has, with his extracts and poetry, he has got a knack of making his quotations, fit equally as well, as Solomon's masons did the stones for the temple-what think you of him?'

Think of him,' said Ferdinand, well, I think that he is an Author and a complete Satirist, to all intents and purposes! he may well cry out, in the words of Pope:

"Satire 's my weapon, but I'm too discreet,
To run a much, and tilt, at all I meet;
I only wear it, in a land of Hectors,
Thieves, supercargoes, sharpers, and directors.
Save but an Army! and let Jove incrust,
Swords, pikes, and guns, with everlasting rust!
Peace is my dear delight-not Flewry's more:
But touch me, and no minister so sore.'

As the immortal Dean Swift has it, when speaking on Satire; says, "Satire is a sort of glass, wherein beholders do generally discover every body's face but their own; which is the chief reason, for that kind reception it meets with, in the world, and that so very few are offended with it." Again, as Pope says:

"O sacred weapon, left for truth's defence,
Sole dread of folly, vice, and insolence :
To all but heaven, directed hands deny'd,
The muse may give thee, but the gods must guide
Reverend I touch thee! but with honest zeal;
To rouse the watchman, of the public weal.
To virtue's work provoke the tardy hall,
And goad the prelate, slumbering in his stall."

:

I am speaking, and, as the saying is, knocking myself on the head, being an advocate and supporter of Mother Church. However, if you please, we will Humour ourselves, in Satirising

I

over our dinner. (Michael coming in, to call them to dinner) We will, reader, if it agree with thy Humour, leave them over their dinners, likewise Charles and his letters, and begin another chapter, in which, I'll give thee something concerning myself.

CHAPTER VIII.

Envy at last crawls forth, from hells dire throng,
Of all the direfull'st! her black locks hung long,
Attir'd with curling serpents; her pale skin,
Was almost dropp'd from her sharp bones within,
And at her breast stuck vipers, which did prey,
Upon her panting heart, both night and day,
Sucking blood from thence; which to repair,
Both day and night, they left fresh poisons there;
Her garments were deep-stain'd with human gore
And torn by her own hands, in which she bore,
A knotted whip, and bowl, which to the brim,
Did green gall, and the juice of wormwood swim :
With which, when she was drunk, she furious grew
And lash'd herself; thus from the accursed crew,
Envy, the worst of friends, herself presents;

Envy, good only, when she herself torments."-Cowley,

Concerning thyself! dost thou say, reader? Yes, concerning myself. I thought thou would'st like a change; so I have given thee one, from winter to spring; I know that thou likest something fresh, as my hand-bill says:- will be composed of Humorous Tales, curious pieces of Poetry, Dialogues in the Westmorland Dialect, Satires, Acrostics, Biography from Real Life, Enigmas, Epigrams, Epitaphs, &c. &c. What a Host!

However, I must stand my ground. —I have given thee-Humorous Tales, Poetry, and a

small specimen of our Dialect, (more by and by) and Satires, as many as thou, or some of thy companions, can digest, and one Acrostic, (but more to follow) and as for Enigmas, well, this work is one, which, with all thy ingenuity, perhaps, thou canst not solve; and I myself, am another! — Yet, I'll give thee some, which thou may'st clear up. I have given thee one or two Epigrams, and I'll give thee some more of them, and Epitaphs very soon, and in relation to Biography from Real Life, I had e'en best give thee it now, as I should be sorry to disappoint many of my officious friends, who have taken the trouble to blow through the trumpet of Fame, that this book would be all my life!! Most kind and favourable creatures! Notwithstanding, I think, that I had better only give them a part of it; in order to prevent my above kind and obsequious friends, from having the appellation of Liars.

Heigh, ho! heigh, ho! I am quite tired with writing; I had much more need to have been in bed* than writing and studying; and as Mr. Friendly, says, washing my brain.' Indeed

crack.

*The reader must understand that most of the Satirist was composed when at work, and written instead of sleeping, either in the dreary hour of midnight, or in the morning; as my father was, and now is a poor Butcher, and would, or could not allow me, scarcely any education, much less, time, during the day, for writing and study; indeed, it would almost have been impossible, provided my inclination had been such as I was, and still am wont to assist him, in slaughtering, (a barbarous job) and as we attended three markets in the week, and had to buy and sell two and often three cows per week, and sixteen or eighteen sheep all to do in six days; as the sabbath was, and is by us kept sacred. No wonder then, that I was drowsy-indeed, this authorship will nearly kill me, as I have lost, I believe almost, a stone in weight since I made the attempt, it hath greatly assisted in making me as meagre, as Don Quixotte ever was! Thou need'st not laugh reader, it is truth.-So much for Humour, inclination, and taste.-ED. For time

"'Tis to ourselves indeed, we chiefly owe,
The multitude of poignant griefs we feel. "

I was thinking to-day, let me see, what is today? Tuesday, April 9th, 1833. Well, I was thinking how much I was jeered, disdained, and ill-treated, when the following rapsody came into my mind:

"As I walk'd by myself I said to myself,

And myself said again to me,

Look to thyself, take care of thyself,

For no body cares for thee;

Then I said to myself and thus answer'd myself,
With the self-same repartee,

Look to thyself, or not look to thyself,

'Tis the self same thing to me."-POETICAL EPITOME.

Aye, thought I that is true enough; if I do not take care of myself, no one will; thinks-Ito-myself, while working in our little gardenthough its only ours at the pleasure of our landlord, Mr. H-, having neither house nor land of our own, are obliged to farm both-would it not be a happiness truly great, to be independent of the world; and in a small secluded vale, as Enterber Cottage is situate, to spend my days, instead of being tossed upon the tumultuous waves of Fortune, and to be the sport of that fickle goddess- It hurts the pride of an honest Englishman, being treated with unmerited scorn and contempt. I, yesterday had to experienee a little of that mortification, (

market) when going past the windows of a certain gentleman's house, where, were two or more (I am not certain how many, as my natural bashfulness and timidity, prevented me from viewing the proud fair ones) young ladies regaling themselves, with the sight of the coach

The Mason's whore rather the daw. of they ape the quality_ the ex

brewer- net

Endon Mo...

coming up; and also surveying the country
rustics in the market-though for ought I know
the beauteous fair ones, perhaps might number
more rurals, than gentlemen, by genealogy.-—
The Poet says:

"Could wealth our happiness augment?
What can she give beyond content.

Blair, (author of that sublime poem upon the
Grave) when speaking of beauty, says: -

Beauty, thou pretty play-thing, dear deceit,
That steals so softly o'er the stripling's heart,
And gives it a new pulse, unknown before,
The grave discredits thee: thy charms expung'd,
Thy roses faded, and thy lilies foil'd,

What more hast thou to boast of? will thy lovers,
Flock round thee now, to gaze, and do thee homage?
Methinks I see thee, with thy head low laid,

While surfeited upon thy damash cheek,

The high-fed worm, in lazy volumes roll'd,

Riots unscared: For this was all thy caution!
For this, thy painful labours at thy glass!
T'improve those charms, and keep them in repair,
For which, the spoiler thanks thee not."

I say, that in going past the Gentleman's window, with my basket in my hand, and my frock (the badge of my office) upon my back, my ears were regaled with groans and sneers, issuing from the transcendently beautiful, and excellently polite Venus's. The Poet says:

"With all the eunuchs melancholy spite;
They growl at you, because they cannot write;
A gloomy silence, envy's pang imparts,

Or some cold hint betrays their canker'd hearts."

Indeed, it may well be said, that Pride and

Envy are painful.

As they have had their

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