“Vainly bountiful nature shall fill up Life's measure, If we're not to enjoyment awake; Churls that cautiously filtrate and analyze pleasure, Deserve not the little they take. I hate all those pleasures where angling and squaring. And fitting and cutting by rules, And ——- me—dear me, I beg pardon for swearing, All that follow such fashions are fools. For let who may be undone, I say Life in London, Of pleasure's the prop and the staff, That sets ev'ry muscle In a comical bustle And tickles one into a laugh.” “These charming gardens,” said the Hon. Tom Dashall, “which you may perhaps have some recollection of upon a masquerade occasion, having lately fallen into new hands, have assumed, under their direction and management, a new appearance of additional splendour and magnificence perhaps scarcely ever surpassed, and the present proprietors appear to have studied the comfort and gratification of their visitors as well as their own advantage; but of this we shall be better judges before the night is spent.” “Right,” replied Sparkle, “I am not fond of far fetched descriptions, which may upon investigation prove to have originated more in the imagination of the author than in reality to exist.” “At all events,” continued Tom, “the Gardens themselves are beautiful and extensive, and contain a variety of walks, which, if but tastefully illuminated, and attended by rank, fashion, and beauty, can never fail to be attractive.” But the grand subject of their admiration was what is rather affectedly called “The Heptaplasiesoptron,” or fancy reflective proscenium, which is placed in the long room fronting the orchestra of the Rotunda. It is entirely lined with looking glass, and has in all probability originated in the curious effect produced by the kaleidoscope, and the looking glass curtains lately exhibited at our theatres. This splendid exhibition is fitted up with ornamented draperies, and presents a fountain of real water illuminated, revolving pillars, palm trees, serpents, foliage, and variegated lamps; and the mirrors are so placed as to reflect each object seven times. This novelty appeared to excite universal admiration, inspiring the company with ideas of refreshing coolness. The bubbling of water, the waving of the foliage, and the seven times reflected effulgence of the lamps, gave the whole an appearance of enchantment, which sets all description at defiance. About two o'clock in the morning, our friends took their departure from this romantic spot, after an excursion fraught with pleasure and delight. On the following morning, Sparkle received a letter from Merrywell, with information of the death of his uncle, and of his succession to the estate, having arrived just in time to prevent his decease without a will. This was a subject of exultation to all the party, though to none more so than Sparkle, particularly as the estate alluded to was situated in the neighbourhood of his own residence. “Merrywell,” said Dashall, “will become a gay fellow now, as he will have ample means, as well as inclination (which I know he has never been wanting of) to sport his figure in good style, without resorting to any scheme to keep the game alive.” “True,” said Sparkle, “without crossing and jostling, and if he has his own good in view, he will reside chiefly in the country, choose an amiable partner for life, and only pay a visit to the metropolis occasionally; for to live in this land of temptations, where you can hardly step across the way without getting into error, must be baneful in effect to a young man like him, of an ardent mind. What say you, friend Tallyho?” “I confess,” replied Bob, “that I entertain thoughts very similar to yours; besides, I apprehend that our old friend Merrywell has had sufficient experience himself to admit the justice of your observation.” “His is a general case,” replied Sparkle, “and is only one among numerous others, to prove that many of the disorders which are daily visible in high life, may be traced to the education, or rather the want of education of the youthful nobility and gentry. It would be a shocking and insupportable degradation to send a sprig of fashion to school among common boys, where probably he might learn something really useful. No, no,—he must have a private tutor, who is previously instructed to teach him nothing more than what will enable him to pass muster, as not quite a fool. Under this guidance, he skims over a few authors almost without reading, and at all events without knowing what they have written, merely with a view to acquaint him that there were once such persons in existence; after which, this tutor accompanies him to one of the public schools, Westminster, Harrow, or Eton, where the tutor writes his thesis, translates the classics, and makes verses