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With slow-paced heed, and tedious cunning,
Through all her artful mazes running,
Untwisting every knotty wile
Both of the double and the foil ;
In notes with many a winding bout
Of drowsy murmurings long drawn out,
Bewailing their dull master's folly,
Most pitiful, most melancholy.
But chiefly let the Southern's tongue
Drag its deep dismal tone along,
In bellowings loud, and utterance hoarse,
Such as its mournful way may force
Through all my hearing's cavities,
And bring the tears into my eyes.

But let my due sight never fail,
Where beaten paths divide the vale,
With anxious skill and cunning care,
To prick the footsteps of the hare,
While I cheer the beagle's toil,
With ‘hoo the way,' and 'hark the foil.'
And when at last old age and gout
Prevent my longer going out,
0, may I from my easy chair
The wonders of my youth declare,
Extol at large myself and steed,
And talk of hounds of my old breed,
Till I become through neighbouring shires
The oracle of country squires.
These pleasures, Hare Hunting, impart,
And I am thine with all my heart.

MUNDY.

A TRIO.

I.

HERE sits J-P-, and could I but find
A pallet well charged with the colours of mind,
I would venture to paint, with inadequate plan,
The lights and the shades of this great little man.
Achilles, 'tis said, had a skin made of steel,
And was callous to all, save the kibe on his heel;
But our friend feels all over the sting or the smart,
And wherever you touch'tis a pulse from the heart;
With such sense and such soreness I can't under-
stand

[hand. Why he ne'er feels an itch—in the palm of the

Acute, argumentative, agile, yet strong, With a heart ever right, and a head seldom wrong; With passions too prompt to sit quiet and still; In his principles fix'd, with a wandering will; Perplex'd in his creed, and too apt so to tell us ; In his friendships a little too lovingly jealous ; Still eager to get or to give satisfaction, He drives after motives, and misses the action : No axiom so clear but he'll make it more plain, No action so fair but he likes to explain; Too nice in the right, too sincere for profession, And with meaning so full that he fails in expression; For when crowds of ideas all strive to run out, Each must elbow his neighbour and shove him

about; But his life and his language have masculine merit, Both are deeply impress'd with the print of his

spirit;

It burns in his eyes, it enlarges his frame,
And it tempers his clay, not with water, but flame.
His words burst asunder the shackling of art,
And the pen that he writes with is dipp'd in his

beart. 'Tis not from a fountain like this you can draw Any languid harangue of loquacious law; 'Tis clear sense gushing out, unconfined, uncoma

press’d, From the pure and perennial spring in the breast. When all was at sea, all confusion and fear, Like the seamen's small needle he show'd how to

steer; Nor ever declined from the patriot direction, Till the lightning of Grattan once hurt the attraca

tion; But the transient dip, and the slight deviation, Prove the needle points true in its natural station.

II.

No prancing, curvetting, episcopal pony, No desk petit-maitre, no church macaroni (With his curl carved as stiff as the top of the

crosier, And manners more pliant and loose than an osier); But tall and erect, and with resolute air, [hair, And with head that disdains e'en one hypocrite Here stands W-m C-11, the stem of our table, A column of prelacy, stately and stable ; The capital doric-and doric the base, It excels more in strength than Corinthian grace. Without flourish or frieze or Parisian plaster, A pillar for use, not a showy pilaster.

Such a pillar, when Samson was call'd out for sport, Perhaps might have saved the whole Philistine court.

[weight, Sam might crack all his sinews, and bow with his But Will would uphold both the church and the

state.
On all who dare shake that convenient alliance
Hebends his black brows, and he scowls a defiance.
Yet forgets, while he thunders against reformation,
That what is establishment was innovation.
Our patriots, alas! are all dwarfish and weak,
Too puny to make aristocracy quake;
But 0! could thy principles change to the Wbig,
Couldst thou throw them as readily off as thy wig,
That old tyrant calld Custom, in vain would resist
The momentum of such a republican fist:
His strong castle would tumble,like Jericho's wall,
And his talisman broken, the giant must fall.
More solid than shining, more weighty than

wordy;
In the right very stout; in the wrong very sturdy;
Both sudden and sure, in the grasp of conception,
But too fond of the rule to admit the exception;
Too tenacious in tenet to sport an opinion,
Each dogma with him has despotic dominion ;
Too apt to mistake argumentative strife,
And to lay down a word as he'd lay down his life ;
He takes always good aim, but too quick in the

timing,
He flushes the bird, and his temper burns priming :
His heart always flames with good fuel, well fed,
But it sends up at times a thick smoke to the head;
And till that clears away 'tis not easy to know
The fact or the motive, the friend or the foe.

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Then take up this tankard of rough massy plate, Not for fashion preferr'd, but for value and weight; When you lift up the cover, then think of our vicar, And take a hard pull at the orthodox liquor, That keeps hale and hearty in every climate, And makes the poor curate as proud as the pri

mate.

III.

But when genius and judgment are called to the feast,

[taste, Make the trio complete and cement them with And for taste let me call on our courtly Collector, Not the king of his company, but the protector; Who, with easy hilarity, knows how to sit In a family compact with wisdom and wit; With the art to know much, without seeming to know it,

[show it. Joins the art to have wit, without straining to For his mind, not case-harden'd by form or profession,

[cession. Always yields with a spring, and impels by conTrue politeness, like sense, is begotten, not made, But all our professions smell strong of a trade. All vocation is craft, both the black and the scarlet, The doctor, the pleader, the judge, and the harlot.

No collector of medals or fossils so fine, He gathers good fellows around his good wine ; No collector of shells or of stuff'd alligators, But of two-legged, unfeather'd, erect mutton

eaters, That join heart in hand to drive round the decanter,

[senter. While the bishop hob-nobs with the lowly dis

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