scarified Nero;
I believe they were all very ancient and fine,
For our connoisseur party cried "charming! divine!"
Talk'd much of contour and the taste of the Greeks,
Said the art was now lost or but found in antiques;
But just to refute the false blame of the scorner,
I pointed to two modern boys in a corner,
Who proved without saying a word in their favour,
Our sculptors make cupids as lovely as ever.

Having view'd the sarcophagus too and admir'd it,
The tapestry came next as the ladies desir'd it;
But fine as I thought it, I soon was withdrawn,
By a glance of the family crossing the lawn;
For in that I saw beauty enough I am sure,
To enchant and delight the most nice amateur,
Nor was it the less to my untutored notion,        498
'Cause glowing with life and completed by motion;
But I said not a word, (tho' 'twas hard to refrain,)
Lest the dead should be call'd up in judgment again.
At Rippon next morning we went to the Minster,
But no lady amongst us or matron or spinster,
Propos'd the fam'd Needle of Wilfred to enter,
Tho' all to the Bone-house were willing to venture;
Where one lectur'd shrewdly on Gall's craniology,
And turn'd o'er the skulls without fear or apology;
But so pretty she look'd as she handed them round,
No doubt can I have but her learning's profound;
So chang'd are the ladies since your day good mother,
They are all literati, in one way or other;
But in all my life long, I ne'er saw so much on't,
As during this journey when each gave a touch on't,
At Fountains they spoke of memento and data,
And dirtied their hands to examine the strata.
At Hackfall they seized on the weeds and the grasses,
To determine the genus and settle the classes;
Spoke much of alembics and oxygen gas,
Nor suffered a stone unexamined to pass;
Unmindful meantime of the scene that was nigh,
To awake the full heart and entrance the fond eye,
And to gaze on a speck when a world was before 'em,
Seem'd foolish to me tho' so much I adore 'em;
And I could'nt help thinking good madam between us,
Philosophy's seldom the study of Venus;
'Tis hers the bright flame of the poet to swell,
Lead the gay mystic dance or resound the sweet shell,
To guide the soft pencil with delicate finger,
And scatter life's roses whilst o'er them we linger,
Concentring the charms we should never dispart,
The gifts of the mind with the truth of the heart.

But no longer I'll venture this subject to dash on,
Since I know the dear creatures but follow the fashion,
Nor should I have dar'd just to touch on this thistle,
But just to wind up my long winded epistle.        536

LETTER VI.

High Harrogate, August 10th.

Since the world and all in it are subject to changing,
I hope my dear mother you'll pardon my ranging,
Nor think it surprising to find your son plac'd
'Mongst the very first people for fashion, and taste,
You must know that last week to read novels I took
And had stepp'd up to Wilson's to get a new book,
When who should I hear in the reading-room laughing,
But our Yeomanry Col'nel and Major O'Baffin;
So I stepp'd to the first with a very low bow,
And he was transported to see me I vow,
Call'd me neighbour, and friend, brother soldier, and all that,
Introducing the Major with plenty of small chat;
In short we became all so happy together,
They thought it was best I should just remove hither;
In fact as High Harrogate's now all the go,
'Twould be folly to stay any longer at Low.
The Col'nel and Lady reside at the Granby,
But the Major and I who are good friends as can be,
Prefer at the Dragon to take up our quarters;
Where the company's charming, tho' some of 'em Tartars,
And the eating's so good and the claret so fine,
'Tis worth riding post fifty miles just to dine,
And in spite of the bustle (good madam don't frown,)
The house and the garden's as neat as your own.

Here's a young widow Jointurewell lately come dashing,
But the Countess of Allwit's the woman for splashing,
Her bays in their coach are as constantly prancing,
As the widow's black eyes on the strangers are glancing.
The fam'd ——r——n—— he is this moment arriving,
To strangers well known by the style of his driving
For he sports his own mail his own trumpet he blows,
So he well may be known wheresoever he goes,
He's the soul of good humour, of frolic, and whim,
And High Harrogate owes half its pleasures to him.
Lady Shufflecut's here and her husband Sir Ned,
She games all the night while he's snoring in bed,
And tho' handsome and young he's so idle all day,
That he seldom assists in her labours at play;
So the lady transacts all the business alone,
Tho' he on her efforts subsists 'tis well known,
Her friend Lady Sweepstakes oft comes for a rubber,
And gen'rally finds some one willing to drub her,
But tied by her Lord to play only for guineas,
She bites while she's bit and then laughs at the ninnies;
Who in losing their time have egregiously blundered,
In but taking ten pounds where they hoped for a hundred;
For wit and good humour this lady can boast,
And her temper can keep when her money is lost.

We've a dashing buck Parson among us a creature,
I can never describe since 'tis quite out of nature,
Tho' the race is antique for I'm sure 'tis the same,
That St. Paul has declar'd can take "glory in shame,"
For he's constantly gaming or quizzing the church,
Where he holds two good livings but leaves in the lurch,
Tho' the "fusty old bishop" has sought to restore him,
To residence, duty, and "stupid decorum."        590

In other bad men I am sorry to say,
We wink at the sin when the humour is gay,
And trusting the evil's not sunk in their hearts
Their errors o'erlook for their temper or parts;
But he who embracing an holy profession,
Thus robs some good man of a needful possession;
While conscious his heart is abandon'd and vicious,
Is disgustingly wicked, thence seldom pernicious;
So a beacon of warning this coxcomb supplies,
Since few men will follow what all men despise;
And bad as the world is he stands by himself,
We have good ones enow to lay him on the shelf;
Who e'en in this place of profuse dissipation,
Still honour themselves, and adorn their vocation.

The comical Banker from C—t—r is here,
Whom Blackett retail'd to us often last year,
His humour is droll and his tongue like a sickle,
Cuts so sharp, and so smooth, that you bleed while you tickle;
Lady Shufflecut oft from his spleen gets a hit,
But she pockets his money which pays for his wit,
As beauties the ——nds are at present the rage,
And one has two strings to her bow I'll engage,
But I'm sorry to say that the elegant Julie,
Has the fault of the day and forgets to love truly,
For a fine showy rake whose pretension to merit,
Is a far distant title he ne'er may inherit,
She forsakes a most excellent well manner'd youth,
Who deserves her no less for his virtue than truth.
How soon will she learn from her new master's teaching,
"She has cast off a pearl", but I've no time for preaching;
So I only shall mention one family