as his nephew entered. "No occasion, Sir; I am always punctualBoileau says, that the time a man makes a company wait for him is always spent in discovering his faults."-" Does he? then he's a sensi→ ble fellow; and if he's a friend of yours you might have brought him to dinner with you.-But you needn't have made yourself such a dandy, Harry, merely to dine at the counting-house."" Why, Sir, as I expected the dinner to be well dressed for me, I thought I could not do less than return the compliment."-" Ha, ha, ha? do you hear that Billy?-not a bad one, was it? Egad, Harry doesn't go to College for nothing. But there's the 'Change clock chiming for five, and we ought to have dinner. Ay, I remember when four was the hour, and a very good hour too."-"I lately tumbled upon a letter of Addison's to Swift," interrupted Henry, "dated 29th Feb. 1707, inviting him to meet Steele and Frowde at the George in Pall-mall, at two o'clock, which was then the fashionable hour. And apropos of haunches, I remember reading, that in 1720, the year of the South Sea bubble, owing to the fancied riches suddenly flowing in upon the citizens, a haunch of venison rose to the then unexampled value of five guineas, so that deer were dear indeed for one season."-" A fine thing to have been owner of a herd that year," said Mr. Blewett." Capital!" observed Mr. Rule, with an emphatic jerk of the head." In the mean time where is our haunch of mutton?" inquired the Alderman :-" do, pray, Mr. Rule, see about it-the cook used to be punctual, and it is now two minutes and a half past five." Mr. Rule bowed and disappeared, but presently returned, announcing that dinner was served.

Sir Peter sat at the head of the table, and as Philip the servant was about to remove the cover, laid his hand upon his arm to stop him, until he was provided with a hot plate, vegetables, and sweet sauce, so as to be all ready for the attack when the trenches were opened. "Beautiful!" he exclaimed, as the joint was revealed to him; "done to a turn-admirably frothed up!" so exclaiming, he helped himself plenteously to the best part, and pushing away the dish said "he had no doubt the others would rather help themselves." Mr. Rule, who had not yet achieved independence enough to be clownish, volunteered to supply his neighbours, which he did so clumsily, that Harry declared he should never be his joint executor; and Mr. Blewett applied his more experienced hand to the task. For the first ten minutes so much went into the baronet's mouth that there was no room for a single word to come out; but, as his voracity became gratified, he found leisure to ask his guests to drink wine, and to cackle at intervals what he termed some of his good stories.-" Clever fellow, King Charles : they called him the mutton-eating King, didn't they?-cut off his head though for all that-stopped his mutton-eating, egad!-I say, Billy, did I tell you what I said t'other day to Tommy Daw, the bill-broker. Tommy's a Bristol man, you know: well, I went down to Bristol about our ship the Fanny that got ashore there."-" The Fanny, Capt. Tyson, was in Dock at the time," interrupted Rule; "it was the Adventure, Capt. Hacklestone, that got ashore."-" Well, well, never mind-where was I-O, ay;-so says Tommy to me when I came back, Is Betsy Bayley as handsome as ever?-who bears the bell now at Bristol? Why, says I-the bellman, to be sure! Ha! ha! ha! ha!— Egad, I thought Tommy would have burst his sides with laughing

Who bears the bell at Bristol? says he.-Why, the bellman, says I. Capital, wasn't it ?"-" Capital," ejaculated Mr. Rule, with a most decisive energy.

"It's a pity this stewed beefsteak at the bottom should be wasted," said Blewett, "nobody tastes it."-" It won't be wasted," replied Harry, "it economizes our dinner."-" How so ?"-" Because it serves to make both ends meet."- "Aha! Billy," roared the Baronet," he had you there. I told you Harry didn't go to college for nothing."—“ By the by, sir," continued the nephew, "did you ever hear of Shakspeare's receipt for dressing a beefsteak ?"—" Shakspeare's!-no-the best I ever eat were at Dolly's ;-but what is it ?"-"Why, sir, he puts it into the mouth of Macbeth, where he makes him exclaim— If it were done when 'tis done, then it were well 'twere done quickly."""Good, good," cackled the Baronet, "but I said a better thing than Shakspeare last week. You know Jack Foster the common council-man, ugly as Buckhorse-gives famous wine though;—well, we were talking about the best tavern, (I'll thank you for some sweet sauce, Mr. Rule); and so says I-(and a little of the brown fat if you please)—and so says I-Jack, I never see your face without thinking of a good dinner. 'Why so?' says Jack. Because it's ordinary ever day at two o'clock, says I." Here the Baronet was seized with such a violent fit of laughter that it brought on an alarming attack of coughing and expectoration; but he no sooner recovered breath enough than he valiantly repeated "Why, so, Jack?—Because it's ordinary every day at two o'clock, says I:"-which he followed up with a new cackle, while Mr. Rule delivered himself most dogmatically of another "Capital !" and relapsed into his usual solemnity.

