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VOYAGE TO IRELAND."

bowse, with no worse a man than good Master Mayor-and as far as we recollect, the following passage concludes with a new and good reason for wearing a nightcap.

With his Staff of Command, yet the man was not lame,

But he needed it more when he went, than he

came;

In his Specimens of English poetry, Mr Campbell makes some quotations from Cotton's "Voyage to Ireland in Burlesque," and remarks, that it probably furnished the hint of the peculiar style, spirit, and manner of the "Bath Guide.' There is occasional coarseness in this liveliest composition of a very lively writer, as, indeed, After three or four hours of friendly potation there is in all Charles Cotton's writings, except a few of his angling songs, and two or three poems of a serious cast-but we think that we can present our readers with most of the spirited passages, without any offence to a rational delicacy, and that they will be greatly amused with its good-humoured absurdity, and temporary forgetfulness of every thing sober and solemn in this world. He commences with some jocularities on that somewhat indefinite principle of our nature, that

We took leave each of other in courteous fashion.
When each one to keep his Brains fast in his head,
Put on a good Night-cap, and streight-way to bed.

Sets folk so a madding,
And makes men and women so eager of gadding;
Truth is, in my youth I was one of those people
Would have gone a great way to have seen an high
Steeple,

And though I was bred 'mong the Wonders o' the
Peak,

Would have thrown away Money, and ventur'd my
neck

To have seen a great Hill, or a Rock, or a Cave, And thought there was nothing so pleasant and brave.

He then gives us an agreeable picture of himself on starting.

'Twas now the most beautiful time of the year,
The days were now long, and the Sky was now
clear,

And May, that fair Lady of splendid renown,
Had dress'd herself fine, in her flowr'd Tabby
Gown,

When about some two hours and a half after Noon,
When it grew something late, though I thought it

too soon.

With a pitiful voice, and a most heavy heart,
I tun'd up my Pipes to sing loth to depart,
The Ditty concluded, I call'd for my Horse,
And with a good pack did the Jument endorse,
Till he groan'd and he snorted under the burthen,
For sorrow had made me a cumbersome Lurden:
And now farewell Dove, where I've caught such
brave Dishes

Of over-grown, golden, and silver-scal'd Fishes:
Thy Trout and thy Grailing may now feed se-
curely,

I've left none behind me can take 'em so surely;
Feed on then, and breed on, until the next year,
But if I return I expect my arrear.

First night he sleeps at Congerton, and tells us that he had a comfortable

of his hostess, and of her alone, for he
Next morning he takes a kind leave
facetiously remarks,

That her king, as 'twas rumoured, by late pouring
down,
This morning had got a foul flaw in his crown,

and joggs on about three miles to
Holmes chapel, where feeling himself
exceedingly thirsty, as he well might,
freshment, he pulls up, and determines
after so long a ride without any re-
on a cheerer.

A Hay! quoth the foremost, Ho! who keeps the
house?

Which said, out an Host comes as brisk as a Louse,
His hair comb'd as slick, as a Barber he'd bin,
A Cravat with black Ribbon ti'd under his chin,
Though by what I saw in him, I streight 'gan to fear
That knot would be one day slip'd under his ear:
Quoth he, (with low Congy) what lack you my Lord?
The best Liquor, quoth I, that the House will af-
ford?

You shall streight, quoth he, and then calls out,
Mary,

Come quickly, and bring us a quart of Canary:
Hold, hold, my spruce Host, for i' th' Morning so

early

I never drink Liquor but what's made of Barley;
Which words were scarce out, but which made me

admire,

My Lordship was presently turn'd into Squire;
Ale, Squire, you mean, quoth he, nimbly again,
What, must it be purl'd? no, I love it best plain;
Why, if you'll drink Ale, Sir, pray take my advice,
Here's the best Ale i' th' Land, if you'll go to the
price,

