Then, lady, call it not a "_selfish_ strain,"
Thy supplicating wish to "come again."
Deem not the "village inn" "no fitting place"
To greet congenial feeling face to face;
To learn that genius no distinction knows.
But doats upon the meanest flower that blows;
Where e'en thy friends might drop their title's claim,
Forgetting honoured race and ancient name;
Where round your souls the flowers of song might twine,
Lost in the rapture of the bard's design.
* * H.
* * * * *
RETROSPECTIVE GLEANINGS.
* * * * *
TOUCHING FOR THE CURE OF THE KING'S EVIL.
(_For the Mirror_.)
The author of a treatise on this subject, tells the following anecdote,
which may in some degree account for the numbers registered at
Whitehall, (who were _touched_) which were from the year 1660 to 1664
inclusive, a period of five years, 23,601; and from May 1667 to May
1684, 68,506; viz. an old man who was witness in a cause, had by his
residence fixed the time of a fact, by Queen Anne having been at Oxford,
and _touched_ him while a child, for the cure of the evil.
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