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and yet, to increase the inconsistency, in another part of your letter you call me a beau: now, on one side or other, you must be

wrong If I am a beau, I can never think of wearing a spring velvet in winter; and if I am not a beau—why—then—that explains itself.

But let me go on to your two next strange lines :

“ And bring with you a wig that is modish and gay,

To dance with the girls that are making of hay."

The absurdity of making hay at Christmas you yourself seem sensible of; you say your sister will laugh, and so indeed she well may. The Latins have an expression for a contemptuous sort of laughter, Naso contemnere adunco: that is, to laugh with a crooked nose ;

she may laugh at you in the manner of the ancients if she thinks fit.—But now I am come to the most extraordinary of all extraordinary propositions, which is, to take your and your sister's advice in playing at loo. The presumption of the offer raises my indignation beyond the bounds of prose; it inspires me at once with verse and resentment. I take advice ! And from whom? You shall hear.

First let me suppose, what may shortly be true,
The company set and the word to be loo;
All smirking and pleasant and big with adventure,
And ogling the stake which is fixed in the centre.
Round and round go the cards, while I inwardly damn,
At never once finding a visit from pam;
I lay down my stake apparently cool,
While the harpies about me all pocket the pool;
I fret in my gizzard, get cautious and sly,
I wish all my friends may be bolder than I;
Yet still they sit snug; not a creature will aim,
By losing their money to venture at fame,

'Tis in vain that at niggardly caution I scold,
'Tis in vain that I flatter the brave and the bold;
All play their own way, and they think me an ass;
What does Mrs. Bunbury? I, Sir? I pass.
Pray what does Miss Horneck ? Take courage, come, do!
Who, I ?

Let me see, Sir; why I must pass too.
Mrs. Bunbury frets, and I fret like the devil,
To see them so cowardly, lucky, and civil;
Yet still I sit snug, and continue to sigh on,
Till made by my losses as bold as a lion.
I venture at all; while my avarice regards
The whole pool as my own. Come, give me five cards.
Well done! cry the ladies; ah! Doctor, that's good,
The pool's very rich. Ah! the Doctor is loo'd.
Thus foiled in my courage, on all sides perplext,
I ask for advice from the lady that's next.
Pray, Ma'am, be so good as to give your advice;

you think the best way is to venture for't twice?
I advise, cries the lady, to try it I own;
Ah! the Doctor is loo’d. Come, Doctor, put down.
Thus playing and playing I still grow more eager,
And so bold and so bold, I'm at last a bold beggar.
Now, ladies, I ask, if law matters you're skill'd in,
Whether crimes such as yours should not come before Fielding;
For giving advice that is not worth a straw,
May well be callid picking of pockets in law;
And picking of pockets, with which I now charge ye,
Is by Quinto Elizabeth, death without clergy.
What justice, when both to the Old Bailey brought !
By the gods I'll enjoy it, tho' 'tis but in thought!
Both are placed at the bar with all proper decorum,
With bunches of fennel and nosegays before 'em;

Both cover their faces with mobs and all that,
But the Judge bids them angrily take off their hat.
When uncover'd, a buzz of inquiry goes round,
Pray what are their crimes? They've been pilfering found.
But, pray whom have they pilfer'd? A Doctor, I hear;
What, yon solemn-faced odd-looking man that stands near?
The same. What a pity! How does it surprise one !
Two handsomer culprits I never set eyes on!
Then their friends all come round me with cringing and leering,
To melt me to pity and soften my swearing.
First Sir Charles advances with phrases well strung,
Consider, dear Doctor, the girls are but young.
The younger the worse, I return him again,
It shows that their habits are all dyed in grain;
But then they're so handsome, one's bosom it grieves:
What signifies handsome when people are thieves !
But where is your justice? Their cases are hard;
What signifies justice ?-I want the reward.

There's the parish of Edmonton offers forty pound—There's the parish of St. Leonard, Shoreditch, offers forty pound—There's the parish of Tyburn, from the Hog in the Pound to St. Giles's Watch-house, offers forty pound-I shall have all that if I convict them.-

But consider their case, it may yet be your own,
And see how they kneel; is your heart made of stone ?
This moves ; so at last I agree to relent,
For ten pounds in hand and ten pounds to be spent.

I challenge you all to answer this. I tell you, you cannot. It cuts deep; but now for the rest of the letter; and next-but



I want room.-So I believe I shall battle the rest out at Barton some day next week.-I don't value


0. G.





Spoken by Mrs. Bulkley, in the Character of Miss Hardcastle.*

Well, having stooped to conquer with success, ,
And gain'd a husband without aid from dress,
Still, as a bar-maid, I could wish it too,
As I have conquer'd him to conquer you:
And let me say, for all your resolution,
That pretty bar-maids have done execution.

This comedy was first acted at Covent Garden Theatre, on the 15th of March 1773. In a letter to Mr. Craddock, written immediately after the representation of the piece, Goldsmith says :-“I thank you sincerely for your epilogue, which, however, could not be used, but with your permission shall be printed. The story in short is this ; Murphy sent me rather the outline of an epilogue than an epilogue, which was to be sung by Miss Catley, and which she approved. Mrs. Bulkley hearing this, insisted on throwing up her part unless, according to the custom of the theatre, she were permitted to speak the epilogue. In this embarrassment I thought of making a Quarrelling Epilogue between Catley and her, debating who should speak the epilogue, but then Miss Catley refused after I had taken the trouble of drawing it out. I was then at a loss indeed; an epilogue was to be made, and for none but Mrs. Bulkley. I made one, and Colman thought it too bad to be spoken; I was obliged, therefore, to try a fourth time, and I made a very mawkish thing, as you'll shortly see. Such is the history of my stage adventures, and which I have at last done with. I cannot help saying that I am very sick of the stage ; and though I believe I shall get three tolerable benefits, yet I shall on the whole be a loser, even in a pecuniary light; my ease and comfort I certainly lost while it was in agitation.”—See Life, ch. xxii.]

Our life is all a play, compos'd to please,
“ We have our exits and our entrances."
The first act shows the simple country maid,
Harmless and young, of every thing afraid ;
Blushes when hir'd, and with unmeaning action,
“I hopes as how to give you satisfaction.”
Her second act displays a livelier scene-
The unblushing bar-maid of a country inn,
Who whisks about the house, at market caters,
Talks loud, coquets the guests, and scolds the waiters.
Next the scene shifts to town, and there she soars,
The chop-house toast of ogling connoisseurs.
On 'squires and cits she there displays her arts,
And on the gridiron broils her lovers' hearts-
And as she smiles, her triumphs to complete,
E'en common-councilmen forget to eat.
The fourth act shows her wedded to the 'squire,
And madam now begins to hold it higher;
Pretends to taste, at operas cries caro !
And quits her Nancy Dawson, for Che Faro:
Doats upon dancing, and in all her pride
Swims round the room, the Heinel of Cheapside:
Ogles and leers with artificial skill,
Till, having lost in age the power to kill,
She sits all night at cards, and ogles at spadille.
Such, through our lives the eventful history,
The fifth and last act still remains for me.
The bar-maid now for your protection prays,
Turns female barrister, and pleads for bays.


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