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Nor these alone; Columbia feels no less

The mother of the hero's hope, the boy, Fresh speculations follow each success;

The young Astyanax of modern Troy ; And philanthropic Israel deigns to drain

The still pale shadow of the loftiest queen Her mild per-centage from exhausted Spain.

That earth has yet to see, or e'er hath seen; Not without Abraham's seed can Russia march;

She flits amidst the phantoms of the hour, 'Tis gold, not steel, that rears the conqueror's arch. The theme of pity, and the wreck of power. Two Jews, a chosen people, can command

Oh, cruel mockery ! Could not Austria spare In every realm their scripture-promised land :

A daughter? What did France's widow there? Two Jews keep down the Romans, and uphold

Her fitter place was by St. Helen's wave, The accursed Hun, more brutal than of old:

Her only throne is in Napoleon's grave. Two Jews--but not Samaritans-direct

But, no-she still must hold a petty reign, The world, with all the spirit of their sect.

Flank'd by her formidable chamberlain ; What is the happiness of earth to them?

The martial Argus, whose not hundred eyes A congress forms their 'New Jerusalem,


Must watch her through these paltry pageantries. Where baronies and orders both invite

What though she share no more, and shared in vain, Oh, holy Abraham ! dost thou see the sight?

A sway surpassing that of Charlemagne, Thy followers mingling with these royal swine, Which swept from Moscow tu the southern seas! Who spit not on their Jewish gaberdine,'

Yet still she rules the pastoral realm of cheese, But honour them as portion of the show

Where Parma views the traveller resort, (Where now, oh Popel is thy forsaken toe?

To note the trappings of her mimic court. Could it not favour Judah with some kicks?

But she appears! Verona sees her shorn Or has it ceased to kick against the pricks ?)

Of all her beams-while nations gaze and mouruOn Shylock's shore behold them stand afresh,

Ere yet her husband's ashes have had tiine
To cut from nations' hearts their ' pound of flesh.' To chill in their inhospitable clime;

(If e'er those awful ashes can grow cold :

But no,-their embers soon will burst the mould ;) Strange sight this Congress ! destined to unite

She comes the Andromache (but not Racine's, All that's incongruous, all that's opposite.

Nor Homer's,)-Lo! on Pyrrhus' arm she leans ! I speak not of the sovereigns--they're alike,

Yes! the right arm, yet red from Waterloo, A common coin as ever mint could strike;

Which cut her lord's half-shatter'd sceptre through, But those who sway the puppets, pull the strings,

Is offer'd and accepted? Could a slave Have more of motley than their heavy kings.

Do more? or less ?--and he in his new grave! Jews, authors, generals, charlatans, combine,

Her eye, her cheek, betray no inward strife, While Europe wonders at the vast design:

And the ex-empress grows as ex a wife! There Metternich, power's foremost parasite,

So much for human ties in royal breasts! Cajoles; there Wellington forgets to fight;

Why spare men's feelings, when their own are jests? There Chateaubriand forms new books of martyrs ;* And subtle Greeks intrigue for stupid Tartars; There Montmorenci, the sworn foe to charters, Turns a diplomatist of great éclat, 10

But, tired of foreign follies, I turn home, To furnish articles for the Débats ;'

And sketch the group-the picture's yet to come. Of war so certain-yet not quite so sure

My muse 'gan weep, but ere a tear was spilt, As his disinissal in the Moniteur.'

She caught Sir William Curtis in a kilt! Alas! how could his cabinet thus err!

While throng'd the chiefs of every Highland clan Can peace be worth an ultra-minister?

To hail their brother, Vich lan Alderman ! He falls indeed, perhaps to rise again, t

Guildhall grows Gael, and echoes with Erse roar, 'Almost as quickly as he conquer'd Spain.

While all the Common Council cry Claymore!
To see proud Albyn's tartans as a belt

Gird the gross surloin of a city Celt,
Enough of this-a sight more mournful woos

She burst into a laughter so extreme,
The averted eye of the reluctant muse.

