edie Ochil- 
tree, a gentleman of these parts, for he has made that brandi 
of biography his particular study, and has devoted a consider- 
able part of his life to it.t 

* This suggestion of Mr. Oldbuck'a modesty coald not be complied with, at 
hiB commanication would, in that cate, fail of being sufficiently verified.— 

t i'ress of matter prevents us from inserting the copies of the Parish Regit- 
ter Certificates, but they shall be forthcoming if any doubt arises.— C. N. 


Betttjljora i3i0grajjl)ita.— JTo- 3.* 


LeiglUon Buzzard, 2%t7i December, 1820. 

Dear North, — You must excuse me for occupying this third 
number by an inquiry exclusively my own. Do not suppose 
that I am wholly unjust* to my deplored friend Q. Z. X. in this 
proceeding ; for it is on a subject which he had much at heart ; 
namely, the discovery of anonymous authors. 

My present subject of research is the name of the person who 
has composed what are called The Scotch Novels. I know that 
divers conjectures have been put forth, but as none of them are 
satisfactoiy to me, I pass them by ; and lest other conjectural 
critics should travel over ground, where I have sought in vain, 
I will first begin with discussing the claims of those persons of 
whom I had some suspicions, and also detail some of my reasons 
for excluding them, I flatter myself that I burn, (as children 
say at hide-and-seek, when they approach the person or thing 
concealed :) Yes, I do flatter myself that I bum in the conclu- 
sion of this paper. But first to my disappointments. 

Now I had shrewd suspicions that it might be Mr. Maturin ; 
and they were founded on these similar circumstances, Mr. 
M.'s "Women," and "Melmoth," are so far anonymous, as that 
they only allow in their title-pages, that they are by The 
Author of " Bertram." " Ivanhoe," and " The Monastery" are 
in the same way declared to be by The Author of " Waverley." 
Moreover, the Tales of my Landlord bear the fabulous name of 
Jedediah Cleishbotham, as Editor ; and Mr. M. the writer of 
"The Family of Montorio," walked forth heretofore, in the 
quaint disguise of Dennis Jasper Murphy. Surely these coin- 
cidences were wondrous! But alas! one author, in referring 
from book to book, drops the inqmre'r without betraying himself 
at the end of the chaui ; for if you trace the title-pages back 
from " The Abbot," to the earliest of the tribe, you will find no 

* Prom Blackwood for January, 1821.— M. 

Vol. IL— 7 


more at last than " Waverley ; or, 'Tis Sixty Years Since,** and 
a preface full of jfcrli apses. Perhaps the author may be a sol- 
dier or a sailor — perhaps a priest or a lawyer— an old man or 
a young one — a fine gentleman or a scrub — -'and it concludes 
nothing. Whereas, if we travel from " Melmoth" to " Pour et 
Centre," and thence to '* Manuel," and so get, by regular stages 
to " Bertram," there we alight upon an explicit avowal that the 
Reverend Charles R. Maturin is the inditer thereof; and by 
logical consequence, of those divers and sundry aforenamed con- 
tributions to the stores of the reading public As therefore Mr. 
M.'s concealment neither is, nor is meant to be, complete, I 
think this difference between him and ^le other writer so great, 
that I have reason to strike him off my list of competitors for 
the Waverley laurel. 

Without nil doubt, the author of " Waverley" can vary his 
manner, and so, at will, be grave or gay, lively or severe. 
Hence, I once thought to have found him in the person of Mr. 
Leigh Hunt ; (whose name, by and by, is James Henry Leigh 
Hunt — I like to be accurate — vide his Juvenilia, in which there 
is also a demure portrait of him ;) for he is described by his ad- 
mirei*s as great in many species of authorship — great, as a po- 
litical writer — great, as a poet — great, as a dissertator in prose, 
or story-teller — a sort of Hermes Trismegistus — in short, he 
may be reckoned amti'i .^criptive or pangraphic. Among other 
proofs, you may seo an admirer's address to him, which he has 
printed, and it concludes thus : 

** Wit, port, prose-man, pnrty-mnn, tranjslator, 
Hunt, your best title yet is Indicator." 

But my particular suspicions of him originated in this : that the 
fourth number of his Indicator contained a story of " The Beau- 
Miser, and what happened to him at Brighton." This was writ- 
ten with such verisimilitude, as Mr. H. himself affirms, that 
some of his readers took it for a true circumstance, like those, I 
suppose, under the head of Police Intelligence in the Examiner 
newspaper. In the fifth number, therefore, to stop the spreading 
of this delusion, Mr. H. was obliged to give notice that it was 
purely his own fabrication. " We wish," says he, " to correct 
this mistake ; and shall make a point hereafter, of so woxding 


tmy tLink we write in the shape of a narrative, that a mere fic- 
tion shall not be confounded with oui* personal experience." 
What a proof of the beau-natural of the Beau-Miser ! which, 
bj the by, does not mean a Wretched Beau, but a Penurious 
one. Now I am sure it will be granted that the Scotch Novels 
have scenes which quite as much resemble every day life, as ■ 
those in Mr. L. H/s misleading narrative — ergo, there is pre- 
sumptive proof that they may have been written by the same ac- 
curate painter of manners. Nevertheless, I am induced to with- 
draw Mr. H.'s claim ; for, upon a comparison of styles, I find 
that of the Brighton incident, different irom that in which the 
author of " Waverley" writes. The latter does not talk of a 
man " being twitched and writhed up ;" nor of " a clipped-off 
lock of hair being glossy and healthy ! *' Nor do I find in the 
Scotch works, any instance of a stranger having given a gentle- 
man, as he talked with him, " a thump on the shoulder, which 
made him jump" — nor of a hcau having unconsciously walked 
about with an enormous coal-heaver's hat on his head, without 
finding out, even when he went a courting. All which decorate 
the said truth-like fable of Mr. H. So that, altogether, I dis- 
miss Mr. J. H. L. Hunt from the imputation of having had any 
concern with " Waverley," and its associates. 

Dr. Drake has tried his hand at a tale occasionally ; and of 
late, in his " Winter Nights," he has given us his fireside story, 
called, ** The Fate of the Bellardistons," and pretty enough it 
is. But, after all, I suspect that he is not the required author, 
as his taste in poetry differs so considerably from tlie Waverley 
wight, whose mottos, quotations, and small original pieces, be- 
tray that he acTores the divine writers of the most palmy times 
of our literature, and at the same time possesses a keen relish 
for the best of those who now flourish. On the contrary, Dr. 
D. has, I fear, a palate easily tickled with very homely condi- 
ments — he is far gone as a lover of mediocrity in poetiy. Wit- 
ness the laud he gave to Cumberland's Calvary, and to Mason 
Good's Translation of Lucretius ; and, from the living aspirants 
to poetic fame, he presents to notice, as bards of most excellent 
promise, Messrs. 0. Neale, H. Neele, and J. Burd. No — ^Dr. 
Drake must be acquitted of having written the works in question. 


I will not trouble you with my reasons for giving up my sus- 
picions of Dr. Mavor, Mr. Pinkerton, Mr. Coxe, and some othersr 
whose sole ground of resemblance, was in their fecundity^ each, 
like the author of " Waverley," having sent at least a score 
volumes a-piece into the world. 

A novel-reading lady friend of mine, recommended me to seek 
among the writers for Mr. Lane's Minerva Press ; but I did it 
without profit ; for there is this difference between the writuigs 
of the Scotch Novelist, and those of Miss Haynes, Miss Stan- 
hope, Anne of Swansea, and Mr. Francis Lathom, that his ran 
through many editions, while the public are well content* with 
one edition of theirs. It is curious that some difficult lines in 
lililton may bo explained by this latter circumstance. He says, 

" That two-handed engine at the door 

Stands ready to smite once, and smite no raoro." 

The two-handed engine is evidently a printing-press ; (say that 
of Minerva ;) publishers do actually talk of striking off an im- 
pression ; and every one knows, that to strike and to smite are 
synonymous, and the words once and no Tno^'Cy can only allude 
to a single edition of a book. So that by the practice of the 
Minerva Press, we get an elucidation, which we should have 
never found had our attention been restricted to such rapidly 
reprinted publications as those of the author of " Waverley." 

My critica vannus having winnowed away those who ai*e not 
the desired authors, I trust that I can now present him who is, 
and this is no less a personage than Cfiristopher North, Esq. 
Editor of Blackwood's Magazine, &c. &c. &c. 

Let me then advance to the proof of it. My grounds for 
thinking you the public benefactor in this particular, lie in these 
circumstances: — 1st. The author of "Waverley" chooses a sort 
of concealment ; 2dly. He has great versatility in this style of 
composition; 3dly. He is well versed in the Scottish language; 
4thly. He betrays a love of good cheer; 5thly. He is a Tory; 
. and, 6thly. He cannot but be amassing wealth. 

Now, is it not odd enough, that all these characteristics tally 
with the habit, tastes, and conditions of Squire North % Ant 
Erasmus, aut Diabolus — if you are not the author of " Waver- 


ley," the deuce is in it. But let me soberly show the parallel- 
ism under all the heads above stated. 

1. You have no objection to play bopeep with the public ; for 
we, who live at a distance, cannot forget, that for a long time 
you were only known to us, (if it can be called known,) as the 
Veiled Conductor. Just as a lamp of ground glass dif^ises 
radiance, and yet suffers not any one to see the exact shape of 
the flame within ; so, while the Veiled Conductor flourished, we 
saw that some one was edifying us, but liis name and features 
we knew not ; all that we were permitted to discern was that 
he was sensible and jocular ; but this did not inform us whether 
his name was North or South ; for you may recollect that acute- 
ness a^d facetiousness have, in times past, been the property of 
persons bearing both these appellations. Dr. South was (saving 
your presence) as witty as you ; — and the late Lord- North was 
as ready at a repartee or a gibe, as even the gre«Ct Edinburgh 
North of the present day. Now this hankering for the coy dis- 
guise of anonymity in you and in the Novehst, is very symptom- 
atic of the identity of the two authors. For let us know in what 
degi-ees is the title of The Veiled Conductor a whit more ex- 
planatory than that of The Author of " Waverley V 

2. Let the different Tales be allowed to display as much ver- 
satility of genius as possible, yet they can hardly be pronounced 
to evince more than you possess ; knowing, as we do, from your 
own confession, that most of the anonymous Articles in the 
Magjazine are of your own writing. So that in this point, there 
is no bar to your being the author of whom we are in search ; 
on the contraiy, the likeHhood is great and astounding. 

3. The Novels demonstrate the writer's admirable acquaint- 
ance with the Scottish language. Now different references in 
your Magazine show that Dr. Jamieson's Etymological Diction- 
ary is frequently at your elbow ; and your occasional use of a 
word or two, proves your proficiency in that venerable tongue. 
Doubtless, you have possessed advantages for learning it, which 
do not fall to the lot of all ; for I am told by a friend who has 
visited Edinburgh of late, that the use of that least corrupted 
dialect of the Anglo-Saxon, namely, the gude hraid Scots, is not 


even now wholly superseded hy the more corrapted Tenionic, 
called English. 

4. The author of " Waverley" enters cordially upon his de- 
scriptions of good cheer and merry-making. With what a 
smack of the lips did he report the decanting of the Baron of 
Bradwardinc's claret ; and with what kindred jollity does he ac- 
company the carouse of the Black Knight, and the Clerk of 
Gopmanhurst ! Oh, Christopher ! rheumatism doth not seem to 
have made thee less esurient or sitient, when the hospitality of 
Glasgow, or of other goinnandizing and boozing places, is within 
thy reach. How cordial also is the gout, with which thou dost 
embody, in a durable record, thy prowess ■ in mastication and 
deglutition ! Can he, who with sijch unction composed and par- 
took of the Glasgow punch, be other than he in whose giflted 
ear the claret of Tully Veolan gurgled so melodiously as it left 
the cobwebb^,d magnum ? Can he to whom kidneys and kipper 
were so grateful, be other than the veiy same who records with 
such complacency the rapid despatch of Dandie Dinmont in 
the same hearty cause 1 

5, There is quite sunshiny evidence, that the great Novel- 
writer is a Tory. But what shall we say of Christopher North ? 
Has he not grappled with the Edinburgh Reviewers — taken 
the very bull of Wliiggism by the homs, so that roar as he will, 
he can no longer do mischief? Surely there was proof suffi- 
cient of high-minded Toryism in that hazardous but successful 
enterprise of yours. Well then, what else can we say, but that 
He who has instilled loyalty by the medium of fictitious narra- 
tives, and He who has wrought to the same good end in his own 
character as a political combatant, are two in semblance, but in 
reality alter et idem, 

6. These unowned enchanting books, which I cannot help at- 
tributing to you, must have accumulated for their author quite 
a heap of gold. Now, is it not a strangely corroborative cir- 
cumstance, that you confess that you are growing rich 1 The 
Magazine is referred to by you as the sole source of your 
wealth ; but I fear you are like the lapwing which pretends to 
be most flurried and anxious about that place where her nest is 
2?ot, Ah, Mr. North, is not your hyperbolical statement in No. 


XLIII. of Mr. Blackwood's profits, a feint to withdraw our eyes 
from the real spot in which you have heen reaping such a golden 
harvest ? I apprehend that you are cater-cousin to the amusing 
hero of Shakspeare's Induction to the Taming of the Shrew, 
and are, as well as he — Christopher Sly! 

Well, I have done ; and whether the author of " Waverlcy" 
he how dcterre hy these evidences, I leave (if you he not in- 
duced to confess) to impartial posterity to determine. Of one 
thing the present age may he assured, and this is, that I am, 
and ever shall continue to he, Yours very truly, &c. 

Giles Middlestitch. 


mrink QltDasI 

CoMi draw me six mBgnoms of claret. 

Don't spare it, ^ 

But slmre it in bumpers around ; 
And tiike rare that ii/each shining brimmer 

No glimmer 
Of skimmering daylight be found. 
Fill away .' Fill away ! Fill away f 

Fill bumpers to tliose that you love, 
For we will be happy to day ! 

As the gods are when drinking above, 
Drink away ! Drink away !* 

Give way to each thought of your fancies. 

That dances, 
Or glancesi or looks of the fair; 
And beware that from fears of to-moiTOW 

You borrow 
No 801TOW, nor foretaste of care. 
Drink away, drink away, drink away ! 
For the honour of tliosc you adore: 
Come, charge ! and drink fairly to-day, 

Though you swear you will never drink more. 

I last night, aitj and quite melancholy, 

Cried folly ! 
What's Polly to reel for her fame ? 
Yet 1*11 banish such hint till the morning, 

And scorning 
Such warning to-night, do the same. 
Drink away, drink away, drink away ! 
'Twill banish blue devils and pain ; 
And to-night for my joys if I pay. 
Why, to-morrow I'll do it again. 

* From Blachcood for April, 1824. — Simg at The Noctks. — M. 


I HAD a dream, which was not all-my-eyo. 
Tlio deep veils were exhausted, and the pumps 
Delivered nothing but a windy groon 
To those who plied their handles ; an<l the clouds 
Hung like exsuccous sponges in the sky. 
Morn canio nnd went — nnd came and brought no min, 
And men forgot their hunger in the dread 
Of nttor failure of all drink — their chops 
Were all athirst for something potable ; 
And they did swig, from hogsheads, brandy, wine, 
Cider, brown-stout, and such like, meant to serve 
For future meiTy-makings — cellars dim, 
Were soon dismnnlled of the regidar tiei*s, 
Of bottles, which were piled within their binns ; 
Small beer was now held precious — yeo, they gulpM 
Black treacle, daubing childish visages, 
GHpe-giving vinegar, and sallad oil. 
Nor were old phials, fill'd with doctor's stuff. 
Things to be sneezed at now — they tossM them off. 
Happy were they who dwelt within the reach 
Of the pot-houses, and their foaming taps. 
Barrels were all a-broach — and hour by hour 
The spigots ran — and then a hollow sound 
Told that the casks were out — and the Red Cow, 
The Cat and Bagpipes, or the Dragon Green, 
Could serve no customers — their pots were void 
The moods of men, in this unwatei*y, 
Small-beerless time, were different. Some sat 
Unbuttoning their waistcoats, while ihey frownM, 
Scarce knowing what they did ; while hopeful, some 
Bulton'd their breeches-pockets up, and smiled ; 
And sei-vant lasses scurried to and fro, 
With mops unwet, and buckets, wondering when 
The puddles would be fillM, that they might scrub 
The household floors ; but finding puddles none, 
They deem*d their pattens would grow obsolete — 
Things of forgotten ages. So they took 

* This parody on Byron's impressive poem of " Darkness" appeared in 
Blaekwood for December, 1821, and was given as if written by Blaise Fitztrav 
esty, who dated from Ladle Court, near the Devira Punch Bowl, Surrey. — M. 



Tlu'ii* disappointed mops, and renderM them 

Back to their diy receptacles, The birds 

Forsook their papery leaves. The dairy cows 

Went dr}', and were not milk'd. Incessantly 

Ducks quacked, aye stumbling on with flabby feet. 

Over the sun-baked mud, which should have felt 

Pulpy beneath their bills ; and eels did crawl 

Out from what had been ponds, and needed not 

The nng:ler's baited hook, or wicker^pot, 

To catch them now, — for they who baffled erst, 

Through sliminesd, man's grusp, were still indee<l 

Wriggling— but dusty, — they were skinnM for food. 

He who, by lucky chance, had wherewithal 

To wet his whistle, took his drop apart. 

And smackM his lips alone ; small love was left : 

Polks had but then one thought, and that was drink, 

Where to be had, and what? The want of it 

Made most men cross, and eke most women too. 

The patient lost their patience, and the sour 

Grew still more crabbed, sharp-nosed, and shrill- voiced. 

Even cats did sciiitch their maiden Mistresses, 

AngiT that milk foithcame not, — all, save one, 

And he was faithful to the virgin dnme 

Who potted him ; — but, be it not concealM, 

The niniour ran that lie his whiskci-s greased 

From a pomatum-pot, and so he quell'd 

The rn<re of thirst; himself sought naught to lap, 

Hut, with a piteous and perpetual mew. 

And a quick snivelling sneeze, sat bundled up, 

And taking matters quietly — he livetl. 

The crowd forsook our village ; only two 

Of ihe parishioners still tarried there. 

And they were enemies ; they met beside 

(One only stood befoix; and one behind) 

The empty settle of a public-house. 

Where had been heap'd a mass of pots and mugs 

For unavailing usage ; they snatch'd up, 

And, scraping, lick'd, with their pounced-parchmont tongues, 

The porter-pots a-dust ; their eager eyes 

Dived into gin-holtles, where gin was not, 

Lahell'd in mockery, — then they lifted up 

Their eyes for one brief moment, but it was 

To hong their heads more sillily, ashamed 

Each of his futile quest; — but 'twas enough 

For recognition, — each saw, and leer'd and grinn'd. — 

Even at their mutual sheepishness they grinnM, 


Discovei-ing how upon each foolish face 
ShinesA had written Quiz. The land was dry ; 
Day pass'd, dcfi-nuded of its moistest meals, 
Breakfaslless, milkless, tealess, soupless, punclilessi 
All things were dry,— a chaos grimed with dust. 
Tubs washei^womanless, replete with chinks, 
Stood in their warping tressels— >suds were none; 
And diity linen lost all heart, and hope 
Of due ablution — shirts were worn a month — 
White pocket-handkerchiefs were quite abandon'd, 
And so were nankin inexpressibles — 
Yea, most things washable, — and Woshing seem'd 
To threaten that hencefoith it must be named 
Among lost arts. Water had fled the Earth, 
And left no tears in people's eyes to weep 
Its sad departure ; — Drouthiness did reign 
Queen over all — She was the universe ! 


01 £ablcfnl from ti)e Dmre |)]inr^ B01DL* 

Dear North, 
As " Droutliincss" gave sncli superlative Bntisfaction, (that is, to 
m^'sclf,) I proceed in the course which Nature has at last point- 
ed out to me. Questionless, I was horn a poet, and yet I never 
found it out till lately. However, I shall spur on Pegasus the 
faster, to make him fetch up for lost time. I ride light weight, 
and do not expect that I shall blow him, even if I should push 
him rather smartly. To say the truth, I possess a spur, which 
makes him lift; his legs nimbly again whenever he slackens. 
(Allegory apart, this means Walker's Bhyming Dietionaiy, hut 
it is a profound secret.) As I mean to make you profit by my 
journeys, I send herewith the products of my two last rides, per- 
foi-med at a hand-gallop, in which I trust yon will think that 
Peggy has bumpered but seldom. But here allow me to get 
off the great horse, and talk in a more pedestrian manner. 

My iii-st poem is a parody on Sir William Jones's spirited 
paraphrase of a fragment of Alcajus. His contains a palavar 
about Liberty, and lliglits, and the Fiend Discretion, while mine 
alludes to the less disputable good of a hearty appetite and a 
dinner to satisfy it. 

My second poem is a metrical advertisement of all Lord 
Byron's works ; and for drawing it up, Mr. Murray ought, I am 
sure, to be grateful to mc, for it will save him I know not wliat 
in paper and printing, as there is little doubt of its being got by 
heart by all those for whom he stitches up his announcements. 
I have secured this, by making my dedication so diffusive — it 
is to the reading public, that abstract IIclluo Vibrorum, to whom 
Mr. Coleridge has such an antipathy ; but Mr. Murray has a 
fellow-feeling for the omnivorous monster, and supplies him with 
frequent supplies of papyrus, which is the fodder he delights in. 
Indeed, this pamphlet-perusing prosopopoeia the reading public 
aforesaid seems to squat like the nigbt-mare on the chest of the 
author of the Ancient Mariner and Kubla Khan ; and I much 
wish that so powerful a somno versifier would harrow up our souls 

* From Blackwood for Februmy, 1822. — M. 


with some of the dreams, (all probably ready tagged with rhyme 
for the press,) which that incubus has occasioned. 

You will observe that this copy of verses is wholly composed 
in double rhymes, a feat on which I pride myself, for they are 
sometimes monstrously hard to find. With one line, which I was 
determined not to alter, and to whose jfinale I could find nothing 
correspondent in the compass of the language, I was so vexed, 
that in an unversifying and unguarded moment I was all but 
tempted to jump headlong into the Devil's Punch Bowl, that 
huge circular abyss in my neighborhood — " and there an end/** 
But the catastrophe was prevented by a timely discoveiy of the 
required ending, A happy termination this ; I may well call it 
so, both of the couplet (which now jingles most musically) and 
of my perplexity, which thus evanished without a dive of some 
fathoms downwards. In some cases, however, the will must be 
taken for the deed, I fear ; but you will be pleased, according 
to the dictum of a sage critic, to crush the syllables, if they are 
refractoiy, and then they will fit much better. If my Lord B. 
should make you the channel of communication, in returning his 
grateful thanks on this occasion, let no time be lost in conveying 
them to yours, Blaise Fitztravesty. 

Ladle Court, near the DevWs Punch Bowl. 











What constitutes a feast 7 
Not haunch of venison, of flavour true. 

Fat, juicy, nicely drest ; 
Nor turtle calipash of verdant hue ; 

* Dr. W. Kitchener, author of " The Cook's Oracle."— M. 


Nut soup, in whose rich flood, 
French cooks a thousand relishes infase; 

Not fiicassees well stewed, 
Nor France's greater boast, high-fumed ragnuU ; 

Not a sirloin of beef, 
Crowning a dish in which rich gmvy lies; 

Not turbot, ocean chief, 
Which ruddy lobster-sauce accompanies. 

No— a good appetite. 
And good digestion, turn into a feast 

Whate*er front-tooth can bite. 
And grindera manducale, and palate taste. 

Be it homely bread and cheese. 
Of which the ravenous carl tucks in some pounds ; 

Or bacon smoked, where grease, 
Five fingers thick, each stripe of lean surrounds ; 

Be it onion, fiei-y root. 
Whose rank effluvia draws unbidden tears ; 

Potato, Erin*s fruit. 
With which the bogtrotter his stomach cheers ; 

Be it cabbage, flabby leaf! 
Which cross-Iegg*d tailors smack with liquorish chops ; 

Or oatmeal porridge, chief,^ 
Undoubted chief of Scotland's rustic slops. 

Yet in these meuls so plain. 
Let but sharp ajipotite as guest attend. 

And napkiiiM Aldermen 
Miiy grudge the gout with which the bits descend. 

Tliis constitutes a feast. 
To experience hunger and have wherewithal 

(Though it be not of the best) 
To stop the void bread-basket's healthy call. 

Lord Byron's Combolio.* 

INTRODUCTION. Qf fresh sheets, for thy morsels ; 

Reading public ! whose hunger, And though publishers race, yet 

Thou egregious bookmonger, Tliou never ait satiate 

Gets monthly large parcels Of new poems, new histories, 

* As his lordship imported tliis word from the East, it is but justice that he 
should have the benefit of it. In the Bride of Abydos, where it is used, he 
tells us it means the rosary which the Turks use. Here, of course, it is fig^ 
uratively applied to the series of his poems, which are to be looked upon as the 
beads of this combolio, (what a mouthful the word is !) and they are beautifully 
strung upon the golden thread of my verses. Et ego in Arcadia ! ahem. — B. F. 


New dramas, new MtfsterieSt 
New romonccsy new novels, 
New voyages, new travels. 
New tounfications. 
New past prandium orations ;* 
New lives and new memoirs, 
New guide-books, new grammars. 
New systems of science, 
(Some writ in defiance 
Of the sense that's called common) 
New endeavors to hum one. 
Of old lies new editions, 
Of old fuliios new visions. 
New modes of abusing, 
(Peep fj)r these the Reviews in). 
New revivals of scandal. 
By some right or wrong handle ; 
In short, what is new. Sir, 
Finds in thee a peruser. 
Reader General ! thou patron 
Of many a squadron. 
Who, with goose quills ink laden, 
(Which their stands had best staid in,) 
Lose available labour 
In blurring white paper,— 
To thee do I dedi- 
cate, now this most edi- 
fying sample of doggrel, 
Which will sure catalogue well 
The works now abundant. 
Of an Author redundant : 
And we do not disparage 
The rolls of the Peerage 
In saying, though they strive all 
To discover a rival; 
And bo Horace Walpole 

StirrM up with a tall pole,t 

And his book's last edition 

Put in due requisition \X 

Let the Lords not be hindered 

From including their kindi-ed,— 

Yet they will not environ 

Such a Poet as Byron. 

Him, thou, Reading Demn$ ! 

Hast been pleased to make famous ; 

So take to thy favour 

This industrious endeavour 

To make out a list of 

The hnnks, which his distaff 

Has long time been untwining, 

Of verses so genuine. 

That renown they must e*en win. 

Let some fume too o'erbnbble 

Oil his pnte, who great trouble 

(Behold it) hath taken . 

In this catalogue making. 


The first stretch of his powers 
Was made in " The Hours" 
'Clept " of Idlesse," that syren, 
" By George Gordon Lord Byron." 
No need of diviner. 
To shew that " a Minor" 
The book had compounded ; 
But to warn us, we found it 
Printed under nnd over. 
On the back on the cover, 
On^the title-page ominous. 
And in prose pi-ologomenous. 
'Twas, in spite of tlie pother 
Neither one thing nor t'other ; 

* Beware of mistaking, — no allusion here to brandy^ — gin beings the drink 
of our indigenous orators. Indeed, one of the speechifying Radicals averred 
in public, that " English gin," (sink the circumstance that he was a vender 
thereof,) " is as nutritive as mother's milk to an Englishman." Radical ha- 
rangues are not generally specimens of o/*/<?r-<?wincr eloquence,— they are often* 
er orcUionet imprantce, or cid prandium ad ipitcendum.'^'B. F. 

t Tall is surely ^rnonymous with long, which is, I know, the epithet in com- 
monest use in menageries, whence we borrow the metaphor. — B. F. 

% His " Royal and noble authors," which Mr. Park lately edited.— B. F. 



And though it was poori^h, 

It deserved not the flourish 

Of that tomahawk cruel 

In the saffron or)d cerule, 

Which notchM it and nickM it ; 

In shoit those wits wicked 

Had their sport with the lordling, 

Whom ihoy thouglit a soft hnrdliiig, 

Too meek to retort it ; 

Unt they were not so sorted. 

For his next was a stinger; 

Maisirr Fniiik found his finger 

}Iud been burnt in the venture 

With one, not a flincher 

When his Pegasus skittit^h 

Gave a fling ut " Bards British." 

If the " Hours" failetl in merit, 
There was talent and spirit 
In this nettle stuff'd satire ; 
And the blows, like the platter 
Of liuil, fell by dozens 
On our splenetic cousins 
Dun-Edin's Reviewers, 
Those padcilers in sowers, 
Where their mud-ammuiiiiion 
(Hooting, hissing, tlerision,) 
Is niix'd up for griming 
All those who won't chime in 
With jacobin shoutings, 
And infidel doubtings. 

Then came doughty Chiide Harold, 
With whom the world quarrell'd. 
Because this aspirant, 
Though observant, enquirnnt. 
Shrewd, keen, energetic, 
Sublime, and ])atlietic — 
Contriving to wedge in all. 
In one word, original ; 
Yet betray 'd the foot cloven, 
Scepticism being inwoven 
In his talk upon matters 
Best left to his betters. 

How plain folks roU'd their gogglers ! 
How the learned prov'd bogglers ! 
At the name of the " Giaour." 
For sure ne'er to that hour 

Did four-fifths of the vowels 
Congregate in the bowels 
Of a syllable single ; 
Even yet how to mingle 
Their sounds in one's muszle. 
Continues a puzzle. 
But the fragments are clever,— 
Surpassed has he never. 
In his lofriest of stretches, 
Tw«> or three of the sketches. 

*' The Bride of Abydos" 
Next sprang up beside us ; 
From the first time I met her, 
The Giaour pleased me better ; . 
Although I must own it. 
With reluctance upon it, 
Since my prefei-ence showing, 
O'er a lady so glowing. 
Of a wretch with a white face, 
Argues not much politeness. 

With a head rough as horse hnir, 
Heaves in sight now " The Corsair. 
His Lordship hero followed 
The metre that's hallowed 
By the poets, whoso due, d'ye see. 
Is no longer sub judice. 
Ne'er could fail this fine stoiy 
To find fit auditory ; 
It holds ono quite breathless 
With interest; yet, nathless, 
'Twould accord with my wishcft. 
If stops, 'stead of dashes. 
Were put lo the poem, 
(How to do it I'd shew 'em ;) 
For, I'm sure, I was wearied, 
Seeing comma and period 
Smash'd, — as if puncluatioa 
Were gone out of fashion. 

" An Ode," rather warty. 
Came to Nap Buonaparte ; 
Wherein he was scoldetl 
For not having folded 
His cloak like a Roman ; 
And, indebted to no man, 
Kick'd tho bucket with glory, 
And lived ever in story. 


Then appoor'd Sonor " Lnni," 
Which, nt sight, one could swear a 
Reappearance of Conrad. 
The attempt though did honour add 
To our author, clear sighted ; 
And ne'er hath he indited 
With more perspicacity, 
And psychologic sagacity. 

To each " Hebrew Melody," 
Alas ! and Ah, well-a-day ! 
For most are but rudish. 
And n scantling nre goodish ; 
So let Messrs. Braham 
And Nathan enjoy 'em. 

" The Siege," next, " of Corinth," 
nUistrates a war in th' 
Moroa ; — but I dare say. 
From perusal or hearsay. 
Most now thii^k on the munching 
Of the dogs, and ihcir ** crunching," 
(On what, in his jargon. 
Dr. Grail calls an organ,) 
Stripping off the scalp, rot 'em ! 
" As ye peel figs in autumn." 

With Alp to the arena 
Came the fair ** Parisina." 
That he should not have written, 
On this subject forbidden. 
Still sticks in my gizzard, 
'Spite of *• gruflf General Iszard." 
Who devoid of all mercy \a 
Tow'rds King Leigh and his verses ;* 
And because without panic. 
That monarch Cuckunnic, 
Rhymed lightly on incest, 
Z., with fury in tensest, 
Pour'd out a full bottlet 
Of wrath on his noddle ; 
But of Byron he's chary. 
And lauds this same " Puri- 

sine," as if it were shnpen, 
All the penis escaping. 

All we say of a ** Monody" 
Is, it issued forth on a day. 

After Uiis, the ** Third Canto , 
Of Cbilde Harold" was sent to 
Find its fate with the nation ; 
And it gained approbation. 

" The Prisoner of C billon" 
Was sufficient to mill one ; 
So doleful,^ so grievous,— 
With nought to relievo us! 

Enter " Manfred ;" a serious 
Sort of white witch mysterious; 
Of our genuine erratic 
The first effort dramatic. 
And so well in that province 
He lins never come off since. 

*' Tusso's snd Lamentation'* 
Much requires condensation ; 
But 'tis plaintive and strikmg. 
And suits with my liking. 

Not so the sarcastic 
''Sketch on topics Domestic;" 
As the matter bus ended, 
Lenst said's soonest mended. 

To Venice he hied him, 
And that city supplied him 
With the matter capricious 
For his " Beppo" facetious; 
A model, so please ye. 
Of a style free and easy. 
The story that's in it 
Might be told in a minute ; 
But par parenthkte chatting, 
On this thing and that thing. 
Keeps the shuttlecock flying. 
And attention from dying. 
There are some I could mention. 
Think the author's intention 

* Lockhart under the signature ** Z" lashed Hunt and the Cockney Poets.— M. 

t Bottle is here used aggrawmdo for vialf which is the old established wet- 
measure of wrath ; but surely in these days when energy of language is so much 
in vogue, I shall find followers to adopt the more forcible expression. Z. gave 
full measure, whether it were bottle or vial.— B. F. 



Was to sneer and disparage 
The vow mailo in marriage ; 
But the sneer, as I take it, 
Is 'gainst thitse folks who break it. 

Tl»c lengthy " Fourth Canto 
Ot' the Chilile" makes us pant, oli ! 
It exceeds altogether 
The three first in a tether; 
But ^tis greatly applauded. 
Yea, exceedingly lauded. 
Now, though, without flalterj-, 
It has powerful poetry, 
Yet the world henceforth will know 
Meo proprio perieulo. 
That, to my mind, the style of it 
Is ambitiously elevate, 
TiH> much in the fashion 
Of a prize declamation ; 
Rather pompous and dullish, 
Oi falsetto, too, fullish; 
As it don't wholly please me. 
Of the subject I ease me. 

Thunders in now on horseback 
** Mazeppa" the Cossack ; 
Though he was not a Hettman 
In performing: that feat, man, 
And a wag, for his trouble, 
CallM him John Gilpin's double. 

With many an ill-omen, 
'Neath no publisher's nomen* 
(Proof that mischief was brewing) 
Sneak'd forth, of ** Don Juan" 
Canto first. Canto second; 
But here my Lord reckon'd. 
His host unconsultcd, — 
Staunch admirers revolted, 
And made a stern stricture 
On the profligate picture ; 
E'en tlic wit could not save it 

F rom being upbraided ; 

And, though reiul by the many, 

No one champion'd Giovanni. 

" The Great Doge of Venice" 
Little joy stnred within us ; 
And the purse of Old Drury 
Was not burst, I assure ye, 
With the weight of die treasure, 
When, in spite of displeasure. 
And legal injunction, 
Abjuring compunction, 
This play they enlisted. 
And to act it persisted 
Till 'twas thoroughly hiss'd at. 

Tlie " Throe Cantos" more recent 
" Of Don Juan" are decent 
Compared with the couple, 
Of morals more supple. 
Which first made us wonder. 
But the three are much under 
Their loose brethren in satire. 
And in interesting matter; 
Tliough they shew more decorum, 
We could sooner snore o'er 'ern.t 

Last came to assail us 
Great *' Sardannpalus,'* 
" The Two Foscan's Histoiy," 
And " Cain" in a " Mystery." 
Had they staid in his pinnace 
On the waters of Venice, 
His fume bad not suffer'd. 
For though they discover'd 
Some power in the terrible. 
They were not all agreeable. 
Cain's murderous fury 
He had best, I assure ye. 
Have left where ho found it. 
Nor essay'd to expound it ; 
For, bowe'er be conceit it. 

* Pray be careful to understand that nomen is set down here, and not gnomon, 
which would do just as well for the rhyme sake ; but then it would not accord 
wiih the trutii of things; for though Don Juan was not sold under any publish- 
er's name, it was sold under llie nose of many a one.^B. F. 

t After all that has been said on Don Juan, what comes up to ** Don Juan 
unread ?" One of the jjjeasantest parodies thai ever was written.—- B. F. 


We ore bold to repeat it, 
He*s by no niean9 a fit on 
To piny prankii Holy Writ on. 
Milton's self, when be travellM, 
Fionn the record was g^nivellM, 
In parts of his epic. 
So abstain from the topic, 
And with easy restriction 
Seek the, regions of fiction, 
Extend thither your pinion, 
For there lies your dominion. 

Lo ! in melody worthy 
Of immortal Tom D'Urfey, 
Have I chanted, my lyre on, 
The doings of Byron. 
And, as faithful recorder. 
Chronological order 
Have I kept. Now, as clincher, 
I take heart, and will venture 
To suggest to his Lordship 
A proposal, (no hardship,) 
Which he should not be soiTy at — 
Let him make mo his Laureate. 


fiosal bisit to MxtlatA. 


I. The Kino's Landing. 


The poet flnb- As T wo« Mtting on the Shannon side, 
bergnsted by LulI'd by the sound of that majestic flood, 
T^ rit"n ^^ ^ horseman on a sudden I espied, 

' Gralloping by as quickly as he could ; 

I liail'd him, hut he slackened not his pace, 
Still urging^ on his steed, a gallant gray. 
Until he passed me, then he turned his face. 

Back towards liis horse's tail, and thus did say,— 
" I lide express with news to strike you dumb. 
Our monarch has anived at last — King Georgo tlie Fourth is 

Which Icnv- He senrce had spoken, ere away he pass'd 
oth him in ane Qut of my sight as rapid as a bird, 

^ " And left me there in much amazement cast, 
drura, nftcr , , . , . , , , 

the manner Looking, perhaps, m some degree absurd ; 
of W. Words- Tlie noble river rolling cahnly by, 
worth, Esq. The horse, the hasty rider, all did seem, 
Even to the vision of my outward eye. 

Like the thin shadowy figments of a dream ; 
I felt, in short, as Wordsworth did, when ho 
Chanced the leech gatherer on the moor all by himself to see. 


Slmketh it off, By the exertion of judicious thought, 

and morcheth j^^ i^gt J f,.om this mental trance awoke, 

homewards. ivi^^eUing much how in that lonely spot, 

Upon my eyes so strange a vision broke ; 
From the green bank immediately I went, 

And into Limerick's ancient city sped ; 

* In August, 1821, Ireland was " honoured" by a visit from George IV., and 
got drunk with joy, loyalty, and — whiskey-punch. The Royal Advent was dulj 
commemorated in Blackwood at the lime. Maginn*s poition is here subjoined 
— M. 


During my walk, with puzzled wonderment 

I tliMUglit on what the mpid horseman said ; 
And, ns is commonly the case, when I 
Feel any way oppress'd in thought, it made me very dry. 


"When I arrived in hrick-built George's-street, Turneth star- 

Instinctively I there put forth my hand gazer. 

To where a bottle, stored with liquid sweet. 
Did all upon an oaken table stand ; 

Then turning jup my little finger strait, 

I gazed like 'Doctor Brinkley on the sky. 

Whence heavenly thought I caught — pure and elate 
Of holy harpingR of deep poesy ; 

And, ere a moment its brief flight could wing, 

I threw the empty boltlft down, to chant about the King. 



A VERT glorious day this is indeed ! He calleth up- 

This is indeed a veiy glorious day! o° Ireland to 

For now our gracious monarch will proceed . ^° ^® » 

^ X . , 1 r . 1 ^ , fashion of a 

On Insh ground his royal foot to lay. ^^^ ^^ p^^j^r 

Rejoice, then, O my country, in a tide 

Of buoyant, foaming, ovei-flowing glee ; 
As swells the porter o'er the gallon's side. 

So let your joy swell up as jovially ; 
Shout, great and little people, all and some. 
Our monarch has arrived at last — King George the Fourth has 

Come down, the mountains, bend your numbsculls low, Inviteth the 

Ye little hills run capering to the shore, mountains to 

■K.r 1 11 . ane saraband. 

Now on your mairow bones, all in a row. 

From all your caves a royal welcome roar. 
Ilowth is already at the water-side, 

Such is that loyal mountain's duteous haste ; 
Come then to join him, come with giant stride. 

Come, I repeat, there's little time to waste ; 
In your best suits of green depait from home, 
For now our monarch has arrived — King George the Fourth has 
come i 

* Dr. John Brinkley, Astronomer Royal of Ireland, was one of the Professors 
in Trinity College, Dublin. He was bom in 1760, and died in 1835. He was 
created Bishop of Cloyne in 1826. He was the discoverer, in 1814, of the pai^ 
allax of the fixed start. — M. 



Vakeih of Down slioulil despatch Monw't fnowy^Tested peaks, 
Ifaem uw ct- And Tippenin-, •KnockaheogowBa's hUl, 
most Kpny^ ti,g grent MacgiUycaddy's reeka, 

Ci>rk, the Galtees, stadded with many a still, 
Gullop irom Wicklow, Sagarloaf the sweet! 

From Wexford, bloody Yinegart the soar ! 
Croaglit must be tliore, from whose conspicuous seat 
St. rntrick mnde the snakes from Irelnnd scour,— 
All, ail should march, tramp off to beat of drum. 
Fur now our monarch has arrived— King Greoi^e the Fourth has 


A word of ad- Riverf, dear rivers, in meandering roll, 
riwtotherir. >[„ve to your Sovereign merrily alcmg; 
crM..the»lylr y ^,^ ^y^^ ^j , ^^„g^^ ^f ^jd Mole| 
of Matter Ed. „ „ , , i . . . , . 

mnn.l <ura- embalmed in his enchanting song ; 

rer ImXr of Liflfi'y sliall bo your spokesman, roaring fortli 
Kilof^oun. A vpiy neat Address from either BuU,$ 

While all the rest of you, from south to north, 
Shall flow around in currents deep and full. 
Murmuring^ beneath your periwigs of foam — 
" Our monarch has arrived at last— King Gourde the Fourth has 
come !" 

Aneut l.ikcs. Kil!nrney sulkily mnaius behind, 

Thinking the Kin^ shuuld come to wait on her; 
And if he wont, she s wears with sturdy mind, 

• Which, being interpreted, signifies, the hiJl of the fuiiy calf; there is many 
a sloiy about it. — M. OD. 

t Vinegar Hill, where a decisive battle was fought in 1798, with the rebels, 
who were totally defeated. — M. OD. 
X Crongh-Patrick, in Mayo. — M. OD. 
11 Spenser, who dwelt benenth old father ^lole, 
(Mole hight that mountain gray 
That walls the nonh side of Armulla vale.) 

Collin Clonic s come home agcuM. 
He has catalogued our rivers in the Faiiy Queen, B. 4. CanL 2. St. 40-44 — 
M. OD. 

$ In Dublin Bay are two sand banks, called the North and South Bulls. Not 
far from them is a village called Ring's-End which gives occasion to the fiiceie 
to say, ihat you enter Dublin between two bulls and a blunder. — M. OD. 
H Something Homeric^ 

irepi a p6os 'Qksov to 
*A^o* fioppL^po)^ ^U¥, K.21— M. OD. 


That not ono step to visit him she'll stir. 
But all the other loughs, where'er they be, 

From mighty Neagh,* the stone-begetting lake, 
To Corrib, Swilly, Gara, Dearg, or Rea, 

Or Googaun-Barra,t when the Lee doth take 
Its lovely course, join in the genenil hum — 

** Our monarch has arrived at last — King George 'the Fourth has 
come !" 

O ye blest bog8,t true sons of Irish soil, Lealty of the 

How can I e'er your loyal zeal express 7 *** 

You have already risen, despising toil, 

And Iravell'd up, your Sovereign to address. 
Clai*a has led the way, immortal bog. 

Now Killmalady follows in his train ; 
Allen himself must soon to join them jog 

From Geashil barony, with might and main, 
III turfy' thunders, shouting ns they roam, 

" Our Sovereign has arrived at last— King George the Fourth has 


Ha! what's this woful thumping that I heavf Ane caution 

Oh ! 'lis the Giant's Causeway moving on, ^ *^® ^^^'^ 

Heavily pacing, with a solemn cheer, to'^l^^^upon 

On clumsy hoofs of basalt octagon. ^^ learned 

(Gigantic wanderer ! lighter be your tramp, weavers of 

Or you may press our luckless cities down ; B^fnst 

'Twould be a pity, if a single stamp 

Smash'd bright Belfast — sweet linen-vending town.) 
Why have you travelled from your sea-beat dome 7 
" Because our monarch has arrived — King George the Fourth has 
come !" 

Last slopes in, sailing from the extremcst south. Showing bow 

Gallant Cape Clear, a most tempestuous isle ; ^^^ p^®*"" 

Certain am I, that when she opes her mouth .. ,-,.. 

She will harangue in oratorio style. „g 

* Est aliud stagnum quod facit ligna dunrescere in lapides ; homines autem 
findunt ligna, et postquam formaverunt in eo usque ad caput anni, el in capite 
anni lapis invenitur, et vocatur Loch-Each, ac (Lough Neagli.) See Mirab. 
Hib. — M. OD. 

1 1. «. The hermitage of St. Finbar, who lived there as a recluse. He was 
first. Bishop of Cork. It is a most beautiful and romantic lake, containing a 
pretty island. It is a great place of pilgrimage. — M. OD. 

X Bveiy body has heard of the movement of the Irish bogs. — M. OD. 


So North, and South, and EntT, and West combine, 
'Ulster, and Gonnaughr, Leiuiter, Munster, Meatb,' 

Ti) hail the King, who, first of all his line, 
Was ever seen old Ireland's sky beneath. 

All shall exclaim, for none shall there be mum, 

" Our monarch has arrived at last— King Geoi^ the Fourth has 


Mocke com- How living people joy, I shall not tell, 
nendiition on £1,^ j should make my song a mile in lengtli ; 
various folk, pipi^j^n bards that theme may answer well, 

Chanting their lays with pertinacious strength : |' 

They may describe how all, both man and beast. 

Have in the general glee respective shares ; 
How equal merriment pervades the breast 

Of sharks and lawyers— asses and Lord Mayors— 
Of whelps and dandies — orators and geese — 
In short, of every living thing, all in their own degrees. 


Where it is But ye, remorseless rhymesters, spare the King! 
earnoetly re- Have some compossion on your own liege Lord ! 

\\ not to ^^ ^^^"^ l'<^ 'o death by Dublin poets bored. 
riay the King S*^*' three sweet singers out of College bray, 
nftrr the fash- And nil the aldermen have hired a bard, 
ion of Anker- The Castle, too, its ode, I ween, will pay, 
strocmorRa- j\^nd the newspapers have their pens prepared. 
*®* Be silent, then, and mute, ye unpaid fiy ! 

Let none attempt to greet the King, save such great bards as I. 

* The five ancient kingdoms of Ireland. — M. OD. 


II. A Welcome to His Majesty.* 

TuM — Orovet of Blameff. 

Synoptical Analynt for ike benefit af Young Pertofu studying ikit Song, 

Stanza I. Welcome in general ; in the following verses the specific excel- 
lencies of Ireland are stated. Stanza II. 1. National meat, and drink, and 
valour. Stanza III. 2. National riot in a superior style. Stanza IV. 3. Na- 
tional music. Stanza V. 4. National oratory. Stanza VL 5. National gal- 
lantry. Stanzas VII. and VII [. National upronriousness. All these offered 
for the diversion of the King. 

You're welcome over, my royal rover, 

Coming in clover to Irish ground ; 
You'll never spy land, like this our island. 

Lowland or Highland, up or down ! 
Our hills and mountains, our streams and fountains, 

Our towns and cities all so hright. 
Our salt-sea harbours, our grass-green arboura, 
Oar greasy larders will glad your sight. 


Tis here youMl eat, too, the gay potato. 

Being a root to feed a king; 
And you'll get frisky upon our whiskey, 

Which, were you dumb, would make you sing; 
And you'll see dashers, and tearing slashers. 

Ready to face ould Beelzebub, 
Or the devil's mother, or any other 

Person* whom you'd desire to drub. 


Just say the word, and you'll see a riut 

Grot up so quiet, and polite. 
At any minute you'd please to wish it, 

Morning or evening, noon or night. 
I'll lay a wager, no other nation 

Such recreation to you could show, 
As us, all fighting with great good mannei-s. 

Laying one another down so low. 

And as for music, 'tis you'll be suited 

With harp t>r bagpipe, which you please ; 

• This " Welcome" was published as by Richard Dowden (Richard) of Cork, 
who never wrote a line of poetry in hit Ufe !— M 

Vol. II.— 8 


With woTul meUn^, ormeny indng. 
Or jovial q|dhiiV9«wlnm to «■!»«£/ •'. 

Sweet Catahai won't eateitafai joa 
With ao nnich neataeaa of wariittBg tone. 

Am tboao guf swIpaiB. or bold bag^lpan^ . - 
Chaatiiv in apleBdUmr ofver thair igme. 

Then there's oar ipwhing, and bright ijwech makhig. 

Which, when yon hear, Ywfll oinko yov jnmp $ 
When in its ^loiy H cornea bafore yoo^ 

Twoold melt the heait of n cabbage iiiiiii|i 
Tis so met'phoric, and pategorie. 

As fine as Dorieor Attia Ci aa k , 
Twoold make Maik TuUf laok vaiy did^» 

Withont n worf tsft in hia chaab. 

If any kidies, they shoald iavada ns* 

The doriing creatoies, in yoor *saite, 
WeHl so amuse them, and kindly aaa tbein. 

That in ould Ireland theyH take rooC 
Our amoroos glances, modest advances. 

And smiling fancies, and all that. 
Will so delight them, that they'll be ciyiiig. 

Were you to part them away from Pat 


The mayors and sheriffs, in paunchy order. 

And the recnidii-s will go down 
To gay Dunleaiy, all for to cheer ye. 

And give you welcome to the town ; 
But though their speeching it may be pleasing, 

All written out in comely paw, 
'Twont be so hearty, as when all parties. 

With million voices roar Huzza ! 

God bless your heart, sir, 'tis you will start, sir. 

At that conspicuous thundering shout. 
When Ireland's nation, with acclamation, 

To hail their Sovereign will turn out. 
England shall hear us, though 'tis not near us. 

And the Scotch coast shall echo ring. 
When we, uproarious, joining in chorus. 

Shout to the winds, God Savk the Kino J 

* To be pronoum;ed Hibemically>— ^oot.— B. D. B. 


III. Odoherty's Impromptu.* 

My landlady enterM my parlour, and said,*—- 
" Bless my stars, gallant Captain, not yet to your bed ? 
The kettle is drained, and the spirits are low, 
Then creep to your hammock, Oh go, my love, go I 
Deny down, &c. 

" Do look at your watch, sir, 'tis in your small pocket 
'Tis three, and the candles are all burn'd to the socket : 
Come move, my dear Captain, do take my advice. 
Here's Jenny will pull ofF your boots in a trice. 

Deny down," &c. 

Jenny pull'd oflf my boots, and I tum'd into bed. 
But scarce had I yawn'd twice, and pillow'd my head. 
When I dream'd a 8ti*ange dream, and what to me befell, 
Vl\ wnger a crown you can't guess ere I tell. 

Deny down, &c. 

Methought that to London, with sword at my side, 
On my steed Salamanca in haste I did ride, 
That I enter'd the Hall, 'mid a great trepidation. 
And saw the whole fuss of the grand Coronation. 
Deny down, &c. 

Our Monarch, tlie King, he was placed on the throne, 
'Mid brilliants and gold that roost splendidly shone; 
And nround were the brave and the wise of his court, 
In peace to advise, and in war to suppoit. 

Deny down, &c. 

First Liverpool moved ot his Sovereign's command ; 
Next Sidmouth stepp'd forth with his hat in his hand ; 
Then Canning peep'd round with the archness of Muiidcu 
And last, but not least, came the Marquis of London-t 
derry down, &c. 

Then Wellington, hero of heroes, stepp'd forth ; 

Then bmve Graham of Lynedoch, the cock of the north ; 

* This was published as an " Extempore Effusion, sung with great effect 
by Morgan Odoherty, Esq., on the evening of the 19th July, 1821,"— the day 
on which Greorge IV. was crowned, in Westminster. — M. 

t In 1821, Lord Liverpool was premier; Sidmouth, Home Secretaiy; Cun- 
ning, Ex-Minister ; Londondeny, (Castlereagh,) Foreign Secretory, Welling- 
ton, Master General of the Ordnance ; Lynedock, Hopetown, and Anglesey, had 
won their laurels and coronets in the FeiEinsu]a.&ad at Waleiioo,— M. 


Then Hopetcran he follow'di but came not alone. 
For Anglesey's le^ likewise knelt at the throne. 

Derry down, &c. 
But the King look'd around him, as fain to smrrey. 
When the warlike departed, the wise of the day, 
And he whisper'd the herald to summon in then 
The legion of Blackwood, the brightest of men ! 

Derry down, &c. 
Oh noble the sight was, and noble should be 
The strain, that proclaims, mighty legion, of thee ! 
The tongue of an angel the theme would re<]uire, 
A standish of sunbeams, a goose quill of fire. 

Deny down, &c. 
Like old Agamemnon, resplendent came forth, 
In garment embroidered, great Christopher North ; 
He knelt at the throne, and then turning his head,— 
" These worthies are at the King's service," he saicL 

Derry down, Sui. 
*' Oh, Sire ! though your will were as hard to attain. 
As Gibraltar of old to the efforts of Spain, 
The men who surround you will stand, and bare stood. 
To the lost dearest drop of their ink and their blood. 

Derry down, &c. 
" From the Land's End to fur Johnny Groat's, if a mnn, 
From Cornwall's rude boors to Mac Allister's clan. 
Dure raise up his voice 'guinst the church or the state, 
We have blisters by dozens to tickle his pate. 

Deny down, &c. 
" Wc have Mom*», the potent physician of Wales, 
And Tickler, whoso right-handed blow never fuils. 
And him, who from loyalty's path never wunder'd. 
Himself, ttoate Odoherty, knight of the standard.* 

Derry down, &c. 
" We have sage Kenipferhausen, the grave and serene ; 
And E rem us Marisciiall from fur Aberdeen ; 
Hugh MuIHon, the Grass-market merchant so sly, 
Wiih his brethren Muluchi and Mordecai.t 

Derry down, &c. 

* Lockhait published his " Peter's Letters to his Kinsfolk" under tlio sobri- 
quet of Dr. Moiris. — ** Timothy Tickler," was the nom dc plume of Mr. Syme, 
uncle of Professor Wilson, and a constant contributor to Blackwood.-^ Odoherty, 
ns Ex-Ensign in the 99th, was 'yclept ** the Standard-bearer," the colours of a 
regiment being always canied by the two junior ensigns.— M. 

f Lnaginary contributors to Blackwood.-^ M., 


We have also James Hogg, the great shepherd Chaldean, 
As sweetly who sings as Anacreon the Teinn ; 
We have Delta, whose verses ns smooth are as silk ; 
With bold William Wastle, the laird of that ilk.* 

Deny down &c. 
" We have Dr. Pendrngon, the D.D. from York, 
Who sports in our ling his huge canvass of cork ; 
And General Izzard, the strong and the gruff. 
Who despatches his foes with a kick and a cuflf.t 

Derry down, &c. 
** We have Seward of Christchurch, with cap and with gown, 
A prizeman, a wrangler, and clerk of renown ; 
And Buller of Brazen-nose, potent to seek 
A blinker for fools, from the mines of the Greek. 

DciTy down, &c. 
" Nicol Jarvie from Glasgow, the Inst, and the best 
Of the race, who have worn a gold chain at theh' breast ; 
And Scott, Jamie Scott, Dr. Scott, a true blue, 
Like the steel of his forceps as tough and as true. 

DeiTy down, &c. 
We have Cicero Dowden, who sports by the hour, 
Of all the tongue-waggers the pink and the flower ; 
And Jennings the bold, who has challenged so long 
All the nation for biisk soda-water, and song. 

Derry down," &c. 
Methpught that the King looked amund him and smiled ; 
Eveiy phantom of fear from his breast was exiled. 
For he saw those whose might would the demagogue chain, 
And would shield from disturbance the peace of his reign. 

Derry down, &c. 
But the best came the last, for with duke and with lord, 
Methought that we feasted, and drank at the board. 
Till a something the bliss of my sweet vision broke ^ 
'Twas the watchman a-bawling, " 'Tis past ten o'clock." 

Derry down, &c. 
But before I conclude, may each man at his board 
Be as glad ns a King, and as drunk as a lord ; 
There's nothing so decent, and nothing so neat, * 

As, when nsing is past, to sit down on our seat. 

Derry down, &c. 

• " Delta" was D. M. Moir, of Musselburg, an awful verse-spinner. " Wil- 
liam Wastle" of that ilk was a 6ctitiou8 character.-*^ M. 

t Dr. Pendrngon had ilo existence, save in B/aeJhooo<2,'atti'Lockhart't ac» 
knowledged signature, in Maga was ** Z.'*-^M. 

1T4 THB OMHIBfT iPAMillisr 

IV. Translation op thb Botai.**' 

1. . .. •■- 

MosB t tmhe op your joyftil fiddfet 
And tmmag it yj'jiwN^t 

But don't ■Uempi the fidka to dUi 
A fib Vre nought to ny tab 

> «y tab 

* Tliete ttufM ara a traaabtioa of a Ltiia poem, gaoerally attributed to 
lfac;iDii, (and ««vaa claioMd §at hSm faj Mt».Mmm)f9 hit «wU»V tad generally 
accurate biofrapber,) but rcal^ writlflB by iempdak paaia^ Mnphy^ of Cork, 
who died Jaanaiy 5, 1824, agod ^ghtoa« jma and Wffiim nontlMs Mr. Mur- 
phy qioke or wrote the Greek, Latu, Fnadi, Hpapfijv F«tvgiiaaa, Gennan, 
and Irbh laagoaget, with tho otOBOiC floency and pnriaioa. Hit command 
over the Latin famguage waa great. Ho waa little no>9 than 15, when he eon- 
triboted the **Adventnt in Hibendam .Bufit T8tm a^iiiw jper&oU hiftoria," 
which waa that prefaced : 

JACOBUS coBeAeismu CHBUiorpoBO • tf t ww wMiAM, a. i>. 
QoDH in Magadoft vcatiA pte wewe Aogind, (chariaaime) Dowdent cigiii- 
deni civit mei, mu'tqne Buhl noti veiaaa lagwote, qfoadam mt ii« piaendo-pro- 
phetico spiriia in«ptraUM(Qt proboTit eventna) itatim ae^ai. No poatoroa igitnr 
ea rea fallet, sequentem aerwai adventAa Begia hiatoriahn ad to mittefa decrevL 
Poeta enim nostcr prophctavit dicens. Begem ad Doidearium appulsurum esse, 
«|und nc credant futura tecula, obaecro ut seqnentibus yeraibus locum ia Ma- 
guiina tu& baud deueges. 

Datum Coreafruc, hoe die Oektbrii lOaid, 1821. 

Anotlicr of Mr. Murp1iy*8 Latin performances was a version of the old bul- 
lad of "The Rising of the North,'* not inferior to Maginn's rendition of 
'* Chevy Chase." It was published in Blackwood for August, 1822, and com- 

mences thus : 

thus rendered. 

Listen, lively lordlings all, 

Lilhe and listen unto me. 
And I will sing of a noble earle, 

Tlie noblest earle in the North Countrie. 

Auscultate, Domini, 

Audite me canentera 
Nobilissimum olim Comitem 
Sub Boreft degentem. — M. 
t The Plectrum is admitted to have been a sort of hook used by the ancients 
(who had not at that time learned the use of their fingers), for twanging their 
suinged instruments, — a mode of performance, called by our more 
plished vioKnists, " Playing Ptastcalo.'**M. OD. 


Where's the use of telling stories, 
When you're to sing of so great glories, 
As foreigners, both Whigs and Tories, 
May wonder and cry " Nay !" to.* 


The coming of so great a King 

Would need lore to tell on : 
Madam ! my tale's no common thing. 

It is one to think well on. 
For mighty powers it sure requires, 
The Dukes and Barons, Knights and Squires, 
Tlieir grand processions and attires, 

Thut graced that day, to dwell on. 


But fear won't further my design. 

Faint heart ne'er won fair lady. 
And want of pluck's no crime of mine, 

So I'll describe this gay day.— 
There is a villnge called Dunleaiy, 
Where all did crowd from far and near ; I 
Ne'er saw the like — so loud and cheery, 

** God save the King !" they said aye. 

Thilhcr came Justices of Quorum, 

To punish any rash one, 
Who'd break the peace— and just before 'em 

I saw Lord Talbot dash on. — 
The Corporation tried to wedge in 
Bellies so huge you can't imagine ! 
Midst men, wives, tailors, in a rnge, in 

Order to learn the fashion. 
The crowd was great ! in number more 

Than sands upon the sea-shore ! 

* The first verso of the original nms thus : — 
ToUe laetas, Musa fides, 
Tange plectro citharam, 
Sed nil pange, quod non vides. 
Si mentiris, taceam. 
Quidnam opus est failendi, 
Quum triumphi sint dicendi * 

Peregrinis vix credendi 
Propter reram gloriamT— M. 


So much die fiillM Adr bf adora. 
And love Um without meumi . ,.. / 

They came to we end kaow ikmmwKfk. 

or Georfe die Good, of Geam» lh» FendL 

The roedf were eiamni'd from eeadi to aoffdi 
At inn Be diey eould be, ■ore. 


Och ! ye can't read die Book of Fat« . 

While ttanding there to wpaijt 
And diinking triU, ae it grows lal«^ 

The King mnst rare be pear ye. 
That King, whote nracbrdetfrqd tsnhn^ . 
Would give youir wearied boMt ifiif«]^ 
Hat changed his mind ! Off ye naf Uve wJHp 

He woo't cooM to Daaleary. 

There is a haiboor, Howth by Bame^ 

That he'll for certain ateam on;* 
Stewart and Fate ye boTO to Uamot 

For this which ye ne'er dieam on. 
But pleasure oft comes after pain, 
You shall be christen'd o'er again ;t 
When he returns, he'll not disdain 

Your town his grace to beam on. 

But now the ships began to flyt 

Like swallowR through the sea, ma'am. 
Or swim like fishes in the sky, 

As swift as swift could be, ma'am. 
And as they came still nigh and nigher, 
Hope made our hearts beat high and higher. 
And all cried out aloud, " I spy her ; 

That surely must be she, ma*am !" 

* Another instance of modem improvements, is the use of steam. To think 
that it was reserved for modem times to find out the use of fingers and hot- 
water ! The latter discovery has introduced, and is introducing, great changes 
in all the departments of mechanics — in language among the rest. On boanl 
a steamer, instead of saying " Up with the main-sail !" the cry is, " On with 
the steam V* In like manner, instead of ** sailing on a point," we must say 
"jtoimtng.'*— M. OD. 

t Dunleary was afterwards called Kingstown. George the Foordi stood 
sponsor at the ceremony. — M. OD. 

t Volare jEquore cannot be translated in English. In Iri$k it signifies nlf 
««2»ia.— M. OD. 

wrjj* Yism TO mELAXD. 177 

But Murraboo ! This erowd of lulkt 

Will get a mighty takerin ; 
They might as well hare worn their eloaks^ 

Their blue eoats are mistaken.* 
Past them the fleet doth swifUy sail, 
Their hopes and wishes can't prevail, 
And bom on wings of steam and go1r« 

Howth they their rest will make io. 


Like hungry, disappointed Whigs, 

In vain for places pmying ; 
Like starving, desperate, gambling prigs 

' Losing each bet they're laying ; 
Like such, were all the doleful people—- 
Like them» the female sex did weep all. 
When from their sight, they from the steeple 

Saw George their King astraying. 

About two hundred Irish lads, 

Were standing on Howth height, mo^am. 
Whose heart sufficiently it glads. 

Far off to see the sight, ma'am, 
Of all the frigates, yachts, and steamers, 
And royal standards, flags, and streamers, 
About die King— They were not dreamers * 

That he'd be there that night, ma'am. 

But when they saw, that to their town, 

The Bqyal Navigator 
Approach'd— And when all bearing down 

Gome boat, sloop, ship, first-rater— 
Lord ! what a row the fellows raised ! 
And how his Majesty they praised ! 
The shout the veiy shores amazed ! 

No King e'er caused a greater. 


At length with fliVring steam and gale,t 
The Lightning safe did steer in ; 

* Blue coau were worn in hoaoor of this Mijeaty's expected arrival.— 
A. OD. 
1 1 don't remember whetlMr I siemt >■>* ^ ^ eri^nal, to signify ** The • 


.-•.^•.:m»<j 4**4..- *'. ♦ ■ •♦!•» 

'trv.f- ^luat «rT>cL: 
Lipw. «aom: mat maarsmxsi 


And even the poorest Pat felt proud, 

So much he condescended. 
And willing hands the pockets picking. 
Gold watches grabbing, brass ones nicking, 
Made no distinction more than the King, 

Lest folks should feel offended. 


Moiniting the curriage steps with graccT, 

" My friends," he cried, " I thank ye !" — 
The coachman takes his reins and says, 

" My tits soon home shall spank ye."— 
Than came tlio horsemen on with piide, 
Some of them their own chargers ride, 
While some paid half a crown a-side. 

And some had but a donkoy. 

The crowd increased as they went on, 

Because their heorts were loyal ; 
They ran so fast their breath was gone, 

They scarce could speak for joy all. 
But of their great politeness judge. 
When they came to the Porter's Lodge, 
They not one other step would bodge, 

Because the grounds were royal. 

But when the King cried " Come along, 

My friends, pray don't be frighted ;" 
No sooner snid than all the throng 

Rnsh'd on to where he lighted. 
Again at stepping on the ground. 
He shook the hands of all around, 
And made their hearts with joy rebound, 

When he with face delighted, 

Timidis tunc Georgius inquit : 
" Heus ! amici, pergite." 
Portam populus relinquit 
Statque coram Principe.^ 
E curriculo descendit, 
Manus rursum ad eos tendit, 
Osque placidum ostendit, 
Grat2 hsec aient fiicie : 

180 THE ODomnrr PAmA^ 

Ezcbimed, •' My «m1 k gU 111 dl7. 

My owa dew Lmh Batioa ; 
I love yea mote ihui I cui ny. 

