* This is not the only passage in which our author's imagination goes a Dymoking. + Quere "hallooing." Printer's devil.

Reeds have a sort of organic complaint in their lungs. We knew an old gentleman who declared, he could often make out the Old Hundredth from the moaning of the river reeds. We scarcely could believe him. Spurzheim would have found an organ in his head with a vengeance!

§ The moon, from the time of Homer to that of Mr. Ex-Sheriff Parkins, has figured away in skies and epics. The moon here drawn appears to be the Pam of the pack. || A dangerous, though a poetical situation, and, as Shakspeare would say, a hu

morous one.

**The reader is requested to be informed, that the child comes before the father and the mother in this place for the sake of harmony. It is, perhaps, quite an inversion of the order of nature, or, as mathematicians would say, the rule of three inverse; but poets are allowed inversions, and if critical magistrates are to take away an author's licentia poetica for such trifles, the muse must shut up her tap.

++ We really think this little word might have been left alone with the readers. The author, indeed, appears to have translated it more for the benefit of his measure than his friends.

Qu. Is this intended as a diminutive, or a toll?

+ As far as we can understand this place, it seems to be a model of a city. It certainly resembles London; and some of the characters "hereinafter mentioned," have a London mark on them.

It is curious that this little metropolis should have inns, signed like the inns of London; but this is not the only thing in which the wee city apes its betters.

§ The poet is wrong here :-Craven-street is a great street for lodgings, and garrets let high.

In spite of all the author's talk about his " French blue" coat, it turns out that he had nothing but smallclothes to his back. He might as well have mentioned his great-coat, which we dare say he had as little as the other.

** Quere "Right?" Printer's Devil.

++ To write to Beauty for bread is an instance of a little brain, quite in character with the subject of this poem. If any gentleman ever got a two-penny roll by an ode, we would consent to eat it! "Oh, bread from the fancy is light weight enough!

By the bye, Richard was born with teeth, and not without, as the poet hath drawn them. But there are many other persons in the latter predicament, whose names would serve the author as well, and preserve the passage.

+ This ode would do to set in a broach, or to print in Little's works; but we have some verses to match :

TO A LILLIPUT LADY.

Sure, lady mine,
You spoke in sport,
To call my line
A mile too short.

Those lines I sent
To tell my smart
Were only meant
To reach your heart.
But when you stretch,
The Muse with pleasure
Will run and fetch
A longer measure.

Surely this author's Pegasus is a pony.

The point is quite worn off. Finely pointed instruments, such as epigrams and bodkins, seldom retain their sharpness long.

§ Dick Symes, a smart fellow with a ready tongue, and a discreditable wit, declares that the lady, unless she had been a Madame Vestris, who makes a tolerable hobble de hoy, neither a man nor a boy, could not enter like A lad in; but he forgets, in his punning eagerness, that only the genie is alluded to. Puns are the pests of society.

We question whether violets are sweeter than roses, and we see no reason why truth should be sacrificed to poetry. "Daisy-scented lips" would set the passage on its legs.

XXI.

She told me that she was no servile child, No homely waiting maid of Craven-street,* (Although to pleasure her enjoyment wild She had enacted such), how trebly sweet Her treble voice became !-I tried to meet Her pearl-sized azure eyes, and saw them smile;

She said she was a princess, and her feet Were brightly diamonded-I blushed awhile

Then stared to see the room change to a lordly pile!

XXII.

For, at her bidding, quick my second pair, With its six chairs, and feature-twisting glass, +

And one poor table-vanish'd;-Heaven
knows where !

And I saw all the opposite houses pass
(Like a side scene), and 'stead of them a mass
Of trees, and walks, and terraces began
To assemble at the will of this fay-lass,
And my smallclothes grew bright-and my
small wan

Thin visage plump'd, and show'd an al-
ter'd little man! +

XXIII.

We sat in bright apartments (very small),'
Ourselves no longer than a thin tin-tack; §
And little liveried servants at her call,
Little starch'd men came, standing at her
back;

We took a little something as a snack,
A blue-fly's merrythought, a bilberry ice-
A drop of ratafia, and soon the clack
Of my companion was let loose; -a slice
Of fly, with small talk season'd, tasted
mighty nice!

XXIV.

"This is my room! || This is in fact my palace,

This is my servant; (Stephen,** show yourself!)

This is my-but you do not fill your chalice,"
(She said, and pass'd the bottle) on the
shelf,

That is my royal bowl, china not delf,
(We'll++ squeeze a lemon into it to-
night.) ++

This is my city-each man-jack's an elf-
These are my sovereigns."-I strain'd my
sight,

And saw but yellow dust such dust would come down light.

XXV.

-I'll take you through

My city you shall see-)

itTo-morrow, not to-day; to-day we'll chat, 'Tis like all other bigger cities; view it, And tell me where's a better;-tell me that! We've taxes, poets, play-houses-(now drat The man, he has not brought the bills today!)

We'll go (but I must buy you a flat
hat,) §§

To the opera; we've a Catalani fay!
And I will get our little span-long Kean || ||
to pla"!

XXVI.

