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While madam doats upon the trees,
And longs for every house she sees,
Admires its views, its situation,
And thus she opens her oration :—
"What signify the loads of wealth,
Without that richest jewel, health?
Excuse the fondness of a wife,
Who doats upon your precious life!
Such ceaseless toil, such constant care,
Is more than human strength can bear.
One may observe it in your face—
Indeed, my dear, you break apace;
And nothing can your health repair
But exercise and country air.

Sir Traffic has a house, you know,
About a mile from Cheney-row;
He's a good man, indeed 'tis true,
But not so warm, my dear, as you;
And folks are always apt to sneer—
One would not be out-done, my dear!"
Sir Traffic's name so well applied
Awak'd his brother merchant's pride;
And Thrifty, who had all his life
Paid utmost deference to his wife,
Confess'd her arguments had reason,
And, by th' approaching summer season,
Draws a few hundreds from the stocks,
And purchases his country box.

Some three or four miles out of town,
(An hour's ride will bring you down,)
He fixes on his choice abode,
Not half a furlong from the road :
And so convenient does it lay,
The stages pass it ev'ry day :
And then so snug, so mighty pretty,
To have a house so near the city!
Take but your places at the Boar,
You're set down at the very door.

Well then, suppose them fix'd at last, White-washing, painting, scrubbing past, Hugging themselves in ease and clover, With all the fuss of moving over; Lo, a new heap of whims are bred!

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Now bricklay'rs, carpenters, and joiners,
With Chinese artists, and designers,
Produce their schemes of alteration,
To work this wond'rous reformation.
The useful dome, which secret stood
Embosom'd in the yew-tree's wood,
The trav'ler with amazement sees
A temple, Gothic or Chinese,
With many a bell and tawdry rag on,
And crested with a sprawling dragon ;
A wooden arch is bent astride
A ditch of water, four feet wide,
With angles, curves, and zigzag lines,
From Halfpenny's exact designs.

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And now from Hyde-Park Corner come
The gods of Athens and of Rome.
Here squabby Cupids take their places
With Venus and the clumsy Graces;
Apollo there, with aim so clever,
Stretches his leaden bow for ever;
And there without the power to fly,
Stands fix'd a tip-toe Mercury.

The Villa thus completely grac'd,
All own that Thrifty has a taste;
And Madam's female friends and cousins, .

With Common-council-men by dozens,

Flock every Sunday to the seat,

To stare about them, and to eat.

JAMES BEATTIE was born in 1735, in the parish of Lawrence-Kirk, Kincardineshire; where his father kept a small shop and rented a little farm. Having been educated at a parochial school, he obtained a bursary at the Marischal College, Aberdeen; and in 1753 was appointed schoolmaster of a parish near his native village, at the foot of the Grampian mountains; here he continued during four years, nursing, in his solitude, the thoughts that were to become the property of mankind. In 1758, he became usher in the grammar school of Aberdeen; and in 1760 published a volume of "Original Poems and Translations." At the age of 26, he obtained the chair of Moral Philosophy, in the Marischal College,-an appointment which he held for forty years. His "Essay on Truth," published in 1770, obtained a rapid and extensive popularity; soon afterwards appeared the first part of the "Minstrel;" the second part of which was not issued until 1774. Its merit was at once appreciated; it immediately raised the author into the first ranks of fame. Soon after its publication he paid a visit to London: his society was eagerly sought; the University of Oxford conferred upon him the honorary degree of Doctor of Laws; and the King having honoured the Poet with an audience, bestowed upon him a pension of 2001. a year. Thus distinguished, having realized his early dreams of glory, having climbed "the steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar," esteemed by his friends, admired by all, and possessed of an "elegant competence," the author of the Minstrel was far from happy. The worm had long been gnawing at his heart. His home was one of entire sadness. His wife was afflicted with mental derange ment; in 1790, he lost his eldest son, a young man of rare promise, who had been conjoined with him in the Professorship; in 1796, his only remaining son died; these successive shocks not only ruined his constitution, but affected his mind. He was released from life in 1803.

The character of Dr. Beattie is almost without a blemish; and it received ample justice from his contemporaries.

"The Minstrel " may be classed among the most popular of our English poems. Of all the works of Dr. Beattie it is unquestionably the best, whether we consider the plan or the execution: the language is extremely elegant; the versification harmonious; it exhibits the richest poetic imagery, with a delightful flow of the most sublime, delicate, and pathetic sentiments; it breathes the spirit of the purest virtue, the soundest philosophy, and the most exquisite taste. The praise of his friend and biographer, Sir William Forbes, has been echoed by critics less biassed by personal affection; Gray lauded it with a warm and disinterested energy; it was stamped with the approval of all who in his own day sate in the seats of literary judgment; and posterity has sanctioned the verdict which gave to it immortality.

It is written in the Spenserian stanza, and is avowedly an attempt to imitate the author of the Fairy Queen, not only in the measure of his verse, but in the "harmony and simplicity, and variety of his composition." According to the author, "his design was to trace the progress of a poetical genius, born in a rude age, from the first dawning of fancy and reason, till that period at which, he may be supposed capable of appearing in the world as a Minstrel." There is no question (indeed he admits as much) that in the character of Edwin he desired to picture his own early thoughts, impressions, and aspirations; and thus in describing his own, pictured those of all who are born poets-born, that is to say, with those talents and sensibilities which, with the assistance of even a very slight education, invariably find vent in poetry. Edwin is but one of that "certain cast" to which the writer refers-and those who can comprehend the poetic temperament will be at no loss to understand how it was that a boy "should take pleasure in darkness or a storm, in the noise of thunder or the glare of lightning; should be more gratified with listening to music at a distance than with mixing in the merriment occasioned by it." In the second part of the poem, the Poêt still manifests a disposition to identify his hero with himself; takes him out of the school of nature and places him in his own-that of moral philosophy: and it is perhaps difficult to say how he would have succeeded if he had carried out his original design, by adding a third canto introducing some foreign enemy as invading his country, in consequence of which the

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