Better, I sure am, ne'er blew out a stopple,
But then, in plain truth, it is sixpence a Bottle:
Why, Faith, quoth I, Friend, if your Liquor be such,
For the best Ale in England, it is not too much;
Let's have it, and quickly; O Sir! you may stay,
A Pot in your pate is a mile in your way:
Come, bring out a Bottle here presently, Wife,
Of the best Cheshire Hum he e'er drank in his Life.
Streightout comes the Mistress in Waistcoat of Silk,
As clear as a Milk-maid, and white as her Milk,
With Visage as oval and slick as an Egg,
As streight as an Arrow, as right as my Leg;
A court'sie she made, as demure as a Sister,
I could not forbear, but alighted and kiss'd her,
Then ducking another with most modest meen,
The first word she said, was, wilt please you walk
in?

I thank'd her, but told her, I then could not stay,
For the haste of my bus'ness did call me away;

She said she was sorry it fell out so odd,
But if, when again I should travel that Road,
I would stay there a night, she assur'd me the Na-
tion

Should no where afford better accommodation:
Mean while, my spruce Landlord has broken the
Cork,

And call'd for a Bodkin, though he had a Fork;
But I shew him a Skrew, which I told my brisk Gull
A Trepane was for Bottles had broken their skull;
Which, as it was true, he believ'd without doubt,
But 'twas I that applied it, and pull'd the Cork out:
Bounce, quoth the Bottle, the work being done,
It roar'd, and it smoak'd like a new fir'd Gun;
But the shot miss'd us all, or else we'd been routed,
Which yet was a wonder, we were so about it;
Mine Host pour'd and fill'd, till he could fill no
fuller,

Look here, Sir, quoth he, both for Nap and for co-
.lour,

Sans bragging, I hate it, nor will I e'er do't,

I defie Leek, and Lambith, and Sandwich to boot:
By my troth he said true, for I speak it with tears,
Though I have been a Toss-pot these twenty good
years,

And have drank so much Liquor has made me a
Debtor,

In my days, that I know of, I never drank better;
We found it so good, and we drank so profoundly,
That four good round Shillings were whipt away
roundly;

And then I conceiv'd it was time to be jogging.
For our work had been done, had we staid t'other
Noggin.

Cotton and his servant reach "Chester in the West" about two in the afternoon, and nothing can be more diverting than the important air with which he dismounts, as if he had performed a most formidable journey-and the comfortable and self-satisfied good humour with which he takes possession of his quarters. Our friend Cotton has no notion this day of being shook in his seat after dinner, so he sends his nag to the stable for the night, and begins to reflect on his own situation.

And now in high time 'twas to call for some Meat, Though drinking does well, yet some time we must eat;

And I'faith we had Vict'als both plenty and good,
Where we all laid about us as if we were wood:

Go thy ways, Mistress Anderton, for a good Wo

wan,

Thy Guests shall by thee ne'er be turn'd to a Com-
mon,
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And here I must stop the Career of my Muse,
The poor Jade is weary, 'lass! how should she chuse,
And if I should farther here spur on my Course,
I should, questionless, tire both my Wits and Horse.

last ventures, on repeated solicitations
from the captain, to sit down on a chair
by his side. But of all this we are
told nothing, so suppose Charlie to
have passed a good night, and

After seven hours sleep, to commute for pains taken,
A man of himself, one would think, might awaken,
But riding, and drinking hard, were two such spells,
I doubt I'd slept on, but for jangling of Bells,
Which, ringing to Mattens all over the Town,
Made me leap out of Bed, and put on my Gown,
With intent (so God mend me) I have gone to the
Choire,

When streight I perceived myself all on a fire;
For the two fore-named things had so heated my
bloud,

That a little Phlebotomy would doe me good;
I sent for Chirurgeon, who came in a trice,
And swift, to shed bloud, needed not be call'd twice,
But tilted Steeletto quite thorough the Vein,
From whence issued out the ill humours amain;
When having twelve Ounces he bound up my arme,
And I gave him two Georges, which did him no

harm;

But after my bleeding I soon understood

It had cool'd my Devotion as well as my Bloud,
For I had no more mind to look on my Psalter
Than (saving your presence) I had to a Halter;
But like a most wicked and obstinate Sinner,
Then sate in my Chamber till Folks came to dinner:
I din'd with good stomach, and very good chear,
With a very fine Woman, and good Ale and Beer;
When my self having stuff'd than a Bag-pipe more
full,

I fell to my smoaking untill I grew dull;
And therefore to take a fine nap thought it best.