That I awoke,-and lo! it was no dream!
The imperial daughter, the imperial bride,
The imperial victim-sacrifice to pride;

Here, reader, will we pause :-if there's no harm in

This first-you'll have, perhaps, a second 'Carmen. Monsieur Chateaubriand, who has not forgotten the author in the minister, received a handsome compli-who-who has written something?' (écrit quelque ment at Verona from a literary sovereign : Ah! Mon chose!) It is said that the author of Atala repented sieur C., are you related to that Chateaubriand who him for a moment of his legitimacy.



Nimium ne crede colori. -VIRGIL.

O trust not, ye beautiful creatures, to hue,
Though your hair were as red' as your stockings are alle



Not a rag of his present or past reputation,

Which they call a disgrace to the age and the nation. Londo:1.-Before the Door of a Lecture Room.

Ink. I'm sorry to hear this! for friendship, you Enter Tracy, meeting Inkel.

knowInk. YOU'RE too late.

Our poor friend !--but I thought it would terminate so, Tra. Is it over?

Our friendship is such, I'll read nothing to shock it. Ink.

Nor will be this hour. You don't happen to have the Review in your pocket? But the benches are cramı'd like a garden in flower,

Tra. No; I left a round dozen of authors and With the pride of our belles, who have made it the

others fashion;

(Very sorry, no doubt, since the cause is a bro. So, instead of “beaux arts," we may say "la belle

ther's) passion"

All scrambling and jostling, like so many inps, For learning, which lately has taken the lead in

And on fire with impatience to get the next glimpse. The world, and set all the fine gentlemen reading

Ink. Let us join them. Tra. I know it too well, and have worn out my Tra. What, won't you return to the lecture ? patience

Iuk. Why the place is so cramm'd, there's not With studying to study your new publications.

room for a spectre. There's Vamp, Scamp, and Mouthy, and Words- Besides, our friend Scamn ie words and Co.

Tra. How can you know that till you hear him? With their damnable

I heard Ink. Hold, my good friend, do you know

Quite enough; and, to tell you the truth, my retreat Whoin you speak to ?

Was from his vile nonsense, no less than the heat Tra. Right well, boy, and so does " the Row;" Tra. I have had no great loss, then? You're an author-a poet


Loss !-such a palaver! Ink. And think you that I

I'd inoculate sooner my wife with the slaver Can stand tamely in silence, to hear you decry of a dog when gone rabid, than listen two hours The Muses?

To the torrent of trash which around him he pours, Tra. Excuse me: I meant no offence

Pump'd up with such effort, disgorgeil with such To the Nine; though the number who make some labour, pretence

That-come-do not make me speak ill of one's To their favours is such--but the subject to drop,

neighbour. I am just piping hot from a publisher's shop,

Tra. I make you ! (Next door to the pastry-cook's; so that when I


Yes, you! I said nothing until Cannot find the new volume I wanted to buy

You compelled me, by speaking the truthOn the bibliopole's shelves, it is only two paces,


To speak ill! As one finds every author in one of those places:) Is that your deduction : Where I just had been skimming a charming critique, Ink,

When speaking of Scamp ill, So studded with wit, and so sprinkled with Greek! I certainly follow, not set an example. Where your friend-you know who-has just got such The fellow 's a fool, an impostor, a zany. a thrashing,

Tra. And the crowd of to-day shows that one fool That it is, as the phrase goes, extremely "refresh

makes many. ing."

But we two will be wise. What a beautiful word!


Pray, then, let us retire. Ink. Very true ; 'tis so soft

Tra. I would, but And so cooling-they use it a little too oft; "

Ink. There must be attraction much higher And the papers have got it at last-but no inatter. Than Scamp, or the Jew's harp he nicknames his So they 've cut up our friend, then?

Tyre, Tra.

Not left him a tatter- To call you to this hotbed.

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I own it-tis true

Tra. But consider, dear Inkel, she's one of the A fair lady

"Blues." Ink. A spinster?

| luk. As sublime -Mr. Tracy-I've nothing to say. Tra,

Miss Lilac !

Stick to prose-As sublime! But I wish you good Ink.

The Blue !

day. The heiress ?

Tra. Nay, stay, my dear fellow--consider-I'm Tra. The angel!

wrong ; Ink.

The devil! why, man, I own it ; but, prithec, compose me the song. Pray get out of the hobble as fast as you can.

Ink. As sublime !! You wed with Miss Lilac ! 't would be your per. Tra.

