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Till wild agitation made Howard to vomit,
Besmearing his partner, who could not get from it!
Poor Saunders could only use puffs for repulsion,

While Howard pour'd streams at each painful convulsion;
Till one sick with nausea, and the other with puking,
Perceiv'd their mistake, and both turn'd to rebuking.
Complimentaries over, their disapprobation
Eventually changed to commiseration.

"And where were you going?" said Bluster again,
Who still was distress'd with the primitive pain.
"Why, to the balcony, on private affairs."

"Oh, my friend, I'll attend you-dispel all your cares."
"My business is done-I think you may know it,
"For you were the cause that compell'd me to throw it."
Saunders saw he was out, yet resolving to screen it,
Inform'd him the best he could do was to clean it.
The hint was sufficient-he could not refuse him,
But would rather have stopt, did Bluster excuse him.
V.

Now, while they were gone, taking care of each other,
A litter of grunters came in with their mother!
But how she came out with her train from the sty,
And how her ambition had led her so high,
Are very surprising, and will rest a wonder,
But certain it is her intention was plunder.

Now, one end of the Ward would never content her,
For impudence prompted her up to the centre;
Where little was found, as her friend, Andrew Sable,
Had given her before all the waste of the table.

That things did not please her, was plain by her grunting,
And that she had hopes, could be seen by her hunting.
Discomfiture often attends the aggressor,

And greediness always defeats the possessor.

"Twas so with the grunter, whose conscience was such, That finding a little, she wanted too much :

And coming at length to a kettle of tin

Containing some soup-she resolv'd to be in;
But the handle would only admit of her snout,

Else force must be us'd, for the handle was stout.

Now the taste of the soup gave the grunter such pleasure,
That she push'd in her head to make sure of the treasure;
But how to get out, quite unable to settle,

She scamper'd about with her head in the kettle!
Which depriv'd her at once of the use of her sight,
And refracted the rays of the glimmering light.

VI.

Here Bluster, approaching wi' his guardian Howard,
Thought every thing safe-was no longer a coward;
But career'd up the Ward, and was making his boast
That he never believ'd in a witch or a ghost-
That bug-bears, and fairies, and huge apparitions,
Were palpable falsehoods, and gross superstitions.
Now the grunter, though blind, had the use of her cars,
For the bustle of Saunders disclaiming his fears
Made her think that the Black was coming to beat her,
And rush'd to escape him-pursu'd by the litter.

But where was she going?-ah! how could she know ?—
Why, right upon Bluster, and hit him a blow!—

"Lord save us," he roar'd out, “we're ta’en by the deʼils!” And fled-but the grunter was close at his heels. In his dread consternation to get to the door,

Saunders tripp'd his companion, and fell on the floor;

Where the pig undesignedly trying his mettle,
Before he could rise, struck his head with the kettle;
Then wheeling about, with the tin mask upon her,
Went up, in her terror, quite close to O'Connor ;
Who, very uneasy, tormented with dreaming,
Was actually then in great agony screaming-
"Oh let me hold on by a part of the sail!"

His hand stretching out-caught the pig by the tail!
He grasp'd it so hard, that her music awoke him,
And found in his hand-'twas sufficient to shock him.

VII.

Foregoing his grip, without asking to quit her,
He leap'd from the bed, and crush'd one of the litter.
Nor did he intend it, his fear did not wrong 'em-
'Twas the fault of the sow that plung'd him among 'em.
Afraid to get up-poor O'Connor lay sprawling,
Embracing the grunter he hurt in his falling;
Till the sight of its mother, dress'd off with the tin,
Made the Irishman wish to be out of his skin.
Arising, at length, the best way he was able,
He ran-but alas! he ran foul of the table,
Where the pots of the sick were pil'd on the border,
And tumbled about him, to swell the disorder;
But the greatest mishap, and the worst of the matter,
Was a kettle upsetting with hot barley water!
To fly then he could not, nor would he contrive,
But roar'd " Blood and thunder! I'm boiling alive!"
When Mullen, in torment, with shrewdness accosted,
"Sure, boiling is bad, but 'tis worse to be roasted!"

VIII.

The shrieks of O'Connor, in misery weeping, Depriv'd the whole Ward of the pleasure of sleeping: But the pain which they felt by the sense of their hearing Was lost in the view of the grunter's careering..

That the Devils were come to take them at last,

They now were assur'd, when they thought of the past; And how to avoid them, if that could be done,

Was the wish of each patient-but where could he run?
One set the example, and flew to the door,

The rest follow'd him-but the pigs went before!
The sow, for their guide, had a woeful defection,
Yet still they obey'd her, without an objection;

But altho' they were young, and their knowledge but small,
Would not rush, like their mother, head on to the wall.
Unfortunate sow! she must alter her course!-
And ran whence she came, with impetuous force.
Stop!"-Holdfast exclaim'd-but the hurry of Tucker
Would bear of no stop, till he violently struck her.
Now his fate was sufficient to hinder the rest,
For he lay on the floor with the sow on his breast.
The litter, surpris'd at the case of their mother,
Came grunting about her-to welcome their brother!
And Tucker, lamenting how Satan did treat him,
Believ'd that his spirits were coming to eat him!

