THOUGH it was the wish of the Members of the Poco-curante Society (who have lately done me the honour of electing me their Secretary) that I should prefix my name to the following Miscellany, it is but fair to them and to myself to state, that, except in the "painful pre-eminence" of being employed to transcribe their lucubrations, my claim to such a distinction in the title-page is not greater than that of any other gentleman, who has contributed his share to the contents of the volume. I had originally intended to take this opportunity of giving some account of the origin and objects of our Institution, the names and characters of the different members, &c. &c.-but, as I am at present preparing for the press the First Volume of the "Transactions of the Poco-curante Society," I shall reserve for that occasion all further details upon the subject; and content myself here with referring, for a general insight into our tenets, to a Song which will be found at the end of this work, and which is sung to us on the first day of every month, by one of our oldest members, to the tune of (as far as I can recollect, being no musician,) either "Nancy Dawson" or "He stole away the Bacon."

It may be as well also to state, for the information of those critics, who attack with the hope of being answered, and of being, thereby, brought

FABLE I.

THE DISSOLUTION OF THE HOLY ALLIANCE.

A DREAM.

I'VE had a dream that bodes no good
Unto the Holy Brotherhood.

I may be wrong, but I confess—

As far as it is right or lawful For one, no conjurer, to guess—

It seems to me extremely awful.
Methought, upon the Neva's flood
A beautiful Ice Palace stood,

A dome of frost-work, on the plan
Of that once built by Empress Anne, 1
Which shone by moonlight-as the tale is-
Like an Aurora Borealis.

In this said Palace, furnish'd all

And lighted as the best on land are, I dreamt there was a splendid Ball, Given by the Emperor Alexander, To entertain with all due zeal,

Those holy gentlemen, who've shown a Regard so kind for Europe's weal,

At Troppau, Laybach, and Verona.

of ice on the Neva, in 1740, which was fifty-two feet in length, "It is well known that the Empress Anne built a palace and when illuminated had a surprising effect."- PINKERTON.

The thought was happy-and design'd To hint how thus the human Mind May, like the stream imprison'd there, Be check'd and chill'd, till it can bear The heaviest Kings, that ode or sonnet E'er yet be-prais'd, to dance upon it.

And all were pleas'd, and cold, and stately,
Shivering in grand illumination -
Admir'd the superstructure greatly,

Nor gave one thought to the foundation.
Much too the Czar himself exulted,

To all plebeian fears a stranger, For, Madame Krudener, when consulted, Had pledg'd her word there was no danger. So, on he caper'd, fearless quite,

Thinking himself extremely clever, And waltz'd away with all his might,

As if the Frost would last for ever.

Just fancy how a bard like me,

Who reverence monarchs, must have trembled

To see that goodly company,

At such a ticklish sport assembled.

Nor were the fears, that thus astounded
My loyal soul, at all unfounded-
For, lo! ere long, those walls so massy
Were seiz'd with an ill-omen'd dripping,
And o'er the floors, now growing glassy,
Their Holinesses took to slipping.

The Czar, half through a Polonaise,

Could scarce get on for downright stumbling; And Prussia, though to slippery ways

Well used, was cursedly near tumbling.

And a Fandango, 'faith, they had,
At which they all set to, like mad!

Never were Kings (though small the' expense is
Of wit among their Excellencies)
So out of all their princely senses.
But, ah, that dance-that Spanish dance—
Scarce was the luckless strain begun,
When, glaring red, as 'twere a glance

Shot from an angry Southern sun,

A light through all the chambers flam'd,
Astonishing old Father Frost,

Who, bursting into tears, exclaim'd,

"A thaw, by Jove-we're lost, we're lost;

"Run, France-a second Waterloo "Is come to drown you-sauve qui peut!" Why, why will monarchs caper so In palaces without foundations? Instantly all was in a flow,

Crowns, fiddles, sceptres, decorations Those Royal Arms, that look'd so nice, Cut out in the resplendent iceThose Eagles, handsomely provided

With double heads for double dealingsHow fast the globes and sceptres glided

Out of their claws on all the ceilings! Proud Prussia's double bird of prey Tame as a spatch cock, slunk away; While just like France herself, when she Proclaims how great her naval skill isPoor Louis' drowning fleurs-de-lys

Imagin'd themselves water-lilies.

