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There Chateaubriand forms new books of martyrs;' | Where Parma views the traveller resort,
Of all her beams-while nations gaze and mournTo furnish articles for the “ Débats;
Ere yet her husband's ashes have had time Of war so certain—yet not quite so sure
To chill in their inhospitable clime; As his dismissal in the “Moniteur."
(If e'er those awful ashes can grow cold ;Alas ! how could his cabinet thus err!
But no,-their embers soon will burst the mould ;) Can peace be worth an ultra-minister ?
She comes !-the Andromache (but not Racine's, He falls indeed, perhaps to rise again,
Nor Homer's,)-Lo! on Pyrrhus' arm she leans ! "Almost as quickly as he conquer'd Spain.” Yes! the right arm, yet red from Waterloo,
Which cut her lord's half-shatter'd sceptre through,
Is offer'd and accepted? Could a slave Enough of this—a sight more mournful woos Do more? or less and he in his new grave! The averted eye of the reluctant muse.
Her eye, her cheek, betray no inward strife, The imperial daughter, the imperial bride,
And the ex-empress grows as ex a wife! The imperial victim-sacrifice to pride;
So much for human ties in royal breasts ! The mother of the hero's hope, the boy,
Why spare men's feelings, when their own are The young Astyanax of modern Troy ;
jests ? The still pale shadow of the loftiest queen That earth has yet to see, or e'er bath seen ;
But, tired of foreign follies, I turn home, She flits amidst the phantoms of the hour,
And sketch the group-the picture's yet to come. The theme of pity, and the wreck of power. My muse 'gan weep, but ere a tear was spilt, Oh, cruel mockery! Could not Austria spare
She caught Sir William Curtis in a kilt ! A daughter? What did France's widow there?
While throng'd the chiefs of every Highland clan Her fitter place was by St. Helen's wave, To hail their brother, Vich Ian Alderman ! Her only throne is in Napoleon's grave.
Guildhall grows Gael, and echoes with Erse roar, But, no-she still must hold a petty reign, While all the Common Council cry." Claymore !' Flank'd by her formidable chamberlain;
To see proud Albyn's tartans as a belt
Gird the gross surloin of a city Celt,
She burst into a laughter so extreme, What though she share no more, and shared in That I awoke-and lo! it was no dream!
vain, A sway surpassing that of Charlemagne,
Here, reader, will we pause :—if there's no harm in Wbich swept from Moscow to the southern seas ! This first-you'll have, perhaps, a second “CarYet still she rules the pastoral realm of cheese,
The Blues :
A LITERARY ECLOGU E.
“ Nimium ne crede colori."-VIRGIL.
ECLOGUE THE FIRST.
For learning, which lately has taken the lead in
The world, and set all the fine gentlemen readLondon.— Before the Door of a Lecture Room.
ing. Enter Tracy, meeting Inkel.
Tra. I know it too well, and have worn out my Ink. YOU'RE too late.
patience Tra. Is it over!
With studying to study your new publications. Ink.
Nor will be this hour. There's Vamp, Scamp, and Mouthy, and WordsBut the benches are cramm'd like a garden in
words and Co. flower,
With their damnableWith the pride of our belles, who have made it the Ink. Hold, my good friend, do you know fashion ;
Whom you speak to ? So, instead of “ beaux arts," we may say “ la belle Tra. Right well, boy, and so does “the Row :" passion”
You're an author-a poet(1) Monsieur Chateaubriand, who has not forgotten the author Chateaubriand who-who-who has written something?» (écrit in the minister, received a handsome compliment at Verona from quelque chose !). It is said that the author of Atala repented him n literary sovereign : "Ah! Monsieur C., are you related to that for a moinent of his legitimacy.
And think you that I The fellow's a fool, an impostor, a zany. Can stand tamely in silence, to hear you decry Tra. And the crowd of to-day shows that one The Muses ?
fool makes many. Tra. Excuse me : I meant no offence But we two will be wise. To the Nine ; though the number who make some Ink.
