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 WORDSWORTH COLLECTION 
 
 MADE BY 
 
 CYNTHIA MORGAN ST. JOHN 
 
 ITHACA. N. Y. 
 
 THE GIFT OF 
 
 VICTOR EMANUEL 
 
 CLASS OF 1919 
 1925 
 
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 '«^ 
 
 Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 9241 041 04090 
 

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BENJAMIN 
 
 THE 
 
 WAGGONER 
 
 3 lRpei)te merrie anti conceitetie ®ale in aJetj^e* 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 •" Tongues in trees. 
 
 Books in the running Brooks, Sermons in Stones, 
 And good in every thing." 
 
 Hontion: 
 
 PRINTED FOR BALDWIN, CRADOCK, AND JOY, 
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 1819. 
 
 ; 1> 
 
^3==?^ 
 
 >H^X-tT^ 
 
 A-5"1^5^F^ 
 
 PRINTED BY BENSLEY AND SON, 
 
 Bolt Court, Fleet Street, 
 
 If 
 
 r^^ 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 I^HAD taken my seat in the coach from CarUsle to 
 London, returnmg from a Northern Tour, when, as we 
 changed horses at Penrith, a respectable gentlemanly- 
 looking man inquired of the coachman if he had room 
 inside, and on beihg answered in the affirmative, he 
 took from an old man, ^ the oldest man he seemed 
 ^ that ever wore grey hairs,' a small portmanteau, 
 which he gave to the guard, and immediately occu- 
 pied the only remaining seat in the coach. In a few 
 moments we drove off, but we had scarcely gained 
 the outskirts of the town, when we seemed pursued 
 by the most dreadful yells and cries, almost as loud 
 as that storm in Mr. Maturin's Bertram, which, 
 ^ wakes the dead.' The coachman stopped his 
 vehicle, and in a few minutes the same old man who 
 had brought the gentleman's portmanteau, came 
 tottering up, and thrusting a paper parcel in at the 
 window, said, " Alack, Sir, if you had forgotten the 
 parcel ! " — The gentleman took it, said nothing, but 
 sighed, and wishing the old man again good morn- 
 ing, we drove off with the same speed as before. 
 My other companions in the coach were all fast 
 asleep, indeed so sound, having travelled all night, 
 that they were not awoke with those discordant 
 sounds which had pursued us ; so I was left solely 
 
 B 2 
 
iv INTRODUCTION. 
 
 with our new companion, either to converse or let it 
 alone,, as might best suit our inclinations. — At first, 
 however, we only interchanged the usual civilities of 
 ^ fine morning,' &c. &:c. and then sank into silence, 
 often looking out of the window, and at each other, 
 but still both apparently uncertain whether we should 
 turn out sociable travellers, or the reverse, both 
 unwilling, yet each seemingly anxious, to begin con- 
 versation. While we were in this state of uncer- 
 tainty, I could not help thinking of the old man we 
 had left behind us — there was something very peculiar 
 in his look, and remarkably striking — he seemed pen- 
 sive, and had large blue eyes, which tended much to 
 increase the melancholv cast of his countenance. — I 
 at first thought that I must have frequently seen 
 him before, and on further recollection, his face 
 seemed quite familiar to me — 
 
 ^ And the whole body of the man did seem 
 ^ Like one whom I had met with in a dream/ 
 
 With every effort however which I used, I could not 
 remember where it was that I had met with him. A 
 crowd of indistinct ideas passed rapidly over my mind, 
 and I became exceedingly uneasy at not being able in 
 any way to arrange them and to place them distinctly 
 before my view. What I could not do however they 
 finally did of themselves, for the film which was spread 
 over my memory, gradually gave way, and at last I 
 remembered that I had only frequently read of such 
 a man ; and I was at last convinced that this could 
 be no other than the very original from whom the 
 
INTRODUCTION. ▼ 
 
 description was taken. He seemed to have a Grave 
 reading countenance, and the more I thought, the 
 more I was assured that this could be no other than 
 one of those reflecting, intelhgent, and melancholy- 
 old men, who are seen ^ weeping and walking alone 
 ' upon the English roads/ — After this was settled in 
 my mind, (and I confess it gave me more satisfaction 
 than the reader may imagine) I determined to endea- 
 vour to draw the gentleman into conversation, more 
 particularly for the purpose of engaging his attention, 
 for, during my reveries, I had heard him sigh fre- 
 quently and heavily — and once or twice mutter some 
 indistinct words, though I fancied I heard him say, 
 with much emphasis, ^ It wont do a second time/ 
 I began also to feel considerable sympathy for 
 my fellow-traveller, imagining that he was labouring 
 under some heavy calamity, and at last, running the 
 risk of intruding upon his mental abstraction, and of 
 probably meeting with a repulse for my pains, I said 
 to him, '' If you have met with a severe loss. Sir, 
 time. Sir, time'^— The gentleman did not suffer me 
 to proceed, but hastily replied, '' Loss, Sir, — no Sir, I 
 have met with no loss — it is their own loss. Sir; 
 the public will feel it, not I — don't let them imagine 
 that I suffer from their pertinacity — but it is the 
 reverse, I know they like it — I know they desire it, 
 and I can neither write too much, nor too often for 
 them — I know well. Sir, what it is — those malignant, 
 malevolent, malicious critics — yes, it is to them-- 
 but we have all run the gauntlet too often to regard, 
 in the least, their flagellations, and they know well 
 
vi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 it now makes no impressions upon our backs — no, 
 Critics ! '' — This last word was uttered with a smile, 
 somewhat mixed with pity, contempt, and sorrow, 
 about equal quantities of each, though I thought 
 the last rather predominated, that is, it seemed to 
 last v/hen the others had disappeared. I remained 
 silent for a time, not knowing well what, or how to 
 reply — at last I ventured, albeit unused to the subject, 
 to follow up his discourse. — " Yes, Sir,^^ said I, '' cri- 
 tics indeed wish to mould every genius after their 
 own model.— They have their iron bed, upon which 
 they stretch poor authors, and, like the tyrant of old, 
 should the body be too long, they chop off the head 
 or the feet; should it be too short, they pull and 
 wrench it till it exactly fits — few or none, indeed, are 
 those they meet with, who exactly suit it.^^ This 
 idea seemed to please my friend mightily ; indeed he 
 seemed quite tickled with it, for he frequently laughed 
 heartily. — ^' Very good, very good, indeed. Sir, — iron 
 bed— i'faith excellent — the Laureate will be pleased 
 with this idea." He took out a small memorandum 
 book, and wrote down something, and my vanity was 
 not a little gratified to think that it might be what I 
 had just uttered. As 1 had found the way to make 
 my friend not only cheerful, but even merry, I 
 thought I could not do better than follow it up.— . 
 " Yes, Sir," I continued, '' critics with their we — 
 their plural unit — their royal assumption — what are^ 
 they, and who are they?— Does not the whole infor- 
 mation they have acquired, and all the knowledge 
 they possess, of rigiit belong to those very authors 
 
INTRODUCTION. vii 
 
 they traduce. What know they more than what 
 they have gleaned from pursiung their avocations, 
 which, hke a ball of snow, has gradually accumu- 
 lated ? but as for genius. Sir.''— My friend here was 
 excessively pleased— he said he was going to town, 
 and if I would favour him with my card, he should 
 jljaye much pleasure in calling upon me — with this I 
 readily comphed, for I was really pleased with the 
 deportment and countenance of my fellow-traveller, 
 which displayed much mildness and intelligence. — 
 We were suddenly stopped from pursuing the subject 
 by our arrival at the inn where we were to breakfast, 
 of which meal he declined partaking; but sitting^ 
 by the fire, and taking a book with a blue cover 
 from his great-coat pocket, in which he seemed 
 mvich interested, he left us to make our hurried meal : 
 I was anxious to finish as soon as possible, for I 
 observed, with much pain, that the subject which he 
 was reading seemed to re-produce that melancholy 
 which I had at first witnessed; I interrupted him, 
 therefore, by saying, " that I was sorry to observe 
 his disinclination to a meal which was at this time 
 particularly desirable, as the morning was rather cold,' ^ 
 and asked permission to pour him out a cup of tea. — 
 This he declined, replying, that he had breakfasted 
 before the coach had reached Penrith ; — '^ But see, 
 Sir," said he, pointing to a passage in the book he 
 was perusing— ^^ See, Sir, they will never leave us 
 alone, they not only haunt us in our sequestered 
 hours, but even harass us at our meals. — If one 
 drinks tea, thev will swear that one's works were 
 
viii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 written under the influence of that noxious vegetable. 
 See, Sir, how they have treated a poet of both feel- 
 ing and genius. Read, Sir/' and he pointed to these 
 words, ^ Conceiving the author to be some slender 
 ' youth of seventeen, intoxicated with weak tea.' Did 
 you ever see, Sir, such impudence ; one can't take a 
 cup of tea in quiet for them ; if we drink milk and 
 water it is just the same, then our works taste of milk 
 and water. If one ventures into the subhme, they 
 can't see where we are mounting to, if we are rural 
 and simple^ they laugh us to scorn and call it puerile 
 weakness, but God be thanked. Sir, 
 
 ^ There 5s a pleasure in poetic pains^ 
 ' Which only poets know.' 
 
 And true also what follows : 
 
 ^ But ah ! not such, 
 ^ Or seldom such, the hearers of his song : 
 ^ Fastidious, or else listless, or perhaps 
 ' Aware of nothing arduous in a task 
 ' They never undertook, they little note 
 ^ His dangers or escapes, and haply find 
 ^ Their least amusement where he found the most.' 
 
 We were now summoned for the third time 
 
 by the guard, and the bill being as usual paid with 
 the saucer in one hand and the money in the other, 
 we were soon once more pursuing our journey, as 
 rapidly as heart of lover could wish. My two former 
 companions, or rather fellow-travellers, again ad- 
 dressed themselves to sleep; and my companion, 
 
INTRODUCTION. ix 
 
 pursuing the subject which he had left off, and open- 
 ing the book with the blue cover, said, ^' Is it not, 
 ' Sir, undervaluing the labours of avithors to have it 
 ' thus set down ? '' and here he again read me the fol- 
 lowing quotation: — ' There is no mistake more gross 
 ^ or more palpable, than that it requires any extraor- 
 ^ dinary talents to write tolerable verses upon ordi- 
 ' nary subjects.' This, Sir, is easily said, but let 
 them try it. ' O that mine adversary had written 
 ' a book:' Job forgot to add, ' and that I might 
 ^ have had the reviewing of it;' then indeed might 
 he have taken vengeance upon his enemy, or if he 
 had so willed, have heaped coals of fire upon his 
 head. But what, Sir, would become of those same sage 
 critics, if we. Sir, should cease to write ? what would 
 become of their barren pages ? where would they 
 find their copious extracts ? Would you believe it. 
 Sir, they fatten upon our meadows ; we support, we 
 feed, we clothe them, and yet see what a return we 
 meet with. Only listen. Sir, to these gentlemen, 
 ' It is possible, we allow ;' mark. Sir, ' zoe allow,' 
 ^ that the sight of a friend's garden-spade, or a spar- 
 ^ row's nest, or a man gathering leeches, might really 
 ^ have suggested to such a mind a train of powerful im- 
 ^ pressions and interesting reflections.' You see, Sir, 
 they condescend to allow that ; but observe. Sir, 
 ^ all the world laughs at elegiac stanzas to a sucking- 
 ' pig, a hymn to a washing-day, sonnets to one's 
 ^ grandmother, or pindarics on a gooseberry pie.' 
 Did you ever hear such assurance ? but poor gentle- 
 men, they I fear write more about gooseberry pies 
 
5c INTRODUCTION. 
 
 than they see of them; it's a sore subject^ ^h'; fpV 
 shortly after they deprecate writmg poetry about the 
 evisceration of a chicken; chicken in(^ee<l! set them 
 up, there is only one part of it fit food for them, I 
 mean the gall, and that I should think they can relish. 
 It will keep up that bitter taste in their mouthy nyhich 
 they must always have, and which is imparted to 
 every thing they put into them, and then they s\year 
 it was the article tasted that was bitter." ^^ Yes, Sir," 
 added I ; it would also give that yellow tincture ito 
 their eyes, which happen to see and call every thi^g 
 yellow, merely because they have got the jaundice." 
 ^^ Very good idea indeed. Sir; I see we cordially agree. 
 Very good, I will just note it. Sir ; my poetic friends 
 will be delighted. Well, Sir, but let them write as 
 they will, they shall not, cannot alter me ; all their 
 castigation is in vain, and all their flattery too. Only 
 observe the rogues. Sir ; when threats won^t do, see 
 how they try to cozen me over to their way of think- 
 ing ; only hear. Sir, how they come round me — observe 
 their cunning, ^ There is room to hope not only that 
 ' the system itself will meet with no more encourage- 
 ^ ment, but even that the author will be persuaded,' 
 ^ (mark, Sir, persuaded,) ^ to abandon a plan of writing 
 ^ which defrauds his talents and his industry of their 
 ^ natural reward.' ^^ No, gentlemen," said he, shutting 
 the book with great good humour, '^ that won't do ; I 
 know the merits of my own works if you do not; and 
 the world — the world, very likely, one day will ac- 
 knowledge them. No, gentlemen, notwithstanding 
 you do not wish to urge ' captious objections,' as you 
 