And not alone rooms, ceilings, shelves,
But still more fatal execution—

The Great Legitimates themselves
Seem'd in a state of dissolution.
The' indignant Czar-when just about
To issue a sublime Ukase,
"Whereas all light must be kept out".

Dissolv'd to nothing in its blaze.
Next Prussia took his turn to melt,
And, while his lips illustrious felt
The influence of this southern air,

Some word, like "Constitution"-long Congeal'd in frosty silence there

Came slowly thawing from his tongue.
While Louis, lapsing by degrees,
And sighing out a faint adieu
To truffles, salmis, toasted cheese
And smoking fondus, quickly grew,
Himself, into a fondu too ;-
Or like that goodly King they make
Of sugar for a Twelfth-night cake,
When, in some urchin's mouth, alas,
It melts into a shapeless mass!

In short, I scarce could count a minute,
Ere the bright dome, and all within it,
Kings, Fiddlers, Emperors, all were gone.
And nothing now was seen or heard
But the bright river, rushing on,
Happy as an enfranchis'd bird,
And prouder of that natural ray,
Shining along its chainless way—
More proudly happy thus to glide

In simple grandeur to the sea,
Than when, in sparkling fetters tied,
'Twas deck'd with all that kingly pride
Could bring to light its slavery!

Such is my dream—and, I confess, I tremble at its awfulness.

That Spanish Dance-that southern beamBut I say nothing-there's my dream— And Madame Krudener, the she-prophet, May make just what she pleases of it.

FABLE II.

THE LOOKING-GLASSES.

PROEM.

WHERE Kings have been by mob-elections
Rais'd to the Throne, 'tis strange to see
What different and what odd perfections
Men have requir'd in Royalty.

Some, liking monarchs large and plumpy,

Have chos'n their Sovereigns by the weight;Some wish'd them tall, some thought your dumpy, Dutch-built, the true Legitimate.1

The Easterns in a Prince, 'tis said,
Prefer what's called a jolter-head: 2
The' Egyptians wer'n't at all particular,

So that their Kings had not red hair—
This fault not even the greatest stickler
For the blood royal well could bear.
A thousand more such illustrations
Might be adduc'd from various nations.
But, 'mong the many tales they tell us,
Touching the' acquir'd or natural right
Which some men have to rule their fellows,
There's one, which I shall here recite :-

FABLE.

There was a land-to name the place Is neither now my wish nor duty — Where reign'd a certain Royal race,

By right of their superior beauty.

What was the cut legitimate

Of these great persons's chins and noses, By right of which they rul'd the state, No history I have seen discloses.

But so it was-a settled case

Some Act of Parliament, pass'd snugly, Had voted them a beauteous race,

And all their faithful subjects ugly.

As rank, indeed, stood high or low,

Some change it made in visual organs;

1 The Goths had a law to choose always a short, thick man

for their King. MUNSTER, Cosmog. lib. iii. p. 164.

Your Peers were decent-Knights, so so-
But all your common people, gorgons!

Of course, if any knave had hinted

That the King's nose was turned awry, Or that the Queen (God bless her!) squintedThe judges doom'd that knave to die.

But rarely things like this occurr'd,

The people to their King were duteous, And took it, on his Royal word,

That they were frights, and He was beauteous.

The cause whereof, among all classes,
Was simply this—these island elves
Had never yet seen looking-glasses,

And, therefore, did not know themselves.
Sometimes, indeed, their neighbours' faces
Might strike them as more full of reason,
More fresh than those in certain places-
But, Lord, the very thought was treason!

Besides, howe'er we love our neighbour,

And take his face's part, 'tis known We ne'er so much in earnest labour,

As when the face attack'd's our own.

So, on they went- the crowd believing
(As crowds well govern'd always do)
Their rulers, too, themselves deceiving-
So old the joke, they thought 'twas true.
But jokes, we know, if they too far go,

Must have an end- and so, one day,
Upon that coast there was a cargo
Of looking-glasses cast away.