"The greatest compliment ever offered to this joint," resumed the nephew, "proceeded from a popular actor now living, who deemed it the ne plus ultra of epicurism. Having been a long time in London without seeing Richmond Hill, he was taken by some friends to enjoy that noble view, then in the perfection of its summer beauty. The day was fine-every thing propitious :-they led him up the hill and along the dead wall till he reached the Terrace, where the whole glorious vision burst upon him with such an overpowering effect, that he could only exclaim, in the intensity of his ecstasy,- A perfect Haunch, by Heaven!""

"You will be at Kemble's sale to-morrow, Sir Peter?" inquired Blewett." What!" replied the nephew, "are poor John Philip's books to be sold? I shall attend certainly. I understand he possessed the first edition of Piers Plowman-The Maid's Tragedy-Gammer Gurton's Needle, and- -" "Hoity toity!" interrupted Sir Peter; "what the deuce is the lad chattering about ?"—" Bless me, Mr. Henry," cried Rule, "you have surely seen the catalogue of the great sale in Mincing Lane-1714 bales of Pernambuco cotton, 419 of Maranham, 96 hogsheads and 14 tierces of Jamaica sugar, 311 bags of Coffee, and 66 casks of Demerara cocoa. I believe I can favour you with a perusal of the catalogue with all the best lots marked."-"Infinitely obliged to you," replied Harry, "but I had rather undergo the lot of being knocked down myself."

"Aha!" exclaimed the Baronet, with a look of gloating delight; "now we shall get on again. Here comes the Argyle with some hot gravy;-that was a famous invention."-" Nothing like it," replied

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Harry," in the Marquis of Worcester's whole Century. A distinguished writer desires one of our noble families to consider the name of Spenser the poet, as the fairest jewel in their coronet. May we not extend the same remark to the ducal race, whose name will, by this discovery, be constantly in our mouths?"-" Ay, and whose celebrity will thus be kept up, hot and hot," added Sir Peter. "Egad, I'll drink their healths in a bumper, and take another slice upon the strength of it. One ought to encourage such ingenious improvements."

"I am afraid, Sir Peter, that the best side's all gone," said Mr. Blewett, with a whine of pretended regret, which had a prospective reference to the brokerage on the indigo. "That I beg leave to deny," retorted Harry, "for it is one of the Peptic precepts, that in politics and gastronomy, the best side is that where there is most to be got, and there are still a few slices left under the bone."-" If we had a good stimulating sauce now," said the Alderman, “I could still go on." "But there," continued the nephew, "we are still nearly as deficient as we were in the time of Louis Quatorze, whose ambassador at London complained that he had been sent among a set of barbarians who had twenty religions and only three fish-sauces."-" Why, Billy," cried the Alderman to Blewett, "you seem as down in the mouth as the root of my tongue;-blue as your own indigo."—"That's a famous lot of Guatimola you have just received, Sir Peter, by the Two Sisters, Capt. Framlingham: may I call to take samples "We'll talk of that by and by, Billy: meantime take a sample of port: help yourself.""-" He can't help himself, poor fellow," said Harry, "for the bottle's empty." The Baronet nodded to Rule, who instantly betook himself to a basket in the corner of the room, and began decanting another with mathematical precision. "Take care, Rule, it won't bear shaking-I have had it fourteen years in bottle."-"And port wine," observed Harry, "is like mankind-the older it gets, the more crusty it becomes, and the less will it bear being disturbed."-" A little tawney," said the uncle, smacking his lips; "I doubt whether this is out of the right bin."-" No, sir,” replied the nephew; "this seems to be out of the has been. Troja fuit:-but you have got some prime claret."—" Ay, ay, we'll have a touch at that after the cloth's cleared: but will nobody take another mouthful of the haunch? the meat was short, crisp, and tender, just as it ought to be." "Capital!" ejacu lated Rule with a momentary animation, succeeded by his habitual look of formality." Then the table may be cleared," continued the Alderman, "but zooks! Harry, how comes it you never said grace before dinner?" "You were in such a hurry, sir, that you forgot to ask me: it was but last week you called me a scapegrace, and I may now retort the epithet." "Say grace now then, saucebox." "I have not yet taken orders, Sir Peter." "Yes you have, you have taken mine, so out with it." Harry compressed the benediction into five words-the cloth was removed-a bottle of Chateau Margaud was placed upon the table to his infinite consolation-the talk quickened with the circulation of the wine, and many good things were uttered which we regret that we cannot commemorate without travelling out of the record, as our subject ceased with the dinner, being expressly confined to the "Memoirs of a Haunch of Mutton." II.