With talk like this we reach'd the dinner-
hour,

And, oh! the comfortable cloth to view!-
The pretty pin's-head of a cauliflower,
Fish, and a breast of lamb, and one or two
Patties (not girls but tarts) and melted dew,
(No butter), and a ham from fairy pig,
And fowls, mere flea-bites, peas, and then
a few

Oho! The truth is coming out-"No waiter, but a Night Templar," as Dick Symes writes it. The changes in this marvellous poem (that "lies like truth, and yet most truly lies,”) are as rapid as the changes in a Christmas pantomime. First we have a gentleman fishing, with very little sport, after the manner of all gentlemen anglers; then a song from the invisible girl; then a descent of the moon upon the said gentleman, like a tin cover on a turkey; then a long rigmarole about a little city; then a landlady's daughter, who is no daughter, but a princess!" Gad a-mercy, Mr. Puff, how is all this?"-But we shall see anon; it is a knavish piece of work.

+ A friend of ours, a lady, has a glass of this tangling description, which we never dare to look into, for it makes the face like a letter S. She declares she prefers it, for having naturally very straight hair, it saves her the trouble of putting it in papers.

Another change. We shall have change for a guinea soon, as George Selwyn says. § This is the second tin-tack that has been driven into the reader already in this poem. An author, as Mr. Puff says, never knows how to make enough of a good thing. The Princess loquitur.

** Ben Jonson calls him Master Stephen.

++ How these little people like to talk big! If the lady had said “pinch a lemon," the expression would have been quite strong enough.

This is what Dick Symes calls a Belcherian line; an allusion to a punch in the inside. But this is low.

SS Our author is extremely fond of parentheses.-They would, if picked out, make a little poem of themselves, and certainly would not be missed.

Many of the public prints have endeavoured to make Kean appear as little as our poet, but, in spite of all, he is a Gog of an actor!

Potatoes, the best fairy-kidneys-dig The world, you'd not find better though you might as big!

XXVII.

We drew the table very near the fire,
My lady + drank pure water out of choice;
I tried a little Tritton's best entire,
And found the fay-stout made my heart re-
joice!

Verily soon uplifted was my voice,
Strengthen'd with small strong beer and
dainty food;

"Thomas, the hock!-green glasses make less noise!

"Tis many years since this was in the wood!" I tasted it-look'd wise-smack'd-and pronounced it good!

XXVIII.

The cloth remov'd-the long-neck'd bottles

came

Like curious people stretching in a crowd;
And precious fruits, dwarf-apples all a-flame,
And blushing pears, sun-smitten, in a cloud
Of leaves lay nestling: -well §!—I fill'd
and bow'd

Over my claret to my princess ;-she,
Fill'd-gave the King with three, not over
loud,

Then fill'd again, and push'd the wine to me;
Begg'd me to name a friend, and I gave
Mrs. D ||

XXIX.

We pass'd the bottle, "not too freely"-but
So as to make our mirth and fancies tell,-
And now we schemed for some amusement;
put, **

Or loo, back-gammon,†† brag, or bagatelle;
My little stock of money went pell-mell,
For she could win ;-some people would say,
rob ;-

I hinted at a game at cribbage,-well-
We play'd-the fives came to her in a mob,
And lauk! How vast her luck,-'twas
ever "two for his nob! "++

xxx.

I soon became the pennyless prey of tick! §§
I left off paying, and she left off playing:
Of such a cursed run of twoing, traying ;—
I push'd away the cards, for I was sick
She saw that I was hurt, and, just waylaying
My lips with a sweet kiss, she laugh'd away,
And looking in my face, her face arraying
In most arch smiles, she sang, or seem'd
to say,

(A wily little witch !) the song of Duncan
Gray! |

XXXI.

"Call me a poet!" (the song done) she exclaim'd!

(Poets were there like coaches hack'd and number'd),

"I'll have my little lover brightly fam'd,
And to that end his name must be encumber'd
With rhymes and measures, things o'er
which I've slumber'd

Often, though woven by a fairy brain!
I'll have this little man compared with some
bird

Of delicate plume!-It goes against the
grain

To call these creatures up-they're such a hungry train!

We know not whether all these things are in season together, or eatable at the time our author states; but poetry is remarkable for the mildness of its seasons, and fairy peas may, like fairy ladies, be excused for being a little too forward.

+"How would you do at sea if you were out of water?" said Dick Symes to a gentleman that professed to drink nothing else. "Why, I would suck my pumps," was the answer. Right," ," said Dick, " you would have two feet in your hold." The lady, however, is not a thorough-bred water-drinker; indeed the breed is as scarce as the Earl of Tankerville's wild bulls at Chillingham. It appears that even a fairy can push the bottle. Dick Symes says, that bottles were not invented in the days of fairies, and that the poet is therefore guilty of an Anacreonism.

It was Stephen but just now. The author seems to be in a Falconbridge mood— "An' if his name be George, I'll call him Peter."

§ It is a proverb that, "Truth lies in a well."-It is difficult to understand how Truth can lie at all, but at any rate, we suspect she does not lie in this well.

|| A friend of the author. This is one of the prettiest compliments we ever remember: -to be toasted immediately after the king, and by a Fairy Princess." Well, mem!— This is what I call an honour!"

**"Only let me catch her at put," says Lord Duberly.

++ Backgammon is a terrible game for a lady's temper; and we only wonder that the gentleman should have proposed it. He was sure of getting more hits than gammons.— See a picture on the subject.

Some players are fond of saying, " two for his heels," but we prefer the other end. We have heard of a patron who used to point out a dining-table (at which Porson had sat), and say, "There, Sir! under that table have been some of the most intellectual legs of the age!"-A gamester had been more germane to the matter.

§§ Another friend of the author, we presume.

We half suspect that this little princess is of Scotch extraction, by her turning the penny so prettily. At any rate, she gives herself Scotch airs.