Whose generous children narrow'd not their hearts | Through three long weeks the taste of London lead With commerce, given alone to arms and arts. And cross St. George's Channel and the Tweed. Our boys (save those whom public schools compel To" long and short" before they're taught to spell) From frugal fathers soon imbibe by rote, "A penny saved, my lad's, a penny got." Babe of a city birth! from sixpence take Two thirds, how much will the remainder make? "A groat."-" Ah, bravo! Dick hath done the sum! He'll swell my fifty thousand to a plum."

They whose young souls receive this rust betimes,
'Tis clear, are fit for any thing but rhymes;
And Locke will tell you, that the father's right
Who hides all verses from his children's sight;
For poets (says this sage, and many more,)*
Make sad mechanics with their lyric lore;
And Delphi now, however rich of old,
Discovers little silver and less gold,
Because Parnassus, though a mount divine,
Is poor as Irus,† or an Irish mine.‡

Two objects always should the poet move,
Or one or both,-to please or to improve.
Whate'er you teach, be brief, if you design
For our remembrance your didactic line;
Redundance places memory on the rack,
For brains may be o'erloaded, like the back.

Fiction does best when taught to look like truth,
And fairy fables bubble none but youth:
Expect no credit for too wond'rous tales,
Since Jonas only springs alive from whales !

Young men with aught but elegance dispense,
Maturer years require a little sense.

To end at once:-that bard for all is fit
Who mingles well instruction with his wit;
For him reviews shall smile, for him o'erflow
The patronage of Paternoster-row ;

His book, with Longman's liberal aid, shall pass,
(Who ne'er despises books that bring him brass ;)

Romani pueri longis rationibus assem
Discunt in partes centum diducere: dicat
Filius Albini, Si de quincunce remota est
Uncia, quid superat? poterat dixisse-Triens.
Eu!

Rem poteris servare tuam. Redit uncia: quid fit?
Semis. An hæc animos ærugo et cura peculî
Cum semel imbuerit, speramus carmina fingi
Posse linenda cedro, et levi servanda cupresso?
Aut prodesse volunt, aut delectare poetæ ;
Aut simul et jucunda et idonea dicere vitæ.
Quidquid præcipies, esto brevis: ut cito dicta
Percipiant animi dociles, teneantque fideles.
Omne supervacuum pleno de pectore manat.

Ficta voluptatis causa sint proxima veris :
Nec, quodcunque volet, poscat sibi fabula credi :
Neu pranse Lamiæ vivum puerum extrahat alvo.
Centuræ seniorum agitant expertia frugis :
Celsi prætereunt austera poemata Rhamnes.
Omne tulit punctum, qui miscuit utile dulci,

But every thing has faults, nor is't unknown
That harps and fiddles often lose their tone,
And wayward voices, at their owner's call,
With all his best endeavors, only squall;
Dogs blink their cover, flints withhold their spark,
And double-barrels (damn them!) miss their mark.*

Where frequent beauties strike the reader's view
We must not quarrel for a blot or two; •
But pardon equally to books or men,
The slips of human nature, and the pen.

Yet if an author, spite of foe or friend,
Despises all advice too much to mend,
But ever twangs the same discordant string,
Give him no quarter, howsoe'er he sing.
Let Havard's† fate o'ertake him, who for once
Produced a play too dashing for a dunce:
At first none deem'd it his, but when his name
Announced the fact-what then ?-it lost its famo
Though all deplore when Milton deigns to doze,
In a long work'tis fair to steal repose.

As pictures, so shall poems be; some stand
The critic eye, and please when near at hand;
But others at a distance strike the sight;
This seeks the shade, but that demands the light
Nor dreads the connoisseur's fastidious view,
But, ten times scrutinized, is ten times new.

Parnassian pilgrims! ye whom chance or choice
Hath led to listen to the muse's voice,
Receive this counsel, and be timely wise;
Few reach the summit which before you lies.
Our church and state, our courts and camps, con

cede

Reward to very moderate heads indeed!
In these plain common sense will travel far;
All are not Erskines who mislead the bar:

Lectorem delectando pariterque monendo.
Hic meret æra liber Sosiis; hic et mare transit,
Et longum noto scriptori prorogat ævum.