IX.

The patients were lost in confusion and terror,
Till Havock, a butcher, perceiving his error,
Began to assure them they were nothing but pigs,

For he knew by their tails, and the shape of their legs.

No, no!" said O'Connor? "they're the members of sin, "Did you ever see pigs wearing helmets of tin?" Bluster join'd with his friend, and confirm'd what he said, By disclosing the scar he receiv'd on his head. Paddy Mullen objected, by putting the task, If shame had made Satan to put on a mask? Now Howard and Holdfast agreed with the butcher, And proffer'd their services with him to catch her. To which he declar'd he was willing and ready, With help of Pat Mullen, O'Connor, and Eddy. Pat swore he would rather dispense with the trouble, And if he knew how, he would tip 'em the double. O'Connor cried out, 66 May the helmet confound 'em! "They're now in the corner-come, let us surround 'em.""Softly, there!"-said the butcher to waggish O'Connor"I will catch them myself, and have all the honour.” "Oh! take it my honey!" said Pat with a sneer, "And the Devil be with you in honour's career!”

X.

The butcher, aware of the mother's disaster,

Was perfectly sure he was more than her master;

But to catch the young grunters-ah! that was the chance!
For his greed would have them and the mother at once.
He went nearer and nearer, extending his legs,
To prevent the escape of the litter of pigs,
Which crouding still closer-afraid to be touch'd,
Gave him reason to judge that the whole were bewitch'd.
Now the sow had a thought there was evil betiding,
And rush'd, with the butcher a-top of her riding!
The swifter she gallop'd-the louder his wail-
For the face of the rider was turn'd to her tail!
While the litter, augmenting his pitiful case,
Kept grunting with joy, and careering in chace;
Till the sow in her madness, for he couldn't guide her,
Drove under the table, and threw off the rider,
Whose back, from the jostle, had receiv'd little good,
But he tumbled, alas! on the top of the brood,
Which squeaking beneath such a terrible weight,
Increas'd his confusion, and doubled his fright:
And O'Connor exclaimed, the moment she fell,
"Why I thought that your honour was posting to h-ll!"

XI.

These aukward mishaps, and unfortunate evils,

Now prov'd beyond doubt that the grunters were devils !
And Havock returning with horrors and quaking,
Confess'd to them all he was sadly mistaken.
The method of safety they next should pursue
Was the query of all-but nobody knew.
While thus they were wrangling in useless debate,
The grunters, advancing, compell'd their retreat
To the end of the Ward, to hide from the elves,

Where now 'twas their turn to be hemm'd in themselves!
But could not agree about places at all,

For weakness was turn'd out, and strength had the wall.

XII.

As here they were coop'd in lamentable pother,
The pigs and the patients afraid of each other—
Lo! enters Black Andrew, excessively wroth,
A spectre sufficient to frighten them both.

The contrast was striking, 'twixt his shirt and his skin,
While his night-cap o'ertopp'd a most horrible grin.
The noice of his charge having come to his ear,
Awoke his concern for eluding his care;

And resolving to pay 'em for causing the trip,
Brought the rod of correction-an excellent whip.
First, Rhodes, on perceiving the sow dress'd with the tin,
Which would fall to his lot in the end to make clean,
Began, in his frenzy, to Satan to pitch her,
And then with the lash most tormentingly switch her.
She squeal'd-but 'twas folly for her to complain;
And to fly, in her state, was equally vain.
However, she ran-the first lash was so sore,

That her grunting assur'd him she wanted no more—
But more she must have, and the route was become

A scene of confusion all over the room.

The Black, in pursuit, thunder'd vengeance, and swore,
Tho' he ran at that time-did never before!
As thus he kept venting his rage on the hog
His companion came up-a ludicrous dog;
And join'd in the chace with the joy of a cur,
Assisting his patron, and swelling the stir.

XIII.

But the lash of his whip, in his hurry to use it,
Twin'd round the tin handle, nor could he unloose it ;
His fury increas'd at the vexing disaster,

And she, to complete it, ran faster and faster;

Nor could he restrain her from striking the wall,
Whence, turning abruptly, she forc'd him to fall.
But now he recover'd his hold of the whip,

And, tho' dragg'd thro' the ward, wouldn't yield to his grip.
The pace of the grunter express'd there was odds,
In scampering alone, and in trailing of Rhodes;
Who, mourning the loss of his trowsers and jacket,
Declar'd it was hard to be haul'd about naked.
The sow, in contaction, coming next with the stove,
Trampled over her friend as a mark of her love;
But the tin, which prevented her giving embrace,
By her suddenly wheeling, fell off from her face-
To the joy of herself, as well as her keeper,
Who did not approve to be used as a creeper.
"And now I shall have you!" exclaim'd Mr Sable;
But the pig, getting sight, escap'd round the table.