INTRODUCTION. xi 
 
 say, and notwithstanding your ' dignified suUenness/ 
 I will continue to amuse myself and gratify the pub- 
 lic as long as I list. Zounds ! is not this the land of 
 liberty ? ' They don't like daisies, they don't like kit- 
 ' tens playing with leaves, they don't like sparrows' 
 ^ nests, eviscerated chickens, or gooseberry pie.' 
 They call it ^flat, feeble, affected, childish,' and even 
 worse names. Sir, if you can believe it. But observe 
 again, Sir, how the sly rogues try to get round me— 
 ^ When we look at these and many still finer pas- 
 ^ sages,' please observe. Sir, ' these, and many still 
 ^ finer passages in the writings of this author, it is 
 ' impossible not to feel a mixture of indignation 
 ' and compassion at that strange infatuation which has 
 ' bound him up from the fair exercise of his talents, and 
 ^ withheld from the public,^ — you will please observe. 
 Sir, ' and withheld from the public,— the many excel- 
 ^ lent productions that v>^ould otherwise have taken the 
 
 ^ place of the .' V/e'U stop here. Sir;— O ! they 
 
 know their trade well ; but I will see what they say of 
 my last work, of my dear Peter Bell ; probably that 
 may suit their delicate tastes and their ^ dignified 
 ^ suUenness.^ I am sure it ought, for it is a work I 
 myself admire very much, and at the next town I ex- 
 pect to hear from my bookseller that several editions 
 have been sold. I shall then finish my Continuation 
 of this work, after which I purpose to write a moral 
 tale in verse ; but why do we indite moral tales, when 
 one virtuous self-denying enactment of the legislature 
 would tend more to the improvement of our popu- 
 lation than all the moral poems, moral essays, and 
 
xii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 moral sermons which ever were printed ; yes, Sir, they 
 may persevere in their godly work of increasing our 
 churches, extending our system of education, and dif- 
 fusing widely the Bible ; 'tis good, but they may rely 
 upon this, that unless these things are followed up 
 closely by an abandonment of practices and prin- 
 ciples which have created the want of them, their 
 labour will be in vain. The lower classes can alone 
 be approached by sensible impressions, palpable to 
 sight as well as mind, and so long as our guardians 
 not only permit but encourage drinking, gambling at 
 hazards, and smuggling, they may rely upon it, that 
 all their endeavours, however zealous, will prove fruit- 
 less. But to them this avails nothing, so long as 
 the ever-extended, ever-craving, never-satisfied hand 
 is filled, and 
 
 ' Til' excise is fattened with the rich resiilt 
 ^ Of all this riot ;' 
 
 say, Sir^ is it not the extreme of absurdity to pro- 
 mulgate laws with deadly penalties affixed to them, 
 to endeavour to prevent the increase of crime, and at 
 the same time to issue from the same fountain-head, 
 enactments which contain in themselves the very 
 source of their infringement ? But they will now learn 
 what before they might have known, that the code of 
 Draco never did, nor never can restore to sound moral 
 vigour the diseased and demoralized mass of a people. 
 They must reverse the reflection of the poet when he 
 charges them with being ever 
 
INTRODUCTION. xiu 
 
 ^ more prone 
 
 ' To avenge than to prevent the breach of law/^ 
 
 if ever they expect to succeed. 
 
 " I could cry aloud to them, trumpet-tongued, till 
 this desirable object w^as attained ; 
 
 * But this eternal blazon must not be 
 ' To ears of flesh and blood/ 
 
 No ; we must be silent, because it is expedient so to 
 be : but let them beware of our posthumous works ; 
 they shall rise up like appalling spectres and bear 
 witness against them. O what is Peter Bell, what 
 Benjamin the Waggoner, what all I have written com- 
 pared to the accomplishment of such an object ! Tho' 
 I am signed, sealed, and numbered as one of the 
 worshippers of the beast, yet will I burst from my 
 chains and vindicate (once more) the claims of the 
 unlettered to a visible and practical education. I will 
 for ever abandon my morals in little, and take up 
 with ardour the cause of real moral grandeur and im- 
 provement.^' 
 
 I was exceedingly gratified with this and a similar 
 strain of reasoning, and I thought how useful at any 
 time, how very useful at such a time, those talents so 
 employed. '' Yes, Sir^'^ I replied, " the present 
 
 min ^^ ^' Forgive me,'' said he hastily, '' you do 
 
 not comprehend me ; I have been led away by the 
 warmth of my feelings. These truly are my senti- 
 ments, nevertheless it becomes us to be subject to 
 the powers which be . After many years re- 
 
xvi INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ment^ all be allowed to be swayed by the same un 
 controllable power ? and if so, why is there an odium 
 attached to this change, and why is it branded with 
 the name of apostacy, tergiversation, abandonment 
 of principles, &c.?" 
 
 My fellow-traveller did not seem quite of my way 
 of thinking, for he shook his head, and replied, '' The 
 first part of your argument. Sir, I believe, may hold 
 good, but as for the mind, I think it is one of the strongest 
 proofs of its immateriality and indestructability, that 
 amidst all these never-ceasing changes it still remains 
 the same : though certainly opinions of men, mea- 
 sures, and things, may be allowed to be swayed by 
 many contingencies and circumstances which occur 
 during life. However, the idea has novelty in it, 
 and it may be useful to a friend of mine, who is fre- 
 quently compelled to put himself on his defence 
 against such accusations, more especially, ever since 
 the birth of his boy Watty. '^ 
 
 T found I had not quite argued upon facts, but I 
 was flattered by finding myself capable of arguing at 
 all, for being but a young man, I was happy to 
 have an opportunity of shewing off the little knowledge 
 which I had picked up ; so pursuing the same line of 
 reasoning, and wishing to prove my logical powers to 
 him, — ^' Pray, Sir,'' said I, ^' can one really eat his 
 grandmother ?'' — The gentleman looked at me rather 
 amazed, and apparently in some doubt of what 
 manner of man I v/as. — ^' Dr. Watts, Sir, we were 
 speaking of him last— he, Sir, avers that such a thing 
 may come to pass. — My grandmother dies, and is 
 
INTRODUCTION. xym 
 
 buried — my grandmother turns to earth — the earth 
 
 to grass — sheep and cattle feed upon grass. — I eat 
 
 sheep and cattle; therefore I eat my grandmother; 
 
 Q. E. D.'^ — I shall ever regret that our arrival at the 
 
 next post town prevented the reader from enjoying 
 
 one of the most logical and metaphysical discussions 
 
 which probably he ever did, or ever shall have an 
 
 opportunity of meeting with; here we alighted, 
 
 and went into the Inn, while they were changing the 
 
 horses. My friend seemed well known to the landlord,^ 
 
 who treated him with great respect, and ushered him 
 
 into the parlour, where he was likewise kindly 
 
 greeted by the landlady, who made very particular 
 
 enquiries after his health and that of his family, and 
 
 then put a parcel into his hand, which she said had 
 
 arrived the night before by the Mail. My friend, 
 
 turning to me, said, " This is the parcel I expected 
 
 from my bookseller, and it will, in some degree, 
 
 decide my movements. '^ He then hastily opened it, 
 
 and I saw that it contained a letter and a pamphlet. 
 
 He read the letter first, and then hastily looking over 
 
 the book, threw both down upon the table, and 
 
 walked several times across the room. At this time 
 
 I could not help repeating to myself these applicable 
 
 lines of Beattie : — 
 
 * Hard is our fate ! while bliss in hope we view. 
 Some deadly fiend to blast our joy appears ; 
 Contentment sweet, alas ! is known to few. 
 Thus for a while the sun the welkin cheers. 
 But soon he hides his head, and melts in dropping tears/ 
 
 My friend, for so I now considered him, continued 
 w^alking across the room, speaking at intervals,— 
 
 c 
 
xviii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 ^' I thought so/^ said he, ^' I always was afraid of it — 
 and yet 'tis curious — ^tis strange'' — and so he again read 
 over the letter, several parts of which I remember, as 
 follows : — ^ One takes quite as much as the other, if 
 not more — public quite amused — seem satisfied with 
 the smaller — Editor of the Times protests they are 
 from the same pen — very unlucky — fear conti- 
 nuation won't answer — something new' — ^' That's just 
 the way — something new, they are always crying out 
 like babies for something new. — Why, Solomon must 
 have erred when he said that there was nothing new 
 under the sun. I wonder if there ever was any 
 thing before like my Poems ? And only to think of 
 that Editor, what a pretty critic he must be — a com- 
 plete poodle." He then glanced again over the 
 little book,apparently much vexed, butstill suppressing 
 a smile, which he seemed in vain to endeavour en- 
 tirely to prevent — when he came to the end, however, 
 his anger returned in full force. — '' Impudent fellow! 
 to palm his bastard upon me — to cling to my shoul- 
 ders like the old man on the back of Sinbad the 
 sailor — and I to be compelled to carry him about the 
 world. — Oh what will that world say to it now^ — I 
 must write, and, like Snug in the play, I must tell 
 them that he is no lion, but only a joiner in the lion's 
 skin ; — but surely they cannot have been so blind — 
 the public must see— only that cursed Editor has 
 thrown sand in their eyes — these fellows are always 
 so busy to prevent people judging for themselves. 
 Let me see — ' Never more will trouble you, trouble 
 you.' He lies^ — I will trouble them again and 
 
INTRODUCTION. xix 
 
 again, — and if the Potter won't do, Fll find some- 
 thing else that will, — a Waggoner or Kettle-mender 
 shall serve them/' Here he went out, and returned 
 with the parcel which he had left in the pocket of the 
 coach-door, and which he hastily threw on the fire- 
 luckily for me and the world, on the back of it. "I 
 am sorry. Sir,'' said he, " that I am compelled to 
 turn homewards, imperious circumstances demand 
 it. The public. Sir, must be informed, they must 
 not be permitted. Sir, to burst in ignorance — I find 
 that the object of my journey is fruitless for the pre- 
 sent. I must home, and strike out something new, 
 as my bookseller says, and I trust that the world, and 
 that Editor" — and upon this last word he laid much 
 emphasis—*^ I trust thei/ will be convinced — that 
 both works were not written by the same author — O 
 what judges of poetry! — Fare you well. Sir, and if 
 ever circumstances should take me to London, which 
 I think they shortly will, believe me I shall not forget 
 to call upon you — No, Sir; the iron bed is a good 
 idea — I thank you heartily. Sir — they shall hear of 
 it — farewell. Sir — good idea indeed — very good— God 
 bless you. Sir." — And after many mutual expressions 
 of regret, I can say most sincere on my part, he left 
 the room, and, ordering a post-chaise, was off in 
 an instant. My first object was to secure the parcel, 
 which I was sorry to find had just began to feel the 
 effects of the fire — in a few moments more the whole 
 would have been in a flame, and then, I and the 
 world, should have lost for ever what I have now the 
 high satisfaction of presenting to them. I found the 
 
 c 2 
 
XX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 leaves but partially burnt — many places merely 
 browned — and though I have not succeeded m pre- 
 serving the Poem entire, yet I was, and am grateful 
 indeed for having preserved so much. On my 
 resuming my seat in the coach, I instantly opened 
 my new acquired treasure, and with sorrow and shame 
 I relate it, but the cause of Truth demands that I 
 here tell it, a thought struck me instantaneously, 
 that I might, if I wished it, publish the work as my 
 own. The father of lies must certainly have now 
 occupied the vacant seat opposite to me, and have 
 prompted me to the commission of this heinous 
 crime ; and I confess the first suggestion of such a 
 thing pleased me much, and I felt a slight hectic of 
 pride pass over my cheek at the idea of being consi- 
 dered and known as an author. I soon, however, 
 began to muster to my aid those principles in which 
 I had been brought up, and I found them at this 
 time extremely serviceable; one moral lesson, indeed, 
 was sufficient to put to Hight a whole host of the 
 enemy. ' Do unto all men as ye would they should 
 do unto you.' My opponent, however, was by no 
 means idle, for he thought that the moment the senti- 
 ment was uttered it was done with, and so he assailed 
 me with another strong attack upon my pride and 
 vanity— the idea of being an author ; and where was 
 the harm of it — the original owner had thrown the 
 work away — had virtually abandoned and destroyed 
 it, and I was now the proprietor, .to all intents and 
 purposes, of this orphan production. Now was my time 
 to acquire fame and fortune, for no doubt the work 
 
INTRODUCTION. xxi 
 
 would be in great demand. — Its style, its simplicity, 
 ensured to it a good reception from the greater part 
 of readers; and its moral tendency, I was certain, 
 would send it through as many editions as the works 
 of Bunyan himself. I already saw a correct likeness 
 of myself facing the title-page, and ornamenting the 
 Booksellers' shop windows ; and I heard Reviewers 
 eagerly inquiring when the world was to be favoured 
 with more of that celebrated Author's works. All 
 this the arch-enemy to my peace did not fail to pre- 
 sent to me. He urged, as he is used to do, many 
 skilful and powerful reasons, and quoted to me from 
 severalauthors; among others, largely from J. Jacques, 
 who, he said, had printed a book much in the same 
 way, and called it only an innocent fiction, and who did 
 divide and subdivide Truth into so many parts, that 
 he discovered at last that Truth and Falsehood were 
 more nearly related to each other than the world had 
 before imagined. " To lie,'' says he, '' without profit 
 or prejudice to one's self or others, is not lying, 'tis 
 fiction." I was not, however, caught in the snare, 
 though it was a tempting one, and presented to my 
 view lasting fame and laurels. O happy am I 
 at this moment that I gained the victory over my 
 old man! I knew that I should be doing an injury to 
 another, though unknown, by robbing him of that 
 fair fame which of right belonged to him ; and I 
 believed that this was all the reward he looked to for 
 his arduous labours ; 1 therefore came out suddenly 
 with a tremendous '' No, never!" — At the sound of 
 which words, I thought I heard my assailant fly out 
 
xxii INTRODUCTION. 
 
 of the coach window, and I actually believed that I 
 felt the brush of his wings as he passed by me. 
 However that may be, I was at all events much more 
 composed when 1 had come to this resolution, and 
 now began to look over the work more at my lei- 
 sure, with which, the more I perused it, the more 
 was 1 delighted. It truly was but the life of a poor 
 Potter or Waggoner; but why should they be exempt 
 from their historian or poet, to hand down the little 
 affairs which chequer their lives to posterity; — whe- 
 ther it is Peter the Potter, or Benjamin the Wag- 
 goner, or Bottom the Weaver, what matters it.?* — 
 Are we not all men ? — all the children of one father ? 
 Some poor, some rich — some in silk breeches, and 
 some in none at all ? — Is it not matter of serious re- 
 flection ? 
 