So greet ny egitatioB. 
Fto loved you elweys— mtoi end boy ^ 
And here Fm comet bbA ^^R employt 
To drink yoor lieeldi. wiihott eDoy, 

Of whUkeyaUbetloB.'* 

Tbvi wid the Kng, eed then the itsir 

He leyahy eacended. 
God mve the XiBg! dtRMgh ell the •fa'. 

With four times fimr wet blflndad! 
Thi* being ell I hed to eey. 
About this memonble dey, 
OonteMedly my pen I lay 

Down— for my tele it ended. 

** Oheim mihl gent Hibena ! 
Geodinm OMntem egitatt 
Oordit semper mei interna 
Fatria vestra flagitat. — 
Senex — juvenis — amavi ; 
Itleo nunc vos viaitavi. ^- 
Mox— >8aluti quam optavi 
Animus ' whisko' ebibat .'" 

Dixit, — inque domum letos 
Ambulat nobiliter,— 
Admiransque totus cctos 
Flausibus prosequitur.-— 
Hie triumphus, hie adventus, 
Hie gratissimus concentus 
Ver6 scriptus est — eontentus 
Pennam pone — Dicitur. 


t))t)o mvotc '' QTlje (Stoveti of Blames'' ? 

* Who,* — ask ye ! No matter. — Thi» tongue Bball not tell, 
0*er the board of oblivion the name of the bard ; 

Nor shall it be utterM, but with the proud spell, 
That sheds on the perish*d their only reward. 

No, no .' look abroad, Sir, the last of October ; 

In the pages of Blackwood that name shall be writ, 
For Christopher's self, be he tipsy or sober. 

Was not more than his match, in wine, wisdom, or wit. 

Ye Dowdens and Jenningses, wits of Cork city. 
Though mighty the hordes that chime in your song, 

Bffervescing and eloquent— mora is the pity 
Ye forget the great poet of Blarney so long. 

I mean not the second, O'Fogaity bight, 

Who can speak for himself, from his own native Helicon* 
I sing of an elder, in biith and in might, 

(Be it said with due deference,) — honest DickMillikin. 

Then fill up, to his mem*ry, a bumper, my boys, 
'Twill cheer his sad ghost, as it toddles along 

Through Pluto's dark alleys,'^n search of the joys 
That were dear upon eai*th to this step-son of song. 

And this be the rule of the banquet for aye. 

When the goblets all ring with " Och hone, Ullagone ! 

Remember this pledge, as a tribute to pay 

To the name of a minstrel so sweet, so unknown 

* ** Daniel O'Rourke, an Epic Poem, in six cantos," professing to be written 
by one Fogarty O'Fogarty, (attributed to Miiginn, but really composed by his 
friend William Gosnell, of Cork,) had recently appeared in Blackwood, This 
tribute to the memory of the author of " The Groves of Blarney' was published 
in Maga in November, 1821. — M. 

IM TD ODonvrr iMf^MMm o»r^r 

0|icritmm 0f • Mttt Mik ' VM^ 

pmiLinvAmT lbttsk. — iSlMlte'. - '' '^ 


I AMBonytoleaniybyTOiirlMtitW joiiIiftTf lui^^ 
tintch this time; keep warn in WelA flMnd. ]fii» Mbeily, and 
no more desperate attempts vith the Emi.lfia^icjn^d'Qi^^ 
It will be no fioee, I asBue 7oa» if the prtiL.l^hfii^ yonr 
stomach, Uke a Gcmgrere racket into Ae-ditio of .« «1ifele> and 
cany yon off in the twinkfing of a waltingitick, Tiien there 
would be wipng of eyea and bkiwiag ef aosea; eiafey veeperib 
and long crayats, throoglioat the land. Then them woold be a 
breaking up of the i^oiioas divan. WasCb woqU leave his 
High Street lodgings, and retire to his ''airy dtadd;" Moris 
would sell his shandrydan, and keep house at Aberystwith for 
life; Kempferhaasen would pack np ' for ASemagne ; Eremus 
wool J commence grinder to the embryo divines at Aberdeen; 
The Odontist would forswear poetry, take a large farm, and 
study Maltlius on Population ; Delta would take parson's orders ; 
Paddy from Cork would fall into '' a green and yellow melan- 
choly/' toss the remaining cantos of his epic to Beelsebub, and 
button his coat behind ; Mullion would sell butter and ^gs at 
bis provision-warehouse, Grassmarket, and sedulously look for- 
ward to the provostship ; while poor Odoherty (alas, poor Tor- 
ick!) would send his luggage to Dunleaiy harbour, and away to 
the fighting trade in South America. 

Then would there be a trumpeting and tantaranung among 
the Whigs,— "Quassha ma boo! our masters are no more!" 
would be echoed by every lip among them ; and then, but not 
till then, with some shadow of hope might they look forward to 
their holding the reins of government, though, after all, most of 
them, if they did not hold well by the mane, would fall off the 

* From Blacktoood for December, 1821. — ^M. 


steed's back into the mire, they are such shocking bad riders ; 
while the Radicals would press forward, and tread on their ribs 
in turn ; Glasgow weavers would spin ropes to hang up whoever 
was obnoxious to them ; Sheffield cutlers would grind razors to 
cut throats ; and the Ribbonmen of Erin, and all " the ragged, 
royal race of Tara,' ' would look forward to seats in the Cabinet. 
Then, indeed, would there be a complete revolution in Church 
and State ; churchmen would be cut shorter by the head, the 
national debt washed out with a dishclout, and taxes abolished ; 
and then, instead of election being fettered, and parliaments 
septennial, there would be universal suffrage, and no parliaments ' 
at all. Then would the Satumian age return to bless the world ; 
then would Lucifer hawk about his golden pippins, and find 
abundant sale for them ; then would all property be common, 
and pickpockets left without a trade ; while no person would 
have any thing to do — at least, any right to do any thing, ex- 
cept smoking his pipe, draining his mug, and snoring in his ham- 

My dear North, take care of the damp weather, and I war- 
rant, that for many a long year to come, you shall keep death 
and the doctor at complete defiance — behold the cause of true 
freedom and loyalty prospering around you — and, were it not 
that you are a bachelor, rejoice in the caresses of your children's 

From you, my revered friend, I shall descend to a humbler 
topic, " one of which," to use the words of Byron, " all are sup- 
posed to be fluent, and none agreeable — self." 

Istly. With regard to health, I find myself as well as I wish 
all others to be. My spriained ancle is now quite convalescent, 
poor thing ; and, by persevering in rubbing a tea-spoonful of 
opodeldoc upon it every morning, it will soon be as strong as a 
bedpost. I occasionally take a Seidlitz powder to keep my 
stomach in order ; for, depend upon it, the stomach of a literary 
man is almost of as much consequence as his head. Talking of 
the top-piece, I have an occasional headach ; that is to say, after 
being too late out at night ; but which I effectually remove and 
rectify by a bottle of soda water — our friend Jennings' if pos- 
sible ; for it excels all others, as much as his poetry the common 


rnn of yerses, and stands, in relation to every otLer compoimd 
of the kind, in tlie same degree of excellence and snperioritj, 
as Day and Martin's patent blacking to that made with soot, 
saliva, and small beer. 

Sdly. With respect to my intellectnal pnrsoits. Pray, what 
makes you so earnest to learn what a retired and ohscnre man 
like mo is about, and whose poor eontribntions to literature are 
but a drop in the bucket, compared with what yon every day 
receive from the bright luminaries of the age ? But I value 
your partiality as I ought ; and, though I am to these as a far- 
thing candle to a six-in-the<pound, yon generously dip my wick 
in your own turpentine, to make it blaze brighter. 

I blush scarlet, (God bless the army, and their coata of scar- 
let !) when I confess, on my knees (by the bye, there is no need 
of kneeling, when you cannot see me,) that I have been for some 
time notoriously idle. Salamanca is such a noble beast, that I 
could not resist taking him out to the hounds ; (I have won the 
bnish thrice) and then, partridges were so plenty, I said it would 
waste little powder and shot daily to fill and replenish my 
l^Ag; — and then, there was sometimes cricket in the morning 
— and loo in the at\emoon — and blows-out at night, and all 
that. Horresco rrferens. I have been shamefully idle ; but I 
am detennined to stick to it like rosin this winter ; and, hang 
me if I do not astonish the natives ; I shall make some of them 
gaze up to the clouds in wonder, and others to shake in their shoes. 
In the interim, I enclose specimens of a new, free, and easy 
translation — I should say, imitation, of Horace. I have got 
finished with the Odes, and am busy with the Satires, writing at 
the rate of four hundred lines a-day. Let me know, when con- 
venient, what you think of them ; — make a church and a mill 
of them afterwards; — give my best respects to Mr. Blackwood, 
when you see him ; and believe me, while I have breath in my 

Your*s devoutly, 

Morgan Odohertv. 

Dublin, ^d December, 1821. 




Ad Maeeenatem. 
MaecesBB, atarit edite regibui, 
O et praesidium et dulce dccut meiim I 

Sunt, quo8 curriculo ptriverem OIym> 

CoUegisM jurat metaqae fenrldis 
Evitata rotis, palmaqne nobilis 
Terrarom dominos^ erehit ad deos : 

Hunc, si raobilium turba Quiritium 
Certat tergominii tollere honoribus : 

niiim, si proprio condidit horreo 
Quidquid de Libyci* verritar areis. 
Oaudentem patriot flndere sarculo 

Attalida eonditionibiu 
Nunqumn dimoveaa, at trabe Cypri* 
Myrtoam paTidua nauta leoet mare. 

To ChriHopher North, Esq. 
Hail t Christopher, my patron, donr, 
Descended from your grandfather ; 
To thee, my bosom friend, I ily. 
Brass buckler of Odoherty ! 
Some are, who all their hours consume 
With well-trainM horse, and sweated 

Who, if the Doncaster tliey gain. 
Or, coming first, with lightened rein, 
At the St. Leger, bear away 
Elate the honors of the day, 
PuU up their collars to their ears, 
And think themselves amid the spheres. 
Such art thou, Lambton, Kelbume, Piene, 
And more than I can name in verse. 
Another tries, with furious speech. 
The bottoms of the mob to reach ; -— 
Here on the hustings stands Burdett, 
With trope and start their zeal to whet ; 
While jackall Hobhouse, sure to tire on 
Tracking alway the steps of Byron, 
Stands at his arm, with words of nectar 
Determined to out-hector Hector.— 
Preston, with rosin on his beard. 
Starts up, determined to be heard. 
And swears destruction to the bones 
Of those who will not hear Gale Jones : 
While Leigh Hunt, in the Examiner, 
About them tries to make a stir. 
And says, (who doubts him?) men like 

Shame Tully and Demosthenes.— 
A third, like Sir John Sinclair, tries 
To hold the harrow to the skies ; 
And thinks there is no nobler work, 
Than scattering manure with the fork. 
Except (as Mr. Coke prefers,) 
To catch the sheep, and ply the shears: 
Although you'd give, in guineas round, 
A plum, (i. f. one hundred thousand pound,} 



A 3i^SV^ i 

Tm eoold Mt get ihaM HMD, 1 1ciio#, 
jybfai^ VHTi^V^^'A nipt to (o,—* 
nravgk fioMi Mtate to MnU, 
A»A Me If fee nrravids dw pole;— 
Tliry vish — e e c M to Oeplain Piny, 
But yet, et Konff'^lrbiiU tittliM' tany. 
Jw luppen nOf oeHhe nn ihV| 
WMi B^gie tote bejur^s deilre. 
Themonhaatii^S he winks end niHrM,— 
Hie iMflh wind in die cUnmej roen: 
WeUag, ke bewk eUiid— «'t)d rot Vn,' 
■■I'feer my ab^w^we at die bottom !— 
** Tbe crews era lilflee to be •any 
*Bat dMB dw«M««B eVt seevet 

i win be daBfed for me toflur- 

Etl; qai nee YCtarii potok IfaMH 
WtO jiiittoi soBdb iiws ds 4K 

Stratuf, Dime ad atquae lene 

Multos caatra jurant et litao 
Permixtus eonitoa. 


beUaqn^, uMtriboa 

Manet sub Jove frlglcfo 
Venator, tenerae coi^ogia immemor : 
Sea Tiaa est catolia eerra fidelibua, 
8ea rnpit teratea Manua aper plagas. 

'Abbck! Ibrporeity and sorrow r 
Men efe— -IkDOwtbem— let Astptss, 
(Ifio cmek a joke* and love a gkat) 
Whadier, Hke FektaiF. it be tack, 
Oiialiipaignet Old Hock» or FroDiniMe, 
Or WhUkejr-pnbeh, which, jovnl dogTi 
Is tnie beartf s4Mlmm to JaoMsHog;;-' 
Like Wordawoith, under pleasant trees, 
Some take deli^pht to catch the breeze ; 
Or lie amid the pastoral mounruins, 
And listen to the bubbling fountains. 
Many in camps delight to hear 
The fife and bugle's music clear, 
While hautboy sweet, and kettle-drum, 
Upon the ear like thunder come. 
Though youngsters love a battle hot. 
Their anxious mothers love it not ; — 
While in the fray a son remains out, 
Some erring ball may knock his brains out 
0*er hedge and ditch, through field and 

With buck*8kin breeches, and red jacket, 
On spanking steed the huntsman flies, 
Led by the deep-mouth'd stag-hoondi' 

cries : 
Meanwhile his spouse, in lonely bed, 
Laments that she was ever wed; 
And, toss'd on wedlock's stormy bilU»w, 
Like the M^Whirtor, clasps her piUow, 



Me doctanira bederoe praemia frontiam 
Dis miscent supcris ; 

me gelidum ncmus, 
Nymphnrumque Icres sum Satyris chorl 
Secernunt populo : ' 

•i Deque tibi is 
Eutrrpe cobibet, uec Polyhyiuuia 
Lcsboum refugit tendere barbiton. 

Qtiod si me Lyrlcis vutibus inscris, 
Subllmi foriam sidcra vertice. 

And sighs, while fondling it about. 
"Thou art my only cj\ild, I doubt!" 
— For me a laurel crown, like that 
Used for a band to Southey's hat, 
(Not such as Cockney Will abuses. 
And Leigh Hunt for a night-cap uses,) 
Would make me, amid wits, appear 
A Samson, and a grenadier ! 
Then, many a nymph, with sparkling eye, 
Would crowd around Odoherty ; 
Swift at the tune, which Lady Morgan 
Would play upon the barrel organ ; 
MacCraws, and all my second cousins, 
And light-hcel'd blue-stockings by dozens 
With nimble toe would touch the ground, 
And form a choral ring around.— 
Oh ! tliot Jumes Hogg, my chosen friend. 
His glowing fancy would me lend. 
His restless fancy, wandering still 
By lonely mount, and faiiy rill ! 
That Dr. Scott, with forceps stout. 
Would draw my stumps of dullness out ; 
Exalt my heart o^er churlish earth, 
And fill me with his fun and mirth ; 
Then, Anak-like, 'mid men IM stray. 
Men, that like mice would throng my way, 
Rise high o'er all terrestrial jars. 
And singe my poll against the stars. 


Ad Pyrrham. 

Quxs multa gracilis te puer in ro«a 
Pf rfiisus liquidis urguet odoiibus 
Grato, Pyrrha, sab antro t 
Cui flavam religas comam. 

To Molly AP JVhirter, 

What Exquisite, tell me, besprinkled with 
With bergamot, and I'huile antique a la 
Now presses thee, Molly, (I scarce con 
believe it,) 
To march to the Parson, and finish his 
woes ? 

Simplex munditiis « heu ! quoties fidem For whom do you comb, brash, and fillet 

Mutatosqae deos flebit, et aspera your tresses ; — • 

NigriaaeqnoraTentls Whoever he be has not sorrows to 

Kodrabitar iasoleas, , , 


¥HB OBosttsnr 

TbM ddly ilMik bffiaf Um » peek oC dj^ 

Tken kidt-Mn» JHiA Itki » w&m gdint 

Qui aiae 18 frvitnr erednhu MTMi ! 
Qfd Maiper Tacmmi, tenper ■ m ab lteni t 
Bpucmt, aetdot anrae 
FnllMiil ]Ciieri,qallNli ' 

Urn fimtu d»ft joqII love hfan* aad doat 

■ I liB,lilMkMmr 
Vothra puiM iadioit, avida 

Veatiiiiaiibi marb dea 

And iUbIm jon a goddew reflerred ibr 

Bat» Molljr, then** too mnoh red Uood in 

And entlen ahell aoon gnee tbe poor 


Ta eorae Joluniy Baw thon wik iUae Bke 
For leetariof kfegmu bee left tbee be- 
And ainee I have eaoaped tiiee, (oh! Uet- 
ainga be on it,) 
I will hang up en old coet in 8t. If aiy 


ViDKS, tit alta ttet nire candidam 
Soracte, HOC jam sustineant onna 
Silrae laborantes, geluqae 
Flamina conititerint acuta 

DiMolre frigua, ligna roper foco 
Large reponena : atqoe benigniua 
Deprome quadrimom Sabina, 
O Tbaliarcbe ! maram dlota. 

Permitte diria cetera ; qui almul 
Strayere ventoa aeqnore fervido 
Depraeliantea, nee cupreaai. 
Nee veterea agitantur ornt 

To Dr. 8coU, 
Look out, and see old Arthur's Seat, 

Dress'd in a periwig of snow, 
Culil sweeps the blast down Niddiy Street, 

And thixiugh the Netherbow. 

Sharp frost, begone ! hHste send the maid, 
With coals two shovels-full and more; 

Fill up your rummers, why afraid. 
And bolt the parlour door. — 

Leave all to Fortune, Dr. Scott, 

Though tempests growl amid the trees, ^ 
While we have iiim-punch smoking hot, 

We slm'n't most likely freeze. 

Quid ait ftitomm eras, fage qaaerere, et, A fig about to-morrow's fure ! 
Qoem Fora dieram cumque dabit, lucro ^ twenty thousand priae my buck, 
^^"^^^^^"^oTf^ (Nay, do not laugh,) may be my abaie, 

Wont that be rare good luck 7 



Donee vircnti canities abest 
Morosn. Nunc et campus, et arenc, 
Lenceque sub noctem susurri 
Coinposita repetantur hora : 

Vnne et latcntis proditor intimo 
Gratus puellae risus ab angpilo, 
Pign usque dercptum lacertis, 
Aut digito male pcrtinad. 

Doctor, I*m sure you*ll toast the fair ; 

Sliame to the tongue would sny mo noy ; 
YoiiMl toast them, till the very hair 

Of your peruke turn grey. 

St. Gilei's spire with snow is white. 
And every roof seems overgrown ; 

Sharp winds that come, at full of night, 
Down High Street closes moan ; 

There, battering police oiSeors, 

Hark! how tho mad jades curse and 
While Polly cuffs »ome spoonie'tf cars, 

And cries, " Sir, I'm your man !"— 

190 THlB oaMMOMsr WUUmfSk XW% A 

IUmiirli0 on Bk^'m SIMattK^^ •' '^^«^- 

Bbtwbbn thirty and fcf^yeaiB ag«vihe 1Mb CHmm aohQol 
was in great £ne6. It pooied 'cat montlify, w«dcfy, and dai^ 
the whole fblnesa rfito raptnrea inA aonows in Tena^ wotthyeC 
any ** person of quality/* It revdbd in moonlig^ and s^ied 
with evening gales, Tamumtad Of«r phidtea faiMi.iEpd»)iiil nide> 
diooa teewells to the «*hwt Imtterfly of tlie y s awnt ^^ Ae <aili 
prevailed for a time ; the ^ore. rp&mal''Tl^, .^f JN. {RlIdBQ, al- 
ways a nunority* Iangh«d imd.were mlent; the million were is 
xaptnres, and load in thttr xaptoies. The idgn ef "sgnnpifl^ 
was come again, — poetry, innocent poetry, had at le^jth fbind 
oat its tnie Ungaage. HOton and DrydeiC Pofe and the wiiob 
ancestry of the EngVsh Muse, had strayed ftr ftom natam. 
They were a formal and stiftskiited genemlioii, and HbA fioas 
was past and for ever. The tmmpetof the moning paper, ia 
which those " inventions rich" were first promnlgated, foimd aa 
echo in the more obscmre &brieations'of the day, and millineri^ 
maids and city apprentices pined over the mntnal melandiolies 
of Arlet/ and Matilda. 

At length, the obtrasiveness of this tonefbl nonsense grew io- 
supportable ; a man of a vigorous judgment shook off his indo- 
lence, and commenced the long series of his services to Britisli 
literature, by sweeping away, at a brush of his pen, the whole 
light- winged, bumming, and loving population. But in this 
world folly is immortal; one generation of absurdity swept 
away, another succeeds to its glories and its fate. The Ddla 
Crusca school has visited us again, but with some slight change 
of localities. Its verses now transpire at one time from the re- 
treats of Cockney dalliance in the London suburbs ; sometimes 
they visit us by fragments from Venice, and sometimes invade 
us by wainloads from Pisa. In point of subject and execution, 

* I give this review of Shclley*g Adonais, (an elegy on the death of Jobi 
Keats, author of " Enilymion,") ns the earliest specimen I can preiiont of ^ 
slashing order of criticism of which Maginn suhsequently became so tboiOBgli 
a master. It appeared in Blackwood for December, 1821. ^M. 


there is bnt slight difference ; both schools are " smitten with 
nature, and nature's love," ran riot in the intrigues of anemo- 
nies, daisies and hutter-eups, and rave of the " rivulets proudt 
and the deep blushing stars." Of the individuals in both estab- 
lishments, we are not quite qualified to speak, from the peculiar- 
ity of their private habits ; but poor Mrs. Eobinson* and her 
correspondents are foully belied, if their moral habits were not 
to the full as pure as those of the Godwinian colony, that play 
♦* the Bacchanal beside the Tuscan sea." But we must do the 
defunct Delia Orusca the justice to say, that they kept their pri- 
vate irregtdarities to themselves, and sought for no reprobate 
popularity, by raising the banner to all the vicious of the com- 
munity. They talked nonsense without measure, were simple 
down to the lowest degree of silliness, and " babbled of green 
fields" enough to make men sicken of summer, but they were 
not daring enough to boast of impurity ; there was no pestilent 
hatred of every thing generous, true, and honourable ; no des- 
perate licentiousness in their romance ; no daring and fiend-like 
insult to feeling, moral ties, and Ohristian principle. They were 
foolish and profligate, but they did not deliver themselves, with 
the steady devotedness of an insensate and black ambition, to the 
ruin of society. 

Wo have now to speak of Mr. P. B. Shelley and his poem. 
Here we must agiun advert to the Delia Crusca. One of the 
characteristics of those childish persons was, the restless interest 
which they summoned the public to take in every thing belong- 
ing to their own triviality. If Mrs. Robinson's dog had a bad 
night's repose, it was duly announced to the world ; Mr. Merry's 
accident in paring his na^s solicited a similar sympathy ;t the 
falling off of Mrs. R.'s patch, at the last ball, or the stains on 
Mr. M.'s full dress coat, from the dropping of a chandelier, came 
before the earth with praise-worthy promptitude. All within 

* Mrs. RobiDion, the " Perdita" of that voluptuary George IV., wis one of 
the Delia Crusca poctlings of the latter days of the 18th century, and wrote as 
" Laura Maiia." — M. 

t Mr. Robert Merry, wh<4 died in America in 1798, was founder of the 
Delia Crusca school of poetry, and immortalized as such, hy the satiric i>on of 
GiObrd*-— M. 


m THS 

dMir endiulaa nog WM pnftetiimi JmI OMidltocisdMrJIilh^ 
cad J«Anfww wm dnwii, and all baymA <*• miwd aiti i» 
tlM empira of Dolneaa and DaaMgotfOB.,.. {Ekb KaarrBdhMlfiar 
liara the ImmUe imitaloni of thaaa adpaal adritan^JoBaaA 
&ne» i-i .i.'i '•■■. -■.■.. ■.■.:j;'i'. ■ 

The prfkMnt atoiy la thoa :---A A^» JBrite JKkUh • 
who had left a decent calling fartiha«alaaAe1y trade •oCeodB^ 
nej-poetiy, haa lately jfod ef a emmmpBam, after hairing writ- 
ten two or ihiee little booka of Taraaa, iMeh l iag ^ ectedby the 
paUic BSaTaaity waaprababfywfvigiiolIeMtiiimliiaparM 
for he had it iq^ the anthon^ of the Oooka^ SeoMsnaad 
inigila» that he inii^t beeonie a ]i|^ to their ngim aft « 
tiaae. Bat all thfa ia not neceaiaiy to help a eona— gtion tafte 
death of a poor aedentaiy man« widi aa mihealthy aap eefc and a 
ndnd hagaa^ed by the fat twwJdea of TeraeaMfcii^, The Hew 
School* however, wiU haye it that he waa dan^itend bya crit* 
idum of the Qoarterly Seview.— ''O 4eah, Imr^xt thmUi» 
fiedr— There ia even an aggcayation in thb enwlty of tibi 
Beview — for it had taken three or ibor yeaia to alay ita vietiBit 
the deadly blow having been afflicted at leaataa long abaee. Wa 
are not now to defend a pnblication so well able to defend itsetf. 
But the fact is, that the Quarterly finding before it a work at 
once silly and presumptnoas, fall of the servile slang that Cock- 
aigne dictates to its servitors, and the vulgar indecorums which 
that Grub Street Empire rejoiceth to applaud, told the truth d 
the volume, and recommended a change of manners and of nia»- 
tei*s to the scribbler. Keats wrote on; but he wrote mdeemAy^ 
probably in the indulgence of his social propensities. He se* 
lected from Boccacio, and, at the feet of the Italian Priapus, so^ 
plicated for fame and farthings. 

" Both halves the winds dispersed in empty air." 

Mr. P. B. Shelley having been the person appointed by the 
Pisan triumvirate to canonize the name of this apprentice* "n^ 
in the bud," as he fondly tells us, has accordingly produced aa 
Elegy, in which he weeps '' after the manner of Moschus ftr 
Bion." The canonizer is worthy of the sfdnt. — " Et tu, VMaP. 
— Locke says, that the most resolute liar cannot lie more thaai 

Shelley's adonais. 198 

once in eveiy tbree sentences. Folly is more engrossing ; for 
we conld prove, from the present Elegy, that it is possible to 
write two sentences of pure nonsense out of every three. A more 
faithful calculation would bring us to ninety-nine out of every 
hundred, or, — as the present consists of only fifty-five stanzas, — 
leaving about five readable lines in the entire. It thus com- 
mences : — 

** O weep for Adonais — he is dead ! 
O, weep for Adonais ! though our tears 
Thaw not the frost which binds so dear a head ! 
And thou, sad hour ! selected from all years 
To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscure compeers, 
And teach them thine own sorrow, say with me 
Died Adonais ! till xhe future does 
Forget the past. His fute and fume sliall be 
An echo and a light! ! unto eternity." 

Now, of this unintelligible stuff the whole ^^j-^yq stanzas are 
composed. Here an hour — a dead hour too— ^ is to say that Mr. 
J. Keats died along with it I yet this hour has the heavy business 
on its hands of mourning the loss of its fellow- defunct, and of 
rousing all its obscure compeers to be taught its ovm sorrow, &c. 
Mr. Shelley and his tribe have been panegyrized in their turn 
for power of language ; and the man of " Table-talk" swears by 
all the gods he owns, that he has a great command of words, to 
which the most eloquent effusions of the Fives Court are occaMon- 
ally inferior. But any man may have the command of every word 
in the vocabulary, if he will fling them like pebbles from his sack ; 
and even in the most fortuitous flinging, they will sometimes fall 
in pleasing thdligh useless forms. The art of the modem Delia 
Crttscan is thus to eject every epithet that he can conglomerate 
in his piracy through the Lexicon, and throw them out to settle 
as they will. He follows his own rhymes, and shapes his sub- 
ject to the close of his measure. He is a glutton of all names 
of colours, and flowers, and smells, and tastes, and crowds his 
verse with scarlet, and blue, and yellow, and green ; extracts 
tears from every thing, and makes moss and mud hold regular 
conversations with him. **A goose-pye talks," — it does more, 
it thinks, and has its peculiar sensibilities, — it smiles and wee^s^ 
Vol. TL— 9 


ntTM to the Stan, and is a lintener to tbe wostani windp aainid 
as the author hhnself. 

On these principles, a hundred or a himdved thousand T snei 
flight be made, eqful to the best in Adonuf, withont taking^be 
pen off the paper. The sal^eet is indifferent to ns, let it be the 
** Odden Age," or *' Mother Qoose,"— •« Waterloo/' or the "< WH 
of the Watchhonse,"— *< Tom Thomb," or *" Thistle wood.'! We 
will undertake to furnish the requiate supply of blue and cani^ 
son daisies and dandelions* not with-the toilsome and tardy Into* 
lenee of the puling master of Terbiage in question, but with* 
burst and torrent that irill sweep away all his weedy trq^Ues; 
For example — Womimer, the cil^ marshal, a Yffry deeent per^ 
son, who eataipaigns it once a year,- from the Hanrfon-hoase to 
Black&iars bridge, truncheoned and unifbntied as beeomes a 
man of lus military habits, had the misfortntte to ftaetnre his leg 
on the last Lord Mayor's day. The sntgeet Is anumg the most 
unpromising. We will undertake it, howerer, (ptemisin|^ that 
we have no idea of turning the acddent jof diis respectable man 
into any degree of ridicule,) 


O weop for ^VotUner, for his leg is broke, 
O weep fur Wontner, though our pearly tear 
Can never cure him. Dark and dimly broke 
The thunder cluud o'er Paul's enamelled sphere. 
When his black barb, with lion-like career, 
Scattered the crowd. — Coquetting Mignionet, 
Thou Hyacinth fond, thou Myrtle without fear, 
Haughty Geranium, in your bcaupots set, 
Were then your soft and stany eyes unwct? ^ 

The pigeons saw it, nnd on silver wings 
Hung in white flutterings, fur they could not fly. 
Hoar-headed Tliames checked all his crystal spHngs, 
Day closed above his pale, imperial eye, 
The silken zephyrs breathed a vermeil sigh, 
High Heavens! ye Hours! and thou Ura-ni-a! 
Where were ye then 7 Reclining languidly 
Upon some green Isle in the empurpled Seo, 
Where laurel-wreath en spirits love eternally. 

Gome to my arms. &c. 

Shelley's adonais. 196 

We had intended to call attention by italics to the picturesque 
of these lines ; but we leave their beauties to be ascertained by 
individual pei-spicacity ; only requesting their marked admira- 
tion of the epithets coquetting, /and, /earless, and Jiaughty, which 
all tastes will feel to have so immediate and inimitable an appli- 
cation to mignionet, hyacinths, myrtles, and geraniums. But 
Percy Bysshe has figured as a sentimentalist before, and we can 
quote largely without putting him to the blush by praise. What 
follows illustrates his power over the language of passion. In 
the Cenci, Beatrice is condemned to die for parricide, — a situa- 
tion that, in a true poet, might awaken a noble succession of dis- 
tressful thought. The mingling of remorse, natural affection, 
woman's horror at murder, and alternate melancholy and fear at 
the prospect of the grave, in P^rcy Bysshe works up only this 
frigid rant : — 

" —— How comes thia hair undone ? 

Ls wandering stiings must be what blind me so, 

And yet I tied itfatt ! ! 

• • • • 

The sunshine on the floor is black ! The air 

Is changed to vapours, such as the dead breathe 

In chamel pits ! Poh ! I om choak'd ! There creeps 

A clinging, black, contaminatiug mist 

About me — 'tis substantial, heavy, rliirk. 

I cannot pluck it from me, for it glues 

My fingers and my limbs to one another, 

And eots into my sinews, and dissolves 

My flesh to a pollution," &c. &c. 

So much for the history of "Glue" — and so much easier is it 
to rake together the vulgar vocabulary of rottenness and reptil- 
ism, than to paint the workings of the mind. This raving is 
such as perhaps no excess of madness ever raved, except in the 
imagination of a Cockney, determined to be as mad as possible, 
and opulent in his recollections of the shambles. 

In the same play, we have a specimen of his " art of descrip- 
tion." He tells of a ravine — 

" And in its depths there is a mighty Rock, 
Which has, from unimaginable years, 
Sustained itself with terror and noUk toil ! 
Oyer a gulph, and with tke agony 


ll>Slft mUbI a cinvis, Mean tlowljr «o««^ 
E^ran M m wratcbed mniI, boiir aAor hopr^ 
Cling* to the hmm of lire,]r^ cHagiDgl^Mt. 
And leenieg, meket eiMV Ah>* the aned efayw . 
iBwUchitleentolUL Beew tf luMi cwtt 
Ifeyt m Ayfc-, ei if <■ umriutu, 
The irf— ciofjr mewMlB ymaa hehm,^.' dbe. ftc. ^ 

And all this is done hj a xodk— Wbat is to be thought of die 
ierror of this novel soffsrer — its ioU — the d^vnjr with which 
so senrittre a personage clings to its patenul sappoct, fitnaL mt- 
iw^mahie years t The magnitode of tins iNe^andMjr and itt- 
jnred monster is happilj neasnied bf fts being the exaei iize qf 
detjmfrf Sool becomes snbstaiitidl, and Airilaw a dIrvaJ oSj^. 
Sneh are Oochney darings befbre " the Qoia, and eolmnns^ ihi|fc 
abhor medioaity. And is it to this dreary nonsense that is to 
be attached the name of poetry t Tet on iliese twopasSsges 
the whole landing of Us ftOow-Ooekneya has been lavished.. 
Bnt Perry Bytt^ feels his hopelessness of poelie. reputation, and 
therefore lifts himself on the stilts of blasphemy. He is the 
only verseman of the day, who has dared, in a Christian coon- 
try, to work oQt for himself the character of direct Atheism ! 
In bis pi-eseut poem, he talks with impious folly of " the envious 
wrath of man or God !*' Of a 

** Branded nod onsang^uiiied brow, 
Which wns like CaiH*8 or Christ's." 

Offences like these naturally come before a more effective 
tribunal tbau that of criticism. We have heard it mentioned as 
tlie only apology for the predominant irrell^on and nonsense of 
this person's works, tbat bis understanding is unsettled. But in 
his Preface, tbere is none of the exuberance of insanity ; there 
is a great deal of folly, and a great deal of bitterness, but noth- 
ing of tbe wildness of bis poetic fustian. The Bombastes Furioso 
of these stanzas cools into sneering in the preface ; and bis lan- 
guage against tbe deatJi'dealing Quarterly Review, which has 
made such bavoc in the Empire of Cockaigne, is merely malig- 
nant, mean, and peevishly personal. We give-« few stanzas of 
this performance, taken as tbey occur. 

" O weep for Adonais! He is dead ! 
Weep, melancholy mother, wake and weep ; 


Yet foherefore f quench witliin their burning^ boa 

Thy Jicry tears, and let lliy loud heart keep 
Like his, a mute and uncomplaining sleep, 

For he is gone, where all things wise and fair 
Descend ! Oh dream not lliot the amorous deep 

Will yet restore him to the vital air. 

Death feeds on his mvie voicCj and laughs at our despair." 

Th6 seasons and a whole host of personages, ideal and other- 
wise, come to lament over Adonais, They act in the following 
manner: — 

" Gnef made the young Spiing wUd, and she threw down 

Her kindh'ng buds, as if the Autumn were, 

Or they dead leaves, since her delight is ilown. 

For whom should she have wok'd the sullen yenr? 

To PhcDbus was not Hyacinth so dear. 

Nor to himself Narcissus, as to both. 

Thou, Adonais ; wan they stand, and sere, 

Amid the drooping comi-ades of iheiryouih. 

With dew all tura'd to tears, odour to sighing i*uth.** 

Here is left, those whom it may concern, the pleasantest per- 
plexity, whether the lament for Mr. J. Keats is shared between 
Phoebus and Narcissus, or Summer and Autumn. It is useless 
to quote those absurdities any farther en masse, but there are 
flowers of poesy thickly spread through the work, which we res- 
cue for the sake of any future Essayist on the Bathos. 


An hour- 

The green lizard, and the golden snake, 

Like unimprisorCd flowers out of their trance awake. 

Say, with me 
Died Adonais, iUl the Future dares 
Forget the Pasi—\\\s fate and fame shall bo 
An echo and a light to all eteniity. 

Whose tapers yet bum there the night of Time, 
For which Suns perisVd ! 

Echo, — pined away 
Into a shadow of all sounds ! 

Tliat mouth whence it was wont to draw the breath 
Which gave it strength to pierce llio guarded wit! 


LifV ifaao wilote imfamy k not thv/trnt^l 

'i\fm mafeiim blot <« ■ rpm^ciibrred 

We ia miifl trance wirikt nfJt «ttr «p«rtir*« kiilf^, 

LIJU a tmutif Wfttt ftWvv ill rafirtul Inir, 

A»4 Mr, vid lif<e, ronlemd In U — (titt what 

Bb»U 1*« it« ««itli1y diMKn — The denied ]i?e therp, 

Ait4 mov«>, like mimdM «f lif^l, on dark anrl ttuiTiiy nir. 

fiThfl imiitnm fw A^oii^ — oU f C04iie fixtth, 
Tonl wrHfb * sii<t knom Lbywif and bTm ndf ht, 
C/«^ with ihjT pmmimf^ fcHjl Oi* pfndulonM Earth ' 

Dtfcrt tlij teptnt's li|;^1it 
B^evfUiil lit wprlitf^ unlit t» fpiieiAiu R^ifct 

fbea sink 
Even to a point wiiliin our day and nif^ht. 
And keep thy heart /^fpA/, leaf it make ikee sink. 
When kope has kimiUd hope, and lured tkeetotke brink. 

A light is past from ike revolpinff year; 
And man and women, and what stiO is dear 
Attracu to crush, repels to make th«e wither. 

Tliat benediction, which th' edipeing emrte 
Of birth can quench not, that sustaining love. 
Which, through ike web of being blindly wove. 
By man, and beaei, and earth, and air, and tea / 
Bums bright or dim, as each are mirrofs of 
The Jlre for which all thirsl. 

DeeUh makes, as becomes him, a ^eat fignre in this '< Lament*' 
— but in rather curious operations. He is alternately a person, 
a thing, nothing, &c. 

He is, ** The coming bulk of Death," 
Then ** Death feeds on the fiitcte voice." 

A dear qnite 
Bcigns over Death — 

Shelley's adonais. 199 

Kingly Deatli 
Keeps hid pale court. 

Spreads upace 
The shadow of while Death. 

The damp Death ^ 
Quench'd its caress — 

Blushed to annihilation ! 

Her distress 
Roused Death. Death rose and smiled — 
He livos, he wukes, 'tis Death is dead! 

As this wild waste of words is altogether beyond our compre- 
hension, we will proceed to the more gratifying office of giving 
a whole, unbroken specimen of the Poet's powers, exercised on 
a subject rather more within their sphere. The following Poem 
has been sent to us as written by Percy Bysshe, and we think it 
contains all the essence of his odoriferous, colorific, and daisy- 
enamouied style. The motto is from " Adonais'^ 


"And others came— Desires and Adorations, 

WingM Persuasions, and veil'd Destinies, 

Splendours, and blooms, and glimmering Incantations 

Of hopes and fears, and twilight Phantasies ; 

And Sorrow, with her family of Sighs ; 

An<l Pleasure, blind with tears, led by the gUam 

Of her own dying smile instead of eyes /" 


Weep for my Tomcat! all ye Tabbies weep, 

For he is gone at lust ! Not dead alone. 
In flowery beauty sleepcth he no sleep ; 

Like that bewitching youth Endymion ! 
My love is dead, alas, as any stone, 

That by some violet-sided smiling river 
Weepelh too fondly ! Ho is dead and gone, 

And fair Auroni, o'er her young believer, 
With fingers gloved with roses, doth make moan. 

And every bud its petal green doth sever. 

And Plioebus sets in night for ever, and for ever ! 
And others come ! ye Splendours ! and ye Beauties ! 

Ye Raptures ! with your robes of pearl and blue ; 
Ye blushing Wonders ! with your scarlet shoe-ties ; 

Ye Horrors bold! with breasts of lily hue; 
Ye Hope's stem flatterers ! He would trust to you, 

Whene'er he saw you with your chesnut hair. 

Oiof^o^ H&d 3»EoMh I daS roieptaki true ! 

Ye PiiMtoiis pnrarl * with T<p of bnght ile^ftiiif f 
Te Sjiii|i«lbie!fl ! with ey« Hte eTf'oiitg ittDF, 
WE«tt ott the glowmg eoat the rolls >*er crimson r^r, 

09i, iMC'^'like «f irti * beaatiltil and awift I 

Svie«!t lavpi- of pule i^%ht; when l^QnuV lump 
Sbflkei sappliine Jf w-dnrp? tbroti^b 8 cloudy rifl ; 

Futile a» wii]itniui*ii taanih, e»W oe<^iin damp; 
TliT <pirc'riti^ ro«eH.itig«^ loB^e — thy itealiiig ursinip; 

Ttie Jii2£liuf §1017 of Hkf gvld-tiiifed Inil ; 
Tby wkisker^vniTiiii^ Kpi, » u'er the $wamp 

Bliei the meieor^ wb^it the ^re^ir dutli fail, 
Like beftuty in dccAj, all, iH are fkl tind stale." 

TMs poem strikes us as an evidence of the loproreiaerit that 
an appropriate subject makes in a writer's stjle. It is incom- 
parably less nonsensical, verbo^, and inflated* than Adonais ; 
while it retains all its knowledge of nature, vigonr of colonring, 
and felidtj of language. Adonaisi lias been published bj the 
anthoi in Italy^ the fitting soil for the poem, sent over to his 
honoured correspondents throi]|^hout the realm of Cockaigne, 
Willi a ddightfid mjitaifMmM wM^Uii^ J^g^ rf tbe 
sabject and the writer. 


ifirst N0U0 of an Incipient Ballab'^£flttxC'-iXlon%tt.* 

Dear Christopher, 

I AM true to my new profession as a poet, but for the life of 
me I cannot find out wbat line I am most fitted for. At one 
time I think I have an epic genius, and am half tempted to take 
up the ** Caledoniad," which Jonathan Oldbuck recommended 
to Mr. Lovel, and offered to decorate with notes — indeed, I have 
gone so far as to send a letter or two to that eminent antiquary, 
du*ected to Monkbams, via Fairport, but I know not how it is, 
he is slow in replying ; can they have miscarried ? perhaps he 
is not so much bent upon the work as he was formerly. In other 
moments I believe myself to be rather possessed of a talent for 
lyrics ; and whether this shall be cultivated by the composition 
of gratis birth-day and new-year odes, since the Laureate cuts 
off the court with an exercise of hexameters, or whether I shall 
tune my throat to something bacchanalian, under the title of 
Devil's Punch-Bowl Melodies, is yet undeteimined. For blank 
verse I find I have a decided partiality — and as our bards meas- 
ure it out to us at present, (five feet more or less in a verse, and 
those not always free from symptoms of lameness) it is the very 
" writing made easy*' of all the poetic schools now going ; but 
it by no means forms a " reading made easy" to the purchasers 
of their light labours. I call their labours light, because it is 
owing to the compositor in many instances that the poems assume 
the semblance of being verse at all. Let him, however, take 
care that the lines begin with capitals, and the world is good- 
natured enough to believe there is rhythm in them, if it could 
be but discovered. 

My present attempt, as a ballad-writer, arises from a disap- 
pointment I experienced from that aiTant jiltflirt Maga. A 
lithographic print from a very clever sketch stopt the veering 
weather-cock of my imagination, and you see it now points due 
noiih. The drawing I allude to is by a lady, who is more capa- 
ble than I am of doing poetical justice by her pen to the handi- 
crafts of her pencil. However, it has fallen to me to illustrate 
* From Blackwood for July, 1822.— M. 


AM m oiHmxBnr r 

this'ainiinDg prodnction of hen» and I luiTe not introdoeed m 
riagle extmneow ckanictor^all.are to be Men m the gmpUe 
*« Paciung np ;** and the onlj Kbeitj I take with the poppets ifj, 
like Poneh and Jndj'a master, to sqneak fer them* and make* 
befiere that the oonyeisation is thmn. M7 ballad is but the 
Testibole of the ball-ioom wlueh I hare as yet painted* Per^ 
hapa snecess will indnee me to attempt to portray the inner ie» 
glons. Bat I shall wait and see hew the pnbHe receives mj 
first essay, and listen to hear a similar eulogy whieh Goldsmith 
gave Tickell, namely, that there was a vein of ballad-thinldiii^ 
thnmghoat his woiks. Shodd I hear any soish dediBJpn, I shdl 
maxeh fiurward with a bold stop, and, peifaaps, pnrdiase a fiddle 
or bagpipe, ttD when, — I am yoors, 

Buiisn FrrxTRAVBfiTY. 


Tas clock htm t(niek the midnlglit boor, aad tiie elMiidoIfen bum low, 
Am) the SmI couple ere denciiif dowa on tomewlMt weerie<1 toe; 
Bach belle mow btket ber peitaer*! aitn, wbo Mfoiiet ber to her eeer. 
And cliaperoning matrons talk right solemnly of beat. 

The gallery is clearing of tlie drowny fiddlers twain ; 

And he who blew the clarionet, with all his might and main, 

And he who made tlie tambourine ring and vibrate with his thumb, 

Have oped their eyes and stopp'd their yawns, for their release is come. 

The Ball at the Red Lion is, at Inst, tlien at an end ; 

AU agree it has been a pleasant nighr, us down the stairs they wend ; 

And we'll descend along with them to see the ladies muffle 

Thoir finery in hoods and shawls, and in cloaks of serge and duffle. 

But oh ! nlns! and wrll-a-dny! *tij* raining cats and dogs, 
And men uiid^maids have brought umbrellas, pottens, boots, and clogs; 
And lest white satin shoes bo soilM, they supply some pairs of stouter, 
And lanterns, lest their mistresses should flounder in the gutter. 

The ladies rilher wish, 'lis true, that the gentlemen were gone. 

And had left thc»m to pack up their du<is, at leisure and alone ; 

But Captain Cjirliidge has engaged, and so has Ensign Sabre, 

To guard the three Miss Johnsons home, and tlieir ancient maiden neighbour. 

So they're lolling on the table, waiting the damsels' best,— > 

Yot though these beaux so welcome ni*e, it still must be confess*d. 

That Miss Amelia would prefer, while tugging her boot luce, 

That the Captain who*s ihort-sighted, sboidd not raise his quizzing glass. 


Come, liltle mcny Mrs. Cusliion is fii'st and foremost ready, 
And stands in act to issue forth on her clicking pattens steady, 
With gown drawn through her pocket-holes, secure from dirt suburban, 
And with a safe-guard handkerchief, enveloping her turban. 

But see what's going on behind, where Emma Parkes is dressing ! 
Sure young John Leigh*s attentions are most marvellously pressing ; 
With what an air of tenderness, he enshawls each ivory shoulder— 
An offer sure will come of this, ere he is twelvemonths older! 

At least so think the tabbies — and I see. Miss Prudence Herring, 
(Who, with sister Grace, is cloak'd to the chin, »o at leisure to be peering,) 
Has had enough side-glunces at this love-scenc to instruct hor 
How to frame on it by inference, a gossip's superstructure. 

But their tall prim niece is packing too. Miss Patience Prettyjohn, 
Demurely settling her culush those towering plumes upon : 
(Calashes are good things enough, when the weather's wet and muggy, 
But they make a woman's head look like the head of nn old buggy.) 

" Well, sister Grace," snys Pi-ue, "thnnk Heaven ! our niece takes nfier us; 

You never find the men round her, making that odious fuss. 

Whispering such stuff! No, she can tie her cloak without assistance, 

For I've always told her —Patience dear ! keep fellows nt a distance. 

" Uphold your dignity, my love ! The boldest men, you see, — 

The most presuming, — never take such liberties with me; 

Once when a suitor knelt to me, imagine, if you can. 

The air with which I waved my hand, and said. Begone, base Man ! 

* That was a moment — oh, my dear ! I felt exalted so 
In conscious virtue — Sister Grace ! I've always preach'd, you know. 
Thus to our niece, and she, good girl, is an attentive hearer ; 
Patience does keep the men in awe — observe, not one comes near her." 

But hnrk ! a stiife — some silver pipes ai-e pitch'd above the key. 
Which maiden's meekness best befits, and lady's courtesy; 
*' Tis mine," resounds in tones so slinll, we cannot call them polish'd. 
And a bonnet seems to i*un the risk of being there demolish'd. 

For Julia Graves has seized it, and hers it is, she swears, . 

And Mary Russell, chiding her, protests that is hers, 

And o'er Miss Julia's shoulder she darts her hand to snatch it. 

Who at arm's length holds the fragile prey, baffling her foe to catch it. 

" Miss Russell, you have spoilt my sleeve, what can be your design ?" 

* I only mean to get. Miss Gravos, what you have seiz'd of mine.' * 

" Yours, Ma'am ?" — * Yes, Ma'am, — this veiy day I pinn'd that ribbon on it — 

A very likely thing indeed I should not know my bonnet !' 

" Pray, Ma'am, don't push so." * Ma'am, you've pok'd your elbow in my eye.' 

" That's your fault. Ma'am — I shan't let go." * No, Ma'«m, no more shall I—* 


One should be more particular what company one's in, 
For really, some folks now-a-dnys think stealing not a sin ; 

Things have wnlk*d off in the strangest way from routs and balls of late* — 
" You*d best take care, Ma'am, what you sny — My Pa's a magistrate." 
* Well, Ma'am, and what's your Pa to me V — Then comes a desperate tustle. 
But the powers that guard meek innocence, keep watch for gentle Russell. 

For up comes Betty Chambermaid — " Here, ladies! arn't this he ?" 
** What, that squabb'd thing ? that's none of mine." * That don't belong to me ?' 
Cry both at once — but— lights are brought— a second glance upon it. 
And poor Miss Julia's spiiits full — 'tis sure enough her bonnet. 

Miss Russell triumphs loudly, nor spares recrimination ; 

Her antagonist is cow'd beneath the deep humiliatfon, 

And she whining snys, " I'm sure I thought" — * Yes, Ma'am, I understand, 

Having lost your own, you thought you'd take the best that came to hand. 

Captain Cartridge has been enjoying this, and to the Ensign sware he 
That if it came to fisticuffs, he'd bet on tart Miss Mary; 
What a wreck of flowers and gauze had been the fruits of such contention ! 
But the fates w^ere kind and stopt the fray by Betty's intervention. 

While all this hubbub fills the room, Mrs. Moss heeds not the clash. 
But sliawl'd, fur-tippeted, and glov'd, and with head in huge calash, 
She wants but one protection more to save lier silks and satins, 
And her little foolbuy's on his knees to mount her on her pattens. 

MinJ, Tommy, mind, 'tis a tender job — press gently, 'twill not suit 
To handle with a clumsy paw an ancient lady's foot. 
Oh ! the matron twists, for the awkward chit has liit upon a corn, 
Which has laugh'd her nostrum, ivy leaves and vinegar, to scorn. 

A start is made — umbrellas flap and rustle ns thoy spread, 
And, the threshold past, the paltering rain beats on them overhead ; 
The bespattered beaux have hard ado to wield these bucklers light, 
For while they guard the ladies left, the gusts assail their right. 

The noise of pattens waxeth faint, as homeward-bound they travel. 
Now clattering on the pavement-stones, now grinding in the gravel; 
This dies — though ever and anon, the listening ear is roused, 
By some front-door's slam betokening a party snugly housed. 

Tho lanterns, which so brightly stream'd, have vnnish'd one by one, 
As a lane was turn'd, or a rat-tJit-tat announced the jouraey done ; 
And a few were on a sudden quench'd by puffs of winds uproarious, 
Envious of those ** carlh-tieading stars" which made dark night so glorious. 

But who encounter'd these mishaps — and who caught cold and fever — 
And who drest well — and who drest badly spite of best endeavour — 
And what new lights in love or hate, from the meeting we must borrow. 
We shall learn at length when wo call upon our partners fair to-morrow. 


atlje tt)ine-i8ibber's ©lorg— 31 JSm Song.* 

Tnne— The Jolly Miller. 

Quo me, Bacche, rapia tui 

Plenum 1 

Dulce periculum est 
O Leneee ! sequi Deum 
Cingentem viridi tempora pampino. — Hob. 


If Homtius Flaccus made jolly old Bucclius 

So often his favourite theme ; 
If in him il was classic to praise his old Massic, 

And Falemian to gulp in u stream ; 
If Falstaff's vagaries, 'bout Sack and Canaries, 

Have pleased us again and again ; 
Shall we not make merry on Port, Claret, Sherry, 

Madeira, and sparkling Champagne? 


First Port, that potation, prefeiT^d by our nation 

To all the small drink uf the French ; 
'Tis the best standing liquor, for layman or vicar. 

The army, the navy, the bench ; 
^Tis strung and substantial, believe me, no man shall 

Good Port from my dining-room send ; 
III your soup — after cheese — every way — it will please. 

But most t^te-a-tSte with a friend. 


Fair Shem', Port's sister, for y^ars they dismiss'd her. 

To the kitchen to flavour the jellies — 
There long she was banish'd, and well-nigh had vanisli'd 

To comfort the kitchen-maids* bellies — 
Till his Majesty fixt, he thought Sherry when sixty 

Years old, like himself, quite the thing — 
So I think it but proper, to fill a tip-topper 

Of Sherry to drink to the King. 

Though your delicate Claret by no means goes far, it 

Is famed for its exquisite flavour ; 
'Tis a nice provocation, to wise conversation, 

Queer blarney, or harmless palaver ; 

* From Blackwood for Jantmry, 1822.— M. 


111 (Im h tm i of aocieiy — no uifrlir}e<lf 
« FaAmtb • «wig of il]« Blue i 

Oiie flHy dMbb « wrlioSe acfrnn^ itur erVr fold 
OrlMadaefae fnnn Chaieau MaipitiK. 

^ rj; , 
Bt thangh Chwt !• pleiiit, i» jMjpJtetfii |wf til,' 

Oa tU mitli k ■wMa«M fcti aiM?' 
So to kaep it «B dtetcr, — d HMftrt yilrlifir, ^ 

T«k« a gluf of MMkim ditift «ia: 
WhM "t Ims «ird to Ao Ute, • can ftr «U wi«4 'tk^ 

Aadeotic *twijf put to tli« rout; 
All doctors declaiiBt a giiod g^lasi ctf Miitl«irrt 

TIm bctf of All Mas% for itic jfout. 

Thai ClnRipK^? I *lenv Clmmpngoo I mh J Uuw gladly I di^iQ o 

WImIo botUe of Odl lIb Pentnit ; 
To the eye of ntir channerf to m&ko my love wartii<*r, 

If cool tlmt love ever f ould !■«■ 
I eooU toast licr for ever — B«Jt ncter, oh f never, 

WoiiklIliordflvwMowfra6M$ - 

So if e'er when Foi ti|Mj, It i6|» to «ir %)>>^ 
Wash it beck to mj heart with OboMpofao! 


Sranslation of tije (Ditu-^jBibbn's ®l0rs.* 

By PhilipM P0U9, Esq., Holyhead. 

••••^ but your Latin is not quite clasrical — somewhat raffish, 
my very good friend ? 

Transeat — it is good enough for an ungrateful world. 

Then what a word " Portum" is ! and " Claretum," still more 
abominable. Why, sir, it is worse and worse, as Lord Norbury 
said, when a witness confessed his name to be Shaughnessy 

And how the devil was I to get better words ? Was I to 
put in Vinum Lusitamcum, or Burdigalejue, to the utter confu- 
sion of my line 7 As Ainsworth «bids me, I have clapped in 

*. From Bkukwood fi*r Febnmiy, 183d.-^M. 



Vinum Hispanicum for Sack, against mj better judgment ; but 
mj complaisance was not to extend any farther. Hear, most 
asinine critic — hear, I say, what Horatius Flaccus himself sings, 
as interpreted to us by the melodious Phil. Francis, DJD. 

Sball I 
Bo envied, if my little fund mipply 
Its frugal >aeallli of words-— since bards, who sung 
In ancient days, eni-ich'd their native tongue 
With large increase, &c. 

Or, as I may say, paraphrasing what he writes a little before — 

If jolly Virgil coin'd a word, why not 
Extend the self-same privilege to Pot. 

And here you may remark, that Pot is put for Potts, to assist 
the rhyme. 

Hum ! But your verses totter a little every now and then — 
so much the more in character for a drinking song ; and you 
alter the tune — that of the original is the Jolly Miller. I have 
put one as harmonious — a most excellent tune — a most bass 
tune — and as thou singest basely, basely shalt thou sing it after 
dinner. Are all your objections answered 1 

I may as well say that they are ; but 

But me no buts! — Shut thine ugly countenance, and listen 
to my song. 

39otott8 Gflovfa. 


To a Tune for il*e}f lately discovered in Herculanenm ; being an Ancient 
Roman Air, — pr, if not, quite €U good. 

Cum Jollificatione boiBterosa : «. e. with boisterous jollificatioa. 



Si Ho - ra - ti - o Flac -co de hi - la - ri Bac - cho mos 
If Ho - ra - ti - lis Flac - cue made jol - ly old Bacchus so 





car-mi-na es - set can- ta-re. Si MaS'-si-oa vi-navo- 
of - ten his fa - vourite theme, If in him it was clas-sic to 

•^ JJjj.jj i J.^jJ.J'j i iy' 


"^ .\} i J). 3h^l 't^- J J* jv^ 

■Mj'Jj'J>?j | i"jTTj1.'fp g j 




Si Horatio Flaceo cfe hibui Barclw 

Mo« carmina esset cantarp« 
Si Masdiea Tiaa TocareC diTiaa, 

Falemaqne tctret potare ; 
Si SOS jwnkt mire FaLMaffiam aoilire 

Laudantem Ht^paaimm menuB» 
Cor Bostrum sit faetam ob Portnm, Claretnm 

Xerense, Campaamttf Madenun. 

E;jit Portmn poCatio quam Angelica natio 

*Vini« Gulli« prartolit laolis ; — 
Sacerd<»te amatur— a Iaici« poCatar, 

Consohis, mililibus, naalis. 
Si meum cooclaTe boc forte ct suaTo 

Vitaverir, essem iniqaus, 
Post caseum — in jure — placebit secure— 

Prtesertiin cnm adsit oniicus. 

Huic quamvis co^natum, Xercnso dainnatum 
Gelata culinii tingebat, 

* Viiiis — lauiifl, Ang. nea/ Wines. 


Vinum exul ibique diu coquo cuiqiie 

Cienerosum liquorem pi-sebebaf. 
Sed n rege putatum est vnldd pei^ralum, 

Ci^m (ut ipse) sit sexagenarium— 
I«argd ergo iinplendum, regique bibendum, 

Opinor est nunc necessanum. 


Claretum oh ! quamvis baud forte (^deest nam tU 

Divino eapore notatur; 
Hinc dulcia dicuntur — faceta nascuntur— 

Leniterque pbilosopbizatur. 
Socialis potatio ! te baud fiigit ratio 

Puipureo decoram colore ! 
Tui maximum mare liceret potare. 

Sine mentis frontisve dolore. 

Etsi vero in prsesenti Claretum bibenti 

Videatur imprimis jucundum, 
Cito tamen frigescat— quod ut statim decrescat, 

Vetus vinum Maderum adeundum. 
Indos si navigiirit, vento corpus Iev&rit| 

Colicamque fugdrit hoc merum. 
Podagrft cruciuto " Vinum optimum dato" 

Clamant mcdici docti ** Maderum.*' 

6. * 

Cnmpanum ! campnnum ! quo gaudio lagenam 

Ocelli perdricis sorberem ! 
Ad dominse oculum exbauriam poculum 

Tali pbiltro si unquam egerem — 
Propinarem divinam — sed peream si sinam 

Nomen cnrum ut sic profanetur, 
£t si cum Bacchus urget, ad labia surgit— 

Campano ad cor rerolvetur. 

HrplCdt 9. ». sn jTefi. JHUccnnrC. 

•^1* Our Gosport friend's Greek translation of tlie same song, 
beginning — 

Ki Opartov ^XoKKOv vspt $itov laK^ov 
TToWai ayadat oaSai itsvtoctv, 

is not good. We perceive, that like Platonist Taylor, he puts 
no accents to his Greek — we fear for the same reason.-— G. N. 

* Deeit, one syllable. Vide Carey, p. 171. 


& Sttnnittg Zammnamn on tl|e Sitter Botni.* '' 

Thbkb 18, we imiat §aj, m di^ty spiiit of imliy aioat at prah. 
a&ft among the Tarions periodicals^ from wliidi mm only, and Mr. 
'Mdiob', the two Gendeman's Magannea, aie exempt Yoa 
never see the Qnaxteily piauing the Inealinlions of the Edtn^ 
Iraigh — &r leas the Edinhoigfa extolling those of die Qiuateily* 
on Monthly and New Monthly are in eat-and-dog opporitiqa^ 
Sir Biehaidt exdaims that they hare robbed him of his good 
name — whQe Tom Campbell is ready to go before his Lordship 
ofWaithmantoswearihatdiatwasanimpoasilHlity. There is, 
besides, a pair of Enropeansboxmg it out with most considera- 
ble plnck; and we are prond to peroeiye onr good friend Letts 
of Cknnhill bearing hunself boldly in the fi^t The Fancy 
Ghoette disparages the labomni of the illiistiioas Egan— and 
Pierce is equally savage on the eleganetes of Jon Bee4 Aswarm 
of twopennies gallops over the land ready to eat one another, so 
as, like the Lishman's rats in a cage» to lefive only a single tail 
behind. We, out of this turmoil and scuffle, as If from a higher 
region, look down, calm and cool. Unprejudiced by influence, 
and uninfluenced by prejudice, we keep along the even tenor of 
our way. We dispute not, neither do we quarreL If the golden 
wheels of our easy-going chariot, in its course, smooth sliding 
without step, crush to atoms any person who is unlucky enough 
to come under their precious weight, it is no fault of ours. .Let 
him blame destiny, and bring his action against the Farcse. 

So far are we from feeling any thing like hostility, spite, envy, 
hatred, malice, or uncharitableness, that we rejoice at the rare 
exhibition of talent whenever it occurs, in a publication similar to 
ours. We do our utmost to support the cause of periodical lit- 
erature in general. But for our disinterested exertions, the Ed- 

• Among the very worst poems written by Thomas Campbell was a sort of 
ballad called ' The Ritter Bann.'* It was too tempting to escape the notice 
of Muginn, who wrote this severe word-criticism on it, in Blackwood for April, 
1824. — M. 

t Sir Richard Phillips, publisher and editor of the Monthly itfa^arme.— M. 

t Jon Bee, author of a Slang Dictionary, edited a sporting paper, in opposi- 
tion to Pierce Egnn's L^e i» London. — M. 


inbargh Beview wonld have been long sinee unheard of. For 
many years we perpetuated the existence of the old Scots Mag- 
azine, by mentioning it in our columns. Finding it, however, 
useless to persevere, we held our peace concerning it ; it died, 
and a word &om us again restored it to life and spirit, so that 
Jeffrey steals from it all his Spanish literature. We took notice 
of the Examiner long after every other decent person said a 
word about it. Our exertions on behalf of the Scotsman were so 
great, that the learned writers of that paper pray for us on their 
bended knees. But it would be quite useless, or rather impossi- 
ble, for us to go over all our acts of kindness. We have, in- 
deed, reaped the benefit, for never since the creation of the 
world was any Magazine so adored by every body as ours is. 
It is, indeed, earned at times to an absurd, nay, we must add, 
a blameable length, for we must exclaim with the old poet : — 

" If to adore an idol is idolatry, 
^ Suro to adore a book is bibliolutry." 

An impiety to be avoided. ^ 

In pursuance of our generous system, we here beg leave to call 
the attention of our readers to a poem in the last New Monthly 
Magazine, written by the eminent editor of that celebrated peri- 
odical, and advertised, before its appearance, with the most lib- 
eral prodigality of puffing, in all the papers. Mr. Campbell is ad- 
vantageously known to the readers of poetry, a very respectable 
body of young gentlemen and ladies, as the author of the Pleas- 
ures of Hope, Gertrude of Wyoming, LochiePs Waniing, O'Con- 
nor's Child, and other pleasant performances, which may be 
purchased at the encouraging price of three and sixpence ster- 
ling, at the stalls of the bibliopolists of High Holboni. But the 
poem which he has lately contributed to the pages of the New 
Monthly, outshines these compositions of his more crude and ju- 
venile days. 

** Velut inter ignes 

Luna minores.** 

It is entitled the Bitter Bann, and we do not know how we can 
bestow a more acceptable compliment on our readers, than by 
analysing this elegant effusion. 

What the words Bitter Bann mean, is not at once open to every 

wpacitf, and diqr lunre m fa r Uiaatel y ^vittt fiie tofbe moffc m-- 
defanaUe puns and qmnes in ibBwidL. Bat wet who detpse 
wmk tluiigi, by a due cmundtalkMi of dfetfainaAM^ kaSeoaiy ouo- 
nuntirwiff, woid-boblu» voeabolarieiy. and odwr flimilar farea&ni, 
dbeoveied that Bitter, & the TMank to^^ 
Gennaiiy, ngnifies Bider, or Knii^-^Baiiii k metdj a man's 
aame» the hero bebg aoa of oldrr-— . Bam* Esq^ of ' 

{laeei Glamorgaiidure. Why a Wdak kmgfat ahonld be eaDed 
hy a German title, we caanot iawneijiately conjectore ; batsap- 
poae it adopted from ei^honioaa princ^leBOf melting melody. 
Let, die reader aajr the words^-Bftto Bami— Bitter Btfm-^ 
Utter Bann — to himael( with die ■■■■tainni of a ddme of good 
bella, aiieh as thoae of Baint Btteiaa, flaint Kuy Oteiy, Bunt 
Bepnlefare*!, opposite Newgate Baint Botolph*a, AUgate, 8«nt 
element Dane'a; Baint Dontan'fly in Il^etitovaCnotto laeatioiii 
vaiionapiovindalnttctieniof BobM^oni andhemnstbestnidc 
with the fine mmUing dang, and jit down to drink Iub Burton 
at 3d. the nip, with increaaed utisfiMtllML 
Bo far for the tide. listen now to the exordiom. 

** The Bitter Bann finom dungnry 

Came backt renuwnM in nnns, 
But scorning jousts of chivoliy, 

And love and ladies' clianns. 
AVhile otiier knights held reveliy, he 

Was wrapt" — 

in what? Sortontf Boquelanref Poodle Benjamin? bang^ 
up? doblado? frock? wraprascal? No, no! What then? 
Sheet? blafiket? qnilt? coyerlet? counterpane? No? What 
then? Why 

. — "in thoughts of gloom, 

And in Vienna's hostelrie 
Slow paced his lonely room." 