I but used the expression in haste. dition!

Ink. That may be, Mr. Tracy, but shows damn'd She's a poet, a chemist, a mathematician.

bad taste. Tra. I say she's an angel.

Tra. I own it-I know it-acknowledge it-what Ink.

Say rather an angle. Can I say to you more ! If you and she marry, you 'll certainly wrangle.

I see what you'd be at: I say she's a Blue, man, as blue as the ether.

You disparage my parts with insidious abuse, Tra. And is that any cause for not coming together! Till you think you can turn them best to your own Ink. Humph! I can't say I know any happy

use. alliance

| Tra. And is that not a sign I respect them? Which has lately sprung up from a wedlock with Ink.

Why that science.

To be sure makes a difference. She's so learned in all things, and fond of concerning Tra,

I know what is what; Herself in all matters connected with learning, And you, who 're a man of the gay world no less That

Than a poet of t' other, may easily guess Tra. What?

That I never could mean, by a word, to offend Ink. I perhaps may as well hold my tongue; A genius like you, and moreover, my friend. But there's five hundred people can tell you you 're Ink. No doubt; you by this time should know what wrong.

is due Tra. You forget Lady Lilac 's as rich as a Jew. Toa man of_but come let us shake hands. Ink. Is it miss or the cash of mamma you pursue? | Tra.

You knew, Tra. Why, Jack, I'll be frank with you-something And you know, my dear fellow, how heartily I of both.

Whatever you publish, am ready to buy. The girl's a fine girl.

i Tok. That's my bookseller's business; I care not for Ink. And you feel nothing loth

sale; To her good lady-mother's reversion; and yet Indeed the best poems at first rather fail. Her life is as good as your own, I will bet.

There were Renegade's epics, and Botherby's plays, Tra, Let her live, and as long as she likes; I de- And my own grand romance mand


Had its full share of praise. Nothing more than the heart of her daughter and I myself saw it puff d in the "Old Girl's Review." hand.

Ink. What Review ? Ink. Why, that heart's in the inkstand-that land Tra. 'Tis the English “ Journal de Trevoux;" on the pen.

A clerical work of our Jesuits at home. Tra. Apropos-Will you write me a song now and Have you never yet seen it? then ?


That pleasure 's to come. Ink. To what purpose ?

Tra, Make haste then, Tra, You know, my dear friend, that in prose, Ink.

Why so? My talent is decent, as far as it goes;


I have heard people say But in rhyme--

That it threaten'd to give up the ghost t' other day. Ink.

You're a terrible stick, to be sure. Ink. Well, that is a sign of some spirit, Tra. I own it: and yet, in these times, there's no Tra.

No doubt. lure

Shall you be at the Countess of Fiddlecome's rout! For the heart of the fair like a stanza or two;

Ink. I've a card, and shall go; but at present, as And so, as I can't, will you furnish a few ?

soon Ink. In your name?

As friend Scamp shall be pleased to step down from Tra. In my name. I will copy

the moon them out,

l(Where he seems to be soaring in search of his wits). To slip into her hand at the very next rout.

And an interval grants from his lecturing fits, Ink. Are you so far advanced as to hazard this ! I'm engaged to the Lady Bluebottle's collation, Tra.

Why, To partake of a luncheon and learn'd conversation : Do you think me subdued by a Blue-stocking's eye, 'Tis a sort of reunion for Scamp, on the days So far as to tremble to tell her in rhyme

Tof his lecture, to treat him with cold tongue and What I've told her in prose, at the least, as subline?

praise. Ink. As sublime 1 If it be so, no need of my And I own, for my own part, that 'tis not unplea. Muse,



Will you go? There's Miss Lilac will also be pre-Enter Lady Bluebottle, Miss Lilac, Lady Bluemount, sent.

Mr. Botherby, Inkel, Tracy, Miss Mazarine, aur Tra. That "metal's attractive."

others, with Scamp the Lecturer, Ink.

No doubt-to the pocket. Lady Blueb. Ah: Sir Richard, good morning : Tra. You should rather encourage my passion than

I've brought you some friends. shock it.

Sir Rich.( bows, and afterwards a side). If friends, But let us proceed; for I think by the hum

they're the first, Ink, Very true ; let us go, then, before they can Lady Blueb.

