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were of more service to those who contracted to build them, than they will ever be for defence in time of need, I set out in a post-chaise with honest Tom Topsail for the capital.

The first occurrence we met with on the road, was our meeting with four phaetons and pair, with a female in a laced riding-habit, and hat and feather, and a spruce fellow with a laced waistcoat, white silk stockings, and buckskin breeches, in each. I bowed to them, supposing them to be people of quality, when the unlucky rogue, Tom, laughed at me, and told me they were only a pack of waiters at our Covent Garden taverns, who were spending the groats and sixpences their masters customers had given them for waiting on them, and the halfcrowns they got for pimping, in regaling some ladies of the town; and were going to a neighbouring race. I joined with Tom in laughing at my own simplicity, and then we laughed at the folly of those who were so foolish as to pay these fellows for bringing what they were to pay for besides. A fine house and gardens by the road side next attracted our eyes; and when Tom told me it was built by Oliver Omnium, the stockbroker, we laughed at the bubbles with whose gold it had been erected.

Nothing more material happened till we arrived in London ; and what I meet with in my first walk shall be the subject of my next letter.




On the impending Force against this Country. What! shall our treach'rous foes now dare to say, “ England we'll ravage, and her crown we'll sway. “ This is the moment; let us all combine, “ And England, to our arms, shall soon resign.” This is the moment, Britons best can tell, Their arms to yield, or their vile hearts repel. Shall it be deem'd that England can no more Defend her island, or protect her shore ? Shall it be said that Britain fears the foe, That dares to triumph at domestic woe? Doubly is the cause which from thy breasts demands, To crush their malice, and defeat their arms: Oft has thy name struck terror to their soul, Shall it not now their infamy controul ? Forbid it, Britons, perish first the thought, That thinks of Englishmen as he ought. Wherefore shou'd we doubt Britannia's glorious fame, Are not her conqu’ring sons alike the same? Thy ancestors recall, whose 'lustrious names Demand from us a tribute to their manes : Then let us shew unsullied is the blood, That fills the veins, which from their loins we robb’d. Wörthy their race, let none disclaim our birth, And call us bastards of some foreign growth. Let us for ever the dear pledge maintain, And hold it sacred as a gift divine.

Britons attend; the crisis now is come,
To make us rise, or sink into disdain:
Perfidious France has dar'd to rob thy crown;
Resent the insult, and the blow strike home.
Ambitious Spain must feel again our weight,
Learn how to prize our friendship from our hate.
No moment's to be lost, the trumpet sounds;
Re-echoes thro' the air Britannias wounds:

"Tis Brunswick calls to arms, revenge, revenge,
Is there a Briton wou'd his country change ?
Is there a Briton wou'd his name disown?
And let stoop Brunswick basely to Bourbon ?
Forbid it, Heaven, the foul thought disclaim,
Britain shall again add lustre to her name;
Again behold resplendent shine her arms,
Nor know no danger from dread wars alarms,
George shall redeem his fav’rite pride when crown'd,
A Briton born, by British hearts enthron'd.

---May th' historic page
Still mark this æra down from age to age: '
Tell to the world, learn nations yet to come,
How, with what fortitude, Britain stood alone.
How, when oppress’d by offsprings of her care,
Taught independence by false France to rear,
Yet with undaunted valour she sustain'd
The force united, which they both obtain’d.

Thus may he write, whose pen to history draws,
To trace from earliest time this country's wars:
So may he find the British sceptre sway'd,
The awe of Europe, but of France the dread.

Come then, brave Britons, seek thy just revenge,
Make th' insidious slaves for thy mercy cringe,
Thy country need not fear all Europe's sons,
While your brave souls, with ardour for her burns,
Shew her thy prowess, dignify her name;
Defend her cause in honour of her King."
This is the moment left thee to employ,
May you prove it ominous to future joy;
Excite our breasts for glory to obtain,
That nought may tarnish this, our Monarch's reign.

RI**TI. Jest of Taylor, the Water Poet, who wrote it 150 years ago.There was a Pope, who being dead, it was said that he came to Heaven's gate and knocked : St. Peter (being within the gate) asked who was there ? the Pope answered, “ brother, it is I; I am the last Pope deceased.” St. Peter said, “ If thou be the Pope, why dost thou knock ? thou having the keys mayest unlock the gate and enter ?” The Pope replied, saying, “ that his predecessors had the keys, but since their time the wards were altered.”

Grantham, March 19.- A few days ago, four bucks assembled at an inn in this neighbourhood, to drink a glass, and play a game at cards. The glass circulating very briskly, before midnight they became so intoxicated, that not one of them was able to determine how the game stood; and several disputes, interspersed with a considerable number of oaths ensued, till they agreed to let the cards lie, and endeavour to drink themselves sober. Shortly after, they resumed the game, and each man imagining himself capable of directing the rest, they soon came again to very high words; when the waiter, fearful that some bad consequences might ensue, let them know that it was near three o'clock, and if any of the gentlemen pleased, he would wait on them home; but instead of complying with his request, the geniusses looked upon it as an indignity offered them, and declared, with the most horrid


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imprecations, that not one of them would depart till day-light. But in the height of their anger, an uncommon noise in the chimney engaged their attention, when looking towards the fire-place, a black spectre made its appearance ; and crying out, in a hollow, menacing tone,“ my father has sent me for you, infamous reprobates,” they all in the greatest fright, flew out of the room without staying to take their hats, in broken accents confessing their sins, and begging for mercy.—It appears, that the master of the inn, finding he could not get rid of his troublesome guests, and having a chimney-sweeper in the house, sweeping some chimnies, he gave the boy directions to descend into the room as above related, while he stood at a distance, and enjoyed the droll scene of the bucks' flight.

The following Anecdote of the late famous Mr. Roubiliac deserves to be recorded.-Some years since that celebrated statuary found a parcel of Bank notes in the church-yard of St. Martin in the Fields, to the amount of £7000, the property of a Yorkshire gentleman, who advertised a reward of £500; in consequence of which Mr. Roubiliae returned the notes, but generously refused to take the reward, though at that time he was greatly distressed for money: the gentleman charmed at his behaviour, made him a present of a fine set of plate, and left him £1000 in his will,

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