Southey is not generally amatory in his humour, and therefore we appreciate the more the following effusions, which he facetiously attributes to Abel Shufflebottom. The gentleman obtained Delia's pocket-handkerchief, and celebrates the acquisition in the following strain-- "'Tis mine! what accents can my joy declare? Blest be the pressure of the thronging rout, Blest be the hand, so hasty, of my fair, And left the tempting corner hanging out! "I envy not the joy the pilgrim feels, After long travel to some distant shrine, When at the relic of his saint he kneels, For Delia's pocket-handkerchief is mine. "When first with filching fingers I drew near, Keen hope shot tremulous through every vein, And when the finished deed removed my fear, Scarce could my bounding heart its joy contain. "What though the eighth commandment rose to mind, It only served a moment's qualm to move; For thefts like this it could not be designed, The eighth commandment was not made for love. "Here when she took the macaroons from me, She wiped her mouth to clear the crumbs so sweet, Dear napkin! Yes! she wiped her lips in thee, Lips sweeter than the macaroons she eat. "And when she took that pinch of Mocabau, That made my love so delicately sneeze, Thee to her Roman nose applied I saw, And thou art doubly dear for things like these. "No washerwoman's filthy hand shall e'er, Sweet pocket-handkerchef, thy worth profane, For thou hast touched the rubies of my fair, And I will kiss thee o'er and o'er again." In another Elegy he expatiates on the beauty of Delia's locks;-- "Happy the _friseur_ who in Delia's hair, With licensed fingers uncontrolled may rove; And happy in his death the dancing bear, Who died to make pomatum for my love. "Fine are my Delia's tresses as the threads That from the silk-worm, self-interred, proceed, Fine as the gleamy gossamer that spreads Its filmy web-work over the tangled mead. "Yet with these tresses Cupid's power elate My captive heart hath handcuffed in a chain, Strong as the cables of some huge first-rate, That bears Britannia's thunders o'er the main. "The Sylphs that round her radiant locks repair, In flowing lustre bathe their brightened wings, And elfin minstrels with assiduous care, The ringlets rob for fairy fiddlestrings." Of course Shufflebottom is tempted to another theft--a rape of the lock--for which he incurs the fair Delia's condign displeasure-- "She heard the scissors that fair lock divide, And while my heart with transport panted big, She cast a fiery frown on me, and cried, 'You stupid puppy--you have spoilt my wig.'" CHAPTER XII. Lamb--His Farewell to Tobacco--Pink Hose--On the Melancholy of Tailors--Roast Pig.