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Week pass'd after week, till, by weekly succession,
him; For his skin like a lady's loose gown, hung about him! So he sent for a doctor, and cried, like a ninny, “I've lost many pounds-make me well-there's a
guinea." The Doctor look'd wise:-“A slow fever,” he said: Prescrib'd sudorifics--and going to bed. “Sudorifics in bed!” exclaimed Will,“ are humbugs! ”
! I've enough of them there, without paying for drugs!” Will kick'd out the Doctor:--but, when ill, indeed, E’en dismissing the Doctor, don't always succeed; So, calling his host, he said—“Sir, do you know, I'm the fat Single Gentleman, six months ago? “Look ye, landlord, I think,” argued Will, with a
grin, " That with honest intentions you first took me in: But from the first night-and to say it I'm boldI've been so very hot, that I'm sure I've caught cold!" Quoth the landlord,-“ Till now I ne'er had a dis
pute; I've let lodgings ten years,—I'm a baker to boot; In airing your sheets, Sir, my wife is no sloven; And your bed is immediately over my oven.” “The oven!!!”-says Will;-says the host, “ Why
this passion? In that excellent bed died three people of fashion! Why so crusty, good Sir?"_" Żounds!” cried Will
in a taking, “Who would not be crusty, with half a year's bak
ing?" Will paid for his rooms;-cried the host, with a sneer, "Well, I see you've been going away half-a-year," “Friend, we cant well agree;-Yet no quarrel” Will
said; “But I'd rather not perish, while you make your
CHARACTER OF MR. PITT, EARL OF
GRATTAN. The secretary stood alone.
Modern degeneracy had not reached him. Original and unaccommodating, the features of his character had the hardihood of antiquity. His august mind overawed majesty, and one of his sovereigns thought royalty so impaired in his presence, that he conspired to remove him, in order to be relieved from his superiority. No state chicanery, no narrow system of vicious politics, no idle contest for ministerial victories, sunk him to the vulgar level of the great; but, overbearing, persuasive, and impracticable, his object was England, his ambition was fame. Without dividing, he destroyed party; without corrupting, he made a venal age unanimous. France sunk beneath him. With one hand he smote the house of Bourbon, and wielded in the other the democracy of England. The sight of his mind was infinite; and his schemes were to affect, not England, not the present age, but Europe and posterity. Wonderful were the means by which these schemes were accomplished; always seasonable, always adequate, the suggestions of an understanding animated by ardour, and enlightened by prophecy. The ordinary feelings which make life amiable and indolent were unknown to him. No doməstic difficulties, no domestic weakness reached him; but aloof from the sordid occurrences of life, and unsullied by its intercourse, he came occasionally into our system, to counsel and to decide.
À character so exalted, so strenuous, so various, so authoritative, astonished a corrupt age, and the treasury trembled at the name of Pitt through all her classes of venality. Corruption imagined, indeed, that she had found defects in this statesman, and talked much of the inconsistency of his glory, and much of the ruin of his victories; but the history of his country and the calamities of the enemy, answered and refuted her. Nor were his political abilities his only talents; his eloquence was an æra in the senate, peculiar and spontaneous, familiarly expressing gigantic sentiments and instinctive wisdom; not like the torrent of Demosthenes, or the splendid conflagration of Tully; it resembled sometimes the thunder, and sometimes the music of the spheres. Like Murray, he did not conduct the understanding through the painful subtilty of argumentation; nor was he like Townsend, forever on the rack of exertion; but rather lightened upon the subject, and reached the point by the flashings of the mind, which like those of his eye, were felt, but could not be followed. Upon the whole, there was in this man something that could create, subvert, or reform; an understanding, a spirit, and an eloquence, to summon mankind to society, or to break the bonds of slavery asunder, and to rule the wilderness of free minds with unbounded authority; something that could establish or overwhelm empire, and strike a blow in the world that should resound through the universe.
FROM LORD BYRON'S CHILDE HAROLD.
CANTO IV. Oh Time! the beautifier of the dead, Adorner of the ruin, comforter And only healer when the heart hath bled Time! the correcter where our judgments err, The test of truth, love,-sole philosopher, For all beside are sophists, from thy thrift, Which never loses tho it doth defer Time, the avenger! unto thee I lift My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave of thee a
gift: Amidst this wreck, where thou hast made a shrine And temple more divinely desolate, Among thy mightier offerings here are mine, Ruins of years—tho few-yet full of fate: If thou hast ever seen me too elate, Hear me not; but if calmly I have borne
Good, and reserved my pride against the hate
Which shall not whelm me, let me not have worn This iron in my soul in vain-shall they not mourn?
And thou, who never yet of human wrong
Thy former realm, I call thee from the dust!
and must. It is not that I may not have incurr'd For my ancestral faults or mine the wound I bleed withal, and had it been conferr'd With a just weapon, it had flowed unbound; But now my blood shall not sink in the ground; To thee I do devote it—thou shalt take The vengeance which shall yet be sought and found,
Which if I have not taken for the sakeBut let that pass—I sleep, but thou shalt yet awake. And if my voice break forth, 'tis not that now I shrink from what is suffered: let him speak Who hath beheld decline upon my brow, Or seen my mind's convulsion leave it weak; But in this page a record will I seek. Not in the air shall these my words disperse, Tho' I be ashes; a far hour shall wreak
The deep prophetic fulness of this verse,
That curse shall be forgiveness.-Have I not-
Because not altogether of such clay
From mighty wrongs to petty perfidy
And without utterance, save the shrug or sigh, Deal round to happy fools its speechless obloquy.
But I have lived, and have not lived in vain: My mind may lose its force, my blood its fire, And my frame perish even in conquering pain, But there is that within me which shall tire Torture and Time, and breathe when I expire; Something unearthly, which they deem not of, Like the remembered tone of a mute lyre,
Shall on their softened spirits sink, and move In hearts all rocky now the late remorse of love.