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save one. Do not, we beseech you, mistake us for an alderman ; ând recollect, oid of that your mistaken kindness is only adding fuel to the fire of gout. Oh! ate had bee: tend we pray you.
We had just written thus far, when Grizzy taps at our door."Come in; Flotation
what do you want now ?” tificata
Nothing at all," answers Grizzy, somewhat snappishly, “it is only this of the collection of letters, which Peter the postman handed in. They come to seven d; itb shillings and three pence.”
“ Seven devils and three pence !" returned we very unphilosophically, “ wish they may be worth half as much. There is the money," said we, taking
the silver from our black silk breeches' pocket, and the three pence from the C.
chimney-piece. “ And shut the door after you, burd Grizzy.” 00 triti
A rare collection, indeed, thinks we to ourself, where the deuce have they all ters ds come from. Let us see, said we, adjusting our spectacles. By the powers this as sher resembles the fist of the “ laurel-honouring Laureate.” What was our plea, for the sure, surprise, and gratification, when, on breaking the seal, we found our
hopes realised, and read as under. al fictia zanguage triumphi
KATAPAI, E KAI TA ANEKYPYONONEOTTA, OIKON AEI OYE
KEN ΕΠΑΝΗΞΑΝ ΕΓΚΑΘΙΣΟΜΕΝΑΙ. .
I laid me down in melancholy mind;
My bosorn's grief it foil'd me to gainsay ;
The cataracts roaring, and the watch-dogs bay ;
With tombs and an observatory crown'd;
A monumental pillar huge and round,
With spires and battlements magnificent,
And open sky their towering summits sent;
With glittering black eye, and with bristling hair;
And in the front he stepp'd with haughty air ;
“Look on the renegado,” said the next;
Yeli'd out a third, “ the L. L. D. perplex'd :"
Nor was my prayer in vain ; they hobbled on
Short way, and then evanish'd all to smoke;
A more beatic vision on me broke;
Me, the philologist, historian, bard,
And crown'd to consummate my labours hard ;
Sate a great crowd of chosen spirits bright;
And cheer the land with intellectual light;
My nobly won supremacy they own'd,
Own'd as they ought to do; and, in return,
And feeling in my bosom reverence burn,
But, chiefly, on that Veiled Man on high,
Rested my thought; and, forward as I strode,
And instant felt the workings of the god,
Gushing between my lips, in words of flame.
As their master on thee,
And each page of thy book
Like a talisman be,
To nerve every hand,
And to strengthen each soul;
That Britain may nourish
True loyalty's fires;
And liberty flourish,
In the land of our sires.
May the gout, and the radical,
Shun thee, and fly thee,
And state quacks, and medical,
Fear to come nigh thee !--
And, may thy bright divan
Be all true to a man';
And oh, may their wit,
For all purposes fit,
Never flash' in the pan!
May each head be as clear
As a glass of champaign,
And dimness, and dulness ne'er
Trouble the brain !,
May they long take their doses,
Ard wag their smart tongues
At lofty Ambrose's,
Or gentle Bill Young's!
May coughs and catarrhs
And, sound in the intellects,
Fancy, and liver,
Keep their youth like the eagles,
. And other ecstatics,
For ever, and ever !!!
Bravo! Laureate, L. L. D. and member of the Royal Spanish Academy. Let the paltry dogs bark as they will, but thou art a noble fellow; and, even illowing the hexameters not to be in the best possible taste, there is not a poet iving who would not jump, on being called to father the Thalaba, the Madoc, and the Roderic. Long for thee may the butt of sherry run sparkling; may the laurel adorn thy living temples; and may thy enemies find, that “ are like young chickens, they always come home to roost !"
So, laying thee aside, who is this that comes next? The hand-writing is truly very neat, and unauthor like. Let us see, said we, it bears the London post-mark. Crack goes the vermilion seal--another poem ! the initials T. C. What, can this be Campbell ? If so, why so diffident, as not write his name at large.
EFFUSION OF FRIENDSHIP.
As, at the sun's uprise, the shades of grey
Star of the Northern sky! whose glittering ray
Hail to thee, North ! in vision'd bliss, I see
Unrivali'd North! when discord was abroad, hasil
Thanks to thee, Thomas, thou truly art one of the Scots Worthies, and dext servest credit for thy liberality in thus addressing us. You would, no doubt, like “ Ye pugilists of England,” which has almost (we are no egotists) as much lyrical animation as “ Ye Mariners of England ;” and which evinces our respect
your talents; in our making you our model in lyrical componenti del sition. We heartily commiserate you, in observing that you have so much up. Tel bill work with the New Monthly. You had better give the Nympholept your thanks, and dismiss him; and, I am sure you would find it, in every respect, more heartsome, to be enrolled in our triumphant corps. But this is only a mare hint ; and we do not like to press matters; so you need not mention this to a ler Colbourn, unless you are thoroughly convinced of its propriety.
Tom Moore for a guinea ! exclaimed we, as we broke open a third packet. This is mindful now; and it raises you in our estimation. Certainly, Tom, fed thou art a “clever old fellow ;” and, though now and then radico-whiggish, kada still most of your compositions are much above “ Fudge.”
EPISTLE TO CHRISTOPHER NORTH, ESQ.
Though lately I have been
The visitant of many a scene,
With fruit and flowers for ever bright,
And nightingales enchant the night
Have wander'd o'er, with bounding heart;
And vow to meet, though doom'd to part;
Hath been in memory's mirror dim:
Thy imaged form, in lith and limb,
Upon my outspread hand I lean,
In Erin's only Magazine !
Did drag me from Parnassus' top,
of thee, although the noble fop
Translated from unwritten German ;
To please the land's malicious vermin.
Thou first to fright, or to cajole us :
Though forced to gulp the bitter bolus:
And laugh at all the stupid pigs,
Don't be so hard upon the Whigs ;
Or, by St Patrick, I'm afraid,
That, ere another Christmas fall,
With chain-shot, shall destroy us all.
In love, I write this hurried letter,
The planet of the northern sky,
To all the ends of Europe fly!
Thou peerless, restless, jocund fellow;
To look a little blue and yellow !
TO THE VEILED MAGICIAN.
upon thy glory musing,
Brightness, and milk-maids kneel their pails to fill,
That thou hast beat and buffeted me about,
More than the cook-maid doth an old dish-clout;
For blows from soft Italian palms like mine.
Since it must be so, brightly mayst thou shine,
Therefore, may thy bright fountain never fail,
The hepdomadal hand! hear it, 0 Heavens! and believe, 0 Earth! The Jupiter of the Olympus of Cockaigne has, instead of launching thunderbolts at us, as he has often threatened, poured a phial of nectar, in the shape of a sonnet, on our bald crown; its kindly influence has extended itself even to the skirts of our robe ; and acted as a balsam, also to the ball of our rheumatic toe itself. Well, this is kind, warm-hearted, and just as it should be. When a wanderer returns from the error of his ways, and volunteers a civil call, we know better than to slap the door in his face. Wonders will never cease ; and, for all that has happened yet, there may yet subsist between Rimini and ourselves
, something " like a how-d'ye-do-Georgy-my-boy sort of familia arity."
But we must get on ; for we do not deny, that we sometimes require a nap, like other folks, though we have no ambition that our writings should be considered as soporifics. Well do we know this Miltonic fist! Well do we re