And aye hee lokit at the carylis maike, Chryste be mine shielde!" said Lord Annerdaille, Quhat seike you heire?" quod the gyant caryl, "Or quhat is your wille with mee?""We seike for oussen, sheipe, and kye, And eke for ane faire ladye!" "You shall haif their bonis then," said the caryl ; "Lorde be myne shielde !" quod Annerdaille, "And saife me from skaithe and scorne! For the lykis of that I nefer hearit, From the daye that I wals borne. "Louse forthe myne hundis, thou baisse reiver! If rackle thou woldest not bee." "Lothe wold I bee," the caryl replyit, "For outhir youre golde or fee. Theye will brynge downe the stott but and the steire, Or be dejune to myne gude demis, Lord Annerdaille he waxed wrothe, "Art thou for battil?" the caryl replyit, Hee bore ane polle on his sholder Lord Annerdaille's men drew out their brandis, 1995. The reste whelit runde their steedis and fledde, But Johne hee wals ane cunnyng manne, The caryl deftly caught the ane But the other piercit him throw the breiste, Hee gaif ane growle-hee gaif but ane, Then up rose the Lord of Annerdaille But, och! the sychte wals then displayit Lorde graunt that the men of Annerdaille For soche ane wylde and salvage schene They toke the carylis menzie brode, Then toke them to their grousome holle, And the Gyantis Trensche and the Gyantis Grave Now, long live Jamis, our nobil Kyng, Some saide those gyantis were brotal bestis, Till Peter of Bodisbecke hee came forthe, For Peter wals out at eventyde, So Peter behelde ane flocke of deilis, They flewe als they were bounne to helle, But they drappit the fiendis in Gallowaye, They flewe ouer bonny Annerdaille, Maye the Lorde preserve bothe manne and beiste And littil bairnis, and maydenis fayre, And graunt them graice to growe; And may never ane reude uncouthlye gueste againe LETTERS OF TIMOTHY TICKLER, ESQ. TO EMINENT LITERARY CHARACTERS. No. XX. To Malachi Mullion, Esq. M.D. F.R.S. Sec. of C. North, Esq. E.B.M. In days when our King Tommy rang, MY DEAR SECRETARY, Ir was well remarked by one of our cleverest contributors, Napoleon Buonaparte, (Heaven rest his soul!) that there is but one step from the sublime to the ridiculous. This pas seul, after a month's deliberation, has been resolutely taken by Taylor, the Trimmer, and certainly the effect has been prodigious. We all remember how sublime was the Old Series of the LONDON! We all behold how ridiculous is the New; and accordant to the creed of the Corsican, reverence is turned into contempt. Instead of eyes uplifted methodistically towards the revolution of that heavenly body, mouths wide and silent as barn-doors, hands clasped, and knees slightly bent in unconscious adoration,-now ecce eyes leering like the grey goggles of the Ettrick Shepherd himself, mouths gullering guffaws, hands performing on that exquisite instrument the Scottish fiddle, and knce and elbow keeping time together in a concerto between a chuckle and a crow. This is not the picture of me alone, Timothy Tickler, but of the small body of subscribers in general to the Dunciad. "Look, look at THE LONDON! my gracious! only look at the London! Twig the New Series!-Well, this beats cock-fighting!-Price three shillings and sixpence !-unconscionable extortion-oh! for a barrel of Powldoodies, or a demi-gallon of potheen!" Joking apart, and to treat the New "wha vel with the London, why, Cato did and Addison approved cannot be wrong;" and at least, my Mullion, let it not be remembered on my epitaph. Why, what a blundering blockhead this Taylor must be! You know, that, not long since, he came crawling out, at the point of North's rod, from the accumulation of six months' filth and slime, a perfect Grub of an Editor, and began biting away at the pointed iron, in total forgetfulness of his want of teeth. You then saw the Grub disappear into the interior of his palace, with all the pomposity of a flying beetle into his horse-dung, obviously mistaking himself for a Gadfly, and indulging in the dear delusion of a sting. Now, once more, he sallies forth an enormous Bummer—a manifest Drone-with posteriors out of all proportion to his little short flimsy wings,-and-. There now, Mullion, did not I tell you so, down upon the pavement drops the Shardborn, and blunders with a groan into the gutter. Series seriously, devil take me if, since the day on which I was kittled, saw I ever such a Magazine as this! With the deepest humility and contrition do I now confess my own stupidity, which at times has been more than I could well bear; but henceforth, I will pluck up my spirits, by remembering the NEW SERIES. Surely, Mullion, my stupidity never equalled this! I ask you as a friend, whom I have ever found a friend, and, I hope, treated as such, both inter fam. and coram pop. for the greater part of half a century, if ever I appeared to be so alarmingly near my last? Yes, Mullion, with you I have used no disguise. You have attended me in my stupidest moments, when "none were by to hear" but your worthy self; you have seen me lean my forehead in unidea'd despair, now on my hand, now on the edge of the table, while glass and tumbler yielded a symphonious and spiritless response to the ululation of their master's grief-You have seen, Mullion, those dim, dull, dozing, dawnering, dying, dead eyes of mine, gradually shut up in their blue wrinkled sockets-You have heard that most alarming of all sympthe grammarless groan in which the very verb loses his authority, and governs the accusative no more. -You have beheld my organ of SelfEsteem, which, in size, is second only to that of a Simpson, torpid as the causality of a Poole-and wept to think, that things seemed in a fair train to qualify me for a contributor to the Phrenological Journal-All this and more have you seen, and now, on your conscience and your credit, by your hopes of heaven, and of your provision-warehouse, as a christian, and a contributor, I ask you, with my hand upon my heart, and a face beaming with the simplest sincerity, if ever, by day or night, gloom or glim mer, you had any reason to suspect that I was about to commence idiot on my own account, with such a capital and stock on hand as any one partner in this concern of the NEW SERIES? If you must answer in the affirmative, out with it at once-let me know the uttermost extent of my imbecility-I am prepared to hear the worst-at my time of life the shock need not be very great. I am grateful for the past. Yet if my intellect be indeed pronounced on a le toms, But easy-casy-let us drop all entymological personalities, and take another look at the New Series. Pray, may I ask, what barn-door fowl scratched this ground-plan of the THAMES QUAY? But I shall suppose my dear Mullion in his own corner over his jug, while I read aloud the first paragraph of the leading article of the first number of the New Series. "All those who consider the 'apparelling of the state' as a matter of some consequence, must hail with pleasure the growing disposition to improve the appearance and convenience of the country at large, and the metropolis in particular: Soane, Nash, and Macadam, are stoning all the streets to death as though they bellishment of our city it would be well were so many St Stephens. In the em to remember that London is the metro polis, not merely of England, but of the whole British empire; an empire which, comprising its dependencies in Asia, Africa, and America, as well as in Europe, in point of population is exceeded by few, and, considering its wealth, knowledge, intellectual energy, commercial enterprize, and the consequent moral and physical power, perhaps unequalled by any, ancient or modern. The capital of such an empire ought to possess a com.. mensurate character. On the contrary, |