Pray, then, let us retire. pretence
Tra. I would, butTo their favours is such—but the subject to drop, Ink. There must be attraction much higher I am just piping hot from a publisher's shop, Than Scamp, or the Jew's harp, he nicknames his (Next door to the pastry-cook's; so that when I
lyre, Cannot find the new volume I wanted to buy To call you to this hotbed. On the bibliopole's shelves, it is only two paces, Tra.
I own it-'tis trueAs one finds every author in one of those places :)
A fair ladyWhere I had just been skimming a charming Ink.
A spinster critique,
Miss Lilac ! So studded with wit, and so sprinkled with Greek ! Ink.
The Blue ! Where your friend-you know who-has just got The heiress ? such a thrashing,
Tra. The angel ! That it is, as the phrase goes, extremely "refresh- Ink.
The devil ! why, man, ing."
Pray get out of the hobble as fast as you can. What a beautiful word !
You wed with Miss Lilac ! 'twould be your per-
Say rather an angle. Tra.
Not left him a tatter- If you and she marry, you'll certainly wrangle. Not a rag of his present or past reputation, I
say she's a Blue, man, as blue as the ether. Which they call a disgrace to the age and the Tra. And is that any cause for not coming tonation.
gether? Ink. I'm sorry to hear this ! for friendship, you Ink. Humph! I can't say I know any happy know
alliance Our poor friend ! but I thought it would terminate which has lately sprung up from a wedlock with
science. Our friendship is such, I'll read nothing to shock it. She's so learned in all things, and fond of concerning You don't happen to have the Review in your Herself in all matters connected with learning, pocket ?
ThatTra. No; I left a round dozen of authors and Tra. What? others
Ink. I perhaps may as well hold my tongue ; (Very sorry, no doubt, since the cause is a bro. But there's five hundred people can tell you you're ther's)
wrong. All scrambling and jostling, like so many imps, Tra. You forget Lady Lilac's as rich as a Jew. And on fire with impatience to get the next Ink. Is it miss or the cash of mamma you purglimpse.
sue ? Ink. Let us join them.
Tra. Why, Jack, I'll be frank with you—someTra. What, won't you return to the lecture ?
thing of both. Ink. Why the place is so cramm’d, there's not The girl's a fine girl. room for a spectre.
And you feel nothing loth Besides, our friend Scamp is to-day so absurd- To her good lady-mother's reversion ; and yet
Tra. How can you know that till you hear him ? Her life is as good as your own, I will bet.
I heard Tra. Let her live, and as long as she likes ; I deQuite enough ; and, to tell you the truth, my
Nothing more than the heart of her daughter and Was from his vile nonsense, no less than the heat.
hand. Tra. I have had no great loss, then ?
Ink. Why, that heart's in the inkstand that Ink. Loss !--such a palaver !
hand on the pen. I'd inoculate sooner my wife with the slaver
Tra. Apropos-Will you write me a song now Of a dog when gone rabid, than listen two hours
and then ? To the torrent of trash which around him he pours, Ink. To what purpose ? Pump'd up with such effort, disgorged with such Tra. You know, my dear friend, that in prose, labour,
My talent is decent, as far as it goes ; That- come-do not make me speak ill of one's But in rhymeneighbour.
You're a terrible stick, to be sure. Tra. I make you !
Tra. I own it: and yet, in these times, there's Ink.
Yes, you! I said nothing until You compellid me, by speaking the truth
For the heart of the fair like a stanza or two; Tra.
To speak ill! And so, as I can't, will you furnish a few ? Is that your deduction ?
Ink. In your name? Ink.
When speaking of Scamp ill, Tra. In my name. I will copy them out. I certainly follou, not set an example.
To slip into her hand at the very next rout.
Ink. Are you so far advanced as to hazard this ? I'm engaged to the Lady Bluebottle's collation, Tra.
