up to the mellifluous cadence of his verse; no form but of a winged angel could vie with the airy shapes he has described. He was (to our apprehensions) rather “a creature of the element, that lived in the rainbow and played in the plighted clouds,” than an ordinary mortal. Or if he did appear, I should wish it to be as a mere vision, like one of his own pageants, and that he should pass by unquestioned like a dream or sound— ——“_That_ was Arion crown’d: So went he playing on the wat’ry plain!”’ Captain C. muttered something about Columbus, and M. C. hinted at the Wandering Jew; but the last was set aside as spurious, and the first made over to the New World. ‘I should like,’ said Miss D——, ‘to have seen Pope talking with Patty Blount; and I _have_ seen Goldsmith.’ Every one turned round to look at Miss D——, as if by so doing they too could get a sight of Goldsmith. ‘Where,’ asked a harsh croaking voice, ‘was Dr. Johnson in the years 1745–6? He did not write any thing that we know of, nor is there any account of him in Boswell during those two years. Was he in Scotland with the Pretender? He seems to have passed through the scenes in the Highlands in company with Boswell many years after “with lack-lustre eye,” yet as if they were familiar to him, or associated in his mind with interests that he durst not explain. If so, it would be an additional reason for my liking him; and I would give something to have seen him seated in the tent with the youthful Majesty of Britain, and penning the Proclamation to all true subjects and adherents of the legitimate Government.’ ‘I thought,’ said A——, turning short round upon B——, ‘that you of the Lake School did not like Pope?’—‘Not like Pope! My dear sir, you must be under a mistake—I can read him over and over for ever!’—‘Why certainly, the “Essay on Man” must be masterpiece.’—‘It may be so, but I seldom look into it.’—‘Oh! then it’s his Satires you admire?’—‘No, not his Satires, but his friendly Epistles and his compliments.’—‘Compliments! I did not know he ever made any.’—‘The finest,’ said B——, ‘that were ever paid by the wit of man. Each of them is worth an estate for life—nay, is an immortality. There is that superb one to Lord Cornbury: “Despise low joys, low gains; Disdain whatever Cornbury disdains; Be virtuous, and be happy for your pains.” ‘Was there ever more artful insinuation of idolatrous praise? And then that noble apotheosis of his friend Lord Mansfield (however little deserved), when, speaking of the House of Lords, he adds— “Conspicuous scene! another yet is nigh, (More silent far) where kings and poets lie; Where Murray (long enough his country’s pride) Shall be no more than Tully or than Hyde!” ‘And with what a fine turn of indignant flattery he addresses Lord Bolingbroke—