"Come, thou soul-reviving cup; Try thy healing art; Stir the fancy's visions up, And warm my wasted heart. Touch with freshening tints of bliss Memory's fading dream. Give me, while thy lip I kiss, The heaven that's in thy stream. As the witching fires of wine Pierce through Time's past reign, Gleams of joy that once were mine, Glimpse back on life again. And if boding terrors rise O'er my melting mind, Hope still starts to clear my eyes, And drinks the tear behind. Then life's wintry shades new drest, Fair as summer seem; Flowers I gather from my breast, And sunshine from the stream. As the cheering goblets pass, Memory culls her store; Scatters sweets around my glass, And prompts my thirst for more. Far from toils the great and grave To proud ambition give, My little world kind Nature gave, And simply bade me live. On me she fix'd an humble art, To deck the Muse's groves, And on the nerve that twines my heart The touch of deathless love. Then, rosy god, this night let me Thy cheering magic share; Again let hope-fed Fancy see Life's picture bright and fair. Oh! steal from care my heart away, To sip thy healing spring; And let me taste that bliss to-day To-morrow may not bring." The friendship of the Duke of Norfolk and Charles Morris extended far beyond the Steaks meetings; and the author of the _Clubs of London_ tells us by what means the Duke's regard took a more permanent form. It appears that John Kemble had sat very late at one of the night potations at Norfolk House. Charles Morris had just retired, and a very small party remained in the dining-room, when His Grace of Norfolk began to deplore, somewhat pathetically, the smallness of the stipend upon which poor Charles was obliged to support his family; observing, that it was a discredit to the age, that a man, who had so long gladdened the lives of so many titled and opulent associates, should be left to struggle with the difficulties of an inadequate income at a time of life when he had no reasonable hope of augmenting it. Kemble listened with great attention to the Duke's _jeremiade_; but after a slight pause, his feelings getting the better of his deference, he broke out thus, in a tone of peculiar emphasis:--"And does your Grace sincerely lament the destitute condition of your friend, with whom you have passed so many agreeable hours? Your Grace has described that condition most feelingly. But is it possible, that the greatest Peer of the realm, luxuriating amidst the prodigalities of fortune, should lament the distress which he does not relieve? the empty phrase of benevolence--the mere breath and vapour of generous sentiment, become no man; they certainly are unworthy of your Grace.