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When time has pour'd his warm and soften- While I, deserted, the cold pangs deplore, ing glow

Or breathe the wrath which slighted beauty O'er that pale virgin's * throbbing breast of feels.

When first I entered glad, with glad mamma, And lent the settled majesty of years

The girls were ranged and clustered round To those grim Spahis and those proud viziers;

us then ; From distant lands the ardent youth shall Few beaux were there, those few with scorn To gaze with admiration-breathless

Unknowing Dandies that could come at ten. dumb To fix his eyes, like orbs of marble, there! My buoyant heart beat high with promised And let his soul luxuriate in despair.

pleasure, Posterity! Ah, what's a name to thee! My dancing garland moved with airy grace; What Raphael is, my Allan then shall be. Quick beat my active toe to Gow's gay meaAs the writer of the present notice

And undissembled triumph wreathed my intends to publish in a separate form face. the poetical verses of Odoherty, with authentic portraits of his friends, it is Fancy prospective took a proud survey not necessary to quote any more of Even where I stood my legs began to play

Of all the coming glories of the night; these effusions now. The pleasantry So racers paw the turf e'er jockeys smite. of the Ensign was always harmless, and his very satire was both dart and And “who shall be my partner first ?” I balsam. He never condescended to

said, personalities, except in one solitary

As my thoughts glided o'er the coming

beaux ; instance, in a song, entitled, The

“ Not Tom, nor Ned, nor Jack,”—I tossYoung Man of the West," composed

ed my head, upon Mr James Grahame, the famous Nice grew my taste, and high my scorn Anti-Malthusian philosopher. This song he used to sing with great hum

“ If Dicky asks me, I shall spit and sprain ; our, to the tune of “ A Cobler there When Sam approaches, headachs I will was, &c.” but though frequently urg- mention ; ed to do so, he never would print it; I'll freeze the colonel's heart with cold disand on his own manuscript copy there

dain :" is this note, “ Let the Young Man of Thus cruelly ran on my glib invention. the West be destroyed,” an injunction while yet my fancy revelled in her dreams, which has since been scrupulously The sets are forming, and the fiddles scrapcomplied with.

During one of those brilliant even- Gow's wakening chord a stirring, prelude ings at the Dilettanti, which, says our bard in a letter to the present writer, The beaux are quizzing, and the misses - will for ever live in the memory of

gaping all who enjoyed them,” the conversa- Beau after beau approaches, bows, and tion ran upon the Italian improvisa- smiles, tori. Odoherty remarked, that the Quick to the dangler's arm springs glad power which appeared to many so


; wonderful, was

Pair after pair augments the sparkling files, no way uncommon, and offered to recite, or write down

And full upon my ear “ THE TRIUMPH”

swells. currente calamo, a poem upon any given subject. The president proposed i flirt my fan in time with the mad fiddle, « An Elegy, by a Young Lady in a

My eye pursues the dancers' motions flying ; Ball-room disappointed of a Partner,”

Cross hands ! Balancez ! down and up the

middle ! and the Adjutant wrote down the fol

To join the revel how my heart is dying. lowing twenty four-line stanzas in fifty-three minutes nineteen seconds by One miss sits clown all glowing from the dance, a stop-watch. Such an achievement Another rises, and another yet; throws the admirable Crichton into

Beaux upon belles, and belles on beaux ad. the shade.

The tune unending, ever full the set.
Elegy written in a Ball-room.

At last a pause there comes to Gow's keen
THE beaux are jogging on the pictured floor, hand
The belles responsive trip with lightsome The hurrying lacky hands the enlivening


The misses sip the ices where they stand, Circassian captive.

And gather vigour to renew the sport.







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asses !”

I round the room dispense a wistful glance, female hand on hot-pressed gilt paper,
Wish Ned, or Dick, or Tom, would crave

is intended to explain the great lead-
the honour;

ing object of the poem : I hear Sam whisper to Miss B., “ Dom dance,

There was a time when every sort of people And launch a withering scowl of envy on her. Created, relished, and commended jokes;

But now a joker's stared at, like a steeple, Sir Billy capers up to Lady Di;

By the majority of Christian folks. In vain I cough as gay Sir Billy passes ;

Dulness has tanned her hide to thickness
The Major asks my sister-faint I sigh,
“ Well after this the men are grown such

And Observation sets one in the stocks,

When you've been known a comic song to
In vain ! in vain ! again the dancers mingle, sing,
With lazy eye I watch the busy scene, Write notices, or any harmless thing.
Far on the pillowed sofa sad and single,
Languid the attitude-but sharp the spleen. This Edinburgh, Edina, or Dunedin-

('Cleped, in the Bailie's lingo, " the Good “ La! ma'am, how hot !". “ You're quite

Town;" fatigued, I see;"

But styled “ Auld Reekie” by all Celts now “ What a long dance !”. _“ And so you're treading come to town!”

