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subject, either from memory or extemporaneously. This kind of song, Professor Ilgen maintains, derived the name of Scolion from the oblique direction in which it passed among the rival songsters. The Scolion was of all different characters, from the utmost gravity of morals and mythology to the loosest jollity.

When the wine had circulated for a certain time however, we may conceive that a rivalship, which was likely to be confined to the wits of the party, would be felt rather unsociable; and that the songs which required neither a retentive memory nor powers of improvisation would be resumed, and conclude the entertainment, The Kōmos was the song peculiar to the mellowest state of inebriety; and, according to Suidas, was the serenade which the tipsy lover sung at untimely hours before his mistress's habitation, sometimes concluding it, when she was unkind, with smashing her windows.

The example of Terpander, Archilochus, and Alcman, in Lyric poetry, was followed by a rich and numerous succession of poets in the same walk of composition; of whom Stesichorus, Alcæus, Sappho, Simonides, Ibycus, Bacchylides, and Anacreon, are the names of most eminent reputation. Their united æras fill up a space of about two hundred years; during which time they peculiarly enriched three out of the four dialects of Greek.-In the Ionic, we have still the gay relics of Anacreon. Lesbos gave Alcæus and Sappho as ornaments to the Eolic dialect; and that island must have been a favourite haunt of the Lyric Muse, since it also claimed the memory of Terpander and Arion. Pindar, in the Doric dialect, perfected this species of poetry, and stands at the head of it in the universal estimation. Yet, if it be not treason to his acknowledged supremacy, I would say, that deplorably scanty as are the relics of the preceding lyrists, there are traits in them of a simple power over the affections, which are not to be met with in the more magnificent art with which Pindar addresses the imagination.-Of the Lyric poets I shall treat more in detail in another Lecture.


The Milk-maid and the Banker.

A MILK-MAID with a very pretty face,
Who lived at Acton,

Had a black Cow, the ugliest in the place,
A crooked-back'd one,

A beast as dangerous, too, as she was frightful,
Vicious and spiteful,

And so confirm'd a trúant, that she bounded
Over the hedges daily, and got pounded.
"Twas all in vain to tie her with a tether,
For then both cord and cow eloped together.

Arm'd with an oaken bough, (what folly!

It should have been of birch, or thorn, or holly,)
Patty one day was driving home the beast,

Which had, as usual, slipp'd its anchor,

When on the road she met a certain Banker,

Who stopp'd to give his eyes a feast
By gazing on her features, crimson'd high
By a long cow-chase in July.

"Are you from Acton, pretty lass?" he cried : "Yes," with a curtsey she replied.

"Why then you know the laundress, Sally Wrench?”

"She is my cousin, Sir, and next-door neighbour." "That 's lucky-I 've a message for the wench,

Which needs despatch, and you may save my labour. Give her this kiss, my dear, and say I sent it,

But mind, you owe me one-I 've only lent it."

"She shall know," cried the girl, as she brandish'd her bough, "Of the loving intentions you bore me;

But as to the kiss, as there's haste, you'll allow

That you'd better run forward and give it my Cow,

For she, at the rate she is scampering now,

Will reach Acton some minutes before me."

The Farmer's Wife and the Gascon.

At Neuchatel, in France, where they prepare
Cheeses that set us longing to be mites,
There dwelt a farmer's wife, famed for her rare
Skill in these small quadrangular delights.

Where they were made, they sold for the immense
Price of three sous a-piece;

But as salt water made their charms increase,
In England the fix'd rate was eighteen-pence.

This damsel had to help her in the farm,
To milk her cows and feed her hogs,
A Gascon peasant, with a sturdy arm
For digging or for carrying logs,
But in his noddle weak as any baby,
In fact a gaby,

And such a glutton when you came to feed him,

That Wantley's dragon, who "ate barns and churches,
As if they were geese and turkies,"

(Vide the Ballad,) scarcely could exceed him.

One morn she had prepared a monstrous bowl
Of cream like nectar,

And wouldn't go to Church (good careful soul!)
Till she had left it safe with a protector;
So she gave strict injunctions to the Gascon,
To watch it while his mistress was to mass gone.

