Strahan, Tonson, Lintott of the times, Patron and publisher of rhymes, For thee the bard up Pindus climbs, My Murray. To thee, with hope and terror dumb, The unpledged MS. authors come; Thou printest all--and sellest some-- My Murray. Upon thy table's baize so green The last new _Quarterly_ is seen,-- But where is thy new Magazine, My Murray? Along thy sprucest bookshelves shine The works thou deemest most divine-- The 'Art of Cookery', and mine, My Murray. Tours, Travels, Essays, too, I wist, And Sermons, to thy mill bring grist; And then thou hast the 'Navy List', My Murray. And heaven forbid I should conclude Without 'the Board of Longitude', Although this narrow paper would, My Murray. G. GORDON, LORD BYRON. TO THE EDITOR OF 'THE EVERY-DAY BOOK' I like you, and your book, ingenuous Hone! In whose capacious all-embracing leaves The very marrow of tradition's shown; And all that history--much that fiction--weaves. By every sort of taste your work is graced. Vast stores of modern anecdote we find, With good old story quaintly interlaced-- The theme as various as the reader's mind. Rome's life-fraught legends you so truly paint-- Yet kindly,--that the half-turned Catholic Scarcely forbears to smile at his own Saint, And cannot curse the candid heretic. Rags, relics, witches, ghosts, fiends, crowd your page; Our father's mummeries we well-pleased behold, And, proudly conscious of a purer age, Forgive some fopperies in the times of old. Verse-honouring Phoebus, Father of bright _Days_, Must needs bestow on you both good and many, Who, building trophies of his Children's praise, Run their rich Zodiac through, not missing any. Dan Phoebus loves your book--trust me, friend Hone-- The title only errs, he bids me say: For while such art, wit, reading, there are shown, He swears, 'tis not a work of _every day_. C. LAMB. I love everything that is old: old friends, old times, old manners, old books, old wines.--O. GOLDSMITH. THE BANNATYNE CLUB, OR ONE VOLUME MORE Assist me, ye friends of Old Books and Old Wine, To sing in the praises of sage Bannatyne, Who left such a treasure of old Scottish lore As enables each age to print one volume more. One volume more, my friends, one volume more, We'll ransack old Banny for one volume more. And first, Allan Ramsay was eager to glean From Bannatyne's _Hortus_ his bright Evergreen; Two light little volumes (intended for four) Still leave us the task to print one volume more. One volume more, &c.