This is a very novel and ori^nal character in onr now-a-days 

" Tliere entered one whose face he knew, 

Whose voice, he was aware. 
He oft at mass had listen'd to. 

In the holy house of prayer." 

Who is tins fine fellow ? Wait a moment and you will be^ 


** 'Twas tho Abhot of Saint James'f monks, 
Afresh and fair old man." 

Fresh no doubt, for jon will soon leaiii he comes in good 

" His reverend air arrested even 

The gloomy Bitter Bann ; 
But seeing with him an ancient daniCi 

Come clad in Scotch attire, 
Tho Bitter's colour went and came, 

And loud he spoke in ire : 
* Ha ! nurse of her that was my bane — * " 

Here GampbelPs Scoticism Las got the better of him. The 
lady of whom the Bitter speaks is his wife, who, in Caledonia's 
dialect, is said to be bane of a man's bane; but in English we 
always say bone of my bone. We hope Thomas the Bhymer 
will anglicise the phrase in the next edition. 

" Name not her name to me, 

I wish it l)Iotted from my bruin : 
Art poor? lake alms and flee !'* 

A veiy neat and pretty turn-out as any old lady would wish of 
a summer's morning ; but it won't do. For 

** 'Sir Knight,' tho Abbot interposed, 

* This case your car demands !' 
And Uie crone cried, with a cross enclosed 

In both her trembling hands—" 

Read that second last line again. " The Crone Cried with a 
Cross enclosed !" Oh ! Pack : send the Razor Grinder. What 
do you say to that ? We can only match it by one passage 
of Fantagruel. Lesquelles [the frozen words] ensemblement 
fondues, ouysmes hin, hin, liin, bin, his, ticque, torche, longue, 
bredelin, bredelac, fiT, frrr, frrrr, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, bou, 
bou, bou, trace, trr, tn*, tiT, tirr, trrrr, trrrrr, on, on, on, on, 
ouououounon, goth, magoth. '' And the Crone cried with a cross 

" Bemember each his sentence waits, 

And he who would rebut ! I 
Sweet Mercy's suit, on him the gates 

Of mercy shall be shut !" 

The Abbot proceeds to pve our friend Ritter some novel infor- 

Your couain Jtti« la qNTfa^i** 

Pnt^ eoQoqiiial Style i 


Her boiMe diwicaJ joor vmxdMg^^madt 

Bemtked lier to De Gffeyi 
A»l the rin|f yoa pot iqwB her—** 
Her what t finger, peiliapfl. No-*- 

Wu wnnch'd by ftvpB aiAgr*** 

Here eemmeiioeB a pleetaat fiunOMr fvoie lurmtimu 'We 
Uke tlui maimer of mixing proee with veiw«as Ifr^Stewiit Bom 
has done in his translation of Boiardo. Oan^hellyin imilstiiw, 
pcoeeeds. ''Then w^ yoo^ Jane» np6n my aeok» eiyfaj^ 
*Heip me» Nurse, to flee to mj .Howell .Bans's GHaaMugia 

" Bot word urivodt ah mo I yoa wore aot lh«o| 
And 'twas their ihraet, by fiwl BMoae or bj Bdt, 
To-morrow momiog was to wt the aeal on hter deipair." 

** I had a son," says Norse, after this little triplet, ** a sea4)07, 
in a ship at Hartland baj : by his aid, from her cruel kin I bore 
my bird away. To Scotland, from the Devon's green myrtle 
shores, we fled ; and the hand that sent the ravens to Elijah, 
gave us bread. She wrote you by my son ; but he, from Eng- 
land, sent us word you had gone into some far country ; in grief 
and gloom, he heard. For they that wronged yon, to elude 
your wrath, defamed my child." — Whom she means here is not 
quite evident at first sight, for she had been just speaking of her 
son, for whom the Ritter, we opine, did not care a button, whether 
he was famed or defamed ; but it will be all clear by and by. — 
"And you — ay, blush, sir, as you should, — believed and were 
beguiled." In which last sentence the old lady is waxing a little 
termagantish on our hands. She proceeds, however, in a minor 

' " To die but at your feet, she vowed to roam the world ; and 
we would both have sped, and begged our bread ; but so it might 
not be ; for, when the snow-storm beat our roof, she bore a boy," 
— a queer effort of a snow-storm, etUre nous — " Sir Bann, who 


grew as fair your likeness-proof bs child e'er grew like man." A 
likeness-proof! Some engraver must have been talking to Tom 
about proof-impressions of plates, and he, in the simplicity of his 
bachelorship, must have imagined that there were proof-impres- 
sions too of children. Let us, however, permit Madame la Nou- 
rice to proceed. — " 'Twas smiling on that babe one mom, while 
heath bloomed on the moor, her beauty struck young Lord King- 
horn, as he hunted past our door. She shunned him ; but 7ic 
raved of Jane, and roused his mother's pride ; who came to us 
in high disdain, and ' Where's the face,' she cried, ' has witched 
my boy to wish for one so wretched for his wife ? Dost love thy 
husband ? Know my son has sworn to seek his life.' " 

Poetry breaks out here again in the following melodious 
lines : 

" Her anger sore dismayed us, 

For our mite wn» wearing scant ; 
And, unless that dame would aid us, 

There was none to aid our want. 

" So I told her, weeping bitterly, what all our woes had been ; 
and, though she was a stem lady, the tear stood in her eeu. 
And she housed us both, when cheerfully my child [that is not 
her son, the cabin-boy, but her bird Jane,] to her had sworn, 
that, even if made a widow, she would never wed Kinghom. 

'* Here paused the Nurse ;" and, indeed, we must say, a more 
pathetic, or original story, or one more prettily or pithily told, 
does not exist in the whole bounds of our language. The Nurse 
mistook her talent when she commenced the trade of suckling 
weans. She should have gone to the bar, where, in less than no 
time, she would have been a pleader scarcely inferior to Coun- 
sellor Phillips himself. 

After the oration of the Nurse, then began the Abbot, stand- 
ing by — "Three months ago, a wounded man to our abbey 
came to die." — A mighty absurd proceeding, in our opinion. 
Had he come there to livey it would have been much more sen- 
sible. — " He heard me long with ghastly-^yes," (rather an odd 
mode of hearing,) " and hand obdurate clenched, speak of the 
worm that never dies, and the fire that is not quench'd. 

" At last, by what this scroll attests. 
He left ntonement brief. 


For years of anguish, to the breasU 

His guilt had wrung with grief. 
Tliere lived/ he said, ' a fair young dame 
Beneath my mother's roof — 
IlovedJUr"' — 

Not his mother we hope. — 

" *but against my flame 

Her punty was proof. 
I feignM repentance— -friendship pure ; 

That mood she did not check, 
But let her husband's miniature 

Be copied from her neck.' " 

Her husband's miniature in the days of jousts and chivahies! 
But great poets do not matter such trifles. We all remember 
how Shakspere introduces cannon into Hamlet. Pergit Poeta. 

"As means to search him, my deceit took care to him was 
borne nought but his picture's counterfeit, and Jane's reported 
scorn. The treachery took : she waited taild / My slave came 
back, and did whatever I wish'd : She clasped her child, and 
swoon'd ; and all but died." 

The pathos and poetry of this beautiful grammatical, and in- 
telligible passage, is too much for us. We cannot go on without 
assistance. We shall, therefore, make a glass of rum grog, for 
we are writing this on a fine sunshiny moi-ning. As we are on 
the subject of grog, we may as well give it as our opinion, that 
the young midshipman's method of making it, as recorded by 
the great Joseph, is by far the most commodious. Swallow we, 
therefore, first a glass of rum — our own drinking in Antigua — 
and then, baptizing it speedily by the affusion of a similar quan- 
tity of water, we take three jumps to mix the fluids in our stom- 
ach, and, so fortified, proceed with the contemplation of the 
Ritter Bann. We get on to a new jig tune — 

** I felt her tears 

For years and years, 

Quench not my flame, but stir!" 

" The veiy bote 
I bore lier mate. 
Increased my love for her. 

" Fame told us of his glory : while joy flush'd the face of 


Jane ;. and while she blessed Lis name, her smile struck fire into 
my brain, no fears could damp. I reached the camp, sought 
out its champion; and, if my broadsword (Andrew Ferrara 
would be a much more poetical word, Mr. Thomas) failed at 
last, 'twas long and well laid on. This wound's my meed — My 
name is Kinghom — My foe is the Hitter Bann. 

** Tlie wafer to liis lips wna boriio, 
And we shrived llie dying innii. 

He died not till you went to fight the Turks at Wan-adein ; but 
I see my tale has changed you pale. — The Abbot went for 
wine, and brought a little page, who poured it out and smiled." 

How beautiful ! and how natural at the same time ! — "I see," 
says the old Abbot, who, we warrant, was a sound old toper, a 
fellow who rejoiced in the delightful music of the cork, *' the curst 
stuff I have been talking to you has made you sick in your stom- 
ach, and you must take a glass of wine. What wine do you 
drink, Hock, Champagne, Sautemc, Dry Lisbon, Madeira, Black 
Strap, Lachrymu CJiristi? — my own tipple is Rhenish. See 
here, I have some Anno Domini, God knows what. Pleasure 
of drinking your good health in the meantime." 

" The stunn'd knight saw himself restored to childhood in his 
child, and stooped and caught him to his breast — laugh'd loud, 
and wept anon ; and, with a shower of kisses, pressed the dar- 
ling little one." 

The conversation jBoon becomes sprightly. Nothing can be 
better than the colloquial tone of the dialogue. 

" Ritter Bann, And where went Jane % 

" Old Snoozcr. To a nunnery, sir, — Look not again so pale : 
— Kinghom's old dame grew harsh to her. 

*' Ritter Bann. And has she taken the veil? 

** Old Snoozer, Sit down, sir, I bar rash words. 

" They sat all three, and the boy played with the Knight's 
broad star, as he kept him on his knee. ' Think ere you ask 
her dwelling-place,' the Abbot father said ; * time draws a veil 
o'er beauty's face, more deep than cloister'd shade : Grief may 
have made her what you can scarce love, perhaps, for life.' — 
* Hush, Abbot,' cried the Ritter Bann, (on whom, by this time, 

Vol. II.— 10 


Oe tipplA had taken coiuddeEable eiMt») 'or teU ma irliei^'8 017 

Wliatfbnowst Why 

« The print vraio ! —(OltJIvilirf) 

l\ro doom dwt bid 
Tba iim't ttdjacent rooni; 

And there e lovely wonmn itoody 
Teen bathed bcr beeiily*e bloom. 

One moment mey 

With bHm lepey 
Ummmbeied howi of pefot 

Sneh ves the liiniby 

Of the Kkdflit enbrndof Jeae." 

And such ia Mr. Tom GampheD's poem of tihe Bitter Banit 1 ! ! 

Keed we add a wordt Did mj hoij ever aee ihe liket 
What Tene» what ideaa, what langoagOt what a aUny, what a 
name I l^iie wai, ihat» when the brains were ont, the man 
woidd die ; bnt o» a ckoMg^ tomt eda. We eonrign OampbeH's 
head to the notice of the Phrenologicals. 

Let OS ring a song. Strike op the bag^pes while we channt 

The Writer Tam. 

By T. Dromedary, 

The Writ.'!- Tam, from Hungryland,* 

Coraeft, famec^ for lays of armii,t 
And, writing chaunts of chivaliy, 

The Cockney ladies charms. 
While other hands write Balaam, be, 

In editorial gloom, 
In Colbum's magazinar}', 

CKves cilch bis destined room. 

* See Jack Wilke's Prophecy of Famine. A poem, as Tom himself observes, 
amusing to a Scotcbman from its extravognnce. To' oblige him, tliercfure, tlie 
name is adopted here. — M. OD. 

t The Mariners of England — the Bntisb Grenadiers — The Battle of the 
Baltic. &C.—M. OD. 


Critique on Corb ©ijron.* 

*' Claudite Jnin rivo9, puorl, rat prata bibenint"— Vibo. 

So the Public at lengtli is beginning lo tire (in 

Tlie torrent of poesy pourM by Loril Byron ! 

Some guessM this would happen :-— the presage proved true. 

Then now let us take a brief, rapid review 

Of all, or at least of each principal topic, 

Which sei'ves as a theme for his muse misanthropic. 

First, note we the prelude, which sung by the Minor, 
Gave promise of future strains, bolder and finer ; 
Though the bitter Scotch critic loud raised his alarum, 
And swore men and gods could not possibly bear *cm If 
To the fame of the hard men have given a shove — 
Whatever may be judged of his merits etbove. 
Thus stung, did the youngster assail, we must own, 
Some names which his fury hud well let alone ; 
As a coll, who a thistle beneath his tail feels, 
At all things around madly launches bis heels. 
Yet blithely, though shaii>ly, the young minstrel carnllM, 
To Reviewers and Bards, ere he croak'd with Childc Harold, 
That wight, who, in endless Spenserian measure. 
Roams through the wide world without object or pleasure ; 
Till at last, we find out, with the pilgrim proceeding. 
That we gain no great object nor pleasure in reading ! 
But, first, with what glee did ull palates devuur 
The fragments, which bear the strange name of the Gniour ? 
'Tis a tale full of pathos, and sweet is the verse : — 
Would some pains in connecting have render'd it worse 7 

* From Blackwood for April, 1822. — M. 

t The Edinburgh reviewer, who vainly attempted to crash Lord Byron at the 
commencement of his poetical career, thus began his animadversions : " The 
poetry of this young Lord belongs to the class which neither men nor gods aro 
said to permit. His effusions are spread over a dead flat, and can no more get 
above or below the level, than if they were so much stagnant water." Having 
made this estimate of the noble poet's powers, which, however justified by some 
of the Minor*s Hours of Idleness, must preclude the Northern Seer from all pre* 
tension to the gift of second sight, he adds the following wholesome advice :— 

" Whatever success may have attended the peer's subsequent compositions, 
it might have been followed without any serious detriment to the public. We 
counsel him that he do forthwith abandon poetry, and turn his talents and op- 
portunities to better account."— M. OD. 

\ : ■ .•-. :■ .1 ■ :.•• !■ .ti* n- .-iT'ytiff- — 

/. . . * •>• .■ — *# !i:.;iTiif^— *' I'liiuu: -^ 

' ■ : . — :i--n :;■* tutt* ■*■ :• I'.-.y.r'*' "lui-t i»i'i'' - ■'. 
> - ■,'. r.-..>- *;'■- ul lij>- "nnis** «in" rTiiCHI- 

"'; • *■■■• :• ::■■ ■• :',: "'r,".;.!ji:i" v;m::i:r 
7» , . .. iii.i !!-i"r.'«- -••:.( in-**' (i«""'- riiu"*'f. 
\" i ...■*■ ■ « !*'i. ■■ -T*- «• v,-T-ni" ii] •■• . 

' • •• "t-j-r - 4! • ■- nrTnui;" n imirii»"i :nf -"M"". 
... . « ' :*.:•.;■ :. •• ri'-T nn*.i»*"ni?Mi?-!« 'i-rP'J'^' ' 
.) I.!-' ". *■ ..■<> : '"U^! no '-• *vttn :i :Jm Tim; vm' i;. 
^ •■ ::-'a»ii :: !■■••* ^ :m:it** v|»«»'-f inT: l: :!" ys^i"" 'r*. 
\ -■■ . . -inwi.r'.-!, TiWf ■"• li-llii"|i: I!if»» ! .■:• .1 M :??" 

«.•-,> !t -1 II !■•- iivi T:irii""V ill'liril^*^' — 
S. ■ ':■" -r:n:?- i\- 1I..I ■— ' :> I ni'" »f «4jif«r- >:«-.. 
I .-i.i:: '"Sin— f' r;i • v nuii 1;: "1 -zTiiiI!'i I. r«.'»n y».'»f"'T.. 

\.i«- 4* :i !! I !- »vi J. «ii.M. ^rmi- r-im-iif".. 'It »r.i'S-!''r. 
" . *:.-»^ j«- > " , f".!-«ii:, viri lll^ iiirpf ii.JJ* n: :»'»-«*^h .v. 
1'..; !'ir »r»*::iii'*« n-jl"*— iiiiMirf mmlinr 
T .1 . ';-:i.. ii«i S"""i. -.liniii. Ftr ntiirl'l "if :;•? ::i'T». 
".■•»«• ni^Mi!' ri!:-s '1' -^tm"" I. viir nr iiTihT!'* ^."n . 
'■■■|i- 1 ir..ii:-: 111 \i;»i»«iT. tin- «s:i I in" i'-*iiiiiurr 

\l"il I . *ii! \} : "'t n :|i' NJlUM It Tllif'*'!"^. 

■ •J- :-'!i -1. .; :i •■■II- ''ii- iiirvj'. i< :£r'?«"-* 

i - ,—,■..,■ I r ■ J. .1 ■■ 

W- - < ^ ■ ^ .■ f C "S'-'a i : — in.'". .; r..i-,\r. i. ie:: ! 
?.: ur. i !..!# L-i:"a. l. at fcl-irls ::,lo \:cw.' 
1:" J. ■ '..'. I --"J £it. a« *oine j»eop!e «i:p;v»!so, 
L-.. . • y -..•.-::*. ::. u'lt I- ss q!inj!iii*h with fii.:!uls, aii.i wi;:i fjes I 
: " «■: . i we:^ li.'* '* t'.'jd' u* tuy consrioncp," oli s:iv 
il .4 .-. .:5 E:.-.!::: ^o sr.-.ig-y put out of llie wriy / 


We see, trio, the spirit and wnnnth of Gulnare in 
That feminine page, so altiicliM and »o dnriiig; 
And we shrewdly suspect ihut the small crimson spot 
On her umazon forehead is nearly forgot. 
*Tis true, when the Corsair old Seyd's palace saw bum, 
The Queen of his harem had ringlets of auburn ; — 
That the page's are black contradicts not our guesses — 
Since ladies sometimes change the hue of their tresses.* 

Then tack'd to this stor}% strange mixtures, are seen, 
Those dullest of stanzns 'yclep'd Jacqueline. 
Alas! for poor Rogers— 'twas certainly hard 
To be made, as a compliment, foil to a baiil 
Who needs no such foil — so unapt too to flatter! 
'Twere better have borne the worst lash of his satire ! 
Yet of high-season'd praise ho is somelimos the organ, 
This Shelley can witness, and eke Lady Morgan. 
Shall Rogers's name be inscribed in this set 
Whose former bright laurels none wish to forget? 
But Jacqueline sues for the garland in vain. 
For Memory here brings us nothing but pain. 
Can the laud be much relish'd by Gifford and Crabbe, 
Which is shared by the crazy-brain 'd muse of Queen MubT 
Would Diyden or Otway, or Congrove, or Pope, 
Sweet Burns, or the Bard who delights us with Hope, 
Be flatter'd to find they were join'd in this meUe, 
And placed cheek by jole with dame Morgan and Shelley ?t 

** The Puot in desciibing the faithful ottendant on Count Lara, did not per- 
haps exactly recollect his former account of Gulnaro's peison — 
That form of eye so dark, and check so fair. 
And auburn waves of gemm'd and braided hair." 

Dealers in fiction, both in verse and prose, require good memoiies. Wheth- 
er this solution, or the suggestion in the text, best meets the difficulty, the sa- 
gacious reader will determine according to his fancy. —Ed. 

t The noble Baron, in his appendix to the Two Foscari, is pleased to call 
Lady Morgan's Italy ** a fearless and excellent work.'' The world in general 
will be more ready to subscribe to the first than the last half of the panegyric. 
In the same place he tolls us that ho ** highly admires Mr. Shelley's poetry, in 
common with all those who are not blinded by baseness and bigotry." It might 
be wrong to advise readers to have recourse to Mr, Shelley's works and judge 
for themselves. Those who desire to see specimens, and to compare Lord B.'s 
opinion with that of other critics, will do well to consult the Quorterly Review, 
in which work may also be seen some useful remarks on the fearless Lady Mor*- 
gaa's literary labours. . 

A few of the poets of former and tlie present times are hope noticed as bar- 

R«t teowlt Uw fisll wiHidt Ugfat ] 
Who broods over tiM wUdi wwk War f» b« Mid. 
Tk > dmam nif Ail ■, bt Hffl k li^ fcwfc^ 

How wtt does Iw poiirt dM ihaqp yugs "f '■"»'*> V 
TlMt qain wUck wit phwk'd kmk Ao wiof of ft imToOv 
Ghro^ft toftck afaMtt rartliy Om po^of Avoa. 

Ara iho pioimw fhim fiuMgr t«-SeiltloM or real f 
Sorely 8oi«i kuftwlf b tbe bftid** «MM MM /* 

Tot *tis tMH* >^ «^ <>>M>f* th^ fllte tl"<M^ 1>^ lu*l^ 

FnNB JooB, whote joy ii oft fcftjwdt to plM* hofffty 

WIm Tiowt with df^tghk tarn of dHMdo ddftdod.—t 

To Ae wttuAk wbo batoo aD Aiaga, biiawlf too ineladed,— 

All IB MNQo iCrikiBf ftattftft aaeb adMrioMftMo^ 

At la Hamlot. or SoUi, wft adtt MMT JobftlMBbla* 

If the diaagbia MBftek of aatnra, «• ave Boim rtiftw 

Whofo be iadt the dark toadM be cboooaa to dcair. 

or mMner efiMioao I paat am laado^* 
Tbo Faadly Skoleb— Hobraw IModiaa— Odoa;— 
Bad ToMo't LaaMot-r-Mft oooailoftal Vanaa— 
Aad laveUM at Blfift ataift Mlai'i oaiaea^ 
Mawppa*^ loaf laea. ibat iat w |dd nigb-rUer^^ 
And adioaa to ft Lai^, wboaa Lord aaa't abide bar. 
Witbia two Uoo paato4ioaida wbat eoatrariaa meet —- 
The fragiant, tbo (odd, Ae bitter, the owoot: — 

ing the good fortune to receive bonourable mention from Lord B. ; a glory they 
enjoy in common willi the Hibernian Lady-errant, and die poetico-metaphysical 
maniac. Dnviil long ago designated the atheist as a fool ; it is more charitable 
to consider him as a madman. — M OD. 

* Mr. Souihey has conferred the appellation of " the Satanic School" on a 
certain cIom of poets. The idea is as obvious as that of calling Venice tlie 
" Rome of the Ocean." — Let the worthy Laureat, howoTer, have undisputed 
claim to tlie original invention.— M. OD. 

t Mrs. Joanna Baillie has illustrated different passions by a tragedy and a 
comedy on each subject. Lord Byron has also thus drawn a double represen- 
tation of human depravity. In these, Don Juan performs the part of lii*st Buffo, 
whilst Martft*ed leads those who are invested with the serious buskin.— M. OD. 

t Much abuse has been lavished on Lord Elgin for having sent to this coun- 
try the spoils of the Parthenon. If this celebrated temple could have remained 
in security, the removal of its ornaments might have been called a soil of sacri- 
lege. But it is well known that a Turk, who wants to white-wash his house, 
makes no scruple of destroying the finest remains of ancient ait for that ignoble 
purpose. Was it not, therefore, better to place these precious relics under the 
protection of Britain, where they will be admired and appreciated, than to let 
them remain in the power of barbarians, who might speedily reduce them to 
dust in a lime-kiln f — M. OD. 


Like a gnidon negleitod those fencos oncloso 
The violet, the netlle, the nightshnde, ihe rose. 

But amongst these sarcastic and amorous sallies, 
Who marks not that effort of impotent malice, 
Aim'd at woith placed on high— nay, the most lofty station, 
Whose strongest, best guard, is the love of a nation. 
Far wide from its murk flew the shaft from the string, 
Recoils on the archer, but wounds not the King : — 
He smiles at such censures when libellers pen *em-— 
Fur Truth bids defiance to Calumny's venom. 
We know 'tis the nature of vipers to bite all-— 
But shall Byron be preacher of duties marital ? 

Now lo poems wo turn of u different nature, 
Where harangues Faliero, the Doge, and the traitor. 
The Doge mjiy be prosy: — but seldom we've seen a* 
Fair Lady more docile than meek Angiolina. 
Yet to move us her giiefs don't so likely appear, as 
The woes the starved Poet has made Belvidera's. 
I'm far from asserting we're tempted to laugh here ; •— 
But the Doge must be own'd not quite equal lo Jafficr. 
These ancient impressions the fancy still Uiriies on. 
When forced with old Otwny to make a comparison. 
Oh ! best, tuneful Peer, shone your genius dramatic 
Ere your Muse set her foot on tliose isles Adriatic ! 
Let her shun the Bialto, and halls of St. Murk, 
Contented with Manfred to rove in the dark. 

On the banks of Euphrates you better regale us, 
With the feasts and the frolics of Sai'danapalus. 
Philosophic gourmand ! — jolly, libeitine sage ! 
Only Pleasure's soft warfare determined to wage. 
With goblet in hand, and his head crowu'd with roses. 
He teaches that death everlasting repose is. 

* The ending of the first lino of this and the following couplet is designed as 
an humble imitation of the manner in which Lord B. sometimes closes his lines 
in serious, as well as ludicrous poetry, in blank verse, as well as in rhyme. In 
compositions of humour it may be allowable to disjoin words at pleasure, and 
finish a verse with a most feeble termination ; but the license granted to Beppo 
or Don Juan would be thought unreasonable in works of a graver character. 
Whoever lakes the trouble of examining Sardoiinpalus, the Foscari, and the 
Mystery of Cain, will find that the lines are very differently constructed from 
the practice of the best preceding writers. The Italian poets may have adopted 
sproe such mode in their stanzas ; but the following this example will not im- 
prove the majestic inceding step of tlie Englisli Muse, as exemplified by Shake- 
spere and Mi I ion. — M. CD. 

.Tbe toMi iMy ^urly hri — g fo lU •My? ' 
But liera we pereeiw that *U* prcMh'4 <MI 4 
- Till* Tolatile Ii«Brt Grecim Myrrlia oeaU ^ ' • 

ThoofhbobagluatliflrciwAalNMtPhM'iMdlhs^' .;.^:: »7 

H» ]«aro ibe retWM wIm* kit vbtMW th* eaM'd tawBT* * 

And WM trae» •'•n to claitb, wImm tkm AMwd Mm-tofiiknl' tfltor 

Bat tbe fot wboM kit tobieett hdl mtodl«« nti», 

Bravely fii^ktt, and dwn diet in R blnift Mnt»licM r • 

Yoa cMi next {Im t(fg& imgie ynaVe mt^wtWL^Um) nmf ' 
Yow friend* back to Yenieey mm! flboir ibew'tho FtoMori. 
To tlieM lockleM itlei wo*re tnntpottod MgMli>l 
Lo ! o ywidi kwrsMy jodgod ky iho O uw i bO ^ <!»»■ 
Mott willUly raiboo Ml honflile tortana, 
Lett ia tone Ibi^aign cGaMjM Aoald taka «p kftqjMrtm r 
HU katrad iwiadkla t0»*id> aU tka flMB b» 
Burke doata wkk itraBge lova en tke mem imd of Tflnia^.- 
For tke Doge— tken ia ao kaown WMaa|ila wSI Mit t*; ' 
Hit pkiCgin patnotfo eal^Bmaaaft BfnlaiL 
In kit ckahr, wMItt tke laek'a wtmMttg laMNB» i rtF tf eaa ^ ' - 
He walckea ike paaga of kit kUMOant aaii. 
Hit ncrres tuck a qieeiaele tolaniia weBs 
Yet ke diet bj tke akoek, wkea tke aiwd of a kell, ' 
On a todden, to Yeaiee anaoaaeea ike deem. 
That another mocktoveraign reigns in kit room. 

Now la9t, though not least, let ns glance at the fable 
Your Lordship has raised on the niorther of Abel. 
But cliieily that wonderful flight let ns trace, 
Which Lucifer \vinga throngh the regions of spncc ; 
Where with speed swi(l as thought with his pupil he runs. 
Threading all the bright mnse of tlic planets and. suns ; 
And lectures the while all these objects they're viewing. 
Like a tutor abroad, who leods out a young Bruin. 
Thus, Satan exhibits prc-Adaniite spectres. 
And lays down his maxims there free from ohjuctoi-s. 
How we turn with disgust, as we listened with pain, 
From the vile metaphysics he whispers to Cain !* 

• The demon's insinuations, tending directly to an object the reverse of that 
which Pope aims at in his Essay on Man, the present being evidently designed to 
make man doubt the benevolence and goodness of his Maker, might justify 
harsher terms tlion are here employed. Instead of vile metaphysics, tliey 
might have been termed horrible blasphemies. Let not the noble author shel- 
ter himself under the example of Milton. Tlio author of Paradise Lost dis- 
plays want of taste in making the Almighty argue like *' a school divine," at 
the artists of the Roman Catholic Church have done in representing him tmdef 
the form of an old man with a long beanl ; but neither the poet nor tkepakiter 


Fit talk for tlie fiend and tlio frotncide felon, — 

But tins is a subject too hateful to dwell on ; — 

A lush light OS mine, grave oflfences can trounce ill— 

Then here let me end with a short word of counsel : — 

*Twould be wrong, noble Bard, Oh ! permit me to tell ye, 

To establish a league with Leigh Hunt and Bysshe Shelley ;* 

Already your readers have swallow'd too much, 

Like Amboyna's swollen victims when drench'd by the Dutcli.f 

The world ciies, in chorus, His ceitainly time 

To close up your flond-ga^s of blank verse and rhyme. 

Hold ! Hold! — By the public thus sated and cramm'd. 

Lest your lays^ like yourself, stand a chunce lo bo d d ! 

intended to commit an irrevcrend insult. Milton's devils talk and act suffl- 
cienily in character, but they are kept within decent bounds. Belial himself, 
however qualified " to make Uie worse appear the better reason,'* is not suf- 
fered by the poet to practise his arts on the readers of his divine epic. — M. OD. 

* This alludes to a rumour in the newspapers of an intended triple alliance 
between these three personages, for the amusement and edification of man- 
kind.— M. OD. [The rosult was " The Liberal."— M.] 

t The Island of Amboyna, one of the Moluccas, was formerly occupied jointly 
by the English and Dutch. In the year 1622, the Hollanders feeling the su- 
periority of their numbers, which was obout three to two in their favour, con- 
ceived the design of making themselves masters of the whole island. For this 
purpose they pretended to have discovered a plot contrived by the English for 
their expulsion. Many of the English settlers were accordingly arrested and 
exposed to torture, in order to enforce a confession. Amongst the methods 
employed, was the extraordinary one here alluded to. The accused was fas- 
tened to a seat, in an upright posture, with a piece of canvass fixed round his 
neck, extended above the head in the form of a cup. Water being repeatedly 
poured into this receptacle, it was necessary to swallow the liquid to avoid wi^ 
focation. Under this infliction, the bodies of the sufferers were said to be dis- 
tended to double their ordinary size. — M. OD. 

THE ODaffEBlT PAP«03. 

iHxibftn (Eiiflli©!) flallabs-* 

p • # • ij^ji^ Ensign was evid^ntlj mueh aifetted on tlia 
nfefti of his eouDtiyman. It was leuiurkecl, that gome days 
lifter tbe eveBt, he went to bed bare footed, and rose fastmg. 
But on the occasion of Spiing's tnumpbant entiy, be was pecu- 
liarly dejected, and refused to look at it, wbicb called forth the 
following ballad. It will be often imitated by modern poeta» 
both in Spain and Germany. 

p Fw** te a tAncorJ de bruiiiiitnul, di'ia h Biiipa t]t? stran^tuig 

MettinchoIIco Odoiti, veiiii* nl gflilopiii Tuinspring-, &c. 

It bearB a great reEerablanee to th© bridal of Andalla, in Lock- 
bar t'a Spaiibli Ballads j and the Bucceeding one on poor Thurtell 
in*Ty more remotely, remind the aentlmental reader of his "La- 
Rueiit for Oelin/*] 

Ho. L — Spring*s Retvrn. 

Risk up, viae up, my Morfan, lay the foaming^ tankanl ^oWn, 

Rise op, come to the window, and gaze with all tlie town. 

From gtiy shin-bone and cleaver hard the marrowy notes are flowing, 

And the Jew*s4iarp's twang sings out slap-bang, 'twixt the cow-horn's lordly 

blowing ; 
And greasy caps firom butchers' heads nre tossing everywhere, 
And the bunch of fives of England's knight wags proudly in the nir. 
Rise up, rise up, my Morgan, lay the foaming tankard down, 
Rise up, come to the window, and gaze with all the town. 

Arise, ai-ise, my Morgan, I see Tom Winter's mug. 

He bends him to the Fancy coves with a nod so smait and smug ; 

Through all the land of great Cockaigne, or Thaitfes's lordly nver, 

Shook champion's fist more stout than his, more knock-me-downish never. 

Yon Belcher twisted round his neck of azure, mix'd with white, 

I guess was tied upon the stakes the morning of the fight. 

'These National Ballads appeared in Blackwood for January, 1824.-— 
Spring's victory over Langan, celebrated in this parody on one of Lockhart'a 
Spanish Ballads, very suitably may follow the Idyll on his batde with Neat of. 
Bristol. Jack Langan, an Irishman, eventually became a publican in Liver- 
pool, realized a fortune there, distinguished himself by •ubscribing to Um 
O'Connell Rent, and died, some twelve years ago, in a Lunatic Asylum.— ^M. 


Rise up, rise up, my Morgan, lay the fonming tanknrd down, 

Rise up, come to tiie window, and goze witli all the town. 

What oileth thee, my Morgan 7 what makes thine eyes look down ? 
Why stay you from the window fur, nor gaze with all the town ? 
Fve lieoi'd thee swear in hexameter, and sure you sVore tlie truth, 
That Thomas Spring was quite the king of the first-beshaking youth. 
Now with a Peer he rideth hero, and Lord Deerhurat's horses go* 
Beneath old England's champion, to the tune of Yo, heave ho! 
Then rise, oh rise, my Morgan, lay the foaming tankard down, 
Yuu may here through the window-sash come guzo with all the town. 

The Irish Ensign rose not up, nor laid his tankard down. 
Nor came ho to the window to gnzo with all the town ; 
But though his lip dwelt on the pot, in vain his gullet tried. 
He could not, at a single draught, empty the tankard wide. 
About a pint and a half he drank before the noise grew nigh. 
When the last half-pint received a tear slow dropping from his rye. 
No, no, he sighs, bid me not nse, nor lay my tankard down. 
To gaze on Thomas Winter with all the guzing town. 

Why i-ise ye not, my Morgan, nor lay your tankard down? 

^^hy gaze ye not, my Morgan, with all the gazing town ? 

Hear, hear the cheering, how it swells, and how the people cry. 

He stops at Cribb's, the ex-champion's shop; — why sit you still, oh ! why? 

"At Cribb's good shop let Tom Spring stop, in him shall I discover 

The black-eyed youth that beat the lad who cross'd the water over ? 

I will not rise with weary eyes, nor lay my tankard down. 

To gaze ou Langan's conqueror, with all the guzing town." 

Ko. 2. — The Lament for THURTELL.t 

A LOUD Lament is heard in town — a voice of sad complaining — 

The sorrow Whig is high and big, and there is no restraining. 

The great Lord Mayor, in civic chair, weeps thick as skeins of cotton. 

And wipes his eyes with huckaback, sold by his own begotten. 

Alas, says he, thy thread of life is snapt by sheers of Clolhor 

And a winding sheet, a yard-yard-wide, enwraps thee, O, my brother ! 

* The late Earl of Coventiy, (the Lord Deerhurst of 1823,) had the honor 
of diiving Spring, in his four-in-hand, to the battle-field. He backed him 
heavily and won on him largely.— M. 

t Thurtell, son of an Alderman of Norwich, executed for the murder, in the 
winter of 1823, of William Weare, a gambler, near GiU's Lane Cottage, Hert- 
fordshire. He was an unmitigated ruffian, with heart and nerves of iron, -^M. 

tkmim far Humodte TbifdMrwdi Hgwl^ hmA-imlMgrJm^Tkma^ 'J 


Tlw dovw n4 itMb «h» Beat St BiMW,* «b IVB^i^ ImI, I 
AmI slHtkA in AIb M ntdlBsIf ■• dMj flMii 
0. I7 dM b<» of Ckwkj ffls, and I7 hit I 

Wilt if he ct the fcWa ihrot m ^hi— ilil iiji u, rir, 

lie oely Kke onr own WUg caee, ft bit dM vane ftr vMTt dr ; 

Whtt i^ after ewelkiviBf bnine aftd yoed, Iw ete feik dnpe 1I1(A tiMle, 

8ve» don't «Mawa]l(NraB7tiiiaff Ahe! te Wb% JMcTlMttcffl] 

Lmd BjioD, gentlenmi it he, wIm viilee far geod Dob Jaaat 
HftBfted vfaeft 1117 Lord Oaadenai^ acUeml hie lifi^e Mdefag.t 
No T017 haid, that we hftve h u e id , eo Mvagft «ae or airff* 
Ae to cioir o'er caMhroet WUthread Sa«, or ullkuai fiaai BoMiB j4 
We lai^ at llieni— tliegr eight triih ve— wa hate then eov aad Sumw^ 
Tet BOW dieir gneae win 4r froat dnn ae4idek at %hlt af anmr, 
Wlndi Mr. Giay, ia ode weald taj^thraivh iha daih eir dohavde«— 
f ia conccrtwiib ounehee^Aleet ftrWUf JaekHnrtalU 

* Brookt' it a Club in London which nted to be peealieriy Whi;, when there 
wtra only |wo political partiet (Whip and Toiy) in Bagknd. — ^M. 

f In "The Libera]/' (the quarterly periodical etCabHshed, at Pita, in 18X2, 
by Lord Byron, in conjunction with Leig^h . Hunt,) appeared three epigrams, 
totally unwortliy of the Author of Childe Harold, whether as a poet or a man. 
The Marquis of Londonderry, (better known as the Lord Castlereagh wbo 
virtually carried tlie parchment Union between Irehmd and Great Britain,) w^t 
Foreign Secretary of England from 1812 until 1822, when he committed sui- 
cide. On tins person, and his fate, it pleased Lord Bjrron to be facetious. 
The last, and least offensive of his epigrams on this suicide ran tlius : 
*' So /fe has cut his throat at last ! — He .' Who ? 
The mun who cut his countiy's long ago." 
The rhyme, reason, and delicate feeling of such a couplet ore on a par. — M> 

t Samuel ^Vhitbread, for many years a member of Parliament and head of 
the great potter brewery in Chiswell-Strect, London, was a leading member 
of the Whig party, and, as such conducted the impeachment of Lord Melville 
in 1805. Ho died by his own hand in 1815. — Sir Samuel Romilly, who for 
many yeara was tlie leading Chancery lawyer in England, wos Solicitor Gen- 
eral during the brief administration of Mr. Fox, in 1806, and eminently dis- 
tinguished himself by his constant effoits to revise and mitigate the criminal 
code. He was a Whig in politics. Li 1818, he perished by suicide. — It it 
true, as Mnginn states, that neither the Tory press nor the Tory party exhibited 
BJty joy on the death of Whithroad or Bomilly. On the contrary, they ex- 
prcned, and no donbt felt* great lorrow at their nntimely death.-— M. 


He wai a Whig — a true, true Whig — nil property he hotod 

In funds or land, in purse or hand, — tithed, snluned, or estated. 

When he saw a fob, he itch'd to rob, the genuine whiggish feeling ; 

No matter what kind was the job, fraud, larceny, cheating, stealing. 

Were he a peer our proud cnreer he'd rule in mansion upper, 

In the Lower House, behind him Brougham would amble on the crupper. 

Like Ben net Grey, or Scarlett J.* he'd wield the poleoxe curtal 

(My rhymes are out) 'gainst Miiii«tcrs ! Alas ! for Whig Jnck Thurtell ! 

* Grey Bennett and Sir James Scarlett (iifterwards Lord Abinger, and Chief 
Baron of the Exchequer,) were leading members of the Whig opposition in 
1824. — M. 


iSloore-i0li MtloiitB* 


The last lamp of the alley 

Is burning alone ! 
All its brilliant companions 

Are shivered and gone. 
No lamp of her kindred, 

No burner is nigh, 
To rival her glimmer. 

Or light to supply. 

I'll not leave thee, thou lone one ! 

To vanish in smoke ; 
As the bright ones are shattered, 

Thou too slmlt be broke : 
Thus kindly I scatter 

Thy globe o*er the street ; 
Where the watch in his rambles 

Thy fragments shall meet. 

Tlien home will I stagger, 

As well as I may ; 
By the light of my nose sure 

I'll find out the way. 
• "When thy blaze is extinguished, 

Tliy brilliancy gone. 
Oh ! my beak shall illumine 

The alley alone. 


'Tis the lust glass of Claret, 

Left sparkling alone. 
All its rosy companions 

Are clean d 07it and gone. 
No wine of her kindred. 

No Red Port is nigh, 
To reflect back her blushes, 

And gladden my eye. 

^ These appevir(^i\ in the hUorm-y Qazttit Cot Ift-iO, 1821, and 1822.— M. 


ril not leave thee, thou lone one, f 

This desert to crown : 
As the bowls are all empty, 

Thou too sbalt float down. 
Thus kindly I drink up 

Each drop of pure red, 
And fling the bright goblet 

Clean over my head. 

So soon may dame Fortune 

Fling me o'er her head. 
When I quit brimming glasses. 

And bundle to bed. 
When Champaigne is exhausted, 

And Burgundy's gone. 
Who would leave even Claret, 

To perish alone. 


Rich and rare was the chain he wore, 

And a long white wand in his hand he bore ; 

But oh ! his paunch strutted far beyond 

His bright gold chain, and his snow-white wand. 

** Oh, Alderman, dost thou not fear to go. 

Where the tuitle shall smoke, and the Burgundy flow 7 

Are the doctors so sparing of lancet and pill. 

Not to physic or bleed thee for this night's swill ?" 

" Grood ma'am," said he, " I feel no alarm ; 
Nor turtle nor Burgundy does me a harm ; 
For though of your doctors I've had a score, 
I but love good eating and drinking the more." 

Ou he went — and his purple nose 
Soon over dish, platter, and bottle glows : 
And long may he stuff, who thus defied 
Lancet, pill, bolus, and potion beside. 


" Young Love:' 

Tom Stoxes liv'd once in a garret high 
Where fogs were breathing. 
And smoke was wreathing 


•Oh,Wf ii^a.Tte^*biK7Mr gMdbyv.- 
&— MLUnraMATB 

Habk! BilHifmna aa 
lUto o'fr tk* na, 

FaUiBf fiflit fraoB tone 

Where Kerry men be ; 
And fishwvNnen's T<Mces 

Boar «>Ter the deep. 
And waken artrand as 

The bfllows from sleef*. 

Our potitoe boat geatly 

Wadea orer the wave. 
While they call oae aaothec 

Rbgue, baggage, and knaTa! 
We listen — we liaten — 

How happj are we, 
To hear the sweet matic 

Of beauteous Tralee ! 

TVU is scarcely a Moore-ish a<nijwi.— M. 

M00BB-I3H IfELODlES. 238 

When he, who adores thee, has loft but the dregs 

or such famous old stingo behind, 
Oh ! say will he bluster or weep ; no, ifegs ! 

HeMl seek for some more of tho kind. 
HoMI bugh, and though doctors perhaps may condemn, 

Thy tide shall efface the decree, 
For many can witness, though subject to phlegm, 

He has always been fuithful to thee! 

With thee were the dreams of his earliest love. 

Every rap in his pocket was thine, 
And his vei->' last prayer, every moiiiing, by Jove, 

Was to finish the evening in wine. 
How blest are the tipplers whose heads can outlive 

The e£fects of four bottles of thee. 
But the next dearest blessing that heaven can give, 

Is to stagger home muzzy from three ! 


To the Finish I went, when the moon it was shining, 

The jug round the table moved jovially on ; 
I staid 'till the moon the next morn was declining — 

Tlie jug still was there, but the pdnch was all gone ! 
And such are the joys that your brandy will promise, 

(And often these joys at the finish I've known) 
Eveiy copper it makes in the evening ebb from us. 

And leaves us next day with a headache aluno ! 

Ne'er tell me of puns or of laughter adorning 

Our revels, that last till the close of the night, 
Give me back the hard cash that I left in the morning. 

For clouds dim my eye, and my pocket is light. 
O ! who's there who welcomes that moment's returning. 

When daylight must throw a new light on his firame — 
When his stomach is sick, and his liver is burning, 

His eyes, shot with blood, and his brow in a^ume ! 


^ntcboUs anb Karelia.* 

A LATE member for Trinity College, Dublm, fonnd Limself 
seated one day at a large dinner, given by one of tbe senior 
fellows of tbat university, near a young man to wbom he had 
not been introduced. They, however, soon entered into con- 
versation ; and the M. P. was quite delighted by the colloquial 
powers and great infoimation of his neighbour. He took an 
early opportunity of asking his host the name of the young 
gentleman. " I thought you knew him," was the reply. " It is 
the new Fellow." (It is to be remarked, that the Fel- 
lows of Trinity College, Dublin, vote for members of Parlia- 
ment, and are generally very influential in elections.) " Ah !" 
said the member, ** is that the case ? I really felt an attraction 
for him." " I do no doubt it," replied Dr. Kyle ; " it must be 
an elective attraction*' 

At the Irish bar, Ninian Mahafiy, Esq. is as much above the 

middle size, as Mr. Collis is below it. (Mr. Mahaffy, in Curran's 
life time, was Deputy to Sir Jonah Barrington, Judge of the 
Admiralty in Ireland, and whenever he presided there, Curran 
used to say, that Court was very ^iXy called, the higJt Court of 
Admiralty.) When Lord Eedesdale was Lord Chancellor in 
Ireland, Messrs. Mahaffy and Collis happened to be retained in 
the same case a short time after his Lordship's elevation, and 
before he was acquainted personally with the Irish bar. Mr. 
Collis was opening the motion, when Lord R. observed ; " Mr. 
Collis, when a barrister addresses the court, he must stand." 
" I am standing on the bench, my Lord," said Collis. ** I beg 
a thousand pardons," replied his Lordship, somewhat confused ; 
♦* sit down, Mr. Mahaffy." " I am sitting, my Lord," was the 
reply to the confounded Chancellor. 

On this occasion, the following epigram, (attributed, as every 
pun in Ireland, good or bad is, to Lord Norbury, but really the 

* From tije Literary Gazette fov 1820, 1821, and 1822.— M. 


production of a barrister then eminent, but now retired fi'om the 
bar) was composed. 

Mahaffy and\]lolIi«, ill paired in a case, 
BepresentaliveB true of the rattling size nco ; 
To the heights of the law, though I hope you will rise 
You -will never be judges, I'm sure of astize. 

The motto of the city of Cork arms is, " Statio lenefida cari- 
nis," altered from the malefida of Virgil ; and most deservedly, 
witb regard to the harbour of Cork. The city arms are of 
coarse commonly adopted for signs to houses of entertainment. 
But the ingenuity of a sign-painter has, by a happy blunder, 
made the motto quite appropriate for an eating-house, over which 
his graphic pencil has displayed the arms. He has exhibited it, 
" Statio benefida carnis,'* (omitting the central i,) which may be 
translated, " An excellent place for meat.'' 

The following anecdote of General Ross, the incendiary of 
Washington, has never we believed appeared in print. He was 
educated in Trinity College, Dublin, during the Provostship of 
Hutchinson, who was pretty generally disliked in College, and 
accused of keeping it in a perpetual ferment of electioneering 
and other intrigues. In carrying on these, he frequently made 
use of the assistance of his son's tutor, Adair, (afterwards Dr. 
Adair, master of a highly respectable classical school in Fer- 
moy, who has been some years dead) and he of course shared 
the unpopularity of his employer. Eoss and he had a particu- 
lar quarrel, and the future general revenged himself on his an- 
tagonist, by caricaturing him (for which art he had a peculiar 
talent) in the act of bestowing a salutation on a very unseemly 
part of the provost's person, with the motto of " tenacem p^ce- 
positi vimm." He pasted it on the College gate, and it nearly 
procured him the honours of an expulsion. 

Puns on names are so easy to make, and so hard to be com- 
prehended, except on the spot where they are vented, that it is 
seldom worth while to write them. Perhaps this may pass. A 
member, of parliament who was paying his addresses to a lady 

pariiamentaiy iSnty, and ratomed in a yeij dhoti ^tiBMLoAdtt-^* 
being remarked thai. he had not itksjmi: kMK in dili.MBtn»polit, 
it waa replied, that he had hwrinoat to attend t6 at htaie,6om 
whichheeoaldnotbehuigahaeilt ^lWy*'Mida|iekJKi^ 
^— — can be abaent for daysp bat itii 'qnite unpoariUa. l|e 
ahoold be 80 for Weeki:* ^ "" 

• •■ • . . ■• ":<'-. ■ ■ :-.::• 

Miss EooBWORTH has i^^ritteti & moet witty esmy on Iiisli Bulls, 
in which she is veiy eager to defend our honest n^aighboiirs at^m^ 
the diannel from the imputation of bull-making. Slw licrBelf 
howem appears to have fallen into tLe practice^ whicb is tery 
eontagioiia» in the fblloxviiig passage of lier life of Iter fatlier^^ 
we know not^whather ^n jest or earnest, Bbe tells us (Edge- 
worlh*8 Memoirs, yoL 2, p< 255)t ** The last letter poor Jobnsou 
ever wrote* or I shoidd ra ihnv say , diet a t e tl , w a s 1 1 > my f^ 1 1 1 1 er| 
it was in his nephew's handwnBng, and gives the following sc- 
count of his death.^ JDr. Johnson,- H ITis sdd, iMJBetiidt m 
ghosts ; bnt we think it still harder tobeBere that his nam^ssMe 
wrote or even dictated a letter, contdning an account of his 
own deatb. 

Another. — The translator of Madam de Laroche Jacqnelln's 
Memoirs, has caused that noble lady to make a very fair boll, 
%Yithoat, we presume, any co-operation on her part. Tlie me* 
moirs are dedicated to the children, and the translator makes her 
use the following sentence, in addressing them : '* I feel a mourn- 
ful pleasure in recounting to you the life and death of your pa- 
renU and fiiends." This admirable blunder, which makes a 
mother tell her children of the death of their parents, must 
arise from ignorance of the meaning of the Fi*ench word parens 

Among the apologies received by the Lord Chancellor from 

Peers praying to be excused attendance on the Queen's tiisl, 

the Morning Chronicle seriously states one urging a rerysaC- 

ichntreaam, namely, ""Tbe ^yskax<^ of Oloyne, deAdP* Xbas 


we see that the fact of postbnmons correspondence does not rest 
only on Miss Edgeworth's aathority. 

.Fruit and Timber. — In the Commercial Dictionary for Ire- 
land, Scotland, &c. lately published (which by the way is a 
most ridicnloasly incorrect work) under the head Dungarvon, is 
the following paragraph. " It [Dungarvon] was formerly noted 
for its export of frait and timber to Dublin ; but the trade has 
lately declined, and in its place has sprung up a considerable 
ezpoi*t of com, butter, and provision, to the ports of the English 
Channel," p. 191. Emit and timber! Somebody must have 
been laaghing at the unfortunate compiler, for the export of 
Dungarvon, designated by this splendid title, was literally no 
more than potatoes arid brooms. The joke is quite proverbial in 
the South of Ireland ; and it seems hardly possible even far a 
bogman to have been humbugged by it. 

An Irish Tribute to General Vallencey. — The Gen- 
eral was regarded by some of the Milesians of Ireland with 
enthusiastic affection, for his exertions in the cause of the an- 
cient literature and history of that country. Many odd proofs 
were given of this feeling. Among the rest, the veteran used to 
tell with the utmost good humour, that a Kerry gentleman wait- 
ed on him in Killamey with a knife of antique fashion, which 
he presented him with these words : " General, this knife has 
been in my family one hundred and fifty years, during which 
time it had only three blades and two handles ; and though it is 
a family relic, it is perfectly at your service, for the zale you 
have shown in the cause of ould Ireland. I got the last blade 
in yesterday, and the last handle a month ago, that I might give 
you this rale antiquity as perfect as possible." 

Baron Smith's Riddle. — Some men of tlie greatest talents 
have taken delight in composing or endeavoming to unravel 
riddles. Dean Swift is a case in point. Sir William Smith, the 
learned Irish Baron of the Exchequer, at one time spent two 
days and nights in considering the answer to this conundrum : 
Why is an ^^^ underdone, like an egg overdone 1 He would 


M>l saSbf imj one to give bim tlie answeri wliicli \m at last dli 
coTcied* It Is a tolerable pan enongli- Because they are htytlv 
kar^y done. ^j 

Iri^ii Bank§. — There lias been sad Iiavock aniong tlie soulK- 
er» banks of Ireland within tLese few raonttis, and of course 
their failures hare fitmisbed XGry constant topics of conrersa- 
tbut with respect to tbeir presnnied solvency. A dispute arose 
about tbe coinpamtiTe merits of tbe bauks cjf Cork and Clon- 
niell* in one of these couTersations, ** 1 own/* said one of the 
eompanji '* 1 prefer Clonmell to Cork* In the former, the bauks 
«pe always on the Sure mdtf and in the latter, as constantly on 
tbe Let iide.'' The Sair and Lee are tbe rivers on wbich the^e 
towns stand, 

A Hebbew Ptn, for tub Bexkflt of Hebraists oxly, — 
A Jew not long since failed for a considerable sum* and a met't* 
ing of bis creditors was of course ealled. On examining his ac- 
counts one of these gentlemen e;^ pressed bis apprehensions that 
thp bankrapt would be very defective, " Indeed," said a brother 
Israelite, " I am sorry to agree with you ; he will be a defective 
in Pe Hun*' (pay noue). 

Pun Pbosodial. — The facetious Jeremy Keller, one of tbe 
oldest and most respectable members of the Irish bar, was once 
rallied, by a brother barrister, for not prefixing an O to his name. 
O'Keller, Jeremiah O'Keller! "Why," said he, "the very 
sound would give you a claim to undoubted antiquity of family." 
" Nay," replied Mr. Keller, " I agree with old Alvany, O datur 

A Bull from England. — In the eighteenth number (tf the 
Imperial Magazine, published in the town of Liverpool, we have 
the following passage in a paper on 'Ancient Manners and Gas- 
toms of the English.' " The nuns of St. Mary Kmgston, in Wills, 
were often seen coming forth into the N3rmph Hay, with tliek 
ro<SkB and wheels to spin, sometisnea to the nnmber of setretfy; 


all of whom toere not nuns, bnt young girls sent th^e for educa- 
tion." So the nuns of St. Mary's were not nuns, according to 
this Imperial bull-breeder. 

A Bull from Ireland. — A gentleman in a provincial city 
of Ireland, who had been for a couple of weeks employed on 
valuation juries, was summoned on the petty jury for the assizes, 
which unluckily for him commenced on the day the valuations 
had concluded. He was a good deal vexed at this new intrusion 
on his time, and in his indignation exclaimed, " Why then, is not 
this too bad ! I am here put on this curst jury, after having 
been on juries a fortnight this iceek*^ 

A Considerate Man. — A basket woman coming out of a 
market-place in a town in Ireland, loaded with a basket full of 
provisions, met a very parsimonious gentleman, who observed 
that she was rather heavily laden. " Ah ! God bless you, sir," 
answered she, " you were always a considerate man, you never 
break poor women's bricks by loading them with your joints of 

The late Sir Boyle Roche, in Ireland, was usually set down 
as the author of all description of bulls in his time ; and he 
really used to make a great many. He however vented some 
tolerable witticisms, and in fact, it was pretty generally suspected 
that the bulls were very often designedly made, to amuse his 
companions in the Irish House of Commons. One of his puns 
is perhaps worth preserving. It was argued in his presence, 
whether Dante or Milton was the superior poet. " I think," 
said he, " Horace, a very competent judge of poetry, has decided 
against Dante long ago." " Horace !" said one of the dispu- 
tants, expecting a new bull ; " when could Horace say any thing 
about Dante ]" " Don't you recollect," replied Sir Boyle, " that 
he asserts most roundly Dante minor 1 Ep. I. xvi. 22." 

Dr. Wade, agricultural professor to the Dublin Society, some- 
times lectures his class in the fields, among the productions on 
which he is lecturing. As he was thus employed one day, 

of die beds; ftr yoa kaovOhe iMdtf always leeoaoMad 


feeEiisi of lu iMie, eoneenivg W deewtia 
TlMe k andi fbitin of dia Jame Unl in 0'&4;n'e ; 
ef Cnna; InAImi vwjMdkipdinea «iAi 
•ocnmeskM. lia Isctaid it fa Teiy fffwuHr MBwdfAet 
Mn. Cumi was aa uImmI^ afnsi {WqBWff>,aBd. rim. 4MI|I^ 

midkt ebtained aguiMd, htK migfmti fmmmmt. iffmtfit^ 
stoma am eomiil with leq^ Id Ae enofcHCA^ 1^^ 
trial ; and Goiran was so anxioos to lunder the proeeedinp oi| 
it from obtaining publicity, that be had notices served on all the 
newspapers of Dublin, ei^oining than not to publish it ; and ac- 
cordingly it never was given to the public. 

The reason that inclines me to think that he never felt veij 
severely on his matrimonial misfiNtone is the great levi^ wiUi 
which he was frequently in the habit <^ speaking about it A 
Qouple of coarse jests on the subject have c<^e to my knowl- 
edge ; for the accuracy of the first of which I can positively 
vouch, and the second I have on tolerably good authority. 

Hb was a fine musician, and bad frequently coneetts in his 
house in Dublin. At one of these, a young hamster at Goik» a 
distinguished amateur, bore a part After the- concert had con- 
cluded, Curran went up to him and said, " Well, H. what ds 
you think of that 1 Do you not think it at least as good as any 
of your Cork concerts?" "Why," replied his friend, " it was 
very fine ; but in Cork we can procure military ntiiste iMidi 
more readily than you can in Dublin : the want "of -it was t^ 


dificarnible in yoor concert ; for instance," said he, repeating a 
passage, "-wonld not the French horn have made a great im- 
provement there 1" " Well, H." said Curran, laughing, " you 
are the first who has complained of the want of hems in my 

On another occasion, he and the late Sir Richai'd Musgrave, 
the historian of the Rebellion in Ireland, whose lady*s frailties 
were numerous and notorious, met at the house of a common 
friend. They were decidedly hostile in politics to each other, 
and had even proceeded to personal altercations. On being 
sammKmed up-stairs to the dining-room, they happened to arrive 
at the foot of the stairs together, and, as is usual on snch occa- 
sions, when enemies meet, their behaviour was ceremoniously 
polite. Weary at length of alternately conceding the paSf Sir 
Bichard, assuming an air of familiarity, took him by the arm, 
and said, "Well, well, let us settle the matter by walking np 
together." " Pardon me, Su: Eichard," replied Curran, ** that 
is impossible ; our antics would entangle ! " He that could jest 
thus, could not feel deeply. 

I HAVB heard also, that ^on the day of the trial in which his 
wife's character was involved, he appetired in an obscure comer 
of the court, where however he could be seen by the opposing 
lawyer, and there diverted himself with putting him out during 
his speech, by erecting his fore-fingers over his ears, making faces 
and performing various droll gesticulations, fi)r which he had a 
peculiar talent. Whether this be true or not, I cannot say ; but 
it is commonly believed ; and I am sure that could he hear half 
the eloquence bestowed on his woes by Phillips, he would laugh 
outright in his face. That he had not a very high opinion of his 
biographer, the following anecdote will evince : — He came into 
PhilHps's room one day while he was writing, and inquired what 
he was about. " I am writing a speech, sir," was the reply ; 
" and I can tell you that I intend to give your firiend, Mr. Grat- 
tan, 8 rating m it." " Never mind it, Charley," said Curran, 
*^ never mind it ; it wotdd only be a child throwing a stone at 
the leg of a colossus^" 

Vol. II.— 11 


Curran's talent were of the very first order, but they were 
too often sadly misapplied ; and the stem moralist would find 
much to censure, both in his public and his private life : but he 
was a highly fascinating man in conversation. His wit, his 
drollery, his eloquence, his pathos, were all irresistible. The 
only defect in him in this respect was a love of acting, which 
made his wit often degenerate into mere buffoonery, and his 
pathos into canting and overstrcuned sentiment. It must have 
been in some of these latter moods that his biographers observed 
his sensibility ; but there never was any thing real in it. It 
was often put on even to convey ill natured remarks ; and as 
this straggling notice (which has far outstripped the bounds I at 
first intended), has been little than a vehicle of jests, I shall 
conclude by giving another, connected with this splenetic ten- 
derness of heart. At a supper party in Brighton, I believe^ he 
began to lament the desolation of his old age : he was a solitary 
unfortunate old man, he said, who had not even a child he eould 
call his own. His son was sitting at table toith him at ike very 
time. This observation created much disgust in the company ; 
and a young barrister who was present, in relating it afterwards to 
an elder brother of the profession, added, with much vehemence, 
" By G — if my father had said so in my presence, I would have 
forgotten all filial reverence, and knocked him down." " Ay," 
said the senior, " that ^^ ould certainly prove you were not a 
natural son." 

Irish Counties. — During the rebellion of 1798, Ireland 
was subject to the severe discipline of militaiy law, and sentries 
were placed in every important situation, with the strictest orders 
not to let any person pass after nine o'clock at night without 
a knowledge of the proper pass- word. The Comte de Clermont, 
a French emigrant residing in Dublin, had unluckily staid out 
one night beyond the prescribed hour, and on endeavouring to 
get into the castle, where he slept, was stopped of course by 
the sentry, who was inexorable. " Oh, sare," said the angry 
Frenchman, " you must let me in ; je suis — I am the Comte de 
Clermont." "A county Clare man!" replied the soldier — 
"devil a bit of me would care if you were a county Kerry mau. 


or even come out of tbe heart of Tipperary like myself: clear 
my post/' continued he, repelling the count, '' or you will never 
see the county Clare in your days again." 

Province of the GHiMiERA. — A student, from the south of 
Ireland, in the university of Dublin, who was unfortunately, at 
the same time, so idle as to stand in need of continual prompt- 
ing at examinations, and so deaf as to be almost incapable of 
benefiting by it, was once asked by his examiner, " What was 
the GhimsBra V* He instantly cocked his ear to catch a whisper 
from his neighbour, who, vexed at seeing him so ignorant, said, 
rather impatiently, " Why, 'tis a monster, man !" The deaf 
scholar taking the prompt imperfectly, cried out with the ut- 
most confidence, *! The chimsera, sir, why sure every body knows 
he is a Munster-man / " 

The ruling Passion strong in Death. — All through Ire- 
land, the ceremonial of wakes and funerals is most punctually 
attended to, and it requires some spavoir Jaire to carry through 
the arrangement in a masterly manner. A great adept at the 
buaness, who had been the prime manager at all the wakes in 
the neighbourhood for many years, was at last called away from 
the death-beds of his friends to his own. Shortly before he died, 
he gave minute directions to his people, as to the mode of wak- 
ing him in proper style. " Recollect," says he, " to put three 
candles at the head of the bed, after you lay me out, and two 
at the foot, and one on each side. Mind now, and put a plate 
with the salt on it just a-top of my breast. And, do you hear, 
have plenty of tobacco, and pipes enough. And remember to 
make the punch strong. And — but what the devil is the use 
of talking to you ; sure, I know, you'll be sure to botch it, as I 
won't be there myself." 

A WINDOW tax collector in Ireland, a man of convivial habits, 
was pressing a friend of his after dinner to fill his glass. ** I 
have filled," said the other. " Ay," replied the taxman, *' but 
not full." "Well," said his friend, "you are too strict in your 
office ; cannot even a sky-light escape you ?" 

lOT or Mr, pLrMErr. — In 1818, when Wt, Plunkett 

I Mt. CrokcTp oi the Ajdmifalty, were candidateB at the gen* 
end electioii (tlie latter being the g^oremmeDt eaudidate) for the 
Mpvesetitiitioii of the College* DnbUn, a gentleman asked Mr* 
P. whellier Mr, Beagh, one of the fellows of the College, would 
rn$m iW him ^— ** He w\\\;' replied Mr. F. ; " K he did not, ho 
wouM he m Ou/Zr Ee«gli." 

Tkb Ute Br. HndsoD, of Dnhlinp haTing acqitired & lafgi3 
Ihrtmie m a Demiht. btiilt a verjr beaotlfnl and expenaiTo hotiM 
«f Ikewtt Bt<m«^ adjoiniug Mr« Currants demesne, near Bathfam* 
httm, the front of whidi was ornamented with a handgome por- 
Ii60 kt iht Doiie order. Fnym the close friendship that s^iihBisted 
m long betw^Mii the% gentlemen , it may he supposed they 
■yml tog:ether almost every moment they could spare from pro- 
IbatiOfial porsnits, many of which were* of course, engaged in in- 
^pe^^ting the workmen employed at this building. On one of these 
oeemons, while watching the progress of the portico, Mr. Ctir- 
mn twmed to his fiknd, and said, *^ Well, Med ! though 1 have 
always admired the chaste simplicity of the Doric order, T 
wonder you conld have pfefSsRed «siy to the TcsK-an, which 
has such strong dahns on your gmtitade." 

It was on this same oeeasion, that Dr. H. having eongrata- 
lated Mr. Gmmoi on the felidty of his poBt the latter exebdmed, 
" Oh ! if I were punishbd for every puN-MHaD."— To which 
Dr. Hudson replied, «*K you were, Jadc^ you'd not be left a 



** Send for a chair— it blows so hard — I can't bear windy weather ; 
Now, you and I in one sedan can go quite well together," 
Said Mrs. Frump, while folding tight her shawl around each shoulder, 
She took the lean and withered arm of sweet Miss Nancy Holder. 

This Mistress Frump and Nancy dear were old maids stiff and stupid, 
Who long had been shot proof against the darts of cunning Cupid ; 
So now, good souls, they both were off to Lady Betty Randle, 
To have a little shilling whist, and talk a deal of scandal. 

Thechnir it came, and in they went, together sideways sitting, 
As closely packM as all the threads tljey just before were knitting. 
In minutes three they safe arrived, the double knock foretelling 
The fast approach of these two dames to Lady Handle's dwelling. 

