THE report of my death-a report originally created by the malevolence of a fiendhas, I am sorry to observe, gained considerable currency through the inadvertence of you a friend. Had my body been really consigned to the dust, you should have received intelligence of that event, not from the casual whispers of a stranger, but from the affectionate bequest of a sincere admirer; for, Sir, I may as well mention the fact, that by a holograph codicil to my last will and testament, I have constituted you sole tutor and curator of all my MSS.; thus providing, in case of accidents, for these my intellectual offspring, the care of a guardian, who, I am well aware, would superintend, with a father's eye, the mode of their introduction into public life.

I flatter myself, however, that you will not hear with indifference, of my being still in a condition to fulfil this office in proprià personâ. On some future occasion I shall describe to your readers, in, I hope, no uninteresting strains, the strange vicissitudes of my fate during the last two years: among these not the least amusing will be the narrative of those very peculiar circumstances which have induced me to lie perdue, a listener to no less than two succeeding historians of my life, supposed to be terminated-and eulogists of my genius, no less falsely supposed to have been swallowed up in the great vortex of animation. But of all this anon.

I inclose, in the mean time, as the first offerings of my re-acknowledged existence, three several productions of my muse. The first (the Garland) was composed by me a few weeks ago on the following occasion.

I happened to be in Hawick at the moment when the celebrated Giantess, Mrs Cook, passed through that town on her way from the South. Animated with that rightful spirit of curiosity which has been pronounced to be the mother of all knowledge, I immediately hastened to wait upon her. The vast stature of this remarkable woman-her strength (for, with a single squeeze, she had well nigh crushed my fingers to dust),-the symmetry of her figure-but above all, the soft elegance of her features-these united attractions were more than sufficient to make a deep impression on the mind of one who has never professed himself to be "a stoic of the woods." After spending a comfortable evening at Mrs Brown's, I set out for Eltrive, the seat of my friend Mr Hogg, and, in the course of the walk, composed the following lines, which I soon afterwards sent to Mrs Cook. It is proper to mention, that the fair daughter of Anak enclosed to me, in return, a ticket of free admission for the season-of which I shall certainly very frequently avail myself after my arrival in Edinburgh.

The other two poems, the Eve of St Jerry, and the Rime of the Auncient Waggonere, were composed by me many years ago. The reader will at once detect the resemblance which they bear to two well-known and justly celebrated pieces of Scott and Coleridge. This resemblance, in justice to myself, is the fruit of their imitation-not of mine. I remember reciting the Eve of St Jerry about the year 1795 to Mr Scott, then a very young man; but as I have not had the pleasure of seeing Mr Coleridge, although I have often wished to do so, and hold his genius in the highest estimation, I am more at a loss to account for the accurate idea he seems to have possessed of my production, unless, indeed, I may have casually dropt a copy of the MS. in some bookseller's shop in Bristol, where he may have found it. Meantime, I remain, Dear Editor, your affectionate servant, MORGAN ODoherty.

Eltrive Lake, Feb. 29th 1819. VOL. IV.

4 C

LET the Emerald Isle make Obrien her The similitudes used in king Solomon's book,

Charles Obrien, the person here alluded to, measured exactly eight feet two inches in his pumps. His countenance was comely, and his chest well formed, but, like the "Mulier Formosa" of Horace's Satire, or (what may be considered as a more appropriate illustration) like the idol of the Philistines, he was very awkwardly shaped in the lower extremities. He made a practice of selling successively to many gentlemen of the medical profession, the reversion of his enormous carcase. It is said that one of these bargains-viz. that contracted between him and the celebrated Liston of Edinburgh, was reduced to a strictly legal shape. It is well known that, according to the forms of Scots law, nothing but moveables can be conveyed by testament-every ather species of property requires to be transferred by a deed inter vivos. The acute northern anatomist, doubting whether any court of law would have been inclined to class Obrien's body among moveables, insisted that the giant should vest the fee of the said body in him (the surgeon), saving and retaining to himself (the giant), a right of usufruct or liferent. We have not heard by what symbol the Dr completed his infeftment.

† The “strapping young man" was the late Thomas Higgins, on occasion of whose death was composed a poetical dialogue, formerly alluded to in the Magazine.

TRAVELLER.

Why! I was told you woollen-weavers here

Were starved outright for lack of all employment;
But I perceive a very different cheer.

Your looms are rattling all in full enjoyment.

Goliah, Cocknicé Geliar.

