University of Virginia Library

Next morn he ask'd the child to see, And all was as it ought to be:
But, as the time was drawing on When he had settled to be gone,
It now became his anxious care The loss unlook'd for to repair
Of Punch, that dear, departed mare.
His breakfast paper told the tale, At Hyde-Park-Corner, of a sale,
Where he indulg'd the hope to find A beast of burden to his mind.
Bays, chestnuts, blacks and greys were shown,
Or for the road, or field, or town,
And one stout mare he chanc'd to see,
Which seem'd to suit him to a T:
Nay, while he on the creature gaz'd, He had its ev'ry action prais'd
By certain busy jockey buyers, Who look'd too honest to be liars.
He bade—the mare was soon his own,
The money paid, the bus'ness done,
And he in gay equestrian pride Forth from the yard was seen to ride:
But soon his sad mistake was found;
He ne'er had ask'd if she were sound.
—What was the mischief of her nature,
Or what vagary seiz'd the creature;
What trick her hinder parts assail, Or prickly branch to wound her tail,
Which stable frolic might impel, Though I suspect, I cannot tell,
But she set off at such a rate That, as he pass'd the turnpike gate,
The toll-man well nigh met his fate.
Away the hat and peruke flew, A cabbage-merchant he o'erthrew;
And while the dame was sprawling laid,
Her angry donkey kick'd and bray'd:
Nay, nought could check the wild mare's rage
But running headlong 'gainst the stage,
Which caus'd a scene of strange distress,
That language knows not to express.
Half breathless and with naked pate Syntax on his mad palfrey sat;
While she at length obey'd the reins,
Stopp'd by the shock which shook her brains.
The inner passengers alarm'd
Scream'd from affright, though none were harm'd;
While from the dickey and the roof
Was heard the loud and coarse reproof,
Mix'd with loud laugh and scoffing groan,
As the unconscious coach drove on.
The Doctor, with astonish'd air, Dismounted from the trembling mare,
And soon, alas, was taught to find Th'unwelcome secret—she was blind!
'Tis well that, for the Doctor's cost,
No limb was broke, no life was lost,
And half-a-score of shillings paid
For all the tricks that had been play'd,
The wand'ring hat and wig were sought,
Which on a poor sweep's head were brought;
Who met them on his road to town And proudly wore them as his own.
—Just in the midst of this disaster,
Pat had now haply reach'd his master.
And, with the sightless mare, they sought
The place where she had just been bought:
When Syntax loudly 'gan to preach Or rather to let forth a speech,
When he so talk'd of rogues and cheating,
That certain horsewhips threaten'd beating:
But Pat stood forth and loudly vow'd, Whoever such an insult show'd
Should ne'er again speak out a threat, Or lift an angry hand to beat,
Wielding a pretty piece of wood
That would have made his promise good.
But as he still continued railing And in harsh terms the place assailing,
Nay, did in venom'd language strike Buyers and sellers all alike,
The Doctor might have found disgrace
Among the sharp-set jockey race;
But so it was, a friend was nigh To calm his rash perplexity—
The kind and friendly baronet, Whom he some years ago had met
In his first journey to the North, And known for opulence and worth,
Who shaking Syntax by the hand
Could scarce a bursting laugh command,
Thinking to what a market he Had brought his learn'd philosophy,
And in his Greek and Latin trade What a blind purchase he had made.
“My wonder there is no concealing,”
The Knight exclaim'd, “to find you dealing
In this far-fam'd equestrian college,
Where all your stores of various knowledge
Would be as useless as the stone Which you now chance to stand upon.
But now, my friend, take no more care
About this awkward, strange affair.
I am a Yorkshireman and breed For this same market many a steed,
And I, my rev'rend friend will see Into this same rascality:
I will take care that you shall find The bus'ness settled to your mind.
I therefore counsel you to pop
Your head in some Bookseller's shop,
And there your vacant time amuse
'Till four, with chit-chat or the news;
Then for my dinner pray prepare, On the south-side of Portman-Square,
And let your servant too be there.”
“Thank you, good Sir, and I obey,” Was all the Doctor had to say.
Suffice it, at the hour of four, Sir John receiv'd him at his door,
With “your foul, ugly matter's o'er.
I've swapped your grey mare for a bay, And you have not a doit to pay:
A useful, handsome, trav'lling hack, As e'er had Doctor on its back;
And if your sturdy valet's come,
He may now mount and take her home.”
Orders were given, and smiling Pat, With many a doffing of his hat,
Was quickly seen with sprightly air
Trotting the purchase 'cross the square.
Syntax, with all that powerful feeling
Which good hearts catch from gen'rous dealing,
Said little, rather he said naught;
His mind involv'd in grateful thought,
Check'd the quick impulse of his tongue,
'Till dinner o'er the glasses rung;
When Burgundy and brisk Champagne Awoke the gay convivial strain.
The Doctor told his hist'ry o'er, Sir John delighted wish'd for more,
And Time, as it was growing late, Broke up at length the tête-à-tête.
But ere the well-fed Doctor went, Contented he, his host content,
The latter did his wishes tell Before he said, good-night, farewell!
“You say that ere three days are past
You tow'rds your northern home must haste;
Now let me tell you, ere a day Is clos'd, as you pursue your way,
You will a stately mansion see, Where you must stop and ask for me.
There dwells a noble Lord, whose worth
Equals your patron's in the North,
And as a truth I'm pleas'd to tell, Whom I admire and love as well.
In him the image you will see Of noble hospitality
By whom your worth will be discern'd
And learning known, for he is learn'd.
To-morrow I this place shall seek, Where I prepare to pass a week,
And you will do yourself much wrong,
If you remain not there as long;
Nay, I myself will smooth the way, Or for your short or longer stay.
—Syntax revolving in his mind Honour and luxury combin'd,
And where his dazzled eyes would see Life in its rich embroidery,
Express'd in a most joyous measure Both his obedience and his pleasure.
—He took his leave—the hour was late
As he return'd through Gray's-Inn-Gate,
When he found Pat his vigils keeping,
In snoring and most soundly sleeping,
Who, after many a hurried shake That did th'o'erpow'ring stupor wake,
Would in exulting tones declare The virtues of the purchas'd mare,
Whom all announc'd as safe and sound,
And must have cost full three-score pound.
This and much more:—“Have done! have done!”
Syntax exclaim'd, “the clock strikes one!”
When, with the day's fatigue opprest,
His bed he sought and sunk to rest.