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following lines, which were inserted in the Gentleman's Magazine for the month of September, 1779.

No plausive satire in my derse I bear,
That Pope might give, or ADDISON might fear."

« ARE there two nymphs that grace this favourite isle,
On whom the tragic Muse has deigud to smile;
To whom fair Nature gave her chaste design,
Fancy's rich tints, and Judgment's sober line ;
Both born alike to glow with Friendship's flame,
Both born alike to gain an honest fane;
Both born to tread, by turns, where Fancy leads,
Her silent grottoes, and enameld meads:
To catch the strokes that Nature's pencil wrought,
The wing’d idea, and extatic thought!
To these should every lovely grace be given,
That favour'd mortals can obtain from Heaven:
A taste exact ! an elegance of soul !
While (loveliest still) good nature crowns the whole.
Yet in two such should some small difference find
Too easy entrance in th' unwary mind;
Or o’er each breast a gloomy empire keep,
Shall not the Muses sigh, and Friendship weep?
Or say, shall Envy's glance the scene explore,
Or guess the naine-a Cowley, or a More?"

J. W. Mrs. C. is also the author of“ The Belle's Stratagem," a comedy, acted at Covent Garden, 1780. This had a run of upwards of twenty nights. “The School for Eloquence," an interlude, acted at Drury Lane, for Mr. Brereton's benefit, 1780, not printed; “The World asit Goes; or, A Trip to Montpelier,” a comedy, acted at Covent Garden, 1781. This piece was unfavourably received, which occasioned its being altered, and again brought forward under the title of “ Second Thoughts are best,” 1781, and was again unfavourably received. Neie ther of these are published. “ Which is the Man," comedy, acted at Covent Garden, 1782 ; " A Bold Stroke for a Husband,” comedy, acted at Covent Garden, 1783; “More Ways than one," comedy, acted at Covent Garden, 1783 ; “ A School for Grey Beards," comedy, acted at Drury Lane, 1786; “ The Fate of Sparta," tragedy, acted at Drury Lane, 1781. The poetical correspondence of “Della Crusca," and " Anna Matilda," engrossed so much of the públic attention, that the utmost ingenuity was exerted to remove the

veil of mystery from those two writers. It was at longth discovered that “ Anna Matilda” was Mrs. Cowley, and the “ Della Crusca," Mr. Merry. She is also the author of“ A Day in Turkey;" “The Town before you ;” and a poem" On the Siege of Acre,”


MR. CUMBERLAND, in his most interesting and intelligent Memoir of himself, observes—“ As Goldsmith in his Retaliation had served up the company, at the St. James's Coffee-house, under the similitude of various sorts of mçat, I had, in the mean time, figured them under that of liquors; which little poem I rather think was printed, but of this I am not sure."-Happening to possess a printed copy of the poetical jeu d'esprit in question, I transcribe it for insertion in your agreeable mélange.

S. K.

Doctor! according to our wishes,
You've character'd us all in dishes ;
Serv'd up a sentimental treat
Of various emblematic meat:
And now it's time, I trust, you'll think
Your company should have some drink :
Else, take my word for it, at least,
Your Irish friends won't like your feast.
Ring then-and see that there is plac'd
To each according to his taste.

To Douglas,* fraught with learned stock
Of critic lore, give ancient Hock:
Let it be genuine, bright, and fine,
Pure unadulterated wine;
For if there's fault in taste or odour,
He'll search it, as he search'd out Lauder..

To JOHNSON, philosophic sage,
The moral Mentor of the age,
Religion's Friend, with soul sincere,
With melting heart, but look austere,
Give liquor of an honest sort,
And crown his cup with priestly Port.

* Bishop of Salisbury.

Now fill the glass with gay Champagne,
And frisk it in a livelier strain ;
Quick! quick! the sparkling nectar quaff,
Drink it, dear Garrick ! drink, and laugh!

Pour forth to REYNOLDS, without stint,
Rich Burgundy, of ruby tint;
If e'er his colours chance to fade,
This brilliant hue shall come in aid,
With ruddy lights refresh the faces,
And warm the bosoms of the Graces.

To Burke a pure libation bring,
Fresh drawn from clear Castaliun spring;
With civic oak the goblet bind,
Fit emblem of his patriot mind;
Let Clio (as his taster) sip,
And Hermes hand it to his lip.