for him, as well as he is able. In the new situation, the scholar picks up more of the frailties of the living, than he does of the instructions of departed characters. The family connections and the power of purse, with which the students are aided, embolden them to assume an unbounded license, and to set at complete defiance all sober rules and regulations; and it may be justly remarked that our public seminaries are admirably situated for the indulgence of their propensities: for instance, Westminster School is fortunately situated in the immediate neighbourhood of a famous place of instruction called Tothill (vulgarly Tuttle) Fields, where every species of refined lewdness and debauchery, and manners the most depraved, are constantly exhibited; consequently they enjoy the great advantages of learning the slang language, and of hearing prime chaunts, rum glees, and kiddy catches, in the purest and most bang up style. He has likewise a fine opportunity of contracting an unalterable penchant for the frail sisterhood, blue ruin, milling, cock fighting, bull and badger baiting, donkey racing, drinking, swearing, swaggering, and other refined amusements, so necessary to form the character of an accomplished gentleman.” “Eton, it is true, is somewhat farther removed from the nursery of improvement, but it is near enough to Windsor, of which place it is not necessary to say much, for their Bacchanalian and Cyprian orgies, and other fashionable festivities, are well known. So that notwithstanding they are not in the immediate vicinity of the metropolis, there can scarcely be a doubt of their being able to sport their figures to advantage, whenever they are let loose upon society. “Cambridge is but a short distance from that place of sporting notoriety, Newmarket, consequently it is next to impossible but that a youth of an aspiring mind should be up to all the manouvres of a race course—understanding betting, hedging off, crossing and jostling, sweating and training—know all the jockeys—how to give or take the odds—lay it on thick, and come it strong. Some have an unconquerable ambition to distinguish themselves as a whip, sport their tits in tip top style, and become proficients in buckish and sporting slang—to pitch it rum, and astonish the natives—up to the gab of the cad. They take upon themselves the dress and manners of the Varment Club, yet noted for the appearance of their prads, and the dexterity with which they can manage the ribbons, and, like Goldfinch, pride themselves on driving the long coaches—'mount the box, tip coachee a crown, dash along at full speed, rattle down the gateway, take care of your heads—never kill'd but one woman and a child in all my life—that's your sort.'” “Fine pictures of a University Education,” said Tom, “but Sparkle always was a good delineator of real character; and there is one thing to be said, he has been an eye witness of the facts, nay a partaker of the sports.” “True,” continued Sparkle, “and, like many others, have had something like enjoyment in them too.” “Aye, aye, no doubt of that,” said Bob, dryly,—“but how does it happen that you have omitted Oxford altogether?” They spend their terms somehow or other in or near the University, and their vacations at Jackson's Rooms in London; so that they know nothing more of mathematics than sufficient to calculate odds and chances. This, however, depends upon the wealth of the parties; for notwithstanding there are some excellent statutes by which they ought to be guided, a nobleman or wealthy commoner is indulged according to his titles or riches, without any regard to the rules and regulations in such cases made and provided. “From this situation they are at length let loose, thoroughly accomplished in every thing but what they ought to know. Some make their appearance as exquisites or dandies—a sort of indescribable being, if being such things may be called. Others take the example of the bang ups—make themselves perfect in milling, swearing, greeking, talking flash, and mail coach driving, until John Doe and Richard Roe drive them into Abbot's preserve, a circumstance which puts a temporary check upon the sports—though if the Collegian is but up to the logic, he is very soon down upon the coves his creditors,{1} bowls them out by harassing expenses, and walks out himself, up to snuff, and fly.” “With all my heart,” said Sparkle, “I see you wish to change the subject: however, I doubt not there will be a time when you will think more seriously, and act more usefully.” “Upon my life you are growing sentimental.” “Never mind,” said Bob, “keep your spirits up.” “The world's a good thing, oh how sweet and delicious The bliss and delight it contains; Devil a pleasure but fortune crams into our dishes, Except a few torments and