SHAKSPEARE.

Gibbon, as well as I can remember, considers them to belong rather to the class of annals than of history, and thinks them deficient in those profound reflections and expositions of the hidden causes of great events, which are the most interesting portions of the latter.

VOLTAIRE.

a little

Aye aye! The author of the decline and fall was jealous of the fame of the author of Charles XII, and the Siecle de Louis XIV.

SHAKSPEARE.

But, Monsieur Voltaire, how came you to give such a work to the world as the Pucelle D'Orleans! You have lost all sight of morality, or indeed common decency, in that production.

VOLTAIRE.

I can explain that affair to you in two minutes.

Indeed!

SHAKSPEARE.

VOLTAIRE.

The fact is, it was written for the sole use of the friars and nuns; but some copies escaped their hands, and a reprint gave the work to the public.

SHAKSPEARE.

The explanation is quite satisfactory and such as I did not anticipate.

VOLTAIRE.

You have no doubt read the Henriade?

SHAKSPEARE.

Yes. I was very impatient to do so, and passed the introductory discourse, to begin at once with the poem.

VOLTAIRE.

Well! how did you like it?

SHAKSPEARE.

I must own, I was much puzzled and could not make up my mind to consider it a very distinguished performance; but when I turned to your preface, I found my doubts all dissipated, and was perfectly convinced you there proved it to be fully equal to the Jurusalem Delivered, or the Paradise Lost.

VOLTAIRE.

Play writers can rarely form a judgment on an epic poem; it is a species of literature much above their sphere. You might almost as well presume to give an opinion on my theory of the Moon, of the Rainbow, and of my work on Optics.

SHAKSPEARE.

It would undoubtedly be very absurd in me to do so; but I lately heard Sir Isaac Newton mention them to Galileo in very explicit terms.

Indeed! what did he say?

VOLTAIRE.

SHAKSPEARE.

Ile expressed his astonishment at your weakness and impudence in attempting to gain the reputation of a man of science, by giving to the French nation, meagre epitomes of subjects which were entirely above your education or understanding.

VOLTAIRE.

You are a most impertinent rascal, and I deserve to be insulted by you for my folly, in allowing you to make so free with me. Henceforward know the difference between us, and don't presume to approach me.

SHAKSPEARE.

(Exit.

Exit in a rage, as Ben Johnson says. He endured my sneers at his literature, but the pure truth on the subject of his science was more than he could bear. But, who comes here? Spenser, Manutius Aldus, Caxton, and Wynkin de Worde-one author and three printers. I must join them, and strengthen the party of the poets. What a pity the philosopher of Ferney did not remain, and then the sestetto would have consisted of even parts.

A JAMAICA TALE.

The following attempt in the "Don Juan" stanza, is founded on an anecdote recorded in a work on Jamaica, which the author met with at the Cape, in the month of October, last year.

I.

Once on a time--I like the olden way

Of making the commencement of a tale,

For did I specify exact the day

Perchance in my historic facts I'd fail;

And with the critics I should have a fray-

Tho' that would but encrease my poem's sale;
I may be charged with lack of witticism,

But plead not guilty to anachronism.

II.

Once on a time, a lady in Jamaica

No story now is good without a lady,

And when you tell one, you must ever make her
As lovely as the bright spring sun on May-day.
Then in the end you must describe how brake her
Poor tender heart-but don't exclaim, oh! heyday!
For of a broken heart I shall not tell,

A broken back will suit me just as well.

!

III.

This lady was a planter, but I fear

That the word plantress would be more grammatical} She was suspicious of her overseer

Suspicion is a horrid vice-'tis what I call A feeling that will keep the weather ear

And weather eye awake, in phrases nautical,
Or rather magnifies each look and word

To prove the truth of what we may have heard:
IV.

Suspicion in a woman too-good heaven!
Suspicion in a man is bad enough,
But to a woman, if a hint be given,

For she is made of very different stuff,
She will not rest awhile, or morn or even,

Until she has of proofs a quantum suff.

And then when link'd together, I don't mock you,

They form th❜elective chain by which she'll shock you!

That th' overseer broke out with, "bless my heart!
Think you my mistress I will rob for you?

I fancy you had better quick depart,

Or else my anger you'll have cause to rue.

The whip! the whip! begone ma'am, or you'll smart!"
And round his head the thong in circles flew,

And still, in spite of this, she gave not o'er
But urged and press'd his purchasing the more.

XIII.

It was indeed a very strange fatality,
That forced her on so positively then,
But sometimes it so happens in vitality

We're prejudiced against our fellow men ;
And she was so convinced of his rascality,
She scarcely could think differently, when
She felt across her shoulders and her back,
The overseer's enormous whip come-thwack!

XIV.

"I am your mistress!" scream'd she-"That can't be, My mistress never would disguise her so."

"I am indeed your mistress"-" I don't see The least similitude between you though."

"I am, I am," she cried in agony,

But still unheeding down fell blow on blow;
Until her gown unpin'd, wide open flew,
And her fair bosom burst upon his view.

XV.

As if he were just rous'd to recollection,
Down on his kness before her then he knelt,
And vow'd he suffer'd the most keen affliction,
That she the whip a moment should have felt.
But she soon raised him from his deep dejection,
Desired him to lead her where she dwelt,
And passing jokes upon his roughness to her,
Told him by hints she would allow him woo her.

XVI.

"A word unto the wise"-is't not in Lacon,

Or in the proverbs?-but you know the rest; A hint in love can never be mistaken

By those to whom the hint may be address'd:
Go ask all learned authors up to Bacon,

And they'll confess the truth on being press'd.
And so the overseer, without a comment,
Took up the hint, applied it in a moment.

XVII.

He looked at her, aud she returned the gaze;

He squeezeed her hand, and she returned the squeeze

He said a something about lovely days,

And she replied about the cooling breeze;
And then like a soft gale that ever plays
Upon the surface of some summer seas,
A gentle feeling swept across his breast,
Just ruffling it, then lulling it to rest.

XVIII.

But courtship is a tedious thing to tell,
It is a tedious thing to undergo,
I've seen enough of it, and seen it well

Perform'd as courtships should be so I know.
I'd rather be a schoolboy, doom'd to spell

A hundred words of "Entick," dreadful woe!
Than now describe it, so I'll pass it over,
And say they made a husband of the lover.

XIX.

Thus the whip gained him that great gift of life,
A sharer of his sorrow and his pleasure;

A being, who with every joy is rife,

Or else a devil with torments beyond measure;

Such is the nature always of a wife,

Either a mighty loss or else a treasure;

And sometimes wives are both, they bring their purses,
But then their tempers are ten thousand curses.

XX.

So they were married—and in all its glory
They tell this queer adventure o'er and o'er,
And laugh e'en when together at the story,

And at the singular disguise she wore;
He vows too, if she's troublesome, before he
Will bear it, he the whip will try once more:
When I dare say the remedy won't fail
To cure-thus endeth my Jamaica tale!

*K*