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What then ? the self-same blunder Pope has got, Each spurs his jaded Pegasus apace,
And careless Dryden-Ay, but Pye has not: And rhyme and blank maintain an equal race;
Indeed !-'tis granted, faith but what care I? Sonnets on sonnets crowd, and ode on ode,
Better to err with Pope, than shine with Pye.

And tales of terror jostle on the road;

Immeasurable measures move along; Time was, ere yet in these degenerate days

For simpering folly loves a varied song, Ignoble themes obtain d mistaken praise,

To strange mysterious dulness still the friend, When sense and wit with poésy allied,

Admires the strain she cannot comprehend. No fabled graces, flourish'd side by side;

Thus lays of minstrels—may they be the last ! From the same fount their inspiration drew,

On half-strung harps whine mournful to the blast ; And, rear'd by taste, bloom'd fairer as they grew.

While mountain spirits prate to river sprites, Then, in this happy isle, a Pope's pure strain That dames may listen to the sound at nights; Sought the rapt soul to charm, nor sought in vain;

And goblin brats, of Gilpin Horner's brood,+ A polislı'd nation's praise aspired to claim,

Decoy young border nobles through the wood, And raised the people's, as the poet's fame.

And skip at every step, Lord knows how high, Like him great Dryden pour'd the tide of song,

And frighten foolish babes, the Lord knows why i In streain less smooth, indeed, yet doubly strong While high-born ladies in their magic cell, Then Congreve's* scenes could cheer, or Otway'st

Forbidding knights to read who cannot spell, melt

Despatch a courier to a wizard's grave,
For nature then an English audience felt.

And fight with honest men to shield a knave.
But why these nanies, or greater still, retrace,
When all to feebler bards resign their place ?

Next view in state, proud prancing on liis roan,
Yet to such times our lingering looks are cast, The golden-crested haughty Mármioni,
When taste and reason with those times are past. Now forging scrolls, now foremost in tlie fight,
Now look around, and turn each trifling page, Not quite a felon, yet but lialf a knight,
Survey the precious works that please the age; The gibbet or the field prepared to grace;
This truth at least let satire's self allow.

A mighty mixture of the great and base. No dearth of bards can be complaind of now. And think'st thou, Scott ! by vain conceit perchance, The loaded press beneath her labour groans, On public taste to foist thy stale romance, And printer's devils shake their weary bones ; Though Murray with his Milier may combine While Southey's epics cram the creaking shelves, To yield thy muse just half-a-crown per line? And Little'st lyrics shine in hot-press'd twelves. No! when the sons of song descend to trade, Thus saith the preacher: 'Nought beneath the sun Their bays are sear, their former laurels fade. Is new;'yet still froin chiange to change we run: Let such forego the poet's sacred name, What varied wonders tempt us as they pass!

Who rack their brains for lucre, not for fame : The cow.pox, tractors, galvanism, and


Low may they sink to merited contempt,
In turns appear, to make the vulgar stare,

And scorn remunerate the mean attempt!
Till the swoll'n bubble bursts-and all is air !
Nor less new schools of Poetry arise,
Where dull pretenders grapple for the prize :

* See the lay of the Last Minstrel, passim. Never O'er taste awhile these pseudo-bards prevail :

was any plan so incongruous and absurd as the ground

work of this production. The entrance of Thunder Each country book-club bows the knee to Baal,

and Lightning prologuizing to Bayes Tragedy, unAnd, hurling lawful genius from the throne, fortunately takes away the merit of originality from Erects a shrine and idol of its own;

the dialogue between Messieurs the Spirits of Flood

and Fell in tlie first canto. Then we have the ansable Some leaden calf-but whom it matters not,

William of Deloraine, a stark mosstrooper,' videlicet, Froin soaring Southey down to grovelling Stott. a happy conipound of poacher, sheep-stealer, and Behold I in various throngs the scribbling crew,

highwayman.. The propriety of his magical lady's in

junction not to read can only be equalled by his For notice eager, pass in long review:

candid acknowledgınent of his independence of the

trammels of spelling, although, to use his own elegant • Dramatist; author of Love for Love, etc. etc. phrase, ''twas his neck-verse at Harribee,' 1.c. the † A dramatist; the author of T'anice Preserved, gallows. etc. etc.