Forthwith the bawling footman shewed up stairs Miss Nancy Holder, 
And Mrs. Frump ; while stared Mist Young, and Mrs. Young the older. 
*• Dear Lady Randle, how d'ye do ? I am vei^ glad to see you," 
Quoth Mrs. Frump. Miss Sugarfist cried, " Dear Miss Nan, how be yon?" 

" Miss Charlotte, I am quite rejoiced to have the boundless pleasure 
Of shaking hands, my love, you're looking charming beyond measure ; 
That roseate bloom upon your cheek outvies the soft carnation." 
" O lawk ! Miss Ann, you fluster me with such great admiration." 

Now, Mr. Sugarfist had been in tea and figs a dealer, 
Which was the cause Miss Sugai-fist, his child, was not genteeler ; 
He, having made a fortune large, and trade rro more admiring, 
Sold all his stock, and cut the shop and business, by retiring. 

Yet still he dealt'— that is, the, cards, for he to whisk was partial; 

His partner now, a soldier bold, was gallant Major Maitial, 

Who oft had seen much service hard, round Brentffrd, Kew, and Ryegute, 

And e*en that very day had march'd from Paddington to Highgate. 

By Mr. Sugarfist there «at, of turtle feasts a giver, 

A Nabob, who came home with gold, but not an inch of liver ; 

His partner was no less a man than portly Parson Sable ; 

Which, if you reckon right, you'll find just makes up one whist table. 

But next to these, a noisy set of talking Dames were playing 
At guinea Loo, and now and then a temper vile betraying. 
Miss Winter, Mrs.. Crookedlegs, Miss Glum, and Mrs. Hearty« 
With hump-back'd Lady Spindleshanks, exactly made the patty. 

* From Blackwood for October, 1822.— M. 


tTport tlie toft, Mr*, Frumpy Ae*r «hi1 ! Had iifimtletl down to 
Bonte »Jiil!ing whhU with Mm. Piirji, and lo ! n foreigTi Count, too ! 
Wtirt, 99 Dnme Fortun^i wiliM It, goati became her pfutucr cbo^^ni 
While Mr. Prtra, conf enia! man ! ml oppo*iie Mbi Frraen. 

Atima<d the room, in various partSf same moiley gx'iiJp* were Boatedt 
. In ano |ibce, Captuiti SpHuter bold, witli gmpfi {not ftbot) juica beaied, 
Madct 4le*p*rate work wiih Sophy Blazer who entire he memnt tu kill lieri 
For, ill tlie w-mrmlh of Jove, be fi"afp'd her bund jii*t Hka a tiller. 

Then, in ibo rocMti mdjiiccot, yotin^ MU» ^ncUi^ &nd Mist Parkingj 
Tti Ireni lb* compHTijs b^j^n through two dueti sky-Iarkbig* 
When Mr, Simple oik'd Alii* Quiz, *' In wh it key » re they pliiyiiig!'* 
** 'Tit w)me joii ore, — A ftar,'' »be auid, a bi ei^ring smile betxnyin^. 

fiow up and down the Ivoty keyi the Misses twain kept Bpi^g* 
A» if to make m grtnt n din aa could be lliey weic liying* 
Thi* o^er, diet kitid Miss Symphony^ ^iib lungs jiuieed Qppal]iiig, 
Bmt down before tUi! bttrpiicboid, and had a bout at AqMiiUing. 

While all these cJim^s were foirij^ on, Miss Holder, In a coi-ner. 
Had fix'd dpciii n inrbool girl, Miw lioDona Julia Horner, 
Wbo'd juMl Af^K to He tmne tmt; ao Nanny ^ by txpiwiaing' 
Tho hiatoiiifs of the folk* around, Mia& H. wat enteitiiiuing. 

'•Look there! d'ye sect that's GeneralBomb, jost come fin6m GRbralte; 
'Tis ramourM be will lead next week Miss Simper to the altar: 
He*s sixty-five, and she sixteen, — a pretty match this, truly!- 
No doubt, in time his brow will be with antlers cover'd duly. 

*' There goes Miss Flirt, who fancies she is able to discover 
In every man she dances with a true and ardent lover. 
And here comes Mrs. Paroquet, a widow young and wealthy, 
Who's waiting just to catch some peer, old, gouty, and unhealthy. 

" That kind of man with whiskers large, and hair that's rather sandy, 
A stiff cravat, gold chain and glass, is what they call a Dandy. 
Those ladies standing by the deor, and making such wry faces,. 
Because they've lost twelve poinU at cards, are call'd the faded Graces. 

" The youngest's only fifty-eight, the second sixty-seven ; 
The oldest, who is seventy-six, ought now to be in h eaven. 
Folks say they once were pretty girls, but would be always flirting ; 
A thing, my dear, the hopes of being nicely married hutting. 

** Now, goodness me ! as I'm alive ! there's little Fanny Sawyer 
Engaged in earnest chat with Mr. Honesty, the lawyer. 
If tliat turns out to be a match, I'm sure 'twill be a wonder. 
But only look at Mrs. Bounce witb one-ttrm'd Colonel Thunder. 


" Well) how some peopio can !— ^but see, the card parties are breaking, 
And yonder there's dear Mrs. Framp of tipsey-cake partaking." 
So>here Miss Holder's eloquence at once was put an end to, 
At sight of delicacies, %ihich she ever was a fnend to. 

Now Champagne bottles, knives and forks, plates, glasses, scandal, chatter. 
With laughter interspersed, began to make a glorious clatter. 
" Dear Colonel, pray be good enough to help me to a custard" — 
** A little lobster, if you please" — " 1*11 thank you for the mustard. 

*• Miss Holder, won't you take a seat?" — " What shall I have the pleasure. 
Miss Sugarfist, of giving you ?" — " Why, when you be at leisure, 
I'll take some raisins, if you please." — " That savours of the Grocer," 
Miss Clackitt whispered Mr. Pnm, ** her dad was one, you know, sir." 

Now Mr. Pnm, alas ! poor man! was veiy absent, making 
Sometimes great blunders, which would after set his heart an aching: 
Thus sage Miss Clackitt's shrewd remnrk to liim was quite a poser. 
Yet, just for answering's sake, he roar'd out, " Yes, her dad's a grocer !" 

On which Miss Charlotte's cheeks, poor thing, became as red as scarlet, 
And pouting like a sulky child, she sobb'd out, *' O the varlet!" 
But he, the cause of her dismay, stood looking blank and foolish ; 
While Dandy Bubble said, " Why, Prim, upon my soul ! 'twas coolish." 

Now other noises swell'd the roar: Good gracious! what's the matter? 

" O never mind, 'tis Sophy Blaze, again the Captain's at her : — 

I wonder if these rattling romps will end in ought like maniage !" — 

" Lord Random's Stanhope stops the way" — " Count Marnsquino's carriage." 

Then rose among the female tribe a strife of silk and satins. 
Miss Holder's chair's announced, and Mrs. Bubble's maid and pattens. 
In groups the company paired off; some chairing it, some walking, 
But all fatigued with doing nought, save playing cards and talking. 

As home our brace of old maids went, each passing watchman's warning, 
Proclaim'd, " Past two ;" said Mrs. Frump, " Dear me, 'tis Sunday morning ! 
Well, who'd have thought it ! what a shame ! now is it not. Miss Nancy 7 
I wish we'd come away before." (She told a lie, I fancy.) 

But hei*e to this my beauteous strain, at length I must say. Amen, 

And bid adieu to Lords and Counts, to Ladies gay, and gny Men ; 

And much I hope, although these things sometimes should not be slighted. 

When next her Ladyship's '*at home," I may not be invited. 



if ARK ! Imrk .' thn sharp Toice of Old Christopher Noiih 
Ringfl out frum Edina, the ^m of the Forth : 
The year twenty-three like a vapour hat past, 
And he's ncorcr by one twelvemonth more to his last. 
He dreads not that day — for he trusts he has stood, 
Though too freakish at times, yet in all by the good ; 
So he watches the march of Old Time without fear, 
And wishes you, darlings, a Happy New-Year. 

He greets you, because the dear bond of our love 
Is flourishing proudly all others above ; 
Hrr sons still as manly, her daughters as true — 
[He speaks of the many, and mourns for the few — ] 
That she still is the realm of the wise and the free, 
Of the Victors of Europe, the Lords of the Sea — 
And gratitude dims liis old eyes with a tear. 
While ho wishes you, darlings, a Happy New-Year. 


His benrt sings with joy, wlnle all round him he sera 
Her cilizons prosper, her cities increase, — 
Her taxi's diminish, — her revenues rise, — 
Her credit spring up, as her oaks to the skies, — 
Her coasts full of commerce, — her purses of gold, — 
Her granai-y witli corn, and with cattle her fold. 
He prays that for aye such may bo her career, 
And wishes you, darlings, a Happy New-Year. 

Ho is proud to see Monarchs bend low, cap in hand. 
To ask nid from her merchants, plain men of our land, 
To see them iheir millions so readily fling, 
And book down as debtor an Emperor or King: 
That a nod from her head, or a word from her mouth. 
Shakes the World, Old and New, Aom the North to the South ; 
That her purse rules in peace, as in war did her spear, 
And he wishes you, darlings, a Happy New-Year. 

** From Blackwood for .January, 1824. — It is given as addressed "To the 
True Men of the Land, from Christopher North." — M. 



Laugh, fiddle, and song, ring nut gay in the town, 

And the glad tally-ho cheers the dale and the down ; 

The rich man his claret can jollily quafT, 

And the happier poor man o'er hrown stout may laugh ; 

And the demagogue ruffian no longer can gull 

With Jacobin slang, for John's belly is full ; 

And 'tis only when hungry that sl^ng he will hear— 

So, Kit wishes you, darlings, a Happy New-Year. 

He rejoices to see every engine at work, 
From the steamer immense, to the sweet knife and fork; 
The weaver at loom, and the smith at his forge ; 
And all loyal and steady, and true to King George. 
Whigs, therefore, avaunt! there's no chance now for ye— 
We forget they exist in the general glee ; 
He beg9 you won't let them diminish your cheer. 
So he wishes you, darlings, a Happy New- Year. 


There's the King, bless his heart, long is likely to live, 

And the Duke at the head of the army to thiiye ; 

There's Wellington extant, who badger'd the Gaul, 

And Eldon still sitting in Westminster- Hall. 

There's Scott writing prose — and there's— who writing verse? 

Why, no one ; but, hang it, think never the worse. 

Sure, there's Christopher North writes your Magazine here, 

And wishes you, darlings, a Happy New- Year. 

In the midst of this wealth, of this national pride — 
Of our honour, our glories, spread far, far, and wide. 
While proudly wo traverse the sea and the sod, 
Let us never forget for a moment our God ! 
It was he raised us up, and, remember, his frown, 
If wo swerve from his cause, would as sooji cast us down ; 
But that so we shall swerve shall Old Kit never fear. 
And he wishes you, darlings, a Happy New- Year. 


UncBAllOiB mmiit^ Ae fMy imiUHlitiea of rank nnd station, 
I ilill daim il^ asa^penBar privOege, to review all books allied 
:totbl two gre&t sister sckQces of eating 
l*a M&giizine is tbe place, and mine ii 
Ae pen, imjpt'imi§» mr' iCixpr, and y><ir excellences consecrated to tlit 
j fafM i im of an nch dd%l|tful tkemeg. Let tlia Quarterlj re^ 
joiee m tfca noUa ait cf lioUmg down into ^ portable easciice^ 
tfca JMBwiia la c ai h Ki tlwM cf all vojug^rs hy land or sea ; let old 
Blaa and TaDov kaap vqpaticbed tke jangles and jagglerie^ of 
paBlieal aeioaij; kiTka Writer Tam glorify hiragelf In Jem 
8autti*li qpaiol Bttla ilittiai^ ^d hk brotlier's quamt little critt- 
cinat oa tfcaflMMna flaarialM of Harle^ Btreet, and Grower Street ^ 
let tfca lAmdam floondi oa tlie mist j dreams of tlie opnim eateri 
and 1^ dovB tfca law aaqiaestioiied as to the dnnkiD^ up botli 
of dnl and laadaaia : aaciiad to tbe fjaackme^ of the quack-doo* 
ton, be the pungent pages of Ae Scdpd: let Jdm KU vifante 
his horns ad libitum^ among the mercifnl bowels of Mr. Zacha- 
riah Macanlay : and let the Examiner be great as of old, in the 
reign of second-rate players, and fifth-rate painters. Let each 
man bnckle his own belt, according to the adage, and that in his 
own way : bat let me nnbnckle mine, and Inxnriate in the dear, 
the dainty, the delicate, paradisaical department of deipnoso- 
phism. — Above the rest, let thb Bottlb, and all that pertains 
to it, be my proper concern. Here indeed I am great. If Bar- 
row, as being himself a practised traveller, is fitted more than 
any other of our tribe for discussing the vagaries of the Panys, 
the Vauxes, the BasU Halls, the Fanny Wrights, the Edward 
Daniel Olarkes, and the' John Eae Wilsonst of our time — Surely 

* These remarkt on "The HitUyry of Ancient and Mo<)ern Wine*,*' were 
published in Blackwood for Joly, 1824. The vinous historian was Dr. Hender- 
son, of Aberdeen. — M. 

t Sir John Barrow, Secretary of the Admiralty from 1804 to 1845, was him- 
self a great traveller, the voluminous author of travels and biograpliies, and 
critic-general, in the Quarterly Review, of works of that class. He died in 
1848. — Sir Edward Party, the Arctic voyager, is yet alive and in offices in Lon- 
don.— Mr. Vaox wrote **A Tear's Residence in America," which give Mtie- 


I have at least as unquestionable a title for predominating oVer 
all that is connected with the circumvolutions of the decanters. 
It is recorded by Athenseus, that Darius, the great Darius^ com- 
manded them to inscribe upon his tombstone these memorable, 
itod even sublime words : "HAYNAMHN KAI OINON niNEIN 
nOAYN KAI TOVTON *EPEIN KAAQE:" which signify, bemg 
interpreted : *' Here lies Darius the King, who drank three bot- 
tles every day, and never had a headach in his life." I flatter 
myself that my epitaph might tell a similar story, without any 
impeachment of its veracity. 

The volume now in my eye, then, belongs in an especial man- 
ner to my province. At firat, on perceiving it to be a bulky 
quarto, you may be inclined to hesitate as to this : but when you 
put on your spectacles, and discover that the title is " The His- 
tory of Wines, Ancient and Modem," your scruples will evanish 
as easily as do the cobwebs of a Jeffrey beneath the besom of 
a Tickler. Turn over these costly pages, and feast your eyes 
with the delicious vignettes, that ever and anon glance out from 
between the leaves, like the ruby clusters of Bacchus himself, 
glowing amidst the foliage of some tall marriageable elm, or 
stately poplar ; pause upon these exquisite gems ; contemplate 
the rosy god in each and and all of these five thousand attitudes : 
worship him where, frantic and furious, he tosses the thyrsus 
amidst the a^tated arms of his congregated Msenades : adore 
him where, proudly seated upon the rich skins of the monsters 
whom he subdued, he pours out the foammg cup of wine and 
wisdom befoi'e the eyes of savage men, whom the very scent of 
the ethereal stuff hath already half civilized : envy him, where 
beneath the thick sliadow of his own glorious plant, he with one 
hand twines the ivy wreath around the ivory brows of Ariadne, and 
with the other approximates the dew of divinity to the lips of 
beauty. Feast, revel, riot in the elegance of the unrivalled 

faction to no one. — Basil Hall, in 1824, liad written only his Voyoge to Oorea 
and the Loo>Choo Island, and Extracts from a Journal on the Ooast« of Ghili, 
Peru, and Mexico. He died in 1844. — Fanny Wright, after having long been 
a reiident in the United Slates, died in 1853. — Dr. Clarke's Travels in Eui-ope 
and Asia, between 1794 and 1802, were very popular in their day. He died 
In 1821.— William Rae Wilson, known by his "Travels in the Holy Land," 
and other works, died in 1849. — M. 

and iK^I till theot 

iLe profoimd 

wkli wLich it k now 

Hi mmm ae^naintAiiee, aji<i tlijii 

V Dc ,%IiiiCTnikT MendetsiiD, 
iUi«k. tli0 ficst hffitorian of otm 

oC Hlemtef^ who 

— ^the eitensiTe 

and xoidacious 

I aC m Shohoq^ — and tbe 

gr gw ya ct^ to lie BmCf the 

d lit tfaA Jmanea^e sopeii' 

lie ^sme h« has chosen. 

f ii « mail£r of ininitelj 

*m tkm House of the same 

ajKiQ iktj iack auil 'li^ifocriij of tW miiidle afes, for one that will 
hotlhmr his hj^d w£b. tl* a»aE ItaBa& rqnUks of tlie same era : 
W^ woolii rathtfc kaT» ^aaB»iQ& BotJOMg toarlmBg the precise 
aataae of tk» SqiiMr vhif^ Sot Jokn Fabtaff qvafed» than the 
iMKt ii^3%a» wUdk bN«^ Chaikft ^e lint to tbe 
aad^ gve«t as ia ear l e q ^ eg fc &m Mju Tiaagan, there is still another 
dai^ vy^k peaaesies clainift iq^QA ent spapatluea»£Hr,£ur above 
tkat vbieb has ^ late ftoved ad cQfiOttdtj' froaft bis potatoe4mp * 
This w«ek» in a votd» is fittad to iatnesi fnd delig^ not one 
dMs 9i st«deiita» b«t aO. Tka cJasskal adiolar vill here find 
tbe best of aU cnmaiiiwIiTiwi on tbe motit del^tfnl passages of 
those <Migbtfnl inita8» whom be is aceastomed to tnm oyer 
vith a daily and a ni^itlj band : be will iqpeeolato npon the 
fiayooT that a Nestcnr Wed, and sit in eradite judgment over the 
hfitmoU binns of a Nero. The English antiqnaiian will e»}oj 
the flood of light that streams npon the joyons pages of Ben 
Johnson : verdea will no longer puzzle the Gifibrds, nor Peirr- 

* John Langnn, tbe Indi pogilitt. — M. 


9ameen be a stmnbling-block to tbe Nareses.* The man of 
science will analyse tbe effervescence of Sheeraz ; the Physician 
will hear the masterly defence of Claret against the charge of 
gontification, and retnm humanized to the exercises of his call- 
ing : the ecclesiastical historian will mourn with Dr. Henderson 
over the injuries done to the Medoc and the Cote d'or by the 
suppression of the monastic establishments of France : the lover 
of light reading will find the charms of romance united with the 
truth and dignity of history : The saint will have no lack of 
sighing, as he glances his grave eye over the records of human 
debauchery, and at the same time, he may, in passing, pick up 
a hint or two that will be of use at the next dinner of the Afri- 
can Association: The conscious wine-merchant will read and 
tremble : and every good fellow, from George the Fourth down 
to Michael Angelo the Second,t will read and rejoice. 

It was in England only, and perhaps in this age of England, 
that a work of this complete and satisfactory description could 
have been prepared. We produce no wines, and we are the 
great consumers of all the best wines of the globe. We are free 
from the violent prejudices, therefore, which induce the man of 
the Maine to turn up his nose at the flask of him of the Loire, 
and vice versa. We look down as from a higher and a calmer 
region, upon all the noisy controversies about the rival claims of 
the Lyonnais. and the Bordelais, the Mayne and the Bhein- 
gau. We can do equal justice to the sweets of Malaga and 
Bousillon, and despise the narrow-minded bigotry which sets up 
either Madeira or Sherry at the expense of the other's ancestral 

In former days, indeed, we partook, however absurdly, in the 
paltry prejudices which we now spurn with our heels. Time 
was when we were all for the Cypress — time was also when we 
were all for the Xeres grape — time was when little or nothing 
would go down with us but Hockamore — and time was when 
even Rhedycina's learned bowers resounded to strains not simply 
laudative of Oporto, but vituperative and vilipensive of Bourdeau:^, 

* The Pedro-Ximenes is the name of the best Malaga grape. — M. OD. 
t Michael Angelo Taylor, M. P. for Durham, who kept open table, during 
the Parliamentary session, for his Whig associates. — M. 


We have outlived these follies. We are now completely of 
the liberal school of winebibbing : oar grandsire's dumpy black 
bottle of sherry leaves the vicinity of the oven, and stands in 
friendly juxta-position with the long-necker of five year old 
demi-mou9seuXy and the doubly-iced juice of Schloss-Job^nis- 
berg that has been buried in the cave of caves ever since the 
great era of The Reformation. - The native of the Alto-Donro 
is contented to precede him of Gii-onne, as some stnrdy pioneer 
trudges in proud solemnity before the march of a battalion of 
Voltigeurs. The coup^emilieu of Gonstantia or Frontignac 
forms an agreeable link between the Sillery, which has washed 
down the venison, and the Hock, which is to add pungency to 
the partridge-pie. We take Ghambertin to the omelet, and San- 
teme to the tart. In a woi'd, we do justice to the boundless 
munificence of nature, and see no more harm in imbibing white 
wine and red wine, dry wine and sweet wine, still wine and 
s^mrkling wine, during the same repast, than we would in domg 
homage within the same fortnight to the ripe luxuries of a Ronai 
do Bognis, the airy graces of a Mcrcandotti, the vigorous charms 
of a Vostris, and the meek modest radiance of a Maria Tree.^ 
This speaks the spirit of the same unfettered age that can love 
a Vir»::il as well as worship a Homer; that places the bust of a 
Dauto bosiilo that of a Milton ; that binds the laurel on a Hogg 
— without rohbinj:: the brows of a Hesiod — and thirsts for Lord 
Hyron's autobioj^raphy without offering to sacrifice for its pur- 
chaso. oither the voracities of a Rock, or the decencies of a Faublas. 

On a work such as Blackwood, calculated for extensive and 
]>opuhir circulation, it would ill become an individual like my- 
self to obtrude much matter of a recondite and obscure order, 
or adapted to the intellectual taste of particular classes of read- 
ers only. Allow mo, therefore, to pass lightly over the disserta- 
tions with which this volume opens, touching the various vintages 
of the nations of antiquity. In tnitli, even the genius and erudi- 

• UiMiri do Bo^nis, a (listinoiiisliod VDrnlist, Meirnntlotti, a g^raceful Span- 
idh tiaust'use, who nianioil Mr. Hno:lu»s Ball — commonly called "Golden 
Ball," iVoin liis woallh ; Elizu liarlDJozzi, bettor known us Madame Vestria, 
»)nco a livoly urtroas nnd oxiroinoiy ill-conducted woman ; Maria Tree, (sister 
of Ellon Troo,) u cliunning^ English singer, who left the stage to mari^ Mr. 
Bmdshaw, ullerwanls M. P. for Cantorhnry." — M. 


tion of a Henderson have been able to scatter but an imperfect 
raj over subjects, mantled, as these are, with the shades of a 
long night of nearly two thousand years' duration. It is still, 
we must admit, dubious whether the wine that Telemachus drew 
out of the cellars of his royal father partook more of the nature 
of port or of sherry. The Homeric epithet of Black may mean 
either the deep hue inalienable fi*om the juice of the purple 
grape or the fine grave tinge merely which wines that are called 
white acquire, in consequence of being kept for several lustres, 
whether in glass bottles, according to the modem custom, or in 
earthem jars, after the manner of the heroic ages. That Nes- 
tor, however, drank, dui-ing the battle with which the 13th book 
of the Iliad opens, wine both of a red and of a strong sort, is 
indisputable. The epithets of dtButxp and i^9poi are used together 
in the same line, and their significancy is clear and obvious to 
the most German capacity. Dido, again, when she gave her 
fii-st grand dinner to the Trojan prince, appears to have sported 
something near akin to champagne. 

** Impioer liiiusit 
Spumantkm pateram/* 

The epithet impiger is admirably chosen, since the act is that 
of swallowing sparkling, or right mausseux wine — for a spumans 
patera can hardly be supposed to mean in the mouth of a writer 
80 chaste as Virgil, any thing short of that. He would not have 
talked of that as foaming, which, in point of fact, merely 
creajned; and while the rapidity of quaffing a cup oijbaming 
champagne cannot be too great, since the vinous principle of 
that wine evaporates in a great measure with the effervescence 
of the gas it embodies, a poet of Virgil's delicate taste would 
have been careful not to represent Bitias as tumbling down his 
throat, in that hasty and furious method, a glass of burgundy, or 
claret, or indeed of any other wine whatever. On the contrary, 
he would no doubt have pictured this " officer and gentleman" 
as sucking down his liquor in a quiet, decorous, leisurely, and 
respectful style, suffering his lips to remain as long as possible 
in contact with the rim, which had just been honoured by the 
touch of the imperial beauty. And, indeed, when I look at the 
passage again, nothing can be more admirable than the strict 


eoheflion and propriety of all the terms, applied either to what 
the Queen, or to what her guest, does. 

** Hie regina gravem gemmis aoroque poposcit 
Implevitqae mero pateram .... 
Primaque, libato, summo tenus attigit ore — 
Turn Bitias dedit increpitans : ille impiger liausit 
Spumantem pateram — et pleno te proluit auro." 

Ohserve the politeness of her Majesty. She merely touched 
the cup with the extreme edge of her charming lip ; not that 
she would not have liked abundantly to take a deeper shai*e, but 
that she knew very well her friend would not get the article in 
its utmost perfection, unless he caught the foam in its boiling 
moments — mmmo tenui att'tgit ore — and then how does she 
hand it to the Trojan? — Why increpitans to be sure ; in other 
words, saying, "Now's your time, my lord — be quick — don't 
bother with, drinking healths, but off with it — off with it like a 
man." This is the true meaning of the increpitans. Upon the 
impiger we have already commented — and what can be better 
than the fine, full close — so satisfactory, so complete, so perfect 
— pleno se proluit auro. He turned up the cup with so alert a 
little finger, that some of the generous foam ran down his beard 
— se proluit. As to the exact sense of 2^leno auro, I really can- 
not speak in a decisive style. Does it mean the full golden cup ] 
or does it rather point to the wine itself — the liquid gold? — the 
rich amber-coloured nectar? If this last be the truth of the 
the case, then Dido*s champagne was not of the Ay sort, which 
is almost colourless, but right Sillery, the hue of which is very 
nearly the same with that of gold in its virgin state — or perhaps 
Vin de la Marechahy which generally has even a deeper tone. 
Pink champagne it certainly could not have been, since, what- 
ever might have been the case at a subsequent period of the 
entertainment, it is impossible that a lady who had just sat down 
should mistake the brightness of the rose for the transparency 
and indeed pellucidity of the dare. 

N. B. — Many people read the works of the classics merely 
for the words, the language, the poetry, the eloquence and s(/ 
forth. This is highly absurd. Lessons of practical sense and 
real wisdom are lurking in every page, if one would but look for 


tbem. And here, for example, the Virgiliati narrative of the 
Carthaginian banquet affords an excellent hint to many worthy 
persons, who, I hope, will attend to the thing, now that I have 
fairly pointed it out. Champagne should always be given in a 
large, a very large glass. PatersB are out of date, but ale-glasses, 
or at least tumblers, are to be found in every establishment; 
and he who gives champagne in a thimble, betrays the soul of a 

But let us get on : I hate the chat of those beauo^espritSf who 
dare to cast out insinuations against the wines that bedewed the 
lips of the Anacreons and the Horaces. They mixed sea-water 
with their wine in making it, says one : They put honey in it, 
cries another : They drank it sorely diluted, grumbles a third : 
It tasted of pitch and rosin, mutters a fourth. I despise this. 
When we shall have reared buildings equal to the Parthenon or 
the Coliseum : when we shall have written poems as sublime as 
the Iliad, and as elegant as the Pervigilium Veneris : when our 
statuaries rival the Phidiases and Praxitileses : our historians, 
the Tacituses and Thucidideses ; our philosophers, the Platos 
and Aristotles, — (Aristotle, by the way, wrote a History of 
Wines, which has unfortunately perished, and I heartily wish 
all his metaphysics had gone instead;) — when our orators, 
shall rival the Cieeros and Demostheneses of antiquity, then, 
and not till then, shall we be entitled to imagine the palates of 
those great men were less refined than our own. Can any man 
presume to dream, that Falemian was not every bit as good as 
Sherry? — Only think of that picture which Horace has given 
us of human beatification — 

" Seu te in remoto gramine per dies 
Festos reclinatum beans 

Interiore noU Falemi !" 

Do you not see him before you? — ^Spread out at full length 
upon the remote herbage, far away from the din of cities, fling- 
ing all the hum of men and things a thousand leagues behind 
him, he devotes not the night, not the afternoon, but the day, 
the whole of the blessed festival day, to the employment of 
making himself happy — what English circumbendibus can do 
justice to the nervous and pregnant conciseness of the word 



ft — With & flask of FaleTnlmi from the deetfest recessegof 
B»f^ii§m0rt9fiiA i-V/^-mi/ and hem is / — What wordii 
wm tlkftiiet W«a tlMfl n man that dlt! not [possess t\w right ustj 
ol biR loiifii«» li|Mk und ZAiynx ? Was this a man npon whon 
yciw €ouM kai^ p«ftM»d off & bottle of vln onlinake, or mene iirnkml 
uetm^ &JI iIhi g«iiiilii9 liqnivr of Beaiine or Hude^heiiTi ? No^ tm;i 
yott Bfty ile[>eud tiiKiti it them pee^e were np to the whole mml 
ewn j«^ ti& innc!i *i8 the very best of lis. — Think of but i\mm\ 
gl<ifiou« Imes of M Hi^rniippus — 

Oauld ouj modem eito) the dirtne eihereal ai-omalic odoti^ 
f^f Tokfty, or, wh^t in mf private opinion b a better thin^l 
Bonthsido*i own old Ln^ttc, In any lerrns more exquisite than thil 
[Imary topt^r consi^cnilfrs to Hi Saprinn I What a fine obscunty!! 
— a mingled umlcfinahl^ prrl\ime **a ^mrf»/y odour of Tio1<?t%1 
I sod hyaclntUst, mid i-oaes, fills. Immediately on tlie opeiimg of itiM 
vessel, tho whole of the loftj' chamber*' ^ — ^It^i^<?« Jr5 — ^clifohs la 
one moment to the rafters, and confers the character of El3r8iam 
upon the atmosphere — '*ambroda and nectar both together!" 
Nothing xan be finer ! Or tnm to Seneca, himself, the philoso- 
pher, and hear him talking about the preference that ought to 
be given to a youth of grave diapositfoii over one conspicuous 
for his giuety and all-pleasing manners, and illustrating this by 
the remarks that ** wine which tastes bard wben new, becomes 
delightful by age, while that which pleases in the wood never 
proves of durable excellence.''^ Could Mr. Albert Cay or Mr. 
Samuel Andersont talk in a more knowing vein upon this sub- 
ject than the tutor of Nero the Matricide t No — meo periculo, 
answer no .' These folks drank their champagne when it was 
young, and their sherry when it was old, just as we do — they 
quaffed their Rozan, Sir, from the tap, and bottled their Chateau 
Margoux in magnum bonums. 

* Epitt. 36. 

f Day and Anderson, eminent wine-merchants in Bdinbargh thirty yiwrt 


The wines of these glorioas days having, it is but too appa- 
lent, followed the fate of the poetry, rhetoric, scnlptore, and ar- 
ehitectare of those who consumed them in commendable quantity, 
and with blameless gusto — the semi-barbarous possessors of the 
European soil were constrained to make the best of it they could. 
They gradually, as the Scotch philosophers say, toauld improve 
in the manufacture ; and, by the time of Charlemagne, and our 
own immortal Alfred, it appears not unlikely that a considera- 
able portion of really excellent wines existed in the Western 
hemisphere. The monks were the great promoters of the sci- 
ence: — Successively spreading themselves from Italy to the 
remotest regions /of Europe, these sacred swarms carried with 
"them, wherever they went, the relish which their juvenile lips 
had imbibed for something stronger than mead, and more tasty 
than beer. Wherever the plant would grow, it was reared be- 
neath their fatherly hands, and to them, as Dr. Henderson has 
most convincingly manifested, the primest vineyards of the Bor- 
delais, the Lyonnais, and the Rhinegau, owe their origin. Un- 
sanctified fingers, it is, alas ! true, now gather the roseate clusters 
of THE HERMITAGE, yet the name still speaks — stat naminisum- 
hra — and the memory of the S9avants of the Cloister lingers in 
like manner in Clos-Vogeot^ C/o«-du-Tart, Clos St. Jean, Cloi 
Morjot, and all the other compounds of that interesting family. 
— The Bacchus of modem mythology ought uniformly to sport 
the cucullus, 

^ And I do think that I could drink 
With him that wears a hood." 

I have already hinted, that the taste of our own ancestors, in 
regard to wine, underwent many and very remarkable mutations : 
^and this is precisely one of the subjects which my jolly little 
Aberdonian M J3. has treated in a most felicitous manner. 

Claret became the standing liquor at the Restoration, and con- 
tinued so until the abominable Methuen treaty gave those shame- 
ful advantages to the fdrtuguese growers, by which their pockets 
are to this hour enriched, and our stomachs crucified. . Since the 
peace, however, a visible increase in the consumption of French 
wine has taken place ; and it may at this day be safely stated, 
that the man, generally speaking, who sported good port in 


E fiMl clif«l m l^^L SiiB m £ae ^eld femalns for 
of €ttBBiai^» Miiakksaii« &iid EobingoQ. 
■jr body, ool of « ibfif^l-^tttt dainks port Imbitunllj m 
I «ttttw3iieiB vtU hiCT^ doiia tev for tbeif natire knd 
I « prawf miupii^Xe, hem tim hxmmji llberoltty, goo4 
I tm* tm> is^ h^ wksdi Ui^ si9i aue ftnil all of tbem, io egi^-* 
fiwiiily &l^8]liUtti» I^ so flli^p^Akty wKtion^ of eoncillatloit , 
tiAgnli «f Ito iBiddl»arder$— tlie i^ 
of llw ttB^iQ^to be diolsgtd dioTuallj wilL tlie k^j 
rrf FcvlB^ — tbe prodae© of grapes gmwii*] 
m,riti — wbilt\ by n fiUgbt alieraitioft ! 
» mnmy teclor* ttcst. oihI sauimsb-laiKlod pm«] 
^ ift lisglndl. Mffbt «ttsily be ensbled to piuiit bid nosd oft 
a inoro tteikaift ti»fe>y« by ciiltivsctui^ au aiWiioiaate au^ funuljof | 
viib tlNi Uotfd mf tlir BoiMw. 
i «iHNa{^ of an tbis. It b a tmly dkt7«suii^ tbing to m^ J 
i I «M mam ^^tw^ n^ht4ix)m^ laiiid will go aloo^ wiib m»] 
rbU.1 i«|r» te i^^Mtvc! tbe aurM %i>otttiiea wbkb most men 4 
tr tbo dUwiEiit branebes of oiiioloj^icat j 

eMirersaliott. I speak of oiml ia other reipei^ eadmable. I 
alk>w tbe full meed of applause to diek virtiies, personal, do« 
mestic* eirie* and pditical ; — bnt ia it, or is it not, the fact» that 
they scareely seem to be aware of lobe diferenee between Lar 
fitte and Latoiir? — while, as for being in a conditiioi to dis- 
tinguish Johannisberg from Stekiw^ or Hockheimer from 
Budesbeimer — tbe very idea of it is ridienlous, I earnestly 
recommend to those who are sensible of ^leir own eol^paUe defi- 
doddea in these branehes of infinmation, or rather indeed I 
i^onld say, of eommoa edneation, to remain no longer in thdur 
present Cimmerianism ; and the plan I weald humbly propose 
Ibr their adoption is a very simple one. Buy this work of Dr. 
Henderson's, and do not read through, but drink through it 
Make it your business, af^er coming to. the page at which he 
commences his discussion of the wines now in daily use among 
the well-bred classes of the community,— make it your business 
to taste, deliberately and carefully, at least one genuine sample 
a/* Meh wine the doctor cdentions. Qo throu^^ a regidar 


cKmrsd of claret and burgundy in particular. Lay the founda- 
tions, of a real thorough-knowledge of the Rhine-wines. Make 
yourself intimately acquainted with the different flavours of 
the dry wines of Dauphiny and the sweet wines of Langue- 
3oe. Get home some genuine unadulterated Alto Douro, and 
compare that diligently and closely with the stuff which they 
sell you under the name of port. Compare the real Sercial 
which has been at China, with the ordinary truck or barter 
Madeira^ and let the everyday Sherry be brought into imme- 
diate contact with the genuine vino catTiolko of Xeres. Study 
thia with unremitting attention and sedulity for a few years, 
and depend upon it, that, at the end of your apprentice- 
ship, you will look back with feelings, not of contempt merely, 
but of horror Mid disgust, upon the state in which yon have so 
long suffered many of your noblest powers and faculties to 
8lumb«», or at least to doze. 

I cannot sufficiently expatiate upon the absolute necessity of 
this in the course of a periodical paper, such as the present. Let 
it be impressed upon your minds — let it be instilled into your 
children — that he who drinks beer, ought to understand beer, 
and that he who quaffs the generous juice of the grape, ought 
to be skilled in its various qualities and properties. That man 
is despicable who, pretending to sport vin de Bourdeaux, gives 
you, under the absurd denomination of claret, a base mixture of 
what may. be called Hedoc smallbeer, and Palus, and Stum 
wine, and Alicant, and Benicarlo, and perhaps Hermitage, if not 
brandy — poison, for which he pays, it is probable, three shillings 
a-bottle more than he would do if he placed upon his board 
in its stead the genuine' uncontaminated liquid ruby of the 
Bordelais. I want words to express my contempt for him 
whose highly powdered and white-waistcoated butler puts down 
vin de Fimetf that is to say, the worst white Champagne, 
stained with elderberries and cream of tartar, when the call 
is for Clos St. Thiery, or Ay — wines tinged with the rose- 
ate hues of sunset by the direct influence of Phoebus. If you 
cannot afford claret, give port ; if you cannot afford port, give 
beer — The only indispensable rules are two in number: Give 
the article you profess to give, genuine, pure, and excellent; 


and giro it freely, liberally, in full orerflowing abtrndance and 

Farewell, for the present, to the great historian of Wine. I 
seriously, and to the exclusion of all puffery and balaam, consider 
his book as an honour to him — to Aberdeen, which nursed hitf 
youth — to Edinburgh, which gave him his well*merited degree 
— and to London, which has enjoyed the countenance of his 
manhood — and as a great gift to the public at large, destined, 
I fondly hope, to profit widely and deeply by the diffusion of 
his ticUous labours. . Two centuries ago, Lord Bacon declared 
that a good history of wine was among the grand desiderata of 
literature : Such it has ever since continued to be ; but proud 
and consolatory is the reflection, that we are the contemporarieB 
of a Henderson, and that such it can never agun be esteoned, 
unless, indeed, some awful world-shaking revolution shall per- 
adventure pass once more over the races of mankind, and bury 
the bright and buoyant splendours of Champagne, the balmy 
glutinous mellow glories of Burgundy, the elastic never-cloying 
luxury of Claret, the pungent blessedness of Hock, and the rich 
racy smack of the mother of Sherry, beneath the same dark and 
impenetrable shades which now invest the favourite beverages 
of the prima virorum, 

" The Mosaic, Setinc, and renowned Faleme." 

It will strike eveiy one as odd, that I should have gone 
through an article of this length without once alluding to the 
very existence of — Punch. Reader, the fault is not Dr. Hen- 
derson's — no, nor is it mine. The fact is, that punch-drink- 
ing and wine-drinking are two entirely different sciences, and that 
while, in regard to the latter, Dr. Henderson has wi-itten a book, 
and I a review of it in Blackwood, it seems by no manner of 
means improbable that, as touching the other, we may be des- 
tined to exchange these roles — I to compose the history of 
that most imperial of all fluids,* and he, if it so pleases him, to 
comment upon my labours in the pages of 

*' My Grandmother's review — the British." 

* Maginn'g histoiy of Whiskey-punch — " the most imperial of all fluids" — 
never went farther tlian this announcement. — M. 


My work will probably be rather a shorter one than the Doc- 
tor's. Say what we wUl about the other arts and sciences, it 
must at least be admitted that there are three things whereon, 
and appropriately, the modems do most illustriously vaunt them- 
selves, and whereof the godlike men of Old were utterly igno- 
rant and inexperienced. I allude to gunpowder, the press, and 
the punchbowl, the three best and most efficient instruments, in 
so far as my limited faculties enable me to form an opinion, for 
the destruction of the three worst and most disgusting of our an- 
noyances in this sublunary sphere — I mean Duns — Whigs — 
and Blue Devils : Wishing to which trio every thing that is 
their due, and every thing that is stomachic, invigorative, stimu- 
lant, and delightful to yourself, I remain, dear Mr. North, your 
humble and obliged servant, and affectionate friend, 

EUrive Jjoke, July 4th, 1824. 

Mt heart leaps up when I behol^ 

A bailifT in the street: 
'Twas so since from one first I ran ; 
'Twas so even in the Isle of Man ; 
'Twill be so even in Newgate's hold, 

Or in the Fleet ! 
A trap is hateful to a man ! 
And my whole course in life shall be 
Bent against them in just antipathy ! 

* This, given as an Extract from " Poems of the Apprehension,'' appeared in 
the Lilerary Gtxzette, — M. 


a 9Lxavt\kt"B iOttk* 


Monday. — Boused out of a dreaiy dose — the fruits of last 
night's surfeit of tongb mutton and brandy port — by the waiter, 
with the intelligence that the Steam-boat was just going off. — 
Started from bed, in an agony of nervous hurry — Put a posie 
of porters, waiters, and chambermaids, in requisition to bundle 
me off. — Rushed down to the pier, with the whole clan at my 
heels, and every eye in the town turned on my flight — reached 
the shore time tmmgh to see the packet under eacfy sul. — Pud 
half the passage for a boat to take me five hundred yards, and 
was at last trundled on board unshaved and half-dressed, " un- 
anointed and unaneled," to cool my pores in a raw, foggy breeze. 

The deck crowded T^-ith spruce Londoners and their ladies, 

feathered and flounced for a water-party. Chagrined to the 

soul, and attempting to get rid of my discomfort by contempt 
of the whole set. Took out my pencil, and attempted a carica- 
ture — sketched an alderman ami a half-pay officer in strong 
dispute on the National debt — fine contrast of figui-e, pursy 
pride, and meagre pertinacity ; fat, contented ignorance, and 
ignorance neither the one nor the other — turtle beside ration 
snnp. Tlie Prior and the Laybrother in the Duenna ; Lambert 
ami Romeo's seller of mandragora. — "Weather delightful. — Sea 
smooth as my lady's min'or. — "Wondered that I had not been 
brod to the navy. — Began to think of a course of voyages for 
the next dozen years. — Undetermined whether to commence 
witli the east or the west, Botany Bay or Buenos- Ayres, China 
or Chili — deteimined on China as the longest voyage. Repro- 
bated the folly of looking for the north-west passage, as tending 
to shorten the indulgence of living on shipboard. — Waited half 
an hour for passengers — Cursed, in the fervour of my delight, 

* This Sketch wliich \va« published in Blackwood, for September, 1823, is 
ohiofly noiiconble for its nipidity of incident, concentration of cxj)re8sion, and 
constimt interweaving of personal and political allusions into the mere narra- 
live. — M. 

A traveller's week. 265 

the wretched habit of lingering till the last moment — and re- 
solved in future to rise with the sun. — Dover Castle magnificent 
— tints of time, silvery lights, verdurous clothing; heard a 
Gockney compare it to an old woman wrapped up in a rug. 
Cast a look at the fellow that ought to have annihilated him. 
The Castle certainly not unlike an old woman, after all. Re- 
sumed my caricature, and put the Cockney into the group. 
• • • • ^ • • 

Completely at sea — the Castle sinking — a breeze — pearly 
fringe in the surge — groans from below, with frequent calls for 
the steward. Determined not to be sick. Saw several of the 
dead and wounded brought up for fresh air, and several of the 
living suddenly plunged into the cabin. — Those detestable 
steam-vessels roll worse than a sailing boat — they hore the surge 
instead of sliding over it — a heavy sea — postponed my carica- 
ture — doubted whether a peculiar native configuration of stom- 
ach, a something di£fering from that of a being bom to live on 
land, as much as webbed feet are from human toes, a sort of 
amphibious or fishy interior, is not to be found on dissection in 
eveiy " able seaman." 

Surrounded by sufferers drooping over the sides of the vessel 
like fowls in a coop — endeavoured to hum a song of Dibdin's 
— confounded nonsense, a sea song under any circumstances — 
as well dance quadrilles in an hospital — dare not look at the 
deck, nor at the sky, nor at the water. Determined to go to 
China by land — more variety of scenery, Tartary, the Great 
Wallf &c. — shun Euxines and Caspians — and wait till WbJ'gas 
and Dni^ers were frozen over. — A merciless brute ordered his 
lunch close at my side — ham, brandy, and biscuit — a meal for 
Alecto, MegSBra, and Tisiphone — How the devil can any body 
think of eatuig or enjoyment on board a packet 1 The ship 
tossmg and jumping from side to side like an unbroke horse — 
desperately sick — torture — red-hot grappling irons — canthari- 
des-soup, &c. 


The port in sight — windmills sprawling like gigantic spiders 
— churchspires with saints impaled upon their tops— yellow' 
Vol. II.— 12 

THE ODOHEmrr papesb, 

|jto0fr sprea4iii^ Wlow tbeiB, ragged ani dingy, like a gipffj-'s 
Bent — nJl squaliclneas* stench, and clamour, 
tip on the piert roped into nn enclosure like negroes ai 
ttttkul^io pjrevtnt intercoarsef Tiitk tbe native smu^gkra. 
Swrronnd^ imd snureyed In oU onr abominate on hy all th^ 
kKUQ^trs of the pbce» in fiiU diress tnd liigli merriment — mardi- 
^ under tko yoke to tlie Custom-liiM^ to be e ear died for lace, 

I ipeils. ribltiins, &e. — A bftttlft with a virago to prevent mj vnljse 
Wing clawed awajr nnder pretcnee of porterage, — The 
CnsCom-boQse — ^ihe whole party passed deliberately under tbe 
^ec^rft ajm — every eruiny of my costume keenly prnbed hy a 
[ nfficiid. who must have been bred a fldef, Snrprise ex- 
ff«i«ed «t mj pocket liandkert^hief — which was handed up to 
die CAef de Iknume* to ascertain its nse — a family arrested for 
baling a pair of salt-^oons in their baggage — supposed a eoyer 
fbf cons^piracy — notliing of the kind having been, seen in France 

I k9lEim^-^pa^|N>Tt& demanded — ^mine forgotten in my hurry at 
Jl^-PHf — ofdered under swrceiJinJice — marched to a hotel hy a 
geadajioe — the crowd bonoaring me with an escort — and the 
appt'lliL'". r ■. r - T J ' — j7 . -/ — Cfiquin-Anghux,'' tVc. 

Too dck to dress — determined cm sechiskm and hooka for 
the day — looked over the hill of fare — a bill of mortally— *• 
bile and indigestion under a hundred shapes — ^zzled with 
rapid superfluity — lefi the choice to the waiter — fell into a 
dose, with my elbows (m the table — roused by the coming in ^ 
dinner — felt stiff, cdd, benumbed from head to foot — the 96^ 
tary lord of a dozen dishes, that might have been so many com- 
pilations of boiled cats and ass skin — no appetite-— the sonp 
hot water and horse-beans — the fowl tough, rancid, and im- 
pregnable — the jmrsley and butter hemlock and oO — the tarts 
lard, saw-dust, . and blackberries — the pannesan gruiHe and 
sand-stone — the fruits green and griping — the wine last year's 
vinegar. — " Bah ! Lacuiune Franeaise:* — Went to bed^ — bed 
and blankets a bale of horse-hair, covered with sheep-i^dn — -lay 
down in submission to my fate, and prepared for suflbcation. ^ 
Arrival of the Paris diligence — every quadruped and biped in 
the house and the street in sudden commotion — sleep impoanble 
—sprang out of bed on the stone-floor— chilled as if I had 

A tbayeller's week. 267 

jamped into a cold bath — shivering from head to foot — elunk 
into bed again, and tried to recover my dose. — The diligence 
going off — another nproar of dogs, waiters, chambermaids, don- 
keys, passengers clamouring for drams and great-coats, &c. — 
The diligence moving off with the heave and rattle of an earth- 
quake — Feverish and restless — incapable of sleep; and fret- 
ting myself still more by the miserable old-woman tricks for al- 
luring it — counting a thousand, humming some air hackneyed 
by boarding-schools and barrel-organs — recounting the signs of 
the inns — repeating one of Sir J.'s stories,* &c. — Morning— 
the sun rising — frowsy as a Frenchwoman before breakfast — 
dropped into a dose — haunted by recollections of the voyage — 
sea-sicknessy Custom-house officers. Cockneys, and conger-eels, 
rushing round my defenceless head in full cry, mouthing, and 
moving on wings, fins, and claws — "Griffons dire." — Wake 
late in the day— -hot, cold, comfortless, irritable in every pore 
— attempted to scold the waiter for breakfast in his own tongue 
— miserable work — the man obsequious; but frequently ad- 
journing outside the door to laugh. — Called for the newspi^rs 
— French too small — contains nothing — English, a huge hotch- 
potch, a mass of heavy absurdities — politics and pomade ; re- 
viewing and robbery ; Parliamentary debates and Doctor Solo- 
mon ;t — jokes from Joe Millar ; -and wit, honesty, and patriotism, 
from the Whigs — Threw it away in disgust — Liberty of the 
press — liberty of nonsense ! The size of an English news- 
paper, like the size of St. Luke's, a monstrous libel on the com- 
mon sense ot the nation. 

Overhauled my valise — my best suit utterly undone — satu- 
rated with sea-water, that has dyed the " blue one red," and 
more or less incarnadined every inch of my wardrobe— Sent 
for a scourer, tailor, laundress, &c. — all lingermg till I lost the 
fragment that remained of the day, and all coming together — 
inhuman confusion of tongues-— headach — sent for a doctor— 
was visited by a spruce practitioner in Brutus' head, a rose- 

* Sir James Macintosh.— M. 

t Inventor of a quack medicine called : ** Solomon's Balm of Gilead." It 
was emi de vie, neatly sweetened and spiced — a dram in disguise, in fact— 
and the Doctor realist a large fortune by iti sale. — M. 


C0ftt^ ft p«r of wliite glomes, and smelliDg all ovaf of 
jipqiiiHg, atlAr« and oil«r fiduaung and Qverpoweriiig esaencei 
^f«ve myu^ ci|i ui Im dran^ed with raiein ptisannes ani i 
w^'^^g^tAUmi to eftt or dtiuk — called for a book 
fci < m;bt ftllor vesutkntfl del&y, and the exiiaustton of a)t | 
my Fvnefa t& ike eolremj — that oae the French Calendar fori 
tW T««r» ooQlaiwii^ tlii tttlea of the reignbg iamilj at full I 
Iti^Ui, vith their «nc«s^ fpnn Fhanunond — Dragged over its I 
pagqi^* wiiiidtt t d what foDj oaald mdace a man of any W^ibii J 
19 ^ril lift lifiide tt^ farc^ oobe, iolitnde, dirt, and discosN I 
§a^^t^tmmi h/y m thtmder of the Cathedra] belli, followed hf\ 
aO lii» mtofg ifinlii «f tbi Iowq,'—^ hoped tbat thc^re was a gen^ 
_ wnl iwi Wilier «r gcMial ooiifiagTailon,^ — ihmst 1317 head < 
■«af tlbe wi&idov — tkoii caoi^ed eftseme:nta^ that one cau scarcely 
B QpWk lUkd cMl ttftt^r f^hat ; — the tdght bitter as a blast from ati'^ 
f iee4nia>e— ^m i^ft ciTar my head suddenly let loose^ and plaj^ 
lag ftiray like a fDBQlnii«-^a dosen %ht£ twinkUng down tUd 
la c e t ii lfti iiiiB In a aepnlehre — whipa cracking, dogs baybg^l 
|w»tfliott< awrW^vfifj^. His Serene Highness — die Farst^^l 
I f^^'-'-C' ^;^■r-•^r t'H-l:.: v. n ^ r'^V'-T-'f-c t^ie f?ntes of tins fjilmintfl 

town, and was coming to honour this still man fortanate. hotel 
with his presence.*-! d^ennined to quit mj lodgings by day- 

Tuesday. — Winter m all ''its vurgin fiuaoies;'* wind, ooU, 
fog, and lain — Chained to the house — A fete — The beib db- 
charging regular valleya throoghoot the day— All the waiften 
occupied, eith^ in attending his Serene Highness, or in lookmg 
at those who did — The hope of hreak&st oonseipieBtly <* a 1k^ 
deferred*' — At length sneceeded in tearing down my bell-eoid 
—No lesonroe but to roar ficom the stain^ia die midst of a rash 
of moist, penetradng ahr, that might hava tamed a miU-^ For- 
tunate enough, when in the extremi^ of farnme, to rsnsa the 
attention of <me of the subordinate monsters of the lditahea» a 
''fat, foolish scnllioa,*' dkeetly transferred from Mr. Sbandgr^s 
scullery — My breakfast administered by this naked-legged 
Hebe, a moving heap of rags and repulsion of every kind.—* 
Weather thickening — called for my bill-— astonidied by its ex- 
action — resolved the sooner to esci^ its wilhtin— ^nsHied oat. 

A tbayeller's week. 269 

plunged, in a state of desperation, into the stonn that seemed 
to come from all points of the compass at once, a regular typhoon 
— Succeeded at length in forcing an entrance into a logement 
meubUf a dreary, disconsolate receptacle ; hut no other resource 
— lAj baggage conveyed piecemeal, from the sudden avidity of 
the whole household of the hotel to serve me — had every grm- 
ning and grimacing soul of them to get rid of by a separate dou* 
ceuTt in eonsequence — shut them all out at length, and myself 
in — Ordered a fire; wood incombustible— laboured at the bel* 
lows myself for an hour or two, with no other e£fect than that 
of blistering my hands and embittering my remorse at having 
left the land of eoal-fires and comfort. — Night— Asked for a book 
"^Bat one in the house — The French Calendar !— Wished, in 
the sfMrit of vexation and Nero, that all the copies had been in 
that one, that I might have flung it into the fire. Bead it over, 
notwithstanding, through mere weariness — beginning at the end 
for the sake of novelty. — Poked, blew, and fretted till bed- 
time.— Resolved never to get up again, till I returned to Eng« 
land. Bulls the natural language of eloquent minds under 
strong circumstances. 

Wednesday^— Woke before dawn — Weather decidedly fixed 
— a July winter ; made up my mind for silence and sufferance. 
The market opening within a yard of my window — a rolling 
of carts from day-break, succeeded by a perpetual explosion of 
voices, fierce with all the barbarous dialects of Normandy. A 
Basbreton, with the throat of a speaking trumpet, opening shop 
under my nose, and hailing for custom. 

Spent the day in revolving from window to window — lookmg 
for the sun among clouds thick as ** the blanket of the dark ;" 
playing with a kitten that honoured me with a visit ; reading 
the noH^ntiij of a French paper; practising at push-pin — In- 
vented a new and infallible pu$h. Measuring the dimenmons of 
the chamber from side to side, end to end, circularly, diagonally 
— with diligent feet — Taking up the French Calendar!! — 
nothmg new any longer discoverable. — Ringing a dozen times 
for the English papers, letters* &c. ; at last informed that it was 
noi poit-day. Went through the whole of the wretched re- 
sources for the aimgeance— abandoned all hope. Saw the mar- 


ket-place even deserted — ^ missed its noise^ and wished for 
mob back ngain. 

Probing every cupboai-d in tlie room— found an old flute— 
oveijoyed — commenced regular practice — the Instrument crack- 
ed from stem to stem- — ^toiled awaj, however, and completed 
*' God &ave the Klngp" at the expense of nearly blowing out 
my luDgs,^ — Consciotis that this pleasure could not bo continued 
but witb the certainty of sudden death, sat down exhausted ^ — 
fell asleep in my cbair — awoke, after a long^ and wi-etcbed in- 
terval, cm shed and chilled all o^er — the lamp gone out* the fire 
gone out, the waiters gone to bed — the pnnciple of life extinct 
aronnd me, — Crept to my coucb, and shivered into mom. 

Thursdav.^ — A bui-st of snuBbine. All the world in the 
streets. Engnlpbed in a whirlpool of English — all telling mo 
and each other that it ttna bud shine. A multitude of nonde- 
scripts, half Bond-Street, and half Wbiteehapel — Malier /w- 
fjwsa sapcfue in atrum — deMnens, &c., flooding every street, and 
rolling down tbe refuse of London, like the stream of a Cloam 
maxima to tbe sca-sbore. 

The Pier ! the favourite place of display — a Harrow neck of 
rough stone, infested by tbe low-water smells, fragments of 
crabs, Cray -fisb, and usual nameless and horrible exuvicB of a 
French town. 

The male loungers affecting the combined air of the East and 
West — the slang of the city with the di'ess of May Pair. The 
women, attired loose as Venus rising from tbe waters, and com- 
pensating for the display of their persons by their deformity. 
Sick of the eternal sound of the English patois, — followed a 
French nymphlike form, in close conversation with an old 
Chevalier de St. Louis — spurred into full speed to get a view 
of her face — walked myself out of breath, and succeeded. 
Saw the jaws of my old Parisian friend, the Marchioness of 
Passetemps, a septuagenaire.VfhomtvodivicQ^ me to the Chevalier, 
her son ! Detennined to tiiist the physiognomy of a Frerfch 
woman's hack no more. 

Roused from my contemplations by a dash of rain. — The 
whole promenade put to the rout on the instant, Fre&eh and 
Englidh — rushing back, horse, foot, and artillery, drftggled a&d 

A tbatelleb's week, 271 

bedevilled* to their lodgings. — Cursed La Belle France, and en- 
gaged my place in the first steam-packet that was to toil away 
from this land of disappointment and deluge. 

Fbiday. — Mail arrived. — A letter from my wife, telling me 
that London was basking in serenity and the perpetual sun ; 
that the whole family had caugh the typhus, and that I must 
not return till farther orders. No letter from my banker — de- 
spondingly shook the half-dozen sovereigns lingering in my 
purse, and thought of the alternative of flight or famine. Went 
to the library — all the newspapers engaged ten deep — Lord 
E. reading three at a time — Sir J. with one under his arm, and 
the other in his paw — Alderman S. grasping the only remain- 
ing one — commenting on it as he stumbled from paragraph to 
paragraph, and at last hitching in a desertation on the new loan. 
— Mixed in an expectant group. — Bewildered with the jargon 
of coffee-house politicians, all contradictory, and all common- 
place—the ministry strong — the ministry weak — Lord Grey 
retiring to La Trappe, under a vow of taciturnity for life — his 
head already half shaved. — Lord Holland forbidden the use of 
pen, ink, and paper — War cei-tain — war impossible — Captain 
Guyon a goose. Captain Guy on a hero ; — frowned on by Crokcr, 
and supposed to have gone to Chili; — kissed by Croker on 
both cheeks, and dancing Sijandango at Almack's. — Tired to 
death, and retreating to the door for fresh air, and a cessation 
of tongues. 

Still haunted by the echo, and overhearing the nonsense, 
quilted in such patches and fragments as these — *' Nothing more 
about the King of Spain — A poor devil of a pickpocket dragged 
about and ducked within an inch of his life by a rascally mob 
of — Placemen and Pensioners ciying out — Candle-ends and 
cheese-parings, the ruin of official honesty, and — Lord George 
gone to Portugal, to fight the French, with a d — d bad poem as 
ever was printed by — Murray — the family name of the great 
Lord Mansfield, and — The man with the nose, who broods 
somewhere about — Hampstead, a favourite haunt of the Cock- 
ney rhymesters — Petty larceny rogues, stealing lines from laun- 
dresses, and hazarding their-— Sheep's brains, ten pounds of fat^ 
each, fit to be swallowed — only by a Hottentot — Embassador 

rngmnm Ui |daBL — y» %lft wkitevisr, after all ! a nil8€ iSS 
^tAw — II19 ^^ Imk la^^^Baailag snd bodge podge — Oil 
«ii A^a^nr irrva^aioiliiS'. »ol « wmi of sense, nor a ^niii 
m ^OMSTf a lI»^ ^hote c«i&i|al«6oii «f^ — The Common Coiiii^| 
l^fl.-^V^, frkat tli« 4^Bc« HMTC cifi weo do ? they — Eat th 
l^atf t»dfi «ii iMt 4be lM«t cliivt at anj^ — ^Calkedral in tli(} 
piiHA— — dvirdefl n^ — ^Tlie »ost mj^iiceiit old wig 
^ jiPlPiifc . lwa& of litcimBtiltckt> aad ol&er remuuts of— Tbe Li 
rf* ^ AjMtJfwate i pksmfSir liUick as Beekehuh ^ 
b r v t»3 aflTUBinK; bo ebaracter in tbeir 

MBflBk vtie — Asj^rlveie ^siw ^e aWurdifj m^glit hmfd 
; Viil Yir burst tusA iii& ft §m^ of that kind at the— - 
IMitfi «f Ijflid4A'^ talilft« 60 flf ^gnitmes, grare &s — George 
fieilr;«, Jeo XiBac. md Ja^ BtMBit», and Monsieur Alcxan- 
dnw Afo»i 19 a& J»wag<«j in^ — TVt Queen's busmesSt ihe^ 
aoA ^taiMimii. an^ tlj&zi^ £ffilaj of — l^ng^sb booby ism, blind 
> WS&, aa gdmStj-t weo i^ — Birtb af Whlggeiy — an Xvr 
1^ f^ntitmiei n a St^nlfii fietTv^ and tkeai trmnfmitted at the- 
■ ' - L bivini^ the fear of God bt 

fcre — Hi^ Edinbm^ Revieir, a great — Moldull» mj dear Bn*, 
and nothing but a molehill ; — a blind — Borough, rotten to the 
core — the receptacle of — Every fpecies of ▼ermin killed by — 
Qnartedy instalments^ paid under the head of — Gifford, Sou- 
ther, and Co^ a younger firm, but sure as — Any team of asses 
from Mount Jura to — Mount Chailes, a showy young^-Lord 
«Srr«iV fJke Mam; certain to win — ^just bought the^- Hotel, 
most fashionable atuadon in the metropolis — To be fitted up in 
the handsome^ style for the accommodation of ladies whoso situ- 
ation requires a temporary retirement — And the Duchess of 

R d* — decidedly the most showy figure at Almack's, a bi-il- 

liant, blooming — Maiden-ray of the largest dimennons, that 
would turn the — Peristaltic region of — Alderman Curtis, that 
fine, jovial, old — Turtle, cooing like — Lord and Lady West- 
meath,t and — Several other married persons of distinction at 

* DucheM of Ratlnnd,— who had been a beauQr.— «>M. 
t Thia Bpble puir had juat coromeBced the law-qunnel which ir doI yH 
finiahed.— M. 

A tbayelleb's week. 2T8 

ibis moment in-* Doctors' Commons — a perpetual — Libel on 
English decency and the connubial — Tie of Lord Ellenbo- 
rongh's cravat a — Phenomenon of the first magnitude, and un- 
equalled by anything but — Lord Petersham's whiskers; re- 
markable for — Specimens of red hair turned blue by the use 
of the Macassar oil and — Bishop Magee's conciliatory charge 
to the Papists ; a splendid, powerful, and original — Contrivance 
for tearing up pavements, and converting them into missiles for 
the annoyance of — Coach-panes and window-glass of the ordi- 
naiy size shivered as by the explosion of — Bitter ballads sung 
out of tune by breechless mendicants at the — Irish Viceregal 
dinner, a formal affair, in which etiquette supplied the place 
of hospitality, and Attorney-Generals and Court-Chaplains, are 
reckoned for gentlemen with other — Curiosities too numerous 
to mention; aU for sale without reserve — A portrait of the 
Yice*Chancellor, as a Newmarket jockey at full speed — The 
Master of the Rolls lying on his back, and making his bread 
fast asleep — A dinner lat Brooks' a close representation of the 
— Beggars' Opera, a mischievous display of impudence, in- 
solence, and roguery, triumphant — Law, a name perfectly un- 
suited to the authors of Marriage Acts, and similar anomalies 
of the human — Calves'head hashes, that are carried about on 
— Two legs and upright, a preposterous contradiction of that 
law of nature, which orduned that all the species should run on 
four paws at — Madam Catalani, more tempting than ever, fat, 
fair, and forty ; her countenance noble, her voice delicious as the 
pipe of — Charles Wynne, turning tail on the Opposition, for 
the good of — Himself and family, just arrived in Downing 
Street, after a long tour on — Welsh goats followed by a mob 
with leeks in their hats, and their hands full of — India bonds 
never fallen so low before in — Whitehall market — a show of 
decidedly the best fed carcases ever — Killed by Napoleon in 
his numerous battles with the — Cabinet Council, distracted by 
— Variety of foreign tunes — Spanish marches — Turkish re- 
treats — Russian stoim-hymns — French and German snuffs- 
confounded things that make an honest man's head ache, — Give 
me Irish Blackguard, alias Prince's Mixture, sprinkled over 
with a little — Harvey sauce, and be hanged to it — Essence of 



fangns and earth-worms, duckweed and dandelions, pestilent as 
a — Speech of the Newcastle Patriot, a compound of radical- 
Gin and ditch-water, drinkahle hj none but Cyprians of tbe 
lowest brutality, as besotted and riotous as — the Hatton-Qarden 
Orator, or the — Reverend William Bengo Collyer, the Duke of 
Sussex's chaplain, IVia jtincta m nno. — Puffing, piety, and 
pharmacy — Impossible— *Calumny," &c. &c. &c. 

After dinner, went to the theatre — not a place to be had — a 
discovery which I made only after feeing the box-keeper. Had 
the pleasure of observing the first Ihree acts through a chink in 
the door. — The lobby, round and behind me, promenaded as 
lobbies usually are — An incessant chatter of puppies and their 
chere amies — talking on the silliest possible subjects, in the silliest 
possible way — The Decens FeiitM,.the only absentee of the family 
— ^The door burst back, to let out a fainting lady, followed by a 
stream of heated, feverish, human vapour, deadly as the Simoon. 

A battle to succeed to her place — my efforts crowned by con- 
quest, and the loss of half my coat — ^Fairly seated — Black- 
hole of Calcutta — play, Macbeth, Frenchified by Ducis, and 
played, comme il plaisait a la Vierge — Herod out-Herod ed 7- 
Macbetli murdered as thoroughly and as early as Duncan — 
Ban quo doubling the old king ; and Lady Macbeth bewitching 
us as Hecate. — Song, scenery, and acting, worthy of each other, 
and of an English bam — the company a peiidant to the male- 
factors of Sadlei*s* Wells and the Surrey theatre. — Humed out 
before the catastrophe. — llesolved never to repeat the experi- 
ment, quamdiu vixere, &c. 

