Lady Bab. Vastly clever, Sir; but my pride on this Occasion is proof against all your jingling jokes Hon. Mrs. U. And would you not really go my. : dear, if Lady Bab. As I've a little soul to be saved [Enter Servant.] Servant. A gem'man, in one of the Royal liveries, brought this to be delivered into your Ladyship's own hands. [Exit. Lady Bab. Royal livery ![Taking a card out of its cover, reads, partly aside.] Colonet commanded by Prince Regent !"--Oh, charming to desire Lady Bab Restless's company ! What a delightful princely creature!" at Carlton House to celebrate-birthday-earnestly desired dresses manufactures-kingdom!"-How thoughtful! What a splendid spectacle it will be! Miss J. I hope to God she has not procured one at last [Aside.] Sir Harry. If I mistake not, Lady Bab, although it stuck some time in the wheel, the ticket is come up a prize at last. [Lady Bab, musing.] Hon. Mrs. U. Why, surely she would not go, Sir Harry, after all that she has said, and almost sworn to the contrary. Sir Harry. Oh! my life against the little fluctuating soul which she would so hastily have pledged, but she will! Lady Bab. Kissing the card, and carefully replacing it in the envelope.]-Well, my dear creatures, you must excuse me; we shall meet at Catalani's hermitage-thing to-morrow! What a triumph over the D-woods, the Macf-nes; and, best of all, over that little spiteful devil, Lady Emily Tattle! [Aside. Sir Harry. Come, Lady Bab, I perceive that you M- 4 have have now a favourable opportunity for the full display of your natural fortitude and forbearance! Lady Bab. And how do you know that, Mr. Inquisitor-General? When I pettishly threw out, that -that-yes-that I would not go for the world—you -you had so teased me- Sir Harry. That is, my Lady Bab, quoth I, Lady Bab. Well, you are-a pleasant creature, it must be confessed; so let me go and arrange my dress, and I'll listen to your jingles till you have tired yourself with your own jingling!-Good by. [Exit. · Hon. Mrs. U. Come, Miss Juniper, let us drive to the W-ms's; we may hope that they, poor d-ls, at least, remain disappointed like ourselves! Sir Harry. How consolatory and affectionate, and Miss J. Who could have thought that Lady Bab, with all her pride, would have so degraded herself? Hon. Mrs. U. Mean and spiritless creature!-Sir Harry, good morning; now, pray don't stir. Sir Harry. You must allow me to see you to your barouche, ladies. [Exeunt omnes. WRITTEN ON THE VERSES INSTALLATION OF HIS HIGHNESS WILLIAM FREDERICK, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, AS CHAN CELLOR OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CAMBRIDGE. BY WILLIAM ASHBURNHAM, ESQ. [From the General Evening Post, June 27.] SHALL Granta's sons, at this meridian hour, Guides of my life! and guardians of my youth! Bid INSTALLATION OF THE DUKE OF GLOUCESTER. 249 Bid the pure blaze in patriot bosoms glow, Love-beaming Granta !-duteous sons entreat- If generous feelings, unassuming worth, Our sapient mother, from her seat on high, Her science-column'd, bay-encircled throne. Round the throng'd courts this righteous sentence ran, With shouts her sons applaud their parent's choice, Religion, Learning, Science, hear the sound, Well pleas'd 'mid these time-honour'd fanes to share No bigot rage, no torch-compelling zeal, 3D And with their patron's fame enwreathe their own. Children of sorrow smile when he appears, E'en grief-worn, wretches wipe their falling tears; The rescu'd negro joins the loud acclaim, While new-taught tongues pronounce my Glo'ster's name: For, lo!-enliven'd by his fostering rays, The deaf and dumb now hymn their Maker's praise; Exert new faculties unfelt before, And, wing'd by faith, to Heav'n exulting soar." As exhalations from the bounteous, earth Repay in dews the soil that gave them birth; 0 M Mind-opening Mind-opening Science, picturing Poesy, Decree that firms yon rock-supported chair As some hill-fort, possess'd by British power, PERFORMED IN THE ODE, ÁT CAMERIDGE, JUNE 29, 1811, AT THE INSTALLATION OF HIS HIGHNESS WILLIAM FREDERICK, DUKE OF GLOUCESTER AND EDINBURGH, CHANCELLOR OF THE UNIVERSITY. RECITATIVE. THOU, from thy realms of brighter day, Thou, the Bard, whose matchless lay Once gave to deathless fame thy Fitzroy's praise, Now, when again the festive pomp we lead, Oh, yet receive, for 't is the Poet's meed, The earthly homage, which the heart would raise; The fond, warm sigh, that would to life restore The Genius lov'd and mourn'd, that must return no more. AIR. O thou, lost Master of the British Shell ! See thy lov'd Arts and Virtue's gentle train Alas! how is that world defind, 3 How chang'd each sceney that peaceful smil'd, |