but you will now find him more communicative; and, in your ear—he is a treasure; he is in all the mysteries of government! at the bottom of every thing.

Sir Greg. Wonderful! a treasure! ay, may be so. Jenk. And, that you may have him to yourself, I'll go in search of your son.

Sir Greg. Do so, do so; Tim is without; just come from his uncle Tregegle's, at Menegizy, in Cornwall. Tim is an honest lad—do so, do so—(Exit Jenk.)-Well, Mr. Hartop, and so we have a peace, lack-a-day; long-look'd-for come at last. pray, Mr. Hartop, how many newspapers may you have printed in a week?

But

Har. About an hundred and fifty, Sir Gregory.

Sir Greg. Good now, good now! and all full, I reckon; full as an egg; nothing but news! Well, well, I shall go to London one of these days. A hundred and fifty! Wonderful! And pray, now, which do you reckon the best?

Har. Oh, Sir Gregory, they are various in their excellencies as their uses. If you are inclin'd to blacken, by a couple of lines, the reputation of a neighbour, whose character neither your nor his • whole life can possibly restore,' you may do it for two shillings in one paper; if you are displaced or disappointed of a place, a triplet against the ministry will be always well received at the head of another; and then, as a paper of morning-amusement, you have the Fool.

B

Sir Greg. The Fool! good lack! and pray who

• and what may that same fool be?

Har. Why, Sir Gregory, the author has artfully • assumed that habit, like the royal jesters of old, to ⚫ level his satire with more security to himself, and severity to others.

Sir Greg. May be so, may be so! • The Fool! ha, ha, ha! Well enough; a queer dog, and no fool, I warrant you. Killigrew; ah, I have heard 6 my grandfather talk much of that same Killigrew, • and no fool.' But what's all this to news, Mr. Hartop? Who gives us the best account of the king of Spain, and the queen of Hungary, and those great folks? Come now, you could give us a little news if you would; come now-snug!-nobody by. Good now, do; come, ever so little.

Har. Why, as you so largely contribute to the sup port of the government, it is but fair you should know what they are about. We are at present in a treaty with the Pope.

Sir Greg. With the Pope! Wonderful! Good now, good now! How, how?

Har. We are to yield him up a large track of the Terra-incognita, together with both the Needles, Scilly-rocks, and the Lizard-point, on condition that the Pretender has the government of Laputa, and the bishop of Greenland succeeds to St. Peter's chair: he being, you know, a Protestant, when possessed of the pontificals, issues out a bull, commanding all Catholics to be of his religion: they deeming the

Pope infallible, follow his directions; and then, Sir Gregory, we are all of one mind.

Sir Greg. Good lack, good lack! Rare news, rare news, rare news! Ten millions of thanks, Mr. Hartop. But might not I just hint this to Mr. Soakum, our vicar? 'twould rejoice his heart.

Har. O fie, by no means.

Sir Greg. Only a line-a little hint-Do now? Har. Well, Sir, it is difficult for me to refuse you any thing.

Sir Greg. Ten thousand thanks. Good now! the Pope-Wonderful! I'll minute it down-Both the

Needles?

Har. Ay, both.

Sir Greg. Good now; I'll minute it-the Lizardpoint-both the Needles-Scilly-rocks-bishop of Greenland-St. Peter's chair-Why then, when this is finished, we may chance to attack the great Turk, and have holy wars again, Mr. Hartop.

Har. That's part of the scheme.

Sir Greg. Ah, good now! You see I have a head! Politics have been my study many a day. Ah, if I had been in London to improve by the newspapers! They tell me Dr. Drybones is to succeed to the bishopric of Wisper.

Har. No; Doctor

Sir Greg. Indeed! I was told by my landlord at Ross, that it was between him and the dean of

Har. To my knowledge.

Sir Greg. Nay, you know best, to be sure. If it should- -Hush! here's Mr. Jenkins and son Tim-

mum!-Mr. Jenkins does not know any thing about

the treaty with the Pope?

Har. Not a word.

Sir Greg. Mum!

Enter TIM and Mr. JENKINS.

Jenk. Master Timothy is almost grown out of knowledge, Sir Gregory.

Sir Greg. Good now, good now! ay, ay; Ill weeds grow a-pace. Son Tim, Mr. Hartop; a great man, child! Mr. Hartop, son Tim.

Har. Sir, I shall be always glad to know every branch that springs from so valuable a trunk as Sir Gregory Gazette.

Sir Greg. May be so.

Har. Sir, I am glad to

Wonderful! ay, ay.

see you in Herefordshire; -Have you been long from Cornwall?

Tim. Ay, Sir; a matter of four weeks or a month, more or less.

Sir Greg. Well said, Tim. Ay, ay, ask Tim any questions, he can answer for himself. Tim, tell Mr. Hartop all the news about the elections, and the tinners, and the tides, and the roads, and the pilchards. I want a few words with my Master Jenkins. Har. You have been so long absent from your native country, that you have almost forgot it.

Tim. Yes sure. I ha' been at uncle Tregegle's a matter of twelve or a dozen year, more or less.

Har. Then I reckon you were quite impatient to see your papa and mama?

Tim. No sure, not I. Father sent for me to uncle.

-Sure Menegezy is a choice place! and I could a
stay'd there all my born days, more or less.
Har. Pray, Sir, what were your amusements?
Tim. Nan! what d'ye say?

Har. How did you divert yourself?

Tim. Oh, we ha' pastimes enow there :-we ha' bull-baiting, and cock-fighting, and fishing, and hunting, and hurling, and wrestling.

Har. The two last are sports for which that coun try is very remarkable ;—in those, I presume, you are very expert.

Tim. Nan! What?

Har. I say you are a good wrestler.

Tim. Oh, yes sure, I can wrestle well enow:-but we don't wrestle after your fashion; we ha' no tripping, fath and sole! we go all upon close hugs, or the flying mare. Will you try a fall, Master?I won't hurt you, fath and sole.

Har. We had as good not venture though. But have you left in Cornwall nothing that you regret the loss of more than hurling and wrestling?

Tim. Nan! What?

Har. No favourite she?

Tim. Arra, I coupled Favourite and Jowler together, and sure they tugg'd it all the way up. Part with Favourite! no, I thank you for nothing. You must know I nurs'd Favourite myself: uncle's huntsman was going to Mill-pond to drown all Music's puppies, so I saved she. But fath, I'll tell you a comical story; at Lanston, they both broke loose, and eat a whole loin-a'-veal, and a leg of beef: