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Fancy it drest, and with saltpetre rouged.
Behold his tail, my friend; with curls like that
The wanton hop marries his stately spouse;
So crisp in beauty, Amoretta's hair

Rings round her lover's soul the chains of love.
And what is beauty but the aptitude

Of parts harmonious?
Give thy fancy scope,
And thou wilt find that no imagined change
Can beautify this beast. Place at his end

The starry glory of the peacock's pride;

Give him the swan's white breast; for his horn hoofs
Shape such a foot and ancle as the waves

Crowded in eager rivalry to kiss,

When Venus from th' enamoured sea arose ;

Jacob, thou canst but make a monster of him :
All alteration man could think, would mar

His pig perfection.

The last charge-He lives

A dirty life. Here I could shelter him
With noble and right reverend precedents;
And shew, by sanction of authority,
That 'tis a very honourable thing
To thrive by dirty ways. But let me rest
On better ground th' unanswerable defence;
The pig is a philosopher who knows

No prejudice. Dirt! Jacob, what is dirt?
If matter, why the delicate dish that tempts

An o'ergorg'd epicure to the last morsel

That stuffs him to the throat-gates, is no more,
If matter be not, but as sages say,
Spirit is all, and all things visible
Are one, but to infinity modified,

Think, Jacob, what that pig is, and the mire
Wherein he stands knee-deep.

And there! that breeze
Pleads with me, and has won thee to the smile
That speaks conviction. O'er yon blossom'd field
Of beans it came, and thoughts of bacon rise.


AUTHORS have long got the credit of being the most accomplished persons going. Now, I have long been of opinion that lawyers are infinitely their superiors. The author chooses his characters as you choose your dish or your wine at dinner he takes what suits, and leaves what is not available to his purpose. Now, the lawyer is called on for all the narrative and descriptive powers of his art at a moment's notice,

One day he is to be found creeping, with a tortoise slowness, through all the wearisome intricacy of an equity case the next he is borne along in a torrent of indignant eloquence, in defence of some Orange processionist, or some Ribbon associate. In one court he attempts to prove that the elderly gentleman whose life was insured for one thousand at the Phoenix, was instrumental to his own decease, for not eating cayenne with his oysters: in another he shows, with palpable clearness, that being stabbed in the body, and having his head fractured, is a venial offence, and merely the result of "political excitement" in a highspirited and warm-hearted people.

Hear him in a lunacy case- listen to the deep subtle distinctions he draws.between the symptoms of mere eccentricity and erring intellect— remark how insignificant the physician appears in the case, who has made these things the study of a long life-hear how the barrister confounds him with a hail-storm of technicals. Like a child who thumps the keys of a pianoforte, and imagines himself a Listz or Moschelles, so does your barrister revel amid the phraseology of a difficult science-pelting the witnesses with his insane blunders, and assuring the jury that their astonishment means ignorance. A joke is a universal blessing; the judge, who after all is only an old lawyer," loves it from habit; the jury, generally speaking, are seldom in such good company, and they laugh from complaisance; and the bar joins in the mirth, on that great reciprocity principle which enables them to bear each other's dullness, and dine together afterwards.


What set me first on this train of thought, was a trial I lately heard, where a cross action was sustained for damage at sea-the owners of the brig Durham against the Aurora, a foreign vessel, and vice versâ, for the result of a collision at noon on the 14th of November. It appeared

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that both vessels had taken shelter in the Humber from stress of weather, nearly at the same time;—that the Durham, which preceded the Prussian vessel, "clewed up her topsails and dropped her anchor RATHER suddenly; and the Aurora being in the rear, the vessels came in collision.' The question therefore was, whether the Durham came to anchor too precipitately, and in an unseamanlike manner, or, in other words, whether, when the "Durham clewed up her topsails and let go her anchor, the Aurora should not have luffed up or got sternway on her," &c. Nothing could possibly be more instructive, nor anything scarcely more amusing, than the lucid arguments employed by the counsel on both sides. The learned Thebans, that would have been sick in a ferry-boat, spoke as if they had circumnavigated the globe. Stay-sails, braces, top-gallants, clews, and capstans, they hurled at each other like bon-bons at a carnival; and this naval engagement lasted from daylight to dark, till at last so confused were the witnesses, the plaintiff, defendant, and all, that they half wished they had both gone to the bottom before they thought of settling their differences in the Admiralty Court.

How I trembled for the Aurora, when an elderly gentleman with a wart on his nose assured the court that the Durham had her topsails backed ten minutes before the anchor fell; and then how I feared again for the Durham, as a thin man in spectacles worked the Prussian about in a double-reefed mainsail, and stood round in stays so beautifully. I thought myself at sea, so graphic was the whole description-the waves

splashed and foamed around the bulwarks, and broke in spray upon the deck-the wind rattled amid the rigging-the bulk-head creaked, and the good ship heaved heavily in the trough of the sea, like a mighty monster in his agony. But my heart quailed not-I knew that Dr. Lushington was at the helm, and Dr. Haggard at the look-out-a-head. I felt that Dr. Robinson stood by the lee-braces, and Dr. Addison waited, hatchet in hand, to cut away the main-mast. These were comforting reflections, till I was once more enabled to believe myself in Her Majesty's High Court of Admiralty.