'Twas said, some Radicals, somewhere,

Had laid their wicked heads together, And forc'd that ship to founder there,— While some believe it was the weather.

However this might be, the freight
Was landed without fees or duties;
And from that hour historians date
The downfall of the Race of Beauties.

The looking-glasses got about,

And grew so common through the land, That scarce a tinker could walk out, Without a mirror in his hand.

Comparing faces, morning, noon,
And night, their constant occupation-
By dint of looking-glasses, soon,
They grew a most reflecting nation.

2" In a Prince a jolter-head is invaluable."

Oriental Field Sports.

In vain the Court, aware of errors

In all the old, establish'd mazards, Prohibited the use of mirrors,

And tried to break them at all hazards :

In vain their laws might just as well
Have been waste paper on the shelves;
That fatal freight had broke the spell;
People had look'd-and knew themselves.

If chance a Duke, of birth sublime,
Presum'd upon his ancient face,
(Some calf-head, ugly from all time,)
They popp'd a mirror to his Grace :-

Just hinting, by that gentle sign,

How little Nature holds it true, That what is call'd an ancient line, Must be the line of Beauty too.

From Duke's they pass'd to regal phizzes,

Compar'd them proudly with their own, And cried, "How could such monstrous quizzes "In Beauty's name usurp the throne!".

They then wrote essays, pamphlets, books,
Upon Cosmetical Economy,
Which made the King try various looks,

But none improv'd his physiognomy.

And satires at the Court were levell'd,
And small lampoons, so full of slynesses,
That soon, in short, they quite be-devil'd
Their Majesties and Royal Highnesses.

At length-but here I drop the veil,
To spare some loyal folks' sensations;
Besides, what follow'd is the tale

Of all such late enlighten'd nations;

Of all to whom old Time discloses

A truth they should have sooner knownThat Kings have neither rights nor noses A whit diviner than their own.

FABLE III.

THE TORCH OF LIBERTY.

I SAW it all in Fancy's glass-
Herself, the fair, the wild magician,
Who bid this splendid day-dream pass,
And nam'd each gliding apparition.
"Twas like a torch-race-such as they
Of Greece perform'd, in ages gone,

When the fleet youths, in long array, Pass'd the bright torch triumphant on.

I saw the' expectant nations stand,
To catch the coming flame in turn;
I saw, from ready hand to hand,

The clear, though struggling, glory burn.

And, oh, their joy, as it came near, 'Twas, in itself, a joy to see ;While Fancy whisper'd in my ear,

"That torch they pass is Liberty!"

And, each, as she receiv'd the flame,
Lighted her altar with its ray;
Then, smiling, to the next who came,
Speeded it on its sparkling way.

From ALBION first, whose ancient shrine
Was furnish'd with the fire already,
COLUMBIA caught the boon divine,
And lit a flame, like Albion's, steady.

The splendid gift then GALLIA took,
And, like a wild Bacchante, raising
The brand aloft, its sparkles shook,
As she would set the world a-blazing!

Thus kindling wild, so fierce and high
Her altar blaz'd into the air,
That ALBION, to that fire too nigh,

Shrunk back, and shudder'd at its glare!

Next, SPAIN, so new was light to her,

Leap'd at the torch-but, ere the spark That fell upon her shrine could stir, 'Twas quench'd—and all again was dark.

Yet, no-not quench'd—a treasure, worth
So much to mortals, rarely dies:
Again her living light look'd forth,

And shone, a beacon, in all eyes.

Who next receiv'd the flame? alas,

Unworthy NAPLES-shame of shames,
That ever through such hands should pass
That brightest of all earthly flames!

Scarce had her fingers touch'd the torch,
When, frighted by the sparks it shed,
Nor waiting even to feel the scorch,
She dropp'd it to the earth-and fled.
And fall'n it might have long remain'd;

But GREECE, who saw her moment now, Caught up the prize, though prostrate, stain'd, And wav'd it round her beauteous brow.