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indeed, it seems, but more proud than poor, and more honest than proud.
Fre. That sounds like a noble character.
Dob. He'd see you hanged first ! Harrowby says, he'd sooner die than ask any man for a shilling. There's his daughter, and his dead wife's aunt, and an old corporal that has served in the wars with him; he keeps them all upon his half-pay.
Sir R. Starves them all, I am afraid, Humphrey.
Fre. I can't tell till I encounter him ; and then, uncle, when I have an old gentleman by the hand, who is disabled in his country's service, and struggling to support his motherless child, a poor relation, and a faithful servant, in honorable indigence, impulse will supply me with words to express my sentiments.
(Hurrying off Sir R. Stop, you rogue !—I must be before you in this business.
Fre. That depends upon who can run fastest. So start fair, uncle ; and here goes!
(Exit hastily. Sir R. Stop! why, Frederick !-A jackanapes ! to take my department out of my hands! I'll disinherit the dog for his assurance !
that point as we go. Come along, Humphrey ! (E.ceunt.
ART OF BOOK-KEEPING. -Hood. How hard, when those who do not wish to lend, thus lose,
their books, Are snared by anglers,—folks that fish with literary Hooks, My
Who call and take some favorite tome, but never read it
through ;They thus complete their set at home, by making one at you. I, of my "Spenser" quite bereft, last winter sore was shaken; Of "Lamb” I've but a quarter left, nor could I save my
"Bacon"; And then I saw my“ Crabbe" at last, like Hamlet, backward go; And, as the tide was ebbing fast, of course I lost my “Rowe".
6. Mallet” served to knock me down which makes me thus
a talker; And once when I was out of town, my “ Johnson” proved a
6 Walker”. While studying o'er the fire one day, my " Hobbes”, amidst
the smoke, They bore my “ Colman” clean away, and carried off my
66 Coke". They picked my “ Locke”, to me far more than Bramah's pat
ent worth, And now my losses I deplore, without Home" on earth. If once a book you let them lift, another they conceal, For though I caught them stealing "Swift”, as swiftly went
Hope” is not now upon my shelf, where late he stood elated; But what is strange, my Pope” himself is excommunicated. My little “Suckling” in the grave is sunk to swell the ravage ; And what was Crusoe's fate to save, 'twas mine to lose,-a
“Savage": Even “ Glover's” works I cannot put my frozen hands upon, Though ever since I lost my “ Foot”, my“ Bunyan” has been
gone. My " Hoyle" with Cotton" went oppressed ; my “ Taylor"
too, must fail; To save“ my
“ Goldsmith” from arrest, in vain I offered “ Bayle".
I Prior sought, but could not see the “ Hood" so late in front; And when I turned to hunt for “ Lee", O! where was my
"Leigh Hunt" ? I tried to laugh, old care to tickle, yet could not " Tickle”
“ Mickle” ;-and surely
And then, alack! I missed my
'Tis quite enough my griefs to feed, my sorrows to excuse, To think I cannot read my “Reid”, nor
use my “ Hughes”; My classics would not quiet lie, a thing so fondly hoped ; Like Dr. Primrose, I may cry, my“ Livy'' has eloped. My life is ebbing fast away; I suffer from these shocks, And though I fixed a lock on “Gray", there's gray upon my
locks; I'm far from “Young”, am growing pale, I see my “ Butler”
fly; And when they ask about my ail, 'tis “ Burton" I reply. They still have made me slight returns, and thus my griefs
divide; For 0 ! they cured me of my “ Burns”, and eased
66 Akenside”. But all I think I shall not say, nor let my anger burn, For, as they never found me “Gay", they have not left me
MAGPIE AND MONKEY.—YRIAŁ
“Dear madam, I pray," quoth a magpie one
To a monkey, who happened to come in her
As a lady of taste and discernment like you
The monkey agreed at once to proceed,
small cake of Castilian soap,
At last, having gone, one by one, through the whole,
“What, sister, I pray, have you nothing to say,
At length when the Magpie had ceased to revile, The monkey replied, with a cynical smile : “Well, Ma'am, since my silence offends you,” said she, “I'll frankly confess that such trifles possess, Though much to your taste, no attraction to me; For though, like yourself, a collection of pelf, Such trash, ere I'd touch it, might rot on a shelf ; And I'd not by Saint Iago, out of my way go A moment to pick up so vile a farrago. In the digging of roots, and the prigging of fruits, I strictly confine my industrial pursuits; And whenever I happen to find or to steal More than will serve for a moderate meal,For my appetite's small, and I don't eat a deal,In the pouches or craws which hang from my jaws, And which I contract or distend at my pleasure, I safely deposit the rest of my treasure, And carry it home to be eaten at leisure. In short, Ma'am, while you collect rubbish and rags, A mass of chiffonerie not worth possessing: I gather for use and replenish my bags With things that are really a comfort and blessing A reserve, if I need them, for future subsistence, Adapted to lengthen and sweeten existence.
The Monkey's reply-for I must, if I'm able,