pains. Then wine's a good thing, the dear drink's so inviting, Where each toper each care sweetly drowns; Where our friends we so cherish, so love and delight in, Except when we're cracking their crowns.” By the time Bob had concluded his verse, they were on the move, and taking their direction through St. James's-street, turning the corner of which,—“there,” said the Hon. Tom Dashall, “that is the celebrated Lord Shampetre, of whose name and character you have before heard.” “Indeed,” said Bob. “Well, I must say, that if I met him in the street, I should have supposed him to be an old clothesman.” “Hush,” said Sparkle, “don't be too severe in your observations, for I have been given to understand his Lordship has expressed his indignation upon a former occasion at such a comparison; though I must acknowledge it is not altogether an unjust one; and if exalted, I beg pardon, I mean popular characters, will force themselves into public notice by their follies, their vices or their eccentricities, they can have no right to complain.” 1 To elucidate the subject here alluded to, we cannot do better than give insertion to the following police report:— PERFIDY AND PROFLIGACY OF A PEER! Bow Street.—An application was lately made for a warrant to apprehend Miss B., the sister of a celebrated actress, for stealing some chimney ornaments and China cups and saucers. The application was made by the mother of the accused, in consequence of her having eloped, and with a view to reclaim her before her ruin should be consummated. The warrant was granted, and in a short time the fair delinquent was led in, resting on the arm of a Mr. B., well known in the fashionable circles. Mr. C. a solicitor, appeared with the mother, and the property found by the officer; the mother identified it, and stated, that she should be happy to forego the charge, on her daughter consenting to return to her home. The magistrate then called on the accused for her defence, when she asserted that the articles were her own, purchased with money given to her by her friends. In corroboration, she called the servant, who spoke to a conversation, in which Mrs. B. blamed her daughter for spending her money so foolishly; and declared that the things were always considered to belong to the daughter, and were given up without the slightest objection when she applied for them in the name of Miss B. This statement produced a desultory conversation, which was terminated by the solicitor remarking, that the principal object, the return of Miss B., had been lost sight of. Mr. B. then said, he had paid for the education and every charge of Miss B. for the last two years. He challenged inquiry into his conduct, which would be found to have arisen from the most honourable feelings, when he should prove that Miss B. had sought his protection from the persecution of Lord P., who had been sanctioned in his dishonourable overtures by her mother. When personal insult had been used, she fled to him; he hired lodgings and a trusty servant for her. A number of Lord P.'s letters were then read, which abounded in vicious ideas, obscenities, and gross figures sketched with the pen. Miss B., then in tears, stated, that she had been shut up with Lord P. with her mother's knowledge, when indecent attacks were made by him upon her on a sofa; and that her mother urged her to become his mistress, saying she should have an allowance of 500L. a-year. The mother strongly denied these assertions, and, after the magistrate had animadverted on the alleged disgraceful conduct of the mother, if true, the affair was settled by Miss B. (only 16,) being put under the care of a female friend, agreeable to both parties, Mr. B. to pay all the expenses. Having thus given an account of the affair, as related in most of the daily papers, we think it right to add the following by way of elucidation. The young lady is Miss B—rt—l—zzi, daughter of a late cele-brated engraver of that name, and younger sister of an actress on the boards of Old Drury, who has obtained great notoriety for a pretty face, a roving eye, a fine set of teeth, a mellow voice, and an excessive penchant for appearing before the public in breeches—Macheath and Don Giovanni to wit. 