All pressing, addressing, caressing, and fond, Just the same as those animals are in a pond : You've read all their names in the news, I sup

pose,

But, for fear you have not, take the list as it goes: There was Lady Greasewrister,

And Madam Van-Twister,

Her Ladyship's sister:

Lord Cram, and Lord Vulture,
Sir Brandish O'Culter,
With Marshal Carouzer,
And old Lady Mouzer,

And the great Hanoverian Baron Pansmowzer :
Besides many others, who all in the rain went,
On purpose to honour this great entertainment:
The company made a most brilliant appearance,
And ate bread and butter with great perseverance :
All the chocolate too, that my Lord set before 'em,
The ladies despatch'd with the utmost decorum.
Soft musical numbers were heard all around,
The horns and the clarions echoing sound:

Sweet were the strains, as odorous gales that blow

O'er fragrant banks, where pinks and roses

grow.

The Peer was quite ravish'd, while close to his

side

Sat Lady Bunbutter, in beautiful pride!

Oft turning his eyes, he with rapture survey'd All the powerful charms she so nobly display'd: As when at the feast of the great Alexander, Timotheus, the musical son of Thersander, Breathed heavenly measures.

O! had I a voice that was stronger than steel, With twice fifty tongues to express what I feel, And as many good mouths, yet I never could

utter

All the speeches my Lord made to Lady Bunbutter !

So polite all the time, that he ne'er touch'd a bit, While she ate up his rolls and applauded his wit: For they tell me that men of true taste, when they treat,

Should talk a great deal, but they never should

eat:

And if that be the fashion, I never will give
Any grand entertainment as long as I live:
For I'm of opinion 'tis proper to cheer
The stomach and bowels as well as the ear.
Nor me did the charming concerto of Abel
Regale like the breakfast I saw on the table:
I freely will own I the muffins preferr❜d
To all the genteel conversation I heard.
E'en though I'd the honour of sitting between
My Lady Stuff-damask and Peggy Moreen,
Who both flew to Bath in the nightly machine.
Cries Peggy, "This place is enchantingly pretty;
We never can see such a thing in the city :

You may spend all your lifetime in Cateatonstreet,

And never so civil a gentleman meet;

You may talk what you please; you may search London through:

You may go to Carlisle's, and to Almanac's too : And I'll give you my head if you find such a

host,

For coffee, tea, chocolate, butter, and toast:

How he welcomes at once all the world and his

wife,

And how civil to folk he ne'er saw in his life!""These horns," cries my Lady, so tickle one's

ear, :

66

Lard! what would I give that Sir Simon was here!

To the next public breakfast Sir Simon shall go, For I find here are folks one may venture to

know:

Sir Simon would gladly his Lordship attend, And my Lord would be pleased with so cheerful a friend."

So when we had wasted more bread at a breakfast

Than the poor of our parish have ate for this

week past,

I saw, all at once, a prodigious great throng Come bustling, and rustling, and jostling along : For his Lordship was pleased that the company

now

To my Lady Bunbutter should curtsy and bow : And my Lady was pleased too, and seem'd vastly

proud

At once to receive all the thanks of a crowd:
And when, like Chaldeans, we all had adored
This beautiful image set up by my Lord,
Some few insignificant folk went away,

Just to follow the employments and calls of the

day;

But those who knew better their time how to

spend,

The fiddling and dancing all chose to attend.

Miss Clunch and Sir Toby perform'd a Cotillion, Just the same as our Susan and Bob the postilion;

All the while her mamma was expressing her joy, That her daughter the morning so well could employ.

--Now, why should the Muse, my dear mother, relate

The misfortunes that fall to the lot of the great? As homeward we came-'tis with sorrow you'll

hear

What a dreadful disaster attended the Peer:
For whether some envious god had decreed
That a Naiad should long to ennoble her breed;
Or whether his Lordship was charm'd to behold
His face in the stream, like Narcissus of old;
In handing old Lady Bumfidget and daughter,
This obsequious Lord tumbled into the water;
But a nymph of the flood brought him safe to
the boat,

And I left all the ladies a-cleaning his coat.

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.

BORN 1728-DIED 1775.

IF the best poetry be that which gives the most pleasure to the greatest number of readers, there are few poetical characters that rank higher than the author of the Deserted Village and the Traveller; and if any thing can

heighten this pleasure, it must be an intimate knowledge of the amusing vanities and eccentricities of the poet. Goldsmith was born in the parish of Ferney, in the county of Longford, in Ireland. His father was a clergyman, and is supposed to have been sketched by his son in his Village Pastor. Henry, the eldest son of the family, took orders; and, as it was found inconvenient to bestow a learned education on the poet, he was intended for some mercantile employment; but, from certain early indications of genius, this destination was changed, and Oliver was entered a sizer of Trinity College, Dublin. His residence at the university was chiefly distinguished by squabbles with a harsh and severe tutor, whose violence made the young student at one time run off from college. After completing his course at the university, young Oliver showed so decided an aversion to the church, that his destination was once more changed, and about 1772 he was sent to Edinburgh to study medicine. Before this period he had, on several occasions, discovered the imprudence and excessive eccentricity of his disposi tion; and, instead of his declining to take orders, it is stated, that he was refused ordination from appearing before the bishop on the solemn occasion in a pair of flaming red breeches. In the interval, between leaving Trinity College and going to Edinburgh, he became a tutor in a family, where he felt himself so ill at ease, that, having earned about L.30, he instantly bought a horse, and set forth in quest of adventures, and with the ridiculous scheme of establishing himself in life. By a narrow chance he was prevented from sailing to America; and at the end of six weeks, after a series of whimsical adventures, he returned to his widowed mother without a penny in his pocket, and mounted on an old garron, which he named Fiddleback. Nothing can be more characteristic of this Irish son of the Muses, than the blended humour and simplicity of his observation to