Having thus been cheated out of the morning service, he determined, on no account whatever, to miss that of the afternoon, so,

With that starting up, for my man did I whistle,
And comb'd out and powder'd my locks that were
grizle,
Had my clothes neatly brush'd, and then put on

my Sword,

Resolv'd now to go and attend on the word.

We are sorry to be obliged to say, that we cannot think Mr Cotton was a very devout person this day in church, but we shall charitably suppose that he had a bad headach, and that, we all know, is a sad enemy to attention. We are led to conjecture, that he yawned much during the service, from the extreme alacrity with which he quitted the cathedral. The service

No sooner was ended, but whir and away, Like Boys in a School when they've leave got to play,

All save Master Mayor, who still gravely stays
Till the rest had left room for his Worship and's

Mace:

Then he and his Brethren in order appear,
I out of my stall and fell into his rear;
For why, 'tis much safer appearing, no doubt,
In Authority's Tail, than the head of a Rout.

In this rev'rend order we marched from Pray'r;
The Mace before me borne as well as the May'r;
Who looking behind him, and seeing most plain
A glorious Gold Belt in the rear of his Train,
Made such a low Congey, forgetting his place,
I was never so honour'd before in my days;
But then off went my scalp-case, and down went my

How he spent the time after an early dinner, and before going to bed, we are not told, but, somehow or other, the silence speaks of pipes and malt liquor, and the reader feels that the bard retired to the downs, somewhat the better of his tankard, at rather a late hour. We think we see him sitting in a little snug parlour, a threelegged table, with a circular top, at his elbow-covered, but not crowdedand, as he puffs away in solitary bliss, a gentle mist just dimming the bright- By which, though thick-scull'd, he must understand ness of the fire and candle light. Mrs Anderton perhaps comes smiling and finds courtseying in, to ask if he every thing quite comfortable; and at

Fist,

Till the Pavement, too hard, by my knuckles was kiss'd,

this,

That I was a most humble Servant of his;
Which also so wonderfull kindly he took,
(As I well perceiv'd both b' his gesture and look,)
That to have me dogg'd home, he streightway ap-
pointed,

Resolving, it seems, to be better acquainted;

I was scarce in my Quarters, and set down on Crupper,

But his man was there too, to invite me to Supper. After many excuses offered in vain, the poet finds that to the mayor's he must go, and really we, who have supped with many mayors, cannot see that he was at all to be pitied. We never, in a borough, decline a meal with one of the council-but rejoice to breakfast with a Convener, to dine with a Provost, and sup with a Dean of Guild. No respectable Scotsman would act otherwise. At this

After supper the Mayor's curiosity begins to awaken; and certainly, after giving his guest a capital supper, he is entitled to know something of his birth and parentage.

Wherefore making me draw something nearer his
Chair,

He will'd and requir'd me there to declare
My Countrey, my Birth, my Estate, and my Parts,
And whether I was not a Master of Arts;
And eke what the bus'ness was had brought me
thither,

With what I was going about now, and whither:
Giving me caution, no lye should escape me,
For if I should trip, he should certainly trap me,
I answer'd, my Country was fam'd Stafford-shire;
That in Deeds, Bills, and Bonds, I was ever writ
Squire;

time the Mayor of Chester was a prime That of Land, I had both sorts, some good, and magistrate indeed.

