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But treasured all and hallowed in the heart,
As jewels fondly cherished are they there
With all the keenness of the miser's care,
And all the reverence of the filial part
From native gratitude; and O the smart
Which wrung this bosom as we took farewell !
To me indeed how trying was that hour!
But why the dead in Jesus hopeless mourn? All hail, Religion's sorrow! soothing power
Faith fond anticipates her sure return, And nature proves and pledges it to all:
Yes, soon to life and glory must she wake
Like the bright butterfly the tomb forsake.
From every stain and imperfection free,
With all the faithful in the grave that be-
Then shall we meet—but meet to part no more.
SIR, give attention to my wondrous tale;
To tickle and amuse it cannot fail.
But pity him whose weakness you shall see
With mercy treated to the last degree,
Throughout the sequel of this truthful story,
About a Barber, and his way to glory.
Long had he mowed the chin and cropped the hair,
And dressed the wig and ringlets of the fair;
But scant the beards grew, by his vote to those
Whom common sense has stamped as common foes.
While for the vote some said this man of soap
Received the price of many a hairy crop;
And now, in spite of Fortune and of Fame,
Of sullied honour and an honest name,
Aspiring still, determined yet to try
Some other shift when passed the clamour by.
His son, a genius wonderful, profound,
Whose powers astonished all the country round,
He sent for three months to a neighbouring town,
To test his talents and belie the clown;
For some him measured by this ancient rule-
His father's silly, “ Dick ”must be a fool;
And I for one, I frankly must confess,
No head e'er saw to warrant his success,
For by phrenology it was too plain
The fellow wanted full three-fourths of brain.
The fact to prove, home came ere three months run,
A bungling souter, as the Barber's son.
The hair-brained shaver thought this botch complete,
And took for talent empty self-conceit;
Then by he threw the razor and the pan,
Swearing he ne'er would shave another man;
And now at last two blockheads did unite,
Who scarcely knew their left hand from their right,
To murder hides, in “ brogues” to push a trade,
Which oft have cursed the hands that had them made.
Still Fortune on these humbugs seemed to flow, For many did their patronage bestow, Forgetting merit, and to justice blind, Gulled by the “ hand-wailed,” silly of mankind. Yet Mr Clutchall would not be content, But still on novelty his mind was bent. Another change this brainless dupe desired, Though void of every quality required, Yet thought himself a nonsuch, and complete For anything by blasting self-conceit, At last he dreamed a fountain opened wide To slake his selfish thirst, and aid his pride; For now a Lord, of ancestors renowned In Scotia's tale, for martial deeds profound, A butler wanted, qualified and skilled, And none but adepts proffers were to yield; Yet he resolved an offer, too, to make, For hell he'd ransack for a butler's sake. Presumptuous model, ignorant and blind, With shallow reason, and benighted mind, Long known to many as a standing fool, The public's jest, and of their sport the tool; That he was fit, or any way endowed In soul or body, never one allowed; But in the face of all these truths declared, This sneaking and audacious ninny dared, With face unblushing, made of triple brass, To push his frenzy more to prove the ass. And having kissed his “rib” at eight that morn, Who blushed consent, then quick he did adorn
His haggard figure with his Sunday's best,
With shooting-coat, white hat, and stripped vest,
White inexpressibles, and shining shoes,
Hop, step, and leap, he ran to learn the news
If any rival had made application,
And make his own, high flushed with expectation.
Now having reached the mansion of the great,
And ushered in by one in menial state;
Then for the Butler shortly he inquired,
Who came, and with him to the hall retired;
When seated both and compliments dispensed,
The fool romantic thus his tale commenced:-
“ His Lordship quickly, sir, I wish to see;
My mission's urgent-bring him now to me.”
“ His Lordship, sir,” the Butler then averred,
“Is scarcely up; by coming soon you erred.
He can't be seen before the hour of two;
Come, take a pinch, and tell me what is new.
We've been acquainted now for many years,
Why look so blunt ? you seem oppressed with fears;
As physiognomy in all mankind
Betrays the ruling passions of the mind."
At last our hero, who all fear denied,
But with his abrupt flippancy replied,
“ You say his Lordship now I cannot see;
I am in haste, and quickly off must be:
Another visit soon to him I'll pay-
My news shall be forthcoming on that day.
But since you press so hard to hear my news,
Point blank, I'll tell you, judge then as you choose;
But do not think me in the least absurd,
And to his Lordship for me drop a word.
I heard that you your office had resigned,
Hence for such honour now I feel inclined;
Of which my delicate and handsome wife,
Fair smiling blossom, comfort of my life,
Approved, and kindly gave me her consent;
Though neighbours laughed, and wondered how I went,
And flung their snow-balls after me afar,
With cursed intent my good design to mar,
Calling me weak and silly with much pains,
As if they took the measure of my brains;
These they denied, and swore my eyes and brow
Bespoke the idiot, and they well knew how
Heaped on me insult with the tongue of scorn,
Calling me nick-names, shocking to be borne,
Enough to vex a saint, inflame a sage,
Provoke their ire, and rouse the dead to rage:
More than would try the patience of a Job,
This ridicule unmeasured of the mob,
Would wake the wrath of Moses meek and mild,
Much more a barber madden and drive wild.
But, sir, you know that I'm accomplished well,
Perhaps much better than I now can tell;
You know his Lordship I can soap and shave
With expedition and deportment grave,
And dress his cranium when it stands in need,
On shortest notice with the greatest speed;
The boots and shoes the son will make and mend,
None can them better do, you may depend.