Watch it he did he never took his eyes off,
But lick'd his upper, then his under lip,
his fist to drive the flies off,

And doubled up

Begrudging them the smallest sip,


Which if they got,

my Lord Salisbury, he heaved a sigh,

And cried,-" O happy, happy fly,

How I do envy you your lot!"

Each moment did his appetite grow stronger;
His bowels yearn'd;

At length he could not bear it any longer,

But on all sides his looks he turn'd,

And finding that the coast was clear, he quaff'd
The whole up at a draught.

Scudding from church, the farmer's wife
Flew to the dairy;

But stood aghast, and could not, for her life,
One sentence mutter,

Until she summon'd breath enough to utter "Holy St. Mary!"

And shortly, with a face of scarlet,

The vixen (for she was a vixen) flew

Upon the varlet,

Asking the when, and where, and how, and who
Had gulp'd her cream, nor left an atom,
To which he gave not separate replies,
But, with a look of excellent digestion,
One answer made to every question-
"The Flies!"

"The flies, you rogue!-the flies, you guttling dog!
Behold, your whiskers still are cover'd thickly;

I'll make you tell another story quickly."
So out she bounced, and brought, with loud alarms,
Two stout Gens-d'Armes,

Who bore him to the Judge-a little prig,



bottle nose,

Like a red cabbage rose,

While lots of white ones flourish'd on his wig.
Looking at once both stern and wise,

He turn❜d to the delinquent,

And 'gan to question him, and catechise
As to which way the drink went.

Still the same dogged answers rise,

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The flies, my Lord, the flies, the flies!"

"Psha!" quoth the judge, half peevish and half pompous, Why, you 're non compos.

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You should have watch'd the bowl, as she desired,

And kill'd the flies, you stupid clown.". "What! is it lawful then," the dolt inquired,

"To kill the flies in this here town?

"The man 's an ass-a pretty question this!

Lawful? you booby!-to be sure it is.

You've my authority, where'er you meet 'em,
To kill the rogues, and, if you like it, eat 'em."-
"Zooks!" cried the rustic, "I'm right glad to hear it.
Constable, catch that thief! may I go hang

If yonder bluebottle (I know his face,)

Is n't the very leader of the gang

That stole the cream ;-let me come near it!"—
This said, he started from his place,

And aiming one of his sledge-hammer blows
At a large fly upon the Judge's nose,
The luckless blue-bottle he smash'd,

And gratified a double grudge ;

For the same catapult completely smash'd

The bottle-nose belonging to the Judge!





CAPTAIN Augustus Thackeray did not escape from some more of those casualties into which novices in dinner-giving are apt to initiate their guests. Allured by the syren smiles of a dark-green wine-glass at his elbow, betokening hock in front, he ventured to tilt part of the contents of a slim-throated bottle into his glass. The mower down of multitudes had no sooner steered the beverage into his mouth, between the Scylla and Charybdis of his two mustachios, than he suddenly halted in his swallow, ejaculated "Geud Gad!" (his customary exclamation when any thing much amazed him,) and delivered the green deceiver, with its nauseous contents, to the hot and hurried Jane, who happened, at that moment, to be whisking past his chair. The cod-fish which Mrs. Culpepper had cruelly mangled, in quest of its liver, now disappeared, and was succeeded by that respectable bird, whose cackling saved the Roman capitol. Had Cæsar, at the head of his legions, followed in its rear, Captain Thackeray would never have looked half so aghast. He guessed, with fearful accuracy, how well Mrs. Culpepper could carve ; and foreboding certain splashings, of which he willed to be the giver rather than the receiver, he made a military movement, with his left hand, to get possession of the carving-knife and fork. The lady, however, outflanked him. In vain did he entreat that he might be allowed the honour of saving her that trouble: the lady was inexorable. "The Captain was very polite indeed, all the gentlemen of the army were very polite. Captain Buckram, of the Loyal London Volunteers, was politeness itself: and Major Indigo, of the Cripplegate Sharpshooters, was the very pink of politeness. They always asked her to let them carve, and she always refused: it was a thing she never did, (and what's more, she never would)—let any body carve but herself. Her uncle, the Serjeant, was a capital carver-nobody better; but she never would let him she once contested the point with him so long, that the gravy beef looked like a patty-pan of potted: No! it was a thing she never did, and what's more, she never would: she particularly piqued herself upon her carving!" The conflagrator of female bosoms was not wont to be so rebuffed; but the impenetrable Mrs. Culpepper spiked all his artillery. He therefore, like a prudent warrior, determined to "bear a wary eye" upon the enemy's motions. The first four slices, from the breast, passed off without much danger, and Mrs. Culpepper's embroidered neighbour began to hope that the limbs would not be called for. Alas! what are the hopes of man!"-" Give me a leg," ejaculated Mr. Culpepper. "Now for the tug of war," muttered the Captain to himself. "I guess that there will soon be a slop-seller at both ends of the table." The prophecy was destined to be verified. The common race of men who haunt dinner-tables, dressed in blue or black, are not over-indifferent to the consequences of sitting in the purlieus of a goose. What then must be the feelings of a wretch habited like Capt. Thackeray? If Necessity is the mother of Invention, Danger is the school-mistress who sets her to work. The dilemma did not admit of delay. Already had our hostess dived into the receptacle of sage and onions: already had she made an incision near the os femoris and already was she grasping the extremity of the bird's