As he sate in his Chair, he did not much vary,
In stat, nor in face, from our Eighth English Har-
ry;

But whether his face was swell'd up with fat,
Or puff'd with Glory, I cannot tell that:
Being enter'd the Chamber half length of a Pike,
And cutting of faces exceedingly like

One of those little Gentlemen brought from the
Indies,

And skrewing myself into Congeys and Cringes,
By then I was half way advanc'd in the Room
His Worship most rev'rendly rose from his Bum,
And with the more Honour to grace and to greet

me,

Advanc'd a whole step and an half for to meet me;
Where leisurely doffing a Hat worth a Tester,
He bade me most heartily wellcome to Chester;
I thank'd him in Language the best I was able,
And so we forthwith sate us all down to Table.

During supper a slight altercation occurs between Mistress May'ress and her Lord-for

Straight with the look and the tone of a Scold, Mistress May'ress complained that the Pottage was cold,

And all long of your fiddle-faddle, quoth she, Why, what then, Goody Two-shoes, what if it be? Hold you, if you can, your tittle tattle, quoth he.

Charles is at a loss to know certainly, what conclusions to draw from this little connubial dialogue, as to the quarter in which authority is lodged in the mansion-house of Chester. And we can understand his perplexity. It is no uncommon thing, we are convinced, (we speak as bachelors) for man and wife to arrange before-hand, little argumentations and seeming bickerings, before company, in which each party behaves with so much self-possession, and disregard of each other's opinion or feelings, that it is quite impossible for a spectator to say whether or not the Lady be a Hen-pecker, and taps the hollow beech-tree. Mr Cotton makes the following judicious reflections on this incident.

I was glad she was snapp'd thus, and guess'd by th' discourse,

The May'r, not the gray Mare, was the better Horse;
And yet for all that, there is reason to fear,
She submitted but out of respect to his year;
However, 'twas well she had now so much grace,
Though not to the Man, to submit to his place;
For had she proceeded, I verily thought
My turn would the next be, for I was in fault;
But this brush being past we fell to our Diet,
And e'ery one there fill'd his Belly in quiet,

some evil,

But that a great part on't was pawn'd to the Devil; That as for my Parts, they were such as he saw ; That indeed I had a small smatt'ring of Law, Which I lately had got more by practice than reading,

By sitting o'th' Bench, whilst others were pleading; But that Arms I had ever more studi'd than Arts, And was now to a Captain rais'd by my deserts; That 'twas bus'ness which led me through Palatine ground

Into Ireland, whither now I was bound;
Where his Worship's great favour 1 loud will pro-
claim,

And in all other places where ever I came.
He said, as to that, I might doe what I list,
But that I was wellcome, and gave me his fist;
When having my Fingers made crack with his
gripes,

He call'd to his man for some Bottles and Pipes.

We believe that the conversation with men of authority after supper, would not, in general, make very pretty poetry, and so Cotton opined.

To trouble you here with a longer Narration Of the several parts of our Confabulation, Perhaps would be tedious, I'll therefore remit ye Ev'n to the most rev'rend Records of the City, Where doubtless the Acts of the May'rs are record. ed,

And if not more truly, yet much better worded.

About one in the morning he takes leave of the Mayor, but not without making him the present of

A certain fantastical box and a stopper,

gifts being, to his certain knowledge, and to ours, always most acceptable to great men.

Next morning he procures a guide to conduct him over the Welsh mountains, who rides upon the following horse.

It certainly was the most ugly of Jades,

His sides were two Ladders, well spur-gall'd withall;
His hips and his rump made a right Ace of Spades;
His neck was a Helve, and his head was a Mall;
For his colour, my pains and your trouble I'll spare,
For the Creature was wholly denuded of hair,
And, except for two things, as bare as my nail,
A tuft of a Mane, and a sprig of a Tail;

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But the Lord of Flint Castle's no Lord worth a
Louse,

For he keeps ne'er a drop of good drink in his
House;

But in a small House near unto't there was store
Of such Ale, as (thank God) I ne'er tasted before;
And surely the Welch are not wise of their Fuddle,
For this had the taste and complexion of puddle.
From thence then we march'd, full as dry as we

came;

My Guide before prancing, his steed no more lame,
O'er Hills, and o'er Valleys uncouth and uneven,
Untill 'twixt the hours of twelve and eleven,
More hungry and thirsty than tongue can well tell,
We happily came to St. Winnifred's Well.