 *^ Full many a gem of pm'est ray serene 
 
 The dark, unfathom'd caves of ocean bear. 
 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen. 
 And spend its sweetness on the desert air." 
 
 But this shall be the case no longer. The virtuous 
 Great are sure of being recorded, and the vicious 
 E ich too, for they can pay for it ; but as for the 
 Poor, one can have no motive to sing their history, 
 but the love of justice and morality. Happy tinkers, 
 potters, waggoners, bellows-menders^ and grave read- 
 ing old men — even Shakespeare himself did not de- 
 cline to give you a niche in his eternal gallery; and 
 shall we not follow his generous and noble example? 
 Simplicity will again take place of sophisticated civi- 
 
INTRODUCTION. xxiii 
 
 lization, and the golden age be once more restored — 
 a consummation devoutly to be wished. 
 
 ^' Vain wish ! those days were never ; ah*y dream 
 Sat for the picture ; and the poet's hand. 
 Imparting substance to an empty shade, 
 Impos'd a gay delirium for a truth/' 
 
 I shall now bid my Reader adieu, with assuring 
 him, that though I am unacquainted with the name 
 of the Author, yet 1 shall ever respect him for his 
 estimable qualities ; and I can only regret that any 
 circumstances should ever have occurred, to chequer 
 for a moment his poetic tranquillity. But, 'tis the 
 lot of the learned. 
 
 ^^ 111 fares the mortal man, too much who knows ; 
 Oft shall he wish himself from thought released ; 
 The fatal knowledge in his bosom glows. 
 And mars his golden rest, and murders soft repose." 
 
 To Him, the unknown Author, as some return for 
 the pleasure afforded me in the perusal of his Poems, 
 I dedicate this Preface. 
 
 PETER PLAGUE'eM. 
 
 N.B. No relation to Peter Bell or Peter Pastoral — 
 
 don't know them. 
 
ELEGANT EXTRACTS. 
 
 (For my Title Pages.) 
 
 Give these trifles a corner in your cabinet, where they may 
 be sheltered from those daring critics, who, without producing 
 any thing of their own, determine with assurance on the works 
 of others, Petrarch's Letters, 
 
 I have been always more known than I desired ; many things 
 bad and good have been said of me ; I was not elated by the 
 one nor depressed by the other ; for I have been long convinced, 
 that the world is false and deceitful, and that my life is but a 
 dream. Ditto, 
 
 Let others run after riches and honours, let them be mar- 
 quises, princes, kings ; I consent; for my own part I am content 
 with being a poet. Ditto, 
 
 I have no enemies, but those created by envy ; and I am not 
 perhaps sorry for those, though I despise them ; I reckon still 
 in the number of my possessions, the approbation and kindness 
 of all good men, even of those whom I have never seen. 
 
 Ditto. 
 
26 
 
 And who does not wish to be a great man somewhere ; 
 
 or does not aflfect to be the chief in some systemy however small 
 and inconsiderable? Bates* Christian Politics. 
 
 In a composition, in which the charm and fascination proper 
 for poetry are generally prevalent, criticism may explain the 
 causes of those effects which are delightful to us, and may 
 establish or extend the fame of the author; but to a poem, of 
 which the beauties are so coy and retreating as to require to be 
 anxiously sought and forcibly dragged into light y the services 
 which the friendship of criticism can render are very unim- 
 portant. It is in vain to tell us that we ought to be, if we are 
 not pleased ; and if our understandings can be brought into 
 subjection by the critic, our fancies revolting from his authority, 
 ivill assert their freedom, and turning from the praised work, 
 will seek their peculiar luxuries wherever they may be found. 
 
 Simmons'* s Life of Milton. 
 
 Nothing, I confess, so strongly stimulates my breast, as the 
 desire of acquiring a lasting name ; a passion highly worthy of 
 the human heart, especially of his, who not being conscious of 
 any ill, is not afraid of being known to posterity. It is the con- 
 tinual subject therefore of my thoughts, 
 
 ^ By what fair deed I too a name may raise ;' 
 for to that I moderate my wishes : the rest 
 
 ^ And gather round the world immortal praise,^ 
 is much beyond my hopes. Pliny^s Letters, 
 
 Mankind differ in their notions of supreme happiness ; but in 
 my opinion he truly possesses it who lives in the conscious 
 
27 
 
 anticipation of honest fame, and the glorious figure he shall 
 make in the eyes of posterity. Pliny^s Letters, 
 
 Oh gentle Muses ! is this kind ? 
 Why will ye thus my suit repel ? 
 Why of your further aid bereave me ? 
 And can ye thus unfriended leave me? 
 Ye Muses ! v^rhom I love so well. 
 
 Myself, 
 
BENJAMIN 
 
 THE 
 
 WAGGONER. 
 
 2D Eeatier ! i)ati eou in nout minti 
 Sue!) 0tofe a0 mient tl?oufiI?t can brine, 
 
 flD centle Eealier, rou toouIB finti 
 a ZaU in eberg tiding* 
 
 JUljat more 31 l)at)e to 0aB 10 0l)oxty 
 
 31 |)ope HOu*U 6intJlH tale it; 
 3[t 10 no ^ale3 but sijoulli ^ou tijinfe, 
 
 lPeri)ap0 a ®ale you'll mafie iu 
 
 Simon Her* 
 
 Another tale in verse FU sing, 
 Another after that Pll drag on ; 
 Now tell me, Bess, I prithee tell, 
 Shall it be of the Potter Bell, 
 Or Benjamin who drives the Waggon ? 
 
30 BENJAMIN THE WAGGONER. 
 
 The Potter Peter Bell you choose, 
 The Potter who had scarce a rag on; 
 We'll leave, then, till another time, 
 That merry tale, in serious rhyme. 
 Of Benjamin who drives the Waggon. 
 
 Where left we off, my pretty Bess ? 
 My pretty Bess, where left we off? 
 Peter Bell was on his knges. 
 And there we'll leave him, if you please. 
 Though the place is rather rough. 
 
 Pm seated on my chair so easy, 
 
 Fm seated on my easy chair, 
 
 'Tis a chair Fm sure would please ye. 
 
 The covering is of good horse hair ; 
 
 Only it sometimes tears one's breeches ! 
 
BENJAMIN THE WAGGONER. 51 
 
 But nothing is without a moral — 
 Breeches decay, and so do we — 
 We decay — we who wear ^em — 
 
 / 
 
 They decay — the chairs that tear*em — 
 Now you may a moral see. 
 
 But Peter Bell, where left we him ? 
 We left him in the cold wind shaking, 
 For his past life grieving sore. 
 Promising to do so no more, 
 The parson put him in such a taking. 
 
 Shivering and shaking left we him. 
 Shivering and shaking — you remember 
 We left him praying on his knees ; 
 If we leave him longer, he must freeze, 
 For I think I told you 'twas November. 
 
32 BENJAMIN THE WAGGONER. 
 
 'Twas November, and the Moon 
 Was shining like November^ clearly, 
 When Peter Bell got up to walk, 
 When Peter Bell went in to talk ; 
 For Peter he loved talking dearly. 
 
 Now, Peter he oft went to chapel, 
 He went to chapel with the widow ; 
 And there he sang ; there he pray'd, 
 Down on his knees, Tve heard it said, 
 Just as you or I would do. 
 
 Sometimes the devil took his seat 
 Not very far from Peter's ear ; 
 And there he'd sit upon the pew, 
 And whisper, as he used to do, 
 Words and things not fit to hear. 
 
BENJAMIN THE WAGGONER. S3 
 
 But Peter he would turn and say, 
 
 ^ I tell you not to keep this farce on ; 
 
 ^^ For, Mr. Devil, Vm resolved — 
 
 ^^ Our partnership is now dissolved ; 
 
 " So leave me alone to hear the parson/' 
 
 And as the parson he was speaking, 
 Peter would fall fast asleep, 
 (Awake he could no longer keep) 
 Cries the parson loud — '^ I tell you, Bell, 
 ^^ There is no sleeping down in Hell/^ — 
 
 ^Tis sweet to sit at river side; 
 
 ^Tis sweet to sit close hy the brink ; 
 
 To throw a stone in — see bubbles up, 
 
 Running like inverted cup ; 
 
 And then the stone, to see it sink 
 
 D 
 
S4 BENJAMIN THE WAGGONER. 
 
 And as the little stone is sinking, 
 To see the fishes turn aside, 
 How they do wag their little tails ! 
 And move their little fins like sails. 
 And skim along in swimming pride. 
 
 O, that men would learn to mark 
 
 The little — little — little beauties. 
 
 Which I do see in field or hill, 
 
 In river, or in where I will ; 
 
 O, that men would mind their duties ! 
 
 To gaze upon a fallow field ; 
 
 To see a worm turned up with harrow ; 
 
 To look upon a blade of grass— 
 
 A duck — a goose — a pig — an ass — 
 
 Manure that's wheeled in a wheelbarrow. 
 
BENJAMIN THE WAGGONER. 5^ 
 
 To mark the little things of Nature ; 
 To see the little naughty flies 
 Making their loves upon the window, 
 Never thinking that they sin do ; 
 For me— I always shut my eyes* 
 
 I'd have this world, a moral world — 
 How better far \ would be than riches ; 
 Naughty flies I always loathe ; 
 My hens in petticoats Td clothe, 
 I'd keep my cocks in breeches. 
 
 The reader knows I love ^' Excursions/ 
 
 To right or left, as it may hap. 
 
 If he should like a road that's straight. 
 
 For me he better had not wait, 
 ^ * ^ ^ ^ 
 
 nap, 
 D 2 
 
36 BENJAMIN THE WAGGONER. 
 
 O, the Moon it is a lovely Moon ! 
 And she is a lovely Moon to me ; 
 Just sixteen times, in parts before^ 
 Tve used her name — sixteen — no more- 
 Count theni; and then you'll see. 
 
 I love the words which run so easy- 
 Boat and float — and you and do—-* 
 Ass and grass make pretty rhyme ; 
 Boat, Fve used it many a time, 
 And ass — times just forty-two. " 
 
 I have a little boy and girl, 
 I have a little girl and boy : — 
 The girl is twenty months — no more ; 
 The boy, he's less — he's only four^ 
 But he's his mother's joy. 
 
BENJAMIN THE WAGGONER. 57 
 
 The little girl begins to speak, 
 
 I said the little girl was older, 
 
 And she can stand upon her feet ; 
 
 To see them, you'd think their noses meet, 
 
 But he's no higher than her shoulder. 
 
 My little girl is very clever, 
 For she can stand, and speak, and walk ; 
 She can say, ^^ I beg your pardon,'^ 
 And, " Mamma, take me to the garden,'^ 
 But every one can't tell her talk. 
 
 My little boy— his mother's pet. 
 After sucking is sometimes sick up- 
 On his mother's apron lap, 
 Especially when he dines on pap, 
 Which often gives my boy the hiccup. 
 
3S BENJAMIN THE WAGGONER. 
 
 My little girl is very knowing ; 
 
 What think you then that she will do? 
 
 Standing upon her little chair, 
 
 She'll archly cough, and then say, " There, 
 
 '^ My dear mamma, I've hiccup'd too." 
 
 I said unto my Httle girl, 
 
 And held her by the hips and neck up, 
 
 Now tell me, little girl, said I, 
 
 Tell me, prythee — tell me why, 
 
 Say why it is that you do hiccup ? 
 
 My little girl hung down her head, 
 I held her by the neck and hips ; 
 Says she, ^ Because, my dear papa, 
 * When brother hiccup'd, then I saw 
 ' They put brown sugar on his lips/— 
 
BENJAMIN THE WAGGONER, 39 
 
 Now Bell had a look of ' out of doors/ 
 On such a man you seldom gaze ; 
 He had a westerly windy look, 
 A stare in's face he ill could brook, 
 He squinted too — or saw two ways. 
 
 There was a riddle in his look, 
 A kind of sort of forest boldness ; 
 He had a pimple on his nose, 
 A pimple which would oft disclose 
 The very freezing point of coldness. 
 
 A sort of kind of mountain hardness. 
 Hung upon his rocky brow ; 
 His chin was shapen like a wedge, 
 His beard was thick as thickset hedge, 
 He put up at the Barley-Mow. 
 
40 BENJAMIN THE WAGGONER. 
 
 Sometimes he had a roguish look — 
 His eyes were sly^ and fix'd; and stony, 
 His cheeks were hke a field of clover, 
 A brickish redness, and moreover. 
 His face was high, and hard, and bony. 
 
 To sit and see the tomtits liopping ; 
 To sit and see the good old men ; 
 To see the girls, in Sunday gowns. 
 Returning from the market towns. 
 Winding around the woody glen. 
 
 To sit and gaze upon a grave. 
 To see the long grass daily growing, 
 To see the moss creep o'er the name. 
 Time mocking human hopes of fame — 
 To look~but with a look that's knowing. 
 
BENJAMIN THE WAGGONER. 41 
 
 A little while we make a noise, 
 And make a stir as great as may be ; 
 But soon the Sisters cut the thread, 
 And mix us with the silent dead, 
 As silent as a silent baby. 
 
 What is life ? a rose, a thorn, 
 A shade, a meteor, or a bubble ; 
 Brittle as glass, as shadow fleet, 
 Light as the gossamer^s airy feet, 
 A little pleasure — deal of trouble. 
 
 Oh ! how I pity Peter Pastoral, 
 Thee, Peter Pastoral, how I pity ; 
 To think with thy refined soul. 
 That in the vortex thou must roll. 
 Of a wicked pent-up city. 
 
