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.”

[Illustration: THE RACE OF FORTUNE.]

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.”

[Illustration]

[Illustration: EXPLANATION.--_Time_ is on the _Wing_, and _Flies_ to share in _Fortune’s Favours_, 14^{th} of June.--Behold her _Treasures unlocked_.]