AT bleating of the wild watch-fold,

Thus sang my love :


Oh, come with me!

Our bark is on the lake ;-behold

Our steeds are fasten'd to the tree.
Come, far from Castle-Conner's clans!-
Come with thy belted forestere;
And I, beside the lake of swans,

Shall hunt for thee the fallow-deer;

And build thy hut, and bring thee home
The wild-fowl and the honey-comb ;
And berries from the wood provide,
And play my clarshech by thy side.

Then come, my love!" How could I stay?
Our nimble stag-hounds track'd the way,

And I pursued by moonless skies,

The light of Connocht, Moran's eyes!

And fast and far, before the star

Of day-spring, rush'd we through the glade,
And saw at dawn the lofty bawn

Of Castle-Connor fade.

Sweet was to us the hermitage

Of this unploughed untrodden shore
Like birds all joyous from the cage,


For man's neglect we loved it more!
And well he knew, my huntsman dear,
To search the game with hawk and spear;
While I, his evening food to dress,
Would sing to him in happiness.
But oh, that midnight of despair,
When I was doomed to rend my hair!
The night, to me, of shrieking sorrow!-
The night, to him, that had no morrow!

When all was hush'd at even-tide,

I heard the baying of their beagle:
"Be hush'd, my Connocht!" Moran cried,
""Tis but the screaming of the eagle."
Alas! 'twas not the eyrie's sound,—

Their bloody bands had track'd us out.
Up-listening starts our couchant hound:
And, hark! again that nearer shout
Brings faster on the murderers.

Spare-spare him-Brazil-Desmond fierce!
In vain no voice the adder charms;

Their weapons cross'd my sheltering arms:
Another's sword has laid him low-

Another's and another's:

And every hand that dealt the blow :—
Ah me! it was a brother's!
Yes, when his moanings died away,
Their iron hands had dug the clay;
And o'er his burial-turf they trod;
And I beheld-O, God! O, God!-
His life-blood oozing from the sod!



"I SEE, I feel, thy anguish, nor my soul

Has ever known the prevalence of love,
E'er proved a father's fondness, as this hour;
Nor, when most ardent to assert my fame,
Was once my heart insensible to thee.
How had it stain'd the honours of my name
To hesitate a moment, and suspend
My country's fate, till shameful life preferr'd
By my inglorious colleague left no choice,
But what in me were infamy to shun,
Not virtue to accept! Then deem no more
That, of my love regardless, or thy tears,

I haste uncall'd to death. The voice of fate,
The gods, my fame, my country, bid me bleed.
O thou dear mourner! wherefore streams afresh
That flood of woe? Why heaves with sighs renew'd
That tender breast? Leonidas must fall.

Alas! far heavier misery impends

O'er thee and these, if soften'd by thy tears.

I shamefully refuse to yield that breath,

Which justice, glory, liberty, and Heaven
Claim for my country, for my sons, and thee.
Think on my long unalter'd love.


On my paternal fondness. Has my heart
E'er known a pause of love, or pious care?
Now shall that care, that tenderness, be prov'd
Most warm and faithful. When thy husband dies
For Lacedæmon's safety, thou wilt share,
Thou and thy children, the diffusive good.
Should I, thus singled from the rest of men ;
Alone intrusted by th' immortal gods

With power to save a people; should my soul
Desert that sacred cause, thee too I yield
To sorrow and to shame; for thou must weep
With Lacedæmon, must with her sustain
Thy painful portion of oppression's weight.
Thy sons behold now worthy of their names,
And Spartan birth! Their growing bloom must pine
In shame and bondage, and their youthful hearts
Beat at the sound of liberty no more.

On their own virtue and their father's fame
When he the Spartan freedom hath confirm'd,
Before the world illustrious shall they rise,
Their country's bulwark and their mother's joy."

Here paus'd the patriot. With religious awe
Grief heard the voice of virtue. No complaint
The solemn silence broke. Tears ceas'd to flow:
Ceas'd for a moment; soon again to stream.
For now in arms before the palace rang'd,
His brave companions of the war demand
Their leader's presence; then her griefs renew'd,
Too great for utt'rance, intercept his sighs,
And freeze each accent on her falt'ring tongue.
In speechless anguish on the hero's breast
She sinks. On ev'ry side his children press,
Hang on his knees, and kiss his honour'd hand.
His soul no longer struggles to confine

Its strong compunction. Down the hero's cheek,
Down flows the manly sorrow. Great in woe,
Amid his children, who enclose him round,
He stands indulging tenderness and love
In graceful tears, when thus, with lifted eyes,
Address'd to Heaven :- "Thou ever-living pow'r,
Look down propitious, sire of gods and men!
And to this faithful woman, whose desert
May claim thy favour, grant the hours of peace.
And thou my great forefather, son of Jove,
O Hercules, neglect not these thy race!
But since that spirit I from thee derive,
Now bears me from them to resistless fate,
Do thou support their virtue! Be they taught,
Like thee, with glorious labour life to grace,
And from their father let them learn to die!"

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