4i BENJAMIN THE WAGGONER, 
 
 London, Babylon, filthy place ! 
 Dwelling unfit for Peter^s mind ; 
 Let him come here and be a poet, 
 His words, his sighs, his feelings shew it, 
 Vm sure he is that way inclinM. 
 
 But what is this that I do see? 
 
 Is it a cricket or a man ? 
 
 The moon ! of may be pinch of snuff? 
 
 A four-ounce bottle of Doctor's stuff? 
 
 Tell me, oh, tell me, you who can! 
 
 Such sight as this I never saw, 
 
 As I do gaze upon the stream, 
 
 Will no one say to me, what is't ? 
 
 'Tis Hamlet's Ghost, which says, Oh, list 
 
 It is a bowl of vSusan^s cream. 
 
BENJAMIN THE WAGGONER. 43 
 
 Oh, now I see adown the stream 
 
 There does float a little stick ; 
 
 A little stick — it is not large — 
 
 Such as in towns they'd two -pence charge; 
 
 Three feet long and half inch thick. 
 
 And now I see it turn and twirl ; 
 And now 'tis floating smooth enough ; 
 And now it dances as alive ; 
 And now it seems to fight and strive, 
 Just as the stream is smooth or rough • 
 
 O tis a pretty sight to see, 
 The moon-beams sparkle in the stream ; 
 How they do quiver, how they quake, 
 How they do shiver, how they shake, 
 These pretty yellow moonlight-beams.- 
 
44 BENJAMIN THE WAGGONER. 
 
 There's something in a glass of ale, 
 There's something in good sugar-candy; 
 And when a man is getting old, 
 And when the weather's getting cold, 
 There's something in a glass of brandy. 
 
 There's something in Gambado's horse,^ 
 There's something in a velocipede ; 
 That's the horse I'd like the best, 
 On it your book may easy rest. 
 And he who runs may read. 
 
 I wish it had a pair of wings, 
 And like the Arab, a little peg ; 
 I'd instant lay across my leg. 
 And rising up to other spheres, 
 No more should critics vex my ears. 
 
 ♦ See a likeness of that model of symmetr)', in the frontis- 
 piece to Gambado's Horsemanship. 
 
BENJAMIN THE WAGGONER. 45 
 
 And now I have a velocipede, 
 And now I have the httle peg, 
 And now Fve fix'd upon it wings, 
 And bidding adieu to earthly things, 
 1 lift — and lay across my leg. 
 
 Now I rise, and away we go, 
 
 * 
 
 My little hobby-horse and me ; 
 And now Fm near the planet Venus, 
 Nothing seems to be between us^ 
 Not a bit of earth I see. 
 
 Away we go~my horse and I, 
 Kicking and prancing midst the stars ; 
 To leave the earth is quite refreshing, 
 I did not think it such a blessing. 
 And now Fm near the planet Mars. 
 
46 BENVAMIN THE WAGGONER. 
 
 At every world I touch, I ask 
 If they have poets dwelling there ? 
 They answer yes — and not a few. 
 Poets of all sorts — critics too. 
 Enough of both, and some to spare.' 
 
 Now I pounce o'er Gallia's land. 
 Now I see the land of posies; 
 Now swift I turn the little peg, 
 And ere you've time to shew a leg, ! 
 Vm happy in the land of Noses. 
 
 Happy, happy, happy people ! 
 Happy, ignorant of law; 
 Honest, kind, and* mild, and good— 
 O/i/j/ they stole a piece of wood. 
 And would have stoFn all they saw*- 
 
BENJAMIN THE WAGGONER. 47 
 
 There is the music of the spheres — 
 There is the music of the woods — 
 
 There^s music in the ripling streams 
 When glancing in the moonlight beams ; 
 
 There's music in the roaring floods. 
 
 There's music in a poultry yard ; 
 There's music in a grunting hog — 
 An owl — a duck — an ass — a eoose 
 A dozen little pigs let loose ; 
 
 There's music in a croaking frog. 
 
 o 
 
 How sweet to listen to the sounds 
 
 Of rustic noise, and health, and labour : 
 
 How better far than hirdy-girdy, 
 
 Play'd in town by beggar sturdy : 
 
 How sweet the dance, the pipe and tabor.- 
 
48 BENJAMIN THE WAGGONER. 
 
 Now Peter he oft thought of marrying, 
 Marrying as you and I might marry; 
 So popp'd the question to the widow, 
 Who answered - 
 
 «*aBaBMaa«aaHi 
 
 Happy was Peter and the widow, 
 (And happy was the widow's ass), 
 Though children she had at first but seven ; 
 They had four more — in all eleven. — - 
 
 But what is this which o'er our heads, 
 And round about is nearer gaining? 
 There is a rustUng ^mong the leaves, 
 The vicar's wife scream'd loudly, Thieves ! 
 But soon we found, — ^twas only raining. 
 
BENJAMIN THE WAGGONER. 49 
 
 Says I, let's leave our rustic seat, 
 And let us leave the large stone table, 
 And come into my little study; 
 And by a fire both warm and ruddy, 
 ril tell you tales as long's Fm able. 
 
 So up we rose, in number nine, , 
 And off we set, some slow, some fast, 
 With little Bess, and all the rest; 
 They were first in who ran the best, 
 But, as I limp'd, I was the last. 
 
 The Vicar slept — the Vicar snored — 
 
 And starting, cried, '^ Another flagon ! 
 
 ^^ Where am I? — Oh!'' — and quite confus'd, 
 
 He said he had been much amus'd 
 
 With Benjamin who drives the Waggon. 
 
60 BENJAMIN TOE WAGGONER. 
 
 To hear the Vicar I was wroth. 
 
 Was full of fury as a dragon ; 
 
 And then^ methought, twas much the same ; 
 
 The Tale's the thing, whatever the name, 
 
 Whether of Bell, or Ben the Waggon — er. 
 
 Juliet says, a Rose by any 
 
 Other name, would smell as sweet ; 
 
 So, whether my Tale is Peter Bell, 
 
 Or Benjamin — 'tis just as well ; 
 
 It will not fail * * * * 
 
 ^' Qui ci e mancato il manoscritto. Colui al qual 
 Jo avea trasmesso TAutore, mentre il leggea al lume 
 della candela, fu preso dal sonno : una scintilla 
 appiccio il fuoco alle carte e ne furono incenerite . . • 
 Qual perdita! giacche noi possiamo assicurar i Lettori 
 che han perdu to una bella cosa/' 
 
 Nuovo Aim. Genova. 
 
MY NOTES. 
 
 Note L 
 
 ^^ That merry Tale in serious rhyme." 
 
 Some have been hardy enough to deny to my Tales the 
 character of poetry, and to deny also that ^^ if the object 
 which I have proposed to myself were adequately attained, 
 a species of poetry would be produced, wliich is genuine 
 poetry ; in its nature well adapted to interest mankind, per- 
 manently, and likewise important in the multiplicity and 
 quality of its moral relations." — I think my Peter Bell hav- 
 ing reached a second edition is a reply to all this 3 and is 
 this surprising ? considering that I was twenty-one years 
 writing, rubbing, chipping, smoothing, polishing, and pub- 
 lishing that higlily popular work, and taking, '' during this 
 long interval, pains at different times to make the production 
 less unworthy of a favourable reception 3 or, rather, to fit 
 it for filling permanently a station, however humble, in the 
 literature of mv country!" I am aware that I have many 
 and great prejudices to combat and to oa ercome, before I 
 can sufficiently simplify the present corrupted taste to enjoy 
 my impulses. — The Vicar, the Vicar's wife, Stephen Otter, 
 Betty Foy, Long Susan, and Little Bess^ with many more 
 of ray neighbours, were exceedingly delighted ^th my re* 
 
 E 2 
 
52 MY NOTES. 
 
 citation of Peter Bell. As the Vicar fell asleep, I must 
 waive his approbation (though he afterwards protested that 
 it was the pure enjoyment of the poetry which caused it) 
 and I did not hear from one of them a word against the 
 subject or the measure. I could not help remarking, how 
 like it was to the Romans of old, as mentioned by Plin^y, 
 and including Pliny himself, my being surrounded by my 
 friends, and reciting to them my works before they issued 
 to the public — my requesting their remarks and animadver- 
 sions^ and meeting with nothing but bursts of applause. 
 O ! that one's friends were the sole critics upon our works, 
 how smoothly and unobstructedly we should proceed. To 
 quiet^ however^ the outcry of those who pretend to be 
 judges of poetry, and protest that mine is no more than a 
 new modification of prose, I beg leave to quote for their 
 perusal an extract from Moliere's '^Bourgeois Gentilhomme/' 
 where it is clearly laid down by a INIaster of Philosophy, 
 that all wliich is not poetry is prose, and all which is not 
 prose is poetry. I need hardly add, that I fully coincide 
 with him, as my works testify. 
 
 Le M. de PhiL Sont-ce des vers que vous lui voulez ecrire ? 
 
 Mons. Jourdan, Non, non, point de vers. 
 
 Le M. de PhiL Vous ne voulez que de la prose. 
 
 Mons. Jourdan. Non. Je veux ni prose ni vers. 
 
 Le M. de PhiL II faut bien que ce soit Tun ou I'autre. 
 
 Moiu, Jourdan, Pourquoi ? 
 
 Le M, de PhiL Par la raison. Monsieur, qu'il n'y a pour 
 
 s'exprimer que la prose ou la vers. 
 Mons. Jourdan. II n'y a que la prose ou les vers ? 
 Le AL de PhiL Non, Monsieur 5 tout ce qui n'est point- 
 
 prose est vers, et tout ce qui n'est point 
 
 vers est prose. 
 
MY NOTES. . 53 
 
 I 
 Mons. Jourdan, Et comme Ton park, qu'est ce que c'est 
 
 done que cela ? 
 
 Le M, de PhiL De la prose. 
 
 Mons. Jourdan. Quoi ! quand je dis Nicole^ apportez-moi 
 
 mes pantoufles^ et me donnez mon bon- 
 net de nuit^ c'est de la prose? 
 
 Le M. de Phil, Oui, jMonsieur. 
 
 I ought to be allowed to be a judge of these matters^ 
 when it is considered that 
 
 ^ I to the Muses have been bound 
 These fourteen years by strong indentures.* 
 
 Note II. 
 Though the place is rather rough." 
 
 (( rr 
 
 See Part the Third of Peter Bell^ where he is left repent- 
 ing^ Avith his head on his hands 3 beautifully illustrated by a 
 frontispiece. 
 
 Note III. 
 '' Was shining like November, clearly." 
 
 The reader is requested to bear in mind, that tliis was 
 not a November night in London 3 and besides^ clearly was 
 the word I wanted — foggy or clearly is all one to me^ so 
 as it suits the rhyme. 
 
 Note IV. 
 ^^ There is no sleeping down in Hell." 
 
 I hope this will not shock the moral reader's mind — I 
 can assure him that it is founded on fact. The real per- 
 
54 MY NOTES. 
 
 sonage was one John Thomson^ who^ on a sabbath day^ 
 was snoring very loud under the pulpit of a parish church 
 in the north of Scotland^ dividing with the parson the at- 
 tention of the congregation : the patience of the latter^ how- 
 ever, being at last overcome (for we have all our limits of 
 that virtue) he roared out aloud, over John's head — '^ Jock 
 Thomson! — Jock Thomson, I say ! — There's nae sleeping 
 in Hell ! ** — It is said, that Mr. Thomson kept awake all 
 the rest of that afternoon. 
 
 Note V. 
 ^' To see tlie fishes turn aside." 
 
 I believe Mr. Hogg (I wish he would change his name) 
 has a similar line in his ^ Queen's Wake,' 
 
 ^ The little fishes turn'd aiide ;' 
 
 but he cannot deem an apology requisite from me, for 1 
 only speak of my own little fishes. See my Note to the 
 Daisy. 
 
 Note VI. 
 
 '^ How they do wag their little tails." 
 
 Mr. Peter Pastoral, in ' Teasing made Easy,' makes use 
 of an expression like this, and, hke Mr. Hogg, may in the 
 same manner accuse me of pilfering 3 and to him I must 
 give the same reply. I liave a great friendship for Mr. Pas- 
 toral, and I take this opportunity of mentioning it. With 
 what a transport of delight every rural object is noticed 
 by this man of feeling— -the little birds, the trees, the 
 
MY NOTES. 55 
 
 flowers, the fishes. Those who have seen him, will never 
 forget his ecstasy when he exclaims, 
 
 ' The little fishes ! how they do vag their little tails ! ' 
 
 And afterwards, when he becomes so much affected, and 
 half choaking, exclaims, 
 
 ' The sight of villow trees alvays makes me veep.* 
 
 Poor sensitive plant, immured in a city ! — Some may think 
 that Peter's language may take from the value of his poetry ; 
 in my opinion it much enhances it ; there is a simplicity, a 
 kind of unsophisticatedness about it, which lends to the sub- 
 ject an additional charm. 
 
 P. S. I think it but justice to Mr. Pastoral thus publickly 
 to assert his just claim, title, and right, to the solution of a 
 riddle, w^hich I am told a citizen of great eminence, loyalty, 
 and size, has in Peter's absence endeavoured to appropriate 
 to himself. The fact is, I believe, as I shall now state it — 
 the latter gentleman has all the merit of the invention of the 
 jEnigma, but it is clearly ascertained that Mr. Pastoral had 
 the subtilty to solve it. To give the matter therefore its 
 ^ quiescat in pace,' I shall relate it as Mr. Pastoral himself 
 informed me. — The gentleman alluded to asked Peter, ^ Why 
 a towel is like a serpent ? ' — And Peter, unhesitatingly 
 replied, *' Because it is a TViper I ' 
 
 Note VIL 
 ^^ O that men would mind their duties." 
 