Her streets, bows, wynds, lanes, crescents, Such casual whispers are addressed to me,

up and down, But not one hint to lead the next set down.

Her labyrinths of stairs and closes threading The third, the fourth, the fifth, the sixth,

On other people's business or their own

Those bandy, broad-faced, rough-kneed, are gone, And now the seventh- and yet I'm asked

ragged laddies

Those horny-fisted, those gill-swigging cad. not once!

dies.) When supper comes must I descend alone ? Does Fate deny me my last prayer--a dunce?

This Edinburgh some call Metropolis, Mamma supports me to the room for mun- And Capital, and Athens of the Northching,

I know not what they mean..I'm sure of There turkey's breast she crams, and wing

this,of pullet ;

Tho’she abounds in men of sense and worth, I slobbering jelly, and hard nuts am crunch- Her staple and predominant qualities ing,

Are ignorance, and nonsense, and so forth;
And pouring tuns of trifle down my gullet. I don't like making use of a hard word,

But 'tis the merest hum I ever heard.
No beau invites me to a glass of sherry ;
Above me stops the salver of champaigne ; There's our Mackenzie ; all with veneration
While all the rest are tossing brimmers merry, See him that Harley felt and Caustic drew :
I with cold water comfort my disdain. There's Scott, the pride and darling of his
Ye bucks of Edinburgh! ye tasteless crea-


Poet and cavalier, kind, generous, true. tures! Ye vapid Dandies ! how I scorn you all !

There's Jeffrey, who has been the botheration Green slender slips, with pale cheese-pairing of the whole world with his glib sharp Review, features,

And made most young Scots lawyers mad And awkward, lumbring, red-faced boobies

with whiggerytall.

There's Leslie, Stewart, Alison, and Gregory. Strange compounds of the beau and the at- But these and some few others being named, torney!

I don't remember one more great gun in her; Raw lairds ! and school-boys for a whisker The remanent population can't be blamed, shaving!

Because their chief concern in life's their May injured beauty's glance of fury burn ye!

dinner. I hate you-clowns and fools ! but hah ! To give examples I should be ashamed, -I'm raving!

And people would cry, “ Lord ! that wicked We shall now take leave, for the (For all we gentry here are quite egg-shells,

sinner!” present, of Odoherty and the Dilet- We can't endure jokes that come near "oora tanti Society, with an extract from

sells.) his longest and latest poem, entitled “ Young's Night Thoughts” (a hu- They say that knowledge is diffused and morous allusion to the before-men

general, tioned celebrated tavern). Lively as

And taste and understanding are so common, this strain is, we can scarcely read it Than listen to a criticising woman.


I'd rather see a sweep-boy suck a penny roll, without tears; for it was, we repeat, And as for poetry, the time of dinner all, the very

last of his works here below. Thank God, I then have better things to do, The following proem, copied by a



Exceptions 'gainst the fair were coarse and Down Prince's Street I once or twice paraded, shocking

And gazed upon these same eternal faces ; I've seen in breeches many a true blue Those beardless beaux and bearded belles, stocking

those faded Blue Stocking stands, in my vocabulary,

And flashy silks, surtouts, pelisses, laces; For one that always chatters (sex is nothing) Those crowds of clerks, astride on hackneys

jaded, About new books from June to January, And with re-echoed carpings moves your Prancing and capering with notorial grace ; loathing

Dreaming enthusiasts who indulge vain

whimsies, I like to see young people smart and airy,

That they might pass in Bond Street or St With well dressed hair and fashionable

James's. clothing,

I saw equestrian and pedestrian vanish Can't they discourse about ball, rout, or play, And know reviewing's quite out of their way? And some of kind gregarious, and more

-One to a herring in his lonely shop, It strikes me as a thing exceeding stupid,

clanish, This conversation about books, books, books, To club at Waters' for a mutton-chop ; When I was young, and sat midst datusels Myself resolved for once my cares to banish, grouped,

And give the Cerberus of thought a sop, I talked of roses, zephyrs, gurgling brooks, Got Jack's, and Sam's, and Dick's, and Venus, the Graces, Dian, Hymen, Cupid,

Tom's consent, Perilous glances, soul-subduing looks, And o'er the Mound to Billy Young's we Slim tapering fingers, glossy clustering curls, Diamonds and emeralds, cairngorms and I am not nice, I care not what I dine on, pearls.