Saturday. — Startled by the roar of cannon — another fete, 
the St. Louis — the whole population in a bustle, singing, scam- 
pering, and screaming. ' 

Drums in every quarter rattling to the parade in the Market- 
place — under my window too — in the proportion of four diiims 
to three men — the hatterie incessant and intolerable — Closed 
up my casements — hung towels and tablecloths against every 
aperture — All in vain — unluckily my ears still unplugged — no 
cotton. — 

The air ringing with a new thunder of horse-volunteers, 
gensdarmes, civic authorities, &c., tnimpeted, drummed, and hel^ 

A tbayelleb's week. 275 

led, to High Mass — Discharge of cannon — merciless shouts of 
fellows with the lungs of buffaloes in full roar. — Resolved on 
instant escape, and went to obtain my passport. — Eveiy soul 
abroad — the office closed.^ 

Induced in an evil hour to take a ticket for the ball, under 
pompous promises that it was to be the ne pitu ultra of taste, 
novelty, and magnificence, tout a fait Francais, &c. 

Considered my ways and means for killing the intermediate 
time. — Had the choice of the French Calendar, or a promenade 
on the pier — variety of wretchedness — Went to the pier — as- 
sailed by harbour-smells of every formidable kind — a compound 
of tar, smoke, dead dogs, and fish-women — the tide coming in, 
and duly returning the ejections of the town to the shore. 

Lingered on the pier — exacerbated by the infinite vapidity 
of the gabble called conversation round me — Weather talk — 
the history of last night's rubber — history of the morning — 
bathe — mutual and solemn assurances, fortified by an appeal to 
the bystanders, that the tide was coming in, &c. — Every soul 
round me English — faces whose familiarity haunted me — yet 
whom I could not possible have seen anywhere but behind band- 
boxes and counters — the Eastern sperme of La nation houtiquiere. 

To get rid of them and ennui, walked to the waterside, with 
a faint determination to bathe, for the frst time. The wind 
coming at intervals in hot gusts, the water looking surly, and 
gathering in short angiy waves. — Put down my name as a can- 
didate for a bflthmg-machine — the fiftieth in succession ! 

Lingered about the shore — gazing like a philosopher on frag- 
ments of seaweed, making matter of contemplation out of an 
untenanted oyster-shell, and diligently inspecting the washing 
of a poodle by a chambermaid, &cc. 

Tired of waiting for the machine, — which had a dozen cargoes 
of girls, morons, and elderly gentlemen, drawn up rank and 
file beside it, waiting for the ablution, or the drowning, of the 
groups stowed within, — tore off my clothe^ in a fit of despera- 
tion, and rushed in " naked, to every blast of scowling Heaven." 
— Met by a surge ten feet in advance of the rest, that seemed 
expi-essly delegated to carry me out to sea. — My resolution 
greatly shocked by this unexpected attention; — pondered a 


mmuto Of two, Lalf way, imm^ieed like a mennaid — but "re- 
turning were as tedious as go on." — Saw tUe eyes of the wliole 
beaeb upon iiio — aiiil ruslied " en avant^^* 

A i-olling sea — the sky suddenly aa black as my bat — 
Looked to the shore — men, women, cliildren, and macliines, m 
full gallop to slietter — Tide coming m like a mill race — lifted 
.pff my feet — fiwimnaing for my life — Tli oughts of conge r-e^ls 
^ a hundred feet Icrngi iwoidfish, shaikat 6cc, — ^ A poi-poise lifting 
up Lis fifihy face at my elbow — EoaHng eiu^ge — My will mv 
made — Thought of a Coroner's inquest — ^Olarence's dream, £cc. 

Tost on the shore on the back of a monntaiu of water — 
bruised, batteied, and half-auflbcated — not a soul withm hail — 
A remote view of a few stragglers that looked like pilotB spec- 
iilatbg ou a wreck — The sea following from rock to rock, staunch 
as a blood-hound. 

Searching for my clothes — my whole wai'drobe hopelessly 
missings — -probably stolen — Pouderiiig on the pleasant contin- 
gency of making my entry into the town like a negro, or a 
plucked fowl — ^Tide i-ushmg oia, with a hideously desolate howl 
of the wind — Rocks dippery, the higher the ascent, scarped 
and perpendicular as a wall 

A gleam of joy at seeing my coat scooped out of the crevice 
of the rock where I had left it, as I ignorantly thought, above 
the reach of ocean, and sailing towards me — Grasped it like an 
old fi-iend — flung it over my shoulders, and made my escape — 
My breeches, shoes, watch, and purse, of course, left to be fished 
for on the fall of the tide. 

Rapid movement towards home — in the midst of the titter 
of guis, and the execration of matrons, and other " Dii majomm 
gentium," vehement against what they looked on as my volun- 
tary exposure. 

As I passed the principal hotel, betted on by a knot of pick- 
tooth puppies, who would have it that I was walking for a 
wager. — The way ^hrough the Market-place consequently 
cleared for me, — and I the universal object of ridicule, surprise, 
and reprobation, till I rushed within the door of my lodging. 

Wearied to death — sick — dirty, and disheartened, flung my- 
self into my bed, and rehearsed in my sleep the whole spectacle 
of the day. 

A traveller's week. 277 

Boused bj mj landlady, who bad found my ticket for tbe ball 
on my table. — Informed that it was midnigbt, and that I had no 
time to lose — Angry at being disturbed — yet afraid to undergo 
the work of my sleep again — pondered — cast my eyes on a 
new suit sent home that evening by the " Tailleur plus magni- 
fique," of the world and Dieppe. — Ought to go to the ball, — it 
was the firet and last opportunity of seeing the true glory of 
France. — Ought to go to sleep — tired, feverish, and spiritless. 
— Ought to go to the ball to revive my spirits, and shew the 
fools and puppies of the place, that I was neither mad nor merry 
in my moi-ning's promenade. — Sprang out of bed. 

At the ball-room door, met half the company coming out — 
Had to force the breach through a host of insolents, in the shape 
of footinen, gensdarmes, police-officers, and mendicants. 

Breasted my way up-stairs through a descending current of 
bonnetted, shawled, surtouted, swaddled, nondescript figures, that 
had once been quadrillers, card-players, pretty women, and pret- 
tier men. 

My entrance made good at last, the company reduced to a 
scattering of a couple of dozens, unhappy reliqnes of the rout, 
uncouthly toiling down a dance, or loitering along the benches, 
yawning at each other, in pale despondency ; the gentlemen 
drained to the last civil speech, and the ladies consuming the 
dregs of the orgeat and lemonade. — Every soul English, bronzed 
up in turbans that might have frightened the Grand Turk ; be- 
dizened in tawdry costumes, imported along with themselves, and 
made more burlesque by an attempt to ingraft them with French 
alterations. The young women universally lath, plaster, and 
chalk; the old ones, London porter, and prize-beef, — absolute 

Tottered home. — My landlady fast asleep ; — and defying all 
the usual expedients of breaking a pane in her bed-chamber — 
tearing out her bell by the roots — Hallooing till I was hoarse — 
Every soul in the street poking their night-caps out of the win- 
dows, and reviling the coquin Anglais — Landlady still unshaken. 

Taken up by the gensdarmes for disturbing the neighbour- 
hood, amid surrounding cries of " Eh, ah ! Bah, hah /" '*Sacre .'" 
" Bien fait, honhomme:' An cachot / — A sudden population of 


tbievcs and JiUes de nuit starting, as if out of the ground, to at- 
tend me to the door of my new lodging. — Locked into the cacJiot 
for the night. 

Sunday. — 1\ the Cachot. — The sous-prefect having gone 
to his country-seat — Unspeakable vexation — Thinking of lib- 
erty, and England. 

Monday. — The affair explained — Let loose — bounded like 
a lunatic home — Flung my trunk upon the neck of the first 
gar^on I met, and hurried down to the steam-boat. — Boat to 
move in a quarter of an hour ; felt for my watch — clean gone. 
— A family-repeater that I would not have lost fwr the whole 
bourgeoise of Dieppe. — In my vexation, called the town a nest 
of thieves and knaves. 

Called upon by a Frenchman at my side for an explanation 
of my words — Tried it — He could not comprehend «ny French 
— Gallic ass — A mob gathered — Cards given — to meet in half 
an hour. — The steam-boat under way, / remaining to be stab- 
bed or shot — My baggage on hoard! 

Tlie challenge getting wind. — Bored with inquiries and ob- 
servations — how it happened? — who it was? — whether with 
sword or pistols? — whether on the cliffs or in the coffee-room ? 

— a promise that whatever 7w/^^^ happen, my remains should be 
taken care of. — Congratulations on the extinction of the Droit 
d^ AuhainCj &c. 

Went to the ground. — No Frenchman forthcoming — Lingered 
in the neighbourhood till dinner time. 

At the tavern, had my cotelette served up by a face that- 1 
half recognized — my morning challenger — the head waiter! — 
Saw a sneer on the fellow's countenance, and kicked him into 
the street — Indignantly left my dinner untouched, and walked 
down to the pier, to embark immediately. 

No vessel going off — Lounged about till dusk — hungry and 
chill — Hired an open boat at ten times the price of the packet. 

All night at sea — Heavy swell — Not knowing where we 
were — the Azores, the Bay of Biscay, or Brighton — In distress 

— Sick to death — the men mutinous, lazy, and despairing. 
Picked up by a steam-boat going to Dieppe, with a promise 

of being discharged into the first homeward vessel. 


IDetUr front a toa0i)eriooman.* 

PuddleditcJi' Comer, Islington, January 30, 1823. 
Worshipful Sur, 
I'm a lone widder woman, left with five fatherless children to 
pnrvide for in a wicked world, where simple folks is shure to be 
putt upon, as ive larnt to my sorrow ; but i'm not one to sit down 
content, if there's la or gustice to be had above ground. My 
good man used to say, rest his sole. Patience, youVe a sperrit, 
says he, and so i have, thank God, for what shuld a pore lone 
widder do without in such a world as this where honnor goes 
afore honesty. Well, sur, how i comes to rite you these few 
lines, is this. You must know i'm a washer-woman, an' lives at 
Islington, and takes in loddgers ; but I ant come to that yet ; only 
i must say summut about it, by way of beginnin to let you know 
how i've got a new loddger ; for i takes in single gentlemen ; 
an' i was telling of he, what oudacious treetment id met with 
from tliey ; he, i would say, the other was as bad as he, as hock- 
ipied my apartments last, how i was flammed over tho' i mid a 
known fine words buttered no passenips, to give em trust, an' 
let em turn evry thing topsy turvy, so long as it sai-ved their 
turn to stay, and then thoy takes French leave, an' walks off, 
without paying so much as a brass farden, and what's warse, 
wi' Nance ; but i ant come to that yet. Only, sir, the long and 
the short's this ; i was gust telling of these here purceedins to 
my new loddger, and how they'd a sarved me, an habsconded, 

• For the first eight c»r nine yeare of Blackwood^ Hunt, Hnzlitt, ami Kenta, 
as the head of what was called " The Cockney School of Pootiy and Criti- 
cirtin^" were perpetually assailed in its pages. This Letter from a Washer- 
woman was one of the few contributions, in that line, from Mngiiin's pen. 
There is no wit and little humour, even in the best specimens in bad speJling. 
Winifred Jenkins mny be endured and even Innglicd at, as one of the earliost 
in that field of pseiido illiteration. " Yellowplush" nnd " Jeamcs" fall fjir 
beneath. So did Maginn's Washerwoman. But the article \% fairly entitled 
to a place in this collection, as showing to what follies of composition a clever 
man could descend, and also on account of the parodies on Leigh Hunt's early 
mannerisms, and love of ** Mars, Bacchus, Apollo, Vivonim," with which it 
concludes. — M. 

as the gustice called it, and left notlxing to paj mj rent, an' all 
the power o* miscliif they'd a done me, with all their outlandiih 
Iieethen fancies, but a roam full t>f dwyd weeds, peeble stones, 
cracked chalk images!, an* bits of cniroplod paper, all over blots, 
an* litin stuff that no Crisetoun c^n make head nor tale on. Well, 
i was a telUn of all my misfortlns to Mr. Perkins, who seems a 
civil, pretty behaved sort of a gentleman, only he's all way a att 
his books and his pen, an' at first i was rather huffed, for he 
sniggered and aniggered, but it want att me, only at them grace- 
less chappfl i was telling ab'^"*- an* -*t last he says, says he, 
when 1 told him how G*'*iti'-' *ay Itl get me no redress nor 
cumpinsashun, i teP ^^* rs ^white says he, tell yOnr 

itory to the lamed ! i jrtL.. , i maybe hel gif you cum- 

flirt ai/ eumpinsashim b i, n rst I thot how he was a 

bummin me, tho he*s a gravg km gen tl em fin, not much 

given to vain talkin an* gest it last i found he was in 

downrite earnest, au' thatt you was a fiiend of his, a sort of a 
Bcotch gnstice, an* ntes a book every month, an^ mite maybe 
take up the cawse of hinpired h innocence, as we said to the late 
Queen of blessed memory,* and put in mi plttiful story to shame 
their parjuiy willains, an' mite moreover make me a hansome 
present into the bargain, an' he promissd if id rite a letter, hed 
send it safe to you, and so worshippfull sir, the' i never heard 
youre name before i makes bold to tell you how i've been put 
upon. "" 

Well, sur, you must know then my name is Patience Lilly- 
white, an' i'm a washerwoman, an' lives att Islington, at Puddle- 
ditch comer, a pretty rural spott, where i letts loddgins to single 
gentlemen as wants a little country hmr and quiett, after the 
noise an' smoke of Lunnon. Well, sir, the 20th of last July 
was twelvemonth, i minds the day peticklar, bein that ater the 
crownashun day,*^ comes a thin spindle shanked gentleman to 
look at my loddgins, bein, as he said, ordered into the county 
for change of hair, and shure enuff he looked as yoUer as a kite's 
foot. The rooms seemed to please him mitily, and well they 
mought; two prettier, pleasanter, more convenienter, a king 

* Caroline of Brunswick. — M. 

t George IV. was crowned on July 19, 1821. — M. 


need'nt covet, for the parlour winder looks ont into onr garden, 
thats very private an' rural, for 'tis parted off by a ditch an' an 
elder hedge from the backs of the sope manifacktory, an' Mr. 
Bullock's slawtur-house, so there bent no unpleasant hop-jacks 
ner it, an't .overlookd by nobody. An' tlie parlor was just fresh 
painted very illigent, sky-blue in the pannells with yollor mol- 
dins ; an' the comer cupbord was chock full of illigant chaney, 
an' id a just bought a spick an' span new gappan tea-tray, an' a 
spontious hum, whereof he took peticklar notice, an' axed how 
much it constrained; and when i told him two gallons, that 
seemed to settle his mind at once, an* he agreed with me at haff 
a ginnee a week, little enough of all conshince ; but he said how 
he was a very quiett body, an' shuld give but little tmbbel, so i 
was agi*eeabel to take him in. — Well, rivrend sir, he comed shure 
ennff the very next eveenin off wun of the stages, an' brought 
all his luggadge in his hand, witch was no more than a smaal 
porkmanky, an' an ould earthen ware crate wi sum chalk him- 

He had nothin for supper, but some tea an' bread-and-butter, 
an' sett up haff the nite, mmmadgin about the rooms, an' stick- 
in up they himmiges as comed in the crate, an' sum books, an' 
bitts of broken stones, an' craked shells, out of the porkmanky, 
witch was crammed three parts full of sich rubbish, instead of 
good hoUand shurts an* warin apparel. Well, i seed there 
woodnt be many gobbs for me, in my way ; but the gentleman 
seemed quiett an' civill, an' spoke verry goodnatured to the chil- 
dem, an' i rather bepitteed him, for he seemd in a pore weak 

Next day, about aternoon, a frind cawled in to see him, a 
shamblin sort of a chapp, with grate thick lipps, an' littel piggs 
eyes, an' a puffy unholesum lookin face, as yoUer as tother ; but 
he spoke verry soft an' civil too, an' took peticklar notice of 
Kance, as was mi eldest, an' just turned fifteen. Well, this here 
wun, i cant never mind his name, for they calld him bi too att 
wunce, seemed verry thik with my loddger, Mr. Pennyfeather, 
an' hardly missd a day cummin to see him, to mi sorrow ; for i 
do think 'twas he put sich wild vagarys into tother's head, an' 
pswmded him at last to run off in mi dett, like a shabbroon as 


but a pack o rut bitch I 
111 blessed day tliej cuma 

he wasi. Youd mvtx beleeve met wtirshippfull siir, if i was to 
tell you liaff the goins on of they two rapscalliDns* an' Watt 
i«nf«rk th^y maid in mi pore littel garden, an' with mi Natice» but 
I tnit cum to that yet ; the mooro foole i, not to cutt em short in 
there lieetheuish doius ; but sum how thej- eomed over me wi 
thur flue hard words and palaverin spitches, tho i heleeye* o mi 
conshiiiccp twnnt nothing ater all butt a puck of nouses cicelo 
jabber. So, sur, you must no, they gott mi leere to halter or 
transmoggrify our bitt of garden, that was a sweet spott they 
said, only they wanted to lay it out classy cully, Tho^ for mj 
part, i thot twas classed out rlgglar iflTi wi beds of cabhadges 
Atr iniuns, an' gieh like sensibel atx.«. To work they fell, an* 
routed out all they pore innocent tl" s ; an* watt do you think 
they aett in the room. of em ? ^° m bonest woman, if yule 
belceve me, worshippfull eur, 
woodnt a piled in mi fa^git gtaka:, 
home loded lik jack asses, wi | ie ti mdels of long scragj^lin 
green bows off tlie chesnut an' huie trees, im' never beleeve mc, 
if tliey didnt slick them up an end all ahent the garden, in the 
room of mi iine gusehern bushes, the rite hairy sort, tliatt theyd 
gnibbd up bi the roots, the moore fowl i to lett em. But they 
wanted to convert it into a grove, they sedd. Lord bless ye, 
gemmen, says i, why them sticks '11 all be dead in a weak ; butt 
they only nidged their heads, as mutch as to say, i spose weel 
be off bi that time. An so when they bows was stuck about 
like pee-sticks, they brings a parsel of daysys, notbin but com- 
mon field daysys, an' primroses, an' gilty cupps, and sieh like 
trumpery, guodd for nothin weeds, and sets em in all amongst 
tothers ; an' wenn thatt was done to their minds, whatt maggots 
shuld bite next, butt they falls to wurk, nocking up of our ould 
pJggsty. So then, thinks i, they be gott about some good att 
last ; for, to bo shure, theyre gom to mend itt upp tidy, an' 
prapps make mee a present of a fattin pigg. or a pritty littel 
chany sow. But no sich things was in their noddels, gud sur. 

Furst of all they piled up a sort of a mount, with peat an' 
bricks, an' rubbitch, an' rite upon top on it, they setts about 
bildin up o the piggsty, as i thot ; so says i, *' Lawk, gemmen; 
bow sh^l wee ever clamber up there wi the piggs vittels ; an' 


watt for shuld ye perch tm upp so hj, pore dtimb beestesses.*' 
So they seemd quite ha£fed. A piggsty, says they. Why» 
woman -^ Mi names lilywhite, says i. — So, says they, Mrs. 
Lilywhite, were recktin a tempel to Pollar.— Po^r^^ they must 
meen, thinks i, Ibr thatts piggs vittels ; so they be goin to by 
me one ater all, only they thinks to sptize me : so i wont take 
no more notiss. But thatt was all mi innocence. They no more 
thot of bildin up mi sty, than i didd of bildin the tempel of Geruz- 
leom. Well, they cobbled npp a sort of a queer lookin fore 
comerd shed, and coverd it over wi a round bitt of oil cloth, 
paneted wi yoUer stripes, all round from the middel, for all the 
world like a sunflower ; an' then they made a kind of paath upp 
the mount, wi broken briks an' oyster shells, stikin out here an' 
thare, to look like rokks, they sedd : an' ater thatt, they stuck 
it full of grene lawrel bows, by the same token that Mr. Deppity 
Doughnut) of Wellintun Willa, thretened to persecute em for 
tarin down all his lawrel heddges. But they didnt care for la 
nor gosple, not they. 

An next there was a grand confab atwixt em, about makin of 
a fowntane ; for witch there didn't seem, to mi thinkin, no man- 
ner of need, when there was a good pump, with beautiffuU soft 
water, not ten steps from our own dore. But a fowntane they 
must have ; nothin else would serve em : so they take an' diggs 
out the ditch up to the bottum of thatt new fangled mount, an' 
damms upp the water, that was nothin but sope sudds an' kennel 
stuff ater all, an' then setts it a running thro' a cows horn, as 
they beggd of the buttchur, trickel, trickel, trickel over some 
pebbel stons an' bitts of broken bottels as theyd strewd along 
the bottom of the drain. Then, to sea how they rubbd there 
bans, an' chuckeld an' capurd about wen they seed the dirty 
water com spurdn out. 

For mi part i begun to think they was craasy, butt my yung 
wnns likd the sport well enuff, for 'twas summut in thur one 
way. Well, then, they seemd to think 'twas all parfict, an 'two 
or three more chapps of there one sort comd in, an' they all lade 
thur hedds togethur, an' setteld to have a feest at the diddica- 
shun of the Tempel, as they cawld it. Most of whatt they 
tawkd was Greek to me j but i prikkd up mi years wen i hurd 


of a feest Mortall pore liviii thejd kept since id liad to da for 
em. Mi loddger most times rRmbbeld away, lord nos were, wea 
he eliwltl hav bin enjoyin bisself in my comfurtabel parlor, over 
a good beef stake or a pork chopp, an' a pott of poiter, wmehj 
a body mito a i^ott sum sm^ial mattnr now an tbeu^ in an oneat 
' . way^ for wiine toiUn and moilin ; butt itts toi belief, be ledd like 
tbe vai-ment and tlie Frineli, upon fi'oggs an' tods, an' ditck sal- 
Iflt, Howenmdever, wen totber cumd, aa he did most aternoonB, 
tbey two stowd in a mortal iite of tea an* bread-an'-buttar, 
Ofibuns an' oshuns of tea didd tbey gett an* swil, to be sbiaro, 

fl i &edd to owr Kance^ saye i, for saVtain tbejd go droppsieub 
Well, wben i burd em tawk of a feest, i makee bold to putt 
mi ore. "An," saye i, "tbero's sum butifuU ducks just fatt 
■ in owr conpj and noo grin peea is cum in ;" bnt lawk, tbey cutt 
me sbort in a giffy. " Ducks !*' eays Mr. Fenny feather ; an* 
then he mnned on bicIi a pak of etuff, as i could 't mak hedd nor 
tale oUi only tbatt there was to be no vittels bot, but Nektur an' 
Hambrowsy; two thiDgs i'd never burd on^ only i found oat after* 
wards, tbem names wus Greak for teap an' butter an' bread- 
Furst of awl, they sett about kristenin awl there tine wurka. 
But sich names tbey sett em, it's amost a shame for a Krisctenn 
to tell agen ; for tbey sedd how the mownt was to be cawld 
Hellycome. Lawk, sur, sieb blasphemy wickedness ; and tbe 
fowntane was Hagganipper. Wat that ment i culdn't teU for 
sai-tin, only i nod well enuff 'twas no gud ; so i told mi yung 
uns, if ever i ketched em sayiu sich awfnll wurds, i'd bang em 
up hyer than ever bakon was hung. 

Then there was a deel of gabberin about PoUar an' Foliar, 
whoever he was, for i found out hi them 'twas a man's name, no 
sponsibel parson im sure, summnt of a Jack Ketch« most lik, for 
they tawked about his halter; an' sum sedd that was upon 
Mownt Parnassus, an' how he oft to bide there ; butt att last 
they agreed he shuld be had down too Hellycome ; and then 
they fixed how that there commicle place a top of the Mownt 
was to be the Tempel of the Mooses. O Gemminnes ! if i didn't 
think upon tbatt, tbatt they wer a goin to lugg over thatt ere 
grate beest as is showed in Lunnon, an' hoist em up fox a site to 
the Islington fokes, att so mutch a hedd ; bnt i culdnt abide the 


thot on it ; so says i, awl in a flony an' a combustion, ** Lord's 
sake, gemmin !" says i, " wat be ye goin about ? you mite as 
well go for to cram a cow in a co£fee-pott, as thatt ere rampagus 
wild beest npp in tbatt poppett-sbow place." Upon tbatt tbey 
showted, an' fleerd, an' geerd att me, an' sedd bow Mooses was 
yung ladys, an' bow tbey was goin to backd a play, and bow 
my Nance, an' Sal, an' littel Hannermarier sbuld pessonify tbe 
Mooses ; only, as tbere was nine, neetber more nor less, tbere 
must be six otbur gurls to bact tbe totbers, an' tbem tbey soon 
pickd out. Tben mi littel billy begun fur to cry, an' ax wby be 
midn't be a Moose too, as well as tbe rest, for be was a cute 
littel feller, an' always foremost wben tbere was anny tbing to 
be lamd ; but tbey passyfide bim, and sedd, be sbuld be Cubit, 
an' Stan by Nance's side wi' a flambo, an' sbe was to be cawld 
Hairy-toe — a fritefull name to my tbinking — wun of tbey Mis- 
ses — Mooses, i wood say; an' Buttcbur Bullocks wencb was to 
be Polly snmmut, i forget wat ; " but bowsumdever," says i, 
" that av gott more of a Kriscteun sound witb it, an' tbe gurls 
raal name is Mary." I forgets tbe rest of tbey boetbenisb 
names, fit for none but Turks and Hottenpots ; butt tbere was a 
fine to do, wen evry tbing was gott in order, as tbey cawled it. 
'Twas rare funn to tbe gurls, and to awl the naburs too, for tbe 
mattur of that ; and they broke down awl my butifull hedge, 
wi' dambenin over to get a peep at the show. 

Tbere was owr Nance stuk upp, who butt she, more fool i to 
wink att sich doins, dressed out, nott in her Sunday gownd an' 
Spenser, and beever batt an' fethers, thatt she used to be so 
proud on ; butt rolled up for awl tbe wurld lik a corps in a wite 
tabel cloth, skiverd together, as if there was no pins to be had, 
over wun sbolder ; an' awl mi cabbidge roses, wat i used to save 
for dryin, an' for to sell for popery's an' sich lik, wus pulld, an' 
plukkd, and stringd lik a rope of inions round her hedd, instead 
of a decent cap and top nott. Then they berried Tim Whippy 's 
fiddle for she to bold, tho i told em sheed never lamd a toone ; 
an' little Billy was strippt amost nakid, qwite nakid they wanted 
im, butt thatt i wasn't to be bargufied into ; an' they put a lited 
link in bis band, an' stuk bim up close bi Nance ; an' awl the 
tother wenches wus figgerd up much tbe samCi lik bidols an' 

Iiimages, more tban KriEcteun cratnrs j and tlien tliey strikes out 
ail of a hurry, ^.s liow lie wi' the two names as cotnd every day 
to Bee my loddger, should hackt Pollan So they pulla off his 
ehoos and stoekins, pure and ragged they was ; an' for the mat- 
ter of thatt, they wauted to do the Banie bl the girls j but no — 
" D*ye think/* &ays i, '' mi h offspring shall tramp abotit^ barefoot, 
like begger-wetiches ?" Butt they off wi hisn bowsumdeeveri, 
and stnppt down his nek cloth ati* ehirt collar, and tyed wnn of 
mi apenis round his neck, an* figured his head up wi lawrel 
bows, till he looked for all the wurld like a Jack in the Greeno, 
only not haff so funny ; and then they gave him hold of the ould 
base vial that theyd got the lone of from our parish dark. Old 
MumpSp — more shea me ho to lend un, for to mi mind ^twas 
lieethen sakerlidge. Well, then, the rest sett up sich a showt, 
and begun dancin an singin lik pi-opper beddlamites, an' skreech- 
in owt, "Hail, Pollai-j Gloryows PoUar! Hatl ! Hail!" 

Lord gif me patience to think o sich hardend wikkedness as 
cawLin down bail in the veiy middle of hay barvest, and tlie 
deppitys ci-opps a carryin ; b'Vit they owd he a gruddge about 
tbrettenin to take the law on em. Then the feest wag to begin. 
** Sich a feest/' 1 says ; an' the Mooses was to sarve cm wi neck- 
tur, meenin nothin else, your honor, then a pcwer o wisby-washy 
tea thatt was made in owr grate hum ; an' wen i was a going to 
fettch owt the best chany cups an' saasurs wi the goold ritns, for 
i liks to see every thing hansom, they axed me if so be i hadn*t 
a got anny antik vessells ; an' afor i euld pozzel owt the meenin 
o that, they goes an' rummages owt sum owld cl*ackd butter- 
botes, an' squatt bottles, an' empty oil flaskks, an' for wat wnid 
yur worshipp think ? — why to drink tea owt on, ass i'm a Hvin 
woman, an' mi name's Patience ; becawse, they sedd, the beeth- 
en Turks, that mi best cupps an' saasnrs wasn't classycull. I 
don't know what ware that is — not i ; but i'll tak mi Bibel otbe, 
mi chany was the best Darby sheer. Well, they swiggd an* 
sung, an' sung an' swiggd, till he as hacktod PoUar tamed ass 
sik ass a dogg, for bed a bin sukkin out of an oil fiaskk, sanrd 
im rite too ; an' i wisbd the tother hadd bin ass badd, for tnrmn 
up their noses at my best cbany. But wui^^e than thatt was 
brewin, for owr B31 ^m' the garb badd gott to rompps, an' stof* 


fin of bred an' batter, an' the link as sarved for Cubit's flambo, 
sett fire to Nance's tabel-cloth, an' she in her frite rund up agen 
Pollar, 80 bis apem ketched all in a blaaze, an' he tares it off, 
an' flares it awaj into the middel of the garden, where mi lin- 
nens was bangin on the lines, an' afore you culd say Jack Bob- 
bison, it was awl in a conflarashun. 

Tbatt ever i shuld liv to sea sich ruinn brot upon my honest 
cawlin,. bi sich a pakk of — — ; but that wem't the wurst. 
WeU, Nance unskiverd the tabel-cloth sumhow, an' rund away 
in her flannel dicky. But sum of the other wenches raggs took 
fire, an' then fine fuzion there was. They put it owt among 
em, bowsomdever, butt not afore the tempel pigoty, i says, 
ketcbed awl of a flame, an' the owld rotten postesses blaazed 
owt lik tutehwood, an' the oil cloth top blowed off rite agen the 
&ggit pile, an' sett fire to thatt too. There was a kettel of fish. 
I speckted to sea house an' awl burnt to the ground, an awl 
Islington too, for wat wun culd tell ; but the naburs cumb porin 
in, an' the hengins was brot owt ; an' att last, bi the marcy of 
Heeven, the flames was got under, butt nott till i'd bin dam- 
madged and hinjured, pownds an' pownds. 

Well, honnurabel sur, mayhap you taks it for sartain thatt 
they rantipate chapps as maid awl the misschiff, lended a hand 
to get it under, for the best amens they culd mak. No sich a 
thing, yur wurshipp. They sneekt off att the first owtcry, lik 
cowwardly currs, with there tales betwene there leggs ; an' from 
that ower to thisn — 0, worshippfull sur, that such proffelgate 
vilhdns shuld walk this blessed erth ! — i've niver sett eyes upon 
a muther's sunn of em ; an' ass if it wem't enuff to diddel me 
owt of haff mi subbstance, an' leeve me a ruinated undun widder, 
they ticed away mi Nance along wi em, tho for the matter o 
thatt, no feer butt watt she was willin enuff, for they'd tumd lier 
poor foolish hedd among them ; an' wun of owr naburs seed her 
thatt same blissed atemoon, purch'd up, who but she, from top 
o wim o the Lunnon stages between Pollar an' Mr. Penny- 

So there's the long an' the shortt of mi true story, an' a pitty- 
fnll wun it is surely, thof i niver shuld a thot of ritin it to yur wor- 
shipp, but for Mr. Perkinses pswasions, an* the considderashuns 


7%eir altar was the flowery lap of earth — 

The starry empyreum their vast temple — 

Their book, each outer's eyes and Love himself, 

Parson, and Clerk, and Father to the bride ! •» 

Holy espousals ! whereat wept with joy 

The spirit of the Universe. — In sooth 

There was a sort of drizzling rain that day, 

For I remember (having left at home 

My parapluie, a name than wnbrella 

Far more expressive,) that I stood for shelter 

Under an entry not twelve paces off, 

(It might be ten,) from sheniT Waithman's shop, 

For half an hour or more, and there I mused, 

(Mine eyes upon the running kennel fixed. 

That hurried on a heterogenous mass 

To th' common*sewer, its dark reservoir,) 

I mused upon the running stream of ltfe» 

But that's not much to th* purpose — I was telling 

Of those most pure espouwils. — Innocent pair ! 

Ye were not shackled by the vulgar chains 

About the yielding mind of credulous youth, 

Wound by the nurse and priest, — your energies, 

Your unsophisticated impulses, 

Taught ye to soar above their f* settled rules 

Of Vice and Virtue."— Fairest creature ! He 

Whom th« world called thy husband, was in truth 

Unworthy of thee. — A dull plodding wretch ! 

With whose ignoble nature, thy free spirit 

Held no communion. — Twas well done, fair creature.* 

T* assert the independence of a mind 

Created — generated I would say — 

Free as ** that chartered libertine, the air.'* 

Joy to thy chosen partner! — blest exchange ! 

Work of mysterious sympathy ! that drew 

Your kindred souls by * ***** * 

Come, and you'll find the muffins hot. 
And fragrant tea in the tea-pot. 
And she, you know, with the taper fingers. 
Shall pour it out for you— Wherefore lingers 
My friend so long f where can he be f 
Didn't he promise he'd come to tea 7 
Ah ! there's his knock — the very cat knows 'tis- 
Now we'll be mug and toast our noses. 
Now we •••'•••• • 
Vol. II.— 13 


There fled thu noblest ipint'— (be most purp, 

Moat »ublininted esience ttint e'er dwek 

In eiittlily tabernacle. Gtmo thou art^ 

Ejihated:, Tliflsolvcd]. diffliaedi comifliiigled now 

Iftf& aiid m/h iTie all'CLbpoiljing^ fi-amp 

Of Haiurie iha great mnther. Bv'n m Itfe, 

H'bile slill pent tip m ili?«h ani! sldPi nnd bonea* 

&]y ibougbii amd fedhiga lilce dfrctric fliitnfi 

Sljot tbrougb the flolid tubm, loworda tLdr t^upctt 

And blen JpJ witb tlie i^eneral elememra, 

When iby young alar o'or life's horiiori hung 

Far Fcnm ill xenitU ytt, low lagging cloudd 

( Vopmjrs nf rtinlt) obscured iti heuv^n-bom rnjt^ 

Dull fogs of prrjudicD nnti ^iiiperAtkioiij, 

And vulgar decencici? begirt thee round j 

And thou didiC wear nvvhiJc tb' yiibol}' bond* 

Of ** holy matrimony r* — and did#t vail 

Awhile iby bfly spirit to tlie cheat.— * 

But renflon came^ — and f^im philosophy. 

And mild phlknthvopy, and pol tiled out 

Tlifl wbnm& h was — tbe crying:, cmabin* »hnme, 

To cmh within a I i tile paUry pal« 

Tbe love that over all created tbinj^is 

Should be diffusive as the atmosphere. 

Tlien did thy boundless tenderness expand , 

Over all space — all animated thillg^*, 

And things inanimate. Thou hadst a hearty 

A ready tear for all — The dying whale, 

Stranded and gasping — npped up for his blubber, 

By Man, the tyrant — The small sucking pig 

Slain for his riot — The down-trampled flower, 

Ci-ushed by his cruel foot — Allj each and all 

Shared in thy boundless sympathies, and then — 

(Sublime perfection of perfected love) 

Then didst thou apurn the whimp'ring wailing thing 

That dared to call tkee " husband," and to claim, 

As her just right, support and love from ikeCf — 

Then didst thou «***•*** 

Pretty little playful Patty 
Daddy's darling ! fubsy fatty ! 
Come and kiss me, come and sip. 
Little bee upon my lip — 
Gome» and bring the pretty ship, 

Little brother Johnny tnade ye, 
Come, ye little cunning jade ye, 
Come and see what I've got here, 
In my pocket, pretty dear ! 
What ! and won't ye come no higher ? 



Want to go to unnt Marier? 
Want to go to * * * * 

Oh ! lay me when I die 
Hard by 

That little babbling brook, where you 
and I 

Have sat, and sauntered many a sum- 
mer's day, 

Scenting the sweet soft liuy ; 

There let me lay, 

For there young mincing May 

Comes first with mouth so meek. 

And pale peach-coloured cheek. 

And little naked feet. 

That go pit pat, 

And all that, 
Tripping among the sweet 

Daisies and violets, 
And pale primroses; 

And there she comes and sits 
A tying up of posies 
Fit for immortal noses 
To sniff unto, and there 
With silky swallng pair, 
And iv'ry bands that wring it, 
And to the z<»phyrs fling it, 

Up from that babbling brook 
The little Naind's look, 

Hea^n'ng up round white shoulders, 
That dazzle all beholders, 
And then so gi-uceful glide they, 
Some crablike (sidling) sideway ; 
Then on the bank I montioii. 
Like tuitles at Ascension, 
In heaps they're all a laying, 
And then with pretty playing, 
One, like a fiightencd otter, 
Flopps down into the water ; 
The rest they flounce in a*ter — 
Then some, with pea-green blushes. 
Hide in amongst the rushes, 
And one lies shamming sleep, 
And one squeaks out ** bo peep !" 
And one raised head doth peer 
Out with a laughing leer; 
And then pops up another ; 
Another and another ; 
Then they pretend to smother, 
A titt'ring talk coquettish. 
Then with affected wonder, 

And feigned frowns so pettish. 
Like ducks they dive down under. 
Then through the gurgling water, 
To look aijtl icii * « « * ♦ 

' Midnight 1 yH tmt a tio&e, from Tower Hill Ki FiiM^adJIIyf anorciir* 

In a crowded and higlily cultivated state of society, Hke tliat 
of London I tire race of exeiiion against time is incessant. Take 
a distant Village, althoug^h a populotis one, (as in Devonshire or 
Cornwall,) and even discord, daring the lioura of darkness, it 
found forgetting lierBelf in rest, Tlie last alebonse closes before 
the clock stiikes ten, sending the reiy scapegraces of tlie ham- 
let, In sammer^ to bed hy daylight ; no lady would choose, after 
curfew hour, (even by beating her hiisband,) to disturb her neigli- 
houi's ; and, unless somQ tailor happens to he hehmdhand with 
It wedding pair of sraall clothes ; or some housewife pjolonga the 
washiug-day, and gives an extra hour to her lace caps | or unless 
the village he a Post-stage, where the " first-ttim-boy'' must 
sleep in his spurs ; or where, the mail changing horses, some 
one sits np to give the guard his glass of rum, no moyable prob- 
ably like a lighted candle is known to such a community from 
eleven o'clock on the Saturday night to six o'clock on the Mon- 
day morning. In London, however, the course of a£fairs is widely 
different. As the broad glare of gas drives darkness even from 
our alleys, so multitudinous avocations keep rest for ever from 
our streets. By an an*angement the opposite to that of Queen 
Penelope, it is during the night that the work of regeneration in 
our great capital goes on ; it is by nigkt that the great reservoirs 
which feed London and Westminster, repair the vast expenditure 
which they make during the day. As the wants of twelve hun- 
dred thousand persons are not ministered to with a wet finger, 
this operation of replenishment does not proceed in silence. Its 
action is best observable (as regards the season) towards the end 
of spring ; when, the town being at the fullest, the markets are 
most abundantly supplied. Then, every succeeding hour of the 
four-and-twenty, brings its peculiar business to be performed, and 
8ets its peculiar agents into motion. 

Between half past eleven and twelve o'clock at night, the sev- 
* From Blackwood for November, 1823. — M. 


eral theatres of the metropolis discharge themselves of their 
loads ; and at that hour it is (unless the House of Commons 
happens to sit late) that the last flush of pa engcrs is seen in 
the streets of London. The forth-rushing multitudes of Covent- 
Garden and Drury-Lane pass westward, in divisions, hy King 
Street and Leicesterfields — eastward, hy Catherine Street, the 
Strand, and Temple Bar ; they are crossed at the points of 
Blackfiiars, and St. Martin's Lane, by the Middlesex-dwelling 
visitors of Astley's and the Circus, and may be distinguished 
from the chance travellers (pedestrians) of the same direction, 
by their quick step, hilarious mood, and, still more, by that style 
of shouldering in which Englishmen, when they walk in a body, 
always indulge towards the single-handed. About this time, 
too, the hackney horses put their best feet (where there is a 
choiee) foremost ; knowing of old, that, whence comes one lash, 
there as easily come two. The less public and more peacefnl 
districts of town are next flattered for some twenty minutes by 
the lond knocks of coachmen, occasionally commuted into "touch- 
es oT the bell," for the sake of " the lodgers," or " the children," 
or, sometimes, " the old lady opposite." And before the stroke 
of midnight, in these comparatively pacific regions, the tom-cats 
and the watchmen reign with undisputed sway. 

In the greater thoroughfares of London, however, and espe- 
cially about Fleet Street and the Strand, the tumult of evening 
does not subside so easily. From twelve, by Paul's clock, until 
after two in the morning, the Gates of the Tomple, and the nooks 
nnder St. Dunstan's Church ; the comers of Bell Yard, Star 
Court, and Chancery Lane; the doors of the Rainbow, the 
Cock, and the other minor coffee-houses of Fleet Street, are be- 
set by habitual idlers, or late-stining " professional people," — 
members of spouting-clubs, and second-rate actors, — barristers 
without law, and medical students guiltless of physic ; besides 
these, there flourish a set of City " choice spirits," who can't get 
80 far west as " Pedley's Oyster-rooms," or " The Saloon," in 
Piccadilly, but must take their " lark" (moving homewards) be- 
tween the Adelphi Theatre and Whitechapel ; and now-and- 
then, perhaps, some grocer of Farringdon falls (vino gravidus) 
into the irregularity of a ** set-to," and pays thirty shillings, 


** makiug-wp" iDoney, to his Jew- antagonist at Bt. Bride's Watcli. 
house, to &aye a jobatifm, at Guildliall, from the sitting Altler^ 
I jnaii, next day* 

Tbb is the very ** witcbiog time/* ^ar exceUencet of night, 

" Wliett gnivra ylAd up their dead !" 

(because resurrection-men will have it bo), when lamps are ** ri- 
fled At,'' and sots pnshed out of pubhc4ioiises ; and when the 
n I Iter wayfarer starts, ever and anon, at that prolonged Hilly- 
t>h-ho*ho i — ^that bellow, as it wei"e, a-cscendo^ — peenljar, I think, 
to the thmate of the English, which frightens watchmen into their 
hutches, and quit^t citizens into tbe kenneL This whoop by the 
J way prolonged, wbich in%Htes mankind, ae it were, to clear the 
way J is, with us, a pure national, and not a locals diaracteristic. 
Both high and low a^ect the practice ; both " good men** and 
bnlUea, We have it at Oxford and at Cambridge, where the 
^.gowui^nien^ jf opposed, gtrip, and buff to their work IJke stont 
** forty minntes^^ fellows ; and again in London, where your 
flustered baberdasher, after defying perhaps a whole street, at 
la^t provokes somebody to tlira^h him, and is beat without a 
blow in his defence. 

By two o'clock, however, the riotous get pretty well disposed 
of; some snug and llea-bitten, in their own personal garrets | 
more (and still fieabitten) in thc^compters of the police. The 
wickets of the night-houses, after this, open only to known cus- 
tomers ; and the flying pieman ceases bis call. The pickpock- 
ets, linked with the refuse of another pestilence of the town, are 
seen sauntering lazily towards their lurking places, in gangs of 
five and six together. And when these last stragglers of dark- 
ness have swept over the pave, the debris of the evening may 
be considered as cleared off; and, except an occasional crash of 
oyster-shells cast (maugre Angelo Taylor) from some lobster- 
shop, or the sharp rattle of a late billiard ball echoing from the 
rooms over Mrs. Salmon's, silence, or something like it, obtains 
for some brief minutes, while the idlers of night give place to 
the dark- working men of business. 

The earliest distiurbers of London, until within these few years, 
were the market gardeners ; yrho rolled lazily through the sub- 
urbs, about three> with their fiUed-up carts and waggons; — 


some " well to do," and pompous, parading their four high-fed 
horses apiece ; others, poor (and modest,) drawing with a single 
quadruped, and he, God wot, looking as though stray cahbage 
leaves were his holiday-fare, — that is, supposing (what is not 
snpposable) that such a thing as a holiday ever happened to 
him; — all the spring vehicles, however, top-heavy with baskets 
of raspberries, strawberries, and currants; and followed by heav- 
ier machines bearing gooseberries, or frame potatoes ; the cauli- 
flowers, pease, and such more ponderous and plebeian esculents, 
having creaked into town (as they might) in the course of the 
preceding evening. 

But two or three mild winters, of late, in succession, have 
brought a new article of foreign trade into England. Ice, for 
the use of the confectioners, comes now to us all the way from Nor- 
way ; where a gentleman, we understand, is making arrange- 
ments to send over even snow, at a far cheaper rate than it can 
afford to fall in this country ; — so that frost, in fact, (as regards 
Great Britmn and Ireland,) may consider itself discharged from 
further attendance ; and, with tli'e help of a few more devices in 
the way of commercial arrangement, and perhaps a new improve- 
ment or two as to the application of steam, it shall go hard but 
we will, shortly, turn the seasons out of doors altogether. And 
this imported ice (jealous of sunshine) is foremost in our streets 
now of mornings, moving along, in huge cart-loads, from the 
below-bridge wharfs ; and looking, as it lies in bulk, like so much 
conglutinated Epsom salts. 

Meantime, the river, above bridge, is not suffered to lie idle ; 
but the fruits of Putney and Fulham walk upon the shoulders 
of porters, from Hungerford and the Adelphi stairs, to the great 
mart of vegetable matter, Govent Garden. And upon this spot 
(Oovent Garden) which circumstances seem to have erected into 
a sort of museum for all the varied staple of a crowded capital 
city ; — to which all the patron friends of all the ills that scourge 
mankind, seem to have rushed, with one consent, day ahd night, 
to hold divan; — where Luxury roams gorgeous through her 
long range of lighted taverns, and brims the bowl with wine, 
which Discord waits to dash with blood ; — where hunger, squal- 
or, nakedness, and disease, dance, antic, round our national 

TB of nattonal wealtli and superfluitj; — wiiere rices 
Roo~ hideous to be contemplated in detail, assert tlieir royalty 
over ug, alike, in eveiy class, and every condition ; — blazing, in 
transient lustre, amid tlie splendid hotels of the Piazza ; star- 
ving, in rao^s, (yet scarce more abject,) amongst the horrid fast- 
iicssos of Bedford Court! — Upon tliis spot, where all tliing-a 
nimiBtrons are crowded and jumbled together }• — ^ where the 
sounds seem all confused, and the sights all anomalous ; — where 
the wild laugh of revelry, and the low moan of suffering ; the 
subdued whisper of entreaty, and the hoarse bark of execration, 
mingle, and mix, and blend, and half neutralize each other ; — 
upon this spot, Covent Garden, — jovial Govent Garden, ^ — the 
• darling- haunt alike of folly and of wit, — the great mart of all 
[ X-ondon for on-uiges, outeasts, and old clothes, — ^ where the jokes 
are mostly good, — where the cookery is always excellent, — 
where the claret is commonly the best in England ; and the 
raoTality never faiHngly the worst i — on this spot, one continued 
uproar of labour or dissipation, has endured, without intermis- 
sion, for nearly a centmy gone by; and here, so long as Lon- 
don shall keep her holding as a city, silence, probably, by night 
or day, shall never find a resting place. 

But we will tear ourselves from Covent Garden, even in " the 
sweet" (as Falstaff calls it) " of the night ;" for we must take a 
peep at the other points of p7ovisional concentration about town. 
We must look towards Cockspur Street, where the hay collects 
itself, in such quantities, that nothing but the stomach of a horse 
could ever hope to make away with it. And we must cross, too, 
into Smithfield, where herds of cattle keep coming in all night ; 
and where it is amazing how anybody can get a wink of sleep, 
for the barking of the dogs, and the bellowing of the bulls, and, 
louder than all, the swearing of the drovers, — against whom. 
Heaven, Richard Martin, strengthen thine arm! Smithfield, 
however, to be seen to advantage, should be taken, from its east- 
em bearing, through the fogs of a November morning ; when 
the lights, in the west quadrangle, at " The Ram,'* " The Ggat," 
and " The Bull's Head," shew like beacons (though they shine 
but dimly) amid the total darkness on all sides of them ; and 
when, looking at the hubbub of traffic which roars through the 


outward street, against the deep, unheeding silence that reigns 
within the houses, a man might fancy he witnessed the rush of 
an invading army, or division, into a town which the inhahitants 
had, the night hefore, abandoned. Then pick your way round, 
(for there is no venturing to cross,) and peep through the steam- 
ing window-panes into the parlour of an inn, where graziers and 
salesmen, in their fantastic, "auld world" dresses — flop-hatted, 
and top-coated — booted, and waist-be-girt — knee-capped, twen- 
ty handkerchiefcd, mud-be-splashed, and spun*ed — snore, or 
smoke, in arm-chairs ; and, between whiles, drive bargains for 
thousands. Mark the huge bulk of these men; — their bluff- 
bearing, and English countenances. Hark to their deep voices, 
strange dialects, and uncouth expression. Then take their at- 
tendant demons — the badged drovers — each his goad and cord 
in hand ; and with garb so pieced together, patched, and tat- 
tered, that it might pass for the costume of any age ; being like 
the costume of none. Catch the style of the old-fashioned build- 
ing before you, — with its latticed windows and pent-house roof. 
Take the low ceiling of the sitting apartment, and the huge sea- 
coal fire that glows in it. Take the figures of the farmers with- 
in doors, and of the drovers hovering without, — of the gaitered, 
smock-frocked hostlers, carriers, and carmen, — of the ragged, 
patient, waiting ponies — and the still more ragged and patient 
sheep-dogs — the most faithful, intelligent, and ill-used beings 
of their species;^— take these objects amid the darkness of the 
hour, and the exaggeration of the fog ; and then, with a little 
natural romance, and a lively recollection of Shakspere, you 
may (almost) fancy yourself thrown back into the glorious rude- 
ness of the thirteenth century, arriving from a recent robber}", 
(ah ! those indeed were days) rich with the spoils of ** whoreson 
caterpillars ;" and calling for a light to walk between tavern 
and tavern ! 

But the sober clearness of a summer's morning is no nurse for 
these wild fancies. It shews all objects too plainly and distinctly 
for picturesque effect ; the true secret of which, lies in never ex- 
hibiting anything fully^ but in shewing just enough to excite 
the imagination, and in then leaving it room enough to act. — 
So we will turn back from Smithfield, just in the cold grey light 


2f»8 THE ommmn pafsis, 

of daybreak, and cross Holborn to Cbanccry-Laiie, whet© the 
keimela hy t\m time are <>ver€owbgj and rogues, with scoops, 
mr© watering tho roads ; tHat is, " making tbc dtist one mud P* 
Kow watchmen congregate round posts for a little sober conver- 
aation ; old women make to tbek respective standings with hot 
saloop and bread and butter ] and presently tbe light hnng car- 
avans of the fiBhmongers — bmlt at first in imitation of the 
heat^es, and now re- imitated into Paddington stage-coaches — 
begin to jingle along at a trot, by Thames Street, towards 

As the last stai-s fade in the horizon, and tbe sun coquets with 
tVie church spires, new actors, in sundry shapes, appear upon the 
scene, Hilkwomen, in droves, clank along i^ ith their (to he 
filled) pails. The poorer fish-dealers, on their own heads, nn- 
dertnke the "care of soal^" Chimney sweepers shuffle on, 
straiding out a feeble cry. And parties walk borne (rather 
chilly) from Vauxhall, flaunting in satin shoes, silk stockings, 
and ostrich feathers ; stared at now and then by some gaj^ng, 
slip-shod baker, who fetches spring water from tbe pnmp to cool 
his trpoNge, and looks like the statue in Don Juan, or a aack of 
flour truant I'roni the kneac^ing trough ; or booted hy some lost 
thing, all mad, and pale, and ghastly — some creation of gin, and 
carmine, and soiled muslin — which shews by daylight, as a being 
of other time and place, — an apparition — a prodigy — a denizen 
of some forbidden sphere, — a foul lamp, thickly glimmering out 
its dregs, which the sun's light, by some accident, has omitted 
to extinguish. 

Five o*clock, and the world looks as if stretching itself to 
awake. Coal-waggons and drays start forth upon " long turns ;" 
their country intent denoted by the truss of hay placed above 
the load. Butchers step sturdily towards Islington or Smithfield. 
Anglers, children of hope ! stride fieldwards with baskets on their 
backs. And Holborn and Snow Hill are crowded with pony- 
carts^ (since the Chancellor of the Exchequer rides nothing 
under fourteen hands) — bearing butter, cheese, poultry, sucking- 
pork, and eggs, from Newgate market to the distant parishes of 
Mary-le»bone and Pancras. 

Six ! and 'prentices begin to rob their eyes and curse their 


indentnres. Maid-servants at " the Piccadilly end" of the town, 
are not bound to stir just yet ; but Bussell Square and its de- 
pendencies set their spider killers in motion betimes ; for courts 
of law and counting-houses both sit at nine o'clock ; and an ad- 
vocate in practice of ten thousand a-jear, must step into his car- 
riage at five-and-thirtj minutes past eight in the morning. 

And now the different shops begin to open themselves for ac- 
tion. Our friend the baker is first, for he has been up all night, 
and he is to cool his loaves at the open windows as he draws 
them from the oven. Next comes the pastry cook, — lotting his 
remnant of cheese-cake, — selling yesterday's dainties at half- 
price torday ; and still making money (as it is said) by the deal- 
ing. Then coaches, splashed and dirty, come labouring into 
town ; and coaches, fresh and clean, drive out ; and, by this 
time, the mercers, and jewellers set their portal wide, in favour 
of sweeping, sprinkling, and window cleaning; for the show 
glasses (and here again sigh our friends the apprentices) must 
be emptied all, and polished, and refurnished, before breakfast. 

The clock strikes eight ; and the night walker must be seen 
no more. Hurry, and bustle, and breakfast, are on foot. The 
milkman cries in haste, and yet can scarce make his rounds fast 
enough. Maida with clean aprons (and sometimes with clean 
plates) step forth, key in hand, for the morning's modicum of 
fresh butter ; and hot rolls (walk as you will) run over you at 
every comer. By nine, the clerks have got down to their offices 
— the attorneys have opened their bags ; and the judges are on 
their benches, — and the business of the daym London may 
now be said to have begun ; which varies, from hour to hour, as 
sttangely as the business of the night ; and (to the curious ob- 
server) presents' even a more ample field for speculation. 


Sotig of ik^ Qia* 

- Wee to Bi whoa *r* lom the mlery will I' V Tjxonnr Tickijiu ■' 

Ir i»*»r chftt drt>A45it boor should ecosts^-bui God Bvert tlie day ! 
VVIifQ Sn^lnad's ghnv^^ Bag must bend, n^d yteld old Ckettn'i iwsy; 
\Vtif4i risr9i§i} ibipi ih^ll oVr diiii deep, ^beri? 4he it empi^BSr lord ; 
' W1ti#ii yai« erm* of red from balctpnt-'heEid i* hewti by fqret£:ii tword ; 
WhoA fufvifii fiiet ber nuirtenieck with pmyd stride tread* nlong j 
•WInu ket iwof^ful fhf p muct haugbtj sht^ck Jrom baU of farelg^u lon^pR ^'— 
Om fii^r, onv only prtiyot^ i* miii*, tbatt em U m&en tbac sigb, 
&« lih^ra be trvniof of th«i wo«, I nmy be wbelmM in n\ghu 

If •T»t ntbi»r prince dwn ourt wield tc^ptro o'er tb&t main, 
Wbetu H«*«iMrd> Btakf » nnd FrfibbUer, tbe Arrnnda smote of Spain ; 
Wbt<n« Bf«lei^, In Cwwiwf»i|*i Iron sway, twept tempest-liku tbe fleai, 
fWn Niirtb ti> SoDib^ finofn E^at to We«t, resistletv ni tbo breeze ; 
Whtfnt KtiiMtll bent gi»fll irfHiit' power, which bent before to imne^ 
And eruah^d bu ernn of narnl itrciii^ib, and dlmm'd bis Rising Sun — 
Ob« ^i<i^^t o«<» ^»V p™y<Jr <« mi no ^ thai, ere is seen that flight, 
Bc*i Ikws ^ waimin; of ibac i^oo, I may he whclm''d in nigbt f 

W •fvr Atbpr keeJ tbnn ours trfympb«tit plough ibac briDe^ 

Where Rodney met the Count De Grasse, and brake the Frenchman's line. 

Where Howe, upon the first of June, met the Jacobins in fight, 

And with Old Bngland's loud bunas broke down their godless might ; 

Where Jcrvis at St. Vincent's fell'd the Spaniards' lofty tiers, 

Where Duncan won at Camperdown, and Exmouth at Algiers — 

One prayer, one only prayer, is mine— that, ere is seen that sight, 

Bre Uiere be warning of that woe, I may be whelm'd in night ! 

But oh ! what ngony it were, when we should think on thee. 

The flower of all the Admirals that ever trod the sea ! 

I shall not name diy honoured name— but if the white-elifiTd Isle 

Which rear'd the Lion of the deep, the Hero of the Nile, 

Him who, 'neath Copenhagen's self, o'erthrew the faithless Dane, 

Who died at glorious Trafalgar, o'er-vanquished France and Spain, 

Should yield hor power, one prayer is mine — that, ere is seen that sight. 

Ere there bo warning of that woe, I may be whelm'd in night ! 

* This spirited l}Tic, " occasioned by seeing, in the Quarterly Review 
and Blackwood^* Magazine, some gloomy anticipations of the effects of the 
change in the Navigation Code," was published in Blackwood for September, 
1883 — M. 


JSem fioratian Reabingo.* 

"Sib, — You know, of course, the many charges against the 
unfaithfulness of translators, and against their frequent destruc- 
tion of all the force, power, tenderness, sublimity, wit, &;c., of 
the original ; but I have never seen yet any satisfactoiy project 
proposed, by which the powers of the translator and original 
author could be both fairly represented in one book. True it is 
that you may print the original in one page and the translation 
' in the opposite, but this is a poor mechanical bookbinding ex- 
jpedient. Dean Swift, you may remember, on getting a transla- 
tion of Horace thus arranged, very quietly tore out the English 
part, and declared that he' could safely say that half the book 
was good, and was much obliged to the compiler for giving him 
so easy a method of separating the worthy from the unworthy. 
But a project which I have devised will save the translator from 
such wicked waggery, while it will do as well to show off the 

" I have begun on Horace, he being a jocose and handy au- 
thor, and I send you a specimen of my labours. 

" You will perceive that my plan is to give lines alternately 
English and Latin, the former my own, the latter from my friend 
Flaccus. We are both thus fairly represented, just as in divided 
counties a Whig and Tory member ai'e returned to satisfy both 
partiei; without giving trouble. If the public approve, I shall 
publish a translation of all the odes in this style ; and if the pub- 
lic be a person of any taste, I am sm'e of general approbation. 
Meanwhile, Sur, believe me to be 

" Your most obediant servant, 


"P. S. — Mind to pronounce my Latin lines with Latin ac- 
cents, not Anglically. Thus, do not say, 

Api'os in ob-stantes plagas 
Aprot in 6b-ttant68 plagas 

* From tlifi Xifmiry OamMA— M. 

oiKnoarr pj 


OrprasJar of die boaelu imSt 

Or m a. ditfiaiit vaJs «t wmam 
PfKipeetal etTmrviea frp§c« ; 
Or IboBcy inio jsn oorrTPTt* 

When kis h^A tirckedf wtlla npplea 9W^f»t 

At plQckifif pesrs fae^s qittCe mt-fttk 

Ccrtant, el uvam purpune. 

Some for priapus, for thee some 

Sylvane, tutor finiam ! 

Beneath an oak 'tis sweet to be 

Mod* in tenaci gramine : 

The streamlet winds in flowing maze ; 

Quemntur in sylvis aves ; 

The fount in dulcet munnur plays 

Somnos quod invitet leves. 

But when the winter comes (and that 

Imbres nivesque comparat) 

With dogs he forces oft to pass 

Apros in obstantes plagas ; 

Or spreads his nets so thick and close, 

Tordis edacibos dolos ; 

Or hares, or cranes, from far away 

Jucunda captat prsemia : 

The wooer love's unhappy stir 

Haec inter obliviscitur. 

His wife can manage without lost 

Domom e( parvot liboroi ; 


(Suppose her Sabine, or the dry 

Periiicis uxor Appuli.) 

Who piles tho sacred henrthstone hi{(h 

Ln«si sub ad-ventum vin. 

And from his ewet, penned lest tliey stray, 

Distenta siccet ubera ; 

And this year's wine dinposcd to get 

Diipos incmptnB appnret. 

Oysters to me no joys supply, 

Miigisve rhombus, aut scan. 

(If M'hen the east winds boisterous be 

Hyoms ad hoc vertat mnre) 

Your Turkey pout is not to us, 

Non attagen lonicns. 

So sweet as what wo pick at home 

Oliva I amis arborum ; 

Or i<irrel, wliich the meads supply, 

Mnlvse salubrct corpori — 

Or Iamb, slain at a festal show, 

Vel ha>dus ereptus lupo. 

Feasting, *tia sweet the creature's dumb, 

Videi*e prop*mnt6s domum, 

Or oxen with the ploughshare go, 

CoIIo trahente hmguido; 

And all the slaves stretched out at ease, 

Circum renidentes Lares. 

Alphius the usurer, babbled thus, 

Jam jam futurus rusticus, 

Called in his cosh on th* Ides — but he 

Querit Calendis ponere. 


rirat toot* 


I SHALL never forget tlie firat time I ever dmnfe mm-pimcli 
Jifler LaviDg been smoking cigars, Datee, says De Quiney, may 
he forgotten — epochs never. That formed ao epoch in my 
existence ; 

" And t ho last trticfl wf fueUng wttli lif*? ahall dcpurt. 
Ere ihtj inoack of tJmt niiniicjit ilial) pnsa from my heart." 

Let me recitll it to my memory, with all its attendant circttin- 
etancei, and while my sonl broods over the delicioug recollectioTu 
forget the present day, with its temporary' miBeriee^ and shnt out 
from its views the follies, the frivolities, the wickedness, the base- 
ness, the ingratitude of the world. 

It happened, that though, like roost men who, in my day, 
were reared in Trinity College, juxfa Dublin, I had been toler- 
ably well initiated into the theory and practice of compotation, 
I hftd nevei- much taken to its greatest adjunct, smoking. I do 
not thhik that the Trinity men (Dublin) smoke — it certainly, 
as long as I remember that seminary, of which I cannot think 
with affection, never was a fashion there. Particular pipemen, 
and solitary cigarers, no doubt, always existed, but just as you 
now and then see a pig-tail (I do not allude to tobacco) dan- 
gling behind an elderly gentleman, or hear a shoe creak under 
the foot of a decent man. Smoking, in short, was the excep- 
tion — non-smoking the rule. But the men of my time drank 
hard, though, as youths always do, unscientifically. I therefore, 
as the rest, drank, and did not smoke. 

I was about twenty when I left the University, and went 
down to live with mjr father in a pretty seaport town. Here I 
mixed a good deal in boating-parties, and other such excursions 
with sea-faring men, and from them, after much persuasion on 
their parts, I learned to smoke. My first preceptors prefen*ed 
the pipe. I shall not here enter into the controversy which has 

* From Blachcood for Kwf^vwi, \^(>. — M.. 


so long agitated the world, concerning the superiority of pipe or 
cigar. I am tired of controversies. 

''I am weary of hunting^, and fain would lie down/' 

For the same reason, I pass all mention of the too celebrated, 
though in reality minor dispute, concerning the length of the 
pipe, which cost my friend Captain O'Shaughncssy his life. 
Though he died as became a man of honour and a gentleman, 
it may be permitted to a friend to avert his eyes from the melan- 
choly cause which deprived the world of a true philosopher and 
a brave soldier. 

I think I must have persevered in the pipe-system for nine 
months, when an accident (it is needless to encumber my narra- 
tive by detailing what it was) threw me in the way of Comet 
Boger 8ilverthorne, of the 13th tight Dragoons, and Silver- 
thome Hall in the palatinate of Durham. This eminent and 
estimable young man — 

** O flo» juvenum, 
Spes Iseta patris, 
Non certa tute 
Data res patriae ! 
Non mansnris 
Ornate bonis, 
Osten tains, 
Raptusque simul, 
Velut herba solet !" 

** Flower of onr yonth, glud hope of thy fond sire, 
To whose bright course thy countiy looked in vain, 
DeckM with proud gifts not destined to remain. 
But shown and snatched away — as, 'neath the fire 
Of U-opic summers, planU bloom bright, and soon expire."— 

Forgive these tears. I own it is folly — but nature will some- 
times have her way in spite of all our philQsophy. This eminent 
and estimable young man was perhaps the most persevering 
cigar-smoker that ever existed. If peerages were distributing, 
he should be Count Segar, instead of the gentleman who now 
holds that honourable title. He generally smoked five dozen 
a-day. You never saw him without one in his mouth ; and as 
the voluminous smoke curjed in picturesque wreathes from under 

his maul^ mustaclilo, while be luminouily deacnnted on ttie vari- 
ous natures, uses, and proprieties of the several preparations of 
tobacco, he was one of tlie few men of ivliom you would de* 
cidedly say, that he was hom txfumo dare fucem. I never shall 
hear the like again : those eloquent lips ai'o mute, and the braia 
that dictated the thought, and the tongue that clothed it in nt* 
teranee, have mouhlered into clay* His fate was singular. Ho 
died of mdigestion, from having eaten fmir pounds and a lialf 
of tripe for a wager. Others, however, m^ntain that he was 
choked in the operation, I never could penetrate tbrongh the 
veil which thus hangs over his mysterious death. I^ however, 
incline to the latter hypothesie ; for my respected and lamented 
friend, I am sure, could have digested anything. The queetioni 
after all, js of little moment. He is dead — and I remain ! 

