Sir Charles. Oh, yes, I take. But, by the cockade in your hat, Ollapod, you have added lately, it seems, to your avocations. Olla. My dear Sir Charles, I have now the honour to be cornet in the volunteer association corps of our town. It fell out unexpected-pop on a sudden; like the going off of a field-piece, or an alderman in an apoplexy.

Sir C. Explain.

Olla. Happening to be at home-rainy day-no going out to sport, blister, shoot, nor bleed-was busy behind the counter-You know my shop, Sir Charles-Galen's head over the door-new gilt him last week, by the by-looks as fresh as a pill.

Sir C. Well, no more on that head now-Proceed. Olla. On that head! That's very well, very well indeed! Thank you, good sir, I owe you one-Churchwarden Posh, of our town, being ill of an indigestion, from eating three pounds of measly pork, at a vestry dinner, I was making up a cathartic for the patient; when, who should strut into the shop, but Lieutenant Grains, the brewer -sleek as a dray horse-in a smart scarlet jacket, tastily turn'd up with a rhubarb-coloured lapelle. I confess his figure struck me. I look'd at him, as I was thumping the mortar, and felt instantly inoculated with a military ardour. Sir C. Inoculated! I hope your ardour was of a very favourable sort.

Olla. Ha! ha! That's very well-very well, indeed!— Thank you, good sir, I owe you one. We first talk'd of shooting-He knew my celebrity that way, Sir Charles. I told him, the day before, I had kill'd six brace of birds—I thump'd on at the mortar-We then talk'd of physic-I told him, the day before, I had kill'd-lost, I mean-six brace of patients—I thump'd on at the mortar-eyeing him all the while; for he look'd mighty flashy, to be sure; and I felt an itching to belong to the corps. The medical, and military, both deal in death, you know-so, 'twas natural. Do you take, good sir? do you take?

Sir C. Take? Oh, nobody can miss.

Olla. He then talk'd of the corps itself: said it was sickly and if a professional person would administer to the health of the association-dose the men, and drench the horse he could, perhaps, procure him a cornetcy.

Sir C. Well, you jump'd at the offer?

Olla. Jump'd! I jump'd over the counter-kick'd down Churchwarden Posh's cathartic, into the pocket of Lieuten

ant Grains's smart scarlet jacket, tastily turn'd up with a rhubarb-coloured lapelle; embraced him and his offer, and I am now Cornet Ollapod, apothecary, at the Galen's Head, of the association corps of cavalry, at your service.

Sir C. I wish you joy of your appointment. You may now distil water for the shop, from the laurels you gather in the field.

Olla Water for-Oh! laurel water. Come, that's very well-very well, indeed! Thank you, good sir, I owe you one. Why, I fancy fame will follow, when the poison of a small mistake I made has ceased to operate.

Sir C. A mistake?

Olla. Having to attend Lady Kitty Carbuncle on a grand field day, I clapped a pint bottle of her ladyship's diet-drink into one of my holsters; intending to proceed to the patient, after the exercise was over. I reach'd the martial ground, and jallop'd-gallop'd, I mean-wheel'd, and flourish'd, with great eclat; but when the word "Fire" was given, meaning to pull out my pistol, in a horrible hurry, I presented, neck foremost, the villanous diet-drink of Lady Kitty Carbuncle; and the medicine being, unfortunately, fermented, by the jolting of my horse, it forced out the cork, with a prodigious pop, full in the face of my gallant commander.

Sir C. But, in the midst of so many pursuits, how proceeds practice among the ladies? Any new faces, since I left the country?

Olla. Nothing worth an item-Nothing new arrived in our town. In the village, to be sure, hard by, Miss Emily Worthington, a most brilliant beauty has lately given lustre to the estate of Farmer Harrowby.

Sir C. My dear Doctor, the lady of all others I wish most to know. Introduce yourself to the family, and pave the way for me. Come! mount your horse-I'll explain more as you go to the stable-but I am in a flame, in a fever, till I see you off.

Olla. In a fever! I'll send you physic enough to fill a baggage waggon.

Sir C. [Aside.] So! a long bill as the price of his politeness!

Olla. You need not bleed; but you must have medicine. Sir C. If I must have medicine, Ollapod, I fancy 1 shall bleed pretty freely.

Olla. Come, that's very well! very well indeed! Thank

you, good sir, I owe you one. Before dinner, a strong dose of coloquintida, senna, scammony, and gamboge ;Sir C. Oh, confound scammony and gamboge! Olla. At night a narcotic; next day, saline draughts, camphorated julap, and

Sir C. Zounds! only go, and I'll swallow your whole shop.

Olla. Galen, forbid! 'Tis enough to kill every customer I have in the parish!—Then we'll throw in the bark -By the by, talking of bark, Sir Charles, that Juno of yours is the prettiest pointer

Sir C. Well, well, she is yours.