He, panting, pursu'd her; but now she could match him,
For, having her eyes, was enabl'd to watch him.
The table alas! he could only confound it,
And while he kept chasing, she kept going round it!
Rhodes, following quicker, resolving to sweat her,
Instantaneously stopt-and suddenly met her!
But the Sow had the sense, when very near taken,
To turn back again, and make off with her bacon.
Rhodes saw he was out, yet determin'd to top her,
And mounted the table in order to stop her.
Now the grunter was out-and flew for relief
Right up to the corner of terror and grief:

"O catch them! O catch them! and take them below!"
He bawl'd to the patients, dissolving in woe:
Whose senses perplex'd, nor him understood,

But thought, in their dread, that he spoke to the brood.
And the sick, in their horrors, forgot they were sick,
Struggling all for the corner, to double Old Nick!

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UPON THE PRESENT STATE OF THE
BIBLIOMANIA.

To the Editor of the Edinburgh
Magazine.

SIR,

In the year of our Lord One thousand eight hundred and eleven, there appeared a certain work, under the following title: "Bibliomania; A Bibliographical Romance, in Six Parts: by the Rev. Thomas Frognall Dibdin, 8vo. This was the second, and a greatly enlarged, edition, formed on a new plan, and composed of much more attractive materials, as well as ornamented with wood and copper cuts. The least attractive part, was the engravings. However, with the same spirit of ruthless Vandalism or Gothicism which distinguishes the Reverend author in all his Bibliographical productions, these cuts, both upon wood and copper, were destroyed. Many of the former ("it is noised abroad") were converted into snuff-boxes, which are now regularly displayed, filled with Havannah snuff, upon the anniversaries of the Roxburgh Club dinners; and the whole of the latter were utterly broken up and re-melted, into what forms, it is impossible now to learn; although it has been whispered that the portrait of Braithwait, prefixed to the limited edition of Drunken Barnaby, of which Mr Joseph Haslewood is the enterprising and fortunate editor, was cut upon the very piece of copper that had served for the small-clothes of Luther and Melancthon; see p. 158. however, somewhat sceptical upon this point.

We are,

The work above mentioned was no sooner published than it was out of print: that is to say, the edition was exhausted within six months of the day of publication, and yet, not only is the impression allowed to have been tolerably large, but the class of readers for which it was suited must have been necessarily small. The present price of the work *, even in boards,

The original price was twenty-seven shillings but dare we venture to hope for a new edition? We dare not. Sooner think to straiten the crooked and gnarled branches of a Sussex oak, than indulge a rational idea of such a thing's coming to

is little short of £.4: 4s., if the report of the hammers of Messrs Sotheby and Evans may be trusted. It is useless to bestow a word about the nature of the contents of the work in question. They are best known, and may be best appreciated, by the struggle to obtain a copy of it whenever it turns up," as the choice, as well as technical phrase is. My more immediate object is, the present and probable future state of the BIBLIOMANIA, as connected, more or less, with the productions of the author in question.

66

The year ensuing the publication of this "Bibliographical Romance," the sale of the Roxburgh Library took place, when Mr Evans made his debût as a book-auctioneer. Never was there an occasion more brilliant, more seductive, and more prosperous in its results; and, from that moment to the present, Mr Evans has run a career which we have reason to think has been as honourable and satisfactory to himself as to his employers. Not that we wish or mean to undervalue the efforts, or cast a "sere and yellow" tinge upon the reputation of the Waterloo-Place rival labourer in the sub-hâsta vineyard. Mr Sotheby, aided by the irresistible good humour, and "incomparable felicity of temper" (as Gibbon happily said of Lord North) of Sir Benjamin Wheatley †, continues to wield the sceptre of his authority with the same grace and good nature as distinguished his illustrious predecessor Mr Leigh. It is a sceptre indeed of an antiquity almost as remote as that wielded by Agamemnon, and upon which Homer has so pleasantly digressed. For yourself,

pass—What odd mortals these Bibliographers are!

It was this part of the title that gave the work admission into circulating li braries; and some roguish stories have thence, and feigned to be lost: wherebeen told of the book being borrowed from upon the loser paid the amount of the original price cheerfully-But was not the proprietor gulled? We think he was.

What says a certain privately-printed Bibliographical poem upon this hero? -where BEN, Brave honest Ben, like BENBOW of the main, Of old, sits

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