 To enable them so to do, they are referred to, and recom- 
 mended to read throughout ^ The ^^liole Duty of Man.' 
 
56 MY NOTES. 
 
 Note VIII. 
 '^ To look upon a blade of grass." 
 
 It is truly surprising liow intelligent every flower and 
 animal is, which dwells around me. — Animal did I say? 
 Ah, my dear little donkies ! little do you deserve the epithet ; 
 less^ far less, than those bipeds who sip punch;, and sip 
 tea, and sit in parlours '^ all silent and aU damn'd.** 
 
 ^^ Could father Adam open his eyes. 
 And see this sight beneath the skies. 
 He'd wish to close them again — " 
 
 Myself. 
 
 It is supposed that father Adam has been blind ever since 
 his fall — for 'twas a great fall. This is a new, but a 
 fine idea. 
 
 The reader must long since have observed how my little 
 daisies, my pansies, my cuckoos, my butterflies, and my 
 donkies talk to me, — dear little creatures ! — ^ I love you 
 all.* As a worthy representative in the city said to his con- 
 stituents — ' I love you all/ — N. B. 'Twas ^*' Love's Labour 
 Lost" with him. 
 
 Let the reader judge for himself what a delightful society 
 we form in the country. 
 
 ^ Much converse do I find in thee.' 
 
 To a Butterfly. 
 
 ' I heard a stock-dove sing or say: 
 
 Moods of viy own Mind. 
 
 ' This the cuckoo cannot tell: 
 
MY NOTES, 57 
 
 ^ The pansy at my feet 
 
 ^ Doth the same line repeat' 
 
 ^ Flowers laugh before thee on their beds.' 
 
 ^ Thou a flower of wiser wits' 
 
 ^ Sweet silent creature ! ' To a Daisy, 
 
 ^ But then he is a horse that thinks,* 
 
 Idiot Boy. 
 
 ^ Yet for his life he cannot tell 
 What he has got upon his back.' Ditto, 
 
 ' Shame on you ! cried my little boat/ Peter BclL 
 
 In case the reader should be at all sceptical regarding the 
 inteUigence of my animals^ I will prove to him that it is not 
 to me alone that they shew such signs of it^ and will give 
 him a translation of the introduction and conclusion of 
 Hi, Antony's Sermon to the Fishes. 
 
 ^ And behold ! siiddenly a great multitude of fishes of 
 different kinds from the sea and from the rivers, floating 
 upon the surface, collected together, each according to its 
 kind, and in good order, and, as if they had possessed rea- 
 soning faculties, they ranged themselvei> into a congre- 
 gation, and presented the gratifying spectacle of a desire to 
 
 hear the word of God.' — * '^ **' ' At this saying, 
 
 O wondrous ! as if these fishes had been endowed with 
 reason, with marks of profound humility, and with a reve- 
 rence strikingly religious, they bowed their heads, and 
 moved their bodies, as if in approbation of wliat had been 
 said by the holy father S. Antonio.' — Vita di San Ant. 
 
SB MY NOTES, 
 
 These certainly excel all our little fishes.— But I will give 
 an instance also of the good sense and obedience of my qua- 
 drupeds. '' St. Gaul, as he was walking in a desert on a 
 very cold day, chanced to meet a bear in his way. The 
 saint, instead of being startled at the rencontre, ordered the 
 bear to bring him a bundle of wood and make him a fire. 
 The bear served him to the best of his ability, and at his 
 departure was commanded by the saint to retire into the 
 very depths of the woods, and there to pass the rest of his 
 hfe, without ever hurting man or beast. From this time 
 the bear lived irreproachable, and observed, to his dying day, 
 the orders that the saint had given him." — Addison's Italy. 
 
 Hugging creature ! why do we shun thy embraces ? 
 
 P. S. For particulars of a very sociable dolphin, see Pliny's 
 Letters, Book ix. Letter xxxiii. 
 
 Note IX. 
 
 '' An ass." 
 
 1 take this opportunity of acknowledging the many obli- 
 gations I owe to this reflecting creature, (his dulness is only 
 abstraction.) fndeed I was doubtful at first whether he or 
 Peter should be the hero of my tale. 
 
 Note X. 
 ^' My coclis I'd keep in breeches." 
 
 This is not altogether an idea of my own. It was suggested 
 to me by actually seeing such a thing in gingerbread at Bar- 
 tholomew fair. 
 
MY NOTES. 59 
 
 Note XI. 
 
 Nap"— 
 
 <( 
 
 The reader must be satisfied with this word at present— 
 and as it is not the first time I have bestowed it upon him^ 
 I hope he will not complain — use is every thing — 
 
 ' Do not complain of what you now endure. 
 Custom will give you ease^ or time a cure.' 
 
 This is consoling enough. — ^N. B. I often write the last 
 word of my line first — for^ come what may before it, the last 
 words must rhyme, and I find them the most difficult, 
 
 P. S. I beg to declare to his majesty's present ministry, 
 that by the word Nap I mean nothing treasonable ; — nor is it 
 intended by it to convey any secret intelligence to that — 
 Dr. Slop could find me an epithet in a moment, for he has 
 monopolized them all. N. B. I would advise him, if he ever 
 changes the name of his paper again, to call it ^ Bad Times.' 
 
 Mem. To be very loyal. 
 
 Note XII. 
 ^' And she is a lovely moon to me.** 
 
 (I do love the moon.) Most of my readers will remember 
 the affecting mention of the moon in my former works — 
 
 ^ The moon's in heaven, as Betty sees.* 
 
 And again in my Address to a Daisy, 
 
 ^ Thou art not leyond the moon.' 
 
60 MY NOTES. 
 
 'Twould have been pity of my soul if it had. — I often^ as 
 most poets do^ sing of the moon — 
 
 ' Which thunders down with headlong force^ 
 Beneath the moon.' — 
 
 That is^ not heyond the moon.— -The following line of 
 mine I think extremely expressive^ 
 
 ' Take all that's mine beneath the moon.' 
 
 That was a large gift — at same time it was right to 
 make use of that saving clause, ^ beneath the moon/ because 
 I have a reversion heyond the moon, which I purpose to keep 
 to myself. 
 
 Some fastidious critics, I am informed, have objected to 
 the following expression in Peter Bell: 
 
 ^ His hat is up — and every hair 
 Bristles — and whitens in the moon' 
 
 Such must be but little conversant in Astronomy, (how I 
 pity their ignorance,) otherwise they would know that 
 Peter's head to ' whiten in the moon,' could be no more 
 than 240,000 miles from his shoulders, — no great distance, all 
 things considered. — I like congruity throughout. 
 
 N. B. This distance of Peter's head from his shoulders, 
 the reader will please observe accounts for the very queer 
 things he saw in the stream. That passage, otherwise I con- 
 fess a little puzzling, is thus rendered perfectly intelligible. 
 
 N. B. No connexion with any of the following moons. 
 
 ^ And pour your sorrows to the pitying moon.' 
 ' So glides the moon along th' ethereal plains.' 
 
MY NOTES. 61 
 
 ^ The midnight moon serenely smiles.' 
 
 ^ The moon takes up the wondrous tale.' 
 
 ^ While o'er yon wave ascends the peaceful moon.' 
 
 ^ The silver moon her western couch forsakes.' 
 
 ^ The moon whose silver beams are bath'd in dew.' 
 
 ' Oft when the eastern moon rose dark and red.' 
 
 ^ The silver empress of the night appears.' 
 
 ' But ere the moon her silver horns had rear'd.' 
 
 ^ As home he goes beneath the joyous moon.' 
 
 ^ The moon is in her summer glow.' 
 
 ' Yon is the moon, I ken her horn.' 
 
 ' How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank.' 
 
 ' Now for the moon looking mild on the brook.' 
 
 ' The moon is up^ and yet it is not night.* 
 
 • The pale moon mounts her silver car.' 
 
 ^ The cow jump'd over the moon.' 
 
 For more moons^ vide all the poets past^ present — and to 
 come. 
 
 N. B. A few second-hand Moons^ of different sizes^ to be 
 disposed of cheap^ being worn rather thin from frequent 
 use. — They would last some time longer^ if employed spar- 
 ingly. 
 
 Note XIII. 
 ^^ Count them^, and then you'll see.'* 
 
 If the reader will take this trouble, I believe he will find 
 it correct. 
 
 Note XIV. 
 ^' And ass — times just fortytwo." 
 See note above. 
 
62 MY NOTES» 
 
 Note XV. 
 ^' — — sick up/* 
 
 This is not uncommon with little babies, as my black silk 
 breeches can testify. Things in this respect must have been 
 much the same in Shakespeare's days. 
 
 ^ At first the infant 
 ^ Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms/ 
 
 This is not entirely confined to infants, for if the reader 
 
 remembers, I formerly said, 
 
 * 
 
 ^ Old Susan, she who dwells alone, 
 *^ Is sick,' 
 
 and Susan's sickness had nearly been the death of my Johnny, 
 and Betty Foy's pony. 
 
 Note XVI. 
 ^^ I said unto my little girl." 
 
 See my Anecdote for Fathers, shewing how a child may be 
 taught lying. 
 
 Note XVII. 
 ^' They put brown sugar on his lips.'' 
 
 I have been assured by some very venerable old women, 
 Avith grey hairs, that this is an effectual remedy. 
 
 Note XVIII. 
 ^*^ As silent as a silent baby." 
 
 I formerly said, ' As silent as a silent cricket,' but sitting up 
 one night at the fire with Betty Foy and a few neighbours. 
 
MY NOTES. 6S 
 
 I was exceedingly surprised that the little urchins^ notwith- 
 standing I had written this simile^ were not once silent dur- 
 ing the whole night. As for the one I have now used in 
 lieu of it, I can answer for the truth of it, as well as for the 
 great satisfaction it is to enjoy it. If the reader has any ba- 
 bies of his own, he will sympathize with me. If he has not, 
 why then — — — — 
 
 I had another reason for changing the word cricket. — It 
 is so very like critic, and that's a word I can't abide. Would 
 it not do to change this latter word for the former in my 
 simile, and read, 
 
 ^ As silent as a silent critic ? * 
 
 ' Would that I could ! ' 
 
 I have been informed by a friend just returned from Italy, 
 that the crickets there shriek and scream so much louder * 
 than ours, that I have some thoughts of endeavouring to 
 procure a junction ^vith them and my Holstein nightingales 5 
 and of giving a grand concert at our next regatta. 
 
 Note XIX. 
 ^^ London, Babylon, filthy place ! " 
 
 Is it credible, that there are those who actually prefer 
 to live in Babylon, in preference to the rural places I have 
 described ? O fallen man ! I know of no greater proof of 
 thy lost estate and of original sin. And yet London assumes 
 rural images ! — Hens are feeding in the streets ; hogs are 
 
 * * Louder.^ —I ^Yish that word was Lowtlicr ; how I could then dwell 
 upon it! I greatly admire that noble fanjily; and I as much dislike that 
 man who liad the boldness to endeavour to share the countv with them— 
 I dislike him on another account ; 1 have been informed that he is a Knight 
 of the Blue Cover — Oh the Vaticides \ 
 
64 MY NOTES. 
 
 wallowing in the mire^ hereafter to be elevated to dairy-fed 
 pork 5 cows tired to deaths bestowing scantily their new 
 milk upon sickly and pining constitutions. 
 
 ' And on the broken pavement here and there 
 Doth many a stinking sprat and herring lie, 
 A brandy and tobacco shop is near. 
 And hens, and dogs, and hogs, are feeding by 3 
 And here and there a sailor's jacket hangs to dry/ 
 
 Pope, 
 
 Note XX. 
 ^' There's something in a glass of ale." 
 
 The learned reader must not thhik that I have purloined 
 this passage from that elegant, beautiful, and interesting 
 ballad, ^ Over the water to Charlie,' thougli the resemblance, 
 I confess, is very strong. 
 
 ^ Charlie loves good ale and wine, 
 ^ Charlie loves good brandy, 
 ^ Charlie loves a pretty girl, 
 ^ As sweet as sugar-candy.' 
 
 I take it for granted that the reader of my poetry will sel- 
 dom confound it with the works of others, for 1 take some 
 merit in the conviction, that all my beauties (though con- 
 cealed) are nevertheless peculiarly and indubitably my own. 
 Others who have preceeded me (my cotemporaries I will 
 say nothing about) liave been sad borrowers and lenders 3 
 in truth, as arrant a set of knaves as ever were tried at the 
 Old Bailey. Only let me present to the reader a few of 
 their assimilations, and he must be of my opinion. 
 
MY' XOTES. 65 
 
 ^ The pla\ful cliildren^ just let loose from school/ Goldsmith. 
 ^ The playful schoolboys wanton o'er the green/ Mickle. 
 
 ^ Is there \vithin thy aged breast^ 
 ^ The smallest aching void ? ' Halls Plantagenet. 
 ^ No craving void left aching in the breast.' Pope. 
 
 ^ Fair laughs the morn^ and soft the zephyrs blow.' Gray. 
 ^ Amid the splendours of the laughing sun.' Warton. 
 
 ^ An agony too keen 
 ' Absorbs my senses^ and my mind subdues. Elegy. 
 ' What is this absorbs me quite^ 
 ^ Steals my senses^ shuts my sight ?' Pope, 
 
 ^ Flings to the hollow gale its sullen sound.' Mason, 
 
 ^ Hark ! what dire soimd rolls murm'ring on the gale.' Warton, 
 ^ Loaded with loud lament the lonely gale.' Beattie, 
 
 ^ Now fades the glimm'ring landscape on the sight.' Gray. 
 ' The trackless scenes disperse in fluid air'. Phillips, 
 
 ^ From our ownselves our joys must flow^ 
 ' And that dear hut our home.' Cotton, 
 
 ' Then rest my thoughts, nor longer roam 
 ^ In quest of joy, for heaven's at home. Watts^ 
 
 ( '^1 
 
 The laugliing scenes 
 ^ Of purple spring, where all the wanton train 
 ' Of smiles and graces seem to lead the dance 
 ' In sportive round ; while from their hands they show'r 
 ^ Ambrosial blooms and flow'rs.' Thomson. 
 