leg, with a firm, though greasy, left hand; when the Router of Armies drew hastily from his sabre-tash the crimson silk pocket handkerchief, of which honourable mention was made in my last Epistle, and tying two of its corners behind his neck, caused it to hang like an ægis, to guard his bosom from the random shot of Mrs. Culpepper's knife and fork.." What is he about?" whispered Culpepper to his son! "If he means to take my hint about shaving, I think he might wait till dinner is over." The deed, however, soon proved the wisdom of its perpetrator. The fair carver, by dint of hacking and twisting, had nearly severed the leg from the body: and, essaying all her remaining strength, now accomplished the feat, but with such an accelerated momentum, that leg, fist, and fork descended, like lightning, into the dish. The sage, onions, and gravy, thus assaulted, fled for their lives, and fastened themselves, in many a stray spatter, upon all who hap→ pened to be near them. "La! Mamma! how excessively awkward!" cried Miss Clara, hastily raising the flap of the tablecloth (for napkins there were none), to dislodge a trifle of sage and onion from her eyelid. The rapidity of this action overset the contents of a salt-seller into a dish of lemon cream. "Say nothing about it," whispered her prudent father. Every body at table was more or less wounded by the 'explosion, which, but for his crimson silk cuirass, would have been as fatal to the Captain as the bursting of the gasometer in Wellingtonstreet, Blackfriars, was to the South London Gas Company. "It is fortunate that I adopted this expedient," cried the soldier; "otherwise Captain Thackeray would have been Captain Talbot, alias "the spotted dog." "Well, Sir, you may take off your handkerchief now," said the half-vexed hostess. "Excuse me, Madam," answered he of the crimson breast-plate: "both the enemy's wings, and one of his legs, are still in the field." "My dear," said Culpepper to his wife, " you began with piquing yourself upon your carving: and you have ended with piquing other people. Come, I call that not so bad. I speak my mind, Captain Thwack-away"-" Thackeray, Sir, is my name"" Well then, Thackeray, if you like it better: I speak my mind: I'm not ashamed of myself: my name is Culpepper; I'm a slop-seller, and I live in Savage-gardens." "That's pretty plain," muttered the Captain. 'It's odd enough," resumed the old gentleman, "that my wife never could lop off the limb like other people. It happens regularly once a year. Her uncle, the Serjeant, of whom you observe she is always talking, dines with us once a year-on Michaelmas-day: we always have a goose he always sits where you do (I mean the Serjeant, not the goose): my wife always carves, and he always gets splashed; but as he is a Serjeant, and therefore dresses in black, it does not so much matter."-" A Serjeant in black !" exclaimed the Knight of the ponderous sword: "Geud Gad! Pray, of what regiment?" "The Devil's own," roared Culpepper; " he's a Serjeant at Law." This sally forced a slight laugh from the soldier; but he forthwith recollected himself, and resumed his accustomed air of decorous insipidity. No farther calamity occurred, until, in an evil moment, Captain Thackeray required to be helped to some lemon-cream. The upset salt had by this time insinuated itself into the interior of that compound, so that it presented a smooth, smiling, yet treacherous surface, like the ocean, of which Gay's deploring Damsel thus complains:

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