I thought I aiioald hnve deck'd ihy bridal bed, 
And not linve strewed tbj tomb V^ 

After some controversy, perhaps too ohstinately persevered 
in on mj part, the Comet converted me to cigars. I have said 
already, that I do not wish to unsettle any man's opinions, and 
therefore will let those, who prefer the pipe, prefer it. I smoked 
pretty strenuously with him, and after he had been ordered 
away to Flanders, continued the practice. I moistened always, 
as is the custom of my country — where scarcely any other 
spirit is ever used — with whiskey. Of that spirit let no one 
for a moment imagine that I am about to say anything but 
what is laudatory. If I did so, I, were as ungratefnl as unwise 
— but it is not the spirit to smoke with. I say this emphati- 
cally, because I know it to be the case. I am little inclined to 
dogmatize, but when once I have formed an opinion after care- 
ful examination, I uphold it with that firmness which a just re- 
gaid for one's own character and the interest of truth and honour 

Shortly after Silverthome's departure, business took me to 
Dublin. Fatal, though delicious visit ! On what trifles our fate 
hangs ! I had finished vaj business, and taken my seat on the 
outside of the coach to return home, when, as we waited out- 
side the post-office in Sackville-street, I heard a sweet voice say 


-—I hear it yet tingling in my eig*s, though fifteen years have 

elapsed — I heard a sweet voice 

I cannot go on. I must lay down the pen 

Excuse this gust of passion^ it shall he the last. I heard a 
sweet though rather loud voice say, " Put the little portmanteau 
into the hoot, and take care to tie the two handhoxes tight on 
the top, covering them from the rain. You can put the hig 
trunk where you hke, and 1*11 take the cloth hag and two hrown 
paper parcels into the coach — good hye, Judy. I'll write from 
Ballinafad, as soon as I see the old huck.'' I looked down, and 
my doom was sealed — I was in love — 

" Dead shepherd, now I found thy snw of nlight — 
He never loved, who loved not at first sight !" 

That insidious passion had entered my hosom for the first 
time. Is there any one who has not expeiienced it ? If there 
he, I may envy his freedom from disturbance, but I pity the 
callousness of heart, and the distortion of feeling, for which he 
is indebted to it. 

Cecilia — shall I say, my Cecilia — was hasty in her move- 
ments, and rejecting the proffered aid of the guard, she stepped 
unassisted toward .the coach. Her foot slipped in the attempt, 
and sh^ fell on the flagging. I was smoking on the top when I 
saw this cniel accident, and without a moment's thought, flung 
from my jaw as fine a Havannah as ever saw the Moro, leaped 
on the ground and raised her. She was not hurt, but consider- 
ably agitated. She thanked me with hasty accents, and looked 

on me with a glance, which ever still is but I have promised 

to repress my feelings. 

The coach was full inside, and besides I had lived pretty 
close to my last tenpenny in Dublin, so that even if there had 
been a place vacant, I could not have taken it. She parted us 
about daybreak, but I was unfortunate in not being able to see 
her. In fact the agitation of my spirits was such that I had 
been obliged to drink fourteen glasses of whiskey and water 
during the night, which had in some measure got in my head, 
for, as will happen when friends are parting, I had indulged a 
little after dinner with some few acquaintance with whom I 

f?kK»pp^ in Exclieqtier-stTeet — And the guard eeeitig me mcUned 
til b6 topliearj-. Lad laid me down in tUe well beliind th© coacli- 
maii, where I wm nnluckOy soonng when Cecilia left the coaclt. 
She asked for me, to thank roe for my assistance, hut on seemg 
how the land Uj, they told me that she said in lier own kind 

"Poor dei^l — he is Mastered with drink — let him snooze it 
©C* Sweet girl 1 

When I awoke and fonnd h^ gone I was frantic. I had lost 
t^ery cine to her. We were twenty miles away from the place she 
|iarted the eoach hefore I roused, and the coaclmian informed me 
that a gentleman with a led horse was waiting for her, with whom 
fthe imroedlalely^ galloped away — he foi*got — insensible hnite 
that he was^ — in what cHi-ection, A new agony seized my mind — 
tlie gentleman! was sbe ikiAHRiED ? My hrain was wild* I had 
no way of satisfying my sel ft for the accursed mail-coach clerk had 
entered her name in the waybill in such a hand as to pnzsle Becl- 
xebnh himselfi wei-e he the prince of decypherej-s, and the only 
letter I could make out was the first, which proved him to be as 
abominable m his ideas of spelling as in his writmg — for her namet 
as 1 afterward** knew, was (7'rimeen, and the ruffian, regardless 
of all possible principles of orthography, bad commenced it 
with a Q. 

When I got home I concealed my unfortunate passion as well 
as I could, but what can escape the eye of a parent ? About 
nine days had elapsed before my father noticed my loss of ap- 
petite and my silence, but at last he could not bear to pass it 
by. *• Boy,'* said he, taking me affectionately by the hand, 
" something is ailing you." " Nothing, sir,** said I, "^indeed." 
" Ah !" said my father, " do not think to deceive me that way. 
There's your fifth tumbler lying before you this half hour, and 
you're scarce quarter through it yet. I've noticed the same this 
last week, and except on the day Lord Bullaboo dined with us, 
when it behoved you to make an exertion, you have not finished 
any one blessed day seven tumblers. Don't think, my boy, 
that your father is not minding your happiness. You am't in 
love, are you ?" The goodness of the old gentleman wag not 
to be withstood, and I confessed the fact, and told him all about 

rtRST LOVE. 809 

it. "Never mind it," said he, "it looks the devil to you just 
now ; but when you come to my time of life, you won't think 
much about such little accidents as meeting a girl at a coach- 
door. So, go travel in God's name, and drive this nonsense out 
of your skull ; travelling, besides, opens the mind and polishes 
the manner. So, go to my cousin Gusty in Bristol, he lives out 
towards Lamplighter's Hall, and let me tell you, few soap- 
boilers from this to himself, and that's no small step, can beat 

Good, venerable man, with what pleasure I record your hon- 
oured words ! He gave me letters of change and inti-oduction, * 
ad4ing his blessing and a gallon of whiskey, which, as he well 
observed, could not be got for love or money in England. I had 
no objection to the change of scene, and soon established my 
quarters at my cousin Gusty 's. Gusty was a good fellow, hog- 
gish in his manners like the Bristolians, but a strenuous supporter 
of Church and State. We dined punctually at one, and, except 
on melting days, which he was obliged to mind, smoked through 
the evening. So passed a fortnight, but at the end of that time 
I had occasion to go to Clifton to play a game of skittles with 
a Jamaica Captain for a dozen of rum, and as I went along, 
just as I entered the North Crescent, whom should I see but 
Cecilia ! 

Skittles were at once knocked out of my head. She was 
alone, and I ventured to join her. Our mail-coach adventure 
afforded a common topic of conversation, which soon grew an- 
imated. We talked of everything, and as I coaxed her towards 
Wardham Downs, I had established her arm under mine. At 
last we came on that eminence which exhibits the most beauti- 
ful and varied prospect of that delightful tract. It was sum- 
mer, about three o'clock of a lovely June evening. Every 
sight and sound about us was such as to dispose the soul to 
tender emotions. Never did Cecilia look more lovely than 
when I persuaded her to rest herself by sitting down on one 
of the grassy points overlooking the descent below. What 
I said to her I cannot write, the first words of love are not 
to be profaned by exposure to the gaze of the world. Our 
thoughts were pure — pure &s the cloudless sky overhangiag the 


lorelj landscape, in the midst of wbich we sat forgetful even of 
its beauties, whoUv absorbed in tbe consideration of one anotlier. 
I had whispered, and she had heard without reply, what is never 
whispered a second time. 

We might have been half an hour together, it was but a 
moment to mv thought, when she recollected that she had left her 
aunt waiting for her in a butcher's shop where she was buying 
— how minutely love makes us recollect the merest tiifles — buy- 
ing a leg of pork, with a couple of pounds of sausages. I pres- 
sed her hand to my lips, and we retnmed to Clifton. Delight- 
ful day ! Were my life prolonged to the day allotted to Methu- 
selah, I ne^-er could forget a particle of what happened upon 
thee ! It is the bright spot in the waste of my memory. 

When we parted, I put my hand mechanically and mourn- 
fully into my waistcoat pocket, and found that I had forgotten 
my cigar case. Love had so completely taken possession of my 
soul, tbat I knew not what I was doing, and, by mere instinct, 
walked into a tobacconist's shop, which, such was the absence 
of my mind, I was about to leave without paying for the cigars, 
until the tobacconist rather energetically reminded me of my 
inisouchifice. Captain Snickersnee and bis skittles were quite 
out of my hoail, and I went across to a low-browed public bouse, 
whore a portrait of Lord Nelson, more spiiited in conception, 
than exact in likeness, or studied in composition, shone glitter- 
inir in one-armed majesty in the evening sun. The room I went 
into — why need I conceal that it was the tap-room? — was fil- 
led with the miscellaneous population of Bristol — men in gen- 
oral more noted for their candour than any other particularity in 
their manners. But I heeded them not. I was as much alone 
as if I was in the deserts of Tadmor, where tbe ruins of Pal- 
myra tower towards the sky, or moulder upon the ground, filling 
the awe-struck traveller with melancholy musing on the insta- 
bility of things. I lighted my cigar by the assistance of the pipe 
of a man sitting next me, who I have some reason to believe, 
but I shall not be positive, was a tailor. I puffed away — soft 
were my thoughts, delectable my visions. Every curl of smoke 
contained the countenance of my Cecilia — every twinkle from 
each surrounding pipe beamed upon me as if it was one of her 


celestial eyes. . I had forgotten wliere I was, when the waiter 
came to me, and jogging my elbow, said, " Thee musn't lumber 
the room, if thee'll not drink zammat." In general, I have re- 
marked, that the language of these persons is seldom marked 
by the refinements of elegance, and that perhaps yon might 
travel from one end of the country to the other without finding 
a waiter at a public-house who combines the terseness of Addison 
with the magniloquence of Johnson ! 

I replied to this rude man mildly, yet I think with sufficient 
dignity. " What have you in the house ?" " Every thing," said 
he. In this the man's bad faith was evident, for, on scrutiniz- 
ing the subject, I found that he had nothing but gin, a liquor I 
ever detested, and mm. " Rum, then," said I with a sigh, re- 
signing myself to my fate, for I anticipated, in my ignorance, 
that I would dislike it. 

My mouth was full of the cigar-smoke — full, ay, full as my 
heart was of my Cecilia. Divine girl ! when I think upon thy 
perfections, on thy charms, on the manner in which thou wert 
lost to me, by that fatal and mysterious circle of events, never 
to be anticipated — never to be repeated — But I'll think no 
more.^ There is a point of human endurance, beyond which it 
cannot go. Let me proceed. I was saturated with smoke, 
when, in the wildness of the delirium of my love, I did not per- 
ceive the water bottle standing by the bottom of rum, and swal- 
lowed the spirit, unalloyed, unmoistened, undiluted, uninjured. 
It permeated my whole mouth — it filled it with a species of 
solidity that seemed altogether to have destroyed the liquid 
character of the spuits ; I felt it melting into my palate, my 
tongue, my faT]fts, my gums. It was an intense gush, a simple, 
original, indivisible idea of delight. It rose to my brain, as the 
vapour of the tedded meadow rises to the sky in the balminess 
of morning. It descended to the sole of my foot as the sky 
sends back that delicious vapour in the shape of the dews of 
evening. It was a joy to be felt once, and no more. I never 
felt it again. It was 

" Odour fled 
As soon as shed ; 
'Twas morning's wingM dream, 
Twas a light that never shall shine again 
On life's duU stream r 

rem ow^wEmr fafebe. 

itti o^^r, wmd It will not do. I smoke my 

«fid &e<)tie&t]j mobtem with a quart 

I iMBcJi, in fiip — ^ every way that 

il viU aol tetom. That feeling of iuteuae 

k! whem mwtwj thing was ianocence and 
i WT #^tt!»w« weie light, and my joys uusopliigti- 
L I tAw m gl^rr in the sky* and a power on the earth 
fee Again — }^w d^ightfii], yet how sad is 
i! HeveX *^«3», to the days ^ne by — to the 
' mj iisi l*v\i tod my first Bbation of mm over a 
SMt li fiow going the sanie round as I 
I d^i|:^ts w^ch be fondly fancies are to 
joys irhkh never are destined to 
i 1» lii hmmitt Iweymiit his spirits — I shall not break 
I by tlw emtkiiif of experience. 
Farewell ag«iii» CedUa I I neTO' saw her afler that day — 
the liWHHgr ^be left Btistol with her aimt*s bnller — they 
three days after hy the blacksimth at Crretna, and 
• ' :-' ^^ ' ' \ : ut fourteen children, keep- 
ing, with her thizd husband, the dgn of the Cat and Bagpipes 
somewhere about the Dock of LirerpooL I never could master 
up coonige to enter the house. The very sound of her voice 
saying, ^Hightpence, or," in reply to my question of what I 
had to pay, would ineTitahly overcome my feelings. 

I was bora to be nnhappy — but I shall not intrude my sor- 
rows on a thoughtless worid ! 


Slie Crabetick.* 

Air — 7*ke Oreen Immortal Shamrock, 

Through Britain's isle as Hymen strayed 

Upon his ambling pony, 
With Buller sage, in wig arrayed, 

To act as cicerone, 
To them full many a spouse forlorn 

Complained of guineas squandered, 
Of visage torn and breeches worn. 
And thus his godship pondered^ 
Ob, the Crabsrick ! the green immortal Crabstick ! 
1*11 ensure 
A lasting cure 
In Russia's native Crabstick .' 

With magic wand he struck the earth. 

And straight his conjuration 
Gave that same wholesome sapling birth. 

The husband's consolation ; 
Dispense, quoth he, thou legal man, 

This new-discover'd treasure. 
And let thy thumb's ci^Micious span 
Henceforward fix its measure. 
Oh, the Crabstick ! the green immortal Crabstick ! 
Long essay'd 
On jilt and jade 
Be BuUer's magic Crabstick I 

The olive branch, Minerva's boon. 

Betokens peace and quiet, 
But 'tis sage Hymen's gift alone 

Can quell domestic riot ; 
For 'tis a maxim long maintained 

By doctors and logicians, 
That peace is most securely gain'd 
By armed politicians. 
Oh, the Crabstick ! the green immortal Crabstick ! 
Its vigorous shoot 
Quells all dispute. 
The wonder-ii#orking Crabstick ! 

* From Blackwood for November, 1824. — M. 

Vol. II.— 14 


III idleiiert and yoiitlnful houre, 

AVben gmver ihfmghta »?em flhijiid, 
Men fly to ro*e and myrtlo b^uwera 

Bin spliced far Jifi?t and wiser grown, 

They bount ibo cmb-treo bowpr alrine, 
Tlie Uglify ulinno of Hymen. 
Oli» ibe CrabstU:k ! the p-een immoittil Orti.l*tit>k I 
Love bestwws 
The i]ftpl<^39 rosep 
But Hyman pves »Lc Crtibetick t* 


I iTt>QD upon St* Peter's battlomsjfit, 

And my ey© wand:i?r'd o'er Impciml Kome, 
And I thnuglit &n,dJy on the fatal do^tni 

"■Neatl] wliicli httr nncienl pnlaqei had bent; ^^ 

Of temple mud tower tiutrag-eously uprent, "^— ^^ 
Or manlikTrd into dust Ivy &low decay : 
Of halls where godlike Csesar once bore sway, 

Or glorious Tully fulmhi'd eloquent ! 

So shall all eorthly fade ! what wonder then, 
If Time can make such all-unsparing wreck, 

If neither genius, art, nor skill of men. 
Can e'en pretend his felon-hand to check. 

That this old coat, I've worn these three years past, 

Should on each elbow want a patch at last 7 

* The hero of this song was Sir Francis Buller, an English Judge, and not 
the myth yclept " Buller of Brazenose." Sir Francis, who was so eminently hen- 
pecked at home that he never dared call his soul his own, stated, while presi- 
ding at Stafford Assizes, that, by the law of the land, a man might coiTect his 
wife with a stick " not thicker than his thumb." The incensed ladies of Staf- 
ford incontinently signed and sent in a round-robin, asking the learned judge 
to favour them with the dimension o£kis thumb. ^M. 

t From the Literary Gazette. — M. 


|)ane0sn( on QToion^l Pribe."* 

" Then cl»*or llie weeds from off his grave, 
And we shall chiiuiit a pasiiing stavei 
Li honour of ihnt hero brave." 

At Nonsuch lies buried Sir Thomas Pride, the Republican 
Colonel, and hither have I come to gaze upon his tomb. Bold 
of heart, iBtrong of hand, zealous of purpose, true in courage, 
daring in council, unflinching in execution, a better soldier or a 
firmer partisan never belted on a buff coat. His parentage 
could not be boasted of, for he was a foundling, abandoned in a 
church porch — which Lord Pembroke assigns, in his will, as a 
reason for wishing to be buried any where else. I was a lord, 
says the Earl, and cannot bear the notion of being laid where 
Colonel Pride was bom. Nor could much panegyric be wasted 
upon the elegancies or refinement of his education, for he was 
originally a drayman. These things matter but little. The 
best blood, as they call it, may give life, as we see every day, 
to the meanest of mankind ; and there is many a doctor of divin- 
ity of my acquaintance, to whom half the draymen of London 
are superior in intellect and honesty. Tnko them as a class, and 
no person of the slightest observation of mankind will compare 
them (I mean the draymen) in understanding and ability, with 
the young gentlemen who are senior wranglers, or first-class 
men, or authors of prize poems, or crack contributors to the pe- 
riodicals, or writers of fashionable novels, or compilers of essays 
upon political economy, or chairmen of select committees. 
Heaven forefend that I should so disparage the honest and 
beer-bibbing wearers of the flapped hat ! 

Be that as it may. Pride performed his business well — he did 
the work of the Lord not negligently. From the beginning of 
the Civil War to the end, he was ever at his post, and there 
steady to his duty. Glad, then, am I to find that his bones 
were not disturbed ; for though that would indeed have been 
nothing to him, it is to men of heart a grief that dishonour — or 
* From BlaehwooA fof December, 1829. — M. 


what the world eftlls dlshonotir^ — sliotild be olTered to thosa 
whom w€i respect. It wa.^ ordered that the bodies of Oliver, 
Bradshaw, and Fridet ihould be exhumed ami gibbeted ; and 
this order was executed as far as regarded the first two, bat 
Pride having married a niece of Monk^Sf his connexion with the 
Restorer obtained for him the grace that hb remains should be 
unmolested. At for B radish aw, as he was 011I7 a lawyer, it was 
little matter, indeed, what was done with his canion; but I 
hare been eirer sorry that Charles the Second, for whom I have a 
high respect, (for many reasons, principally for h\& having robbed 
the Exchange,) should have been so far mistaken as to think thati 
in thus treating Oliver, he was degrading the bones of a hero, and 
not degrading himself. It was not worthy of the wit or the gen* 
tieman — ^aiid Charles was both^ — aye, and a brave fellow too, 
when need was. I have a hankering kindnos& after Old Bow- 
ley, the pot-compamon of Rochester, and the patron of Tom 

Hei'e then, Tom Pride, I dedicate a half-bour*s tliought to 
you f Many were his dashing actions, but that by which he k 
moat remembered, and most worthy of being remembered, it hk 
famous purgation of the House of Commons. Honoured and 
glorified be his name as long as history lasts, for such an action! 
Here was a set of scoundrels, sent by the people of England to 
do a great and important duty, not only neglecting to do it, but 
actually doing the contrary. To them was intrusted the guard- 
ianship of the religion of England, and they aband<^ned it to its 
enemies — to them was committed the protection of the liberties 
of England, and they were endeavouring, by clubbmg and ca- 
balling, to make themselves perpetual petty despots under a 
greater despot. As for the men theqiselves, it was well said by 
one of their own order, that on no Other principle than that 
of their election, could there be gathered together, from the 
four corners of the earth, a crew of such contemptible block- 
heads — a knot of wretches (I sp^ak of the members of the Long 
Parliament) so personally stamed with every blot of disgrace 
and infamy. As Oliver afterwards told them in the best, the 
most eloquent, the most serviceable and most seasonable speech 
ever spoken in their house, they were a set of sharpers, lewd 


liven, gamesters,- hypocritCF, knnvcs, jobbers, and poltroons. 
Translated into the fasliionable language of tlie present day, and 
made applicable to our manners, in his speech would have been 
enomerated as the component parts of parliament, Stock Ex- 
change swindlers, fashionable intrigners with Mr. A's and Mrs. 
B*8, conniTing wittols, beggarly rascals kept by actresses, politi- 
cal economists, confederates with Jews, and uncomplaining mar- 
tyrs of the horsewhip. That any such persons could be found 
in the present House of Commons, is an impossibility ; but his- 
tory bears us out, that there have been Houses of Commons in 
which they might be discovered without the aid of a lantern. 

These fellows had the insolence to think, that it was by them 
and by their exertions the cause had prospered ; whereas they 
had been always a clog upon it. Things would have gone 
much better had the idle babble of their ignorant debates been 
totally suppressed. Their great speakers were at best but 
stringers-together of good-for-nothing words in tinkling cadence, 
devoid of sense, at the sound of which, particularly if it was 
tagged and jagged with scraps of schoolboy Latin, extracted 
from a book of accidence, the flap-eared boobies around would 
set up a shout of joy. Their great philosophers were fellows, 
who, having perhaps been apothecaries' boys, or cotton twisters, 
or distinguished " men" at college, or red-tape tyers in public 
offices, or correspondents of the diumals, were filled with ignor- 
ance or upstart vanity, or inhaled stupidity, and who dealt forth 
cant maxims, either nauseous for being truisms or commonplaces, 
or mischievous for being utterly false in theory and ruinous in 
application. Was it wonderful, then, that the countiy rejoiced 
when Colonel Pride kicked them out — that there was a jubilee 
of exultation at each individual kick, with which each individual 
scoundrel was saluted on the most honourable part of his person, 
the only part employed in getting rid of corruption — and that 
the pumpings, and buffetings, and thrustings into damp dun- 
geons, and the other indignities so justly and so liberally show- 
ered upon them, should have been considered from one end of 
the realm to the other as the most righteous visitation ever in- 
flicted since thcf days of Sennacherib of Assyria. It must have 
been a delightful sight— 'one worth giving up ten years of life 


to hmve witoa«se«i : snd it is m mntter of regret, in one senifi, 
ibil thmim b no Tcary immediate proipoct of our being ^-^ti^ed 
viUk m i^rpedtkm of i»cb R sceue. Oar present House is so nd- 
Burabl« Ihml uotliliig like it could justly occur, and it wotild bo 
HAfiur JMt we skooU expect tbat our tuste i>lioiild be indulged 
ai the ftXptiBWi of jv$dee. Yet iinag:tQatiDB will sometimes draw 
jjrfiiTT 1 ekf tlti»g9 in tLemfielTes nnreasonable, and never ^^9- 
^SmtsA to oceor. Melbinkjs I see a f^tfir^^ed yagaboiid belonging 
to iW Tt^bsotv^ ft nusewible, g^unC, lutootlied, balf-penny-a-daf 
gli^vl, imW }»oks as if lie Lad eaten notliing but his words — 
■Ktteifci 1 see tliAl fellow ieuddbig before tbe wind in all tLe 
AMij ftgooies of dirty terron and long for an opportunity of 
in tbe eakitimlMii with all tlie power of tbe arms of Han 

tiAelidt* thxee legs. And sometanes fancy will body fortb a 

^jiiUitm of m Ho«ae Secretary j but as tbat office is uni- 

ly fflled by men of great personal bonourj unimpeacbable 

Htical iatefprity, titii&»m consistency of principle, and all otber 
^luilities wKfeeb eomuiaud respect, I scout tbe idea as faf^t as it 
'js formed. I dreamt, bon^Ter, one nigbt, tbat eooiebody said 
liis o«ly objection to ^icli a pitjceeding was, that he would not 
like to contaminate bis boot-toe-point with tbe contact ; but tbat 
was only tbe absurdity of a dream. 

A good precedent is never thrown away. Although we do 
not want Pride's Purge at present, a day may come when it will 
be useful to act upon it I can conceive that a hundred years 
hence, when a supple and ser>nle Parliament, having bent itself 
before the mandates of a military protector, having done his 
business up to a certain point, and promoted the objects of his 
ambition as far as they had it in their power, may be properly 
turned off by their iron-handed master — their use to him being 
past — amid the universal exultation of mankipd. The fact tbat 
it has been already done, and been attended with such benefi- 
cial effects, wUl be a cheenng precedent. I hope tbat when the 
hour arrives, if it ever should arrive, the Cromwell of the day 
will refine upon Colonel Pride's practice ; for to act otherwise, 
would be to reverse the order of the great march of mind. I 
think, then, that he would afford a most gratifying spectacle to 
the populace, if, after the culprits were collared and handcuffed. 


he ordered them to bo whipped forthwith, from the door of Saint 
Stephen's Chapel to the statue at Charing Cross, and back again. 
How pleasing it would be to behold, for instance, the herring- 
gatted frame of some west-co^try apostate, flagrant from the 
nine-tailed lash inflicted by the unsparing arm of a sixteen-stone 
drummer, originally educated in the West Indies as help to an 
overseer ! With what an agreeable cadence the hollow howl- 
ing of his sepulchral voice would fall upon the auricular drums 
of the amused assembly ! How zummerzet, as Shakspere says, 
squeak ra/9 beneath the cat — 

" Like softest music to attending enra." 

It is charming to be reminded of beautiful passages of roman- 
tic poetry in the midst of the jangling politics of the Roundheads. 

Romeo and Juliet ! Delicious tale of love ! But I digress ; 

and must go back to recommend his Highness to recreate the 
the crowd periodically, by exposing the purged-outs in the pil- 
lory, specially revived for their use, in the presence of a good- 
humoured congregation, too much pleased by the sight to indulge 
in any rancorous feelings, and therefore contenting themselves 
with pelting the culprits with nothing harder than congenial 
nastiness. It has ever been accounted good policy to supply 
the public with innocent recreations — to procure for them ob- 
jects of laughter in all lawful ways — and therefore, I think, 
Woodfall is never suflSiciently to be commended for having set the 
example of publishing the debates of the Houses of Parliament. 

Why do I think of these things ? What brings these dark 
visions of the future before my mental optics ? It must be the 
impress produced upon me by the grave of Sir Thomas Pride, 
for assuredly there is nothing in present circumstances to sug- 
gest such ideas. If I turn my eyes from the tomb of the stem 
expurgator to look on the state of affairs around, is not every 
thing calculated to inspire, not such ferocious fancies — such fierce 
phantasmata of the halter and the lash — but, on the contrary, 
thoughts soft as down, and odorous as balm ? Look round, and 
all is happiness. In Spitalfields, the weaver, no longer tor- 
mented with the tedious and unmanly shuffling of his shuttle, 
roams in liberty through the streets, accompanied by his wife 
and children, who, disdaining to be indebted to the bftse mechan- 


ieal labovn of tbe maton or the carpenter, prefer the gofgeow 
and atar-fipang^ed canopy of the gbiioos firmanaent itself u 
curtain to their hed. In Bamslej and Manchester, in Gongie- 
txm and Sheffield, a similar repose firom tdl prevails, and their 
gallant yooth, despising their fanner servile aTocations, are tram- 
ing thottselTes to the hlood-stirnng trade of arms, or take les- 
sons in eloquence and poHtks £rom the honejed lips of a Flan- 
agan or a Peter Hoey. A spirit of jocnlaritj has sozed on the 
rihhonmen of Coventiy, and thej divert themselves with £ftce- 
tioos processions of master-mannfartnrers mounted on donkeys, 
with their faces to the tail, and liherallj supplying .them with. 
the prodnoe of the soil, applied to their perscms and countenances, 
if not with much delicacy, yet with hearty good-will and plenti- 
lul ahondanoe. £lsewhere the same pleasantry of diqposidon 
leads them to make rihhons, not of their silk, hut their masten, 
and to lip out the intestinal canals of ohnoxious non-employers 
hy the snigical instrumentahty of a hill-hook. The ship-owners, 
disdaining to extort money from the merchant, carry freights for 
prices which will not pay the hreakfasts of their sailors — the 
iron-master is so good as to work for the benefit of the public, at 
a loss of a pound a-ton — the woolstaplcr clothes as many of the 
po plo as still cTinfT to the ancient prejudices of being clothed, at 
prices loss than those which he promises to the fai*mer for his 
"wwl. The iarmer himself, no more fatigued by following the 
prontless plough, sits at ease in a house unencumbered with fur- 
niture, and cheers himself, not with the stupifying extract of 
mall, but the pure and unadulterated fluid of the crystal spring 
— while in town, the merchant and trader are continually re- 
minded of the propriety of dealing in ready-money transactions 
only, by the regular refusal of discount, and the unlimited pro- 
testing of their bills. True it is, that the customs and excise fall 
off — less moneys are paid in those obnoxious branches of reve- 
nue — but then, to compensate for that, the great domestic tax 
of the poor-laws is hourly increasing. Literature and morals are 
also on the rise. It is not only the illustrious order of the Gen- 
tlemen of the Press, a body of men unknown in the days of 
Alfred, and never employed, as Sharon Turner informs me, in 
reporting the useful debates of the Wittenagemot, who now con- 


tribute to the newspapers— -for never does a week elapse with- 
out some fifty or sixty tradesmen of London supplying one par- 
agraph a-pieee to a paper published on Tuesdays and Fridays, 
tmder the name of the London Gazette, the editor of which, Mr. 
Gregson, is paid the moderate sum of <€2000 a-year for his in- 
dustrious and original labours; and morality is so protected, 
that of our three great theatres, which Mr. Frynne (one of the 
members ejected by Colonel Pride) proved long ago to be vom- 
itories of vice, where the women deserve to be eaten by dogs — 
because, like Jezabel, they paint their faces — one is shut up, 
or dependent upon pauper subscriptions, and the other two are 
obliged to send, one to France, and the other to America,* for 
managers, no native being found sufficiently depraved to embark 
in sneh a business. It is needless to swell the catalogue of our 
joys. As Sir Christopher Wren's epitaph phrases it. Si Manu- 
tnentum qusris — Circumspicb. 

Of the Administration under which this flood of happiness has 
flowed upon us, what can be said 1 

Titos 6' ap' 0-' ifivriau iravrtJi ivvftpov iopra] 

Is there a virtue under heaven with which it is not endowed f 
Purity of life, integrity of conduct, knowledge of equity, prac- 
tice of piety, political consistency, cleanness of hand, singleness 
of purpose, dignity of personal fame, all these characterize those 
gifted individuals. How admirably each is qualified for his 
place ! The Duke is first financier, on the strength of being a 
Field Marshal — the Chancellor of the Exchequer has studied 
for his office, by keeping up a correspondence with penniless 
Tipperary justices on the affairs of Eliogurty or Borris-o'-kane 
— the Chancellor is fitted for the woolsack by never having 
held an equity brief in his life — the Privy Seal is a Major-Gen- 
cral, distinguished for having been second in a duel to a runa- 
way Whig, who was at once Scotchman and attorney .t Lord 

* Monsieur Laporte and Mr. Stephen Price. — M. 

t The persons here referred to, members of the Wellington Cabioet, were 
" the Duke," Mr. <3roulbum, ex-Secretary for Ireland, and then Chancellor of 
the Exchequer, Lord Lyndhmrst, who succeeded Eldon as Chancellor, and the 
Earl of Eosslyn, who had been second to James Stuart, in his duel with Sir 
Alexander Buawell.— M. 



Aberdeen *B foreign politics were learnt in an illostrious assem- 
bly, where tbe Hlatory of WJiittington and his Ctkt is discussefl, 
And lidmtrable disisertatations on old cliamber-pols are poured 
into ears BesquipcdaL Sir George Mun'ay was taught the poli- 
tics of our colonica in mess-rooms in Spain ; and ths destiuies of 
In dm ai^ ^p^'y in tested to Lord Elleiibovough, because, like 
< Samson, his glory lies in bis locks. Of Mr, Peel what need I 
ipeak 1 li not his praise to be gathered from the voice of Ox- 
ford and Sir Mai^asschl* And wliy need I open my lips about 
tlie rest, seeing that their excessive tnodeety has always been 
80 great, that nothing is known of their merits or abilities, ex- 
cept the iimple but convincing fact of their being ministers! 
God knows why I 

Happy people! fayonred land? Farewell, then, Thomas 
Pride ! Light be stones upon your bosom ; nnd when the ne- 
cesmty arises for kicking ont a pai'liament, may wo have many 
a man ready to imitate jour example] 

* l« I BS9, w lii^n ibo Unjv*-miy iif Ojtfofd refuied m tt?-i4f*rl V^], fur hit 
eiifujfssiiin uf llitf CntUulif: CJuJni6» he was rphiriipd fof the puckeL-bokOUgli (j| 
WL'itUuiy, tLi' pntppi'iy f*f Sir M uKi^adi Loprz. — M, 


* Sl)^ (Eifnaliis of il)e Btxts* 

My dearest Maham, 
Allow me to return my wannest acknowledgments of the 
lion our done me by your admirable letter on the comparative 
merits of the two sexes. May I hope that our opinions and 
sentiments, differing in words, may be found, ultimately, to coin- 
cide in spirit 1 You know my devotion to that side of the ques- 
tion to which you belong, and which you adorn and dignify- 
equally by the charms of your mind, and your person. You 
maintain that women are equal, in all things, to men, and that 
any apparent inferiority on their parts must be attributed wholly 
to the institutions of society. Even in bodily powers you are 
unwilling to acknowledge defeat; and certainly, my dearest 
madam, you have argued the topic with , the most captivating, 
the most fascinating eloquence and ingenuity. You refer, in the 
first place, to Mie inferior animals, arguing, my dearest madam, 
by analogy. Look, you say — look at Newmai'ket — there you 
behold mares running neck and neck with horses, gaining king's 
plates, and cups, and stakes of all sorts against them in spite of 
their noses, and occasionally leaving them at the distance-post. 
You then bid me consider the canine species, and I will find the 
grey-hound, and pointer, and terrier, and bull-bitch, *equal, if 
not superior to the dog, in sagacity, fieetness, fierceness, and 
ferocity. You then fly with me to the interior of Africa, and, 
showing me in one cave a lioness, and in another a tigress, with 
their respective kittens, you ask me if the ladies are not as 
foi-midable as the lords of the desert ? Turn your gaze sun- 
wards, you next exclaim, guided by that lofty yell, and you 
may discern the female eagle returning from distant isles to her 
eyrie on the inland cliff, with a lamb, or possible a child, in her 
talons. Could h^r mate do more 1 You then beautifully de- 
scribe the Amazons — and will you still obstinately adhere, you 
ask me, to the unphUosophical belief in the physical inferiority 
* From Blackwood for Angnst, 1826, n» n «* Letter to Mri. M."— M. 


IX eei to yonra, gemng that, independently of other argi 
"imenta, it iDiHtates agamst the wbole analogy of nature T ^ 

My dearest loadam, I acknowledj^e that tlie argument in 
favour of your sex, drawn from the inferior animals, is a very 
powerful ono» perhaps unanswerabltj. Yet I l)elieve that Cliil- 
flers, and Eclipse, and High-Flyer, and Sir Peter, and Filho da 
Puta, and Smolensko, and Dragon » were all horses, not mares; 
and for their performances I regpectfully refer you to the racing 
calendar. Had the two fiiet been nmres, or had they been beaten 
by marei, I should most cheerfully have acknowledge d, not 
only tho equality, but the superiority, of your &eXi and given in 
my palinode. 

The lionens and the tigress are both on your side, and I should 
ho Borr^- to say a single word against such argmnentB. May I 
he permitted, however, to hint, that it is in fierceness and fero- 
city, miae, perhaps, than in strength, that they excel the male, 
and in fierceness aiid ferocity, awakened in defence of their 
youngs In these qualities, I grant, your sex do greatly excel 
oura, especially when nurstng ; and at such seasons, in justice 
and candour, we must allow to you the flatteriftg: similitude to 
the lioness and the tig i ess, 1 al^o admit the force of the ana- 
logical argument in your favour, from birds of prey. 

Passing from corporeal to mental powers, you ask, why a wo- 
man should not make, for example, a good Bishop? Why, 
really, my dearest madam, I humbly confess that I do not, at 
this moment, see any reason why you yourself should not be 
elevated to the Bench ; and sure I am that, in lawn sleeves, you 
would be the very beauty of holiness. You have Pope Joan 
in your favour ; and although I do tiot know of any instance of 
a lady of your years having become a spiritual Peer, yet time 
flies, and you may expect that honour when you become an old 

You then demand, why a lady of good natural and acquired 
parts, may not be a General, or a Judge? and a Jorfiarif any- 
thing else ! Now, my dear madam, such has been the power of 
your eloquence and ingenuity, that they have completely noB- 
plussed me — nor have I any thing in the shape of argument to 
rebut your iiresistible logic I therefore fling myself on a fact 


— one smgle fact,-— expecting an answer to it in your next 

Soppose, my dearest madam, for a single moment, a Bishop, 
or a Judge, or a General, in the familj-way. How could her 
ladyship visit her diocese ? Or would it he safe to deliver her 
charge ? To he sure, it might he her ladyship's custom to visit 
her diocese hut once in three years, — nor are we to suppose 
that she is always enciente. But the chance is greatly in favour 
of her heing so — nor do I think that old maids would make hy 
any manner of means good hishops. I presume, my dearest 
madam, that you would not doom the hishops of the church of 
England to Catholic celihacy. Such a law is foreign, I well 
know, to your disposition ; and to say nothing of its gross and 
glaring violation of the laws of nature herself, would it, in such 
a case, he at all efficacious ? 

I tfiink, my dearest madam, that I hear you reply, — ** I would 
elevate no female to the Bench till she was past child-hearing." 
What, would you let modest merit pine unrewarded through 
youth, and confer dignity only on effete old-age ? The system, 
my dearest madam, would not work well — and we should have 
neither Kayes nor Blomfields.* 

The same ohjection applies with tenfold force to a female 
Judge. Suppose, my dearest madam, that you yourself were 
Lady Chancellor. Of the wisdom, and integrity, and prompti- 
tttde of your decisions there could not he the slightest douht, 
except in the minds perhaps of a Brougham, a Williams, or a 
Denman. But although you could have no qualms of conscience 
— yet might you frequently have qualms of another kind, 
that would disturb or delay judgment. While the Court ought 
to be sitting, you might be lying in ; and while, in the character 
of Chancellor, you ought to have been delivering a decision, in 
your character of Lady, why, my dearest madam, you might 
have yourself been delivered of a fine thumping boy. 

Finally, suppose Lord Wellington to have been a female. 
He might have possessed the same coup-d'oeil, the same decis- 
ion, the same fortitude, and the same resolution, on all occasions 
to conquer or die. But there ai*e times when ladies in the family. 
* Drs. Kaye and Blumfield, Bishops of Lincoln and London. — M. 

§m fmted, tliM h^ Lord 

g^mallj lia^e been In 

to hm ieptfo^ed on, nor can 

1 wint if tlie GenenJisi^ima 

m& hskd as when lib 
^ SttJ. Basaid dmm^ tlie battle of 

ft«gr i^ht mm hawe hy return of 

liittif 1^1 o€ ibe case. Nature 

B«Q to W — modieTS of {ami- 

mf Rspectod mod lugMj-ralued frieDdp 

nd«sl iiwe to Mr. M, aad all 

i); aMi8t^tBilie^tfaatiirettTpQ^5di]ig|>^, 

!, tlie t»m?, 

1 hare t^ Imukpot to he. 

My leanest Madam* 
Wttlt tlte l(%fa«it ccauldiimtioii. 

Toot affiselioattlii friend^ 
Jaspbs Sus^ebx, 


J^^Uere from tlje Wtah to tlje Ciuing.— N0. 1. 


Contained in a Letter from Hades, 

Duhlin, 6(h Jamtary, 1822. 
Christopher North, Esq. 
Dear Sir, — Agreeably to your request, I send you a few 
Notes, elucidative of the letter you have received from the Rev- 
erend the Ghost of Dr. Ban-ett. I return its letter therewith. 
Yours, &c. &c., T. C. 

Misther North, — The raisin I don't putt the day o' the 
month, is because there's no sitch thing here; but, as wan 
Southey says, in wan o' his prose works, " ti7ne is not here, nor 
days, nor months, nor years, — an everlasting now^ And the 
raisen I write to ye at all is, because it's a great shame that you 
putt sitch a piddlin' notice o' my death in your obituaiy. " At 
Dublin, at an advanced period of life, Dr, John Barrett, Vice' 
Provost of Trinity College in that city'' Why, the Freeman 
says as much for a namesake o' mine that wasn't the Vice- 
Provost. " On the 21th ult, John Barrett, Esq, of Carrighoy, 
county CrnJc'' Me, that was your con-espondent, an' wrote you 
the Haibrew poem on the deatli of Sir Daniel Donnelly, ^ that 
Hincks translated, and putt your Magazine into the Fellowship 
coorse ; as you yourself acknowledge, in the 27th line of the 1st 

* Dr. John Barrett, Vice-Provost of Trinity College, Dublin, dome of whose 
poculiurities and personulities are exhibited in these " Letters from the Dead 
to the Living," wos at once onidite and ignorant — extremely wealthy and 
meanly parsimonious. He died, November 15, 1821, nt a ripe age, leaving a 
\o8t accumulation of property, disposed of in a will wiiich was eventually 
broken down on litigation. The original notes to these Letters are indicated 
by figures. — M. 

^ Sir is a College designation for an A. B. The Christian name is always 
omitted. The ghostly Doctor was not aware of the impropriety of such an 
omission out of College. Sir Daniel Donnelly never graduated in Trinity Col- 
lege. — [The poem will be found on page 70 of the present volume. — M.] 


■f thm 193d pttge of jtwr Kvinlier for l7oveml>er, 18S0t 
1 aeai V^ oppvitvintf tlie fbllowin' Aphonstus and anec- 
«* Mj iBi fc The Wi^rd Sbtlieii of^eit come beitt, out o' 
ta i«e W^SGan Shakespeare^ because lie tuck an* putt* 
fhflM «te lii pisj «f Maelietiu wMdi'no other nuthor ever done, 
TWy'ke goin^ back to 8eatlatfid« an' promised to take an* dtirop 
mj f*f^^ iatfl yoor lettJier-box m Prence^s Stbreet,* An* bs 
Vm mat, grrcn to wiitm" En*!k$li for magazines, bnt only the 
Hasbt^w, naTbe t« wotiX all o' je^ nndberstand wliat I saj ; 
1st l«i watt T. C^ a onKspoiideHl o* jtmrs^ an* discreet ^ad- 
«ate« tbal wr^jijd dken pnz^ 8|noish ballads.f [be the hj^ Wb 
Ipo Ibad o* l^gin In bk Ittcalitk^s.] He got seven best markff 
at aebttlaithipa ; bi^ I onJj gaTe him a third ^ bei^t, becaase he 
§mdm thai mrr^m eaoue from -r^^s and wanc€, at Halbrew exami- 
^va nlff «s a root. Instead o* bV^; but tbej called 1 
ffaUi m €3bBif9 foe all that, because he used to ^et the heal j 
pr^mhna m Haibrew. Hell patt glo&se^ to it if je will. An* 
to people sajia' tfaat I didn't know how to spake EngHskl 
it, it*s alt folly; fof I didn*t spake bail English because li 
kn#w no bettber, [for bow could that be when I wkb tbe Vice- 
pr.> I l^MT i.poause it was only to Cattv; nn' Benson, an* the 
other portbers, that I had a right to spake English, an' they 
nndherstnd the bad betther nor the good. An* I always spell 
as its pronoanced ;* and that's the way all languages shonld be 
wrote. An' if the fellows didn't like me English, why didn't 

* " Took and pat.*' A fiivoarite plirase of tbe Doctor's ; onginatin|^, no 
doi^, from his long: habit of takimg the mnney, and putling it into tbe funds. 
•• Put,'* in tbe Doctor's mouth, always rliyined to " cut." 

* By a pririleg^e conceded of old to ibe natives of Ireland, tbe diflferent de- 
Iprees of an^werin^ at examination for Scholarship are ronrkeil, not by ffood, 
middUf and had marks, but by b^st, middle^ and bad marks. Theru are three 
ipradations of middle and bad, and, therefore, of best also; — Ist Bkst, 
2d Best, 3d Best. 

* And, naturally enough, he pronuurtced foreign languages as he found them 
spelt. Thus, be would tell you, that claret came from Bour-de-aux on the Gii- 
ron-ne, sounding every letter. But half the ment of the anecdotes about the 
Doctor is lost, by our not being able to print his face and voice. 

* Blackwood was then published at 17 Prence's Street, Edinburgh. — M. 

t It happened that " the purty Spanish ballads" were written, not by Magiua 
but by Lockbait. — M, 


ihey spake Latin, seein' that, by the statutes, they are bonnd 
80 to do. An' as for the chap that tnck an' putt me notice into 
Garriek's paper,' you may jnst tell him, that it would be fitther 
for him to mind his own business, an' not to be bitin' a cherry 
about jne want- o' punctuation, an' sitch things as don't consam 
him. An' now I'm done. 

The late John Barrett, 

that was the Vice-Provost. 

P. 8. — It wasn't fair o' you to putt upon me in this wny, an' 
lave me to write my own obituary. It's thrue enough what 
Virgil says about the occupations o' the dead. Catty an' I's 
here as fi^sh as ever. 

To MiSTHER North, that keeps the Magazine in PrenceU 
Sthreet, By favour & the Weird Sisthers. 

No. I. 

There's a chap in Nassau Sthreet, that prents caricatures, an' 
he wance^ had the impidence to make one o' me that was libra- 
rian an' Vice-Provost ; and Doctor ••••• tould me of it at com- 
mons, an' I said to him, Docther •••••, J wich you was dead. 

No. II. 

Another time I sent Catty for a haypeHh [liars an' calumi^a- 
thors say it was a farthinsworth] o' milk, an' poor Catty fell on 
the way, an' brok her mug an' leg ; an' I tuck grate care o' 
poor Catty, an' became her college woman ^ myself, [but the 
mug was too far gone] and when she was brought home, I said, 
Aye, Catty, htU whereas the haypenny. 

^ The notice alluded to rune as follows, and was affixed to the College gate 
some time before the King's visit to Ireland : — 

" The Libraiy will close from the ** to the ** inst : for the purpose of cleaning 

John Barrett." 
•The want of punctuation essentially alteiing the meaning, it was copied into a 
morning paper. " It*s nonsense," snid the Vice, now a ghost ; " if I'm clane, 
I don*t want to be claned ; an' if I'm diity, the library can't clane me." 

• " Wance," once. From the root *' wan," one. Do not tee, but hear the 
late Vice-Provost passim. 

^ The female servants in College are called Collegetoomen, Ugliness, age, 
and honesty, are the requisite qualifications. 

Ko. IIL 

T wisli tli6 fellows would miiiil the etatulest an' spake Latei 
an' not be mindin' other people^s EngliBli. Wan momin* I said 
to the chapel porthei% h ihc (wo roid-kecjifrs rm?ie ? an* I over- 
heard wan o' the fellows behind me eay to anotlier, Isn't it 
^^t/trange to hear a man of education spale MngliAk *o f an* the 
other fellow that was behind me, said to the fellow that spoke 
before [that was the foituer fellow behind me] OA, hes the Vice- 
Froroslf an* he^s came tt} hcntUer^ EpglM from hein' spoken* 

Ko, IV. 

I hate that Docther •*»*, He wns alwayi liumbuggin* md 
at commons. 

No. Y. 

I wns wan day crossiu* the coorts, g^oin' to the boord, an' I 
Lard somebody say Sfcprp^ sweep/ an* I found him out, an' 
brought him before the boord, an' the blagard/' said, that he was 
only a few days in the butthery^^ books, and didn't mane me, 
Tkai*s a lie, says I ; i/ou must hum meant me^ Sarrah^for there 
wag no other sn^eep in the coorU hui mc. 

No. VI. 
I'm like St. Paul, I've gone through a gradle^^ o' perils, — I 
was wance gagged when I slep facein^^ College Green, by some 
young scapegraces, that got in through the window at night, an' 
stopt me mouth for fear I'd discover on them — I was wance 
plotted against to be murthered for my money — I was wance 
near beein pysoned by fairy mushrooms ; an' now I'll tell you 
something worse. One day I had the tankard o' October" lifted 
to me mouth to take a drink, [because I was dhryj an' some 

8 " Hendher," hinder. 

9 " Blagard," blackguard. 

»o " Butthei-y," buttery. The buttery-books are those in which the names of 
the students, &c. are enrolled, and the fines registered. 

II " Gi-adle," great deal. 

12 *' Slep facein,'' slept opposite to. 

" October is a sort of mult drink used in college. The Doctor was, it op- 
pears, near realizing the words of the old song: — 



young blagard plopped a potato from the end of the hall into 
the tankard undher my nose, an' wetted me, an' I called out to 
the fellow next me, O DoctJier ••»*»* Vm dhrownded, 

They say I've a great memory, an' I'll tell ye the raisin why. 
At commons wan Sathurday [the porther had just brought in 
the October and the manshit " ] They were talkin about the 
number o' men that was saved in the boat in Bligh's voyage, 
an' wau said wan thing, an tother said tother thing, an' they 
said to me, Docther Barrett, how many lllen was saved in the 
boat at Bligh's voyage, an I tould them the number, and tould 
them the names of all the men. 

No. VIII. 
There was a chap from Mullinahone^^ in Tipparary [he's gone 
to the Hottentots to be a missionary, an' T. C. calls him Bishop 
o' Caffraria.] They used to say he was mad, because he nevef 
learned anything in college but Irish, which was not taught 
there, an' didn't mind his scholarships [but now there's talk 
about learnin' it at the boord, an' wan of the fellows tuck lessons 
from Paddy Lynch^'' before he died, that he might be the pro- 
fessor]. An' he thrust his head into the^® doore of the librarian's 

'^ If the vice-provost were in the humour, he might tell stones innumemhlo 
of liie prodigious memory. lie knew the local station of every book in the 
great library of Trinity College. He remembered in geneml the particular 
page on which any fact was to be found, and as to dates, names, numbers, 9k. 
his memory was inexhaustible. Ask him about a book, and you w*ould instantly 
be answered, It is in the compartment Aa — on the seventh shelf— and the 
eighteenth book, or the nineteenth book — I don't remember which — it is the 
eighteenth book surely— on that shelf. 

16 «( Manshit," manchet. The senior of the hall has a light to an additional 
roll and a draught of October every Saturday. The Doctor never failed to 
exnct these dues. 

^° A notorious village. The meaning of it in Irisli is rnther indelicate for 
your pages: — how shall I say it? the — , the sitting part of the mill. The 
inhabitants are a sort of Savoyards, always travelling round the world for tport, 
** Wherever," say the Mullinahoncse, " you see three men together, you may 
be sure that one of them is a Mullinahone man." 

" Now, the eo^paddy Lynch. A man of considerable learning, who held a 
situation in the Record-Tower, Dublin Castle, for many years before his death. 

18 " Doore," rhymes to **poor.* 

tmf Jlcrf^Biri (kai*r no rm^int^njtlf tltftl yon shonld laugki 

«l ike twt^m^mt — la^mre ym, Sitt says he, Fm nut laugkm\ 

mi yem^-^O that mat/ he ver^ thrue^ says I^ fmt that's no rumm 

*Mmi fMi *Aomf*i l&«gh at tht f^ee^prm'aft — U/mB rfit/ honour f Sir, 

says lif-, i/V mot yoa Pm laughing at — Of I firmt douht a ^ord 

i^ftm $&if, SATS I, If Id that'$ no rainn that you should laugk at the 

1 meX'promsL 

They »ay I used to ewrse and swear, and 111 prore to yon 
tUnt I never did» but only putt little appales to heaven into my 
sayuis» for every one of whict I liave Scripture, Kead the fol- 
io win p and then youll see. Sir •••»• i& rapped at mj doore in 
1798,— %%lto*^ ikrrfF says I, — It*i I, says be.^ — And who are 

if my& r. •••*»^ says lie, — Of Sir »•♦••*, says I^ an' I 
tied the doore an eame oiitj^ — and then, says I, How are 
y&u^ Sir •••^•» f i\S)/f / km^fic what you're ctmie Jar^ and hi/ 
G — ^ / wami tie iL Yen' re g&m to the country, and you irant 
t& gri y&ur things out nt the gat e?^ By G — , 1 wont Jtj it. — - 
You must go to your tuther!^^ — You don*t know at all what 1 
want^ says he, — an' iVs not that — It^s not that, says I, — O, ho ! 
an* what w it that you do want ? — Why, says he, if you'd given 
me time, Fd hare Umid you what I wanted. — O, ho / says I, go 
on. — *lVAy, says he, Fve somejriends to coffee this evening, and 
I wish to give the ladies a walk in the Fellows' Garden, and Fm 
come to request the loan of your kay. — O ! I can't do it — I can't 
do it, says I. — O! well, says he, it's no matlher, FU go else- 
where, I wish you'd let me spake at first, and he was goin' off. — 
2>»«***««j| iQ yf^^ gi^yg j^ xchat a hurry you*re in, C4in't you sit 
down, an' FU teU. you the raisin why, — Do you see, when I he- 

'^ Here, and elsewhere, die names were given in full. I have taken the lib- 
erty of removing them. 

** However innocent the Doctor may have considered his " little nppales," I 
have thought it better to mollify them by a letter or two, wherever they occur. 

^ Without an order signed by a Fellow, no atudent is allowed to past hia 
furniture through the College gate. 

«"Tuther,"— Alitor. 


eame a Jellow I tuck my oath that Td never lend the kay of the 
Naseau Sthreet gate, and do you see me Sir *••»•••••, p// g^u, 
you if. The kay of the Nassau Sthreet gate, and the kay of 
the gate laiden into the coorts is sawthred^^ together, and if 1 
lend you the kay of the gate laidin into the coorts, I must lend 
you the kay of the Nassau Sthreet gate. All the time I was spaik- 
en he waa tliryin^* to get away, till I said, Sure, Sir •••••*•*• 
Td do any thing to oblige you : — And now, wouldnU this do, if 
Td send Catty over with you to unlock the gate, and couldn't you 
jmtt a stone against the gate, that the ladies and you needn't he 
locked in all night in the Fell^nos' Garden, Sir ♦••••••*•. 

No. X. 
Its a foolish thing and extravagant, that sellin' hy auction hy 
inch o*candle, — can*t the buyers cut for it, as they do for prs- 
miums in college, or thry the Sortes Virgiliana;, An' I'll tell 
you two anecdotes, to shew you the value of an inch o' candle 
— and this is the first : — Before that same Sir •••••••* became 

Sir ••*••••••, he was sent wan evening, about dusk, to me by 

his uncle, Docther •♦•♦♦•*•♦, ^ho lived at some distance in the 
city that time. At this time the blagards used to be puttin 
squibs and other misdemeanours into my letther box, an' I used 
to be very cautious about openin the doore. And when I hard 
the knock, I said. Who's there? — It's I, says he. — Who are 
youf says I. — Tve a note /rom Docther ♦♦•♦•♦♦♦•^ g^yg jj^^ — 
Ohof says I, an' I opened the doore, an walked out into the 
coort to identify him. You've a note from Docther **••♦•••• ] 

says I. So I brought him in. Well — an' are you in College t 
says I. — Yes, says he. — An' is Docther •»••*•••* in his house 
in. — — Street now ? says I. — Yes, says he. — Well, let us see 
this -note from Docther ♦♦♦*♦*♦**, says I. I tuck an' read the 
note. Well, do you see me now ? says I ; do you sit down there, 
an' I pointed to a chair be the doore ; arC dont stir from that ; 
I have to go to the top o' the Iiouse to look for the book which 
Docther ♦♦*♦****♦ wants, I went to the top o' the house, an' 
brought down the book ; an' then says I, Tm not sure that this 
is the hook that Docther »♦♦•*•*♦♦ wants, for, d'ye see, it's 

» " Sawthred," ^soldered, •* " Thryin,"^ trying. 



darl. Bmi FU idl ^eu what ffou^H da — do yo« takf ii 
Baelber *»•♦••••*, and if its mai ike hook he wants^ hring 
ili«e4 10 mr, lui* tU hgki a camdle^ am* gel you the Hght itan. 

Xo. XI. 
Wmi eveoia •••••• the fellow came to me in the dusk, ru* 

RKfi I to kim. Sit ik^re mmr the wind&w, far a candk's ml r?' 

Ko. XII 
f*#««« the fellow maile * girdle o' mone j, and lived abroad 
ibr 9&me Tears in the city, an' came home to die in the College* 
Afl* wh^u be wns dejid I asked how much he left^^ to the Col- 
lege: «ii* the J t*>uld mct JXoi n pm»^. — The d d rascai^ 

MKfn L M^ pfmce wkert he wii9 tnahkd to make sa much mmkey. 

j|*««# the fcdlow; him who is now the bishop,* came to me 
dag* iibomt bisms, and I opened me desk to get bim some 
piqms he wjtzited^ An* it was at the time when guineas was 
:|^*« an* J bad a hnndred of ''em In the desk, tied up in a string. 
An* by some accifletit I pulled the string, as I was takin* out 
the papers, an' all the guineas went rowlin on the floor.^^ So I 
jumped upon M. an' says I, M — M — for God's sake don't stir 
— don't take any of 'em — stay where you are like an honest 
man, until I pick 'em np. So he was huffed ; but wasn't I right ] 
How did I know what the devil might put in his head ? Shnre 
enough I picked up only ninety-nine, and says I, oh ! now M. 
give it to me. He was very high about it ; and says I, maybe 
its under your foot. Well, he lifted np his right foot, an* it 
wasn't there ; an' he lifted up his left foot, an' it wasn't there, 
an* I never saw it from that day to this. Maybe it went into a 
hole, and maybe it didn't. 

* This story comes with a peculiar bad grace from our ghost. Tho Doctor 
died worth nearly £100,000, but, except a few legacies, left all to charity. As 
he specified no charitable institution, the will will be litigated. One legacy 
WM bequeathed under this express condition — that the legotee should give op 
•11 connection with Peg iht Nailer, 

*» " Floor" also rhymes with poor. 

• Dr. William Magee, Bishop of Cork, and afterwards Archbishop of Dub. 
Uu, aulhor of die great work on The Atonement. — M. 


No. XIV. 
They tell lies about me never stirrin' out of college. I was 
at the Bank often and often ; an' I was as far as Keny on. a col- 
lege law shoot. I saw many wonderful things on my thravels, 
which I wrote down when I came back. At Rathcool I got out 
of the coach, and I saw a fine bird walkin outside the doore of 
the public house ; an' I asked the oslur — him who was mindin' 
the horses — Pray, sir, what fine animal is that? an' says he, 
scratchin' his head, Plase your reverence we calls him a turkey 
cock. An' I afterwards looked at a picther^' of wan in a book, 
an' I found the osier was right. 

No. XV. 
When I was senior lekchurer^^ I gave the senior lekchurer's 
dinners as grand as they were ever given ; and they cost me a 
power of money ; an' the people never could dhrink all the 
wine I used to buy ; so that many bottles of claret and port and 
other wines were left to me ; an' I used to ask white-haired 
•♦••• him who is now chairman of the county of ••»»* to come 
to me often in the evenings, for he was a youth I liked. When 
I intended to give him wan of the bottles of claret, I'd say •*•*• 
come an' ait with me this evenin' an' he'd always come ; for he 
was a good youth, an' I'd give him wan bottle, which is enough, 
an' I'd take wan myself. When I didn't intend to give him 
any, I'd say, ♦••** come an' talk with me this eVenin' ; an' he'd 
always say he was engaged. It was quare^^ he was never en- 
gaged on the nights he was to get the wine. 

No. XVI. 
They used to print stories about me, and they'd make out 
that every second word I'd say would be, do you see me now ? 
That's a lie. I used to say it sometimes, but not often ; and 
what harm is it, if I did ? An' they used to say that when I 
was wance examinin' for a fellowship, I began my examination 

^ " Piclher," picture. 

» •* Lekchurer," lecturer. This oflScer gives oflBcial dinners; and the Doc- 
tor is not gasconading when he pndsei his. They were really splendid. 
» " Quare/' queer. 

c—lHd tbafftthebig. 

Ab* dwR^s Amwmtwi am ilif ij jm m^ to k«re made 

ttttttm fam tl|c Dttfb 10 d^ Ctmng. — No. S. 

r# CMH^kr AWd, £19. 4<. 4<. ^ 

Dkae Sib, 

Agebbablt to your request. I lunre exerted mjseif to pio- 
dire aoiiie paiiiciilan of ttMeaityfife and education of joor new 
gobten an ean eorrespODiAeat — Cattj * I r^iet tbat llie result 
has not been so satisfiictoiy as I coold bare wisbed. The up- 
shot of my inqniries has been simp] j the ascertaining of these 
three facts, — that her father was a tinker of repote, her mother 
a fish worn an, and that she herself, (after being carefullj- in- 
stmcted in the several dialects employed by members of these 
itinerant professions, to which her parents belonged,) was very 
near undertaking the occupation of bar-maid in a public-house, 
until, in lucky hour, she determined on entering College ; where, 
having gone through a regular course of attendance on under- 
graduates, bachelors, masters, and fellows, she was at length 
advanced to the honour of waiting on the Vice-Provost, in 
which service she died. 

But why the blazes don't you print all the articles I sent you 
last years ? I suppose youVe mislaid them — or lit your pipe 
with them at Ambrose's — or singed a goose with them — or 
pnpercd a closet with them, (as Dr. Smith did with his Gaelic 

Poems) — or — or . By the , if I thought 

HO, I'd off to Edinburgh with my shillelagh in a jiflfy, and run a 
tilt against your types and metal rules, that would set your 

* Cjiity was ihe ancient and ugly college-servant — commonly called the gyp 
— of Dr. Barrett. — M. 


jN^esii-gang aghast — compositors, devils, and all ! Don Quixote 
among the puppets, or Ariosto among the pots, was nothing to it. 

However, hang it, I can't tliink you'd play me such a scurvy 
trick ; hut we contributors, you know, are sometimes a little un- 
easy, you know, lest our articles, you know, should be re . . . je . . . 
je...(hang it, the ink's so thick, and the pen so had, that I can't 
get the word out — ), you know. 

However, if my suspicions he, after all, well-grounded — mind 
your eye — that's all. T. 0. 

Dublin^ Trinity College, 3d August, 1822. 

P. S.-— You needn't be sending to me to write notes to any 
more of your Barrettiana or Cattiana, until you print my articles 
first ; for, bad fortune to me, if I'll be a cat's paw to you any 

2^ misthcr hlacwud'^ 



IM* catty^ the owld ensbint^ catty hur^ that brack® the mug 
an lost the hepeny® ther was annuther catty that sarved the 
docther afther i dyed the blagard he left her loshins^® o munny 

12: "to;" passim. 

* mUlher blacwud: " MR. BLACKWOOD"— wa^ww et venerabUe nomen 
^nd fit rivo dare nomen — "to give name to a river!" We have two rivers 
Blucktoater in Ireland. If I had interest in any of the romantic parishes, 
through which eitlier of them meanders as it flows, I would pi-ocure au act of 
vestiy to have ita name changed into that of B\sLc\iioood. The River Black- 
wood!! Mercy on me — what pilgrimages we'd make to it! what punch 
we'd mingle from its tide ! 

^heydays: "Hades." 

*m; "Fm" — "lam." 

" eeUty: " Catty." This " pillar of the state" wants a capilal, 

* enskint : " ancient." 

'^ hur: "her" — in English "she." 

^bruckt "broke." 

^ hepeny : " halfpenny." 

^^ loshins: "lasliings." A word in the Hibernian language, equivalent to 
the Irish zo top — Anglo Irish " gillore," and English "thousands" or 
" enough." On a late pedestrian excursion to the hill of Howtli, my compan- 
iont and I being in search of water to slake our thirst (soy rather to mix our 
grog,) inquired of a gossoon [/farpon] whether there were any water in the 
neighbourhood — " O yes!" replied he, " there's loskins above there." 

Vol. II.— 15 


in" iliep never liad lo^k or p-ease^ sen»e^^ till sbee gc&lded tKi ^ 
giitg out o Iierself dhrmkia^* in sarvin the doetljer hear tlaers a J 
Grnte collidg lienr for aw] tli© wiirld like tlirhuty collid^ ©nely^ | 
docthcr kilo ajtit^^ provngt but docther ewatlie in ptirge*"^ tlinth^f ^ 
dnr mvH i 2 me^"^ owld matlier the docther sur gays i^^ Im Uviii 
with J*' hear says i fleiiso ye dyiwi says i an ye havnt g^ve mfi 
ftays i so tntiieli as a Thrawnieen^* o Wages says i an i ba¥nt s i 
screed^'* 2 nie back bjid scraiid*^ 2 ye says lie for a goast*^ o & 
collklg wnminan ivhftre id i get munny now saya he havnt Ihe^ ^ 
lit awl oil the erth abiiv nays he baniti^* snm^^ of it thats in tlie 
eanal='^ says he didnt the says he spind awl the good in the Kay- 
•kin*'^ on boiiy^ sajs he furst Bays he an then ccnijnr up th€ 
bank noati that was tbe goasts q the owld Ginnees the melted 

*• ktitk or grfoim : ** lutk of gracu f" b cniximoii HibeiuitlBm* 

'* SinM til \m fiiPti TiiB Doctor bequeathed n. lmnil*nnio «uni tci Ctttbonnfl It, 
Oil line fwymf'fti **f iIip first in^culmenttflie liecnmo ao intMxicated (wltli wlutky, 
nm jcij' J lliiit she* did not long eurvivc lii>r m Biter. Cat6 (nccefiteil vn tlie ImI 
iyllfll*li\) i# in rhf* fiiikft*&manish dmXectt usrd for Cutty, or OntlierTne. In liii 

IsiElii r,]:is*, ^^llru tin' DikMoi ^Vllf* d I n] m i Hcul to bt> fiiCHfuUS, illid to qnntn Cicf tO,, 

he always »|n>ko of tlic original Catty as his Cato Major^ and called himself 
«* King of tht CaUV The Into Dr. • * * * * *, more distinguished for the 
nunihcr thnn the excellence of his puns, used to translate the Do^ Cati of 
Homce — **the Doctor't Cniiy," pronouncing 2)<>cte Dorter, according to the 
utag« of Cockaigne. 

