they were obliged to come by stealth, and to go in the same manner; indeed, from the fraginental nature of John's verses, they appear to have often left him very abruptly. Other pieces bear witness of the severe distraction he suffered between his domestic duty to the Umphravilles, twelve in family, with their guests, and his own secret visitors from Helicon. It must have been provoking, when seeking for a simile, to be sent in search of a salt-cellar; or when hunting for a rhyme, to have to look for a missing teaspoon. By a whimsical peculiarity, the causes of these lets and hindrances are recorded in his verses, by way of parenthesis: and though John's poetry was of a decidedly serious and moralising turn, these little insertions give it so whimsical a character, as to make it an appropriate offering in the present work. Poor John! the grave has put a period to his didactics, and the publication of his lays in "Hood's Own," therefore, cannot give him pain, as it certainly would have done otherwise, for the MSS. were left by last will and testament "to his very worthy master, Joshua Umphraville, Esq., to be printed in Elegant Extracts, or Flowers of English Poetry." The Editor is indebted to the kindness of that gentleman for a selection from the papers; which he has been unable to arrange chronologically, as John always wrote in too great a hurry to put dates. Whether he ever sent any pieces to the periodicals is unknown, for he kept his authorship as secret as Junius's, till his death discovered his propensity for poetry, and happily cleared up some points in John's character, which had appeared to his disadvantage. Thus when his eye was "in fine frenzy roiling," bemused only with Castalian water, he had been suspected of being "bemused with beer;" and when he was supposed to indulge in a morning sluggishness, he was really rising with the sun, at least with Apollo. He was ac cused occasionally of shamming deafness, whereas it was doubt less nothing but the natural difficulty of hearing more than Nine at once. Above all, he was reckoned almost wilfully unfortunate in his breakage; but it appears that when deductions for damage BB were made from his wages, the poetry ought to have been stopped, and not the money. The truth is, John's master was a classical scholar, and so accustomed to read of Pegasus, and to associate a Poet with a Horseman, that he never dreamt of one as a Footman. The Editor is too diffident to volunteer an elaborate criticism of the merits of Humphreys as a Bard—but he presumes to say thus much, that there several Authors, of the present day, whom John ought not to walk behind. THE BROKEN DISH. WHAT'S life but full of care and doubt, With all its fine humanities, With parasols we walk about, Long pigtails and such vanities. We plant pomegranite trees and things, We gather flowers of every hue, Walking about their groves of trees, ODE TO PEACE. WRITTEN ON THE NIGHT OF MY MISTRESS'S GRAND ROUT, Оn Peace! oh come with me and dwell- Oh Peace! for thee I go and sit in churches, Another ring, the tarts are come from Birch's. Oh Peace! thou art the best of earthly goods- Oh Peace! thou art the Goddess I adore There come some more. Oh Peace! thou child of solitude and quiet- Oh Peace ! Knocks will not cease. Oh Peace! thou wert for human comfort plann'dThat's Weippert's band. Oh Peace! how glad I welcome thy approaches I hear the sound of coaches. Oh Peace! oh Peace!-another carriage stops- Oh Peace! with thee I love to wander, Oh Peace!-but here comes Captain Hare. Oh Peace! if you do not disdain Susan, what business have you in my pantry? Oh Peace! but there is Major Monk, I have no peace to write of Peace. A FEW LINES ON COMPLETING FORTY-SEVEN, WHEN I reflect with serious sense, While years and years run on, Our lives are built so frail and poor, We're hourly standing at Death's door- All human days have settled terms, This flesh of mine will feed the worms- And when my body's turn'd to clay, And dear friends hear my knell. O let them give a sigh and say- TO MARY HOUSEMAID, ON VALENTINE'S DAY. MARY, you know I've no love-nonsense, Though Beauty hasn't form'd your feature, May wish that she was half as plain. Yuor virtues would not rise an inch, Although your shape was two foot taller, And wisely you let others pinch Great waists and feet to make them smaller. You never try to spare your hands From getting red by household duty But, doing all that it commands, Their coarseness is a moral beauty. Let Susan flourish her fair arms SHOVE off there!-ship the rudder, Bill-cast off! she's under way! MRS. F. She's under what?-I hope she's not! good gracious, what a spray! BOATMAN. Run out the jib, and rig the boom! keep clear of those two brigs! MRS. F. I hope they don't intend some joke by running of their rigs! BOATMAN. Bill, shift them bags of ballast aft-she's rather out of trim! MRS. F. Great bags of stones! they're pretty things to help a boat to swim! |