My Muse, the butterfly hath but her wings,

Not stings, and flits through ether without aim, Alighting rarely:-were she but a hornet, Perhaps there might be vices which would mourn it.

XC.

I had forgotten-but must not forget-
An orator, the latest of the session,
Who had deliver'd well a very set

Smooth speech, his first and maidenly transgression Upon debate: the papers echoed yet

With his début, 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:
(1) [Curran and Erskine.]

Longbow was rich in an imagination

As beautiful and bounding as a steed,

But sometimes stumbling over a potato,—

While Strongbow's best things might have come from Cato.

XCIII.

Strongbow was like a new-tuned harpsichord;
But Longbow wild as an Æolian harp,

With which the winds of heaven can claim accord,
And make a music, whether flat or sharp.

Of Strongbow's talk you would not change a word:
At Longbow's phrases you might sometimes carp:
Both wits one born so, and the other bred,
This by his heart—his rival by his head.

XCIV.

If all these seem an heterogeneous mass
To be assembled at a country seat,
Yet think, a specimen of every class
Is better than a humdrum tête-à-tête.
The days of Comedy are gone, alas!

[bête :

When Congreve's fool could vie with Molière's

Society is smooth'd to that excess,

That manners hardly differ more than dress.

XCV.

Our ridicules are kept in the back-ground-
Ridiculous enough, but also dull;

Professions, too, are no more to be found

Professional; and there is nought to cull

Of folly's fruit: for though your fools abound, They're barren, and not worth the pains to pull. Society is now one polish'd horde,

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 ears of truth;
And, gentle reader! when you gather meaning,
You may be Boaz, and I-modest Ruth.
Farther I'd quote, but Scripture intervening
Forbids. A great impression in my youth
Was made by Mrs. Adams, where she cries
"That Scriptures out of church are blasphemies."(1)

XCVII.

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, oh list!".

"Alas, poor ghost!"-What unexpected woes Await those who have studied their bons-mots!

XCVIII.

Firstly, they must allure the conversation
By many windings to their clever clinch;
And secondly, must let slip no occasion,

Nor bate (abate) their hearers of an inch,

(1) " 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.

But take an ell—and make a great sensation,

If possible; and thirdly, never flinch

When some smart talker puts them to the test,
But seize the last word, which no doubt's the best

XCIX.

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 Το 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.(1)

C.

Witness the lands which "flow'd with milk and Held out unto the hungry Israelites: [honey," To this we have added since, the love of money,

The only sort of pleasure which requites. Youth fades, and leaves our days no longer sunny; We tire of mistresses and parasites;

But oh, ambrosial cash! Ah! who would lose thee? When we no more can use, or even abuse 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;

(1) 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.]

For ennui is a growth of English root,

Though nameless in our language:— we retort The fact for words, and let the French translate That awful yawn which sleep can not abate.

CII.

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.

CIII.

But none were " gêné :" the great hour of union Was rung by dinner's knell; till then all were Masters of their own time—or in communion, Or solitary, as they chose to bear

The hours, which how to pass is but to few known. Each rose up at his own, and had to spare

What time he chose for dress, and broke his fast When, where, and how he chose for that repast.

CIV.

The ladies -some rouged, some a little pale-
Met the morn as they might. If fine, they rode,
Or walk'd; if foul, they read, or told a tale,

Sung, or rehearsed the last dance from abroad;