Columbian Observer, in which some of the following Essays had originally been published." The Author's Jewel," continued he, muttering to himself. A strange title, to be sure. What can an author's jewel be, but a tattered coat, an empty purse, and a hungry stomach! But let us see! Humhum-hum!" Here the old gentleman's words died away in an indistinct muttering, as he sat attentively perusing the paper, in a kind of humming and half audible voice. I sat opposite to hin, at the other side of the room, and while he was engaged in the perusal of the pape, I took occasion to contemplate his visage; and endeavoured to discover by the indications of his countenance, the qualities of his heart and mind; and after the most mature scrutiny and reflection, set him down for a very liberal, enlightened, and dispassionate critic. Just as I had come to this conclusion, the door opened, and another gentleman entered in some haste and precipitancy; he seized the papers that were scattered about the room, with an air of eager impatience, and was searching them with an eagle's eye, when the Landlord himself ap peared. The gentleman who last entered was a young man of about eight and twenty, and from the appearance of thoughtful care that was seated on his brow, I judged him to be a student, just escaped from his study, and still intent on "Exploring ev'ry place with curious eyes." The Landlord perceiving his eagerness of research, immediately inquired his object, with an offer to assist him. "We have all the papers somewhere here, sir, sad the Landlord; which do you desire to see!" "Mr. Bronze, answered the student, I want to see the last Number of the Author's Jewel.". "I believe I do not take that paper, sir," answered the Landlord. It is an Essay not a newspaper," answered the Student. The old gentleman here looked up, and raising his eyes a little over his glasses to see the person who spoke; he said, I have just been reading the Essay you are inquiring for. Pray, sir, do you know the author?" "Not exactly, sir, answered the student. But I have my suspicions.-He is an obscure man, very little known. Yet, who is the author is a question of no importance. Whoever his, I shall very soon damn both him and his work. I have followed him up from the first number, and shall publish my criticism in a few months, unless we agree to stifle him in the birth by our silence. A mere pretender. No more Literature, or good welding in it, than in my brother Bob's common place book.” 'Then you do not like it, sir," observed the old gentleman, folding up his spectacles, and replacing them in his pocket. "Like them, sir," replied the Student, with astare in which contempt seemed mingled with a consciousness of lofty superiority. "Good heavens! like them! Why, the author, is a mere tyro; a shallow imitator; an inflated rhapsodist; a dull, prosing, ridiculous delt. He has neither beauty of style, nor justness of sentiment. His arguments are mere declamation; his description is confused and lame; his thoughts are trite and far fetched. In short, sir, I think him little better than a fool." The old gentleman smiled; put his cane to his chin, and seemed to meditate." I have heard parson Downright, speak well of them, now I recollect the thing, said the Landlord; and he is accounted a great scholar. The Doctor said, they were no common productions!" Because they are very uncommon bombast," said the Student.-I now arose, and joined the little circle in the middle of the room. "And what is your opinion," said the old gentleman addressing me? The words were sticking in my throat, but I made an effort to compose myself, and merely replied-" The title seems singular." "Yes, said the student, it is ridiculously singular, and perfectly of a piece with the whole of the subject matter." "I think, replied the old gentleman, that you must be prejudiced against the author, or perhaps envy him. I have read it with some pleasure. It seems to me to possess solidity, as well as novelty." " I envy no man, sir, said the Student. I have heard the first literary character in town, condemn this "Author's Jewel," as absolute stuff." "Then permit me to say, that he is no judge," answered a sprightly little Beau, who that moment danced into the room. I think the author an original genius; a man of great powers, and rich invention. He has fancy, wit, and who can better paint the melting scenes of soft, pathetic woe.' "Oh yes, paint scenes of misery, till laughter holds both her sides," said the Student, indulging in an immoderate burst of affected mirth, at what he conceived the smartness of his own wit, but in which no one joined him. "If you will write me fifty numbers, said the old gentleman, addressing the Student, possessing an equal degree of merit, to this, I will pay you handsomely for the copy-right. But I do not exactly understand the title." "I have the first number in my pocket, said the Beau, which explains it. Permit me to read it."-Here he cleared his throat in a very audiable and Orator-like style; pulled up his cravat on each side, and putting his left hand in his breeches-pocket, like a modest lawyer at the bar, he read as follows. Thou precious Jewel of th' o'erteeming head, |