Sunt delicta tamen, quibus ignovisse velimus; Nam neque chorda sonum reddit quem vult manus et mens,

Poscentique gravem persæpe remittit acutum ;
Nec semper feriet quodcunque minabitur arcus.
Verum ubi plura nitent in carmine, non ego paucis
Offendar maculis, quas aut incuria fudit,
Aut humana parum cavit natura. Quid ergo est?
Ut scriptor si peccat idem librarius usque,
Quamvis est monitus, venia caret; et citharœdus
Ridetur, chorda qui semper oberrat eadem :
Sic mihi, qui multum cessat, fit Chorilus ille,
Quem bis terque bonum cum risu miror; et idem
Indignor, quandoque bonus dormitat Homerus.
Verum operi longo fas est obrepere somnum.

Ut pictura, poesis: erit quæ, si propius stes,
Te capiet magis; et quædam, si longius abstes:
Hæc amat obscurum; volet hæc sub luce videri,
Judicis argutum quæ non formidat acumen :

• I have not the original by me, but the Italian translation runs as follows:
E una cosa a mio credere molto stravagante, che un padredesideri, e
permetta, che suo figliuolo coltiri e perfezioni questo talento." A little further
on: "Si trovano di rado nel Parnaso le miniere d'oro e d' argento."-Edu-
cazione dei Fanciulli del Signor Locke. Venetian edition.
"Iro pauperior: " this is the same beggar who boxed with Ulysses for in case of accident, I beg leave to plead so illustrious a precedent.
■ pound of kid's fry, which he lost, and half a dozen teeth besides.-See
Odyssey, p. 18.

• As Mr. Pope took the liberty of damning Homer, to whom he was under great obligations-“And Homer (damn him!) calls"—it may be presumed that any body or any thing may be damned in verse by poetical license; and,

rick.”

For the story of Billy Havard's tragedy, see "Davies's Life of Gar

I believe it is "Regulus," or "Charles the First." The moment if

‡ The Irish gold mine of Wicklow, which yields just ore enough to swear was known to be his the theatre thinned, and the bookseller refused to give the customary sum for the copyright.

by, or gild & bad guinea.

But poesy between the best and worst
No medium knows; you must be last or first;
For middling poets' miserable volumes,
Are damn'd alike by gods, and men, and columns.
and columns.

Again, my Jeffrey !-as that sound inspires,
How wakes my bosom to its wonted fires!
Fires, such as gentle Caledonians feel,

When Southrons writhe upon their critic wheel,
Or mild Eclectics,* when some, worse than Turks,
Would rob poor Faith to decorate "good works."
Such are the genial feelings thou canst claim-
My falcon flies not at ignoble game.
Mightiest of all Dunedin's beasts of chase!
For thee my Pegasus would mend his pace.
Arise, my Jeffrey! or my inkless pen
Shall never blunt its edge on meaner men;
Till thee or thine mine evil eye discerns,
Alas! I cannot "strike at wretched kernes.'
Inhuman Saxon! wilt thou then resign
A muse and heart by choice so wholly thine?
Dear, d-d contemner of my schoolboy songs,
Hast thou no vengeance for my manhood's wrongs?
If unprovoked thou once couldst bid me bleed,
Hast thou no weapon for my daring deed?
What! not a word-and am I then so low?
Wilt thou forbear, who never spared a foe?
Hast thou no wrath, or wish to give it vent?
No wits for nobles, dunces by descent?
No jest on "minors," quibbles on a name,
Nor one facetious paragraph of blame?
Is it for this on Ilion I have stood,
And thought of Homer less than Holyrood?
On shore of Euxine or Ægean sea,
My hate, untravell'd, fondly turned to thee.
Ah! let me cease! in vain my bosom burns,
From Corydon unkind Alexix† turns:
Thy rhymes are vain; thy Jeffrey then forego,
Nor woo that anger which he will not show.

Hæc placuit semel; hæc decies repetita placebit.
O major juvenum, quamvis et voce paterna
Fingeris ad rectum, et per te sapis, hoc tibi dictum
Tolle memor: certis medium et tolerabile rebus
Recte concedi: consultus juris, et actor
Causarum mediocris, abest virtute diserti
Messalæ, nec scit quantum Cascellius Aulus:
Sed tamen in pretio est: mediocribus esse poetis
Non homines, non Dì, non concessere columnæ.

