if I just
hint to Your Grace that Society has claims upon you, which you cannot
refuse but with dishonour to yourself, and the contempt of those who
possess the right which you refuse to grant; a contempt which they will
not fail to bestow.

Give then to Society what it requires--a great and noble example of
_female excellence_.--Discard your present Associate;--cultivate the
more solid Graces;--exalt your character by the dignity of Virtue;--and
let continual actions of Benevolence and Generosity mark those hours
which are passing hastily away, and will never return.

Should Your Grace honour the following Poem, if it may deserve that
name, with a perusal, you will, perhaps, consider me as a visionary
Character.--Be that as it may,--I am quite awake to your Honour and
Interest in the Counsels I have given you; and if your Grace should
adopt them, you will awake also.--The Visions of Folly will vanish
away;--and your eyes will open on the real prospect of wise and
honourable days.

I am, Madam, with all due respect,

Your Grace's most sincere Friend,

And humble Servant,

* * * * *.

THE

FIRST OF APRIL.

'Twas on the Morn when _April_ doth appear,
And wets the Primrose with its maiden tear;
'Twas on the Morn when laughing FOLLY rules,
And calls her Sons around, and dubs them Fools;
Bids them be bold, some untry'd path explore,
And do such deeds as Fools ne'er did before;
'Twas on that Morn, when Fancy took her stand
Beside my couch, and, with fantastic wand,
Wav'd, from her airy cells, the Antic Train
That play their gay delusions on the brain:
And strait, methought, a rude impetuous Throng,
With noise and riot, hurried me along,
To where a sumptuous Building met my eyes,
Whose gilded turrets seem'd to dare the skies.
To every Wind it op'd an ample door,
From every Wind tumultuous thousands pour.
With these I enter'd a stupendous Hall,
The scene of some approaching festival.
O'er the wide portals, full in sight, were spread
Banners of yellow hue, bestrip'd with red,
Whereon, in golden characters, were seen:
THE ANNIVERSARY OF FOLLY'S QUEEN!
Strange motley ornaments the Building grac'd,
With every emblem of corrupted Taste.
No stately Column rose to meet the Dome,
No Sculpture borrow'd from the Arts of Rome;
No well-wrought Frieze