Here he is anxious to pay a visit to

the famous medicinal well, but not so
anxious as to forget the great leading
principle on which his journey was
conducted.

I went into th' Kitchen, where Vict'als I saw,
Both Beef, Veal, and Mutton, but all on't was raw;
And some on't alive, but it soon went to slaughter,
For four Chickens were slain by my Dame and her
Daughter:

Of which to Saint Win. e'er my vows I had paid,
They said I should find a rare Frigassey made;
I thank'd them, and streight to the Well did repair,
Where some I found cursing, and others at Pray'r;
Some dressing, soine stripping, some out and some
in,

Some naked.

His description of the Well itself is very prettily written, and looks well, surrounded by the absurdity in which it is set.

But the Fountain, in truth, is well worth the sight,

Nay, none but she ever shed such a tear,
Her Conscience, her Name, nor herself were more
clear:

In the bottom there lie certain stones that look white,

But streak'd with pure red, as the Morning with

light,

Which they say is her bloud, and so it may be,
But for that, let who shed it look to it for me.
Over the Fountain a Chapel there stands,
Which I wonder has scap'd Master Oliver's hands;
The floor's not ill pav'd, and the Margent o' th'
Spring,

Is enclos'd with a certain Octagonal Ring;
From each Angle of which a Pillar does rise,
Of strength and of thickness enough to suffice
To support and uphold from falling to ground
A Cupolo wherewith the Virgin is crown'd.

Now 'twixt the two Angles, that fork to the North,
And where the cold Nymph does her Bason pour
forth,

Under ground is a place, where they bathe, as 'tis said,

But now my Guide told me, it time was to go,
For that to our beds we must both ride and row;
Wherefore calling to pay, and having accounted,
I soon was down stairs, and as suddenly mounted.

They reach the banks of the Conway ere nightfall, and that somewhat lumpish Ruin seems to us well described in the line,

But 'tis pretty'st Cob-Castle e'er I beheld.

We regret that Cotton did not describe his feelings on waiting for a ferry-boat, which are not, in general, greatly relieved by the arrival of a set of insolent, ignorant, rash, cowardly, and drunken ferrymen. But he seems to have laid down a resolution not to lose his temper on any occasion whatever, and he takes leave of us with his wonted hilarity. Thus,

The Sun now was going t' unharness his Steeds,
When the Ferry-boat brasking his sides 'gainst the
Weeds,

Came in as good time, as good time could be,
To give us a cast o'er an arme of the Sea;
And bestowing our Horses before and abaft,
O'er god Neptune's wide Cod-piece gave us a waft;
Where scurvily landing at foot of the Fort,
Within very few paces we enter'd the Port,
Where another King's head invited me down,
For indeed I have ever been true to the Crown.

It is perhaps requisite to know, as well as we do, the character of Cotton, in many respects an interesting The beautifull Virgin's own tears not more bright; bounding jeu d'esprit. But, with or one, fully to enjoy the levity of this without that knowledge, every reader must be pleased with it. It gives one quite the feeling of being on a journey. No sentimentalist, Charles Cotton. He snuffs his dinner in the distant inn with a wolf-like-a vulturelike sagacity-and the moment he sits down in a parlour, he is determined on happiness. No allusion is ever made by him to the past or the future. There he is, and he is happy. He is equally at home with mine Host or Master Mayor. He has no secrets, and communicates freely his whole history to people, who, he knows, are never to see him again, and when he is gone, all remember him only the Captain." Short and easy stages are his delight, and though we part with him at Conway, we follow him, in imagination, day after day, till at last we think we see him shipped for Ireland" at the Head." He makes no statistical observations as he jogs along -long-horned cattle browse away unobserved by him-and Welsh mutton attracts his attention only when roasted, or in chops. He has no great eye even for the picturesque; and though he no doubt saw the trees, and fields, and vales, and mountains, as he rode along, he had something better to

And 'tis true, for I heard Folks Teeth hack in their head.

