And her who was his destiny, came back
And thrust themselves between him and the light:
What business had they there at such a time?
VII.

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream.
The lady of his love;-Oh! she was changed
As by the sickness of the soul; her mind
Had wandered from its dwelling, and her eyes
They had not their own lustre, but the look
Which is not of the earth; she was become
The queen of a fantastic realm; her thoughts
Were combinations of disjointed things;
And forms impalpable and unperceived
Of other's sight familiar were to hers.

And this the world calls frenzy; but the wise
Have a far deeper madness, and the glance
Of melancholy is a fearful gift;
What is it but the telescope of truth?
Which strips the distance of its phantasies,
And brings life near in utter nakedness,
Making the cold reality too real!

VIII.

A change came o'er the spirit of my dream. The Wanderer was alone as heretofore,

The beings which surrounded him were gone,
Or were at war with him; he was a mark
For blight and desolation, compass'd round
With Hatred and Contention; Pain was mix'd
In all which was served up to him, until,
Like to the Pontic monarch of old days,*
He fed on poisons, and they had no power,
But were a kind of nutriment; he lived
Through that which had been death to many men,
And made him friends of mountains: with the stars
And the quick Spirit of the Universe

He held his dialogues; and they did teach
To him the magic of their mysteries;
To him the book of Night was open'd wide,
And voices from the deep abyss reveal'd
A marvel and a secret-be it so.

IX.

My dream was past; it had no further change.
It was of a strange order, that the doom
Of these two creatures should be thus traced out
Almost like a reality-the one

To end in madness-both in misery.

• Mithridates of Pontus.

Ink. Nor will be this hour. But the benches are cramm'd, like a garden in flower,

With the pride of our belles, who have made it the| fashion;

With their damnableInk.

Hold, my good friend, do you know

Whom you speak to?

Tra. Right well, boy, and so does "the Row:" You're an author-a poet

Ink. And think you that I Can stand tamely in silence, to hear you decry The Muses?

Tra.

passion "

For learning, which lately has taken the lead in The world, and set all the fine gentlemen reading. Tra. I know it too well, and have worn out my patience

With studying to study your new publications.

(Next door to the pastry-cook's; so that when I Cannot find the new volume I wanted to buy On the bibliopole's shelves, it is only two paces, As one finds every author in one of those places,) Where I just had been skimming a charming critique,

words and Co

Greek!

Where your friend-you know who-has just got such a threshing,

Tra. I say she's an angel. Ink.

Say rather an angle.

What a beautiful word!

Ink. Very true; 'tis so soft And so cooling-they use it a little too oft; And the papers have got it at last-but no matter. So they've cut up our friend then? Tra. Not left him a tatterNot a rag of his present or past reputation, Which they call a disgrace to the age and the nation. Ink. I'm sorry to hear this; for friendship, you know

Our poor friend!-but I thought it would terminate

So.

Our friendship is such, I'll read nothing to shock it. You do'nt happen to have the Review in your pocket?

Tra. No; I left a round dozen of authors and others

(Very sorry, no doubt, since the cause is a brother's) All scrambling and jostling, like so many imps, And on fire with impatience to get the next glimpse. Ink. Let us join them.

Tra. What, won't you return to the lecture? Ink. Why, the place so cramm'd there's not room for a spectre.

Besides, our friend Scamp is to-day so absurd-
Tra. How can you tell that till you hear him?
Ink.
I heard
Quite enough; and to tell you the truth, my retreat
Was from his vile nonsense, no less than the heat.
Tra. I have had no great loss then!
Ink.

Loss!-such a palaver!
I'd inoculate sooner my wife with the slaver
Of a dog when gone rabid, than listen two hours
To the torrent of trash which around him he pours,
Pump'd up with such effort, disgorged with such

labor,

together?

Ink. Humph! I can't say I know any happy alliance

Which has lately sprung up from a wedlock with science.

She's so learned in all things, and fond of concerning
Herself in all matters connected with learning,
That-
Tra.
Ink.

What?

I perhaps may as well hold my tongue, But there's five hundred people can tell you you're wrong.

Tra. You forget Lady Lilac's as rich as a Jew.
Ink. Is it miss or the cash of mamma you pursue?
Tra. Why, Jack, I'll be frank with you-some-
think of both.

The girl's a fine girl.
Ink.
And you feel nothing loth
To her good lady-mother's reversion; and yet
Her life is as good as your own, I will bet.

Tra. Let her live, and as long as she likes; I demand

Nothing more than the heart of her daughter and hand.

Ink. Why, that heart's in the inkstand-that hand on the

pen.

Tra. You know, my dear friend, that in prose My talent is decent, as far as it goes; But in rhyme—

Ink.

neighbor.

Tra. I make you! Ink. Yes, you! I said nothing until You compell'd me, by speaking the truthTra.

To speak ill?

Is that your deduction ? Ink.

The fellow's a fool, an imposter, a zany.
Tra. And the crowd of to-day shows that one
fool makes many.
But we two will be wise.
Ink.

Tra. I would, butInk.

Pray, then, let us retire.

What I've told her in prose, at the least as sublime? Ink. As sublime! If it be so, no need of my Muse Tra. But consider, dear Inkel, she's one of the "Blues."

Ink. As sublime!-Mr. Tracy-I've nothing to

say.