** mfnt: "a*nV* — "am not;" but used throughout Ireland for "is not." 

'* 9fr>«lht in pnrfft ! ! / Vm really at a loss hei-e. Perhaps Caterioa means 
Swedenhurg. His doctrine of the existence of manufactories, schools, &c., in 
ll»e other world, farours my supposition. 

*' me : " my ;" ptusim. 

'* The continued reiteration of t<ry« /, is a common Hibernicism. 

** TktytKnieen, An Irish diminutive, meaning a " trifle." 

* MTfed : " rng." 

«* tcrand: **datHr ambiguu;" Altart. It seems to mean "luck," 

« fFO^ut : " ghost.'- 

^ the: " they ;" pattim, 

«< htmrtH : " baning" — " except." 

»«wm: "some." 

^ The Doctor lost a power on the failure of one of the Canal Cumpanies. 

^Nnfikim: "nation." 

^hmifi "BoMpwte." 



down «n yoofied*^ 2 pasB hear mijs he an lave us without a cir- 
€le«eattng Mediant^ says he hut ill tell ye says he what yonll'^ 
dod- Mys he ill giv ye faof a Dnzzen o hang neck dose'' o meself 
says he an yull take an putt them says he in 2 misther hlacwnds 
Mag o sin^^ says he an dont rite 2 misther grease stnffer noth'* 
says he hekays^* the tell me hees only a Fantim^® like ourselves 
catty but 2 misther blacwud himself says he an its ten to 1 says, 
he but hell giv ye sumthin Hansim for em says he for says he 
ht dwnt matther givn a 2 an six penny or maybe four tens^ 
flays he for an Arti — Arti — now as I hop 2 dye a singer^* i 
cant reklllect what the dother caw Id it twosnt an artichoak but 
«n arti sum udder vegitibl o now i have it as shure as pays^^ an 
artikail ihata i sup pos sketch kail for the say misther blacwud 

** a circU^cUing Mediam ! ! ! ** a circulnting medium/' The English transla- 
tion o£ Ranunculum sceleratuSf (a deleterioun species <>f crow-foot,) — "celery- 
leaved crow-foot" — wns nothing to this. Whether the Hedes could eat cir- 
cles or no, h 11 certain that Dr. B. could never swallow a conic section. It is 
an authenticated fiict — thnt, although be committed to memory the entire of 
Hamilton's work on the subject, be did not understand one demonstration from 
beginning to end. 

^youll: "you'll"— "you will." 

** hang neck dose ! ! ! " anecdotes." 

" Mag o sin ! ! ! " magazine." 

** I write in red ink to signify how I blush fi»r thi» nudarions— the nnortbo- 
graphie«l Catty! grease-whiffer north; " CHBISTOPHBR NORTH!" The 
least we can do, by way of atonement, is to print his name in the largest capi- 
tals we can command. 

^hdmys: "becauae;" more correctly mis»spelt — " becase." 

^ FanHm: "phantom." 

^ tent: " tenpenny pieces." You don't know what they are in Scotland. 
H^py Jehus of the British mail-coaches! you are not put off with a ten in- 
stead of a thirteen, [12d. English is 13d. Irish.] Happy mail-coach travellers 
in the' green isle of my nativity! your tenpennies suffice for the protection of 
your shillings ! 

* dye a singer ! ! ! " die a sinner." 

^ at 9Mre as pays: "as sura as pease." A common phrase throughout Ire- 
land to imply metaphysical certainty. As to the origin of it— "<wc seiOf nee 
euro" "% as one of the best classical scholars that Ireland has ever produced 
replied, when on the fellowship bench, to the following question: — "Who 
was the mother of ^neas's nurse?" I give it in English, because I don't 
know how to write bad Latin. 

I cannol racStt thit opportunity of recordtng a ludicroof orthographical mit- 

itsAt yntt « h^eJatider'^ an wares pettjccNits ^n tbe Bearer is 
wiitiirg fiolLeek*^ he ftwlways spinds haf a jeer on the ertb rni 
hsim Tcer kev an if j^vU jest gt? Mm the oiiiniij or an ordure*^ 
(Ml tfa« twak bell bo^ wlmt 2 doo with it giv me lav 2 htnmn^ 
wmjmwj^ ctad mbther mc aUislher** 

^ Ko. L 

^^ I eat tli€m them mXk wan day at commons, satnlors And jiin- 
flors. It WHS in Asthmomj'. •Who u the Man in the Moon/ 
MJi 1» 'an where do ye find him T' An some said wan thingi an 
mmm said anothet things an nobody said the right tliiDg:. Bo I 
aBJee^ th* qni^^bE) tneself ; * Why/ says I, *he's a plaj be Set- 
tip,* m ye'K find him in the Colle^ Lihrary if ye choose to look 
Ibr %km ; an* if ye don't, Bensin ill^ find him for ye/ 80 I set- 
ikd em : ha ha ha ! 


^^o. II. 
was jij5 good a saint as Sai&t Senaiius, an Saint Kevm»^ I J 
;t like to have women botherin me^ an stravaguin^ th rough 1 

t 1 I TBct w-ilh •oiDfr ftmn &mee nn a toinWtonp, in a cemeteiy flt 

Glenilalough, county of AVicklow. Requieseaiin p€ux was rendered — " Mny 
be iY«t in pease !'^ 

* keelander : " biglilander." 

^pollock: Not Pollock, late of ******** Square, nor Pollock of 
•******•• Street, but Polhix. See Lempriere'a Classical Dictionary. 

** ordmre: ** order." " Decency, Catty boney." 

*^heUno: "beMlknow." 

♦* bensim : " Benson." Tbe premier porter of tbe library. One wbo will 
Ifive bis opinion on any question in politics, or of any book in the collection. 
** Wbnt news, Benson ?" inquired I one morning. ** Nothing but a little from 
PamambMcka [Pernambuco]/* replied he. Another morning I was curious 
m.nd indecorous enough to peep over his shoulder, in order to ascertain wb)|t book 
he was rending. It was " The Life of Mr. Thomtu Firmin, cUixen of London" 

*^jerrif: *' Jerry." A badge-man. One of the " lortls of the creation," as 
be xvus once facetiously termed. 

* misther mc allistker : " Mr. M'Allistkr." Tbe mace>bearer [i topwfiTris] 
and liead-porter of the University. I am happy to have this opportunity of 
printing bis name in capitals. , 

«6e; "by." 
^ill: *'will." 

* See Moore's Irish Melodies. 

* s£kra9agmm: " stravaguing" — " strolling." Derived probably by pleu- 


the library. Docther • • • • • [him that says Noah's ark is still 
iji bein*] brought a whole bilen* o them wan day into the libra- 
rian's room to me, an I was afeared, an began thinkin o Joseph 
an Potipher's wife : an I conldnt get out o the door, becanse it 
was chuck full o them, an I conldnt get ont o the window, be- 
cause Id break me neck : so I turned me back to them, the 
way^ they mightnt see me face, an thrust my head [face an all] 
into tlie safe,^ an called Bensin. * Bensin,' says I, * stand here 
close by me : an when theyre gone take an tell me, that I may 
take me head out o the safe again, Bensin/ 

No. III. 
They were always pestherin me about my memory, says the 
provost to me wan day. — 'Docther Barrett,' says he, *yere alway 
braggin o your memoiy : tell me who was Lord Mayor in the 
year 1739 V * How should I know,' says I, * who was Lord Mayor 
in the year 1739 V * Well,' says he, * who was Junior Alther- 
man?' *An how should I know who was Junior Altherman ?' 
says I. * Can't ye ask me somethin in me own way,' says I, 
* an I'll anser ye ?' * Well, then,' says he, * who was Bursar ]* 
' Why,' says I, * it must be Hughes, for he was expelled that 
year be owld Baldwin, for callin him a rascal.'^ 

No. IV. 
' YouVe only anserd me wan word in Greek, •••••••/ 

says I, one day I was examinin him, * and that's ivei — an' do ye 
know the raisin why? — because ye didn't know e'er an other.' 

nasm, from "straying." Thus ** gnllivant" from *' gallant." — Lobs Ki—|W7«- 

*bein: "being." 

" ffUen : " boiling ;" synonymous to " kit" — " crowd." 

^ Many expressions considered essentially vulgar in Ireland, as used exclu- 
sively by the lower orders, are really correct and figurative forms slill existing 
in the Insh language. The phrase " the way," as here employed, moans " in 
order that." Instance are, I believe, to be found in the Irish Bible, of this ap- 
plication of the term. 

^ A little recess in the wall of the librarian's room. 

* What will not potations of Lethe effect ? The doctor, never known to trip 
during his lifetime, is here guilty of a gross inaccuracy. Most respectable tes- 
timony cauld be adduced in support of the assertion — that the word employed, 
so far from being " rascal," was simply — " scoundreV* 

I warn towld Uae fellowg a etoiy at CoTnmons abont an Tndiai ] 
eu^tom, an a great many years af):her they raped it up* to me 
fi^tn/ * Do je know where ye found the stofy ye towld^*^ us 
watist ahotit the Indian ciistoin V says they. ' Why wouHn't 

»I V says I, * And where did ye find it ?* mjs they^ So I towU 
them thAt I found it in wan o' the rolmnes o* ChaTchjlFs Voy- 
iiges^ BIX pages from the end. * An do ye recolleet,' gays tltey, 
Wttikin*^ at me still, ' when yon towld it to us V * In one ihou- 
Baad se^en hnndred and ninety-three/ says I. 


In the owld Mwses,^^ tlmt was also nsed for a ball-court, theyj 
Ufied to hob their heads again^- the ait-hes and partitions at nighty J 
because it was dark. So we tuck an locked the Muses up every j 
ni^ht, and then they nsed to commit miademeanours ahont th44 
palace outmde, just as Lord Byron says the Italians does ahoot J 
n pillar at RRvenna^ so that in a new sense — olue runt m^tnil 
Cammtm. Bo the board thou«^ht it best to take an put up a' 
lamp in the Muses, and I thought It a very good plan, but liable 
to objections: so when it camo to my tuvn to spake, I said — 
that it would be rery well to putt up the lamp, but that it should 
be talK^n down at night, for foar the lads id break it, 

• raped [reaped'^ it itp: " referred to it" — " recalled it." 

WYmtW; "told." 

*' wurkin : " working." 

^' An appuitenance to the University — situated behind the kitchen and dedi- 
cated to post-culinary pui-poses. It derives its name from an edifice — similar 
and similarly posited — of moi'e ancient date, which contained nine stalls or 
recesses, separated from each other by wooden partitions. Tlie increase^ dif^ 
fusion of learning- throughout the island cannot be better attested than by the 
circumstance •— that it was found necessary, on recodifying the building, to 
double the number of recesses. As the designation ** Muses" seemed likely to 
be entailed upon the new stnictiire, some noble-hearted youths — burning to 
protect their country from the impending imputation of a ^w// — resolved to 
adopt a new one, and accordingly dubbed it " The Fellows," (the number of 
the Junior Fellows being just eighteen.) In vain ! Despite of loyalty, and 
grntiiude, and fashion itself, Dunloary is Dunleary still — despite of patriotism* 
and decency, and common ienie, " The Mutes'' are still " The Mutes." 


€l)e £adt tDotbs of (tljarled <f btoarbd, (Esq.* 


1 AM, or, move properly speaking, I Imve been, a man of 
pleasure. I am now forty years, less some few months, of age ; 
and I shall depart this life at twelve o'clock to-night. Abont 
that hour it is that I propose to shoot myself through the head. 
Let this letter be evidence that I do the act advisedly. I should 
be sorry to have that resolution confounded with madness, which 
18 founded upon the coolest and maturest consideration. Men 
are coxcombs even in death ; and I will not affect to disguise 
my weakness. I would not forfeit the glory of triumphing over 
broken-spirited drunkards and half-crazy opium-chewers — of 
being able to die grateful for the joys I have experienced, and 

* This striking pnper, which appeared in Blackwood for Octohcr, 1823, 
wus introduced by Muginn, in his usuul manner of mystification, by the foUuw- 
ing epistle to the renowned Christopher North:'— 

" Dear North,— »I shall be obh'ged by your 8inking scruples, and giving a 
place ilj your next Number to the enclosed paper, entitled, * The Last Words 
of diaries Edwards, Esq.' The production will of itself sufficiently explain 
who the wnter fO€U» I knew him in the Peninsula as a dashing fellow ; and, 
ootwithstanding all he says, ho was a great favoun'te with his mess. Bad as 
he wns, he did not want some good points : he was not a scoundrel to the core. 
He is gone ! May the history of his errors do good to one young and unliard- 
cned sinner ! I think it may well be expected to do good to hundreds of them. 

'* Some people will sny you act wrongly in giving publicity to such a record. 
Don't mind this— it is mere cunt. The paper is a transcript-— I have no 
doubt a faithful one, of the feelings of a man who had strong passions himself, 
who understood human passion, who understood the world, and who lived 
miiierably, and died most miuerably, because he could not, or would not, under- 
stand himself; and therefore derived no benefits from his acute perceptions ns 
to others. Is not this a lesson ? I think it is not only a lesson, but a lesson 
of lessons ; and I request you to print the thing as it stands. 

** I received the paper from an old friend of mine, who at one time 8er^•ed 
in the same troop with Edwards. The packet was lod at his house on Christ- 
mas night, 1822. He was from home at the time, and did not reach London 
until a week had elapsed. The hand-writing was disguised, but he recognized 
it notwitbstonding ; and the newq>apen of the day sufficiently confirmed the 
import. — Tours truly, " Moroan ODohxrtt." 


of disci alning to cAlumiamte pleasures after they have cea»ed t9^ 
he within my reach, I ilo assure yon, Mr. *♦*••♦*•, that I 
shonld wftit personally upon yon with thb epiKtle j but that I 
think the mere reasonabJeness of my snkiflG must carry convic^i 
tion with it of my sanity; but that I trust to lay before yom^ 
ftuch factK, and Rnch argnmrMits, as shall approve me not onlyjl 
jnstjJiahJ(.% bnt motst philosophic, in destroy h>g myself. Heaf^" 
what I have done ; weigh what 1 meaB to clo } am\ judge if W 
deeerve the nam« of madman^ 

I was bom of a family rather ancient than rich ; and inhent- 1 
ed, with something like the handsome person of my father, lm\ 
disposition to expend money rather than to acquire it. To my j 
own recollection, at eighteen, I was of a detei-mined temper,'^ 
rather than of a Yiolent one; ardent in the prosectition of ob-| 
jects, rather than sudden to nndertako ttiem j not very haaty I 
eitheif in love or in quarrel, I bad faculty enough to v^-rite bad ] 
Tetses, — not industry enottgh to write anything else ; and ad 
flptltud© for billfardu and horse-riding to a ratraele. 

1^0 w I desire 'to Lave tbis considered not ag a confess imir hut: 
as a statement. Ai I plead gnilty to no faulty I make a decla- 
ration, not an acknowledgment. I am not lamenting anything 
that is past. If I had to begin ngaiu to-morrow, I would begin 
again in the same way. I should vary my course perhaps some- 
thing, with the advantage of my present experience ; but, take 
it in the main, and it would be the race that I have nm already. 

At eighteen, with an education, as Lord Foppington has it, 
" rather at large ;" for (like Swift's captain of horse) my tutors 
were the last people who expected any good of me, — at eigh- 
tech, it became necessary for me to think of a profession. My 
first attempt in life was in the navy. I was anxious to go, and 
cared very little whither ; and a school-boy midsliipman of my 
acquaintance cajoled me into a Mediten-anean voyage, by- 
promises of prize-money, and descriptions of Plymouth harbour. 

If I were to speak from my feeling at the present moment, I 
should say, that the life of a sailor has its charms. I am bank- 
iiipt in appetite, as well as in estate ; if I have nothing left to 
enjoy, I have little capacity left for enjoyment; and I now 
know how to appreciate that exuberance of spirit With wliieh a 


man dadies into dismpation on shore, after six weeks restraint 
^m it at sea. But I know also that these are the feelings of 
situation, and of circnmstance. The past seems delightful, where 
n« hope lives for the future. I am cherishing most fondly the 
recollection of those sensations which are now the most com- 
pletely lost to me for ever. But it is the act of the moment 
which forms the index to the true impression. A ship of war 
may seem abstract liberty to him who pines in the dungeons of 
the inquisition. But confinement, monotony, coarse society, and 
personal privation ; — the simple fact is worth all the argument ; 
— aflter a cmise of two months, I quitted the navy for ever. 

Gharmed almost as much with my change of society as with 
my ehange of dress, I quitted the sea-sei-vice, and entered a 
regiment of light dragoons ; and, for two years from the time 
of my joining the army, I led the life which lads commonly lead 
in the outset of a military career. And even to the occurrences 
of those two years, rade and unintellectual as they were, my 
memory still clings with pleasure and with regret. Toys, then, 
however trifling, pleased ; the most refined enjoyments could 
have done no more. Is there a man living, past thirty, who 
does not sometimes give a sigh to those days of delicious inex- 
perience and imperception, when the heart could rest content 
with the mere gratification of the senses ; when the intimacies 
of the dinner-table passed current for fiiendship ; when the wo- 
man who smiled on all, was to all, nevei-theless, chamihig ; and 
when life, so long as health and money lasted, was one uninter- 
rupted course of impulse and intoxication 1 

It was my fate, however, to continue but a shoi*t time a mere 
follower of opera Jigtirantes, and imbiber of strong potations. 
Just before I was one-and-twenty, a woman eight years older 
than myself in great measure fixed my destiny, and entirely 
formed my character. 

Boys who run riot commonly attach themselves, I think, to 
married women. Wives, where by ill fortune they incline to ir- 
regularity, are more understanding, and more accessible, than 
girls; and hope is your only food for an incipient passion. 
Many a woman becomes an object of desire, when there seems 
to be a pi'obability of success; upon whom, but for such 


ff>re*knowledg6 or suspicion, wo itioiild ©at pethapa bestow a 

Lmiisa Salv^ini wae eiglit*nnd- twenty years of nge ; a Sicilian 
by bii-th j full of the cUmflte of her country. Hera was tba 
Spiunisli or Itnlian style of Iwjauty, — small rntbor as to figure, 
yet of exquisite proportion. She Imd a shape which » but to be- 
liold, was passion; — a carnage, such as nothing" but the pride 
of her own loveUueJis could have suggested; — her eyesl their 
glance of encouragement wai fascination 1 — ber lips confused llid 
Bcnse to look upon them ; — ^nnd her voice ! — If tbei-e bo (pas- 
Eing attraction either of faee or fonn) or*e clmrm about a woniaa 
more irresistible than eix*ry other^ it is that soft — that niilJ, 
0weet, liquid tone, which sooths even in offendbig, and when it 
BBka, commands ; wliich isliakes conviction with its weake&t word, 
and can in»ke falseliooil (ay, though known for such) »o sweet, 
that we regard the tnith witli loathing. Onlieaveji! I have 
bearkeiied to th© deUeiouB accents of iuch a voiee, till, haii my 
sours hope been aeked from me, it would have been surrendered 
without a struggle 1 — ^To-nigbt, at midnight, I shall lienr such a 
voice for the last time ! I shall hear it while I gaze upon fea- 
tures of loveliness ; while my soul is lulled with music, and when 
my brain is hot with wine ; and the mere melody of that voice 

will go farther to raise the delirium I look for than • • 

• ••••• 

But enough of this now. My tale should be of that which was. 
Let that which shall come hereafter give some other historian 

My acquaintance with Louisa Salvini was of her seeking 
rather than of mine. Accident thi-ew me, under favourable cir- 
cumstances, in her way ; but it so happened that, at the mo- 
ment, I did not perceive I had excited her attention. The 
manner of our subsequent introductiou was whimsical. I was 
not a man (at twenty) to decline an adventure blindfold ; a well- 
played-upon old' lady carried me, as a visitor, to Salvini's house; 
and my fate was decided from the first moment that I entered it. 

Gracious Heaven / when I reflect that the woman of whom 
I speak ; — whom I recollect one of the loveHest creatures that 
a&ture ever formed ; — whose smile I have watched, for its mere 



beantj, eren in the absence of passion; — at whose feet I Lave 
sat for Lour after hotir, intoxicating myself with that flattery 
which is the only flatteiy true manhood can endure ! — When I 
reflect that this woman, at the moment while I write, is a with- 
eared — blasted — aged creaturQ of fifty ! — Madness — annihila- 
tion — is refngc from sucli a thought. I met ber, scarce a month 
since, after an absence of years. Those eyes, which once dis- 
coursed with every rising emotion, retained still something of 
tlioir original brightness, but it now only added horror to their 
expression. That hand, which I had pressed for hours in mine, 
was now grown bony, shrunken, and discoloured. Her once 
cloudless complexion reeked with paint, through which the black 
farrow of tune shewed but more deep and ghastly. Her lips — 

OA/ they wei-e the same lips which The voice too; — 

more dreadful than all ! That voice which had once been 
sweetest music to my soul; — that voice which memory still is 
sounding in my ears; — that voice which I had loved — had 
worshipped; — that voice was gone; — it was no more; — and 
what remained was harsh, — tiemulous, — broken, — discordant ! 
—And this is the woman whom I so adored ] It is she, and 
she is unconscious of change ! — and I shall be — must be — the 
thing that she now is ! Hold, brain ! — The blow of this night 
saves me from such a fate ! 

My love for Louisa Salvini endured two years without satiety. 
An attachment of equal duration has never befallen me since. 
But at the tune to which I refer, all circumstances were in my 
favour. I was glowing witli all the fervour of youth, and with 
all the vigour of un wasted constitution. My mistress's beauty 
delighted my senses; her avowed preference gratified my 
vanity ^ she was charming to me, (love apai*t) taken merely as 
a companion ; and what conduced still farther to the keeping 
alive our passion, she was not (being another^) constantly in 
my presence. 

Contentment, however, is not the lot of man. Give a Mahom- 
etan his paradise; and in six weeks he would be disgusted 
with it. My affection for my charming mistress was just begin- 
ning to be endangered, when the regiment to which I belonged, 
was ordered to the Continent The fact was, that I met in 


I aociety a variety of women, of principloi as friKS as bftx^l 
own ; fliul tlio very jt*nlousy wljjch each lady entertained ^ 
friddfJE^ made success with herself llie more easy and certain, 
A little while longer, and Loiuna and I had severed ; my em 
KarkatioB, paiting' us by neecssity, saved us proLahly Irom b 
parting by consent, 

II left England very poor xis to pecimiftry means ; hut rich in i 
ftvery other advantage which (to me,) made life desirable,./ 
jFouIL, O youth ! could I but recall the ye^rs tLat I have lived ! 
— ^I would rather staiul now upon the barrenest plain in Europe, 
— naked^ — frieudless — penny less — ^but a^ain sixteen^ than poa- 

»>m&»f as the thing I am, the empire of the world. 
Is there a fool so be&ottcd as to tinjst the cant he utters, — ^to- j 
believe that monev can really purchase all the blessinga of thia ' 
lifei ? Money can buy notldng; — it m worth nothing. I hav#< 
rioted in its abimdauce ; I hav^c felt its total deprivation ; and Ih 

PliAve enjoyed moi-e, I boliover of happiness in the last Btatfflj 
dian in the fir^. 

Shall I forget the first event of my career on the Gontinentf 
— ^that event which^ in the eud» led to its premature tennina- 
imul — ^^^linll I forget llie innolent superiority with which I 
looked down upon my brother officers, — men to whom play, 
excess of wine, and mercenary women, seemed, and indeed were, 
delights sufficient? 

Wine, imtil after thirty, from choice, I seldom tasted. My 
spirits, when sober, were too vivid for control; — wine only 
troubled their serenity, without heightening their level. Of 
play, — I touched it once; and I shall speak of it hereafter. 
But women? such women as these men could admire 1 Even 
my more cultivated sense rejected them; — two years ^of inti- 
macy with Salvini and her companions had chastened my taste, 
and made delicate my perceptions. Can I ever, I repeat, forget 
that exquisite moment, — that moment which secured to me at 
least one enemy for life — when I, the poorest cornet in our regi- 
ment, defeated my colonel in the favour of the first beauty in 
Lisbon ? By heaven, the recollection of that isingle hour past 
warms my spirits to high pitch for the hour that is to come ! 
Tho envy; the hate — the burning hate — which my sncoesa 


engendwed m the bosoms of half my acquaintance ! The sen- 
sation of hating is one which I have never fully experienced ; 
but the pleasure of being hated — oh, it is almost equal to the 
pleasure of being beloved ! 

To a man of habits and temperament like mine, the Peninsula 
was a delightful residence in 1 808. I remember the gay ap- 
pearance of the r^7>?V/?/ ; which, taken by moonlight from the 
river, is perhaps one of the most imposing in the world. I re- 
member the striking panoramic vovp-d^cpvil of its church and 
convent spires innumerable ; its marble fountains, its palaces, 
its towers, and its gardens ; its streets and squares of white and 
yellow buildings, each gaudily appointed, from the basement to 
the roof, with jalouse lattices, balconies, and verandahs; — the 
whole city, too, throwing itself (fi-om the iiTegular site upon 
which it rises,) full, at a single glance, upon the eye ; and every 
feature in the prospect, seeming, like an object in a picture, dis- 
posed artfully with a view to the general beauty of the scene. 

Then the free spirits of the women ; — their passions concen- 
trated, almost to madness, by the restraint under which they 
live ! Honour, for aiding the hopes of a lover, be to systems 
of restriction, severity, and espionage ! Opportunity, to an Eng- 
lish woman, wants the piquancy of novelty. As it is constantly 
recurring, it is constantly neglected. In Spain, they seize it 
when it does present itself; for, once rejected, it may never be 
found again. 

But, beyond the beauty of Lisbon as a city ; beyond even 
the brightness of those souls that inhabited it ; there was a laxity 
of law and manner in it at the period to which I speak ; a li- 
cense inseparable from the presence of a foreign force in a pros- 
trate, shackled, and dependent countiy ; an absence as much 
of moral as of physical police ; which, to a disposition such as 
mine, was peculiarly acceptable. Add to this, the farther fact, 
that I was fresh in a strange capital ; among a people to whose 
manners, and almost to whose language, I was a stranger ; 
where, little being fully understood, all had credit for being as 
it ought to be ; and^where the mere novelty of my situation was 
a charm almost inexhaustible; — ^such allurements considered, 
could I faO to be charmed with the Peninsula? 


Ky MnjT ill thtB land of delight, th«n, was sometliiivg short oil 
tlirc« yt**rs. I was present at the fainous battle of Talavera | i 
aadp itfterwardB, at tbe deeper atia contc^st of Albttera, nnder j 
B(ur«^sford; wliere the FaLisb lancets first tiied their sttrengtkj 
jigaloftt tinr Eng^lisb cjivalry, I was a sbarer^ too, in the move I 
pariial ft^air -of Busaco ; and took part in tbe clnty of coyenng J 
Ikft retfiftt tiiat followed ; a retreat in wLicli the whole of thf j 
■04ilb«m Hn© of Portugal, from tlie Spanish frontier to Lisbom J 
wan depopidated and laid waste; in which convents were de-j 
ittft^d, cities consumed hy fire, and women bom to rank and 1 
mffllience, compelled to seek protection from the meanest follo^v- , 
y«rs of the Biidsh armj. 

The e vacua tion of Colmbraf (the Bath, if I may so call it^ of- 1 
port ti gal ») is pr«?sent to me now, as though it had occurred bril | 
p68terday, I me the immense population — ^mcn^ women, and! 
bildmn, of all ranks and of all ages, — pouriug out, at an hoiu^'il 
notice, throngh th« lisbon gate of the city ; and ruBhin^ upon I 
[m joiiniry wliieh not ooe iii iive of them eoiild hope to accoin*] 
Lplbll. It was liltle to have abandoned home and property ; to! 
rluive eet foith on foot (for thn army had seized all convej'ance,) 
—on foot, and unprovided, in a long and rapid march, tiirough 
a distracted, ravaged, lawless tract of country ; if to have suf- 
fered this was much, the trial was stiU to come. I saw these 
multitudes, spent with travel and with hunger, reach towns iu 
which every hovel — every shed — was filled with troops. I 
Raw families upon families, yet new upon their pilgrunage. — not 
yet so tamed and beaten down by suffering as willingly to carry 
their daughters into the guardrooms of an infuriated soldiery— 
I saw them lying (for even the churches were filled with our 
flick and wounded) — lying unsheltered all night in the fields and 
open squares ; waiting, with feverish restlessness, the appearance 
of morning, as though new light (repose apart,) would to them 
be an occasion of new strength. 

The vast column rolled forward on the high road to the cap- 
ital, collecting the population of the country over which it pas^ 
sed. Behind were left the weak» the aged, and the dying; and 
some few wretches, of profession, who, tempted by the hope of 
gain, took their duoiee (nod lost it) of mercy firoia tbei enemy. 


Bat tboi^h every step over which the mass advanced gave ad- 
dition to its numbers^ there were drains at work, and fearful 
ones, to counteract the reinforcement. Cold dews at midnight, 
bamihg suns by day, scanty provisions, and fatigue unwonted 
— these ministers did their work, and especially among the 
females. Towards the close of the second day's march, the wo- 
men began to fail rapidly. At first, when a gul grew faint, and 
unable to proceed, her sister would stay by her. This feehng, 
bowevei*, was not fated to last long : soon the sister dashed des- 
perately forward ; to sink herself, and meet her own fate, some 
few leagues farther on. 

I saw one company halted between Leina and Pombal, which 
must have consisted of eight himdred or a thousand individuals. 
Thisse people came from the neighbourhoods of Coimbra and 
Condeixa; some of them from as far up as Mongoalde and 
Vizeu. There were girls of fourteen or fifteen, clad in their 
gayest apparel — their only means of carrying, or (as they said) 
of " saving" it. v There were old men, and grandames ; peasants, 
male and female; fiiars, and artisans, sei-vants, and religieuses. 
After travelling, most of them, more than fifty miles on foot, 
and passing two or three nigiits in the open air, they were lying 
upon the banks of a river, waiting for the sunrise, as I rode past 
them. I never can forget this scene ; and yet I feel that it is 
impossible for me to desciibe it. The stream (I believe it was 
a branch of the Mondego) was dark and swollen, from the ef- 
fect of recent rains ; and it rashed along between the willows, 
which grew on either bank, as though sharing in the hasty spirit 
which animated everj' object about it. On the road, which lay 
to the right of the river, troops and fugitives were already in 
motion. It was just dawn when I came up. A light breeze was 
lialf dealing off the fog from the surface of the water. I saw 
the living figures imperfectly as I approached — all white and 
shrouded, like spectres, in the inist. The light dresses of the 
girls were saturated with wet. Their flowers ana feathers were 
soiled— drooping — broken. Their hair — (the Spanish women 
are remarkable for the beauty of iheit feature) — their dark long 
h^r — hung neglected and dishevelled. Their feet, which car- 
dinals might have Idssed] were, in many instances, naked — 


wcmiided — bleeding. An*!^ worse tUmi alU their spirit and theif ^ 
streiagth was goue. Of tbo&e wliom I saw lying" tin tbe banks 
©f that watetp a feaiful proportion lay tliere to rise no more* 
And jet mnny bad gtild and jewels; But gold could not help <j 
them. And thciir loveliness retnained ; and they looked in elo- ^ 
qnent, though in mnte despair, upon Bi-itiBli officers who passed 4 
by — and yet those men, who would have fought knee-deep ioti 
tli« worst of tliem, they conld not help them. I overtook, aftetfj 
thls» a beautiful girl of fifteen, travelling alone — ont of the high J 
road — ^fr^m appTebension of insult* This girl had been sepa^.l 
rated from her friends in the general confusion* She had money / 
and dijinioiidg to a considerable amount abont her; and had ac-J 
complisbed half her journey, but felt unable to proceed farther.^ 
She begged, on her knees, for d horse — for any conveyance ; j 
to he aliowewl to travel near me, with my nervants — anywhere,.| 
anyhow, to be protected, and to get on, 1 had not the means ^ 
of aiding that girl. I could not lielp her, Eveiy Englisbma 
had already d^ne his ntmost. I had then three women under! 
my protection. I see the figure, the countenance, the tears of J 
that girl, at this moment. I thought at one time that I must 
have staid and been made prisoner along with her. I conld not 
carry her away in my arms. I could not leave her — no man 
could have left her to her fate. Fortunately an officer came up, 
who was less encumbered than myself; and she was provided 
for. — And in such way (and in ways a thousand times more 
dreadful) great numbers of women got on to the capital. They 
escaped for a time the lot of their friends and relatives j but, 
eventually, what was to be their fate 1 What was their fate ? 
What if I saw these women afterwards — women bom to afflu- 
ence — reared in the very lap of luxuiy and softness — what if 
I saw many of them begging in the public streets of Lisbon ? — 
I did see them in that state ; but it is a subject that I must not 
dwell upon. 

The conclusion of my Peninsular campaign was not favourable 
to my fortunes. As a soldier, I did my duty in the field ; but 
opportunity for a man to distinguish himself cannot always be 
commanded. I had a project once, with a few fellows as despe- 
rate, or as careless, as myself, for dashing at the enemy's military 


chest ; but cmr scheme fell to the ground, for we never got a clinnro 
of carrying it into execution. In the meantime, as regarded 
promotion, my general conduct was not such as to make friends. 
Bepeated successes, in one peculiar pursuit, inspired me with an 
excessive confidence in myself, and with a very contemptuous 
estimate of most other persons. I saw men, whom, at all points, 
I ranked far below myself, graced with the favour of superiors, 
and rich in the gifts of fortune. When a chance did occur for 
making such usurpers feel their proper place, was it in human' 
nature to resist the temptation ? All hope of patronage^ under 
such a regime, was of course out of the question. I interfered 
with everybody and, at last, began to take a pride in doing so. 
The recompense of these good officers was in due time to be 

A Spanish officer, with whom I was associated in the convoy 
of certain treasure, proposed to me one night, after our halt 
upon the march, to take a trip down the Tagus, and bring his 
wife upon the journey. I had met this lady, a short time before, 
in Lisbon; and (according to my invariable custom in such 
cases) fancied that she had a liking for my person. It was a 
fine moonlight evening when wo left Villa Nova, and we ran 
down with the tide to the Quinta of my friend ; but no sooner 
had we taken the Signora on board, than the aspect of the 
weather suddenly changed, and we were exposed, during the 
whole night, to considerable danger. 

From the moment almost that we left Silveira's house, the 
weather began to be unfavourable. The darkness, after the 
moon had gone down, was extreme. The wind, which set in 
squalls across a rapid and contrary tide, seemed to acquire 
greater force at every successive gust, and was accompanied, 
from time to time, with heavy showers of rain. Our boat, though 
capacious enough, was undecked, and slightly rigged — evidently 
unfit for rough treatment of any kind ; and, to make matters 
worse, our sailors became alarmed, and Silveira, who knew the 
river, was ill from sea-sickness. How curiously, in the arrange- 
ment of the human heart and mind, do our passions balance and 
compensate each other ! A man might reasonably, perhaps, be 
expected to keep his wits about him in such a dilemma as this. 

Wm mjridlf, I had ion« little oaitticd «sperieiiee ; aad^ b«mdei| 
MT QOMpsaiDtift weie a&alii : m^ it lielpt n man's valour gi^^tly 
to mm eitor p^-o^ ft%liteiiei Bol Bitveini's wife, who was at 
Etile af a beroiiie as aaj wovusui I eT«r met witb — T was com* 
pelk^ t0 tafpott iMf dnmg abmost the wL&le of tko niglit ; fbt 
iLe ii^ kept dl«ibiB^ iota our open boat, and ber Lnisband, from 
wcmxet^f take ejire cxf himself; and yet* imtler 
, while ike expected, I believe, to be wnBlied 
ere^y half nunote. I coold perceii^e tliat I had not 
hntn <|fi2te Biistikcii in piv EH^pieioa of her good opitiioa of me. 
WhatereT iatCKttl, however^ I tnight have felt in the pTogm&ft* 
of tlus tittle eseATsioo, it^ tertnination wai sneh aa I certainly 
Iwd Mi TtntfrTlatn^ With the utmost eicerti&nB both of the 
njself, we did not get back to oar halting-plaeo 
mt the da J after we had started. At daybreak 
(tiF«lv« hmam ht^orm} & U^sacherous qnarter-niaster had marebed 
(iitrwafd villi oor escort; my Mend the colonel did not let sligt 
m hximMMe an oppottamt j to get lid of a man whom he doubt* 
hm eoQfiidet^d as a tf«>ttUesoiDe coxeomb ; and, to avoid the m. 
flfvitalile remit of a court-martkl, I skhk^d and obtamed permis- 
UOQ to resign. 


Upon home service, my affairs, in a pecuniary point of view, 
wonld have been very little affected by the loss of my commis* 
sion. On service, however, abroad, the consequence was differ- 
ent. As a soldier, I enjoyed many advantages and immunities, 
which a civil individual conld scarcely, even for money, procure. 
Besides, though no discredit attached to my fault, (for Silveira, 
indeed, had never been brought to any account,) still I was, up 
to a certain point, a man placed in the shade. I had not lost 
my rank dishonourably ; but still I JMd lost it, and the military 
world felt that I had. I missed the visits of some men with 
whom I had been upon terms of intimacy ; and received advan- 
ces from others, of whose acquaintance I was not ambitious. 
One friend asked casually when I intended to go to England ; 
another mentioned some new Spaniish levies, in wliicli commis- 
^ons were easiiy to be obtained. One fellowrto whom I had 



iieTer spokeii m mj life, and who had been dismissed from the 
navy for gross inmtbordination and misconduct, had the presump- 
tioQ to write to me about ^jobs*' in ** high quarters/' "favourit* 
ism/' ** ii^justice/' and " public appeal ;" but I horsewhipped him 
in a pabUe coffee-room, while the waiter read his letter to the 
eompanj. These, however, were teazing, not to say distressing, 
cire«n99iance8 ; and, to avoid seeming at a loss, (particularly as 
I was very mvch at a loss indeed,) it became necessary to do 
something, and with the least possible delay. 

I eonld have married Portuguese ladies ; but their means were 
in aappoaition. Beady money, in Poi*tugal, thei-e was little; 
rents, in the existing state of the country, were hopeless ; and I 
bad not much reliance upon a title to land, which, to-day, was 
in onr possession, to-morrow perhaps in that of the enemy. Mis- 
fortunes, as the adage declares, are gregarious. Meditating 
which course, out of many, 1 should adopt, I fell into a coui*se 
which I had never meditated at all. 

The Peninsula, during the war, was the scene of a good deal 
6f high play. In quarters distant from the capital, the difficulty 
of killing time drove all but professed drinkers to gaming ; and 
the universal employment of specie, — for paper was used only 
in eommereial transactions, — gave an aspect peculiarly tempt- 
ing to the table. Silver, in dollars and Portuguese crowns, was 
the common run of currency ; the army was paid entirely in that 
metal ; and it was no unusual thing to see an officer come down 
to a gaming house absolutely bending under the weight of a 
douple hmadred pounds which he had to risk ; or sending for a 
servant, (hackney coaches were scarce,) in case of a run of luck, 
to carry away his winnings. 

Haasard and faro were the favourite games. Of billiards peo- 
ple were shy,-— people commonly dread faculty in any shape. 
There was some danger in going home, after being very suc- 
cessful, at jiight ; but the games of chance were in general very 
fairly played. The bank, of course, had a certain, and a con- 
siderable advantage; but as all the houses were public and 
open, there was little, if any, opportunity for fraud. And it waa 
by no assumed advantage of the table, or by any process so 
tedious, that my stripping was effected. In lucki I was nnfor^ 

ttinute, I lost, ftt mj first sitting, more monej tban X conH 
afford to pail with ; und, in hope of rcscoveriiig it, was compelled 
to persevere. I have hefli*d, among many dogmas n^ to the se- 
ductiveness of play — (a passion, bj the wny, no more iiivinci- 
bki tlioiagli perhaps more rapidly destmctive, than moBt of tbe 
other passions to which the liumaii miiul ia subject,) — that n 
Ineiiig gamester may stop^ but thut a winiiing one mever cauu 
Perhaps this as:iom is meant to apply peculiarly to your gamester 
ih cff-ur ; nnd possibly, (though de U(e \rouLl be the more ** ger^ 
mane'* ill usst ration,) — possibly, as Gall or Spnrzheim would say, 
the ** organ" of winning or losing was not in me strongly tSeTel'^ 
opeJ. As far as my own feeling goes, it certainly negatives the- 
principle. Had I at any time vegaiiied my own, I tlnnk I should* 
have stopped* — 1 lost every shilling I possessed, — ^ horses, jewJ. 
els, and even pistols, in the attempt. ' 

I have stated, I tliink, that I was an only child ; but, up t# 
this point, I have said very little about my parents. Thank 
Heaven, {for their sakes) they no longer exist- My father died 
in my arms about seven years since, exhorting me, with \m ksf* 
breath, against the habits ho had liyed in all hia life. I can nn-^ 
derstand this. My father died what is called " a natural death." 
Sickness had enervated his mind ; terrors, the mere weakness 
of nerve, oppressed him. The ague of a month e£Pected that 
change to which the argument of years had been unequal ; after 
fifty years of infidelity, he fancied he died a believer. Were I 
to live ten years longer, I should probably die as he did. 

But I name my relatives in this place, merely for the sake of 
observing, that, at the time to which I refer, I was very much 
estranged from them. My father held himself pretty well re- 
lieved from anxiety as to the fate of a man over whose conduct 
he had no control; and it was a draft only for fifty pounds 
which I received from him in Lisbon after the loss of my com- 
mission, accompanied by a letter which deteimined me never to 
apply to him again. 

So, with twenty guineas only in my pockets, and with expe- 
rience enough to know how little twenty guineas would do for 
me, I again landed in England in the year 1812 ; but I have 
not time, noi* would the world have patience, for the adventures 


wluch, in three months, conducted me to my last shilling. I 
wrote a novel, I recollect, which no bookseller would look at ; — 
A plftyi which is still lying at one of the winter theatres. Then 
I sent proposals to the Commander-in-chief for altering the taste 
of our cavalry accoutrements and harness ; next, drew a plan 
(and seriously too) for the invasion of China ; and after these, 
and a variety of other strange efforts, each suggested by my 
poverty, and all tending to increase it, the clocks were striking 
twelve on a dreary November night, as I walked along Picca- 
dilly without a penny in the world. 

It is at twelve o'clock this night that my earthly career must 
terminate ; and, looking back to the various changes with which 
my life has been chequered, I find crisis after crisis connecting 
itself with the same hour. On the evening to which I allude, I 
wandered for hours through the streets ; but it was not until 
midnight that I thought very intently on my situation. There 
is something, perhaps, of appalling in the aspect of London at 
that hour ; in the gi-adual desertion of the streets by reputable 
passengers ; and in the rising, as it were, from their depths of 
earth, of forms repulsive, horrible, and obscene. This change 
of object and association is sometimes peculiarly striking in the 
Parks. As the evening draws in, the walking parties and well- 
dressed persons disappear one by one ; and the benches become 
peopled with an aiTay of fearful creatures, who seem to glide 
from behind the trees, — to be embodied, as it were, out of the 
air. I have myself turned round suddenly, and seen a squalid 
shape beside me, which had not been there but the moment be- 
fore. And I knew not how it came, nor- from what quarter it 
approached ; but it came on through the dark like some pale 
meteor, or unwholesome exhalation, which was not visible till 
the good light was gone. The closing too (in the town) of the 
shops, one after the other, — the honester and safer houses first, 
and so on until the haunts even of guilt and infamy shut up their 
doors, as seeing no farther prospect through the gloom. — And 
the few animated objects which break the general stillness, more 
revolting and fearful even than that stillness itself ! Starving 
wretches, huddled together in holes and comers, seeking con- 
cealment from the eye of the police ; thief-takers making their 


»£eah1iy rounds, and eymt^ ©Tery casual wanderer iritb suspi- 
cioua and Uall-tlireatening glancGi. Then the aaeociationa wliicli 
present them eel ves to tlie mind in «ucli a sitnatian. Tiioughtj 
of tmrglar^ murdercrs, wretches who violate the sanctity of the 
lejiave, and Ktrkmg criininab of still darker dye ; — the horror 
heing lesi of injury from such creatures than of possible upprox- 
itnation to tbem j the kiud of dread which a man feels, he can 
scarcely tell whyi of being touched by a rat, a spider, or a toad. 

But I wandered on till Bt» James*s bell tolled twelve j and 
the sound awakened some cirrions recollections in toy meniDiy, 
A mistress of mine had lived in Saekville Street once; and 
twelve o*clock (at noon) was my permitted hour to visit her. I 
had walked up and down a hundred times in front of St JamesV 
church, waiting impatiently to hear that clock strike twelve, 
which now struck twelve upon my ruin, — my degradation. The 
sound of the bell fell upon my ear like the voice of an old a<5- 
ijuaiutance. — My ^end yet held his standing; mj estate had 
something changed. 

I did wander on, howevei% after St. Jameses clock told twelves 
and while the rain, falling in ton-cnts, drove even beggars t^ 
their shelter. 1 had neither home nor money. There were ac- 
quaintances upon whom I might have called, and from whom a 
supper and a bed would have been matters of course ; but I felt 
that my spirits were rapidly rising to the right pitch for consid- 
ering the situation in which I stood. Nothing sharpens the per- 
ceptions like the pressure of immediate danger. Had I slept 
and awoke at daylight, I must again have waited for the hour 
of darkness. Men succeed, over and over again, upon the spur 
of emergency, in enterprises, which, viewed calmly, they would 
never have undertaken. 

I strolled onwards down Piccadilly through the wet dark 
night, (to avoid the hackney-coachmen, who kept teasing me 
with offers of their services,) and leaned against one of those 
splendid houses which stand fronting the Green Park. The 
strong bright glare of the door-lamps below, shewed the princ^y 
proportion of the building. Night was now growing fast into 
morning, but lights were still visible in the show-apartmentfr of 
the mansion. Presently I heard the sound of a piano-forte, and 


a Toke wUeh I thought was familiar to me. I listened ; and, 
ifi a momenty the singer went on. 


* The setting sun with crimson beam 

* Now gilds the twilight sky ; 

And evening comes with sportive mien, 

And cares of daylight fly ; 
Then deck the boaixl witli fluw'rs, and fill 

My gloss with racy wine ; 
And let those snowy arms, my love, 
Once more thy harp entwine. 

Oh ! strike the liai-p, my dark hairM love, 

And swell that strain so dear ; 
Thine angel ibnn shall charm mine eye, 

Thy voice delight mine ear. , 

8iirely» said I, I have heard these words before ; but the song 


The glasses shine upon the board. 

But brighter shines thine eye ; 
The claret pales iu iniby tint, 

When lips like thine are nigh ; 
The tapers dim their virgin white 
< lEieside thy bosom's hue ; 

And the flame they shed bums not so bright. 

As that I feel for you. 

Then strike the harp ! each note, my love. 

Shall kindle fresh desire ; 
Thy melting breath shall fan that flame. 

Thy glowing charms inspire. 

It was the voice of a man whom I had known intimately for 
years. I cast my eye npon the door, and read the name of his 
family. My old companion, — vojjriend, — was standing almost 
within the tonch of my hand. I thought on the scene in which 
he was an actor; — on the gayety, the vivacity, the splendour, 
and the sparkle, — the intrigues and the fierce passions — from 
winch a few feet of space divided me. — I was cold, wet, and 
pennyless ; and I had to choose. 

It may be asked, why did not snicide, then, present itself to 
me as a rallying point t It did present itself at once ; and; on 

S60 THE QDQHEffrY PAPi3l$. 

die issUol, I rejected it. De^tittite as I was, I liad stiU SJ 
fidQiice in my own powers — ^I may almost say, in my o\rai 
tone. T felt ih&U wealtla apart ^ 1 had a hundred pleasuray a j 
cmp&Mlilie^ wluch il would be folly to cast away. Besides, tlieml 
weie relatives, whose deatlia might make me rich. I decided j 
not to die. 

My iDOxt sopplics, liowever, were to anso out of my own per* 
iotnl exertiDnfl ; and, in the meantime, the approach ef light re*^ 
minded me that I was still wet^ and in the gtreet. I had no 
Ikstidioos appTehensions about degrading myself. If I could j 
haTe held a plough, or digged k a mine, I should not have hes-l 
itated to have perfonned either of those duties. But, for hold- 1 
ing a |iloiigb» I had not the skill ; and, for the mines^ there weral 
none in the neigbhourliood of London. One callings lioweverf J 

» there was, for which I was qualified. Within four-and-twentyl 
liouLTB after my dark walk through Piccadilly, I was a privalol 
dragoon In the Slat regimeut^ and quartered at LymingtoaJ 


I HAVE denied, I do still deny, the overpowering influence 
commonly attributed to rank and fortune ; and let me not be 
accused of offering opinions, without at least having had some 
opportunities for judgment. If there be a situation in which, 
beyond all others, a man is shut out from all probability of ad- 
vancement, it is the situation of a private soldier. But the free, 
undaunted spirit, which sinks not in extremity, can draw, even 
from peculiar difficulty, peculiar advantage; — where lead only 
is hoped for, grains of gold excite surprise; — a slender light 
shews far, when all is dark around it. 

Twelve months passed heavily with me in the 31st dragoons. 
My apparently intuitive dexterity in military exercises, saved 
me from annoyance or personal indignity, and might, in a cer- 
tain way, have procured me promotion. But a halberd, as it 
happened, was not my object. I looked for deliverance from 
my existing bondage, to the falling in with some wealthy and 
desirable woman. And, in the strict performance of a soldier's 


duty — active, vigilant, obedient, and abstaining — I waited with 
patience for the an-ival of opportunity. 

I waited till my patience was exhausted half a dozen times 
over ; but the interim certainly was not passed in idleness. He 
whose prospect lies straight forward, is seldom content to look 
about him; but there was^ matter for analysis and curious in- 
vestigation on eveiy side of me. As an officer, I had seen little 
of the true Qharacter or condition of the soldiery ; and a regi- 
ment%f cavahy is really a machine of strange constitution — I 
say, " of cavalry," j^ar 'prefercncct because there is generally 
about a dragoon regiment a more lofty, though perhaps not more 
just style and feeling, than belongs (from whatever cause) to 
our regiment of infantry. 

The 31st regiment was remarkable for the splendour of its 
uniform and appointments ; an attribute rather anything than 
advantageous to the soldier; but which always, nevertheless, 
operates powerfully in the recniiting of a corps. We had men 
amongst us from almost every class of society. There were 
linen-weavers from Ireland — colliers from Warwickshire and 
Shropshire — ploughmen, game-keepers, and poachers, from 
eveiy quarter and county. There were men too of higher rank, 
as regai*ded their previous condition ; and that in a number very 
little imagined by the world. There were men of full age, 
who had ran through fortunes — lads who had quarrelled with, 
or been deserted by, their families — ruined gamblers — cidevant 
fortune-hunters — ca;-officers, and strolling players. In a com- 
pany so heterogeneous, it would have been difficult to keep the 
peace, but for that law which visited the black eye as a breach 
of military discipline. As men, those who had been " gentle- 
men" were incomparably the worst characters. Some of them 
vapoured, or at least talked, about their origin, and so exposed 
themselves to the ridicule which waits upon fallen dignity. 
Others, made use of their patrician acquirements to seduce the 
wives or daughters of their more plebeian comrades. They 
were dissipated in their habits, ribald in their discourse, and 
destitute even of any remnant of honest or decent principle. 

The poachers among us were another party, almost of them- 
selves; for the game-keepers — the same animals domesticated 

Vol. IL— 16 




— »eT^r cf>i<3iallj agreed with tliem. Idle in tLeiic Imbitsj 
iloreist^ in their appearance; these fellows were calcnlafecl, 
nererthel^ss, to make ailmirablc soldiers m the field. Theif 
courage was peculiarly of the true Ei^^lish character; slow 
Bcmethmg to be e:^ cited ; but» wlien excitptl^ impossible to be 
overcome. I remember one of them well — ^for his anecdotei 
umd to amuse me — who, for two years, bad been the samrgt 
ef every preserv^e within ten miles of his parish ; and who IiaJ, 
wrth diffictiltyt escaped transportation, by eiilisteotng^ as a soldier. 
He was a strong* muscular lad, about two or three and twenty ; 
Bot of large stature^ or of handsome appearance ; .but of a reso- 
lution, or rather of an obduracy, which nothing short of deatb 
could have subdued. I saw him once fight, afler repeated pro- 
vocation, with a fourteen -Btooe Irishman of the ISth, who was 
the lion of his troop, Tbe battle lasted, without any etiquette 
of the prize-ring-, in constant fighting, more than an hour. My 
acquaintance was knocked down in every rouud, for the first 
thirty minutes ; but the blows made no more im pre sBion upon 
him than tliey would have done upon a man of iron. That he 
had tbe worst of the battle, never seemed to occur to him ; lie 
fell, and rose — fell, rose again, and struck on. Nothing but the 
loss of sight, or of life, could have subdued him ; and I firmly 
believe he would have destroyed himself, if he had been com- 
pelled to give up. At length his antagonist's confidence gave 
way before his obstinacy ; and there was something almost stag- 
gering to the senses in the appearance of it. The man seemed 
to get no worse, for a beating that might have destroyed half- 
a-dozen. He spoke veiy little ; never broke his ground ; and 
rose with a smile, after such falls as might have crushed him to 
pjeces. Both parties suffered severely; my fnend rather the 
most; but, at the end of an hour's fighting, the Hibernian own- 
ed himself vanquished. 

But whatever might be the qualities of these men individually, 
taken as a body, they were amenable, reasonable beings. To 
have made them, individually, discontented, would have been 
difficult ; to have tampered with them, en masse, quite iinpos- 
sible. The sound of the word " discipline," had a sort of magi- 
cal effect upon their minds. Their obedience (from its mufbrm 


enforcement) became perfectly mechanical ; and severity excited 
little complaint, for it was understood to be tbe custom of the 

We had three different commanding officers during the time 
of my stay at Lymington ; but there was only one who ever 
distmrbed the temper of the garrison ; and even he failed to ex- 
cite any feeling beyond gi*eat personal hatred to himself. 

The first commandant was a man who had himself been a 
private soldier ; and who had risen, by degrees, to the rank of 
lientenant-colonel. Corporal punishment was his reliance. He 
punished seldom, but severely. And this man, though a strict 
disciplinarian, was universally popular. 

Our second leader was a well-meaning man, but a theorist ; 
and he seemed to have been sent as a punishment for the sins 
of the whole garrison. He was strongly opposed to the practice 
of corporal punishment, as tending to degrade, and break the 
spirit of the soldier ; and, being puzzled, as a wiser head might 
be, in the substitution of other penalties, he actually put his 
men through a course of experiments upon the subject. For 
example, — having heai'd that Alfred the Great made an arrange- 
ment by which every man becaine, to a certain degree, answer- 
able for his neighbour, Major W resolved to introduce the 

same system into his own depot ; and whenever, accordingly, 
any soldier was absent from barracks without leave — and, in a 
garrison of a thousand men, some one or other was pretty sure 
to be always absent — he confined the remaining nine hundred 
and ninety-nine to their barracks, until he returned. Indeed 
without, I believe, the least feeling of cruelty or malice, this 
man passed half his time in devising inflictions, and the other 
half in practising them upon us. And besides this, he fatigued 
us with eternal inspections ; wasted more paper in writing rules 
and regulations, than might have made cartridges for a whole 
battalion ; and after compelling us, even in cold weather, to go 
through a tedious parade on a Sunday, was so merciless as al- 
ways to make a long speech at the end of it. 

Our third commandant, and the only one whom I ever dread- 
ed — for the whims of the second hardly passed what might be 
called vexations — our third commandant was a fool ; and, of 


I being R soldier, a mArtiiiet. Quite incompetent to thft 
01011 of aay possible matter bejond the polish of a carbine- 
liarrel, or the imrober of paces in which a regiment ought to 
etam the parade-ground, he gave Lis fiill attention to what lie 
lermed the " mihtarj" appejrrancc of his troops. A speck upou 
a tnao'i muform — a hair too much or too little m whisker ^ — a 
spot, or a drop of water, upon the floor of a i^om in which 
thirty men mbabited]. atev drank, and slept ; these were crimcg 
which never failed to call down lieavy retribution. And perfec- 
tion, with this gen tl emails was almost as much a fault a£ negli- 
gence* Ho lived odIj upon orders, reprimands, and whippings. 
The man who could not do his duty, was to be tortured aa & / 
matter of course ; the man who did it well, was corrected as ** a | 
conceited fellow." Every process under his jurisdiction was i 
conducted at tlie point of tbe " damme." He attempted to < 
make his oncers cut their hair in a particular shape. He forbade 
a otaff-adjatant, who could not afford to give up his place, ever | 
to quit his harrack-yard witliout slating where he was gouig to.. 
I have known him set three hundred men to pick straps olP a < 
stable-yard, where every fresh puff of wind left them their 
labours to begin again. Eventually the fellow joined a regiment 
in India ; and fell in a sldrmish, by a ball, it was supposed, from 
one of his own soldiers. 

But I was weary of examining characters, and avoiding per- 
secutions. I was tired of being a favourite among the nursery 
girls of Lymington, and even of enjoying the enmity of the 
young gentlemen of the neighbourhood. I had become weary 
of the honour and discomfort of endm'ance — I sighed, in the 
midst of exertion, for exertion's reward — I never doubted that 
talent must, in time, find its level ; but I had begun to doubt 
whether man's life would be long enough to afford the waiting, 
when the chance that I was hoping, and wishing for, appeared. 

How constantly do men ascribe to momentary impulse, acts 
which really are founded in deep premeditation. Mistakes, sur- 
prises, jokes, and even quai-rels, pass cun-ent and accidental, 
which are in truth matters of malice jn-epense. My object at 
Lymington was, to introduce myself to persons of consideration ; 
and with that view, for months, I carried my life, as-it were, in 


my hand. Every moment that I could snatch from the routine , 
of military duty, was systematically devoted to searching after 
adventure. There was not a family of condition within five 
miles of the depot, but I had my eye upon their motions and 
arrangements. How often, while watching their gay parties on 
the river, did I pray for some dreadful accident which might 
give me an opportunity of distinguishing myself! How often 
have I wished, in riding night-picket or express, that some pas- 
sing equipage would be attacked by robbers, that I might make 
my fortune by defeating them ! I saw, by chance, one evening, 
a mill on fire in the distance ; and, making sure it was a noble- 
man's seat, swam through two rivers to amve at it. At length, 
the common-place incident — I had looked for it, though, a hun- 
dred times — the common-place incident of two tipsy farmers, 
on a fair day, affronting an officer in Lymington market-place, 
who had a ladykJn his arm, gave me the chance I had so long 
sought. This affair gave me an opportunity of being useful to 
Captain and Mrs. Levin e. 

The honourable Augustus Levine, who had joined the garrison 
but a few days when this accident befell him, was one of those 
men of fortune who seem bom for no other purpose than to put 
poor fellows in contentment with their destiny. He was an ab- 
ject creature, both in heaii; and mind. Despicable (there be 
more such) in person as in principle. And yet the worm was 
brother to an earl — he was master of a fine estate — he com- 
manded an hundred soldiers ; and (a man may have too many 
blessings) he had a young and handsome wife. 

When I declare that Lymington BaiTacks were full of strip- 
ling officers, who, in addition to wealth and station, possessed 
(many of them) all personal advantages, my venture even to 
think of Mrs. Levine upon the credit of such a service as I had 
performed, may appear to savour not a little of presumption. 
Setting the event apart, I should maintain a different opinion. 
A hundred qualifications, which would only have been of course 
in a man of rank, in a peasant would excite surprise, and, con- 
sequently, interest. My encounter in the market-place, though 
a vulgar one, had given me some opportimity for display ; and 
a private soldier, who possessed figure, accomplishment, and de- 


pnrtiu^nt^ — -who could make TeT»es, make loye, and, moreoveft 
fif^ Ult« ft Turk^ — sucE a man would secure attention ; and 
h^« f4>lbwe very eaailv. I cannot afford now to dwell upon 
det&lk ; btat, whatever be tLe raltie of my general principle, 
eotiMqiieiices, in the particular instance, did approvB my dream. 
Wltliia mx montjis, I Lad disclosed my real name and tank — 
eloped with Mi-a* Levine — fought a duel witli her husband— i- 
aiid had a verdict entei-ed against me in the Court of King^s 
Brtieh, with damages, hy default, to the amount of ,^10,000- 

There b tlils circumstance, among a thousand others, to at* 
imch lu iti the female sex, tlmt a man can gcai-ce, in any casoi 
vbatdirer tLe degree of friendship, receive a favour from his 
fellow man, without some feeling of infenority ; while, from a 
wamaDi each new act of kindness, or of bounty, seems but a 

IlcBiiite tci his merit, and a proof of her affection. 
r My encounter with Levine produced very trifling coneequenceB. 
Soth piutlea were slightly wounded at the first fire, and noitlier 
Jippear^ anxious to try the fortune of a second. The penalty 
)b£ d£l 0,000 was a serious matter to deal with. Mra. Levine 
pos!&i\«seth independent of Ler husband, an income exceeding 
«£800 a-year ; but that property fonned no fund for the pay- 
ment of a large sum in damages. Our only alternative was to 
quit England immediately. 

I enter here with pain upon an epoch in my history, which 
filled up sadly and wearily a period of five years. Isabella 
Levine was a woman whose personal charms were perhaps 
among the weakest of the attractions she possessed. If I had 
sought her in the beginning from interested motives, I did not 
long profess a passion without really entertaining it. That she 
had deserted such a husband as Levine, seemed to me no stain 
upon her virtue. He had been forced upon her by the command 
of an uncle on whom she depended ; and who himself had felt 
so little confidence in the man of bis selection, that, in giving 
his niece a large fortune, he reserved it principally within her 
own control. Was it a crime in Isabella, that she quitted a be- 
ing whom she could not love 1 Was she a companion for stu- 
pidity — for sloveliness — for bnitality ] Was she a subject for 
neglect, and for coarse infidelity 1 Was it fit that her tender- 



nessy her beauty, and her youtb, should be wasted upon a crea- 
ture who could not appreciate what ho was possessing ? She 
did not sell herself to me for title or for fortune. She was not 
seduced by a fashion or a feather. If she loved me — and I 
think she did love me — it was for myself alone. 

Impressed with these feelings, I left England a second time 
for Lisbon. The war had now been carried into the heaii; of 
France, and a Peninsula had a prospect of sufficient security. 
If, by law, I was prevented from marrying Isabella, by grati- 
tude, as well as by affection, I held myself bound to her for 
ever. I took it as an admitted principle, that every man must 
settle at some time ; and deliberately formed my plan of lasting, 
domestic happiness. 

I had not then ascertained that the very thought of a set 
system is destruction to everything in the nature of enjoyment. 
I had yet to discover, that it was better even to die at once, 
than await, in one fixed posture, the wearing of unprofitable 

I set out with a wish, as well as a resolution, to act well. I 
had seen the en-ors of married men, and I determined to avoid 
them. I will treat a woman, said I, with that attention which 
she is entitled to demand — I will not render her miserable by 
my dissipations — I will not insult her by slighting her society 
— I will love none but Isabella; 'and with her my hours shall 
be passed. I now see ill omen in these my first resolutions. A 
man does not put himself upon the defensive, unless he feels 
cause to apprehend attack. I suspect that, like the wolf in the 
fable, the sight of the collar already make mo uneasy. 

I shall never forget — for my time indeed is almost come — 
the torture which it cost me to carry my good resolutions into 
effect — the days, the weeks, the years, that I suffered, of satiety, 
weariness, indifference, disgust. I am convinced that the decline 
of my passion for Isabella was only hastened by my efforts to 
conceal and to resist it. The love of full liberty, which I had 
been used freely to indulge, acquired now tenfold force from the 
restraint to which I subjected myself. The company of the 
plainest woman of my acquaintance would have been delightful 
to me, compared with the uniformity of beauty. 


I bot# 1^ agaisst these mdinatioiis imtil my Teiy liraln be* 
atfeirtpil. Mj senses grew morbid from excess of miam- 
Axitl, wilh&Iy I cotdd perform but Lalf tlie t^sk I liad 
, om mjseIC I miglit relusa ta lore other womeii^ but I 
mot cnmpel injiclf f« love Isabella, My attentioiia con- 
tisMied ; ItQl tboT vere tlie atteotioDa of a prescribed duty* Tbe 
■ufpeliiigp 1 had cknce etiteTtamed toirftrds» ber — the letters I bad 
^HiiMa lo¥er — for I cbaneed once hy accidetit to fall on some 
«f them — Lbe wliole eeemed ti dream — a delusion — a deUrmm 
— firtm wbith I had rccoveredt and the reroembrauee of wluch 
exdtcd wodMler. 

Steadltj to pfttrsne tbe course ttpon wliicb I bad deterramed, 
i not to cheat myself of the conviction that that course was 
Dying me. In vain did I recollect what I owed to Isabella ; 
r Qtilformly excelletit conduct, ^ — the sacrifices sbe had made 
for me. These images refused to dwell upon my im agination. 
They were as shadows in the water, wbicb eluded my grasp 
when 1 would have sebed them, I found only a womao who, 
BOW, was in my way * who, no doubt, meant to bestow bappi- 
ness upon 11107 but who, In fact, drore me lo fa-enzy. I would 
ft^ain have been left destitute ; I would have retumed to mj 
ration and my broad-sword ; I would have submitted to any- 
thing to have been once more a free man, but to desert Isabella, 
or to be deserted by ber; — I was not (Heaven be praised!) 
quite villain enough to take tbe first course ; my pride could not 
have endured that she should take tbe second. 

There are limits to the capacity of human endurance. We 
are none of us so far from insanity as we believe ourselves. 
My temper had suflfered in tbe course of these conflicts, a shock 
from which, I think, it never afterwards recovered ; when a 
train of new circumstances, unforeseen and unexpected, broke, 
for good or ill, the trammels which entangled me. 

We had been five years together, and I had been four years 
miserable, when a habitual depression, which I had perceived, 
but neglected to speak of — for, in the fever of my own soul, I 
had no thought for tbe distress of others — this terminated in 
the serious illness of Isabella. At first, supposing her indisposi- 
tion to be transient, I treated it as an affair of domestic routine, 


taking every precaution for her safety, rather as a matter of 
conrse, than from any feeling of anxiety ; but an intimation 
from my physician that she was in a state of real danger, aroused 
me from that apathy with which I contemplated all passmg 

" Danger ? What danger ? — There could be no danger ; the 
man must be mistaken.'' 