What then?-Edina starves some lanker son,
To write an article thou canst not shun:
Some less fastidious Scotchman shall be found,
As bold in Billingsgate, though less renown'd.

As if at table some discordant dish
Should shock our optics, such as frogs for fish;
As oil in lieu of butter men decry,
And poppies please not in a modern pie;
If all such mixtures then be half a crime,
We must have excellence to relish rhyme.
Mere roast and boil'd no epicure invites ;
Thus poetry disgusts, or else delights.

Who shoot not flying rarely touch a gun;
Will he who swims not to the river run?
And men unpractised in exchanging knocks
Must go to Jackson ere they dare to box.
Whate'er the weapon, cudgel, fist, or foil,
None reach expertness without years of toil;
But fifty dunces can, with perfect ease,
Tag twenty thousand couplets when they please.
Why not?-shall I, thus qualified to sit
For rotten boroughs, never show my wit?
Shall I, whose fathers with the quorum sate,
And lived in freedom on a fair estate;
Who left me heir, with stables, kennels, packs,
To all their income, and to twice its tax ;
Whose form and pedigree have scarce a fault,
Shall I, I say, suppress my attic salt?

Thus think "the mob of gentlemen;" but you,
Besides all this, must have some genius too.
Be this your sober judgment, and a rule,
And print not piping hot from Southey's school,
Who (ere another Thalaba appears),

I trust will spare us for at least nine years.
And hark'ye, Southey!* pray-but don't be vext-
Burn all your last three works-and half the next.

Ut gratas inter mensas symphonia discors,
Et crassum unguentum, et Sardo cum melle

papaver

Offendunt, poterat duci quia cœna sine istis;
Sic animis natum inventumque poema juvandis,
Si paulum a summo decessit, vergit ad imum.

Ludere qui nescit, campestribus abstinet armis,
Indoctusque pilæ, discive, trochive, quiescit,
Ne spissæ risum tollant impune coronæ :
Qui nescit, versus tamen audet fingere !-Quidni ?
Liber et ingenuus præsertim census equestrem
Summam nummorum, vitioque remotus ab omni
Tu nihil invita dices faciesve Minerva :
Id tibi judicium est, ea mens; si quid tamen olim
Scripseris, in Metii descendat judicis aures,
Et patris, et nostras, nonumque prematur in

annum

Membranis intus positis. Delere licebit
Quod non edideris; nescit vox missa reverti.
Sylvestres homines sacer interpresque deorum

*To the Eclectic or Christian Reviewers I have to return thanks for the fervor of that charity which in 1809 induced them to express a hope, that a thing then published by me might lead to certain consequences, which, all though natural enough, surely came but rashly from reverend lips. I refer them to their own pages, where they congratulated themselves on the prospect of a tilt between Mr. Jeffrey and myself, from which some great good was to accrue, provided one or both were knocked on the head. Having survived two years and a half those "Elegies" which they were kindly preparing to review, I have no peculiar gusto to give them "so joyful a trouble," except, ndeed, "upon compulsion, Hal;" but if, as David says in the "Rivals," it! should come to "bloody sword and gun fighting," we "won't run, will we, Sir Lucius" I do not know what I had done to these Eclectic gentlemen: my works are their lawful perquisite, to be hewn in pieces like Agag, if it should seem meet unto them; but why they should be in such a hurry to kill Mr. Southey has lately tied another canister to his tail in the "Curse of off their author, I am ignorant. "The race is not always to the swift nor the Kehama," maugre the neglect of Madoc, &c., and has in one instance had battle to the strong; " and now, as these Christians have "smote me on one a wonderful effect. A literary friend of mine, walking out one lovely evencheek," I hold them up the other; and in return for their good wishes, give ing last summer, on the eleventh bridge of the Paddington canal, was them an opportunity of repeating them. Had any other set of men expressed alarmed by the cry of "one in jeopardy:" he rushed along, collected a such sentiments, I should have smiled, and left them to the "recording body of Irish haymakers (supping on buttermilk in an adjacent paddock,) proangel," but from the pharisees of Christianity decency might be expected. cured three rakes, one eel-spear, and a landing-net, and at last (horresc● can assure these brethren, that, publican and sinner as I am, I would not referens) pulled out-his own publisher. The unfortunate man was gone forhave treated "mine enemy's dog thus." To show them the superiority of ever, and so was a large quarto wherewith he had taken the leap, which my brotherly love, if ever the Reverend Messrs. Simeon or Ramsden should proved, on inquiry, to have been Mr. Southey's last work. Its "alacrity o be engaged in such a conflict as that in which they requested me to fall, I hope sinking" was so great that it has never since been heard of, though some hey may escape with being "winged " only, and that Heaviside may be at maintain that it is at this moment concealed at Alderman Birch's pastry and to extract the ball. premises, Cornhill. Be this as it may, the coroner's inquest brought in a ver dict of "Felo de bibliopola" against a "quarto unknown;" and circumstan