"I don't defend that rhyme, 'tis very bad,

Tho' us'd by Hunt and Keats, and all that squad."-WASTLE.

§ An allusion to the prayer of this great Greek hero in Homer

* Εν φάει και ολέσσον.”

The Eve of St Jerry.

[THE reader will learn with astonishment that I composed the two following ballads in the fourteenth year of my age, i. e. A. D. 1780. I doubt if either Milton or Pope rivalled this precocity of genius. M. O.]

ICK GOSSIP the barber arose with the I watch'd her steps, and secret came

Dock

And pull'd his breeches on;

Down the staircase of wood, as fast as he could,
The valiant shaver ran,

He went not to the country forth

To shave or frizzle hair;

Nor to join in the battle to be fought,
At Canterbury fair.

Yet his hat was fiercely cocked, and his ra-
zors in his pocket,

And his torturing irons he bore;
A staff of crab-tree in his hand had he,
Full five feet long and more.

The barber return'd in three days space,
And blistered were his feet;

And sad and peevish were his looks,
As he turn'd the corner street.

He came not from where Canterbury
Ran ankle-deep in blood;
Where butcher Jem, and his comrades grim,
The shaving tribe withstood.

Yet were his eyes bruis'd black and blue;
His cravat twisted and tore;
His razors were with gore imbued-
But it was not professional gore.*

He halted at the painted pole,
Full loudly did he rap,
And whistled on his shaving boy,
Whose name was Johnny Strap.

Come hither,come hither, young tickle-beard,
And mind that you tell me true,
For these three long days that I've been away,
What did Mrs Gossip do?

When the clock struck eight, Mrs Gossip
went straight,

In spite of the pattering rain,
Without stay or stop to the butcher's shop,
That lives in Cleaver-lane.

• We have no wish to injure the reputation of this gentleman; but, from the above stanza, it is evident that his hand was liable to tremor, whether from natural nervous debility, or the effect of brandy, we cannot take upon us to determine.

Where she sat upon a chair,

No person was in the butcher's shop-
The devil a soul was there.

The second night I 'spy'd a light

As I went up the strand,
"Twas she who ran, with pattens on,
And a lanthorn in her hand:

She laid it down upon a bench,

And shook her wet attire ;
And drew in the elbow chair, to warm
Her toes before the fire.

In the twinkling of a walking stick,"
A greasy butcher came,

And with a pair of bellows, he

Blew up the dying flame.

And many a word the butcher spoke
To Mrs Gossip there,

But the rain fell fast, and it blew such a blast,

That I could not tell what they were.

The third night there the sky was fair,
There neither was wind nor rain;
And again I watch'd the secret pair

At the shop in Cleaver-lane.

And I heard her say, "Dick Gossip's away,
So we'll be blithe and merry,
And the bolts I'll undo, sweet butcher to you,
On the eve of good St Jerry.+

"I cannot come, I must not come"-
For shame, faint hearted snarler,
Must I then moan, and sit alone,
In Dicky Gossip's parlour.

"The dog shall not tear you, and Strap‡
shall not hear you,

And blankets I'll spread on the stair; By the blood-red sherry, § and holy St Jerry, I conjure thee sweet butcher be there."

From this line, it is to be interred, that the oaken saplings of our ancestors rivalled in elasticity the bamboo canes of our modern dandies.

+We have in vain scrutinized the kalendar for the name of this saint.

After his master's misfortune, this gentleman settled in the north, and was the great grand-father of that Strap, so honourably noticed by Smollet.

§ This valuable species of wine is unfortunately for modern epicures now unknown

"The bridegroom's doors are opened wide, The waggonere

And thither I must walke;

Soe, by youre leave, I muste be gone,

I have noe time for talke!"

in mood for chate,and admits of no excuse.

The tailore seized with the ague.

He listeneth like a three yeares and a half child.

The appetite of the tailore whetted by the smell of cabbage.

The waggonere, in talkinge anent Bo

reas, maketh

bad orthographye.

Their mirthe interrupted;

And the passengers exercise themselves in the pleasant art of swimminge, as

doeth also their prog, to witte, great store of colde roasted beef: item, ane beefstake pye; item, viii choppines of usquebaugh.

"With rout and roare, we reached the shore,

And never a soul did sinke;

But in the rivere, gone for evere,

Swum our meate and drinke.

"At lengthe we spied a goode grey goose,
Thorough the snow it came;

And with the butte ende of my whippe,
I hailed it in Goddhis name.

The waggon. ere hailethe

ane goose, with ane novelle saluta

tione.