Why, To partake of a luncheon and learn’d conversation. Do
you think me subdued by a Blue-stocking's eye, 'Tis a sort of reunion for Scamp, on the days So far as to tremble to tell her in rlıyme
Of his lecture, to treat him with cold tongue and What I've told her in prose, at the least, as sub
And I own, for my own part, that 'tis not unpleaInk. As sublime? If it be so, no need of my
Will you go ? There's Miss Lilac will also be preTra. But consider, dear Inkel, she's one of the
Tra. That “ metal's attractive." Ink. As sublime !—Mr. Tracy– I've nothing to Ink.
No doubt-to the pocket. say.
Tra. You should rather encourage my passion Stick to prose-As sublime !!—But I wish you
than shock it. good day.
But let us proceed; for I think by the humTra. Nay, stay, my dear fellow-consider-I'm Ink. Very true; let us go, then, before they can wrong;
come, I own it; but, prithee, compose me the song. Or else we'll be kept here an hour at their levée, Ink. As sublime !!
On the rack of cross questions, by all the blue bevy. Tra. I but used the expression in haste. Hark! Zounds, they'll be on us; I know by the Ink. That may be, Mr. Tracy, but shows damn'd
drone bad taste.
Of old Botherby's spouting ex-cathedrâ tone. Tra. I own it-I know it—acknowledge it—what Ay! there he is at it. Poor Scamp! better join Can I say to you more?
Your friends, or he'll pay you back in your own Ink. I see what you'd be at:
coin. You disparage my parts with insidious abuse,
Tra. All fair; 'tis but lecture for lecture. Till you think you can turn them best to your own Ink.
But for God's sake, let's go, or the Bore will be Tra. And is that not a sign I respect them ?
here. Ink, Why that Come, come: nay, I'm off.
[Erit Inkel. To be sure makes a difference.
You are right, and I'll follow; Tra.
I know what is what : 'Tis bigh time for a " Sic me servavit Apollo.”. And you, wbo're a man of the gay world no less And yet we shall have the whole crew on our kibes, Than a poet of t'other, may easily guess
Blues, dandies, and dowagers, and second-hand That I never could mean, by a word, to offend
scribes, A genius like you, and moreover, my friend. All locking to moisten their exquisite throttles ink. No doubt ; you by this time should know With a glass of Madeira at Lady Bluebottle's. wbat is due
[Erit Tracy. To a man of but come-let us shake bands.
END OF ECLOGUE THE FIRST.
ECLOGUE THE SECOND,
An Apartment in the House of Lady Bluebottle. There were Renegade's epics, and Botherby's plays,
A Table prepared.
Sir Richard Bluebottle solus.
Like a fool, I must needs do the thing in a hurry. Tra. 'Tis the English “ Journal de Trevoux," My life is reversed, and my quiet destroy'd; A clerical work of our Jesuits at home.
My days, which once pass'd in so gentle a void, Have you never yet seen it ?
Must now, every hour of the twelve, be employ’d; Ink.
That pleasure's to come. The twelve, do I say ?-of the whole twenty-four, Tra. Make haste then.
Is there one wbich I dare call my own any more? Ink. Why so ?
What with driving and visiting, dancing and dining, Tra.
I have heard people say What with learning, and teaching, and scribbling That it threatend to give up the ghost t'other
and shining, day.
In science and art, I'll be curst if I know Ink. Well, that is a sign of some spirit. Myself from my wife; for although we are two, Tra.
No doubt. Yet she somehow contrives that all things shall be Shall you be at the Countess of Fiddlecome's rout?
done Ink. I've a card, and shall go; but at present, as In a style which proclaims us eternally one.
But the thing of all things which distresses me As friend Scamp shall be pleased to step down from the moon
Than the bills of the week (though they trouble me (Where he seems to be soaring in search of his
Is the numerous, humourous, backbiting crew And an interval grants from his lecturing fits, Of scribblers, wits, lecturers, white, black, and blue,
'Tis his way.