↑ lavenies alium, si te hic fastidit, Alexin.

But why this vain advice? once published, books
Can never be recall'd-from pastry cooks!
Though "Madoc,
"Madoc," with "Pucelle,"* instead of Fierce as a bride when first she feels affright,

Damn'd all their days, they posthumously thrive-
Dug up from dust, though buried when alive!
Reviews record this epidemic crime,

|Some fancied slight has roused his lurking hate,
Some folly cross'd, some jest, or some debate;
Up to his den Sir Scribbler hies, and soon

Those "Books of Martyrs" to the rage for rhyme. The gather'd gall is voided in lampoon.
Alas! wo worth the scribbler! often seen
In Morning Post or Monthly Magazine.
There lurk his earlier lays; but soon, hot-prest,
Behold a quarto !-Tarts must tell the rest.
Then leave, ye wise, the lyre's precarious chords,
To muse-mad baronets or madder lords,
Or country Crispins, now grown somewhat stale,
Twin Doric minstrels, drunk with Doric ale!
Hark to those notes, narcotically soft!
The cobbler laureats sing* to Capel Lofft!+
Till, lo! that modern Midas, as he hears,
Adds an ell growth to his egregious ears!

There lives one druid who prepares in time
'Gainst future feuds his poor revenge of rhyme;
Racks his dull memory, and his duller muse,
To publish faults which friendship should excuse.
If friendship's nothing, self-regard might teach
More polish'd usage of his parts of speech.
But what is shame, or what is aught, to him?
He vents his spleen or gratifies his whim.

Bis terque expertum frustra, delere jubebat,
Et male tornatos incudi reddere versus.
Si defendere delictum quam vertere malles,
Nullum ultra verbum, aut operam insumebat
inanem,

Perhaps at some pert.speech you've dared to frown,
Perhaps your poem may have pleased the town ;
If so, alas, 'tis nature in the man-
May heaven forgive you, for he never can!
Then be it so; and may his withering bays
Bloom fresh in satire, though they fade in praise!
While his lost songs no more shall steep and stink,
The dullest, fattest weeds on Lethe's brink,
But springing upwards from the sluggish mould,
Be (what they never were before)-be sold!
Should some rich bard, (but such a monster now,
In modern physics, we can scarce allow,)
Should some pretending scribbler of the court,
Some rhyming peer-there's plenty of the sort-
All but one poor dependent priest withdrawn,
(Ah! too regardless of his chaplain's yawn!)
Condemn the unlucky curate to recite
Their last dramatic work by candle-light,
How would the preacher turn eacn rueful leaf,
Dull as his sermons, but not half so brief!
Yet, since 'tis promised at the rector's death,
He'll risk no living for a little breath.

Quin sine rivali teque et tua solus amares.