'Mr. B.,' the gentleman under whose protection she is living, or rather was living, is a gentleman of large West India possessions, who some time ago immortalized himself in a duel about a worthless woman, with Lord C—If—d, in which duel he had the honour of sending his lordship to his account with all his 'imperfections on his head.' The third party, 'Lord P.,' is a nobleman, whose chief points are a queer-shaped hat, long shirt sleeves, exquisitely starched, very white gloves, a very low cabriolet, and a Lord George Gordon-ish affectation of beard. We do not know that he is distinguished for any thing else. For the fourth party—the young lady's mamma, she is,— what she is; a rather elderly personage, remarkably commodious, very discreet, 'and all that sort of thing.' We could not help admiring her commodiousness when she accompanied Lord P. and her daughter to Drury-lane Theatre, the last time the King was there. It was almost equal to his Lordship's assiduity, and the young lady's ennui. “I believe,” continued Sparkle, “there is little about him, either as to person or to character, which entitles him to occupy more of our time, which may be better devoted to more agreeable and deserving subjects.” “Apropos,” said Dashall, taking Sparkle at his word, “do you observe a person on the other side of the way with a blue nose and a green coat, cut in the true jockey style, so as to render it difficult to ascertain whether he is a gentleman or a gentleman's groom? That is Mr. Spankalong, who has a most unconquerable attachment to grooms, coachmen, and stable assistants; whose language and manners it is one of the principal studies of his life to imitate. He prides himself on being a good driver of four in hand, and tickling the tits along the road in a mail carriage, is the ne plus ultra of his ambition. He will take a journey of an hundred miles out of town, merely to meet and drive up a mail coach, paying for his own passage, and feeing the coachmen for their permission. Disguised in a huge white coat, with innumerable capes and mother o'pearl buttons, he seats himself on the box—Elbows square, wrists pliant—all right—Hayait—away they go. He takes his glass of gin and bitters on the “Accomplishments that are truly deserving the best considerations of a noble mind,” rejoined Tallyho. “And absolutely necessary to the finished gentleman of the present day, of course,” continued Sparkle; “and as I have not had a lounge in these Corinthian regions for some little time, I am glad to be thus furnished with a key to characters that may be new to me.” “There is one on the opposite side of the way not altogether new, as he has made some noise in the world during his time—I mean the gentleman whose features exhibit so much of the rouge—it is the celebrated Sir George Skippington, formerly well known in Fop's Alley, and at the Opera; not so much on account of his elegant person, lively wit, or polished address, as for his gallantries, and an extraordinary affectation of dress, approaching very nearly to the ridiculous, the chief part of his reputation being derived from wearing a pea-green coat, and pink silk stockings: he has, however, since that time become a dramatic writer, or at least a manufacturer of pantomime and shew; and—ah, but see—speaking of writers—here we have a Hook, from which is suspended a certain scandalous Journal, well known for its dastardly attacks upon private character, and whose nominal conductors are at this moment in durance vile; but a certain affair in the fashionable way of defaulting, has brought him down a peg or two. His ingenuity has been displayed on a variety of occasions, and under varying circumstances. His theatrical attempts have been successful, and at Harrow he was called the Green Man, in consequence of his affected singularity of wearing a complete suit of clothes of that colour. He appears to act at all times upon the favourite recommendation of Young Rapid, 'keep moving;' for he is always in motion, in consequence of which it is said, that Lord Byron wittily remarked, 'he certainly was not the Green Man and Still.'”{1} 1 The Green Man and Still in the well known sign of a pubic-house in Oxford Road. “That,” replied Tom, “is a Baronet and cornuto, who married the handsome daughter of a great Marquis. She, however, turned out a complete termagant, who one day, in the heat of her rage, d———d her rib for a sneaking puppy, dashed a cup of coffee in his face, and immediately after flew for protection to a Noble Lord, who entertained a penchant for her. This, however, proved to be a bad speculation on her part; and having seriously reflected on the consequences of such conduct, she made her appearance again at her husband's door a few nights afterwards, and in the spirit of contrition sought forgiveness, under a promise of never transgressing any more, little doubting but her claim to admission would be allowed. Here, however, it seems she had reckoned without her host,—for the Baronet differing in opinion, would not listen to her proposition: her entreaties and promises were urged in vain, and the deserted though still cara sposa, has kept the portals of his door, as well as the avenues to his heart, completely closed to her since.” At this moment they were interrupted by the approach of a gaily dressed young man, who seizing Dashall by