me at Paris, in spite of my teeth and my doors, and he has given a foolish account of all he could pick up from me about King Theodore. He then took an antipathy to me on Rosseau's account, abused me in the newspapers, and exhorted Rosseau to do so too: but he came to see me no more, I forgave all the rest. I see he is now a little sick of Rousseau himself, but I hope it will not cure him of his anger to me. However, his book will, I am sure entertain you.

[Letter from Hor Walpole, 1768.]

Mr. Boswell's book I was going to recommend to you, when I received your letter. It has pleased and moved me strangely, all (I mean that relates to Paoli.) He is a man born two thousand years after his time! The pamphlet proves what I have always maintained, that any fool may write a most valuable book by chance, if he will only tell us what he saw and heard with veracity. Of Mr. Boswell's truth I have not the least suspicion, because I am sure he could invent nothing of this kind. The true title of this part of his work is, a dialogue between a grey goose and a hero.

[Letter from Gray, 1768]

THE FRIARS.

Two friars travelling, the one a Dominican, the other a Franciscan, they came to a river. The Dominican told the Franciscan, that, as he went barefoot, he was bound in charity to carry him over; and if not it would be a sin. The Franciscan consented, and took him on his shoulders. When they came to the middle of the stream, the Franciscan asked the Dominican if he had any cash? The Dominican answered, "Yes, two reals." The Franciscan hearing this said, Father, pardon me ; but our rule positively forbids our carrying any money." Saying so, he left him in the water.

POETRY.

THE LAWYER.

PROFESSIONS will abuse each other;
The Priest won't call the Lawyer brother,
While Salkeld still beknaves the Parson,
And swears he cants to keep the farce on.
Yet will I readily suppose,

They are not truly bitter foes,

But only have their pleasant jokes.

And banter just like other folks.

As thus for so they quiz the law-
Once on a time th' Attorney, FLAW,
A man, to tell you, as the fact is

Of vast chicane-of course-of practice;
(But what profession can't we trace
Where some will not the corps disgrace;
Seduced, perhaps, by roguish CLIENT
Who tempts him to become more pliant?)
A notice had to quit the world,

And from his desk at length was hurl’d.
Observe, I pray, the plain narration:
'Twas on a hot and long vacation,
When time he had, but no assistance,

Though great from courts of law the distance,
To reach the Court of Truth and Justice;

Where, I confess my only trust is ;)
Though here below the learned pleader
Shows talents worthy of a leader,
Yet his own fame he must support,
Be sometimes witty with the court,
Or work the passions of a Jury
By tender strains or full of fury,

Misleads them all, though twelve Apostles;
While with new law the Judge he jostles,

And makes them all give up their pow'rs,
To speeches of at least three hours.
But we have left our little man,

And wander'd from our purpos'd plan.
"Tis said (without ill-natur'd leaven)
"If ever Lawyers get to Heaven,
"It surely is by slow degrees."
(Perhaps 'tis slow they take their fees)-
The case then now I'll fairly state,

FLAW reach'd at last to Heaven's high gate;
Quite spent, he rapp'd, none did it neater,
The door was opened by ST. PETER,
Who look'd astonish'd when he saw,
All black the little man of law.
But charity was PETER'S guide,

For, having once himself denied
His master, he would not o'erpass
The penitent of any class;
Yet never having heard there entered,
A Lawyer, nay, nor one that ventured,
Within the realms of Peace and Love,
He told him, mildly, to remove,

And would have closed the gate of day,
Had not old Flaw in suppliant way,

Demurring to so hard a fate,

Begg'd but a look, but though through the gate.

St. Peter, rather off his guard,

Unwilling to be thought too hard,

Opens the gate to let him in;

What did the Lawyer? Did he creep in?

Or dash at once, to take possession?
Oh, no; he knew his own profession;

He took his hat off with respect,
And would no gentle means neglect ;
But finding it was all in vain
For him admittance to obtain,

Thought it were best, let come what will

To gain an entry by his skill;

So, while ST. PETER stood aside,

To let the door be opened wide,

He skimm'd his hat with all his strength,
Within the gates, to no small length;
ST. PETER stared; the Lawyer asked him,
"Only to fetch his hat," and passed him ;
But when he reach'd the Jack he'd thrown:
Ah, then was all the Lawyer shown:
He clapp'd it on, and, arms a kembo,
(As if he'd been the gallant BEMBO,)
Cry'd out, "What think you of my plan?
EJECT ME, PETER, IF YOU CAN!"

PARODIES.

THE TAYLOR'S LAMENTATION.

AIR:When time who steals our years away.

MOORE.

Some rogue has stole my shears away,

And stole my thimble too;

My scissors they are gone astray,

Ah me what shall I do?

My needles rusted are, alas!

My yard of little use;

And all my hopes now, by the mass,
Depend upon my goose.

Then whiskey bring, 'twill banish gloom,
We'll drink 'till we are blind;

For every day new cloth shall come,
And cabbage leave behind.

Come, Judy, bring the ball of thread
I'll work with Pat and thee;

And when we've earned our daily bread,
Thou shalt get drunk with me.

And as I trim this coat with lace,

This thought shall clear my mind,

That future profit I can trace,

From remnants left behind.

Then whiskey bring, 'twill banish gloom,
We'll drink 'till we are blind;
For every day new cloth shall come,
And cabbage leave behind.

But mark, at thoughts of silver lace,
Which makes this coat so gay,
A cloud o'erspreads my Judy's face,
And drives each smile away.

So like this gaudy coat, my dear,
Unless you dry your pipes,
Your shoulders quickly shall appear
Right well belaced with stripes.

Then whiskey bring, 'twill banish gloom,
We'll drink 'till we are blind;

For every day new cloth shall come,
And cabbage leave behind.

THE BUMPKIN'S INVITATION.

AIR:-Oh! Nanny wilt thou gang with me.

Oh! Molly wilt thou go with me,

DR. PER**

Nor sigh to quit this noisy place?
Can rude log huts have charms for thee,
And bumpkins rough with ruddy face?
No longer dress'd in muslin white,

Nor braided close thine auburn hair,
Say, cans't thou quit these scenes to night,
Where thou art fairest of the fair?