SOUTHERN AND THE DUKE OF ARGYLE.

SOUTHERN once wrote a dedication to John Duke of Argyle. It was shown to his grace, in manuscript, and he objected to one part, as too complimentary; to another, as inelegant in the construction; and to another, as inapplicable to the subject. On this occasion, the poet

wrote the following stanzas:

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'Argyle, his praise, when Southern wrote,

First struck out this, and then, that thought;

Said, this was flattery, that a fault:

How shall the bard contrive?

My lord, consider what you do;
He'll lose his pains, and verses too;
For if the lines will not fit you,
They'll serve no man alive."

PUTTENHAM.

PUTTENHAM, with his versifying pen, has drawn a portrait of Queen Elizabeth; and as she was, in her estimation, as beautiful as her ill-fated rival, Mary Queen of Scots, and as the poet was upon Elizabeth's pension list, he, doubtless, held up a deceitful mirror, and forbore to give the least inuendo whether her

charms were natural or artificial. This spe

cimen will suffice.

"Two lips wrought out of rubie rocke,
Like leaves to shut and to unlock,
As portall door in prince's chamber,
A golden tongue in mouth of amber.
Her bosom, sleek as Paris plaster,
Held up two balls of alabaster."

CREBILLON, AND THE RAT.

CREBILLON, the celebrated French poet, wrote a novel entitled " Tanzai," and was sent for confinement to the castle of Vincennes. The first night of his imprisonment, he had scarcely fallen asleep, when he suddenly felt something warm and hairy in his bed. Supposing it to be a cat, he drove the animal away and went to sleep again. Being fond of cats, he was sorry, the next morning, that he had driven the animal away; and hoped that it might yet afford him some amusement in his solitude. In vain did he hunt in every corner for the supposed cat. "If she return," thought he, "I will give her a better reception." At noon, when he was eating his frugal repast, he perceived, at some distance, a creature sitting, like a monkey, on its hind legs, and looking steadfastly

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at him. The room, like others of the same kind, was very dark. Crebillon took the visitor to be the wished-for cat, and held out some victuals to invite the animal, which drew near, when, to his extreme surprise, he discovered it to be a well-fed rat, of prodigious size. Having a great antipathy to rats, he gave a loud shriek and his unwelcome guest instantly disappeared. The jailor being drawn to the place by the noise, laughed, and told Crebillon that the last inmate of the apartment had made the rat, when quite young, so tame that it always partook of his repast, and even slept in his bed. "I was so pleased with it," continued the jailor, "that I tried to make the fellow familiar with myself, and you shall see whether I have succeeded;" so saying, he laid a piece of meat upon his hand, calling "Raton! Raton! come out, my little friend!" Raton immediately put forth his head, and seeing his well-known benefactor, jumped upon his hand, and there ate the meat offered to him. "From that moment," said Crebillon, relating the story to his friends, "Raton was my constant companion: he was restored to the possession of all the rights which he had enjoyed

under the protection of my predecessor, except sharing my bed; and, on my departure, I was desirous of taking him with me to Paris, but the jailor protested against it. Nay, I cannot deny that I parted from Raton with tears in my eyes."

BUTLER'S CHARACTER OF AN EPIGRAMMATIST.

AN epigrammatist is a poet of small wares, whose muse is short-winded, and quickly out of breath. She flies like a goose, that is no sooner upon the wing, but down again. He was originally one of those authors that used to write upon white walls, from whence his works being collected and put together, pass in the world, like single money, among those who deal in small matters. His wit is like fire in a flint, that is nothing while it is in, and nothing again as soon as it is out.

He is a kind of vagabond writer, that is never out of his way, for nothing is beside the purpose with him, that purposes none at all. His works are like a running banquet, that have much variety but little of a sort; for he deals in nothing but scraps and parcels, like a tailor's broker.

VOLTAIRE, AND THE EARL OF PETERBOROUGH.

VOLTAIRE was employed by that eccentric great man, the famous Earl of Peterborough, to write some considerable work. His Lordship supplied the money whenever importuned by Voltaire, then under his roof for that purpose, and rather impatiently waited for its completion, urging Voltaire to expedite the publication, who replied, that booksellers and printers were dilatory.

The bookseller employed by Voltaire, having frequently demanded from him more money, his constant reply was, that Lord Peterborough could not be prevailed upon to advance more until the completion of the work; for which event, Voltaire, as it should seem, was in no great haste. The bookseller, at length, began to suspect Monsieur de Voltaire, and determined on making a personal application to the Earl. He, accordingly set out in a stage coach, and arrived at his Lordship's, in the afternoon. After dining, the Earl, and two or three gentlemen who had dined with him, walked in the garden, when a servant came to announce that Mr. wanted an interview with his Lordship, who immediately said, "Shew