+ The biography of Gilpin Horner, and the marA T. Moore, who published at first under the name vellous pedestrian page, who travelled twice as fast of Thomas Little,

as his inaster's horse, without the aid of seven-leaguel Eccles. i.

boots, are chefs-d'ouvre in the improvement of taste. Stott, better known in the Morning Post by the For incident we have the invisible, but by no means name of Hafiz. This person is at present the most sparing, box on the ear bestowed on the page, and profound explorer of the bathos. I remember, when the entrance of a knight and charger into the castle, the reigning family left Portugal, a special ode of under the very natuial disguise of a wain of hay. Master Stoit's beginning thus (Stott loquitur quoad Marmion, the hero of the latter romance, is exactly Hibernia):

what William of Deloraine would have been, had he Princely offspring of Braganza.

been able to read and write. The poein was manuErin greets thee with a stanza,' etc. factured for Messrs. Constable, Murray, and Miller. Also a sonnet to Rats, well worthy of the subject, and worshipful booksellers, in consideration of the receipt a most thundering ode, commencing as follows: of a sum of money; and truly, considering the inspiraOh for a lay! loud as the surge

tion, it is a very creditable production. "If Mr Scott That lashes Lapland's sounding shore ! will write for hire, let him do his best for his paymas. Lord have inercy on us ! the•Lay of the Last Minstrel ters, but not disgrace his genius, which

is undoubtedly was nothing to this.

great, by a repetition of black-letter ballad imitations,

Such be their meed, such still the just reward Ó: Southey ! Southey ! cease thy varied song !* Of prostituted inuse and hireling bard !

A bard may chant too often and too long : For this we spurn Apollo's venal son,

As thou art strong in verse, in inercy spare ! And bid a long 'good-night to Marmion.'*

A fourth, alas, were more than we could bear.

But if, in spite of all the world can say, These are the themes that claim our plaudits

Thou still wilt verseward plod thy weary way; now;

If still in Berkley ballads most uncivil, These are the bards to whom the muse must bow;

Thou wilt devote old women to the devil,+ While Milton, Dryden, Pope, alike forgot,

The babe unborn thy dread intent may rue : Resign their hallow'd bays to Walter Scot:.

"God help thee,' Southey, and thy readers too.: The time has been, when yet the muse was

Next comes the dull disciple of thy school, young,

That mild apostate froin poetic rule, When Homer swept the lyre, and Maro sung,

The simple Wordsworth, framer of a lay An epic scarce ten centuries could claim,

As soft as evening in his favourite May, While awe-struck nations hail'd the magic name :

Who warns his friend 'to shake off toil and trouble, The work of each immortal bard appears

And quit his books, for fear of growing double;' The single wonder of a thousand years.t

Who, both by precept and example, shows Empires have moulder'd from the face of earth,

That prose is verse, and verse is merely prose; Tongues have expired with those who gave them

Convincing all, by demonstration plain, birth,

Poetic souls delight in prose insane; Without the glory such a strain can give,

And Christmas stories tortured into rhyme As even in ruin bids the language live.

Contain the essence of the true sublime. Not so with us, though minor bards content,

Thus, when he tells the tale of Betty Foy, On one great work a life of labour spent:

The idiot mother of an idiot boy ;' With eagle pinion soaring to the skies,

A moon-struck, silly lad, who lost his way, Behold the ballad-monger Southey rise !

And, like his bard, confounded night with day ;! To him let Camoëns, Milton, Tasso yield,

So close on each pathetic part he dwells, Whose annual strains, like armies, take the field.

