Who disbelieve (the Lord be thanked!)
Th' aforesaid Chapter of the Blanket.
The same mild views of Toleration
Inspire, I find, this button'd nation,
Whose Papists (full as giv'n to rogue,
And only Sunnites with a brogue)
Fare just as well, with all their fuss,
As rascal Sunnites do with us.

The tender Gazel I enclose
Is for my love, my Syrian Rose
Take it when night begins to fall,
And throw it o'er her mother's wall.

GAZEL.

REMEMBEREST thou the hour we past, That hour the happiest and the last? Oh! not so sweet the Siha thorn

To summer bees, at break of morn,

Not half so sweet, through dale and dell,

To Camels' ears the tinkling bell,

As is the soothing memory

Of that one precious hour to me.

How can we live, so far apart?
Oh! why not rather, heart to heart,
United live and die

Like those sweet birds, that fly together,
With feather always touching feather,

Link'd by a hook and eye! *

* This will appear strange to an English reader, but it is literally translated from Abdallah's Persian, and the curious bird to which he alludes is the Juftak, of which I find the following account in Richardson: -"A sort of bird, that is said to have but one wing; on the opposite side to which the male has a hook and the female a ring, so that, when they fly, they are fastened together."

LETTER VII.

FROM MESSRS. L-CK-GT-N AND CO.

PER Post, Sir, we send your MS.-look'd it thro'

Very sorry but can't undertake — 'twouldn't do.

Clever work, Sir!-would get up prodigiously wellIts only defect is it never would sell.

And though Statesmen may glory in being unbought, In an Author 'tis not so desirable thought.

Hard times, Sir, - most books are too dear to

be read

Though the gold of Good-sense and Wit's smallchange are fled,

Yet the paper we Publishers pass, in their stead, Rises higher each day, and ('tis frightful to think it) Not even such names as F-tzg-r-d's can sink it!

* From motives of delicacy, and, indeed, of fellow-feeling, I suppress the name of the Author, whose rejected manuscript was inclosed in this letter. See the Appendix.

However, Sir-if you're for trying again,

And at somewhat that's vendible we are your

men.

Since the Chevalier C-rr* took to marrying

lately,

The Trade is in want of a Traveller greatly

No job, Sir, more easy-your Country once plann d,
A month aboard ship and a fortnight on land
Puts your Quarto of Travels, Sir, clean out of
hand.

An East-India pamphlet's a thing that would tellAnd a lick at the Papists is sure to sell well. Or-supposing you've nothing original in you-Write Parodies, Sir, and such fame it will win you, You'll get to the Blue-stocking Routs of Albinia! + (Mind—not to her dinners a second-hand Muse Mustn't think of aspiring to mess with the Blues.)

Sir John Carr, the author of "Tours in Ireland, Holland, Sweden," &c. &c.

+ This alludes, I believe, to a curious correspondence, which is said to have passed lately between Alb-n-a, Countess of B-ck—gh—ms—e, and a certain ingenious Parodist.

Or-in case nothing else in this world you can do The deuce is in't, Sir, if you cannot review!

Should you feel any touch of poetical glow,

We've a Scheme to suggest― Mr. Sc-tt, you must

know,

(Who, we're sorry to say it, now works for the

Row *,)

Having quitted the Borders, to seek new renown,
Is coming, by long Quarto stages, to Town;
And beginning with Rokeby (the job's sure to

pay)

Means to do all the Gentlemen's Seats on the way. Now, the Scheme is (though none of our hackneys can beat him)

To start a fresh Poet through Highgate to meet

him;

Who, by means of quick proofs - no revises — long

May do a few Villas, before Sc-tt approaches.
Indeed, if our Pegasus be not curst shabby,

He'll reach, without found'ring, at least Woburn-
Abbey.

* Paternoster Row.