But the luncheon attends, come,

I pray ye be seated, " sans cérémonie." Or else we'll be kept here an hour at their levée, Mr. Scamp, you're fatigued; take your chair there On the rack of cross questions, by all the blue bevy. next me.

(They all sit. Hark! Zounds, they'll be on us ; I know by the drone Sir Rich. (aside). If he does, his fatigue is to come. Of old Botherby's spouting ex-cathedrå tone.

Lady Blueb.

Mr. Tracy-
Ay! there he is at it. Poor Scamp ! better join Lady Bluemount-Miss Lilac-be pleased, pray, to
Your friends, or he'll pay you back in your own coin. place ye;
Tra, All fair; 'tis but lecture for lecture.

And you, Mr. Botherby-
That's clear. Both.

Oh, my dear Lady,
But for God's sake, let's go, or the Bore will be here. I obey.
Come, come: nay, I'm off.

(Exil Inkel. Lady Blueb. Mr. Inkel, I ought to upbraid ye; Tra.

You are right, and I'll follow You were not at the lecture. 'Tis high time for a "Sic me servavit d pollo."

Excuse me, I was ; And yet we shall have the whole crew on our kibes, But the heat forced me out in the best part-alas! Blues, dandies, and dowagers, and second-hand And when scribes,

Lady Blueb. To be sure it was broiling ; but then All flocking to moisten their exquisite throttles

You have lost such a lecture ! With a glass of Madeira at Lady Bluebottle's.


The best of the ten. (Exit Tracy.

Tra. How can you know that there are two more. END OF ECLOGUE THE FIRST.


I defy him to bcat this day's wondrous applause.

The very walls shook.


Oh, if that be the test, An Apartment in the House of Lady Bluebottle. I allow our friend Scamp has this day done his best, A Table prepared.

Miss Lilac, permit me to help you ;-a wing?

Miss Lil. No more, sir, I thank you. Who lectures Sir Richard Bluebottle solus.

next spring ? Was there ever a man who was married so sorry? Both. Dick Dunder. Like a fool, I must needs do the thing in a hurry. Ink.

That is, if he lives. My life is reversed, and my quiet destroy'd ;

Miss Lil.

And why not? My days, which once pass'd in so gentle a void,

Tork. No reason whatever, save that he's a sot. Must now, every hour of the twelve, be employ'd; Lady Bluemount ! a glass of Madeira! The twelve, do I say ?-of the whole twenty-four, | Lady Bluem.

With pleasure. Is there one which I dare call my own any more? Ink. How does your friend Wordswords, that WinWhat with driving and visiting, dancing and dining,

dermere treasure ! What with learning, and teaching, and scribbling Does he stick to his lakes, like the leeches he sings, and shining,

And their gatherers, as Homer sung warriors and In science and art, I'll be curst if I know

kings? Myself from my wife; for although we are two, Lady Bluem. He has just got a place. Yet she somehow contrives that all things shall bel Ink,

As a footman done

Lady Blutem.

For shame! In a style which proclaims us eternally one.

Nor profane with your sneers so poetic a name. But the thing of all things which distresses me more Ink. Nay, I meant himn no evil, but pitied his Than the bills of the week (though they trouble me master; sore)

For the poet of pedlars 't were, sure, no disaster Is the numerous, humorous, backbiting crew

To wear a new livery; the more, as 'tis not Of scribblers, wits, lecturers, white, black, and blue. The first time he has turn'd both his creed and his Who are brought to my house as an inn, to my cost

coat. For the bill here, it seems, is defray'd by the host Lady Bluem. For shame! I repeat. If Sir George No pleasure ! no leisure ! no thought for my pains,

could but hearBut to hear a vile jargon which addles my brains; | Lady Blueb. Never mind our friend Inkel; we all A smatter and chatter, glean'd out of reviews,

know, my dear, By the rag, tag. and bobtail of those they call 'Tis his way. "BLUES;"

Sir Rich. But this place. A rabble who know not-But soft, here they come: muk.

19 perhaps like friend Scamp's, Would to God I were deafl as I'm not, I'll be dumb. A lecturer's.

