else that overhears him; so that sometimes
you have ten or a dozen in the neighbourhood of one another, taking verse
after verse, and running on with the poem as far as their memories will
carry them."

I am, therefore, inclined to think these "improvisatri" are mere reciters
of the great Italian poets. It is probable that the persons who give us
these extraordinary accounts of Italian genius, are unacquainted with the
literature of that country, and of course cannot detect the imposition.

* * * * *

In Goldsmith's poem, entitled "Retaliation," a line occurs, which is to me
unintelligible, at least a part of it. That poet concludes his ironical
eulogium on Edmund Burke, thus:--

"In short 'twas his fate, unemployed, or in place, sir,
_To eat mutton cold_, and cut blocks with a razor."

The cutting blocks with a razor, I think is obvious enough, but, what is
meant by eating mutton cold? I should be obliged by a solution. HEN. B.

* * * * *

I'LL COME TO YOUR BALL.

_(For the Mirror.)_

I'll come to your Ball--dearest Emma,
(I had nearly forgotten to say)
Provided no awkward dilemma
Should happen to keep me away:
For I burn with impatience to see you,
All our hopes, all our joys to recall,
And you'll find I've no wishes to flee you,
When next I shall come to your Ball.

Strange men, stranger things, and strange cities
I have seen since I parted from you,
But your beauty, your love, and your wit is
A charm that has still held me true,
And tho' mighty has been the temptation,
Your image prevail'd over all,
And I still held the fond adoration
For one I must meet at the Ball.

I have knelt at the shrine of a Donna,
And languish'd for months in her train,
But still I was whisper'd by honour,
And came to my senses again,
When I thought of the vows I had plighted,
And the stars that I once used to call
As my witnesses--could I have slighted?
Her I long to behold at the Ball.

You say that my nature is altered,
"I've forgotten the how and the when,
That my voice which was best when it faltered"
Is rough by my converse with men:
Believe me that still you will find me
Of lovers the truest of all,
And the spell that has bound still shall bind me,
And I'll come, dearest girl, to your Ball.

I have waded through battle fields gory,
T