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“ Two shakes !-odds * * * * * ! “ 'Twould make the patient worse." It did so, Sir—and so a third we tried.“Well, and what then ?”—“ Then, Sir, my master—died.”


JACOB, I do not love to see thy nose
Turned up in scornful curve at yonder pig ;
It would be well, my friend, if we, like him,
Were perfect in our kind ! and why despise
The sow-born grunter ? He is obstinate,
Thou answerest, ugly, and the filthiest beast
That banquets upon offal. Now, I pray you,
Hear the Pig's counsel.

Is he obstinate ?
We must not, Jacob, be deceived by words,
By sophist sounds. A democratic heart ?
He knows that his unmerciful drivers seek
Their profits and not his. He hath not learnt
That pigs were made for man, born to be brauned
And baconized; that he must please to give
Just what his generous masters please to take,–
Perhaps his tusks—the weapons nature gave
For self-defence; the general privilege
Perhaps- -Hark! Jacob, do'st thou hear that horn?
Woe to the young posterity of pork !
Their enemy is at hand.

Again: Thou sayest
The Pig is ugly. Jacob, look at him !
Those eyes have taught the lover flattery.
His face. Nay, Jacob, Jacob, were it fair
To judge a lady in her dishabille ?
Fancy it drest, and with saltpetre rouged.
Behold his tail, my friend ; with curl like that
The wanton hop marries her stately spouse ;
So crisp in beauty, Amoretta's hair
Rings round her lover's soul the chains of love.
And what is beauty, but the aptitude

Of parts harmonious ? Give thy fancy scope,
And thou wilt find that no imagined change
Can beautify this beast. Place at his end
The starry glories of the peacock's pride ;
Give him the swan's white breast ; for his horn hoofs
Shape such a foot and ancle, as the waves,
Crowded in eager rivalry to kiss,
When Venus from the enamoured sea arose :
Jacob, thou can'st but make a monster of him.
All alteration man could think would mar
His Pig perfection!

The last charge-He lives
A dirty life. Here I could shelter him,
With noble and right reverend precedents ;
And show by sanction of authority,
That 'tis a very honourable thing
To thrive by dirty ways ! But, let me rest
On better ground the unanswerable defence.
The Pig is a philosopher, who knows
No prejudice. Dirt! Jacob, what is dirt ?
If matter, why the delicate dish that tempts
An o'er gorged epicure to the last morsel,
That stuffs him to the throat-gates, is no more.
If matter be not, but, as sages say,
Spirit is all, and all things visible
Are one, the infinitely modified ;
Think, Jacob, what that pig is, and the mire
Wherein he stands knee deep ?

And there! that breeze
Pleads with me, and has won thee to the smile
That speaks conviction. O'er yon blossomed field
Of beans it came, and thoughts of bacon rise.

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Two honest tradesmen, meeting in the Strand,

One took the other briskly by the hand;
* John Byrom was an ingenious prose writer and poet ; he was born
1691, and died 1763.


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“ Hark ye,” said he, “'tis an odd story this About the crows"- “ I don't know what it is," Replied his friend.-“ No! I'm surprised at that ; Where I come from it is the common chat; But you

shall hear : an odd affair indeed ! And that it happened, they are all agreed : Not to detain you from a thing so strange, A gentleman, who lives not far from 'Change, This week, in short, as all the Alley knows, Taking a puke, has thrown up Three Black Crows !”

Impossible !”—“Nay, but 'tis really true; I had it from good hands, and so may you”“ From whom, I pray?"-So having named the man, Straight to inquire his curious comrade ran. “Sir, did you tell"-relating the affair— “ Yes, Sir, I did ; and if ’tis worth your care, 'Twas Mr. Such-a-one, who told it me. But, by-the-bye, 'twas Two black crows, not Three."

Resolved to trace so wonderful an event, Quick to the third, the virtuoso went. “Sir,” and so forth—“Why, yes, the thing is fact, Though in regard to number not exact; It was not Two black crows, 'twas only One ; The truth of that you may depend upon : The gentleman himself told me the case." “ Where may I find him ?"- Why, in such a place." Away he went; and, having found him out, “Sir, be so good as to resolve a doubt." Then to his last informant he referred, And begged to know if true what he had heard; “ Did you, Sir, throw

black crow ?"-" “ Not I". “ Bless me !-how people propagate a lie ! Black crows have been thrown up, three, two, and one ; And here, I find, all comes at last to none! Did you say nothing of a crow at all ?”_ “ Crow—crow-perhaps I might, now I recal The matter o'er.” “ And, pray, Sir, what was't ?" “Why, I was horrid sick, and at the last I did throw up, and told my neighbour so, Something that was—as black, Sir, as a crow.”