Who are orought to my house as an inn, to my cost- | The first time he has turn'd both his creed and his For the bill here, it seems, is defray'd by the host
coat. No pleasure ! no leisure ! no thought for my pains, Lady Bluem. For shame! I repeat. If Sir George But to hear a vile jargon which addles my brains ;
could but hearA smatter and chatter, glean'd out of reviews, Lady Blueb. Never mind our friend Inkel; we By the rag, tag, and bobtail of those they call the
all know, my dear, * BLUES; A rabble who know not-But soft, here they come! Sir Rich. But this place Would to God I were deaf! as I'm not, I'll be Ink.
Is perhaps like friend Scamp's, dumb.
-'tis one in the
Collector! the Lecturer, &c., &c.
How ? Lady Blueb. Ah! Sir Richard, good morning : Miss Lil.
What ? I've brought you some friends.
Ink. I shall think of him oft when I buy a new Sir Rich. (bous, and afterwards aside). If friends,
hat: they're the first.
There his works will appearLady Blueb.
But the luncheon attends, Lady Bluem. Sir, they reach to the Ganges. I pray ye be seated, " sans cérémonie.”
Ink, I shan't go so far can have them at Mr. Scamp, you're fatigued; take your chair there Grange's. next me.
[They all sit. Lady Bluem. Oh fie! Sir Rich. (aside.) If he does, his fatigue is to Miss Lil.
And for shame!
You're too bad.
Very good! Lady Bluemount-Miss Lilac-be pleased, pray, to Lady Bluem. How good P place ye;
Lady Blueb. He means nought—
tis his phrase. And you, Mr. Botherby
He grows rude. Both. Oh, my dear Lady,
Lady Blueb. He means nothing ; nay, ask hini. I obey.
Pray, sir! did you mean Lady Blueb. Mr. Inkel, I ought to upbraid ye ; What you said ? You were not at the lecture.
Ink. Never mind if he did ; 'twill be seen Tra.
That whatever he means won't alloy what he says.
Ink. Pray be content with your portion of praise ; Lady Blueb. To be sure it was broiling ; but then 'Twas in
defence. You have lost such a lecture !
If you please, with submission, Both.
The best of the ten. I can make out my own. Tra. How can you know that ? there are two Ink,
It would be your perdition.
While you live, my dear Botherby, never defend Both.
Because Yourself or your works; but leave both to a I defy him to beat this day's wondrous applause.
friend. The very walls shook.
Apropos-Is your play then accepted at last ? Ink.
Oh, if that be the test, Both. At last ? I allow our friend Scamp has this day done his best. Ink. Why I thought-that's to say-there had Miss Lilac, permit me to help you :—a wing?
pass'a Miss Lil. No more, sir, I thank you. Who lec- A few green-room whispers, which hinted-you tures next spring ?
know Both. Dick Dunder.
That the taste of the actors at best is so-so.
Both. Sir, the green-room's in rapture, and so's Miss Lil.
And why not?
the Committee. Ink. No reason whatever, save that he's a sot. Ink. Ay-yours are the plays for exciting our Lady Bluemount ! a glass of Madeira ?
pity Lady Bluem.
With pleasure. And fear,” as the Greek says: for "purging the Ink. How does your friend Wordswords, that
mind,” Windermere treasure ?
I doubt if you'll leave us an equal behind. Does he stick to his lakes, like the leeches he sings, Both. I have written the prologue, and meant to And their gatherers, as Homer sung warriors and have pray'd kings?
For a spice of your wit in an epilogue's aid. Lady Bluen. He has just got a place.
, time enough yet, when the play's to Ink. As a footman !
be play'd. Lady Bluem.
For shame! Is it cast yet ? Nor profane with your sneers so poetic a name. Both. The actors are fighting for parts, Ink. Nay, I meant him no evil, but pitied his As is usual in that most litigious of arts.
master; For the poet of pedlars 'twere, sure, no disaster
(1) Grange is or was a famous pastry-cook and fruiterer in To wear a new livery; the more, as 'tis not
Lady Blueb. We'll all make a party, and go the Lady Blueb. A truce with remark, and let nofirst night.
thing control Tra. And you promised the epilogue, Inkel. This “ feast of our reason and flow of the soul.” Ink.
