The book is entitled “The Private Libraries of Philadelphia,” and describes the curious Bibliographical collection made by Mr. George W. Childs, of that city. This catalogue is by Mr. F. W. Robinson, and printed by Collins, of Philadelphia, in 1883. Mention in it is made of a six volume edition of Lord Byron’s works presented to Mr. Childs by John Murray, the publisher. In the first volume of this set is inserted a copy of Wordsworth’s poem _Peter Bell_, a poem for which Lord Byron, who generally disliked Wordsworth’s poetry, had a special aversion, and in this copy he had scribbled on the margin a parody of the commencement of the poem. This parody has not hitherto been published in England. Wordsworth’s _Peter Bell_ commences thus: Rydal Mount, April 7, 1819. PROLOGUE. There’s something in a flying horse, There’s something in a huge balloon: But through the clouds I’ll never float, Until I have a little boat, Whose shape is like the crescent moon. And now _I have_ a little boat, In shape a very crescent moon:―― Fast through the clouds my boat can sail, But if perchance your faith should fail, Look up――and you shall see me soon! Lord Byron’s disgust is expressed in these lines: Ravenna, 22 March, 1820. EPILOGUE. There’s something in a stupid ass; And something in a heavy dunce; But never since I went to school I heard or saw so damned a fool As William Wordsworth is for once. And now I’ve seen so great a fool As William Wordsworth is for once; I really wish that Peter Bell And he who wrote it, were in hell, For writing nonsense for the nonce. I saw the “light in ninety-eight,” Sweet Babe of one-and-twenty years! And then he gave it to the nation, And deems himself of Shakspeare’s Peers. He gives the perfect works to light! William Wordsworth――if I might advise: Content you with the praise you get, From Sir George Beaumont, Baronet, And with your place in the Excise. ――――:o:―――― A MOOD OF MY OWN MIND. Much grieved am I in spirit by the news of this day’s post, Which tells me of the devil to pay with the paper money host: ’Tis feared that out of all their mass of promises to pay, The devil alone will get his due: he’ll take them at his day. This the first verse of one of the _Paper Money Lyrics_ (in imitation of William Wordsworth) written by T. L. Peacock. The poem will be found in the third Volume of _The Works of Thomas Love Peacock_. London. R. Bentley & Son, 1875. A great many parodies of Wordsworth are to be found in books published forty or fifty years ago, but they are, for the most part, dull and uninteresting, a few of the best only need be enumerated. _Old Cumberland Pedlar._ In “Warreniana.” By W. F. Deacon. Longman & Co., London. 1824.