1832.] The Reigning Vice. 567 



" poor am I even in thanks, 



But I do thank ye ?" 



What opinion do you form of the savory-palated scoundrel, who takes 

 advantage of his being the host, to spoil your dinner, by vociferating, 



" May good digestion wait on appetite, 

 And health on hoth ?" 



How do you like, coming in at the termination of a comprehensive com- 

 pliment, to be informed, that though "last" you are "not least ?" It is 

 remarkably pleasant to receive a reproof from a man, conveyed, as he 

 says, " more in sorrow than in anger ;" and delightful to be assured, 

 that he will 



" Nothing extenuate, nor set down aught in malice." 



If an odious overseer happen to depart this parish, or an inveterate cur- 

 mudgeon, whose rigidly compressed fist no thumb-screw could open, 

 chance to pay Satan a friendly visit, it *' needs no ghost to come from 

 the grave " to tell us, since there is always a posthumous babbler to take 

 that office upon himself, that the detested defunct had 



" a hand 



Open as day to melting charity.; " 



and if an ill-fated cockney, on a Sunday's voyage to Richmond, betake 

 himself to the bottom of the river, let us receive with becoming resigna- 

 tion the intelligence, that 



" There is a tide in the affairs of man." 



We are quite certain that our readers never saw the quotation from 

 that rare and curious poem by one Goldsmith, 



" Man wants but little here below, 

 Nor wants that little long." 



And we are equally confident, that at Roman Catholic meetings, no 

 speaker ever averred that Ireland was 



" great, glorious and free, 



First flower of the earth, and first gem of the sea," 



or that Mr. O'Connell was ever heard to exclaim, 



" Hereditary bondsmen, know ye not, 

 Who would be free, themselves must strike the blow." 



Murder instantly, (we say it in cold blood,) decapitate forthwith, the slave 

 who presumes to torture your feelings thus ; first, he who, taking his 

 leave of yourself and a common friend, utters with an insane grin, 



" When shall we three meet again ?" 

 or he who sighs forth 



" Farewell ! a word that has been and must be." 

 Or, 



" Fare thee well, and if for ever, 



Still for ever," &c. 

 Or,- 



" Farewell, a long farewell," &c. ; 



or, in a word, any valedictory and venomous trash of the like nature. 



Kick, or otherwise maltreat, the infatuated fool who pesters you with 

 incessant lines, sentiments, passages, and entire poems of Byron and 

 Moore. This has become intolerable, and must in justice or in mercy be 