THE MOORISH BRIDAL SONG.*

THE Citron groves their fruit and flowers were strewing
Around a Moorish palace, and the sigh

Of summer's gentlest wind, the branches wooing
With music through their twilight-bowers went by ; }
Music and voices from the marble halls,

Through the leaves gleaming, midst the fountain-falls.

A song of joy, a bridal song came swelling

To blend with fragrance in those southern shades,
And told of feasts within the stately dwelling,

And lights, and dancing steps, and gem-crown'd maids;
And thus it flow'd ;-yet something in the lay
Belong'd to sadness as it died away.

"The Bride comes forth! her tears no more are falling
To leave the chamber of her infant years,

Kind voices from another home are calling,

She comes like day-spring-she hath done with tears!
Now must her dark eye shine on other flowers,
Her bright smile gladden other hearts than ours!
-Pour the rich odours round!

"We haste! the chosen and the lovely bringing,
Love still goes with her from her place of birth,
Deep silent joy within her heart is springing,
For this alone her glance hath less of mirth!
Her beauty leaves us in its rosy years,

Her sisters weep-but she hath done with tears!
Now may the timbrel sound!"

Know'st thou for whom they sang the bridal numbers?
-One, whose rich tresses were to wave no more!
One whose pale cheek soft winds, nor gentle slumbers,
Nor Love's own sigh to rose-tints might restore!
Her graceful ringlets o'er a bier were spread-
-Weep for the young, the beautiful, the dead!

F. H.

SONNET FROM THE ITALIAN.

YE warbling birds, that thus, from bough to bough,
Pour forth, at eve, your melting melodies!
Ye free and happy people of the skies,
Whose loves no stain of sordid avarice know!—

Far other feelings in your bosoms glow

Ye reck not of man's vain and empty ties,
Nor dream of broken vows, nor faith that flies
As swift as rivers run, or breezes blow.
O happy ye! whose soft emotions own
No deity but Love-condemn'd to flee
With us before a sullen father's frown.
Alike in age, in beauty, and in love,

The God of Love himself hath mated ye,
Who never links the raven with the dove.

*It is a custom among the Moors to sing the bridal song when the funeral of an unmarried woman is borne from her home.

WINCHESTER.

-Great Arthur's seat ould Winchester prefers,
Whose ould Round Table yet she vaunteth to be her's."

MICHAEL DRAYTON.

WINCHESTER is certainly the most quiet, unobtrusive, and unpretending place I ever entered. There is a religious solemnity in its high way and very market-house; a dim and shadowy gloom over its most frequented thorough-fares ;—indeed, one part of the High-street itself is bat a monkish cloister, with disproportioned and swollen columns, and flat heavy architrave, instead of slender and reeded shafts, with flowering tracery above them. The by-streets have the same relation to the High-street that the cloisters have to a cathedral :-they are of the same age and character, only more silent and gloomy, more deep and broad in their shadows-so deep, indeed, that having taken up my quarters with "mine host" of the Fleur de Lis, who resides in one of them, I am writing by candle-light an hour before sun-set. All this falls well enough in with my humour; or my humour, cameleon-bred, has taken its colouring from surrounding things. How the gay trappings and rich "harnessing," with the "drums and trumpets," and parading of two thousand military, might have destroyed its quiet during the war, I know not; but I am grateful that at my visitation the sole inhabitant of these splendid barracks was an unobtrusive serjeant, with enough of the citizen about him, in half a dozen civil children, to leave the illusion perfect. But even in those worst of times-at least we poor speculators may be allowed so to speak of them without offence, for our "calling," as Falstaff would say, is then secondary to a posting messenger, and our brain labours to the lying nonsense, or hasty nothing, of a third edition-even then, the appearance of this city was never disfigured with the temporary, black, dull-looking, boarded hovels, that in most other places are called barracks. Here it would be no excess to say our soldiers are lodged like princes; for they are quartered in the very palace, and the exterior remains perfect and unchanged, erected by Charles II. and designed and executed by Sir Christopher Wren. It is, on the whole, a fine building, though much inferior to many of his other works. It stands on an elevation immediately above the town, and from all the surrounding country has a good though not a grand effect. It is built principally of brick, with a regular front, which never can have a grand effect, be the magnitude of the edifice what it may. There is a poverty in the material which in an uniform building can never be kept out of mind; and the only instances in which I have seen brick used on a large scale where this feeling has not predominated, have been in the few old bay-windowed, turreted, halfcastellated, deep-courted, and close-wooded houses of the nobility of the Tudors; where you have no long and open approach, but enter direct, from the deep shadows of old trees, into the deeper shadows of the court-yard and the mansion

"Chamberis and parlers of a sorte,

With bay windows goodlie as may be thought,

The galleries right wele y wrought,

As for dauncinge and otherwise disporte."

Most nations are fond of originality, and believe many ridiculous VOL. VI, No. 33.-1823.

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