"Egregious Dame! thine ear benignly bend,
And to the Muse of Kerry kindly lend
Attention meet, while he shall aptly sing,
And from Apollo's lyre soft music bring.
The ægis of thy sweet protection grant,
While to thy praise he tunes harmonious chaunt.
Glory of England! here we gladly see,
Renowned epitome arrived in thee.
&c. &c. &c."
The rude figure who met my eyes on gaining the house, gave a finish to the poetical treat; and, certainly, in all my travels I have never seen a person less formed by nature or art to captivate the nine, than this votary of the Castalian choir. He is a man of about sixty, of Bardolphian physiognomy, who, I rather imagine, is much more frequently indebted for the fire of inspiration to a glass of whiskey, than to the fountain of Helicon. A large, battered tin snuff-box also contributed its aid to enliven those numbers