A sheep's head or beef-steak is all I wish; On Una that made sunshine in the shade, Old Homer! how he loved the squagay orvoy And Emily with eye of liquid jet,

It is the glass that glorifies the dish. And gentle Desdemona, and the maid The thing that I have always set my mind on That sleeps within the tomb of Capulet (A small foundation laid of fowl, flesh, fish) Hearts love to ponder--would it not degrade is out of bottle, pitcher, or punch-bowl, Dur notion of a nymph like Juliet,

To suck reviving solace to my soul. To be informed that she had just read thro' Life's a dull dusty desert, waste and drear, Last Number of the Edinburgh Review ? With now and then an oasis between, Leave ye to dominies and sticker stibblers, Where palm-trees rise, and fountains gushAnd all the sedentary generation, The endless chitter-chatter about scribblers, Burst 'neath the shelter of that leafy screen ; And England's melancholy situation. Haste not your parting steps, when such apLet them be still the customary nibblers

pear, Of all that rule or edify the nation ; Repose, ye weary travellers, on the green, Leave off the corn-bill, and the law of libel, Horace and Milton, Dante, Burns, and And read the Pilgrim's Progress or your Bible.

Schiller, From the poem itself we quote

Dined at a tavern-when they had “the

siller.” the following stanzas, without any remarks, convinced that their simple At Florence, London, Weimar, Rome, May

And ne'er did poet, epical or tragical, elegance and unaffected grace stand

bole, in no need of the critics recommend.

See time's dark lanthern glow with hues ation.

more magical I rose this morning about half past nine, Than I have witnessed in the Coffin-hole. At Breakfast coffee I consumed pour quatre, Praise of antiquity a bam and fudge I-call, Unnumbered rolls enriched with marmalade Ne'er past the present let my wishes roll ; fine,

A fig for all comparing, croaking grumblers, And little balls of butter dished in water, Hear me, dear dimpling Billy, bring the Three eggs, two plateful of superb cold chine

tumblers. (Much recommended to make thin folks Let blank verse hero, or Spenserian rhymer, fatter);

Treat Donna Musa with chateau-margout, And having thus my ballast stow'd on board, Chateau-la-filte, Johannisberg, Hocheimer, Roamed forth to kill a day's time like a lord. In tall outlandish glasses green and blue. How I contrived to pass the whole forenoon, Thanks to my stars, myself,a doggrel-chimer, I can't remember though my life were on it; Have nothing with such costly tastes to do; I helped G. T, in jotting of a tune,

My muse is always kindest when I court her, And hinted rhymes to G--s for a sonnet ;

O'er whisky-punch, gin-twist, strong beer Called at the Knox's shop with Miss Balloon, And heard her ipsa dixit on a bonnet ; And O, my pipe, though in these Dandy days Then washed my mouth with ices, tarts, Few love thee, fewer still their love confess, and flummeries,

Ne'er let me blush to celebrate thy praise, And ginger-beer and soda, at Montgomery's. Divine invention of the age of Bess!

ing clear

and porter.



I for a moment interrupt my lays

But then the smoke's too near the eye by far, The tiny tube with loving lip to press, And out of doors 'tis in a twinkling flown; I'll then come back with a reviving zest, And somehow it sets all my teeth ajar, And give thee three more stanzas of my best. When to an inch or so we've smoked him

down ; (I smoke.)

And if your leaf have got a straw within it, Pipe! whether plain in fashion of Frey-herr, You know 'tis like a cinder in a minute. Or gaudy glittering in the taste of Boor, Deep-darkened Meer-schaum or Ecume-de. I have no doubt a long excursive hooker

Suits well some lordly lounger of Bengal, Or snowy clay of Gowda, light and pure. Who never writes, or looks into a book, or Let different people different pipes prefer, Does any thing with earnestness at all : Delft, horn, or catgut, long, short, older, He sits, and his tobacco's in the nook, or

Tended by some black heathen in the hall, Puff, every brother, as it likes him best,

Lays up his legs, and thinks he does great De gustibus non disputandum est.


If once in the half hour a puff he brings. Pipe ! when I stuff into thee my canaster, With flower of camomil and leaf of rose,

I rather follow in my smoking trim And the calm rising fume comes fast and

The example of Scots cottars and their faster,

wives, Curling with balmy circles near my nose, And all the while my dexter hand is master

Who, while the evening air is warm and dim,

In July sit beside their garden hives ; Of the full cup from Meux's vat that flows, Heavens! all my brain a soft oblivion wraps To see how the concern of honey thrives,

And, gazing all the while with wrinkles grim, Of wafered letters and of single taps.

Empty before they've done a four-ounce bag I've no objections to a good segar,

Of sailors' twist, or, what's less common A true Havannah, smooth, and moist, and shag. brown;

(To be continued.)



[The two following classical jeux d'esprit are extracted from the works of the Rev Francis Wrangham (3 vols 8vo. Baldwin & Co. London, 1816), one of the most accomplished of our living English scholars, and distinguished at the university of Cambridge as the successful competitor of the celebrated Tweddell. We intend, in an early Num. ber, to offer some remarks on that class of writers of which we consider him an honourable representative. EDITOR.]

