1832.] Pigs Addressed to those " About to leave Business^ 397 



house, and lived with their fitting companions, the peacocks, and the 

 golden pheasants. 



Pettitoes re-opened his shop : the day he again appeared in public 

 his face had a fresher glow-^-his steel glittered in the morning sun 

 his apron and his sleeves never looked so blue. In fact, he appeared 

 more than a vulgar butcher there was a certain regimental air about 

 him ; indeed, it might have been said of him, as of a great general, he 

 looked " butcher to the king." 



By degrees the piggery at Battersea Rise was cleared of its inhabi- 

 tants. A large part of ' < Childe Harold" was minced into sausages 

 " Eugene Aram" was once more anatomized for the benefit of the 

 public the family of " Alice Gray" went at from seven to ten shil- 

 lings each " Satan" was drained into black puddings, and " the Un- 

 dying One" hung for two days, with a gash from ear to ear. 



Of course the family never deigned to visit Pettitoes at the shop. 

 Too proud, however, was the husband and the father, if his wife and 

 daughters, at their country residence, would suffer him to send them 

 down a joint of pork. They had their novels, their harps, and their 

 auriculas but Pettitoes was again in business : he had his apron, his 

 knife, and his pigs. J. 



THE CONVALESCENT. 



We sometimes find a disease quite strip the mind of aH its ideas, and the flames of a fever in a few 

 days calcine all those images to dust and confusion which seemed to be as lasting as if graved on 

 marble." LOCKK. 



BREATHE, gently breathe upon this wasted frame, 



Thou breeze of spring, that stirs the dewy air ! 

 Breathe, gently breathe I for fever's restless flame 

 Hath long been madd'ning there ! 



Yon vale how sweet ! 'Tis sure some fairy spell 



Binds my soul there, and bids me fondly gaze ! 

 Hark ! 'twas a voice that murmur'd through the dell 

 And spake of happier days ! 



And where are they ? a thousand visions pass 



A thousand phantoms melting into air 

 Hast thou no records, Oh! ray heart ? Alas ! 

 All all is vacant there ! 



Why slumbers memory in its depths unknown ? 



Wake, sweet remembrance ! ere the doom be cast : 

 Long hath this heart been desolate and lone 

 Oh ! bring me back the past ! 



Roll back, thou tide of being ! Break your rest 



Ye light wing'd dreams ! and from that slumber start : 

 Oil ! all is dark'ning in this dreary breast 

 Come and light up the heart ! 



Tis past the tie hath burst ! Away ! bright vale, 



I've no communion with thee ! all is flown ! 

 Then come, wild Fancy, weave some wizard tale 

 Some memory of thine own ! 



Wing, wayward thought, thy lone mysterious way ! 



Mount through all marvellous things Heaven's mystic plain 

 The winds ! the melancholy moon ! Away ! 

 There's madness on my brain ! 



0. 



