occurrence, proceed from the brilliant pen of George

Colman :

THE LUMINOUS HISTORIAN;

IN LOVE.

OR LEARNING

A man I sing whom memory reveres;

Hallow'd the spot where he now lies in earth;
Learning and genius there may mingle tears
With virtue, weeping over moral worth—
Clio, the first of muses, hail'd his birth;
But Momus, ever flouting, laugh'd outright,
To think that, when to manhood grown, what
mirth

Would be provoked by so grotesque a wight,
So oddly form'd as he who was EUDOXUS' hight.

And when adult, with erudition's store,
His early taste and judgment was supplied;
He drained the sources of historic lore,

Then pour'd them back, through Europe, purified;
Majestic, deep, yet smooth, and clear the tide;
And elegance, obedient to his call,

Sail'd down his flow of words in swan-like pride; But, oh! how wondrous the DECLINE and FALL, To "look upon his face," and then, "forget it all!"

His person look'd as funnily obese
As if a pagod, growing large as man,
Had rashly waddled off its chimney-piece
To visit a Chinese upon a fan.

с

Such his exterior;-curious 'twas to scan!

And oft he rapt his snuff-box, cock'd his snout, And, ere his polished periods he began,

Bent forwards, stretching his forefinger out, And talk'd in phrase as round as he was round about.

'Twas in Lausanne, where crowded parties chat, And take their tea, ere London fashion dines, Nozing Eudoxus, blue-eyed Agnes sat, And talk'd of Trajan, and the Antonines; Dwelt much on Roman risings, and declines; And murmur'd, while they huddled knee to knee, "What things voluptuousness undermines !" Eudoxus felt a glow-but knew not, he, Whether 'twas love, the crowd, philosophy, or tea.

Whene'er she utter'd, breathing like the south, As o'er a bank of violets it blows,

He curl'd the smirking hole he call'd a mouth, And fed with snuff the knob he term'd a noseHis bosom's fat heaved with unwonted throes; And still she talk'd, and still he listen'd, still Fresh beauties in her countenance arose ; He ask'd her dwelling-place; sad news and chill"Skirting Lausanne," she said, "upon the next high hill."

"Alas!" he cried, "pedestrious I depart
To scale Olympus, and a goddess find;
Not seeing her will almost break my heart,
And getting at her almost break my wind.
Never did body trifle so with mind!

So raised its projects, and so knocked them flat!
Never was amorous lump of human kind
So self-suspended between this and that;

So goaded by the flesh, so hindered by the fat!"

Fair Agnes fear'd not that censorious talk
Could ever by Eudoxus be inspired;

He look'd a lamb, before he took a walk,
And dead as mutton, weary, and bemired.
Yet in her jacket, à la Suisse, attired,

So plump and tempting was the blue-eyed maid, A hermit's frigid breast she might have fired! Beneath a plain straw-hat her ringlets play'd, And a short petticoat her well-turn'd leg betray'd.

Eudoxus, squatting in a cushion'd chair,
Gave her that interesting glance which owns
A double feeling, and would fain declare
The heart is full of love, the shoes of stones.
His tender sighs, inflating into groans,
Were debts, as in a partnership concern,
Due, jointly, both to bosom and to bones;

And seem'd to say, "Sweet lady! let me learn, Whether in vain I ache, and pant, and grunt, and

burn!"

In vain they questioned; for the fair pursued Her prattle, which on literature flow'd; Now changed her author, now her attitude, And much more symmetry than learning show'd. Eudoxus watch'd her features, while they glow'd Till passion burst his puffy bosom's bound; And, rescuing his cushion from its load, Flounced on his knees, appearing like a round Large fillet of hot veal just tumbled on the ground.

Could such a lover be with scorn repulsed?
Oh, no! disdain befitted not the case;
And Agnes, at the sight, was so convulsed,
That tears of laughter trickled down her face.
Eudoxus felt his folly and disgrace;

Look'd sheepish-nettled-wish'd himself away;
And thrice he tried to quit his kneeling place,
But fat and corpulency seem'd to say,

Here's a petitioner that must for ever pray !

"Mon Dieu!" said Agnes, "what absurd distress!
How long must you maintain this posture here ?"
"Ah! that," he sigh'd, " depends on the success
Of your endeavours, more than mine, I fear.
Get up I cannot, by myself, 'tis clear;
But, though my poor pretensions you despise,
Full many a man is living, lady dear!
Whose talents, as a lover, rather lies

In readiness to kneel than readiness to rise."

Again he strain'd, again he stuck like wax, While Agnes tugg'd at him, in various ways; But he was heavier than the income-tax, And twenty times more difficult to raise. She fear'd that scandal would the story blaze; Yet, hopeless, rang the bell;-the servant came, And eyed the prostrate lover with amaze; Then heaved upon his legs the man whose name Is lifted up so high by never-dying fame.

Eudoxus, fretted with the morn's romance, Opined while he was waddling to the plain, Himself no wiser than that king of France [again. Who march'd up hill, and then march'd down He found that he had striven against the grain; That suffering love within his breast to lurk Brought "labour," which by no means "physic'd That beauties, who on eminences perk, [pain;" Make courtship, for the fat, a very up-hill work.

17th-St. Anthony's Day.

LADY MORGAN thus describes a picture in the Borghese Palace, at Rome, representing St. Anthony preaching to the fishes: "The salmon looks at the preacher with an edified face, and a cod, with his up-turned eyes, seems anxiously seeking for the new light. The Saint's sermon is to be had in many of the shops at Rome. St. Anthony addresses the fish, Dearly beloved fish ;' and the legend adds,