subject to the Bishop of the Isles, who always resided at Icolumkill, till the extinction of episcopacy in Scotland, in 1688. The bishops, both of the Isles and of Man, took the title of Episcopus. Sodorensis: which Mr. Keith derives, not from any town, but from the Greek word Zwtyp, or Saviour, because the cathedral of Icolumkill is dedicated to our Saviour. Page 175. See Mr. Robert Keith, in his New Catalogue of Bishops in Scotland, printed at Edinburgh, in quarto, anno 1755.

LETTER.

SIR,

POPE TO PRIOR.

(Returning The Conversation, a Tale.)

I CAN find nothing to be objected or amended in what you favoured me with, unless you should think the first speech you put into your own mouth a little too long. It is certainly no fault, and I don't know whether I should speak of it, but as a proof that I would, if possibly I was able, find something like a fault to shew my zeal, and to have the vanity of pretending, like Damon himself, to have advised you. Pray, accept my thanks for the sight

of them, and think me much more pleased than vain (though a little of both) to be

Your most faithful, affectionate,

Humble servant,

A. POPE.

The Duke of Bucks desires to be of our party

on Monday se'nnight.

AN IRISH INVENTORY.

AN Invent'ry of what I'm worth,
In goods, and chattels, and so forth."
A bed, the best you ever saw,
With belly-full of hay and straw;
On which an Irish prince might sleep,
With blankets warm from off the sheep.
A table next, around whose coast
The full-charg'd glass has often sail'd,
And sparkling to the sparkling toast,

Whilst love with ease the heart assail'd.
A platter thin, a large round 0,
A pot as black as any crow;
In which we bake, as well as boil,
And melt the butter into oil;
And, if occasion, make a posset:

A spigot, but we 've lost the fosset;

A spoon to dash through thick and thin;

And, best of all, a rolling-pin.

A good

A good fat hog, a cow in calf;
In cash, a guinea and a half.
A cellar stor'd with foaming beer,
And bacon all the livelong year.
A hearty welcome for a friend,
And thus my Invent'ry shall end.

THE CHAPLET.

By EDMOND SWIFT, Esq..

OH, yes, I will search through the garden with care; For Narcissa, the prime of its beauties I'll steal,

To bloom on her bosom, or twine in her hair, And each leaf, and each bud, shall an emblem conceal.

But say, simple bard, can a flower assume

The charms to Narcissa alone that belong?

In thy numbers, the pride of the garden may bloom, But its grace she surpasses, and needs not thy song.

'Tis true; yet, perhaps, she the gift will receive,
Nor deny it a place in her bosom to find;

For it seeks not to vie in the chaplet I weave,
With the grace of her form, or the charm of her

mind.

The hyacinth there shall its beauty display,

That bosom's best emblem; for poets-have sung, Twas affection's warm tear that enliven❜d the clay, Whence the sad drooping flower of tenderness sprung.

The cowslip enrob'd in her mantle of gold,

O'er the chaplet her bright bending breast shall incline; For an heart dropping blood lies conceal'd it its fold, And 't will bloom to Narcissa the emblem of mine.

And, oh! in the wreath should the myrtle presume
To intrude, and Narcissa its verdure approve,
How sweetly the chaplet 't would deck with its bloom!
But vain is my hope-'t is the emblem of love.

The lily array'd in its snowy cymar,

On her bosom shall shine, on her bosom as pure; There Truth from her diadem dropt a bright star,

And the gem with Narcissa shall ever endure.

And shall not the rose in the emblem be found,
The breast of the favourite fair to adorn ?
Ah! no for its beauty sharp perils surround,
And far from Narcissa I'd banish the thorn.

'Tis the flower of war, and its white, and its red, Have silver'd the banner, and crimson'd the shield; And sons against sires to battle have led,

And stain'd with the slaughter of brothers the field.

But the olive its leaf, more congenial, shall lend,
That bids the wild spirit of enmity cease;
And its verdure with virtue's own violet blend,

For still may her breast be the mansion of

peace

!

LETTER.

LETTER.

Sir ROGER L'ESTRANGE to Sir CHRISTOPHER

SIR,

CALTHROP.

THE late departure of my daughter from the church of England to the church of Rome, wounds the very heart of me ; for I do solemnly protest, in the presence of Almighty God, that I know nothing of it: and for your further satisfaction, I take the freedom to assure you, upon the faith of a man of honour and conscience, that, as I was born and brought up in the communion of the church of England, so I have been true to it ever since, with a firm resolution, with God's assistance, to continue in the same to my life's end,

Now, in case it shall please God, in his providence, to suffer this scandal to be reserved upon my memory when I am dead; and you make use, I beseech 1 you, of this paper in my justification, which I deliver, as a sacred truth so help

me God.

ROGER L'ESTRANGE.