Fill out my friend, the Dean of DERRY, * A bumper of conventual Sherry.

Give Ridge and HICKEY, generous souls! Of whiskey-punch convivial bowls; But let the kindred BURKES regale With potent draughts of Wicklow-ale : To C-k next, in order turn you, And grace

him with the vines of Ferney. Now, Doctor, thou’rt an honest sticker, So take your glass, and chuse your liquora Wilt have it steep'd in Alpine snows, Or damask'd at Silenus nose? With Wakefield's Vicar sip your tea, Or to Thalia drink with me? And, Doctor, I would have you know ito. An honest I, though humble, poet. I scorn the sneaker like a toad, Who drives his cart the Dover road; There, traitor to his country's trade, Smuggles vile scraps of French brocade; Hence with all such !--for you and I By English wares will live and die. Come, draw your chair and stir the fire;Here, boy !-a pot of Thrale's entire, * Dr. Barnard.

+ Dr. Goldsmith.



your account of Professor Richardson, inserted in your Mirror for May, you have mistaken the name of the parish in which he was born. It was the parish of Aberfoil, or Aberfoyle, according to the orthography in the excellent description given of it in Sir John Sinclair's statistical account, and not Aberfail, of which his father was minister. You might likewise have added to the list of his works, that besides his well-known essays on Shakespeare, his anecdotes of Russia, and other performances, all his poems and plays have been lately published in two elegant octavo volunes. From these I shall select, as peculiarly suited to the subject of the slave. trade, now so interesting to the public, the following lines. .


Misery, worse than death,
When free-born men, endowed with godlike powers,
With generous passions glowing, are compell’d
To obey the wild desires, or mean caprice
of an imperious tyrant, when perchance
The heart revolts, and virtue cries aloud
Against the deed! Chilld by unkindly blights,
Their opening virtues languish and decay.
Their features lose the liberal air of truth

candour. Dark suspicion clouds
Their louring visage; and deceit perverts
Their faltering speech. When pride and avarice warp
Th’ oppressor's heart, bar his relentless ear
Against the prayer of pity, and erase
The sense of merit from his darken'd soul,
What shield can weakness to his ravenous grasp
Oppose, but dastard guile? Can those who groan
Beneath the inhuman task, whose rueful pangs,
Unpitied, unrelieved, breed lasting hate,
And thirst of vengeance in the soul, indulge
Tender emotions, and the glowing heart?
Oye, who roll the eye of fierce disdain,
Impute not to the trembling tortur'd slave,
Condemn'd by partial fortune, to endure
The stripes of avarice, and the scorn of pride,


Impute not guile, or an unfeeling breast.
Ye teach hin feelings ! your

insatiate rage
His hate exasperates, and enflames his heart
With rancour and unusual wrath. 'Twas thus
Th’ Iberian humaniz'd the guiltless tribes
Who roam'd Peruvian forests, and the banks
Of Orellane, what time convuls'd, and torn

the tortur'd sires bequeath'd
Resentment to their sons. 'Twas then their hearts
Throbb’d with new horror; with unwonted ire
The wild eye redden'd, and the virtues fled!
The gentle virtues !—In their stead arose
Dismay, the counsellor of dastard deeds;
Revenge and ruthless hatred. Then were heard
Wailings and weeping: howld the desert caves,

And nature, from the roaring torrent sigh’d. I shall add, as an example of the author's composition in rhyme, the following passage from his poem, entitled


Oft in the wilds, on Æina's swelling side,
Too soon complying with presumptuous pride,
By fires unseen that underneath them glow,
The blooms of summer prematurely blow;
Nor wait till spring, with showers and gentle gales,
Restore soft verdure to the hills and dales.
The wand'ring peasant, with amazement, views
The glade adorn'd with unexpected hues;
The genius of the gay retreat reveres;
With holy awe the grassy altar rears;
Pours out libations; offers fruits and flowers;
And seeks repose in the devoted bowers.
Unwary stranger ! the foundations shake!
The prison'd fires from bursting caverns break!
The mountain bellows; pitchy columns rise;
And lightnings flash; and fames assail the skies,
Sicania labours with convulsive throes;
The mountain yawns; the molten torrent flows,
Pours down a fiery deluge, and devours
The blazing forest, and devoted bowers.

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