While the jack, trout, or barbel, effects its escape Thro' the gut or silk line being rotten.

Therefore let the steel point be set truly and round,
That the finest of strokes may be even and sound,
Flowing glibly where fancy would lead 'em.
But alas! for the needle that fetters the hand,
And forbids eyen sketches of Liberty's land
To be drawn with the requisite freedom!

Oh! the botches I've seen by a tool of the sort, Rather hitching than etching, and making, in short, Such stiff, crabbed, and angular scratches, That the figures seem'd statues or mummies from tombs,

While the trees were as rigid as bundles of brooms, And the herbage like bunches of matches!

The stiff clouds as if carefully iron'd and starch'd, While a cast-iron bridge, meant for wooden, o'erarch'd

Something more like a road than a river. Prythee, who in such characteristics could see Any trace of the beautiful land of the freeThe Free-Mason-Free-Trader-Free-Liver!

But prepared by a hand that is skilful and nice, The fine point glides along like a skate on the ice, At the will of the Gentle Designer,

Who impelling the needle just presses so much,

That each line of her labour the copper may touch, As if done by a penny-a-liner.

And behold! how the fast-growing images gleam!
Like the sparkles of gold in a sunshiny stream,
Till perplex'd by the glittering issue,
You repine for a light of a tenderer kind—
And in choosing a substance for making a blind,
Do not sneeze at the paper call'd tissue.

For, subdued by the sheet so transparent and white,
Your design will appear in a soberer light,
And reveal its defects on inspection,
Just as Glory achieved, or political scheme,
And some more of our dazzling performances seem
Not so bright on a cooler reflection.

So the juvenile Poet with ecstasy views [Muse His first verses, and dreams that the songs of his

Are as brilliant as Moore's and as tenderTill some critical sheet scans the faulty design, And alas! takes the shine out of every line

That had form'd such a vision of splendour.

Certain objects, however, may come in
your sketch,
Which, design'd by a hand unaccustom'd to etch,
With a luckless result may be branded;
Wherefore add this particular rule to your code,
Let all vehicles take the wrong side of the road,
And man, woman, and child, be left-handed.

Yet regard not the awkward appearance with doubt,
But remember how often mere blessings fall out,
That at first seem'd no better than curses;
So, till things take a turn, live in hope, and depend
That whatever is wrong will come right in the end.
And console you for all your reverses.

But of errors why speak, when for beauty and
truth

Your free, spirited Etching is worthy, in sooth,
Of that Club (may all honour betide it!)
Which, tho' dealing in copper, by genius and taste,
Has accomplish'd a service of plate not disgraced
By the work of a Goldsmith beside it!*

So your sketch superficially drawn on the plate,
It becomes you to fix in a permanent state,
Which involves a precise operation,

With a keen biting fluid, which eating its way—
As in other professions is common they say—
Has attain'd an artistical station.

And it's, oh! that some splenetic folks I could name
If they must deal in acids would use but the same,
In such innocent graphical labours!

In the place of the virulent spirit wherewith—
Like the polecat, the weasel, and things of that
kith-

They keep biting the backs of their neighbours!

* The Deserted Village. Illustrated by the Etching Club.

But beforehand, with wax or the shoemaker's

pitch,

You must build a neat dyke round the margin, in which

You may pour the dilute aquafortis.

For if raw, like a dram, it will shock you to trace, Your design with a horrible froth on its face,

Like a wretch in articulo mortis.

Like a wretch in the pangs that too many endure,
From the use of strong waters, without any pure,
A vile practice, most sad and improper!
For, from painful examples, this warning is found,
That the raw burning spirit will take up the ground,
In the churchyard, as well as on copper!

But the Acid has duly been lower'd, and bites
Only just where the visible metal invites,

Like a nature inclined to meet troubles;
And behold! as each slender and glittering line
Effervesces, you trace the completed design
In an elegant bead-work of bubbles!

And yet, constantly, secretly, eating its way,
The shrewd acid is making the substance its prey,
Like some sorrow beyond inquisition,

Which is gnawing the heart and the brain all the while

That the face is illumined by its cheerfullest smile, And the wit is in bright ebullition.

But still stealthily feeding, the treacherous stuff
Has corroded and deepened some portions enough-
The pure sky, and the water so placid-
And these tenderer tints to defend from attack,
With some turpentine, varnish, and sooty lamp-
You must stop out the ferreting acid. [black

But before with the varnishing brush you proceed,
Let the plate with cold water be thoroughly freed
From the other less innocent liquor-
After which, on whatever you want to protect,
Put a coat that will act to that very effect,

Like the black one that hangs on the Vicar.

Then the varnish well dried-urge the biting again, But how long at its meal the eau forte may remain, Time and practice alone can determine :

But of course not so long that the Mountain, and Mill,

The rude Bridge, and the Figures, whatever you will,

Are as black as the spots on your ermine.

It is true, none the less, that a dark-looking scrap, With a sort of Blackheath, and Black Forest, mayhap,

Is considered as rather Rembrandty;

And that very black cattle, and very black sheep, A black dog, and a shepherd as black as a sweep Are the pets of some great Dilettante.