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I LABOUR under a specious of distress, which, I fear, will at length drive me utterly from that society in which I am most ambitious to appear ; but I will give you a short sketch of my origin and present situation, by which you will be enabled to judge of


difficulties. My father was a farmer of no great property, and with no other learning than that which he had acquired at a charity school ; but

my mother being dead, and I an only child, he determined to give me that advantage which he fancied would have made him happy, viz. a learned education. I was sent to a country grammar school, and thence to the university, with a view of qualifying myself for holy orders. Here, having but small allowance from my father, and being naturally of a timid and bashful disposition, I had no opportunity of rubbing off that natural awkwardness, which is the cause of all my unhappiness, and which I now begin to fear can never be amended. You must know, that in my person I am tall and thin, with a fair complexion, and light flaxen hair; but with such extreme susceptibility of shame, that, on the smallest subject of confusion, my blood all rushes into my cheeks, and I appear a perfect fullblown rose.

The consciousness of this unhappy failing made me avoid society, and I became enamoured of a college life ; particularly when I reflected that the uncouth manners of my father's family were little calculated to improve my outward conduct; I therefore had resolved on living at the university, and taking pupils, when two unexpected events greatly altered the posture

affairs, viz.

my father's death, and the arrival of a rich uncle from the Indies. This uncle also died a short time after his arrival, leaving me heir to all his property. And now behold me, at the age of twenty-five, well stocked with Latin, Greek, and mathematics, possessed of an ample fortune, but so awkward, and so unversed in every gentleman-like accomplishment, that I am pointed at by all who see me, as the wealthy learned clown. I have lately purchased an estate in the country, which abounds in what is called a fashionable neighbourhood; and when you reflect upon my parentage and uncouth manners, you will hardly believe how much my com

pany is courted by the surrounding families--especially by those who have marriageable daughters; from these gentlemen I have received familiar calls, and the most pressing invitations ; and though I wished to accept their offered friendship, I have frequently excused myself upon the pretence of not being quite settled. The truth is, that when I have rode or walked, with full intention to return their several visits, my heart has failed me as I approached their gates, and I have frequently returned homeward, resolving to try again tomorrow. However, at length I determined to conquer my timidity, and three days ago accepted an invitation to dine this day with one whose easy manner left me no room to doubt a cordial welcome. Sir Thomas Friendly, who lives about two miles distant, is a baronet, with an estate of about two thousand pounds a year, adjoining to that I purchased; he has two sons, and five daughters, all grown up, and living with their mother at Friendly-Hall, dependent on their father. Conscious of my unpolished gait, I have for some time past taken lessons of a professor who or teaches grown gentlemen to dance," and though I at first found wondrous difficulty in the art he taught, my knowledge of the mathematics was of prodigious use in teaching me the equilibrium of my body, and the due adjustment of the centre of gravity to the five positions. Having now acquired the art of walking without tottering, and learned to make a bow, I boldly ventured to obey the Baronet's invitation to a family dinner, not doubting that my new acquirements would enable me to see the ladies with tolerable intrepidity ; but alas ! how vain are all the hopes of theory when unsupported by habitual practice! As I approached the house, a dinner bell alarmed my fears, lest I had spoiled the dinner by want of punctuality; iinpressed with this idea, I blushed the deepest crimson, as my name was repeatedly announced by the several livery servants, who ushered me into the library, hardly knowing what or whom I saw. At my first entrance, I summoned all my fortitude, and made my new-learned bow to Lady Friendly; but unfortunately, bringing my left foot to the third position, I trod

upon toe of poor Sir Thomas, who had followed close upon my heels, to be the nomenclator of the family. The confusion this occasioned me is hardly to be conceived, since none but bashful men can judge of my distress; and of that description the number is, I believe, very small. The Baronet's politeness by degrees dissipated my concern, and I was astonished to see how far good

the gouty

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