He quaffs a liberal glass of the sanctified water, flirts sprightlily, but tenderly, with the fair maiden who presents it to him, and then, true to his

dinner, as the needle to the pole, he is attracted to his house of entertain

ment.

My dinner was ready, and to it I fell,
I never ate better meat that I can tell;
When having half din'd, there comes in my Host,
A Catholick, good, and a rare drunken Tost;
This man, by his drinking, inflamed the Scot,
And told me strange stories, which I have forgot;
But this I remember, twas much on's own Life,
And one thing, that he had converted his Wife.

Much against his inclination and usual practice, our poet ventures to sally forth in continuation after din

ner.

as

think of, at the end of a stage-a snug room, a clear tankard, a broiled fowl, and a pretty landlady. His "Journey" is called a burlesque. For our own parts, we think it a misnomer; and were we wishing to read a burlesque, we would turn to Mrs Spence,

or the Honourable Mrs Murray, or to the reverend Richard Warner of Bath, or, above all absurd people alive or dead, to-whom shall we say? why then-to-no-it would not be fair. So learn better manners and be quiet.

REMARKS ON SOME OF OUR LATE NUMBERS; BY A LIBERAL WHIG.

MR NORTH,

I HAVE been amusing myself in the country with the late Numbers of your Magazine, and still more with Dr Morris. I do not think that the good people of Aberystwith and its vicinity will recognise their scula pius, or that Lady Johnes will admit his affinity, or give him credentials of such a nature as Perkin Warbeck received from his aunt of Burgundy. But the reception his work will afford him at Glasgow and Edinburgh, is probably of more importance to him than the impression it may make among his first and second cousins in Cardiganshire. However, I hope he means to publish his three new volumes before the gout has quite demolished him-a catastrophe to which he seems to be making rapid strides, notwithstanding his skill in medicine. He will die in good company; for, if the bulletins from the Tent are to be credited, there is not a man among the "Contributors who does not make vigorous efforts to partake his screwing and pricking honours, and share his fate. Certainly your Peter's Letters, and your Twelfth of August, are only part of a conspiracy, among the wine and brandy merchants, against the new school of water-drinkers-a school of which I would not, however, have you imagine that I am myself a disciple.

"

I do not much admire your criticisms on Lord Byron's new poem. I have lately read his formidable Don Juan; and, while I agree as to its transcendant merit, both as a work of imagination, and a general satire upon men and manners, I cannot subscribe to the overstrained and somewhat hypocritical tone of abhorrence which it is the fashion to adopt with respect to it, on the alleged scores of morality and religion. It contains many highwrought descriptions of the voluptuous kind, which may render it a dan

gerous book in the hands of young and inflammable persons; and on that account, when one is inclined to be very serious, one may regret that it ever was written. But this is a charge to which it is obnoxious only in common with a great many other seductive works of fancy and genius, about which no such mighty stir has been made, and to which no such violent exception was ever taken, even though they might be accidentally found on the shelves of a young lady's library. It has also several very unorthodox hits at matters of faith; some indecent witticisms at the expense of Scriptural phrases and Scriptural histories; and (what is of graver moment) some doubts expressed as to a future state-doubts only, however, not denials-incidentally and not offensively introduced, and by no means of so objectionable a character as his celebrated stanzas in Childe Harold, about which no such fuss was made, according to the best of my remembrance. Upon the whole, I am convinced that the violent outcry raised against the book is not so much to be attributed to any thing in its actual design and tendency, as to the (I fear I may say) deserved unpopularity of the author's moral character and conduct, and the understanding which prevailed of its being accompanied, in MS. with a sort of personal allusions and assaults, reported to be of the most libellous nature, from which no man or woman, in any way notorious, could tell whether he or she might be safe, and the importance of which was magnified to an infinite degree by the absurd air of mystery which enveloped the publication of it. The levity with which the poet turns the terrors and sublimities of his own genius into ridicule, so far from converting into matter of serious charge against him, I consider with admiration, as affording the highest evidence

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