the hand, and giving him a hearty shake, exclaimed,— “Ha, my dear fellow, what Dashall, and as I live, Mr. Sparkle, you are there too, are you: d———me, what's the scent—up to any thing—going any where—or any thing to do—eh—d———me.” “Quite ad libitum,” replied Dashall, “happy to see Gayfield well and in prime twig,—allow me to introduce my Cousin, Robert Tallyho, Esq.” “You do me proud, my dear fellow. Any thing new—can't live without novelty—who's up, who's down—what's the wonder of the day—how does the world wag—where is the haven of destination, and how do you weather the point.” “Never mind—don't want you to answer; but at all events must have something to say—hate idleness either in speech or action—hate talking in the streets, can't bear staring at like a new monument or a statue. Talking of statues—I have it—good thought, go see Achilles, the ladies man—eh! what say you. D———me, made of cannons and other combustibles—Waterloo to wit—Come along, quite a bore to stand still—yea or nay, can't wait.” “With all my heart,” said Sparkle, twitching Dashall by the arm, “it is quite new since my departure from town; “and joining arms, they proceeded towards the Park. “Been out of town,” continued Gayfield,—“thought so—lost you all at once—glad you have not lost yourself. Any thing new in the country—always inquire—can't live without novelty—go to see every thing and every body, every where. Nothing new in the papers—Irish distresses old, but very distressing for a time: how the devil can you live in the country—can't imagine.” “And I apprehend,” replied Sparkle, “it will be of little use to explain; for a gentleman of so much information as yourself must know every thing.” “Good, but severe—never mind, I never trouble my head with other people's thoughts—always think for myself, let others do as they like. Hate inquisitive people, don't choose to satisfy all inquirers. Never ask questions of any one, don't expect answers. Have you seen the celebrated ventriloquist, Alexandre,—the Egyptian Tomb,—the———” Sparkle could hold no longer: the vanity and egotism of this everlasting prater, this rambler from subject to subject, without manner, method, or even thought, was too much; and he could not resist the temptation to laugh, in which he was joined by Tom and Bob. “Never mind,” said Dashall, “we are not of that description—and we sometimes laugh at nothing, which I apprehend is the case in the present instance.” “I perfectly agree with the observation,” rejoined Sparkle; “it is a case in point, and very well pointed too.” “Nothing could be better timed,” said Tallyho. “What than a horse laugh in the public streets! D———d vulgar really—-quite outre, as we say. No, no, you ought to consider where you are, what company you are in, and never laugh without a good motive—what is the use of laughing.” “A philosopher,” said Tom Dashall, “need scarcely ask such a question. The superiority of his mind ought to furnish a sufficient answer.” “Then I perceive you are not communicative, and I always like to be informed; but never mind, here we shall have something to entertain us.” “And at least,” said Sparkle, “that is better than nothing.” The observation, however, was lost upon the incorrigible fribble, who produced his snuff-box, and took a pinch, with an air that discovered the diamond ring upon his finger—pulled up his shirt collar—and at the same time forced down his waistcoat; conceiving no doubt that by such means he increased his consequence, which however was wholly lost upon his companions. “And this,” said Sparkle, “is the so much talked of statue of Achilles—The Wellington Trophy—it is placed in a very conspicuous situation, however—and what says the pedestal— TO ARTHUR DUKE OF WELLINGTON, AND HIS BRAVE COMPANIONS IN ARMS, THIS STATUE OF ACHILLES, CAST FROM CANNON TAKEN IN THE VICTORIES OF SALAMANCA, VITTORIA, TOULOUSE, AND WATERLOO IS INSCRIBED BY THEIR COUNTRYWOMEN. “For my part,” said Sparkle, “I see but little in it to admire.” During this conversation, Gayfield was dancing round the figure with his quizzing glass in his hand, examining it at all points, and appearing to be highly amused and delighted. “It affords opportunities for a variety of observations,” said Dashall, “and, like many other things, may perhaps be a nine days wonder. The public prints have been occupied upon the subject for a few days, and I know of but one but what condemns it upon some ground or other."{1} 1 In all probability the following remarks will be sufficient to make our readers acquainted with this so much talked of statue:— Kensington Gardens and the Park.