XC. I had forgotten-but must not forget— Smooth speech, his first and maidenly transgression Upon debate: the papers echoed yet With his debut, which made a strong impression, And rank'd with what is every day display'd"The best first speech that ever yet was made." XCI. Proud of his "Hear hims!" proud, too, of his vote And lost virginity of oratory, Proud of his learning (just enough to quote), He revell'd in his Ciceronian glory : With memory excellent to get by rote, With wit to hatch a pun or tell a story, Graced with some merit, and with more effrontery, "His country's pride," he came down to the country. XCII. There also were two wits by acclamation, Longbow from Ireland, Strongbow from the Tweed, 1 Both lawyers and both men of education; But Strongbow's wit was of more polish'd breed: Longbow was rich in an imagination [Cato. As beautiful and bounding as a steed, Strongbow was like a new-tuned harpsichord; XCIV. If all these seem an heterogeneous mass Yet think, a specimen of every class Is better than a humdrum tête-à-tête. The days of Comedy are gone, alas! When Congreve's fool could vie with Molière's béte: Society is smooth'd to that excess, That manners hardly differ more than dress. XCV. Our ridicules are kept in the back-ground- Professional; and there is nought to cull Form'd of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored. XCVI. But from being farmers, we turn gleaners, gleaning The scanty but right-well thresh'd cars of truth; And, gentle reader! when you gather meaning, You may be Boaz, and I-modest Ruth. [Curran and Erskine.] 2" Mrs. Adams answered Mr. Adams, that it was blasphemous to talk of Scripture out of church." This dogma was broached to her husband-the best Christian in any book. See Joseph Andrews. Farther I'd quote, but Scripture intervening But what we can we glean in this vile age Of chaff, although our gleanings be not grist. I must not quite omit the talking sage, Kit-Cat, the famous Conversationist, Who, in his common-place book, had a page Prepared each morn for evenings. "List, ob list!". "Alas, poor ghost!"-What unexpected woes Await those who have studied their bons-mots! XCVIII. Firstly, they must allure the conversation, Nor bate (abate) their hearers of an inch, Lord Henry and his lady were the hosts; The party we have touch'd on were the guests. Their table was a board to tempt even ghosts To pass the Styx for more substantial feasts. I will not dwell upon ragoûts or roasts, Albeit all human history attests That happiness for man- the hungry sinner!Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner. 3 C. Witness the lands which "flow'd with milk and honey," To this we have added since, the love of money, But oh, ambrosial cash! Ah! who would lose thee? CI. The gentlemen got up betimes to shoot, Or hunt: the young, because they liked the sport— The first thing boys like, after play and fruit; The middle-aged, to make the day more short; Though nameless in our language: -we retort The elderly walk'd through the library, And tumbled books, or criticised the pictures, Or saunter'd through the gardens piteously, And made upon the hot-house several strictures, Or rode a nag which trotted not too high, Or on the morning papers read their lectures, Or on the watch their longing eyes would fix, Longing at sixty for the hour of six. 3["A man seldom thinks with more earnestness of any thing than he does of his dinner; and if he cannot get that well dressed, he should be suspected of inaccuracy in other things."JOHNSON.] 1 It would have taught him humanity at least. This sentimental savage, whom it is a mode to quote (amongst the novelists) to show their sympathy for innocent sports and old songs, teaches how to sew up frogs, and break their legs by way of experiment, in addition to the art of angling, the cruelest, the coldest, and the stupidest of pretended sports. They may talk about the beauties of nature, but the angler merely thinks of his dish of fish; he has no leisure to take his eyes from off the streams, and a single bite is worth to him more than all the scenery around. Besides, some fish bite best on a rainy day. The whale, the shark, and the tunny fishery CIX. The politicians, in a nook apart, A moment's good thing may have cost them years, Before they find an hour to introduce it; And then, even then, some bore may make them lose it. CX. But all was gentle and aristocratic In this our party; polish'd, smooth, and cold, As Phidian forms cut out of marble Attic. There now are no Squire Westerns as of old; And our Sophias are not so emphatic, But fair as then, or fairer to behold. We have no accomplished blackguards, like Tom Jones, But gentlemen in stays, as stiff as stones. have somewhat of noble and perilous in them; even net fishing, trawling, &c. are more humane and useful. But angling! -no angler can be a good man. "One of the best men I ever knew, -as humane, delicateminded, generous, and excellent a creature as any in the world, was an angler: true, he angled with painted flies, and would have been incapable of the extravagancies of 1. Walton." The above addition was made by a friend in reading over the MS." Audi alteram partem."-1 leave it to counterbalance my own observation. X. I have brought this world about my ears, and eke But " XI. why then publish?" —There are no rewards Of fame or profit when the world grows weary. I ask in turn, -Why do you play at cards? Why drink? Why read?