 F 
 
ee MY NOTES. 
 
 ^ Round him in sweet accord the seasons play, 
 
 ' With fruits and blossoms meint in goodly gree^ 
 
 ' And dancing hand in hand rejoice the lea.' Mrs. Tighe, 
 
 ' And the green turf lie lightly on thy heart.' Pope, 
 
 ' And bid the turf lie easy on thy breast.* Smollet. 
 
 ' And bind his turf upon my breast.' Anonymous. 
 
 ' Now drooping woeful wan^ like one forlorn.' Gray. 
 ^ With woeful measures man despair.* Collins. 
 
 ^ To temper' d wishes, just desires^ 
 ^ Is happiness confin'd, 
 ^ And, deaf to folly's call, attends 
 ^ The music of the mind.' Carter. 
 
 ^ Lovely lasting peace, appear 5 
 
 ^ This world itself, if thou art here, 
 
 ' Is once again with Eden blest, 
 
 ^ And man contains it in his breast.' Parnell. 
 
 ^ Assembled men ! to the deep organ join 
 ' The long resounding voice, oft l^reaking clear 
 ' At solemn pauses, thro' the swelling base -, 
 ^ And as each mingling flame increases each, 
 ' In one united ardor rise to lieaven! ' Thomson. 
 
 ' There let the pealing organ blow, 
 
 ^ To the full-voic'd choir below, 
 
 ^ In service high, and anthems clear^ 
 
 ^ As may with sweetness, thro' mine ear, 
 
 ^ Dissolve me into ecstasies.' Milton, 
 
 ' The taper'd choir, at the late hour of prayer, 
 ' Oft let me tread, while to the accordina' voice 
 
MY NOTES. 67 
 
 ^ The mazy sounding organ peals on high 
 
 *" The clear slow-dittied chanty or varied hymn, 
 
 ^ Till all my soul is bath'd in ecstasies/ Warton. 
 
 Et multis aliis. 
 
 x\nd yet it is strange because two or more men, thinking 
 and writing upon the Sv^me subject, should happen to express 
 themselves in the same manner, that they are to be accused 
 of not possessing one single new idea of their own, but are 
 called copyists, plagiarists, &c. for I find that I myself have 
 'Laughing Flowers.' — Mem, My amanuensis appeared much 
 refreshed and very cheerful as he copied the above extracts. 
 I wonder what was tlie cause of it ? 
 
 Note XXI. 
 
 '' And like the Arab, a little peg.'* 
 
 See the Tale of tlie Enchanted Horse in the Arabian Nights 3 
 also a similar one in my friend Blackwood's Magazine. 
 
 P.S. I take this opportunity of presenting my respects to 
 Mr. Blackwood, Mr. John Wilson, and Mr. Hogg 3 and, as 
 my uncle Toby says, ' I thank them heartily.' They know 
 what I mean. 
 
 N. B. Blackwood's Magazine contains the only true 
 criticism of Peter Bell and all my works : I always recom- 
 mend it. It is highly gratifying to find one virtuous and dis- 
 interested work among so many so much the reverse. 
 
 Note XXH. 
 
 *' No more should critics vex my ears." 
 
 This is a tender subject, — poets and crickets, — critics I 
 should say, but alack ! I lose myself when I think of them. 
 How I shall be attacked! — Those Kniiikts of the blue cover 
 
 F 2 
 
68 MY NOTES. 
 
 are already feasting upon me in anticipation. Their pens 
 and their inchnation equally prepared. I wish I could sound 
 a parley with them, and say, Francis, is it peace ? But how 
 is that possible? I will not join in the cry of 'long live King 
 Francis, may his labours live for ever ! ' — ^Nor will I fall 
 down and worship the image which he hath set up 3 nor 
 will I dance when he pipeth. — O Francis ! when I think 
 of thee, 
 
 ^ An agony too keen 
 ^ Absorbs my senses, and my mind subdues/ 
 
 However, as I know that I must combat with thee, I will at 
 all events have the first blow ; so, here it goes. — Imprimis, I 
 recommend to thy attentive perusal. No. 291 of the Spec- 
 tator, wherein it is written, that some of thy profession 
 *^ seldom venture to praise any passage in an author, which 
 ^ has not been before received and applauded by the public, 
 ^ and that his criticism turns wholly upon little faults and 
 ' errors.' — The next quotation I particularly direct to thy 
 attention. 
 
 ^ A true critic ought to dweU rather upon excellencies than 
 ^ imperfections, to discover the concealed beauties of a writer, 
 "^ and communicate to the world such things as are worth 
 ^ their observation.' 
 
 To myself the following words are particularly consoling : 
 — ' The most exquisite words and finest strokes of an author, 
 ' are those which very often appear most doubtful to a man 
 ' who wants a relish for polite learning 3 and they are those 
 ' which a sour undistinguishing critic generally attacks with 
 ' the greatest violence.' — Kow that is just the case 3 my beau- 
 ties are concealed, but only to those who will not take the 
 trouble of looking for them 3 but they exist hke latent heat, 
 and will display themseh es when properly disengaged. 
 
MY NOTES. 69 
 
 There are some, I am happy to thinks who are not dull of 
 apprehension. Black woocVs Magazine, all hail ! And you^ 
 Mr. Wilson, I shall love yonr City of the Plague 3 I shall 
 love it ; ay, an' if it were the City of the Plague, Pestilence^ 
 and Famine. Mr. Hogg, my ever dear friend ! I love your 
 Queens either 'wake or asleep, and I dearly love your Vir- 
 gins of the Sun. I saw them when I was in my little boat^ 
 dancing among the stars, and they desired their kindest re- 
 gards. I call them Virgins because you do, but the appear- 
 ance of some of them was rather apocryphal — you know 
 best. But, my three valued friends, once more, all hail ! by 
 you I am known and duly estimated. O how delightful it is 
 for brethren to dwell together in unity ! How we do love 
 and talk well of one another ! (Mem. To write Blackwood 
 to have limits to this — friends sometimes kill us with kind- 
 ness.) All your review of me is excellent, but the following 
 quotation I will select for the perusal of my reader, leaving 
 him and recommending to him a perusal of the whole, (in 
 Blackwood's Magazine for June, price 2s. 6d.) 
 
 *" He (that's me) has often been counselled by critics, 
 ^ about taking more pains to adapt his mode of composition 
 ^ to the prevalent taste of mankind 3 but if he wishes to have 
 "^ a light on that subject, he should at once resort for advice 
 *^ to his Booksellers, w^ho are indisputably the best judges, 
 ^ and whose authority should be considered paramount, in 
 ^ the present age^ to that of any critic whatever.' My dear 
 friends, Messrs. Longman, Hurst, Ilees, Orme, and Brown, 
 what do you say to that ? Know all men, that I, having at 
 this present ^ mens sana in corpore sano,' do constitute and 
 appoint, and hereby have constitvited and appointed, the 
 above firm my true and lav/ful critics on all my works, 
 ^ beneath the moon.' 
 My dear critical friends (depends on many contingencies) 
 
70 MY NOTES. 
 
 your account-current will be the test of the true value of my 
 book y and in future a reference to your ledger Avill super- 
 sede the necessity of Reviews^ Magazines^ (except Black- 
 wood's) and all periodical notices of books whatsoever. — But 
 I forget. — See how my friends continue : ^ As his genius 
 ^ leads him very strongly to the discussion of moral ques- 
 ^ tions^ perhaps^ if he would be persuaded to ventiu-e forth 
 ^ with a Volume of Sermons ! under a feigned name, he 
 ^ might have a better chance of attaining to that success, 
 ^ which, as yet, he has so sparingly enjoyed.' IMy dear fel- 
 lows ! only consider, the world will think you serious — but 
 you are fond of joking. However, your conclusion is in- 
 comparable. - ' This, then, is the whole subject of the poem; 
 ^ but without having read the composition itself, it is impos- 
 ^ sible to conceive what a fine effect, and what profound 
 ^ pathos are drawn forth from these leading ideas.' Ne 
 plus ultra ! Our land is not yet destitute of discernment. 
 AMiat do you say to it, Gentlemen of the Blue-cover ? I 
 now thank you for your hostility 3 I am highly favoured by 
 3'Our enmity ] only I would recommend to you in future a 
 change, not of opinions, (I am not rich enough to procure 
 that), but a change of instruments. I would recommend to 
 you a quicker mode of dispatch than the pincers, toma- 
 hawk, and scalping-knife; a guillotine, 1 think, would save a 
 great deal of trouble to you, and much pain to your vic- 
 tims 3 tliough, as you don't feel the latter yourselves, probably 
 you do not much regard it. Now, JNIr. Blackwood, adieu 3 
 your feelings nuist be en^ iable : when you are 
 
 ^ Wearing awa' to the land o' the leal,' 
 
 you may sing with truth, 
 
 ' My duty's complete, and contehted I die.' 
 At least you've done your duty to me. 
 
]MY NOTES 71 
 
 Ah^ Glfford ! on thee also do I cast mine eyes. Let thy 
 pages, 
 
 • ^ ever bright and fair. 
 
 Take, oh take me to their care/ 
 
 I will, now that I am upon the subject of criticism, just 
 glance at a few observations on my Peter Bell, and endea- 
 vour to explain the passages which some (blind) people 
 imagine require explanation. 
 
 ^ Upon the pivot of his scull 
 ^ Turn'd round his long left ear.* 
 
 A Fragment. ^ And soe it happened that this asse was a 
 ^ verie wonderful asse to beholde, for it would stand upon 
 ^ its two hinder feete erecte, like unto a human creature for 
 ^ the day together, and did much amaze all those who 
 ^ chanced to look thereupon. And moreover it could make 
 ^ one sumeresette, like unto the tumblers which do perforni 
 ^ their anticks in our market touns." ^' It happened alsoe that 
 ' this asse could tume himself round upon the pivote of his 
 ^ scuUe, having his hinder parts high in the air, which did 
 ^ make right merrie and glad all who did look upon the 
 ^ same 5 and moreover soe it was, that when it did turn round 
 ^ it's head, strange for to see, it turnede rounde its long 'left 
 ^ eare alsoe '^* "^ ^" 
 
 — Cetera desunt. — 
 
 ^' He turned the eye-ball in his head." 
 
 I say the eye-ball in his head, lest the reader should think 
 I meant one in his tail. This would not be so extraordinary, 
 as Trinculo accuses that strange fish Caliban with having a 
 mouth there. 
 
72 MY NOTES. 
 
 ^ The mosques and spires change countenance^ 
 And look at Peter Bell/ 
 
 I hardly know what to say about this. — I had best leave 
 it to Blackwood, avIio will try and explain it in his next. — I 
 confess I am at a loss. 
 
 ^ The listening Ass doth rightly spell ; 
 Wild as it is^ he there can read. 
 The ass hiew ivell what Peter said' 
 
 The above three Ihies I intend as an illustration of the 
 effects of Lancaster and Bell's system of education. It is 
 delightful to trace the gradations of knowledge. I am not 
 ashamed of my donkies. The reader will be more alive to 
 our great improvement^ when he is informed that not only 
 spelling and reading are attended to in these schools^ as the 
 ass fully proves, but also the graceful accomplishments. — 
 
 ^ A dancing leaf is close behind,' 
 
 I am credibly informed^ that when the three Misses Giroux 
 heard of this, they fainted away^ and did not recover for a 
 considerable time. The sensation created at the Opera 
 House and Covent Garden can hardly be imagined. The 
 dancing leaves are expected to come out very thick in 
 Autumn. 
 
 ^ He sees a motion — hears a groan.' 
 
 What almost every medical man^ in any practice, does every 
 day in his life. 
 
 ' Ha ! why this comfortless despair.* 
 1 have said comfortless despair, to contrast it Avith com- 
 
MY NOTES. rs 
 
 fortable despair — though the latter^ in my opinion, is the 
 preferable of the two. 
 
 If any doubt should exist about the meaning of any other 
 line in my work, a note addressed to Mr. Blackwood will be 
 sure to be attended to, and Avill meet Avith an explanation of 
 some sort. 
 
 Note XXIIL 
 ^^ Now I rise, and away we go." 
 
 That is, my winged horse and myself, as' in the former 
 part of my work it alludes to my boat and me. — I once had 
 thoughts of taking Lucy up behind me upon a pillion, but 
 she was too timid. Our parting, however, like that of 
 Hector and Andromache, was affecting enough: and when 
 I put spurs to my velocipede and rose easy in air, it reminded 
 me of the following passage, Avhich, indeed, would be com- 
 plete, if the reader will imagine me to be Cupid, and Lucy 
 to be Psyche. 
 
 ^ Light uprose 
 
 Cupid on easy wing, yet tender look 
 And oft reverted eye on her bestows 3 
 Fearful, but not unmindful of her vows 3 
 And mild regards she back reflects on him : 
 With aching eye pursues him as he goes 3 
 With aching heart marks each diminished limb. 
 Till indistinct, diffused, and lost in air he seem.' 
 
 This was the truth of it — and then, when out of sight, T was 
 like unto 
 
74 MY NOTES. 
 
 ^ A Avinged messenger of heaven^ 
 
 When he bestrides the lazy pacing clouds^ 
 And sails upon the bosom of the air/ 
 
 V 
 
 Many writers^ as well as myself^ have delighted to dwell 
 on similar descriptions^ and have revelled in the idea of sail- 
 ing aloft ^ incimibent on the dusky air/ — The reader can 
 select for himself 3 but the most simple images please me 
 best^ and therefore he will not be surprised if I give the 
 preference to the two last descriptions. Some admire 
 Shakespeare's : 
 
 ^ Pity^ like a naked ncAV-born babe (I love babies) 
 Striding the blast 3 or heaven's cherubim, hors'd 
 Upon the sightless couriers of the air/ &c. 
 