An Apartment in the House of LADY BLUEBOTTLE A Table prepared.

SIR RICHARD BLUEBOTTLE,, solus

Indeed the best poems at first rather fail.

My life is reversed, and my quiet destroy'd;
My days, which once pass'd in so gentle a void,

Had its full share of praise. I myself saw it puff'd in the "Old Girl's Review." Ink. What Review?

Tra.

'Tis the English "Journal de Trevoux;" A clerical work of our jesuits at home. Have you never yet seen it? Ink.

Tra. Make haste then.

done

In a style that proclaims us eternally one.

But the thing of all things which distresses me more Than the bills of the week (though they trouble me sore)

Is the numerous, humorous, backbiting crew
Of scribblers, wits, lecturers, white, black, and blue,
Who are brought to my house as an inn, to my cost
-For the bill here, it seems, is defray'd by the host-

the moon,

(Where he seems to be soaring in search of his wits,) And an interval grants from his lecturing fits, I'm engaged to the Lady Bluebottle's collation, To partake of a luncheon and learn'd conversation: 'Tis a sort of reunion for Scamp, on the days

Of his lecture, to treat him with cold tongue and praise,

And I own, for my own part, that 'tis not unpleasant.
Will you go? There's Miss Lilac will also be present.
Tra. That "metal's attractive."
Ink.

No doubt-to the pocket. Tra. You should rather encourage my passion than shock it.

But let us proceed; for I think, by the hum

Ink. Very true; let us go, then, before they can come,

Or else we'll be kept here an hour at their levy,
On the rack of cross questions, by all the blue bevy.
Hark! Zounds, they'll be on us; I know by the
drone

Of old Botherby's spouting, ex-cathedra tone,
Ay! there he is at it. Poor Scamp! better join
Your friends, or he'll pay you back in your own coin.
Tra. All fair; 'tis but lecture for lecture.
Ink
That's clear.
But for God's sake let's go, or the bore will be here.
Come, come: nay, I'm off.
[Exit INKEL.
Tra.
You are right, and I'll follow;
'Tis high time for a "Sic me servavit Apollo."
And yet we shall have the whole crew on our kibes,
Blues, dandies, and dowagers, and second-hand
scribes,

But to hear a vile jargon which addles my brains ;
A smatter and chatter, glean'd out of reviews,
By the rag, tag, and bobtail, of those they call
"Blues; "

A rabble who know not-But soft, here they come!
Would to God I were deaf! as I'm not, I'll be dumb

Enter LADY BLUEBOTTLE, MISS LILAC, LADY BLUEMOUNT, MR. BOTHERBY, INKEL, TRACY, MISS MAZARINE, and others, with SCAMP, the Lecturer, &c.

Lady Blueb. Ah! Sir Richard, good morning; I've brought you some friends.

Sir Rich. (bows, and afterwards aside.) If friends, they're the first.

Lady Blueb. But the luncheon attends. I pray ye be seated, "sans ceremonic." Mr. Scamp, you're fatigued; take your chair there, [They all sit.

next me.

Sir Rich. (aside.) If he does, his fatigue is to come. Lady Blueb. Mr. TracyLady Bluemount-Miss Lilac-be pleased, pray, to place ye; And you, Mr. BotherbyBoth. I obey.

Oh, my dear Lady,

Lady Blueb. Mr. Inkel, I ought to upbraid ye: You were not at the lecture. Ink. Excuse me, I was; But the heat forced me out in the best part-alas! And when

Lady Blueb. To be sure it was broiling; but then You have lost such a lecture!

Ink. No reason whatever, save that he's a sot. Lady Bluemount! a glass of Maderia? Lady Bluem.

With pleasure.

pity

Windermere treasure?

Both. I have written the prologue, and meant to have pray'd

For a spice of your wit in an epilogue's aid.

Ink. Well, time enough yet, when the play's to be play'd.

Is it cast yet?

Sir Rich. But this placeInk.

A lecturer's.

1

Lady Bluem.

Both.

And for shame!

You're too bad. Very good! Lady Blueb. He means nought-'tis his phrase. Lady Bluem. He grows rude. Lady Blueb. He means nothing; nay, ask him. Lady Bluem. Pray, sir! did you mean What you say?

Lady Bluem. How good?

Ink. Never mind if he did: 'twill be seen That whatever he means won't alloy what he says. Both. Sir!

Ink. Pray be content with your portion of praise; 'Twas in your defence.

Both.

If you please, with submission,

I can make out my own.

⚫ Grange is or was a famous pastry-cook and fruiterer in Piccadilly.

line.

Lady Bluem. You're a fugitive writer I think, sir;

of rhymes ?

Ink. Yes, ma'am ; and a fugitive reader sometimes. On Wordswords, for instance, I seldom alight, Or on Mouthey, his friend, without taking to flight. Lady Bluem. Sir, your taste is too common; but Time and posterity

Will right these great men, and this age's severity Become its reproach.

Ink.

I've no sort of objection, So I'm not of the party to take the infection. Lady Blueb. Perhaps you have doubts that they ever will take?

Ink. Not at all; on the contrary, those of the lake Have taken already, and still will continue To take-what they can, from a groat to a guinea, Of pension or place ;-but the subject's a bore! Lady Bluem. Well, sir, the time's coming. Ink. Scamp! don't you feel sore?