—From three to seven o'clock on Sunday, the gardens were literally crowded to an over-How with the Élite of the fashionable world. The infinite variety of shape and colour displayed in the female costume, the loveliness and dignity of multitudes of the fair wearers, and the serene brilliancy of the day, altogether surpassed any thing we have hitherto witnessed there. There was nothing on the drive in the Park except carriages and horsemen, dashing along to the gardens; and as to the ?Wellington promenade,' it was altogether neglected. Whether it was that the 'naked majesty' of Achilles frightened the people away, or whether the place and its accompaniments were too garish for such weather, we know not, but certainly it seemed to be avoided most cautiously; with the exception of some two or three dozen Sunday-strollers, yawning upon the Anglo-Greco-Pimlico-hightopoltical statue above mentioned. It was curious enough to hear the remarks made by some of these good folks upon this giant exotic—this Greek prototype of British prowess. 'Well, I declare!' said a blooming young Miss, as she endeavoured to scan its brawny proportions, 'Well, I declare! did ever any body see the like!'—'Come along, Martha, love,' rejoined her scarlet- faced mamma; 'Come along, I say!—I wonder they pulled the tarpoling off before the trowsers were ready.' 'What a great green monster of a man it is,' exclaimed a meagre elderly lady, with a strong northern accent, to a tall bony red-whiskered man, who seemed to be her husband—'Do na ye think 'twad a looked mair dedicate in a kilt?' 'Whist!' replied the man; and, without uttering another syllable, he turned upon his heel and dragged the wonder-ing matron away. ?La, ma, is that the Dook O' Vellunton vat stand up there in the sunshine?' 'Hold your tongue, Miss—little girls must not ask questions about them sort of things.' 'Be th' powers!' said one of three sturdy young fellows, as they walked round till they got to sunward of it.' Be th' powers, but he's a jewel of a fellow; ounly its not quite dacent to be straddling up there without a shirt—is it Dennis?' ?Gad's blood man!' replied Dennis, rather angrily, 'Gad's blood man! dacency's quite out of the question in matters o' this kind, ye see.' ''Faith, and what do they call it?' asked the other. 'Is it—what do they call it?' re-joined Dennis, who seemed to consider himself a bit of a wag—'Why they mane to call it the Ladies' Fancy, to be sure!' and away they all went, 'laughing like so many horses,' as the German said, who had heard talk of a horse-laugh. Some of the spectators compared the shield to a parasol without a handle; others to a pot-lid; and one a sedate-looking old woman, observing the tarpawling still covering the legs and lower part of the thighs, remarked to her companion, that she supposed they had been uncovering it by degrees, in order to use the people to the sight gradually. In short, poor Achilles evidently caused more surprise than admiration, and no small portion of ridicule. But then this was among the vulgar. No doubt the fashionable patronesses of the thing may view it with other eyes. Page349 Ascot Races “Yonder,” says Dashall, pointing out to his Cousin a very stout man, “is H. R. H.; he is said to have been a considerable winner, both at the late, as well as Epsom races; but the whole has since vanished at play, with heavy additions, and the black legs are now enjoying a rich harvest. The consequences have been, not only the sale of the fine estate of O—t—ds by the hammer, but even the family plate and personal property have been knocked down to the highest bidders, at Robbins's Rooms.” “I should have expected,” replied Bob, “that so much fatal experience, which is said to make even fools wise, would have taught a useful lesson, and restrained this gambling propensity, however violent.” THE WELLINGTON TROPHY; or, LADIES' MAN{1} Air—'Oh, the Sight entrancing.' Oh, the sight entrancing, To see Achilles dancing,{2} Without a shirt Or Highland skirt,{3} “Where ladies' eyes are glancing: 1 We are told that this gigantic statue is a most astonishing work of art, cast from the celebrated statue of Achilles, on the Quirinal Hill; and the inscription on it informs us, that the erection of it was paid for by the ladies of England, to commemorate the manly energy of the Duke of Wellington and his brave companions in arms. To call it, therefore, the 'Ladies' Man,' is merely out of compliment to such as patronised the undertaking; and here we wish it to be particularly understood that we do not sanction the word naked as a correct term (although that term is universally applied to it), inasmuch as this statue is not naked, the modest artist having, at the suggestion of these modest ladies, taken the precaution of giving Achilles a covering, similar to that which Adam and Eve wore on their expulsion from Eden. 2 The attitude of the statue is so questionable as to have already raised many opposite hypotheses as to what it is really intended to represent. Mr. Ex-Sheriff Parkins has, with very laudable ingenuity and classical taste, discovered that the figure is nothing more nor less than a syce, or running groom; just such a one, the worthy ex- sheriff adds, as used to accompany him in India, when engaged in a hunting party, and who, when he grew tired, used to lay hold of the ex-sheriff's horse's tail, in order to keep up with his master. The author of the Travestie, however, has hit upon another solution of the attitude, still more novel, and equally probable, namely, that of dancing, for which he expects to gain no inconsiderable share of popularity. 