 And Campbell's horse, which 
 
 ' Paws the light clouds, and gallops on the storm / 
 or his car, 
 ^ With which he sails thro' air, and far outstrips the wind.' 
 
 Some prefer Beattie's ladies (he calls them hags), who 
 
 ^ Yell in the midnight storm, and ride th' infuriate flood.' 
 
 This is all well enough 5 but let me ask any unprejudiced 
 reader, whose mind is entirely divested of the trammels of 
 criticism and an absurd taste, whether all the above are not 
 contained in the single expression of 
 
 ^ Now I rise, and away I go r' 
 
MY NOTES. 75 
 
 The tiling is clone in a moment — like the fox in the poultry- 
 yard^ as Mr. Liston singeth^ who selects for his ^ compagnon 
 de voyage/ 
 
 ^ A good fat hen — and away he goes.' 
 
 The reader will remember a former line of mine^ 
 
 ^ Up with me, up with me, high and high ! ' 
 
 This cannot fail to remind him of the opening line of that 
 beautiful epic, 
 
 ^ Where go you, old woman, so high, so high ? 
 To sweep the cobwebs off the skie.* 
 
 Here is question and answ er in a moment 3 but I will not 
 anticipate the pleasure the reader will derive from a pe- 
 rusal of the whole poem, which I am confident Avill afford 
 him much gratification. 
 
 Note XXIV. 
 ^"^ Away we mount — my horse and I." 
 The reader has heard me already say, 
 
 ' Your pony's worth his weight in gold.' 
 
 I mean Betty Foy's pony, for it brought our dear Johnny 
 safely back from his perilous journey. I have often praised 
 this pony, — 
 
 --' Her pony that is mild and good.' 
 -^ Meek as a lamb the pony moves.' 
 
76 MY NOTES. 
 
 And Betty is fully aware of his value^ for she hugs him on 
 his return, and cries — 
 
 ^ Oh, dear, dear pony ! My sweet joy ! ' 
 
 The pony merited all this endearment, for once she said, 
 
 ^ Or him that wicked pony^s carried 
 To the dark cave :' 
 
 And indulging in the contemplation of the value and 
 merits of her favourite, she cries out, — 
 
 ^ He, with his pony, now doth roam 
 The cliffs and peaks so high that are. 
 To lay his hands upon a star. 
 And in his pocket bring it home/ 
 
 P.S. I regret to say, that our little pony was stolen, and 
 after much labour^ I traced him to the possession of the 
 author of the ^ Antiquary.' He said he only borrowed him, 
 but I think he should have acknowledged it. If he does 
 not, in his next publication, I will have him tried and 
 convicted of horse-stealing — (if the lawyers will admit that 
 a pony is a horse). If any one reads my ' Ideot Boy,' and 
 then the following passage from the *^ Antiquary,' it will be 
 found that Davie Mailsetter was placed on no other than my 
 Johnny's pony. 
 
 ^^"^ But an ve like to risk the bairn, I'll risk the 
 
 beast." — Orders were accordingly given. The unwilling- 
 pony was brought out of his bed of straw, and again 
 equipped for service — Davie (a leathern post-bag strapped 
 across his shoulders) was perched on the saddle, with a tear 
 
MY NOTES. 77 
 
 in his eye^ aiid a switch in his hand. Jock good-naturedly 
 led the animal out of the town^ and, by the crack of his 
 whip, and the hoop and halloo of his too-well known voice 
 
 compelled it to take the road towards Monkbarns.'- 
 
 ^ The bearer, Davie Mailsetter, as little resembling a bold 
 dragoon as could well be imagined, was carried onwards 
 towards Monkbarns by the pony, so long as the animal had 
 in its recollection the crack of its usual instrument of chas- 
 tisement, and the shout of the butcher's boy. But feeling 
 how Davie, whose short legs were unable to maintain his 
 balance, swung to and fro upon his lack, the pony began to 
 disdain further compliance with the intimations he had re- 
 ceived. First, then, he slackened into a walk. By 
 
 and by, the crafty pony availed himself of this surcease of 
 discipline to twitch the rein out of Davie's hand, and apply 
 hhnself to browze on the grass by the side of the lane. 
 Sorely astounded by these symptoms of self-willed rebellion, 
 and afraid alike to sit or fall, poor Davie lifted up his voice 
 and wept aloud. The pony, hearing this p udder over his 
 head, began apparently to think it would be best, both for 
 himself and Davie, to return from whence they came, and 
 accordingly commenced a retrograde movement^' &c. 
 
 No one, after this, wU for a moment doubt the identity 
 of the animals. — His pony, he says, ^ had in his recollection,* 
 — and of mine I formerly wrote^ — 
 
 ^ But then he is a horse that thinks.' 
 
 The same author has also given his Davie a switch in his 
 hand, — and for my Johnny 
 
 ^ There is no need of whip or wand. 
 He shakes his green bough in his hand.' 
 
78 MY NOTES. 
 
 I would have said, that Butler had also borrowed from 
 me, when in Canto iii. his Hudibras rides in procession like 
 my Johnny 3 when he 
 
 ^ turned himself about 
 
 His face unto his horse's tail.' 
 
 The critics, however, would call it an anachronism. — 
 They have always some hard word to vex one with. 
 
 P.S. I have been mformed, that this Is the same pony 
 exhibited under the name of the ^ Wonderful Pony,' in the 
 Metropolis. 
 
 N.B. The above pony, having been rode till he can't 
 bear the saddle any longer, to be sold cheap — ])y me, Betty 
 Foy. 
 
 Note XXV. 
 
 ^^ And ere you've time to shew a leg." 
 
 The citv resident mav not kno^v, that the ostler of an inn 
 in Sheffield, when he awakes travellers early in the morn- 
 ing, after receiving a reply to his call, always ends with — 
 ^ Shew a leg, Sir ! Shew a leg ! ' and persists till they as- 
 sure him that they have actually done so. — Tliis is a man 
 of experience, and wisely judges, that any one is not likely 
 to get out of bed till part of him at least is apparent. — I 
 only wish that said ostler would go sober to bed, and not 
 run the rounds of the house and wake every inhabitant of 
 it, which he generally does, before he linds the person he 
 wants. 
 
fC 
 
 MY NOTES. 79 
 
 Note XXVI. 
 Vin happy ill the land of Nosies." 
 
 A new nation, who have obtained that name from the 
 frequent apphcation of their lingers to their noses. How 
 simple and interesting a custom! — how morally right! 
 With us there is so much disputation about hats on and hats 
 off — even the Quakers, I think, could not well object to 
 pulUng their own noses. In a crowded theatre too, how 
 convenient if, instead of taking off hats upon ' God save the 
 King* being played, every individual was to take hold of his 
 nose. — Ladies could then most easily unite in this testimony 
 of their loyalty. When I arrived among this people, accord- 
 ing to Captain Ross's example, I pulled my nose, and cried 
 as loud as I was able, Heigh, yaw ! which they all returned 
 with w^onderful precision. — I then offered them a volume of 
 my poems 3 but my astonishment was great on finding these 
 people decline it with a loud Heigh, yaw ! — How^ they inte- 
 rested me ! — I knew not how to become more sociable with 
 them, for I had already pulled my nose till it had ceased to 
 feel agreeable. — A thouglit, however, struck me 3 I recol- 
 lected that I had a volume of Peter Bell in my pocket, 
 liandsomely bound, with gilt leaves 3 and without more ado, 
 I offered them that 3 but had I not been aware of their 
 great simplicity and interesting ignorance, it must have hurt 
 the poet's pride, whatever the man may have felt, to observe 
 that they never once opened it, but seemed much delighted 
 with the leaves and binding. 
 
 It is worthy the remark of the philosopher, w hether or not 
 it was a native of this countrv which must have been alluded 
 to by the Greek poet^ in his lines, of which we have this 
 translation — 
 
80 MY NOTES. 
 
 ^ Dick cannot wipe his nostrils if he pleases ; 
 So long his nose is, and his arms so short 3 
 Nor ever cries, '' God bless me/' when he sneezes 
 — He cannot hear so distant a report. 
 
 Sterne must have had this country in view, I should think, 
 when he speaks of the Promontory of Noses, in Slawken- 
 burguis's Tales 3 but whether it really was the same, must 
 now ever remain in doubt. 
 
 Note XXVII. 
 ^'^ Only they stole a piece of wood/' 
 
 ^ Two of them proposed to entertain us with a song, for 
 the purpose, as we found, of giving the others the oppor- 
 tunity of pilfering, which they did with such adroitness, that 
 they were not perceived until some things which they had 
 taken were missed, and led to an examination 3 when various 
 articles were found concealed under their clothes.' — ^ They 
 were but little disconcerted at being detected, and we were 
 soon glad to get rid of them.' — Sabine's Voyage of Discovery. 
 
 Poor innocents ! they have no idea of the distinction of 
 property. 
 
 ^ Where ignorance is bliss, 'tis folly to be wise.' 
 
 Note XXVIII. 
 '' There is the music of the spheres." 
 
 Milton has described this music with much beauty, sub- 
 limity, and harmony, in the following lines : 
 
MY NOTES. 81 
 
 ' While the pleas'd stars, that gem the vaulted sky. 
 Catch the soft notes, and ring in sweet reply. 
 The Guardian Power, who, thron'd on every sphere. 
 Wheels the vast orb, and guides its proud career. 
 Pours as he circles tlirough the starry throng, 
 Th' unutterable notes of angel song.' 
 
 I have, however, in my recollection, some very sweet and 
 simple Hues, which I certainly think highly preferable : and 
 I have little doubt but that the reader, if he has any rural 
 ideas, will be entirely of my way of thinking — 
 
 They run as foUows : 
 
 Sing song. 
 
 Days are long. 
 Woodcock and the sparrow 3 
 
 Little bow wow^ 
 
 Burnt his tail. 
 And bid the dame good morrow. 
 
 This is crowded with rural images. — Association of ideas, 
 as Mr. Alison has so beautifully and forcibly proved, pro- 
 duces from those simple expressions the most delightftd 
 sensations : for instance — 
 
 Sing song; village hells — Days are long; alout mid" 
 summer — "W^oodcock and the sparrow; rural scenery — Little 
 bow wow; interesting little dog — Burnt his tail; affecting cir- 
 cumstance — And bid the dame good morrow ! True politeness, 
 'Tis surprising how polite we are to one another in the 
 country, for this is the same little dog long since inmior- 
 talized in that heroic work yclept *" Mother Hubbard,' 
 
 ^ The dame made a curtsey. 
 The dog made a bow. 
 The dame said good morrow ! 
 Tlie dog said bow ! wow ! ' 
 
h MY NOTES. 
 
 The reader must also recollect how politely I addressed 
 the naughty little beggars — 
 
 ^ Sweet boys ! you're telling me a lie/ 
 
 And Peter when he approaches the Ass — 
 
 ^ But come, Sir^ come with me.' 
 
 — Manner is every thing. 
 
 P. S. Since \vriting the above, I have been informed by 
 an eye-witness to the fact, that this little dog is also 
 renowned in these cheerful verses — 
 
 ^ The little dog laughed to see the sport. 
 And the dish ran away with the spoon/ 
 
 The 'Flowers laugh' — ' Bow wows laugh,'— O how merry 
 we live in the country ! 
 
 Note XXIX. 
 *^ There's music in the ripling streams/' 
 
 Most poets have been alive to the charm diffused over 
 scenery by the sound of a ripling stream, or the fall of water. 
 I remember when T much admired the following lines — 
 
 ' The gentle stream that roll'd the stones among, 
 Charm'd with the place, almost forgot its suite. 
 But list'ning, and responding to the song, 
 Loit'ring and winding oft murmured elong. 
 
MY NOTES. 85 
 
 ' The stream depeinten by the glitt'raud braid, 
 Emong the hills now Avinding seems to hide ; 
 Now shines unlook'd for through the opening glade^ 
 Now in full torrents pours its golden tide 5 
 Hills, woods, and meads refreshed, rejoicing by its side.' 
 
 N. E. My amanuensis seemed to dwell upon these lines 
 with great delight. — 1 really am amazed that a long residence 
 with me has not corrected his taste. If he would look at 
 home, he would, I think, find something — but so it is. — Ob- 
 stinate, unconvertible man ! how long am I to labour 
 in vain ? 
 
 Note XXX. 
 
 " Owl."' 
 
 Oi' rather owlet ^ as I read it — a grave gentleman also, 
 and one I have made considerable use of; but 1 beg it may 
 be understood, that the owlets I have rendered immortal 
 are my own owls ;— -for instance, in these sweet and smooth 
 flowdng lines of mine — 
 
 ' The owlets hoot;, the owlets curr, 
 and^ 
 
 The owlets through the long blue night, 
 and. 
 
 The owlets in the moonlight air.' 
 
 The reader will be aware that these are my own owls, 
 and that I am not obliged to my predecessors for any of the 
 followin£>; : 
 
 ' Yon aisle where moan the grey-eyed owls,' 
 ^ Save the lone screech-owl's note/ 
 
 f 
 
84 MV NOTES. 
 
 ^ That hears the loan owrs nightly moan.' 
 
 ^ And the soothsaying owl^, with her unlovely brood/ 
 
 ^ The moping owl does to the i\ioon complain.' 
 
 et ca^tera. — Mine are quite a distinct breed, 
 
 ' The owls have hooted all night long, 
 And with the owls began my song. 
 And with the owls must end.' 
 
 Note XXXL 
 There's music in a croaking frog.' 
 
 €C 
 
 To the pent-up citizen, no doubt^ rural sounds are dis- 
 cordant^ and I cannot expect him to believe that 
 
 ^ A thousand notes of joy in every breeze are borne.' 
 
