awoke from our trance, and found that Corinna had brought us into the Club-room, and was discussing the characters of the members with a most unwarrantable freedom of speech. Before we had time to remonstrate against this manifest breach of privilege, we found ourselves in the gallery of the House of Lords, and began to think we never should make our escape from this amusing torture. Fortunately, at this moment a freeholder of---- entered the room. One of the candidates was a friend of Corinna’s, and she hurried from us, after a thousand apologies, to learn the state of the poll. Sic nos servavit Apollo.[3] Our next companion was Sappho the Blue-stocking. We enjoyed a literary confabulation for some time, for which we beg our readers to understand we are in every way qualified. The deep stores of our reading, enlivened by the pungent readiness of our wit, are _bonâ fide_ the admiration of London as well as of Windsor belles; we beg our friends to have this in mind whenever they sit down to peruse us. But to proceed. We very shortly perceived that Sappho was enchanted with our erudition, and the manner in which we displayed it. She was particularly pleased with our critiques on “Zimmerman upon Solitude,” and was delighted by the praise we bestowed (for the first time in our life) on Southey’s “Thalaba.” We had evidently made considerable progress in her affections, when we ruined ourselves by a piece of imprudence which we have since deeply regretted. We were satirical--this satire is the devil!--we were satirical upon German literature. The lady turned up her nose, turned down her eyes, bit her lip, and looked--we cannot explain how she looked, but it was very terrific. We have since heard she is engaged in translating Klopstock’s “Messiah” into the Sanskrit.