Not quite. Oh! my dear Mr. Botherby! sympathise!-I However, to save my friend Botherby trouble Now feel such a rapture, I'm ready to fly, I'll do what I can, though my pains must be I feel so elastic—"80 buoyant—so buoyant !” i double.
Ink. Tracy ! open the window. Tra. Why so ?
I wish her much joy on 't. Ink.
To do justice to what goes before. Both. For God's sake, my Lady Bluebottle, Bolh. Sir, I'm happy to say, I've no fears on
check not that score.
This gentle emotion, so seldom our lot Your parts, Mr. Inkel, are
Upon earth. Give it way: 'tis an impulse which Ink. Never mind mine;
lifts Stick to those of your play, which is quite your Our spirits from earth; the sublimest of gifts ;
For which poor Prometheus was chain'd to his Lady Bluem. You're a fugitive writer, I think,
mountain : sir, of rhymes ?
'Tis the source of all sentiment-feeling's truc Ink. Yes, ma’am; and a fugitive reader, some
fountain ; times.
'Tis the Vision of Heaven upon Earth : 'tis the gas On Wordswords, for instance, I seldom alight, Of the soul! 'tis the seizing of shades as they pass, Or on Mouthy, his friend, without taking to flight. And making them substance : 'tis something Lady Bluem. Sir, your taste is too common; but
divine ! time and posterity
Ink. Shall I help you, my friend, to a little more Will right these great men, and this age's severity
wine ? Become its reproach.
Both. I thank you; not
any more, sir, till I dine. Ink.
I've no sort of objection, Ink. A propos-Do you dine with Sir Humphrey So I'm not of the party to take the infection.
to-day ? Lady Blueb. Perhaps you have doubts that they Tra. I should think with Duke Humphrey was ever will take?
more in your way. Ink. Not at all; on the contrary, those of the Ink. It might be of yore; but we authors now lake
look Have taken already, and still will continue To the Knight, as a landlord, much more than the To take—what they can, from a groat to a guinea,
Lady Bluem. Well, sir, the time's coming: And (except with his publisher) dines where he
pleases. What say you to this?
But 'tis now nearly five, and I must to the Park. Scamp.
They have merit, I own; Tra. And I'll take a turn with you there till 'tis Though their system's absurdity keeps it unknown.
dark. Ink. Then why not unearth it in one of your lec- And you, Scamptures ?
Scamp. Excuse me! I must to my notes Scamp. It is only time past which comes under For my lecture next week. my strictures.
He must mind whom he quotes Lady Blueb. Come, a truce with all tartness ;- Out of “ Elegant Extracts.” the joy of my heart
Well, now we break up; Is to see Nature's triumph o'er all that is art. But remember Miss Diddle invites us to sup. Wild Nature-Grand Shakspeare !
Ink. Then at two hours past midnight we all Both. And down Aristotle !
meet again, Lady Bluem. Sir George thinks exactly with For the sciences, sandwiches, hock, and champagne ! Lady Bluebottle :
Tra. And the sweet lobster salad ! And my Lord Seventy-four, who protects our dear Both.
I honour that meal, Bard,
For 'tis then that our feelings most genuinely-fech. And who gave him his place, has the greatest re- Ink. True ; feeling is truest then, far beyond gard
question : For the poet, who, singing of pedlars and asses, I wish to the gods 'twas the same with digestion ! Has found out the
way to dispense with Parnassus. Lady Blueb. Pshaw !--never mind that; for one Tra. And you, Scamp!
moment of feeling Scamp. I needs must confess I'm embarrass'd. Is worthGod knows what. Ink. Don't call upon Scamp, who's already so Ink.
'Tis at least worth concea.ing harass'd
For itself, or what follows—But here comes your With old schools, and new schools, and no schools,
carriage. and all schools.
Sir Rich. [aside]; I wish all these people were Tra. Well, one thing is certain, that some must d-d with my marriage ! be fools.
[Exeunt. I should like to know who. Ink.
And I should not be sorry To know who are not :-it would save us some
ECLOGUE THE SECOND
(1) Fact from life, with the words,