 He will not sympathize with those emotions of pleasure 
 which are created by listening to the music of the cricket — the 
 ass — the owl — the hog — the duck — and the frog. 
 
 ^ Nor these alone^ whose notes 
 Nice finger'd art must emulate in vain. 
 But cawing rooks^, and kites, that swim sublime 
 In still repeated circles, screaming loud 3 
 The jay J, the pie, and ev'n the boding owl. 
 That hails the rising dawn.' . 
 
 Sweet concert ! welcome, little songsters, when piping your 
 solos — but doubly, trebly, thrice trebly welcome;, when 
 united in sweet harmony — for 
 
 ' Not rural sights alone, but rural sounds. 
 Exhilarate the spirit.' 
 
MY NOTES. 85 
 
 Has a true poet lived who has not dwelt with ecstasy on 
 the mingled sounds of rustic life and labour? Thomson, 
 Gray, Beattie, Goldsmith — who has not acknowledged the 
 harmony of your numbers ? 
 
 ^ The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, 
 The playful children just let loose from school, 
 The watch-dog's voice that bay'd the whisp'ring wind. 
 And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind. 
 These all in sweet confusion sought the shade .* 
 
 And thou. Master of the human mind, in thy descriptions 
 music has received her full tribute, — for thou desirest no 
 commerce with the man whose soul is not tuned to it. 
 
 The witches in Macbeth are made sensible of sweet 
 sounds, and seem to use them to announce their periods 
 of time. 
 
 ^ Thrice the brindled cat hath mew'd. 
 Thrice 5 and once the hedge-pig whin'd.* 
 
 Puck also discourses sweet music to Bottom and his party, 
 
 ^ Sometimes a horse I'll be, sometimes a hound, 
 A hog, a headless bear, sometimes a fire ; 
 And neigh, and bark, and grunt, and burn. 
 Like horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn/ 
 
 Nothing could be more harmonious than this, save Bot- 
 tom's own voice, who roars you, an' if it were a sucking dove. 
 
 I have been long of opinion that the frog in particular is a 
 much ill-used songster, and the following extract, under the 
 head, ^ Concert of Frogs,' has convinced me of it : 
 
 * That which offered the greatest novelty to our party was 
 the loud and incessant chorus of myriads of frogs, the whole 
 
?56 MV NOTES. 
 
 way from Lubeck to Eutin. To call it croaking^ would con- 
 vey a very erroneous idea of it, because it is really harmo- 
 nious 3 and we gave to these reptiles the name of Holstein 
 nightingales. Those who have not heard it, would hardly 
 believe it to be possible, for any number of frogs to produce 
 such a powerful and predominating clamour. The eflfect of 
 it, however, is certainly not unpleasing 3 especially after sun- 
 set, when all the rest of animated nature is silent and seems 
 to be at rest. The voice of any one of them singly, as we 
 sometimes heard it near the wood, was as usual disagreeable, 
 and might be compared to the loudest quacking of a duck , 
 but when, as it generally happened, tens of thousands, nay 
 millions sang together, it was a choral vibration, varied only 
 by cadencies of sound, so)net]iing like those produced upon mu- 
 sical glasses; and it accorded with the uniformity which 
 twilight cast over the woods and waters.* 
 
 Dr. Clarke's Travels. 
 
 In addition to this, which I think must convince the most 
 sceptical reader, I will just mention another anecdote of 
 these interesting little animals, and I beg the reader particu- 
 larly to remark, that the frogs were not condemned to 
 silence because the Saint was displeased, but only because 
 they fatigued him. — There is a Avide difference. — 'At Orange 
 the frogs never croak, except one, and the reason of it is 
 this 3 St. Florent, bishop of that city, fatigued with the 
 noise of these animals, commanded them to be silent ; but 
 afterwards touched with compassion, he allowed them all 
 to croak again. The clerk wlio was to carry this permis- 
 mission to the frogs, ga^ e it in the singular instead of the 
 plural number, and so but one poor frog was ever afterwards 
 heard at a time in that city.' 
 
 The reader, if he is a songster himself, will be well ac- 
 quainted with the apology the frog makes to the mouse. 
 
MY NOTES. 87 
 
 upon being requested to favour her with a song ^ and here it 
 is worthy of remark^ that he does not mention incapacity^ 
 but merely the casual consequences of a cold he had 
 caught, — probably from dwelling so long in damp places, — 
 
 ^ Indeed, Mrs. Mouse/ replied the Frog, 
 *^ A cold has made me as hoarse as a hog.' 
 
 And it is not irrelevant to our present subject to add, that a 
 song actually was sung, and by one not in any way formerly 
 noted for musical powers : 
 
 ^ Since you have caught cold, Mr. Frog,' Mousy said, 
 ^ 111 sing you a song that I have just made/ 
 
 So accommodating are the very ' honey-mills,' as Mrs. 
 Winifred calls them. 
 
 <*t 
 
 NoTK XXXIL 
 
 Marrying as you or I might marry." 
 
 I am indebted to the Editor of the Times for this line 
 (see Times, April 24), but whether he was in jest or not is 
 difficult to say. I fear he is a quiz, but I won't quarrel 
 with him. 
 
 Note XXXIII. 
 
 a 
 
 So popp'd the question to the widow." 
 
 It may be remembered, that Peter had a very early hank- 
 ering after the widow 3 for immediately after the discovery of 
 the death of her husband. 
 
88 MY NOTES. 
 
 ^ From his own thoughts did Peter start, 
 ^ Pie long'd to press her to his heart." 
 
 This was rather early, and for decency's sake they waited 
 seven weeks before they were married. This was Peter*s 
 thirteentli wife, completing, as they say in the country, the 
 deviVs dozen. There may be some apology for the widow 3 
 she may have seen, what widows usually do see in those 
 cases, a very striking resemhlance in Peter to her clear first 
 husband. 
 
 Note XXXIV. 
 
 ^^ I'll tell you tales as long*s Tm able.'* 
 
 My perseverance in doing so to oblige my intelligent 
 neighbours, is only equalled by one gentleman, who had no 
 |1 objection either to argue or to jRght till midnight, — by fight, 
 I take it for granted he meant scholastic disputation. We 
 should be informed, however, which sort of fighting it was, 
 as the company addressed, one might imagine, to be equally 
 prepared for either kind. ' Mr. Rowcroft then turned round 
 ^ and said, that he was ready to debate or to fight with any 
 ^ man till midnight.' — Times, Maij 19. 
 
 Note XXXV. 
 ^^ But, as I limp'd, I was the last." 
 
 R - The reader of Peter Bell was told that I, 
 
 ^ On two poor legs, to my stone-stable^ 
 ^ Limped on with some vexation.* 
 
MY NOTES. 89 
 
 But it remains for me to tell him, I limp'd in consequence 
 of a summerset I made out of my little boat^ when^ 
 
 ^ Off flew my sparkling boat in scorn.* 
 
 O gentle reader ! how I should injure you in your own 
 estimation, if I was to suppose you so dull of apprehension, 
 as not to give you the credit of seeing through this typical 
 representation. — This Mittle boat' of mine, was no other 
 than one of Mr. Hogg's Virgins of the Sun, witli whom I 
 had a little flirtation. This will be easily understood, when 
 you recollect the pleasure with which I exclaim, 
 
 ^ And now I have a little Boat.' 
 
 We soon came to an understanding, and 
 
 ^ Away we go^ my Boat and 1/ 
 
 And so friendly and sociable, 
 
 ^ Each is contented with the other.' 
 
 But life is chequered. — In the course of our voyage I had to 
 call her to order : 
 
 ' My radiant Pinnace, you forget ! ' 
 
 And only think of the little jade's reply, 
 
 ^ Shame on you ! ' cried my little Boat. 
 
 And so turning me out with a summerset, off she went 'in 
 indignation.' 
 
 N. B. I protest to Mr. Hogg, that we parted as immacu- 
 late as we met. It was singular that my Lucy never found 
 
50 MY NOTEvS. 
 
 me out. She often inquired after the cause of my limping, 
 but I was prepared for her. 
 
 P. S. It may be as well to remark to the reader how I have 
 improved in ' boat building/ The one I formerly immor- 
 talized was, 
 
 ^ A household tub^ like one of those, 
 
 ^ Which women use to wash their clothes/ 
 
 But 'tis thus we progress from improvement to improve- 
 ment, till at last we attain tlie far distant summit of human 
 capability. At looking back we are surprised at the trifles 
 which engaged our attention by the way. 
 
 ' '®i0 tk)tn tl)e ininD^ from iontiacc free^ 
 
 * anU all ite former ttJeaSnej30 o'er, 
 
 * 3tje0ert0 it0 natitoe Uignitj, 
 
 < anH 0corn0 tD!)at follp pri^'tJ before/ 
 
[ 9i ] 
 
 PLATES 
 
 TO BE ENGRAVED FOR THIS WORK. 
 
 PLATE I. 
 
 A View of Myself at Liswyn Farm — my little boy gazing 
 at the Weathercock. — ^N.B. To be illustrative of that Poem^ 
 and as much as possible explanatory of what it means. 
 
 PLATE IL 
 
 A representation of dear Johnny riding, or rather balanced, 
 upon Betty Foy\s pony, and travelling beneath the Moon. — 
 The Moon to be very apparent, so that it may be seen that 
 our Johnny travels beneath, and not above the Moon. 
 
 (Mevi. I do love the Moon.) 
 
 PLATE in. 
 
 A ^dew of Myself and my *^ little Boat' approaching Ve- 
 nus. — She seated upon and guiding her planet, and nought 
 between us. 
 
92 PLiVTKS. 
 
 PLATE IV. 
 
 My IntervicAV with the new Nation 3 at that interesting 
 period when they are pulling their noses upon my present- 
 ing them with a volume of Peter Bell^ handsomely bound. 
 — ^N. B. Let it here be particularly understood^ that they 
 pulled their own noses. 
 
 PLATE V. 
 
 Peter Bell seeing a Company in a parlour^ — ^ Some sipping 
 punch, some sipping tea', — ^ All silent and all danin'd.' — 
 This is intended as a prospective view of futurity to Peter, 
 and he is to be standing like Macbeth when he views Ban- 
 quo*s progeny.— Peter to be saying — 
 
 ^ Coming events cast their shadows before.' 
 
 PLATE VL 
 
 A pleasing Family Picture — Peter Bell, and the Widow 
 now Mrs. Bell, with their eleven children, and the Ass. — A 
 child beating the Ass, which says, 
 
 * If you was an Ass, would you like it yourself ?' 
 
 Or rather, for the sake of humanity, Betty Foy taking i t 
 round the neck, exclaiming, — 
 
PLATES. 93 
 
 ' My dear^ dear pony^ my sweet joy 1* 
 
 to which the Ass is to reply, quoting Shakespeare— thinking 
 creature ! — 
 
 ' Don't forget that I am an Ass ! • 
 
[ 94 ] 
 
 IN THE PRESS, 
 And speedily will be published^ 
 
 SNOUT, THE TiNKEEy SNUG, THE JoiNEIty 
 
 AND BOTTOM, THE Weaver j 
 
 Zf^ut JHerrp ®ale0 in Wizx&u 
 
 Snug. Have you the Lion's part written ? — Pray you, if 
 it be, give it me, for I am slow of study. 
 
 (Quince, You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but 
 roaring. 
 
 Bottom* Let me play the Lion too : 1 will roar that I 
 will do any man's heart good to hear me : I will roar 
 that I will make the Duke say, ' Let him roar again ; let 
 him roar again.' 
 
 BY THE SAME AUTHOR, 
 Jnd shortly to be had of all the Booksellers, 
 
 MY MOTHER'S DUCKLINGS, 
 
 an aflfectinc ^ale in fller^c, antJ fountieU upon jfact* 
 
 In the above will be related the melancholy death of a 
 couple of little ducklings, caused by keeping their tails too 
 long up in the air while feeding in a pool of water, whereby 
 they w^ere most lamentably drowned. 
 
•f 93 ] 
 
 It is purposed to extend the above work to six volumes, 
 in wliich will be pourtrayed the distinguishing propensities, 
 instincts, habits, and language of those interesting amphi- 
 bious fowls ; the whole to conclude with a most melancholy 
 ditty, which the old Duck sung or said, on learning the 
 fate of lier offspring— taken in short-hand, as she was ut- 
 tering it, by a Cuckoo. 
 
 Early next spring, the same Author hopes to indidge the 
 Public (to whom he is much indebted for their great dis- 
 play of patience, and takes this mode of acknowledging it) 
 with his long-promised long Poem of ' The Cat and the 
 Fiddle; 
 
 ^ 'Tis a pretty l)aby treat. 
 Nor I deem for me unmeet ; 
 Here, for neither babe or me. 
 Other play -mates can I see.' Myself, 
 
 It will be endeavoured to compress the above Poem into 
 as little space as possible, and the Author hopes to do it in 
 two volumes quarto. 
 
 A few volumes royal quarto, with numerous illustrative 
 engravings, will be struck off for Subscribers only. 
 
 The subsequent Parts of Peter Bell will be brouglit for- 
 ward as speedily as possible, which will contain the parti- 
 cidars of Peter*s Life, from his Marriage with the Widow 
 to tliat period in which he joins the Company he saw in 
 the parlour, 
 
 ^ x\ll silent and all damn*d.' 
 
[ 96 ] 
 
 The other favourite works of the Author — ' The Silent 
 Cricket; ' The Thinking Pony/ ' The Speaking Cuckoo/ 
 ' The Whispering Leaf/ ' The Laughing Flowers/ and 
 ^ The Scornful Boat/ to be had of all the Booksellers in 
 Christendom^ having been translated into all the modern 
 Languages. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 Bensley and Son, Bolt Court, Fleet Street.