-To make some hour less dreary. It occupies me to turn back regards On what I've seen or ponder'd, sad or cheery; To swim or sink —I have had at least my dream. I think that were I certain of success, I hardly could compose another line: And yet 't is not affected, I opine. In play, there are two pleasures for your choosingThe one is winning, and the other losing. XIII. Besides, my Muse by no means deals in fiction: Of course with some reserve and slight restriction, XIV. Love, war, a tempest-surely there's variety; A slight glance thrown on men of every station. XV. The portion of this world which I at present XVI. With much to excite, there's little to exalt ; Nothing that speaks to all men and all times; A sort of varnish over every fault; A kind of common-place, even in their crimes; Factitious passions, wit without much salt, A want of that true nature which sublimes Whate'er it shows with truth; a smooth monotony Of character, in those at least who have got any. 1["But why then publish? Granville, the polite, And knowing Walsh, would tell me I could write." POPE.] XVII. Sometimes, indeed, like soldiers off parade, They break their ranks and gladly leave the drill; But then the roll-call draws them back afraid, And they must be or seem what they were: still Doubtless it is a brilliant masquerade; But when of the first sight you have had your fill, It palls at least it did so upon me, This paradise of pleasure and ennui. XVIII. When we have made our love, and gamed our gaming, Drest, voted, shone, and, may be, something more; With dandies dined; heard senators declaiming ; Seen beauties brought to market by the score, Sad rakes to sadder husbands chastely taming; There's little left but to be bored or bore. Witness those “ ci-devant jeunes hommes" who stem The stream, nor leave the world which leaveth them. XIX. "T is said- - indeed a general complaint — That no one has succeeded in describing The monde, exactly as they ought to paint: Some say, that authors only snatch, by bribing The porter, some slight scandals strange and quaint, To furnish matter for their moral gibing; And that their books have but one style in commonMy lady's prattle, filter'd through her woman. XX. But this can't well be true, just now; for writers Of what they deem themselves most consequential, The real portrait of the highest tribe? "Tis that, in fact, there's little to describe. XXI. "Haud ignara loquor;" these are Nuga, "quarum Pars parva fui," but still art and part. Now I could much more easily sketch a harem, And therefore what I throw off is ideal. Lower'd, leaven'd, like a history of freemasons; Which bears the same relation to the real, As Captain Parry's voyage may do to Jason's. The grand arcanum's not for men to see all; My music has some mystic diapasons; And there is much which could not be appreciated In any manner by the uninitiated. XXIV. A daily plague, which in the aggregate May average on the whole with parturition. But as to women, who can penetrate The real sufferings of their she condition? Man's very sympathy with their estate Has much of selfishness, and more suspicion. Their love, their virtue, beauty, education, But forni good housekeepers, to breed a nation. XXV. All this were very well, and can't be better; XXVI. "Petticoat influence" is a great reproach, Which even those who obey would fain be thought To fly from, as from hungry pikes a roach; But since beneath it upon earth we are brought, By various joltings of life's hackney coach, I for one venerate a petticoatA garment of a mystical sublimity, No matter whether russet, silk, or dimity. XXVII. Much I respect, and much I have adored, In my young days, that chaste and goodly veil, A cure for grief- for what can ever rankle XXVIII. And when upon a silent, sullen day, With a sirocco, for example, blowing, When even the sea looks dim with all its spray, And sulkily the river's ripple's flowing, And the sky shows that very ancient gray, The sober, sad antithesis to glowing, — 'Tis pleasant, if then any thing is pleasant, To catch a glimpse even of a pretty peasant. XXIX. We left our heroes and our heroines In that fair clime which don't depend on climate, Quite independent of the Zodiac's signs, Though certainly more difficult to rhyme at, Because the sun, and stars, and aught that shines, Mountains, and all we can be most sublime at, Are there oft dull and dreary as a dunWhether a sky's or tradesman's is all one. XXX. An in-door life is less poetical; And out of door hath showers, and mists, and sleet, With which I could not brew a pastoral. But be it as it may, a bard must meet To spoil his undertaking or complete, XXXI. Juan-in this respect, at least, like saints Was all things unto people of all sorts, And lived contentedly, without complaints, In camps, in ships, in cottages, or courts— Born with that happy soul which seldom faints, And mingling modestly in toils or sports. He likewise could be most things to all women, Without the coxcombry of certain she men. XXXII. A fox-hunt to a foreigner is strange; 'Tis also subject to the double danger Of tumbling first, and having in exchange Some pleasant jesting at the awkward stranger: But Juan had been early taught to range The wilds, as doth an Arab turn'd avenger, So that his horse, or charger, hunter, hack, Knew that he had a rider on his back. XXXIII. And now in this new field, with some applause, He broke, 'tis true, some statutes of the laws XXXIV. But on the whole, to general admiration He acquitted both himself and horse: the squires Marvell'd at merit of another nation; The boors cried " Dang it! who'd have thought it?"- Sires, The Nestors of the sporting generation, Swore praises, and recall'd their former fires; XXXV. Such were his trophies—not of spear and shield, To patriot sympathy a Briton's blushes,— Who, after a long chase o'er hills, dales, bushes, And what not, though he rode beyond all price, Ask'd next day, "If men ever hunted twice ?" 2 XXXVI. He also had a quality uncommon To early risers after a long chase, Who wake in winter ere the cock can summon When her soft, liquid words run on apace, Who likes a listener, whether saint or sinner, He did not fall asleep just after dinner; Craning." To crane" is, or was, an expression used to denote a gentleman's stretching out his neck over a hedge, "to look before he leaped "a pause in his "vaulting ambition," which in the field doth occasion some delay and execration in those who may be immediately behind the equestrian sceptic. "Sir, if you don't choose to take the leap, let me !"-was a phrase which generally sent the aspirant on again; and to good purpose: for though the horse and rider" might fall, they made a gap through which, and over him and his steed, the field might follow. |