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as to prefer the beasts over Exeter Change to his lambs and his nightingales.

“ 3d. That the people of London and the neighbourhood are pleased with insulting him, by putting some of the best clothes his wardrobe contains, upon the backs of chimney-sweepers.

“ 4th. A great many old ladies have abused him beyond measure, and called him dull and stupid, for no other reason than because he has robbed them of a party at Whist or Cassino.

“ 5th. Some of the same faction attempted his life not a week ago, by shutting out the sun, and lighting up candles before six.-N.B. This is a desperate gang of old offenders, who have frequently attempted to murder Time, your petitioner's father, and have obliged him to go armed with a scythe.

“ 6th. Some young ladies, lately arrived in town from Gloucestershire, to whom your petitioner gave a copy of his receipt for colouring the rose, and bleaching the lily, have lately been using a wretched mixture, they call the Turkish Wash.

7th. Some young fortune-hunters, at Bath, the other day, found a resemblance for your petitioner in old Mrs. D. who has not a tooth in her head.

“ 8th. A large party at Faro, was made, on the evening of his anniversary, at a great house in Piccadilly; and the cards were flying about, while his herald, the Cuckoo, whom he had sent out some days before with his own invitations, was in the neighbourhood of Hyde-Park.

“ 9th. The sentiments which your petitioner used to inspire, are now called romantic ; and he verily believes that if he were himself to court a lady arrayed in his mantle of lilies, and breathing out his love-like ambrosia, he should be treated with disdain, unless he could show her a carriage with a couple of handsome footmen behind it.

Your petitioner forbears to bring forward a variety of charges, as weighty as those he has already produced; trusting that these will be amply sufficient to induce you to take his case into your. mo:t serious consideration : in which confidence your petitioner, will ever pray for your happiness while living, and will strew his choicest flowers on the tombs of your ancient mother and yourself, when it shall please Providence to give to the worms the remnant of the Olive-Branch family.

MAY-DAY." I shall conclude with a letter from poor Eugenio to his Amelia, containing a little poem not unsuitable to the subject of this paper.

MY DEAREST LOVE,

“My little vista in the wood begins to look delightful :- I have just made a seat in it which is to be sacred to you, when you deign to pay

it

a visit; and the woodbine seems to make haste to grow about it, as if it were preparing to receive no vulgar guest. Yesterday evening, as I sat in your little temple, I tried to fill up the vacancy your absence always leaves in my mind, by writing a few verses to a Bee that was playing around me, by way of present to you on this first day of May; a day which I know you love to see honoured.

VERSES TO THE BEE.
Daughter of Spring, that ply’st thy mazy flight,

Telling a love-tale to the list’ning air,
Wherever buds of balmy breath invite,

Borne on thy busy wings of gossamer!

Here, little spoiler, seek the haunts of Spring,

For here the hare-bell gives its still retreat;
Here ply thy cares, thy cheerful descant sing,

And fearless sport around my mossy seat :
For here the violet sweet exhales its balm,

And here the rose-bud locks the breath of May;
Nor fear from me the hostile hand of harm,

Ruthless to tear thy treasur'd sweets away.
But haste thee, wand'rer, day's last ling’ring light

With dying lustre paints the low’ring sky:
Ah! haste thee, wand'rer, ere the treach’rous night

Conceal some feather'd ruffian hovering nigh.
Go, and with speed unlock thy little cell,

And wind thy welcome horn, that friends may hear;
Go, in thy waxen chamber peaceful dwell ;

For passion, restless passion, riots here.
How blest art thou, to roam to every flow'r,

Repose thy load, and sink to cloister'd rest!
Ah ! could I so repay the weary hour,

So soothe the sorrows of my lab’ring breast ! “ How long my dearest Love shall I envy the repose

of
every
thing around

me,

and wait the slow performance of that promise which you have made with those lips that lock the breath of May,' to your faithful and fond

"EUGENIO!”

No. 19. SATURDAY, MAY 12.

Vino vendibili Olivâ suspensâ nihil est opus.
There needs no Olive-Branch to recommend a good Paper.

The following Epistle, which comes to me from Oxford,

suggests a better remedy than I could discover myself for that malady of the mind complained of in the letter that appeared in my paper of last Saturday. When I am consulted in these difficult cases, as I pretend to no panaceas or elixirs for mental infirmities, I think it fair to call in the faculty to my aid ; and I do not know where to turn myself with greater confidence than to a society which I venerate, as consisting, in general, of the truest patriots in literature, and the natural protectors and promoters of genius and of science.

REVEREND SIR,

“ No apology can be necessary for communicating, to a person who has the interest of the public so much at heart, any scheme or invention by which its welfare may be materially promoted. Do not be alarmed, my good Sir, at the mention of public interests, as if I were about to shock your disposition to peace and literature, by suggesting any crude ideas of political reform : very different is the subject of my letter. Discoveries which can enable ships to sail without wind, carriages to move without horses; schemes for the abridgement of pensions and pluralities; and expedients which will secure the presence of a rector in his parish, and a diocesan in his district, for at least nine months out of the twelve, are topics infinitely above

the scope and pretensions of my talents; and, from a mixture of delicacy and diffidence, I confess myself extremely averse to the discussion of them.

“ Resigning, therefore, to others the wide range of political disquisiton, I am content that my own poor efforts should be confined to the humble and neglected provinces of English literature. Now, Sir, the greatest obstacle to the real improvement of the arts among us, appears to me to have arisen from an unfortunate blunder through which authors. have totally mistaken the bearings of their genius, and applied it to those subjects, of all others, in which it was impossible they should excel.

“ Thus, the poet affects metaphysical subtlety; the philosopher, poetical embellishment; the divine enters the list with the painter and musician ; while, to complete the climax of cross-purposes, and render confusion worse confounded, the female politician quits the sampler and the spindle, to discover the origin of civil government, and to maintain, with senatorial eloquence, the Rights of Man! It is obvious that this unnatural perversion of genius, and misapplication of talents, must produce as much disorder in the literary world, as would result from a confusion of trades and professions to the common offices and occurrences of civil life.

“ To provide some effectual remedy for this sort. of evil, has been for many years the wish of my heart, and the constant employment of my

leisure; and I know not that I should ever have escaped from the embarrassments in which I have been involved by this research, had I not enjoyed the ho. nour of a correspondence with a distinguished professor of a foreign university. My enterprise long appeared to be hopeless; for what project

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