Olla. My dear Sir Charles! such sport next shooting season! If I had but a double barrell'd gunTake mine that hangs in the hall.

Sir C.

Olla. My dear Sir Charles!-Here's a morning's work; senna and coloquintida

Sir C.

[Aside. [Pushing him.

Well, be gone then.

Olla. I'm off-Scammony and gamboge.
Nay, fly, man!

Sir C.

Olla. I do, Sir Charles-A double-barrell'd gun-I fly —the bark—I'm going-Juno-a narcoticSir C. Off with you!

SECTION XXX.

SPEECH OF RAAB KIUPRILI.....S. T. Coleridge.

HEAR me,

Assembled lords and warriors of Illyria,
Hear, and avenge me! Twice ten years have I
Stood in your presence, honoured by the king:
Beloved and trusted. Is there one among you,
Accuses Raab Kiuprili of a bribe ?
Or one false whisper in his sovereign's ear?
Who here dares charge me with an orphan's rights
Outfaced, or widow's plea left undefended?
And shall I now be branded by a traitor,

A bought-bribed wretch, who being called my son,
Doth libel a chaste matron's name, and plant
Hensbane and aconite on a mother's grave ?
The underling accomplice of a robber,
That from a widow and a widow's offspring

Would steal their heritage? To God a rebel,
And to the common father of his country

A recreant ingrate!

What means this clamour? Are these madmen's voices?
Or is some knot of riotous slanderers leagued
To infamize the name of the king's brother
With a black falsehood? unmanly cruelty,
Ingratitude, and most unnatural treason?
What mean these murmurs? Dare then any here
Proclaim Prince Emerick a spotted traitor?
One that has taken from you your sworn faith,
And given you in return a Judas' bribe,
Infamy now, oppression in reversion,
And Heaven's inevitable curse hereafter?
Yet bear with me awhile! Have I for this
Bled for your safety, conquered for your honour!
Was it for this, Illyrians! that I forded

Your thaw-swoln torrents, when the shouldering ice
Fought with the foe, and stained its jagged points
With gore from wounds, I felt not? Did the blast
Beat on this body, frost-and-famine-numbed,
Till my hard flesh distinguished not itself
From the insensate mail, its fellow-warrior?
And have I brought home with me victory,
And with her, hand in hand, firm-footed peace,
Her countenance twice lighted up with glory,
As if I had charmed a goddess down from heaven!
But these will flee abhorrent from the throne
Of usurpation! Have you then thrown off shame,
And shall not a dear friend, a loyal subject,
Throw off all fear? I tell ye, the fair trophies,
Valiantly wrested from a valiant foe,
Love's natural offerings to a rightful king,
Will hang as ill on this usurping traitor,
This brother-blight, this Emerick, as robes
Of gold plucked from the images of gods
Upon a sacrilegious robber's back.

SECTION XXXI.

ALVAR-ORDONIO.....Ibid.

Ordonio. HAIL, potent wizard! in my gayer mood

I poured forth a libation to old Pluto,

And as I brimmed the bowl, I thought on thee.

Thou hast conspired against my life and honour,
Hast tricked me foully; yet I hate thee not.
Why should I hate thee? this same world of ours,
'Tis but a pool amid a storm of rain,

And we the air-bladders that course up and down,
And joust and tilt in merry tournament;
And when one bubble runs foul of another,
The weaker needs must break.

Alvar.

I see thy heart!
There is a frightful glitter in thine eye,
Which doth betray thee. Inly-tortured man,
This is the revelry of a drunken anguish,
Which fain would scoff away the pang of guilt,
And quell each human feeling.

Ord.

Feeling! feeling!
The death of a man—the breaking of a bubble—
'Tis true I cannot sob for such misfortunes;
But faintness, cold and hunger-curses on me
If willingly I e'er inflicted them!

Come, take the beverage; this chill place demands it.
Alv. Yon insect on the wall,

Which moves this way and that, its hundred limbs,
Were it a toy of mere mechanic craft,
It were an infinitely curious thing!
But it has life, Ordonio! life, enjoyment!
And by the power of its miraculous will
Wields all the complex movements of its frame
Unerringly to pleasurable ends!

Saw I that insect on this goblet's brim
I would remove it with an anxious pity!
Ord. What meanest thou ?
Alv.
There's poison in the wine.
Ord, Thou hast guessed right; there's poison in the
wine.

There's poison in't-which of us two shall drink it ?
For one of us must die!

Alv.

Whom dost thou think me?
Ord. The accomplice and sworn friend of Isidore.
Alv.
I know him not.
And yet, methinks, I have heard the name but lately.
Ord. Good! good! that lie! it hath restored me.
Now I am thy master !-Villain! thou shalt drink it,
Or die a bitterer death.

Alv.
What strange solution
Hast thou found out to satisfy thy fears,