Dialogue I.

Παντοιων στοματων λαλον εικονα, ποιμεσιν ηδυ

Can Echo speak the tongue of every country? Echo. Try.

Te virginem si fortè poscam erotica?

Ερω ταχα. Ma si ti sopra il futuro questionerò ?

Ετεον ερώ.
Et puis-je te parler sur des choses passées ?

Dic mihi quæso virum, vitiis cui tot bona parta : BUONAPARTE.
Whom once Sir Sidney drove with shame from Acre. A cur !
T' unlock our India, France would make of Turkey– Her key.
Would she then seize Madras, Bombay, Bengal ? All.
And did her chief fly Egypt, when most needed ? He did.
Whom is he like, who thrives but by escaping ? Scapin.
Croyez vous aux histoires, qu'en dit Denon?

What are the arms with which he now fights Britons ? High tones.
Ususne in istius minus fuit aliquis ?

All a quiz !
Quid nobis iterat tanto hic jactator hiatu ?

" I hate

you. Qu'il vienne aussitôt qu'il le veut, ce grand homme ! A grand hum! Nectit at ille moras, pelagusque horrere putatur ! Peut-être. You'd think him then mad, if his forces he march here ? As a March hare. Where does he wish those forces' wafted over?

To Dover. Granted-what would they be, ere led to London ? All undone. Can George then thrash by land the Corsican?

He cay,

But what, if he should chance to meet our navy?
Τετω γ' αρ' εχθρα γη τε και θαλασσ' εφυ;
Atqui, ceu Xerxes, nostris fugere actus ab oris
And hence he swears, he'll ne'er again turn fiyer.
How best shall England quell his high pretences ?
Et qu'est ce qu'elle montrera, pour calmer cet inquiet?
Ast unco ductus pænas dabis, improbe, Gallis.
E chi ti vedrà morto, Ben gli sta" griderà.

A few.
A bore is.
Liar !
Paret enses.

Dialogue II.

Of gall.

All agree.


Rot'em, I say.

-Quæ nec reticere loquenti,

Nec prior ipsa loqui potuit.
Again I call; sweet Maid, come echo me. Есно. Ессоті?
Tell me, of what consists the heart of Gaul:
Her mad caprices in her ancient shape;

Ape !
Her present taste, for blood and riot eager.

Tigre! Tell, of what God her sons are now the votaries; Agns. And whose before, so wolvish grown and ravenous : Venus. Wretches, as changeful as the changing ocean!

O chiens !
Au roi, qui les aimoit, ils ont frappé le cou-

Ma sotto i erano sempre allégri.
Τις δε τοσης αυτοις ενεπνευσ' Υπασε θρησκειαν και

Aliquid mali molitur in nos consilí :

Cumque illo miles Batavus conjurat amicè.
Where would his Brest fleet in our empire land ? Ireland.
Αλλοθι δ' ογ ηπειλ’ εισβαλάν διηνεκώς.

En Ecosse.
Quisnam illum à Scotis manet exitus, auspice Moirâ ? Μοιρα.
Spem forsan nullam, Moirâ ibi jam duce, habet ! Deuce a bit!
Εις Αγγλικον δ'ηκειν ισως νοεί τoδι.

To die.
How best shall we 'scape this invasion's alarm?
Then, Englishmen, rush to the field, 'tis your duty: Δευτε.
Be no longer the dupes of an Amiens truce.

Ruse ! (Ην δολος, και φιλια: τε δ' εκ φρενος ηλυθεν αυτος ;

Otto's.) Furem ego contundam, qui te rapere audet, agelle :

To a jelly.
Angliaque externos facilè opprimet ipsa latrones :

At her own ease.
And dost thou wish the throne restored by Moreau ? Oro.
Then from his height falls dread Napoleon;

(Scilicet hunc Anglus vocat, hunc Hebræus Abaddon ! * A bad one.)
And then the world, now scared, will laugh at him : Affittim.
Il reste donc à souhaiter, que la France lui désobeít. So be it!

All arm.

* Rev. ix. 11.


he wants discretion. Instead of giving

his powers fair play on some subject Buck's Head, April 10, 1818.

of general interest, he has let himself down by certain personalities which it

is quite impossible to defend or justify. MR EDITOR,

Some silly people would fain consider I beg leave to offer a few observations these personalities gross and insulting. on the second letter of Dr Nicol Jarvie, That is by no means the case. But which has lately made so much noise they are, what Dr Nicol Jarvie perhaps in this city. The doctor is a wag, and does not suspect them to be, very possesses a genuine vein of humour, childish, or rather, to use an expressive which, under good management, could Scots word, unco bairnly."

There not fail of amusing the public. But, is also some indelicacy in printing at like too many wits of the present day, full length the christian and surnames

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