Lady Binem. Excuse me--'tis one in the " Stamps :"! Ink,

Never mind mine; . He is made a collector.

Stick to those of your play, which is quite your own Tra. Collector !

line. Sir Rich.


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


of rhymes ? Ink. I shall think of himn oft when I buy a new hat: Ink. Yes, ma'am; and a fugitive reader sometimes. There his works will appear

On Wordswords, for instance, I seldom alight, Lady Bluem. Sir, they reach to the Ganges. Or on Mouthey, his friend, without taking to fight. Ink. I shan't go so far -- I can have them at Lady Bluem. Sir, your taste is too common; but Grange's.*

time and posterity Lady Bluem. Oh fie!

Will right these great men, and this age's severity
Miss Lil.
And for shame!

Become its reproach.
Lady Bluem.
You're too bad. Ink.

I've no sort of objection,

Very good : So I'm not of the party to take the infection. Lady Bluem. How good?

Lady Blueb. Perhaps you have doubts that they Lady Blueb. He means nought-'tis his phrase.

ever will take ? Lady Bluem.

He grows rude. Ink. Not at all; on the contrary, those of the lake Lady Blueb. He means nothing; nay, ask him.

Have taken already, and still will continue Lady Bluem.

Pray, sir! did you mean To take what they can, from a groat to a cuinea. What you say?

of pension or place;-but the subject's a bore, Ink,

Never mind if he did ; 't will be seen! Lady Bliteit. Well, sir, the time's coming. That whatever he means won't alloy what he says.


Scamp! don't you feel sore Doth. Sir!

What say you to this? Ink. Pray be content with your portion of praise ;


They have merit, I own; 'T was in your defence.

Though their system's absurdity keeps it unknown. Both.

If you please. with submission. Ink. Then why not unearth it in one of your loc. I can make out my own.

tures? Ink. It would be your perdition.

Scamp. It is only time past which comes under my While you live, iny dear Botherby, never defend

strictures. Yourself or your works; but leave both to a friend.

Lady Blueb. Come, a truce with all tartness ;-the Apropos-Is your play then accepted at last ?

joy of my heart Both. At last?

Is to see Nature's triumph o'er all that is art. Ink. Why I thought--that's to say-there had/Wild Nature !---Grand Shakspeare !


And down Aristotle! pass'd

w Lady Bluem, Sir George thinks exactly with Lady A few green-room whispers, which hinted,--you know That the taste of the actors at best is

Bluebottie Both, Sir, the green-room's in rapture, and so's the And my Lord Seventy-four, who protects our deur Committee.

Bard, Ink. Ay-yours are the plays for exciting our " pity

itu And who gave him his place, has the greatest regard And fear," as the Greek says: for “purging the

the For the poet, who, singing of pedlars and asses, mind,"

Has found out the way to dispense with Parnassus I doubt if you'll leave us an equal behind.

Tra. And you, Scamp ! Both. I have written the prologue, and meant to

Scamp. I needs must confess I'm embarrass'd.

Ink. Don't call upon Scamp, who's already 90 have pray'd or a spice of your wit in an epilogue's aid.

harass d Iuk. Well, time enough vet, when the play's to be With old schools, and new schoo?s, and no schools, play'd.

and all schools. Is it cast yet!

Tra. Well, one thing is certain, that some must be Both. The actors are fighting for parts,

fools. As is usual in that most litigious of arts.

I should like to know who.

And I should not be sorry lady blueb. We'll all make a party, and g

To know who are not :-it would save us some worry. first night.

Lady Blieb. A truce with remark, and let nothing Tra, And you promised the epilogue, Inkel.

control Ink.

Not quite. This

This " feast of our reason and flow of the soul." However, to save my friend Botherby trouble,

Joh! my dear Mr. Botherby ! sympathise !I I'll do what I can, though my pains must be double.

Now feel such a rapture, I'm ready to fly,
Trar. Why so ?

I feel so elastic-"so broyant-So buoyant !**
To do justice to what goes before.

Ink. Tracy! open the window.
Both. Sir, I'm happy to say, I've no fears on that


I wish her much joy on't score.

Both. For God's sake, my Lady Bluebottle, check Your parts, Mr. Inkel, are


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

• Fact froin life, with the words.

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