3 Without a shirt or Highland skirt!—It is really entertaining to see what a refinement of criticism has been displayed upon the defects of this incomparable statue. Some have abused the hero for being shirtless, and said it was an abomination to think that a statue in a state of nudity (much larger than life, too!) should be stuck up in Hyde Park, where every lady's eye must glance, however repugnant it might be to their ideas of modesty. But did not the ladies themselves order and pay for the said statue? Is it not an emblem of their own pure taste? Then, as for putting on Achilles a kelt or short petticoat (called by the poet a Highland skirt), oh, shocking I it is not only unclassical, but it would have destroyed the effect of the thing altogether. To be sure, it would not be the first time that Achilles wore a petticoat, for, if we are rightly informed, his mother, Thetis, disguised him in female apparel, and hid him among the maidens at the court of Lycomedes, iu order to prevent his going to the siege of Troy; but that wicked wag, Ulysses, calling on the said maidens to pay his respects, discovered Mister Achilles among them, and made him join his regiment. Each widow's heart is throbbing, Each married lady sobbing, While little miss Would fain a kiss Be from Achilles robbing!' Then, oh, the sight entrancing, To see Achilles dancing, Without a shirt Or Highland skirt, Where ladies' eyes are glancing. Oh, 'tis not helm or feather, Or breeches made of leather, That gave delight, By day or night, Or draw fair crowds together.{2} Let those wear clothes who need e'm; Adorn but max with freedom,{3} Then, light or dark, They'll range the Park, And follow where you lead 'em. For, oh, the sight's entrancing, To see Achilles dancing, Without a shirt Or Highland skirt, Where ladies' eyes are glancing. 1 If we could only insert one hundredth part of what has been said by widows, wives, and maids on this interesting subject during the present week, we are quite sure our readers would acquit us of having overcharged the picture, or even faintly delineated it. 2 We certainly must differ with the author here: in our humble opinion, helmets, feathers, leather breeches, &c. have a wonderful effect in drawing crowds of the fair sex together—at a grand review, for instance. 3 This line, it is hoped, will be understood literally. The words are T. Moore's, and breathe the spirit of liberty—not licentiousness. But still the muse beseeches If this epistle reaches Achilles bold, In winter cold, That he would wear his breeches:{1} For though in sultry weather, He needs not cloth nor leather, Yet frosts may mar What's safe in war,{2] And ruin all together. But still the sight's entrancing, To see Achilles dancing Without a shirt Or Highland skirt, Where ladies' eyes are glancing. 1 The last verse must be allowed to be truly considerate, nay, kind—that the ladies will be equally kind and considerate to poor Achilles as the poet is, must be the wish of every one who has witnessed the perilous situation in which he is placed. 2 Achilles was a great favourite with the ladies from his very birth. He was a fine strapping boy; and his mother was so proud of him, that she readily encountered the danger of being drowned in the river Styx herself, that she might dip her darling in it, and thereby render him invulnerable. Accordingly, every part of the hero was safe, except his heel by which his mother held him amidst the heat of battle; and, like his renowned antitype, the immortal Duke of Wellington, he was never wounded. But, at length, when Achilles was in the Temple, treating about his marriage with Philoxena, daughter of Priam, the brother of Hector let fly an arrow at his vulnerable heel, and did his business in a twinkling. We cannot quit this subject without paying a compliment to the virtues of the Court. We understand there has not been one royal carriage seen in the Park since the erection of the statue; and if report speaks true, the Marchioness of C——-m's delicacy is so shocked, that she intends to quit Hamilton Place, which is close by, as early as a more modest site can be chosen! |