" He was not mistaken. My wife's complaint was low, nei-vous 
fever ; brought on, as it seemed to him, by some cause operating 
upon the mind ; and, if her spints could not be kept up, her peril 
was immediate." 

I never received any intelligence with greater discomposure 
in my life. A variety of recollections, very like accusations, 
crowded one after the other suddenly upon my memory. My 
heart awoke from that lethargy into which long suffering had 
plunged it. Still, I thought, the thing must be exaggerated. — 
** Her spirits kept up ?" — Why, they must be kept up. " What 
was to be done to keep them up ]" — That, the adviser left to me. 

I visited Isabella with feelings which I could scarce acknowl- 
edge even to myself. She sent for me as I was going to her 
chamber ; and my purpose of going almost changed. I know 
not how to describe the sensation which her message produced. 
I was going to her at the very moment unsummoned ; and jet 
the summons compelled me to tui*n back. It was not the feel- 
ing of a man who is detected in a crime ; for that must suppose 
a previous consciousness that he was committing one. It was 
the alarm rather of a child who plays with a forbidden bauble, 
and suddenly discovers that the last whirl has broken it. 

I had seen Isabella on the preceding evening ; but I found 
her much worse than I had expected. I leaned upon her bed ; 
it was some time before she could gather fiimness to express 
herself. At length she spoke ; — and I hear her accents at this 

She spoke, with apparent confidence, of her approaching death. 
*' She regretted it, for my sake, because her fortune would die 
with her." — " Could she but have secured my future happiness 
and safety, as she had nothing left in life to hope for, so she 
would have had nothing to desire." 



llrno UB eoBUnoD-jilAce expressions, perbaps I Ehall be toM. 
The fart Ibav Ve so ; — I^tettA is vcrr comrooB-place. But tlif>*(?t 
who* m ibe ntidtft of a eonrse dedde^lj eril, have been cursed 
wHIi BoSeiciiA peiceptjaa to abbot tire i^ilt tliej conld tio| 
abstaiD from — ^BQcb oqIt caji appreeiate my feelings at tli&t mo^ 
fBeet* TIk» neon meiiticvD of lib^bellft^s deatb, as possible, c^*J 
liod dkUnietioii lo mj son! ! She told me, tbnt she had long 
9Btm tlw deelme of mj nlFection ; — '*ber only wieb was^ tliat it 
co«ld li»ve lasted wbile ebe lived l*'^ — I stood before her a con- 
Ticted Tillaiii. I could not lie — I coiJd not speak ; — at last, I 
wefit, or I li«4 died. 

1 nrast not dwell vijion tbe partknlars of tbii interview! — Shmi 
ihMSaik^ me far tbe uniform kindness I had sbewn her j — for lh( 
e&it wfdi which I bad avoided connections wbich sbe had bnl 
too ptalnlT seen my desire to form, — "Conld I pardon her for 
tlio pam thai she hfid caused me ? I shoi^d be bappier after 
ber de^tl) ; for, if it feA tne pooTp it wonld at least restore me to 

Xait me do myself justice here^ as I have TiBiLed jnatice npon^l 
myself eli^ewhere, 1 t^«s not quite a vrretcb. If nay pasmona^i 
were habitually fierce and ungovernable, their impulse in the 
good cause was as powerful as in tbe cause of ill. 

I knelt beside Isabella's bed. I confessed tbe truth of all 
she charged me witli. I invoked curses on my restless temper ; 
— swore that all my former love for her was rekindled; — that 
I would not survive her death; — that I should esteem myself 
her murderer ! Nor did I at that moment, so help me. Heaven, 
utter any sentiment;, which I did not feel. If I did not at that 
moment love Isabella passionately, I would have laid my life 
down with pleasure for her safety — for her happiness. And I 
trusted that I had in some measure restored her peace of mind ; 
and I was seriously resolving to like a peaceful life ; when a 
circumstance occurred well calculated again to put my resolu- 
tion to tbe proof. 


Had I been asked for which of my virtues I should ever have 
H fortune given me, I might have had some difficulty, and should 


baye had, in answering the question. It was my fate, however, 
for once to be enriched by my irregularities. My grandfather, 
penetrated on a sudden with admiration of the man who had 
brought his famtly-name so much into discussion, died, after ma- 
king twenty wills in favour of twenty different people ; and, 
passing over my father, bequeathed a property of de4000 a-year 
to me. ^ 

I premised that, about this time, some unforeseen occurrences 
befell me. Two of these I have already described ; the third 
was, of all, the most unexpected. While I was busy in prepara- 
tions for returning to England, and devising schemes out of 
number for pleasures and splendour when I should arrive there 
— Isabella left me. 

It was a blow for which, less than for a miracle, I was pre- 
pared. Returning one evening from shooting, — we were then 
living at Gondeixa, — I found a letter in her hand lying sealed 
upon my table. The sight of the address alone paralysed me. 
What had happened, flashed in an instant across my mind. The 
contents of the letter were these : — 

" If I have used deception towards you, Charles, believe me 
it is now for the first time. I wish to spare you the needless 
agony of bidding me farewell ; I wish to secure myself against 
the danger of being diverted from a course which reflection has 
convinced me is the best. I can not forget that you have ceased 
to love me ; I have known the fact long, but circumstances have 
kept me silent. I acquit you. Heaven is my witness ! of unkind- 
nesB, or ingratitude ;-^ esteem, — affection — regard-— • compas- 
sion — I know you gave me these; and love is not at our com- 
mand. There are men from whom I could be satisfied with 
kindness and esteem ; but I can not fall so low as to accept pity, 
Charles, from you; you always will — you always must — love 
some woman ; can I know this, and yet live with you, and be 
conscious that you do not love me ? 

" For three years I have endured to see you wretched, and 
to feel myself the cause of your distress. Could I feel this, and 
yet be happy ? What did I gain by depriving others of your 
heart, when I knew that, to me, your heart was lost for ever ? 
A thousand times have I wished that your scruples would ^ve 


way, and that yoa would be happy in a course which could have 
added nothing to my misery. I have borne all this long : but 
my motive for bearing it is at an end. Your accession of fortune 
makes my presence no longer necessary. Yon have now open 
before you that career for which you have so long panted ; I 
believe that you are . capable of sacrificing it for me ; but can I 
accept such a sacrifice from you, Charles ? ^n I exact it 1 Do 
you think I could value it ? 

" Farewell ! I will no longer continue to hang upon you, in- 
terrupting enjoyments in which I am forbidden to participate. 
Farewell ! My pen trembles as I write the word ; but be as- 
sured that I write it irrevocably. 

" Do not distract us both by vain endeavours to recall me. 
If love were yours to give, I know, I feel, that you would give 
it to me ; but it is not, Charles, at your disposal. Farewell, 
once more; for I had intended but to say, 'Farewell!* May 
you be happy, though my day of happiness is over. Thank 
Heaven, your impetuous temper is no longer likely to be excited 
by want of means to those enterprises, which might not always 
be successful ; — but, if ever chance should place you again in 
such emergency, as to make Isabella's fortune — her life — her 
love — worth your acceptimce, then — and then only — will she 
consent aj^ain to hear from you." 

She is living yet, — I trust she is ! If the last prayers of one 
who has prayed but too seldom ;-^if those prayers may be heard 
which merit nor hearing nor value; — if mercy for another can 
be granted to him who dares not — can not — ask it for himself 
— then may every blessing she can wish for — every blessing 
which can wait on life, be hers ; may she know that, in my last 
hour, my thoughts were upon her ; that my latest wishes were 
breathed for her safety — for her happiness! 

How merely is man the creature of events over which he has 
' no control ! When I kissed Isabella's forehead, scarce six hours 
before she wrote that letter, how far was I from imagining that 
I then beheld her for the last time ! find what a turn did our 
separation give, probably, to my destiny ! I despise the pedan- 
tic dogma which says, " no one can be missed." Ill as I think 
of human nature, I think that assertion is a libel upon it. Among 


creatures who have as little of discrimination as of feeling, — to 
whom the newest fool is always the most welcome friend, — hy 
such beings it may be true, that "no one can be missed;" but 
I deny that any man of common sensibility or perception, can 
part for every even from a mere companion, without remem- 
brance and regret. 

I paused, for my brain was giddy after reading Isabella's let- 
ter. My first thought was to follow her ; but, on reflection, I 
abandoned the design. I felt that I could not hope to overcome 
her fixed belief, that the continuance of our connection would, 
on my part, be a sacrifice. She had retired into a convent, the 
Lady Superior of which had long been known to us ; and I felt 
that she must be happier there, or anywhere, than with me. 
Should it seem that my decision was, under the circumstances, 
a convenient one, I swear that it was a decision in which my 
wishes had no part. No honourable or feeling man will doubt 
my candour in this statement. He will know, if not from ex- 
perience, from instinct, that, had I listened to my own wishes, 
I should only have thought of recovering Isabella. • He will 
know that her absence left a blank in my heart ; that, spite of 
philosophy, axiom, or authority, I felt there was a something 
missing — wanting; — a reliance, a consolation, a point d*appui 
to the mind, which nothing but the society of woman could 

And, if I have loved other women, Isabella has not been for- 
gotten. In the maddest moments of gayety, in the wildest hours 
of license, the doubt of her existence — the certainty of her 
wretchedness — has dashed across my mind, and poisoned the 
cup of pleasure at my lips. Before I quitted Portugal, I wrote 
her letter after letter, intreating, promising, imploring her re- 
turn. If it was not for my love that I desired to change her 
resolution, I swear that for my mere quietude, for my peace of 
mind, I wished to do it. Ah ! what have I to regret in being 
compelled to quit a world, where, to possess feeling or reflection 
is to be eternally unhappy ; where passion leaves its victim no 
choice, but in his own wretchedness, or in the misery of those 
whom, at his soul's haziurd, he would shield from harm ; and 
where the being who enjoys the most of gratificatiou himself* is 

Ilie cftatnire wbo is most callous to tLe suB^enngs of all xtnmi 

II was not, However, until I bad completed mj iiB^omt^om 
M to Isabella's fortnne j until I was about to embark for Etig- 
Und, — to plac€ distance — geas — between ns; — I did not ftdiy, 
until that moment, feel what it was to pnrt from her for even 
X wTOtfi to ber once more, even wbUe my vessel was under eaiL 
Tboagb I was eenrible of tbe folly, I wrote the letter with my i 
blood. I entreated that she would follow me — and follow me 
without delay. I declared that I should expect her — ^tbat I i 
would take no denial — ^that I should wait for her at the first! 
[ English port. With that strange confidence which men often J 
bftve when their hopes are totally desperate^ I went so far eveni 
m to appoint the hotel at which I should stay, I really did i 
expect that I&ahella would follow me to England. I wrongedi 
her firmness. Tlio ship in which 1 had embarked met with con* 
trary winds, A subsequently sailing Teasel reached England TJ 
before us. I found, on landing at Falmouth, a packet from Isa- I 
hclla ; but it contained only her picture, and these words — "DcrJ 
not forget me/* 

I'hiit picture liangEi about my neck at the moment while I 
write. I will die with it next my heart. As the magnet, catch- 
ing eagerly each particle of iron, lets golden sands roll on un- 
heeded by, so memory treasures up our moments of misfortune, 
long after those of happiness and gayety are forgotten — Isa- 
bella, lost, was to be remembered for ever. 

But these are recollections which unhinge me for detail. I 
have a blow to strike, and almost within this hour, for which 
every corporal and mental agent must be nerved. And my 
senses rush along in tide as furious and rapid as my fate ! I can 
not dwell, amid this whirl of mind and fancy, upon the measures 
which, in seven years, dispossessed me of 0670,000. I am not 
lamenting that which I have done. I began with a resolution 
to live while I did live. Uncertain of the next moment, the 
passing hour was all to me. What mattered it, since my course 
must cease, whether it ceased sooner or later ; provided, while 
it lasted, I was in all things content ? I scorned the confined 
views of men who, possessing means, submitted to let ** I dare 


not" wait upon " I would ;" and vowed when I put myself at 
the head of my fortune, that no expenditure of wealth, no ex- 
posure of person, should evet have weight to disappoint my 

Yet my estate lasted longer than, under such a resolution, 
might be expected. The rich, for the most part, either lavish 
their money without enjoying it, or, to maintain what is called 
a certain '' state," suffer dependants to lavish it for them. As 
it happened that I had no wish for commonplace distinctions, 
nor was very desirous of anything which money alone could buy, 
I escaped all those rapidly ruinous contests in which the longest 
purse is understood to carry the day. I saw something of the 
absurdities of fashion, but I entered veiy little into them. Curi- 
osity, want of employment, and that natural desire which even 
the silliest man feels, to laugh at the follies of those about him, 
made me associate sometimes with fine gentlemen ; but I never 
became a fine gentleman myself. 

And yet it was amusing, in the way of chaise ennui, to glide 
along with the frequenters of Bond Street, and with the loungers 
at the opera; and to observe the excessive — the monstrous — 
self-delusion of men, who had been bom to ample means, and 
were not incumbered much with understanding. Their talk 
was such feather; and yet, even in what they uttered, they 
were generally mistaken. If they were vicious, it was from 
thoughtlessness ; if honesty from accident. Their conversation 
was so easy, and yet (to themselves) so entertaining. The jest 
so weak ; the laugh so hilarious. Their belief, too, was so facile 
— I did envy them that faculty 1 Not one of them ever doubted 
anything that he was at all interested in crediting. All about 
them was Judge ; and yet they never seemed to be aware of it. 
Their Bond-Street dinners were not good. They would talk all 
day about the fancied merits of particular dishes ; and yet at 
night be put off with such wine and cuisine as really was sad 
stuff, and could not have passed but upon men of fashion. 

But the most striking feature in their characters was their 
utter want of self-respect. I have seen a young literally 
hegging for half-crowns, who but a few months before hadjhriven 
Lis curricle, and been distinguiiO^ed for his insolence. .^lOther 


, «3!iil iMver pnj tijcni, niitil not even i 
: «•• Idt wte willed lend Lira n sBjllini^, Olhen would 
I ta be instilted by tlieir tis^esoieci , — ^ta be poisoned 

wbere tli«y could nol paj their billB; — to tnicl 
ai&<i bsiter tbcir elotbea and valuables far reader monpy wit! 
wmiters tii hotels ; — and all tHs to obtani Fupplies wbicli in ie4 
fly ibey di«i not want, and because Ihej knew no mode of d!j 
»p«tlQg timet bot in dimpatiii^ a certain qnantitj of speae* 

^MiO vera tli^ people wbo went to fights — ^to racet;^ — wore 
liTfV hati^ and gannettlM of peculiar cut ; witb Unle of taste or 
fantj M tbeir dmces ; and, of tme conception of splendour ox 
of eleganei<, none. 

Then their A^tng^nt-mt were a set of men fit to be elasfed 
pet se m hi^t^iT-, Fellows called &om all ranks and statton6» 
but all rascals alike j — ^^ their avocations various, but all infamous- 
There were among them cashiered officers^ *>r men wlio liad lell 
tbe army to avoid that iniietion j fraudulent waiters, and mark- 
ers ffom billianl tables j shopkeepers* ions, black*leg attorneys, 
and now and then the broken-down heir of a respectable name 
and family. 

I recollect one or two of these fellows who were characters 
for posterity in their way. There was one Mr. M'Grath in par- 
ticular, a native of tlie sister kingdom, with whose history in full 
it fell to my lot to be acquainted. I traced him back to his 
leaving Dublin, where he had acted as collecting clerk to a dis- 
tiller ; and from whence, on account of some trifling embezzle- 
ments, he had come over to England with about twenty pounds 
in his pocket. This man on his arrival had not a fnend nor a 
connection to back him ; his address was bad ; his person not 
prepossessing ; and he had an unconquerable aversion to any- 
thing like honest labour ; but he began with a little, and, by in- 
dustry, rose. 

His first step in London was into a second floor lodging in 
Jermyn Street, Piccadilly, — for he laid himself out as an ap- 
pendage to men of fortune from the beginning. The woman of 
the house dwelt herself in a single apartment ; waited upon her 
gues^as a servant ; and fleeced them, because her house was 
** in Ataation !*' 


This woman had a hump-backed daughter, who stood a grade 
above her mother. I saw her afterwards in a workhouse, to 
which I went for the purpose of ascertaining the truth of 
M'Grath's history. She di4 the better kind of labour, while her 
mother attended to the dinidgery : and, by parsimony, and great 
exertion, they had acquired near c€2000. 

M'Grath's second step in life, having heard of the de2000, was 
to marry his landlady's humpbacked daughter ; and, with part 
of the money, he bought a commission in the Guards. Here he 
remained but a short time, his real character being discovered. 
Within twelve months he deserted his newly acquired wife. 
The furniture of the mother's house was next seized for his debts. 
The two miserable women then came for support upon the par- 
ish ; and, with the wreck of the d£2000, M'Grath commenced 

And, with the appointments of respectable station about him, 
this fellow had gone on for more than twenty years when by 
.accident I met with him; — the most handy, and universally 
applicable creature in the world. Latterly he had found it con- 
venient to call himself a conveyaucer ; and undertook to act as 
an agent on all occasions. He was a money lender; — an as- 
sistant in borrowing money, or in investing it. He bought or 
sold a horse ; could obtain patronage (upon a deposit) for a cur- 
acy or a colonePs commission. Then he dealt among the bank- 
rupts ; could indorse a bill ; — get it cashed. He would anrange 
a provision for a distressed lady ; — wait upon a betrayer at the 
hazard of being kicked down stairs ; — threaten law proceedings ; 
— introduce a new face ; — in short, wherever there was distress 
and helplessness, there, as if by instinct, you were sure to find 

I met with the gentleman under circumstances (for him) pe- 
culiarly unlucky. He had been settling with a certain peer the 
terms upon which he was to be freed from the importunity of a 
female, from whom importunity ought not to have been neces- 
sary. I chanced, shortly afterwards, to fall in with the lady ; 
and (she really had been unfortunate) to become interested for 
her. M'Grath in this case had gone to work with less than his 
usual prudence. He had received at the end of his negotiation 


•£500 from tbe nobleman in qit^stionp upon a, writteti pt^jmise 
tlmt the applic&nt should trouble him no mor^ ; of which t£500 
lie ace minted for .^200 in cash, giving Ids own note to hia client 
ns security for the rest. This was a safe rC300 gained ; but 
M'Gratli was not content. Distress within a short time obliged 
tho same woman to dispose of some jewels and other personal 
property which she possessed ; and thjB prnpertVi wkh a fatuity 
Apparently unaccountnblet^even after what had happened — 
»be employed M*Grath to find a purt^haser for. The monstroufi 
apptirent folly of such an act, marie me doubt the truth of the 
mhole itory when I heard it. In keaven*s «ame, I asked, why 
had i»lte trusted such a fellow as M*Grath even in the first trans- 
action 1 — " And who but such a man," was the answer, ** would 
liave undertaken such an office V^ 

M'Qratht however, probably bad his necessities as well as 
other people ; for, on tliis occasion, be took a measure of very 
questionable safety. Belying upon the lady's dread of public 
rxposure* be pawned the whole of her jewels, and converted the 
money to his own nse. I caused him merely to be arrested, 
«ltliough bis offence was, J believe, a criminal one j and eventu- 
ally he was itbemted from prison by the Insolvent act; for he 
had judged rightly so far — the exposure of a prosecution could 
not be borne ; but, by a singular coincidence, I had afterwards 
to kick him out of my own house, on bis calling for the particu- 
lars (he did not know upon whom) of a next presentation to a 
living advertised for sale. 

Women, however, of course, among the tnie spendthrifts of 
my acquaintance, were the prmcipal objects of discourse and of 
attention. But their arrangements even upon this point were 
of so odd a description, that the ridiculous overpowers every other 
feeling when I think of them. I forget the man's name who 
told a certain king that there was no royal road to the knowl- 
edge of mathematics. I doubt he would have failed to impress 
my acquaintances with that truth. On achete le touty seemed to 
be their conviction. One loved, in order that he might be af- 
iirined a person in the world. Another, for the fashion of a par- 
ticular lady. A third, because a mistress was a good point to 
shew " style" in. And a fourth, because it was necessary to 


huve one. The non-ckakmce of this last set was the most ex- 
quisite thing in nature. They affected (and I believe felt) a 
perfect indifference towards their protegees ; introduced all their 
acquaintance, without a jot of jealousy, at their houses ; and I 
saw a letter from a peer to a French woman, who transacted 
loye affairs for him, stating that he meant to form an attachment 
of some duration when he came to town ; and describing (as to 
person) the sort of lady upon whom he should wish to fix his 

The nature of such connections may well be imagined. No 
regard was ever dreamed of for the feelings of the women ; the 
men were, of course, appreciated and abused. It was a sacrifice 
on both sides ; but the sacrifice of the man was merely a sacri- 
fice of money, of which he did not know the value ; and that 
sacrifice neither obtained nor deserved any gratitude ; for the 
same individual who would ruin himself in keeping a splendid 
etat for his mistress, would lavish nothing upon her that did not 
redound to his own " fashionable" notoriety. 

For myself, if I did not enter into the spu'it of what was 9alled 
tan, it did not arise from any want of general good reception. 
As soon as it was found that I cared about no coterie, all coteries 
were open to me. But, if it was much to be one of the few, I 
thought it would be even more to stand alone. And therefore, 
although I kept fine horses, I did not race them to death. I 
had a handsome furnished house, but I refused to have a taste ; 
that is to say, I did not lie awake fourteen nights together, im- 
agining a new scroll pattern for the edge of a sofa; nor decide, 
(still in doubt,) after six weeks perplexity, which was the prop- 
erest tint of two-and-twenty for the lining of a window curtain. 
In short, my private arrangements were no way guided by am- 
bitious feeling ; whether I rode, drove, drank, or dressed, I did 
the act merely because it was an act gratifying to myself, not 
because it had been done by Lord Such-a-one, or was to be done 
by Mr. So-and-so ; and, although my fortune was small, com- 
pared with the fortilhes of some of my companions, yet, as it 
mattered not how soon the whole was expended, I generally 
seemed, upon emergency, to be the richest man of the circle I 
was moving in. 



H And m Tfiee for some to enry has mj career been td this moi 
^■^Mm I If the last few montlia have slie^'^n note of coniln^ eYiI,2 
^Bnl i^Til could not terrify me when I was prepared to elude it | 
Hkf I have not enjo3'ed, in th6 posBeesidb of liebes, that absoIotQ 
cmmetion, (my solace under poverty,) that what tribute I <lid j 
i-ecclvo was paid entirely to myself, yet the caution and ex- 
pmenee which poverty tanght me has preserved me from gross 
mid degfadlng imposition. Let me keep np my spirits, evea 
with egotism, in a moment like this I 1 have not been quite an* 
object to «2etii"t imposition. The same faeulties and powers»i 
whicli availed me when I was without a guinea, continued atj 
my command thronghont my hrgh fortune* I have not been,i 
m an old man, w^asting property which I could not spend ; t^ 
have not been a wretched pretender, by purchase, to place and 
to circumstance, to which desert gave me no title ; I have not] 
been the thing that I am, to die, because I will not be, 

Oold is worth eometlung, inasmuch as it gives certain re- ] 
qnisites for continued enjoyment, which can be obtained from ^ 
no other gource. Apart from all pretension to severe moral 
principle* I had ever this feeling, in its fullest extent — that the 
man was thrice a villain, a wretch thrice unfit to live, who could 
plunge any woman that ti-usted him into poverty, into disgrace. 
To this principle, I would admit neither of exception nor eva- 
sion. I do not say that every man can command his passions; 
but every man can meet the consequences of them. Again and 
again, in my days of necessity, did I fly from connections which 
seemed to ijidicate such termination. Money, however, as society 
is constituted, can do much — my subsequent wealth relieved 
me from all obstacles. 

Yet, let me redeem myself in one point — I shall not attempt 
it in many — my power was in no instance (as I believe) em- 
ployed cruelly. For my fellow-men, I had little consideration. 
I knew them merciless — I had felt them so. Still, upon man, 
if I recollect well, I never wantonly inflicted pain ; and in no 
one instance — as Heaven shall judge me !: — did I ever sacrifice 
the feelings of a woman. 

A portion of my wealth was given to relieve my father from 
debts which he had incurred in expectation of the whole. An- 


other portion, I trust, will have placed in security beings whose 
happiness and safety foim my latest wish on earth. A third 
portion, and a large one, has been consumed in idle dissipation ; 
but, if I have often thrown away a hundred guineas, I have 
sometimes given away ten. 

The whole, however, at last, is gone. Parks, lordships, man- 
ors, mansions — not a property is left. As my object was al- 
ways rather pleasure than parade, this change in my circum- 
stances is little known to the world. I am writing — and I shall 
die so — in elegant apartments ; with liveried servants, splendid 
furniture — all the paraphernalia of luxury about me. The whole 
is disposed of, an^d the produce consumed. To-morrow gives the 
new owner possession. A hundred persons make account to nod 
to me to-morrow. I have, for to-morrow, four invitations to din- 
ner. — I shall die to-night. 

Let me not be charged with flying this world, because I fear 
to meet the loss of fortune. Give me back the years that I 
have spent ; and I can deem lightly of the money. But my 
place — my station among my fellAw-men? — It totters ; it trem- 
bles. Youth, hopes, and confidence — these are past; and the 
treasure of the unfathomed ocean could not buy thenj back. 

Life of life — spirit of enjoyment — to what has it not fallen ! 
Does it still spring in the heart, like the wild flower in the field 
— the native produce of a vigorous soil, which asks no tillage, 
defies eradication, and rears its head alike amid the zephyr and 
the storm? No; it is this no longer. It is an exotic now — a 
candle-light flower — the sensitive plant with the hue of the 
rose; love is its sunshine — wine the dew that cherishes it; it. 
blossoms beneath the ray of the evening star, and blooms in 
the illuminated garden at midnight ; but, in the cool breeze of 
morning, it droops and it withers ; and day, which brings life to 
all else, destroys it for ever. 

Then, if I had the Indies still in my grasp, would I endure 
to descend in the scale of creation ? Would I join the class of 
respectable old men ; and sit spectator of a mellay which I am no 
longer able to engage in ? Would I choose the more disgusting 
course of some I see around me ; and let the vices of manhood 
degenerate into the weaknesses of age 1 Would I struggle to 

a irld is wlaeli Tietorj m fM^ mj liope i dispute h 
whoK^ ti BPomifT, nHist be wrested from mj hand! 
I ^nim U» Itiiv^ men, wImiixi I baTe been accustomed to 
see as r!»3^3^ii« pmli tD€ insoleotlj from tba Mag-e of lifei and 
irixr tHs pi«& wiidi I 1kbt« occupied I 

If I iLMMJi «vt biaa- tioBi BtOl le«e otmld I endure the prttbable, 
tl»9 iaievitabile cfukseqvexiees of liTing to exti-eme oM age. To 
%ei if Mil dMittfteliil to mj own depraved and doting sen^e, con- 
af Wn^ Asfcas^eM to all tbe w^or!d beside I To die worn 
%ll& pMBi did acbea ! Helpless m body — feebler etill in 
! l%o taOGm^ xidha of decrepitude aiid idiotcj, cower- 
i^ ^wm tkal late wbicli hv no effort I can avoid ! 

1 will i»t r«rDie to thh, 1 will not make a sb irking, ignomini- 
«nis f9>d of life, w^en I liaTe the powej-, witbln myself, to die as 
mar Itecome a nan. To this bour I hare had stiength to 
htmp my stalkni in tbe world. In a few moments it woiild be 
— l«l I sltali go before it. And wbat do I lose by thus 
witli my fate T A few years at most of tincertJiiiity 
TTiat man may die to-morrow, I know afflicta 
liim Bttle : bat let hitn reflect, in bis trininpb. that he must die 
on the next day. Let him remember, that when be has borne 
to hear people inqtdre after bis health, listen to his answer with 
impatience, and go to be happy out of his reach — when he has 
borne to close the eyes of the last friend of his youth, to lose 
all his old connections, and to find himself incapable of forming 
new ones — when he has endured to be a solitary, excommuni- 
cated wretch, and to read, in the general eye, that he is an in- 
troder upon earth — he is still but as a ball to which a certain 
impetus is given ; which, moving in a fixed track, can neither 
deviate nor pause; and which has but (to an inch) a marked 
space to pass over, at the end of which comes that fall from which 
the world's worth cannot save it. 

I can write no more. My hour is fast approaching. — Now 
am I greater, in my own holding, than an emperor ! H^ would 
command the fate of others ; but I command my own. This is, 
in very choice, the destiny which I would embrace. There is 
something sublime in thus looking in the face of Death : he sits 
over against me as I write ; and I view him without terror. If 


I Lave a predominant feeling at this moment, it is a feeling of 

One full glass more, and I am prepared. Wine is wanting 
only to aid the nerve, not to stimulate the courage or the will. 
My pistols lie loaded hy mj side. I will seal this packet, nev- 
ertheless, with a steady hand ; and you who receive it shall 
hear witness that I have done so. 

Now, within this half hour, I will forget even that care must 
he the lot of man. I will revel for a moment in the influence 
of wine, and in the smile of heauty — I will live, for one moment 
longer, the heing I could wish to live for ever. 

The clock strikes eleven. — Friend, whom I have selected to 
receive my parting words, I must conclude. I shall send this 
letter to you instantly. You will receive it while I still exist ; 
and yet you will he unahle — the world would he unahle — to 
prevent the act I meditate. Do me justice — and farewell ! 
When the chimes tell twelve to-night, I shall he uppermost in 
your mind. You will wonder — jou will he troubled — you will 
doubt. And, when you sit at breakfast to-morrow morning* 
some public newspaper, recording my death, will give you per- 
haps the real name of 







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" Tliis is almost welcome book, full of intormaion and amusement, in the form of 

wHimoirs, comments, and anecdotes. It has the style of liirht litornture, with the uso 

fulness if the gravest It should be in every library, and the hands of every rr.ider * 

Batten Commonwealth, 
•♦ A Book of Books. — Two deliciousiy splc/ v<.i!umc8, that are a perfect bonne kvtuAt 

k>7 M) epicure iu reading.*^ — ilom* JofurnaL 

^umrmamm %mw jgro roFiTi.AK rvmt,.cArioji^ 



Lai^i. SHti:ii^ >I. P. Ediled wim 

[ ttjte, and HieiT lib 

"sptocaL i&rantiiitjou, 

L, 4iid, !□ fnct, 

llirf fans, wftli 

• ^ffiek^l 

t WBHf • pvml WBBVK 

im tm ^mmim mi m^ of liteci^ pArtkamkr^ cf iTfiJifiten, for ■ 
ta^tti^ 4» ««k M «■• wt aa RjoomiDead In the b%li«ii V 

■i^ ia^% ■^liiiil 1^ ««»««tfaiiiff Atfi, nmelcd with tbe 
i^«<W»fc >t.^fcfcrfIwiM d.«*di§*hw>fc*tfbfiKHwi-ra 

1 &0 fi»9 tra al 


Ey James Bu7c£> 12b«^ c^^ fl 00. 

L Bai p«eess Ubc ifiteTf^t w^»e3t iLftach,-^ to the priTste life of Lh(3«i 
..^^ . . ,_,.-_ L_. ' — :■' :!^dCifUri^. 

■■ Loth in tiifi sclcctioiL of ettb- 
j<>ce» and the masiier d' tresCxB^ them." — &M6m AOma. 

** Tbe Mndtor hss pttmted in nunate tooches the characteristics of each with mrioiu 
perscoal ieCatl^^ all tQt%rrwCaJs, aod aO catcvlafied to faim$h to the mind's eye a complete 
portraiture of the iBkiiTtthMl described."— ^H&csy Kmickerbodker. 

"* The sketches are foil aad zraphie» manj authorities haring evidently been consulted 
by the aochor !■ their pnymntianJ'—Bostem JowrmmL 



Being the Autobiography of a Joorneyman Printer. By Charles 
Ma?ibt Smith, aathor of *^ Cariosities of London Life/' 12mo, 
cloth, $1 00. 

"• Written by a man of ^mins and of most extraordinary powera of description/*- 
Bij^jti Tntrdler. 

** It will be read with no small degree of interest by the professional brethi-en cf the 
nutbor, as well as by all who find attractions in a welUoid ImIo of a workinguian." — 

" An amusing as well as instructire book, telling how humble obscurity cuts its way 
tfaroush the world with energy, perseverance, and mtegrity/'— ^/iany Knickerbocker. 

"The book is the most entertaining we have met with for mouths."— PhUadelpkiA 
E^vtnin^ Buttetim. 

♦ Ue has evidently moved through the world with his eye? op«n and having a vein 
r r burner in his nature, ba3 writtt^n one of the moat readable duuks oi tbe < 
Zi'ci's Herald. 



Ifemoirs of the Life of the Rt. Hon. Richard Brinsley Shciidan 
by Thomas Moore, whh Portrait after Sir Joshua Ecynoldg. 
Two vols., 12mo, cloth, $2.00. 

**One of the most briUituit biographies in English literature. It is the life of a nb 
irritten by a wit, and few of Tom Moore's roost sparkling poems are more brilliant acd 
'••cinaUn^ than this biography."— Boston TVanscHpf. 

** This is at once a most valuable biography of the most celebrated wit of the times 
id one of the most entertaining works of its gifted tmthor."—Sprin^Jield Rqmblican,. 

** The Life of Sheridan, the wit, contains as much food for serious thought as tha 
best sermon that was ever penned.'*— ^rtJIitr's Home Gazette. 

*' The sketch of such a character and career as Sheridan's by sue )and as Moore'a, 
ean never cease to be attractive."— JV. Y. Courier and Enquirer. 

•• The work is instructive and full of interest."— CArirtian InuUigeneer. 

*' It is a gem of biography; full of incident, elegantly written, warmly appreciative, 
•nd on the whole candid and Just. Sheridan was a rare and wonderful genius, and has 
la this work justice done to his surpassing merits."— M Y. Evangelist. 



Personal Sketches of his own Time, by Sir Jonah Barrington, 
Judge cf the High Court of Admiralty in Ireland, with Illustra- 
tions by Parley. Third Edition, 12mo, cloth, $1 25. 

•' A more entertaining book than this ^' not often thrown in our way. His sketches 
of character are inimitable ; and many of the prominent men of his time are bit off hi 
the most striking and graceful outline." — Albany Argue. 

" He was a very shrewd observer and eccentric writer, and his narrative of his owd 
life, and sketches of society in Ireland during his times, are exceedingly humorous and 
Interesting." — N. Y. Commercial Advtrliaer. 

•• It is one of those works which are conceived and written In so hearty a view, and 
brings before the reader so many palpable and amusing characters, that the entertain 
ment and information are equally balanced."— Boston Transcript. 

" This is one of the most entertaining books of the season."->-JV. Y. Ratorder. 

" It portrays in life-like colors the characters and daily habits of nearly all the Enfc 
lish and Irish celebrities of that period."— iV; Y. Courier and Enquirer. 


The Political and Military History of the Campaign of Waterloo 
from the French of Gen. Baron Jomini, by Lieut. S V. Benkt 
U. S. Ordnance, with a Map, 12mo, cloth, 75 cents. 

**0f great value, both for its historical merit and its acknowledged impartiality." - 
Okristlan Freeman^ Boston. 

*' It has long been regarded in Europe as a work of more than ordinary merit, whHt 
to military men his review of the tactics and mancsuvres of the French Emperor dur 
Ing the few days which preceded his final and most disastrous defeat, is considered ai 
instructive, as it is interesting."— ^rtAur's Home Gazette. 

" It is a standard authority and illustrates a subject of permanent interest. WitW 
militarv students, and historical inquirers, it will be a favorite reference, and foi .^Ib 
general reader it possesses great value and interest."— BMton Transcript. 

•' It throws much light on often mooted points respecting Napoleon's military ^ud 
political genius. The translation is one of much vigor."— 5o«ton Commonwealth. 

"It supplies an important chapter in the most interesting and eventful period O **• 
polcon's military career. ' — Savannah Daily News. 

* It is ably written and skilfully translated."— yanA/« filade. 

msairici.D*s K£W Aiftr PovwhAU PUHLroATiofi*. 


fit, • Wm^ &^a St. Heleo^ Beinf ibi^ cjipnions nnd f ^flt^ctums of 
X ipo h Mi * tiQ t>ie roost Impottant eventa in his Lifi? anrl Govpuh 
acBC, in bis nmn words, B}^ Bj.v>kt E, O'Misaiia, hia late Stir- 
QQOft, m-itii ft Por&^ftit of Napolcsoo, after ibe celebrnted pit;rnrc uf 
JMwMdbOf an^ ft tirw^ of Bu Helc^Da» both beBntifally engruvri} 

Ipk it €L &tlA^ woA iSM pmget Mrc ondowci with a ch^roi 

ftnwtfTF.^^-,4>iir Stall Marwtm. 

fo4tMrift>lbanfl|gb l^re^k^i-e of th#* eb^vnetf^trof NA|9det)'n, 

tth henfc «f OWtmTmX''~4Tiiw*w Home Oazme, 

I m taew Hw pilew '* c^nion of tlte mpn iind t?TetTt^ ^f tb* 

fy^ ■»< fcip c a < M »M ii i ftrowiaore light apon ht^tiT^ lIiad 


^tl» t«P» 1 

I ta imy httt^ry of Fracn^." 

" Tim 'w**? 

ffli the LegWftlivc IndepeDdecee of IrdaDO, witti IdIto- 
«Migiy Ki«e^ Bv FiUjrcts Thomas Me agree. X vol ISinti, 

mn' <*i Ifee DoMse ip^^J3a«f» of Tri«b pToqurufe t 
t, but direct mssif , «&il CfjxiTliaeiitiE.''— iVcw Jori 

» T>i«t" li ft r^fvvitie. ■ fAmln^ fl c Mf u mcr, In lltnie ipeedliai, wMeii proTB ttie nittbor 

^' At h U'llliikin Mi4 r1*ip«iTe omsor, Mt*£^*'T stun da utiriTmlleA"— Por£?«»i^ JEcSert*^ 
" ATI d<^Hiif t9 cib^iia m |rno£ldiH of tl^o polidc&l Li»Enry oi rrpjasci and ihp ido?b- 

i>ii^ Star. 

** It te coptoxisly illiaitr»tif«d by expknatory notes, to that the reader wUI have no difll- 
<*alty is «ndcr6tandiRg the exact state of aSain whdk each speech was dclirered."— 
AsMutm TVmecUer, 



K new ar.d beautiful juvenile. By John Vincknt. Illustrated by 
Darlet. I XiA, IGmo, Cloth, gilt, 63 cts. Extra gilt edges, 88 cts. 

« W e T*«n»re to say that no rmder, ^reat or small, who takes up Uiis book, wll lay il 
I tW« nwfiniahed.* — OMcrter mud Eiffuirar. 

<« T>)is is an dcfant httle rolnmo ftir a juvenile gift-book. Tie storv is one of p^cnUai 
KMitnict)<Mi and interest to the yoong, and is illustrated with boautLfu] engravings."— 

•• Owe of the very bo?t told and swoet»«et juvenile stories that has been issned from ths 
9re$« rtii« iN^asoa. It has a most excellent mond.*— Detroit Daily Advertiser. 

»' A nice Kttle book for a holyday preacnL Our little girl has road it through, and pro- 
HottRccd it first rate."— flaft/arrf Ckrittian Seeretarf. 

** It is a pleasant child's book, well told, handsomely published, and illustrated ta 
Daricy's best stylo ^-^AUna^f T 



Memoirs of the Life, Exile, and Conversations of the Emperor Na- 
poleon. By the Count Las Cases. 4 vols. 12 mo. Cloth, with 
eif^ht Portraits on Steel, two Maps, and ten Illustrations, $4 ; half 
calf or morocco, extra, $8. 

" The earlier American editions of tliose fascinnting^ memoira linvo long been out of 
print. Of nil the works relating to NRpoleon by his personal friends and associates, 
this is the best and most important." — N. Y. Herald, 

** In no other work can bo found so full and truthful a statement of the private qnnli- 
ties or nnturnl disposition of the soul of the ^reatrst general which the world hns ever 
produced, as in Las Cases' JournaV*— Christian Secretary, Hartford. 

"A work which for minuteness of detail, keenness of description, and interesting in- 
formation in regard to one of the greatest soldiers that ever lived, is not sumasscd, if 
equalled. The author, favored as ho whs with constant companionship of the Emperor, 
for years, possessed peculiar advantages for collecting material for such a volume."— 
Buffalo Er.preM. 


The History of Louisiana — Spanish Domination. By Charles 

Gatarre. 8vo., cloth. $2 50. 

The History of Louisiana — French Domination. By Charles 

Gayarre. 2 vols., Bvo, cloth. $3 50. 

"Its author is an accomplished scholar, a fine writer, and has devoted himself to his 
subject with commendable fidelity and zeal. His work is nn important and valuable ad- 
dition to the local and enrly history of an interesting portion of our country, and do- 
serves a place in eveiy library iu which works of American history form any part." — 
Boston Post. 

*• There is little need of looking beyond Gayarre, who rests his narrative on authentic 
documents."— 5ancrq/i'« History of the United States, Vol. VL 

•• It includes, among a variety of interesting passages, the war of 1776 ; the politics and 
intrigues of the West, for the navigation of the Mississippi ; the intrigues of Wilkinson, 
M'GiLLiVRAr, and others; the Yiizoo scheme ; the curious episode of William Au- 
gustus Bowles ; and a variety of interests, adventures, expcrimrnts, nnd politics, hII 
of which are luminously stated, logically arranged, and argued to ju^t conclusions of 
history."— TF. Gllmore Simms, 



Narrative of a Voyage to the Northwest Coast of America, in the 
years 1811, *12, »i3, and '14; or the First Settlement on the 
Pacific. By Gabriel Franchere. Translated and Edited by 
J. V. Huntington. 12mo, cloth. Plates. $1 00. 

"Of all the narratives of travel and adventure in our Northwestern wilderness, there 
is none that gives a more vivid and picturesque description of the events, or in which 
the personal adventures of the narrator wre told with more boldness, yet, freer from all 
.egotism, than in this unpretending work of Mr. Frnnchere. It is truly a fragment of 
our colonial history, saved from oblivion." — Philadelphia National Argus. 

" ITie great valuo of this work, as an authentic and decisive narrative of critical events 
was strongly attested by Colonel Benton, in the great debate of 184C. on the Oregon 
boundary question. It is a pleasant narrative, simply told. Irving mude much use of 
it in his Astoria."— JSoston Atlas. 

"The De Foe-like simplicity of the style, its picturesque descriptions of personal ad- 
venture, and o.f the features of the countries traversed by the author, confer an interest 
on this narrative, apart from that which springs from its hlstoriciil value." — iVleto York 
Evening- Post. 

■ Uavti ntver luiJ the pteu utv ot iviwimg.'*— Ci^tt- 

i'.l^.'Mf Il,r. ; 

* iTn*-*** li^oiaifM ni>? ftrrjf mueh nflj^r Ihp fjifihSon of T^arAfraV* brilTlniit fc-ric*, ft*n1 w» 
pi|r Mf , H(*(i"fcy Iho lui^bcit pn^sibU^ etmiisTlniem when wfl mj hi^ ikpk'hei do lu^t foftyf 
fi'y>iin]|iaHi4iii with tln^nae of iho miiboir of F-nidf-ujiiis/'— 5ii»(miioA Joiitf*4jJ Sftd Courier, 
"^fht* iifircclatj<» of ttv? e«iCtiiti^ w{i:h wliieh rbn wrirk iLlKnindD^ fiinii«'li a whnlesmntt 
I »riw>nntn4 to thfl diai} utid «ii<l biert!ai(>d lulDfv^t to tM« wclL-dig04lOfJ litdrs vqIhitm-/' — 

I C^¥i0hm ^tfmt^rft Hm-ffurd. 




The Hktnry ami Poi^rry of Finger Rirtg^. By CNAiiLKsEowAnnA, 
Esq. Willi numenms il last rations. 12mt>. Cbth* $1 tKJ* 

" A vsihWpJilion e¥>iit reiciutt nnlqim in It* hjsrt thnn p^riillaF iti tt* t^ttfr. It t* jfrBfintl In 
klMUfititiriil *»yk. diiplajfji « if^rnnrl£nlj|#nrKiiiBtry i" f?!Spl*>Jriiiii nw u(jw»l n AeU of i^cwntreli, 
Riieid cuiktfilun much tb«t ie Iioth eiii]i<7ti!« htni infeifi^ting.*' — Basiiui Attat^ 

*' tc ii r«>innil(.itiib Itovr much iiutbpn}i(& blcitorF^ nihtiqufiiinii lofc^, [iilenjinnt uin<(?ilnlif| 

vn iH line ol llie pl''nflrmt<'*t Ami Jnoft usi'ful boctka uf i!n> aiJMou,*'— JfrrAwr'ir //'wi*f 

•' Tlio hook ia richly intersporped with anecdotes nnd is cprtsinly onp of the most no- 
tl«?PHbU» publicutionfl of the dnj for novelty and interest." — Boston Journal. 



By Rev. J. N. Norton, A. M., Rector of Ascension Church, FVank- 
fort, Ky., autlior of " The Boy Trained to be a Clergyman." 
12mo. Cloth. 75 cents. 

•• Those who have read ' The Boy who wns trained up to be n Clerjrymnn,* from the 
pen of the same jjentleman. need only be told that this is a sequel to that tnle. For oth- 
ers we will add that this volume is crowded with incident, is racily written, and of course 
full of interept." — Lowell American Citizen. 

"The author must be a preacher of short sermons, for his hook makod a short story 
of what might hnvo been, with the usual spinuing out and amplifyiug, an ambitious work 
of two volumes."— irorccsfCT- Palladium. 

'♦ All Christinns may obtain from it souio valuable hints to direct thera in their religious 
duties." — Hartford Religious Herald. 

" The style is chaste and concise, and the teachings of the book of the highest moral 
worth."— i>e«roj« Democrat. 

«« Iti:* unnecessary for us to recommend it to parents nnd teachers. Its influence will 
b»* ex«*ellent upon any mind, particularly if young." — Buffalo Democracy. 



(Strange Things of Spain.) Going to Madrid, via Barcelona. 
12mo. $\ 00. 

*« We commend this volume as a most charming one, written with elegance and ease, 
full of vivacity and wit, and describing the odd customs of quaint old Spain in the iiiubt 
spicy and delightful manner.'* — Boston Evening Telegraph, 

" The histoiy of the Spanish pig would not be unworthily placed with the famed esin 
of Elin. Ttie volume is instructive, humorous, a model of style, in shoit, a most remaflp 
able book that will benr many rcadingj*. Anybody whoknows what a good book is, we 
advise to buy this."— iViewarA Daily Advertiser. 

•'The author is a gay follow, never out of spirits, no matter what may be the annoy- 
ances around him. and he compels his reader to enter with zest into all the scenes he 
describes. The volume is altogether a most agreeable one.*' —Philadelphia Eve. Bulletin. 

** This racy volume contains a series of pictures of Spanish life, painted by an artist 
whose pencil is both skilled and practised."— Zion's Herald, Boston. 

" The author is of the rollickmg school of travellers, and is a pirasant companion, 
lie has a charm in hia method of handling his subjects which can not fnil to fascinate his 
rendoTB.''*— Louisville Journal. 



A Spell of Sunshine, by "William Gilmore Simms, author of " The 
Partisan," &c. 12mo. Cloth. $1 25. 

** This is one of Simms's works that r«»aders will he most pleased with. It is sprightly 
and full of variety, solving up southern life, character, and scenery, with the iidelity and 
force of a master." — Worcester Palladium. 

'•There is a great deal of literary excellence in this work. It embraces a series of 
continuous tales of the most interesting and lively nature, written in an admirable nian- 
ner, and calculated to please all tastes." — Daily Times. 

"This is one of the ablest, most entertaining, and popular productions of the above- 
named author. It abounds in striking delineations of character, and is pervaded throngh- 
otit with a truly American and patriotic spirit" — Christian InteUigeneer. 

** • Soutiiward Ho!' has modern life for its theme, and with the g!«»aming wit, and 
graphic descriptive powers of the writer, abounds with entertainment.*' — Baltimore Suu. 



The Poetical Works of W. H. C. Hosmer. Now first collected. 
With a Portrait on steel. 2 vols., 12mo. $2 00. 

" Imagination, poetic spirit, and diction, are patent in these polished compositions. 
The first volume is chiefly devoted to the le^ndary lore of Indian tradition, and al)oun(i8 
in picturesque descriptions of Nature's wildest scenery. Occasional poetic effusions, 
(ivoked by some incident of the hour, or suggested by the teeming travail of a glowing 
iinap[ination, make up the second volume. The work constitutes a body of lyrics, and 
of rich specimens of almost every metre in Ens:lish poesy." — National Intelligencer. 

" The poems designed to perpetuate the traditions of the Indian race particularly, are 
of a high order, the subject being evidently suited to the author's peculiar genius. Some 
of the *• Bird Notes" also are exquisitely beautiful, and so too are many of the Miscella- 
neous pieces. The volumes are highly creditable to the author and to the country." — 
Puritan Recorder. 

" He has certainly written a great deal of agreeable and flowing verse, abounding in 
smooth descriptions of nature, and illustrated by apt and pleasing imagery. — New York 



Life of tlit Hontiralile William H. ScT\'ard, with SelectionB from 
his Works. Editetl by Geobok E. Bakkr* 12mo. Cloth. 
PonraiU Si 00, 

" Tlso worlc prpjPTiti. in a f<jnn wHl fiJjiptri'] for pnjmlftr clrotilntloti nnd pfruJtrtI, lom* 
of the mOiC *trll{tn& c'viJi-iiccii fjilhe p^niu* nBd f^t^tii^mimJikD (ability ot Mr, Sewnrd, It 
l^&rnnrtieijted with n itmII *'nj?ni*+^J purfi^^iiE of fip-.n&lor iSt-ward," — Bo¥Um Jou-mul 

** Iji Bluwt^ il eiabrmccM tiK ihtit-tVie ec-nenJ reFtder coidil deeiro in n^et;iiiil to the luiEory 
of thn ewht sUtfMimn of New Vork/'— CAj^i*ffflK ^^^^ttar^t BartfartL 

'\All nart-fl Lhnt Mr^ J3#itvf»ii! ia n iniifi ol remitrkable powfri^, and thnt thr? prrwlucllo&t 
of bift pen firo giMtcrnyy hi^h^j lioBurabk boili to tbo inteU'^ci ainJ tbi-^ IjIerMturr of ibo 
etnifjtry^ The pi^s^ot voTamts co^itJiiiiS n vi-^ry fM|kLtoti« ppkome of tbo likEuTy of hii 

Eublic €iire«ri, mid o, sekctJ^Dn or»ome of his bett dlscQEirsee, illuetriiCivu of b» charncter 
oth m n slntfSnnsND atuL ii tkchfflRf.'"—'Puriitin Rcmrder. 
" To Miy pei'*oij who triih^ to know nbout Willium H. Bewanl^ sH that tlio pmlilk 
bnre a ligkit lo know, we rccfimmniid Uiia book. It cosUiLn^ the treiiiii of Mi epeecbM 
Rnd llae hlat'Ury of lti£ lite." — Nets Bedford M^cunj, 



A Chronicle of ColUge Scrapes at William8borg» in Vifginifl, A* B. 
1764. 12mi>. $1 00. 

♦• Few ttF cnliiiFotpd towte who t^ikc tbfl toIuedr up, will ftill fo rend t? thmujjili at n lit^ 
tJni, The uri^utihiy cif it* eonAEructiun, tbu corn^ctnees nnd cjiey II nw oi ibs ^Eyle, nni 
tlici^ reader'fl ron#ciouni^es« thflt hn in ^tijoyln^T with the mtthor hltnselF, th«i g&j muim^nlfl 
of II IfMined, tiioiEi^htfti], nud oherrrinff man, mukii fJie book one of lliti mmt doliF;hd!ul 

of ttir Lljty,"— .V, >", Otnrirr ami tCHt/tiir<r. 

^'It rf>(.v)uiii- -i..,,, . 1 'l^ ,;. "• .- j.: ,1 ■:-: f .1 r'' -- 1-3. n iV'w Qf lufl fH]r>w^Biiideiita, 

It is really ndeliglitfnl little volume, written in a dashing, brilliant style ; and it can not 
possibly be read in an ill humor." — Christian Freeman. 

" This is a little volume, tlie title of which fully explains its contents. It is full of cnp- 
itnl stories of student life, and rollicking, youthful experiences in the early days of the 
' Old Dominion.' " — Buffalo Democraaj. 



Notes from the Letters of Thomas Moore to his Music Publisher, 
James Power, (the publication of which was suppressed in 
London) with an Introductory Letter from 'J'hf mas Crofton 
Croker, Esq., F. S. A. With four Engravings on Steel. 12mo. 
Cloth. Si 50. 

"The present work is intended to correct misapprehensions naturally arising from n 
perusal of the * Memoirs' of Moore by Lord John Russell, No one can hesitate to con- 
vict his liord&hip of v«'ry j^ross breaches of historic truth, in the 8U]>pression of portions 
of the letters he pretended to edit; his entire aim appearing to be the withholding of any 
thing in Moore's letters inconsistent with the opinion his Lordship wished the public to 
entertain of his author. The publication of these suppressed letters and fractions, will 
set right these misapprehensions. Here Moore is presented to the world under his own 
hiinilniid pejil''^ — Wivchpster Democrat. 

redfield's new and popular publications. 



By Rev. Richard Chenevix Trencd, B. D. One vol., 12mo, 
price 75 cents. 

'* He discourses in a truTy leflrnnd and lively mnnner upon the original unity of Ian* 
gnage, and the origin, derivation, nnd history of words, with their morality and separate 
spheres of meaning." — Evening Post. 

" This Is a noble tribute to the divine fncnlty of speech. Popularly written, for use 
as lectures, exact in its learning, and poetic in its vision, it is a book at once for the 
scholar and the general reader." — N. Y. Evangelist. 

•• It is one of the most striking and originnl publications of the day, with nothing of 
hardness, dullness, or dryness about it, but altogether fresh, lirely, and entertaining."— 
Boston Evening Traveller. 


By Rev. Richard Chenevix Trench, B. D. 12mo, price 75 cts. 

" An able work by an able author. The subject is treated nnder the several heads 
of, the Engli!«h a composite lan^age ; its piitif) ; its diminutions ; the changes in its 
menning ; and Uie changed epeUmg"— Hartford Courant. 

♦' The entire work is so clearly and simpfy written, nnd the information imparted is 
of so int'restinif a nature, and is so pleasantly given, that it rany be read with zest by 
the most careleas and amusement-senking." — Boston Post 

'* In its most vivid and charming sketches of the component parts of the English lan- 
guage, it will give as much pleasure as instruction,"— -P/Wiade/pftfa Episcopal lUcorder. 

By Rev. Richard Chenevix Trench, B. D. 12rao, price 75 ct8. 

"The nice distinctions between words of nearly the same 8ipni6cation8, and the shades 
of diflferent meaning often applied to the same word, render a book of this jkind not 
only convenient, but in fact necessary. All may be enlightened by its perusal." — Chris- 
tian Herald and Messenger. 

** It shows great exactness of thought, and a wide range of philological training ; and 
we can hardly imagine how the subject could have been treated at once more concisely 
nnd more luminously. Every biblical student, especially every clergyman, ought to be 
in possession of the volume." — Puritan Recorder. 

" This book is well worth the perusal of every thorough theolojncal student. lake 
all the works of Mr. Trench it evihces marks of great scholarship. As an exegetical 
aid in the solution of the meaning of the New Testament, the work under notice is in- 
valuable."— Sofurdoy Evening Gazette. 


By Rev. Richard Chenevix Trench, B. D. 12mo, price 50 cts. 

•• It is a book at once profoundly instructive, and at the same time, deprived of all 
approach to dryness, by the churraing manner in which the subject is treato<l."— ylr- 
tkur^s Home Oazette. 

*' It is a wide field, and one which the author has well cultivated, adding not only to 
his own reputation, but a valuable work to our literature."— ^»any Even. Transcript. 

'* The work shows an acute perception, a genial appreciation of wit, and great re- 
search. It is a very rare and agreeable production, which may be read with profit and 
delight."— iVew York Evangelist. 

Otp Flirt c^ b ^ I-iie ix as ItaiiaA. £«filied Iry a Friend* Ofl^ 

, ^^ ito^ 

fch^wil, ■■tt-T ih^lti^mrt ^ 

k,tv teir Mh. T#« ««m^ Ifa* wieiA «wIe <baw l^nnii mc^ a hnAls flwEDT nT 


Tbe Uftes and Abas» of Air: sbowmg its Infli^ence in Snj^uiniiig 
Life, and PnodiKriDg Dbease, willi Kamarks an the Veudlatwn 
of Ho&ie9, find the be«c Methods of Seduing a Pure and Wbole- 
•ome Aiiii(»pber€ in&ide of BweUinpt CbaieliSi. Workshops, &G 
By JoHJf H. Oris^oii, M. D* OaaTol, 12mo, $1,00* 

• jfato eempn^tiMtfie tr«£l» chould be wrmS br "^ ^'^ '■'^ *" lei^tiTE bnlth, 
Had 0p«clklhr b]f tbtiiv eouiraclsog^ chDreI»e», l«^F»-rt>ois«, •diooS-havic'a, J^e.— Ii 
la uiK'totilytniL Qi«E oamj divmam *to crcued Bud tpretd in c«ciMd«ii€« of [be Utiie 
■HeitttDD pAid Is F<^^f ««titf1iktlQa. ilr. G.wrfbs kaowfasclf md pliiiziJy spon tbii iH^ 
Un^ortttiit topic." — NnMrk AdrsiSMtr. 

*'Thi^ wholf->i'>k if> n riuinplrff nmntjjit of Ibe^ct of which it treati ; aBd wh 
renture to aay that the builder or contriver of a dwelling, achool-houae, church, thea- 
tre, ship, or steamboat, whn neglects to inform himaeli of the- m om en t ooB trutba it 
asserts, commita virtually a crime against society." — N. Y. MarvpoU*. 

" When shall we learn to estimate at their proper value, pure water and pure air, 
which God provided for man before he made man, and a very long time before be 
permitted the exiatence of a doctor ? We commend the Uses and Abnaea of Air to ouf 
readera, aaauring them that they will find it to contain directions for the rentilation oi 
dwellings, which every one who valuea health and comfort should put in practice.''— 
N. Y Dispatch. 



By Alice Caret, author of ** Clovernook," ** Lyra, and Other 
Poems," &c. One vol., 12mo, price $1.00. 

"A story of rural and domestic life, abounding in humor, pathos, and that natural- 
ness in character and conduct which made * Clovernook' so great a favorite last season. 
I'asiages in • Hagar' are written with extraordinary power, its moral ia striking and 
fust, and the book will inevitably he one ot the most popular productions of the aea- 

♦' She has a fine, rich, and purely original genius. Her country stories are almost 
uneqw\\e(\ ."—Knicka-bocker Mngaiine. 

** The IMmes speaks of Ali6e Carey as standing at the head of the living female wri- 
ters of America We go even farther in our favorable Judgment, and express the opin* 
ion that among those living or dead, she has had no equal in this country: and we know 
of few in the annals of Knglish literature who have exhibite<l superior gilts of real i>w 
etlo genius."— TiU (Portland, Me.\ EcUciic 




New and entirely Revised Edition of William GiLMORe Smiug* 
Romances of the Revo ution, with Illustrations by Darley, 
Each complete in one vol., 12mo, cloth; price $1.25. 



** The fifld of Rovolutloijflry Romance was a rich one, and Mr. Simms has worked it 
admirably," — Loicisville Journal. 

** But few novelists of the age evince more power in the conception of a story, more 
artistic skill in its tnanngement, or more naturalness in the final denottement than Mr 
feimms." — Mobilt Daily Advertiser. 

•* Not only par excellence the liternry man of the South, but next to no romance writer 
in America." — Albany Knickerbocker. 

"Simms is a popular writer, and his romances are higtily creditable to American 
literature."— Boston Olive Branch. 

"These books are replete with daring and thrilling adventures, principally drawn 
from history."— Boston Ckristian Freeman. 

** We take pleasure in noticing another of the series which Redfield is presentinff to 
the country of the brilliant productions of one of the very ablest of our Ameiican 
authors — of one indeed who, in his peculiar sphere, is inimitable, lliis volumo is a 
cuntinuntion of * 'Vhe Partisan.' "—Philadelphia American Courier. 



A Romance of South Carolina. By Wm. Gilmore Simms. New 
and entirely Revised Edition, with Illustrations by Parley. 12mo, 
cloth; price $1.25. 

'- In interest, it is second to but few romances in the language ; in power, it holds a 
high rank; in healthfulncss of style, it fumlshes an example worthy of emulation." — 
Qieene County Whig, 



Poems: Descriptive, Dramatic, Legendary, and Contemplative. 

By Wm. Gilmore Simms. With a portrait on steel. 2 vols., 

12mo, cloth; price $2.50. 

CoNTRNTS : Norman Maurice ; a Tragedy.— A talantis ; a Tale of the Sea.— Tales and 
Traditions of the South.— The City of the Silent— Southern Passages and Pictures.— 
Historical and Dramatic Sketches.- Scripture Lege^'^s.- Francesca da Rimini, etc. 

" We are glad to see the poems of our best Southern author collected in twc hand' 
s mo volumes. Here we have embalmed in mraphic and melodious verse the scenic 
wonders and charms of the South ; and this fcature of the work alone gives it a per- 
mancnt and special value. None can read 'Southern Passages and Pictures' without 
feeling that therein the poetic aspects, association, and sentiment of Southern life and 
scenery are vitally enshrined. 'Norman Maurice* is a dramatic poem of peculiar scope 
and unusual interest ; and ' Atalaiitis,' a poem upon which some of the author's finest 
powers of thought and expression are richly lavished. None of our poets offer so great 
a variety of style or a more original choice of subjects."— JBrtsto» Traveller. 

•• His versification is fluent and mellifluous, yet not lacking in point of vigor when an 
Bnergotic style is requisite to the subject." — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

"Mr. Simms ranks among the first poets of our country, and the.«e well printed 
tX)Jume3 coiitain poetical productions of rare merit." — Wa8hi7tSfUm (IK C.) Star, 

JKLeoioirs of a Distitigiiislied Fmanoieri 

both: BCEi^MISaPilEIlES; 


TiOLTE, l2mot Pnce Sl/25. [EigUh Edition] 

tht' mor? promiijeTit n Junes intToducPtl m 
md pit^tii &f personaJ and anecdotal interv 

; Gmtt$nl SMkamz Mat J%e^ Amz^t ; Stephen Gtisn] \ 
Lb W^temmi AmAlkmi ^ Bmifi; Ko&at Pisltan; BafiU Pamh ; Smi- 
«al SMlvaitt; I«J Alimt i tli ; T^lta Iv Wagner t N'.tp(itf on ; Paul 
Sif ftioidf CklMHj; Qtt«cii Vict0ria; Horace Vcmel; Mojar 
ott; Ur. SmII; ImS«; Jahit Qiiini^ Aflams ; Edward Lwifiir- 
I IL G^fnfis; Attjgdtilt DiiT»e ; Ofili^ Mo!reaii ; Gouyerneur 

G^MmMmI ; L» E#f ^ OmtlMfit ; Duke of Wellington - Wil- 
li Fite; P. & Liko^&tT«: Ing^; CUrle? Vl,, of Spam; Mrir- 
^ ' mAia^ mMit; MAimd Dodoj; VBIele; Lord Eldoti; 



H» aliav loeka li tlit bti^bt EaJe of a diviacter* and deartj loves — he I 
kamm fc ^ ' " > Ut o# ww>M But be |»iiit!t wp LL dcscrili^s well, seizes 

lo Vtg rcttifer tiie aatarD of the man whom 

»Tv-i -I ,;'.' ^ifi^'x-hi i*irW, irii n-'-^.infld i r.s f n * r;; i r.-j laiD ; h:is'br^f^n a r> pfp^- 

wi:n<?s» of not a tVw of ;b.a iruportanc exent* thai occurred in Europe and America i>e- 
t\T««»a th» rears 17VM> and IS50, and himself a sharer in more than one of them ; v/ho ha« 
t>e*a i^ssociattf d, or an a^jent m some of ih<? larirest commercial and financial operations 
;au Brinish, ^rxd Dutch capital and enterprise ever Tentured upon, and has been brought 
ittto cotttacC and acouaiatance— not uatr«»qtte»tl]r into intimacy — with a number of the 
rtuarlcable men of nis time. Seldom, either in print or in the flesh, have -we fallen in 
■vrithso restless, Yersatile and excursiTC a sreaius as Vincent Nolte, Esq., of Europe and 
Attwrvca — no more limited address wiU surticiently express his cosmopolitan domicile. — 

As a reflection of real life, a bock stamped -with a strong personal character, and filled 
Tfuh unique details of a large experie.nce of private and public intere^^t, we unhesita- 
tioiilT call attention to it as one of the most note-vrorthy productions of the day. — J\''€tP 
Yijrk CfitLrchman. 

Oar old merchants and politicians will find it very amusing:, and it will excite rivid 
rrjmiaisceuces of men and things forty years ajro. "We might criticise the hap-hazard 
and dare-devil spirit of th» author, but the racmess of his anecdotes is the result of these 
▼ery defects. — ifi/*;yjt Transcript. 

liis autobiography presents a spicy variety of incident and adventure, and a great deal 
ofrea'ly u-etul and interesting information, all the more acceptable for the profusion 3f 
anecdote and pi|aant scandal with which it is interspersed. — ^V. Y. Jonr. of Commerce. 

Not Iti lea>t interesting portion of the work, to us here, is the namition of Noltes 
iatercour5e with our great men, and his piquant and occasionally ill-natured notice of 
their faults and foibles. — .\*. J'. Hentid. 

It is a vivid cha>nicle of raried and remarkable experiences, and will serve to rectify 
the errors which too often pass amons men as veritable history. — Eveninff Post. 

'*'he anecdotes, declamations, sentiments, descriptions, and vhole tone of the book, 
are vivacious and genuine, and, making allowance for obvious prejudices, graphic and 
reliable. To the o.d it will be wonderfully suggestive, to the young curiously inform- 
ing, and to both rich in entertainment. — Jiotfton Atlas. 

As an amusing narrative, it would be difficult to find its superior ; but the book has 
j><?o jluif interest frorftthe freedom v. ith which the author shows up our American noto- 
rioi«cs oi" the pist forty years —Cvarur