Vir bonus et prudens versus reprehendet inertes: Culpabit duros; incomptis allinet atrum Transverso calamo signum; ambitiosa recidet Ornamenta; parum claris lucem dare coget;

* I beg Nathaniel's pardon; he is not a cobbler; it is a tailor, but begged • Here will Mr. Gifford allow me to introduce once more to his notice the Capel Lofft to sink the profession in his preface to two pair of panta-psha! | sole survivor, the "ultimus Romanorum," the last of the "Cruscanti ! ”. of cantos, which he wished the public to try on; but the sieve of a patron let it" Edwin," the "profound," by our Lady of Punishment! here he is as out, and so far saved the expense of an advertisement to his country custo- lively as in the days of "well said Baviad the Correct." I thought Fitzgerald mers.-Merry's "Moorfield's whine" was nothing to all this. The "Della had been the tail of poesy, but, alas ! he is only the penultimate. Cruscans" were people of some education, and no profession: but these Arcadians ("Arcades ambo"-bumpkins both) send out their native nonsense A FAMILIAR EPISTLE TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNINⱭ without the smallest alloy, and leave all the shoes and smallclothes in the parish unrepaired, to patch up Elegies on Enclosures and Pæans to Gunpowder. Sitting on a shopboard, they describe fields of battle, when the only blood they ever saw was shed from the finger; and an " Essay on War" is produced by the ninth part of a "poet."

“And own that nine such poets made a Tate.”

Did Nathan ever read that line of Pope? and if he did, why not take it as his motto?

†This well-meaning gentleman has spoiled some excellent shoemakers, and been accessory to the poetical undoing of many of the industrious poor. Nathaniel Bloomfield and his brother Bobby have set all Somersetshire singing; nor has the malady confined itself to one county. Pratt too, (who once was wiser,) has caught the contagion of patronage, and decoyed a poor fellow named Blackett into poetry; but he died during the operation, leaving one child and two volumes of "Remains" utterly destitute. The girl, if she don't take a poetical twist, and come forth as a shoemaking Sapphe, may do well; but the "tragedies" are as rickety as if they had been the offspring of an Earl or a Seatonian prize poet. The patrons of this poor lad are certainly answerable for his end, and it ought to be an indictable offence. But this is the least they have done, for, by a refinement of barbarity, they have made the (late) man posthumously ridiculous, by printing what he would have had sense enough never to print himself. Certes these rakers of "Remains " come under the statute against "resurrection men.' What does it signify whether a poor, dear, dead dunce is to be stuck up in Surgeons' or in Stationers' Hall? Is it so bad to unearth his bones as his blunders ? Is it not better to

gibbet his body on a heath, than his soul in an octavo ? "We know what we are, but we know not what we may be; " and it is to be hoped we never shall know, if a man who has passed through life with a sort of eclat is to find himself a mountebank on the other side of Styx, and made, like poor Joe Blackett, the laughing-stock of purgatory. The plea of publication is to provide for the child; now, might not some of this "Sutor ultra Crepidam's " friends and seducers have done a decent action without inveigling Pratt into biography? And then his inscription split into so many modicums!" To the Duchess of Somuch, the Right Hon. So-and-So, and Mrs. and Miss Somebody, these volumes are, &c., &c.”—why, this is doling out the "soft milk of dedication" in gills,-there is but a quart, and he divides it among a dozen. Why, Pratt, hadst thou not a puff left? Dost thou think six families of distinction can share this in quiet?-There is a child, a book, and a dedication; send the girl to her grace, the volume to the grocer, and the dedication to the devil.

CHRONICLE.

"What reams of paper, floods of ink,”
Do some men spoil, who never think!
And so perhaps you'll say of me,
In which your readers may agree.
Still I write on, and tell you why;
Nothing's so bad, you can't deny,
But may instruct or entertain,
Without the risk of giving pain.
And should you doubt what 1 assert,
The name of Camden 1 insert,
Who novels read, and oft maintain’d
He here and there some knowledge gain'd:
Then why not I indulge my pen,
Though I no fame or profit gain,
Yet may amuse your idle men;
Of whom, though some may be severe,
Others may read without a sneer?
Thus much premised, I next proceed
To give you what I feel my creed,
And in what follows to display
Some humors of the passing day.

ON SOME MODERN QUACKS AND REFORMISTI,

In tracing of the human mind
Through all its various courses,
Though strange, 'tis true, we often find
It knows not its resources:

And men through life assume a part

For which no talents they possess,
Yet wonder that, with all their art,
They meet no better with success.
'Tis thus we see, through life's career,
So few excel in their profession;
Whereas, would each man'but appear
In what's within his own possession,

⚫ For such every man is who clther appears to be what he is not, or strives erit in patrios cineres," &c., into a decent couplet, I will insert said couplet to be what he carn t.