Chapter XVIII

“A Dialogue”--“The Race of Fortune”--“The
Wish”--Enigmatical handbill.

“A DIALOGUE

_Pat._ The top of the morning to you, Judy. Where are you trotting to, my darlin’? Faith! you skip over the bogs as nately as a butterfly on a frosty morning.

_Judy._ Och! none of your blarney, Mister Pat! Don’t I know you for a deceiver? and would you be coming over me when I’m going to be made a lady of?

_Pat._ A lady, sure! And the raison, Judy?

_Judy._ Because another lady, though she’s _blind_, poor soul! has _looked_ kindly on me.

_Pat._ Good luck to her _bright eyes_! And what’s that scrap o’ paper you’re scrumpling about so in your hand?

_Judy._ It’s a charm, Pat, that the lady _gave_ me, after I _paid_ for it.

_Pat._ A charm, sure! and what’s that?

_Judy._ A small matter of a Lottery Ticket.

_Pat._ And who gave you the money, Judy!

_Judy._ A _rake_, Pat.

_Pat._ A _rake_, Judy! Oh! fie upon you!

_Judy._ A _hay-making rake_. Didn’t I save the money in the hay saison? And, och! wont I look down now upon Mrs. Maloney, the cratur, who turns her nose up at me, because she’s got a _silk_ petticoat that I belave is nothing but _worsted_? And won’t this bit o’ paper bring me a good Thousand Pounds to make these bog-trotters trimble?

_Pat._ Don’t be plucking your parataes before they are sown! May be you’ll _gain_ a _loss_, Judy.

_Judy._ And how can that be, Paddy, seeing it’s drawn a Capital?

_Pat._ You’ll be forgetting your poor Paddy, now you’re a lady.

_Judy._ Mayhap I shall, and mayhap I shan’t; but I must be trotting off for the money; and, d’ye hear, Pat? if you’d marry the _lady_, you must be after making yourself a _jintleman_;--and here’s a bit o’ paper will shew you the way.

_Pat._ A Lottery Scheme! and all on the 14th of June! I’ll be off for a Chance: for if Judy should get a husband, we’d be an awkward _pair_, the _three_ of us; and I’d be after making it a couple, by telling him a piece of my mind with a shellalagh.”

On the 14th of June Fortune’s race will begin,
_Independence_ the prize to reward those who win;
If of old Father Care you would get the _whip-hand_,
You must clap _spur_ to _boot_, and do Fortune’s command.

So equal her justice, no favour she shews;
On the first at the goal the reward she bestows;
And, as _Somebody_ must win--_Nobody_ knows who,
And _Anyone_ may, it may chance to be _you_.

For Lottery Chances then hasten away;
The 14th of June is the Fortunate Day,
At the Wealth of the Scheme, you have only to look,
To wish your name enter’d in Fortune’s _Prize-Book_.

Then _mount_ and away, ere the _race_ has begun,
You are yet in good time to partake of the fun;
The sands of Time’s hour-glass fly very fast,
Don’t be such a flat as to come in _lag last_.

“THE WISH.

A DIALOGUE
between
PETER PENURY and PAUL POSITIVE.

_Peter._ 'I’ve often wish’d that I had clear
For life Three Hundred Pounds a year.’
So sang a better bard than me,
Or all the modern progeny
Of sonnet-writing, rhyming elves,
Whose hot-press’d works should grace the shelves
Not of the learned and the wise,
But those who deal in puffs and pies.

_Paul._ Stop! Stop!--You’re running on like mad;
Stick to your point, my honest lad,
And don’t abuse the modern school,
'T has lin’d the purse of many a fool;
And _you_ would think _your_ poem fine,
If you could get a Crown a line.
These are the poets’ _golden_ days,
They write for _money_, not for _bays_.
But come; your text:--let’s know your mind,
If this good fortune you should find;
What would you do, if you had clear
For life, 'Three Hundred Pounds a year?’

_Peter._ What I would do’s another case;
Stop till this bright event takes place:
But _when_ and _how_,--I must confess,
I’m really at a loss to guess.

_Paul._ Then I’m the wisest of the two,
For if you my advice pursue,
I’ll lay a plan before your eyes,
And you may gain the wish you prize.
'_The 14th of June_,’ you here may read____

_Peter._ I’m all attention, pray proceed.

_Paul._ '_The Lott’ry draws_'--behold the Scheme,
Of universal praise the theme,
The Prizes great--the Chances cheap,
If you’d the golden harvest reap,
And thrice Three Hundred pounds per ann....

_Peter._ Enough; I see----Paul, I’m your man;
I’ll realize this vision bright,
That comes across my dazzled sight;
Let poets toil with pen and brains--
I envy not their splendid gains.
Although they get a Crown a line,
A brighter prospect now is mine;
To make it sure, this very day
I’ll place myself in Fortune’s way.”