And each adventure so sublimely tells, First in the ranks see Joan of Arc advance,

That all who view the 'idiot in his glory,'
The scourge of England, and the boast of France !

Conceive the bard the hero of the story.
Though burnt by wicked Bedford for a witch,
Behold her statue placed in glory's niche;

Shall gentle Coleridge pass unnoticed here,
Her fetters burst, and just released froin prison, To turgid ode and tumid stanza dear?
A virgin phoenix froin her ashes risen.

Though themes of innocence amuse him best, Next see tremendous Thalaba come on,

Yet still obscurity's a welcome guest.
Arabia's monstrous, wild, and wondrous son; If Inspiration should her aid refuse
Domdaniel's dread destroyer, who o'erthrew

To him who takes a pixy for a muse,
More mad magicians than the world e'er knew.
Immortal hero! all thy foes o'ercome,

* We beg Mr. Southey's, pardon; Madoc disdains For ever reign-the rival of Tom Thumb!

the degraded title of epic.' See his preface. Why is

epic degraded ? and by whom? Certainly the late Since startled metre fled before thy face,

romaunts of Masters Cottle, Laureat Pye, Ogilvy, Well wert thou doom'd the last of all the race ! Hole, and gentle Mistress Cowley, have not exalted Well might triumphant genii bear thee hence,

the epic muse; but as Mr. Southey's poem, 'disdains Illustrious conqueror of common sense !

the appellation,' allow us to ask-Has he substituted

anything better in its stead? or must he be content to Now, last and greatest, Madoc spreads his sails, rival Sir Richard Blackmore in the quantity as well as Cacique in Mexico, and prince in Wales;

quality of his verse ?

+ See The Old Woman of Berkley, a ballad by Mr. Tells us strange tales, as other travellers do,

Southey. wherein an aged gentlewoman is carried More old than Mandeville's, and not so true.

away by Beelzebub on a high trotting horse.'

The last line, 'God help thee,' is an evident pla

giarism from the 'Anti-Jacobin' to Mr. Southey, on * Good-night to Marmion'-the pathetic and also his Dactylics. God help thee, silly one. -Poetry of prophetic exclamation of Henry Blount, Esquire, on the 'Anti-Jacobin,' page 23. ihe death of honest Marmion.

ý Lyrical Ballads, page 4. --The Tables Turned, + As the Odyssey is so closely connected with the Stanza 1. story of the Niad, they may almost be classed as one • Up, up, my friend, and clear your looks, grand historical poem. in alluding to Milton and Why all this toil and trouble ? Tasso, we consider the Paradise Lost and Gier: siz

Up, up, my friend, and quit your books, lemme Liberatır as their standard efforts, since Or surely you'll grow double.' neither the Jerusalem Conquered of the Italian, nor | Mr. W., in his preface, labours hard to prove that the Paradise Regained of the English bard, obtained prose and verse are much the same: and certainly his a proportionate celebrity to their former poems. precepts and practice are strictly conformable : Query: Which of Mr. Southey's will survive ?

And thus to Betty's question he I Thalaba, Mr. So they's second poem, is written Made answer, like a traveller bold, in open detiance of precedent and poetry. Mr. S. The cock did crow to-whoo, to-whoo, wished to produce something novel, and succeeded to And the sun did shine so cold.' etc. etc.miracle. Foan of Arc was marvellous enough, but

Lyrical Ballads, page 129. laba was one of those poems which,' in the 1 Coleridge's Poems, page ir, Songs of the Pixies, s of Porson, 'will be read when Homer and i.e. Devonshire fairies; p. 42, we have Lines to a iri forgotten, but not till then,'

Young Lady ; and p. 52, Lines to a voin 4ss,

Yet none in lofty numbers can surpass

Whether he spin his comedies in rhyme, The bard who soars to elegize an ass.

Or scrawl, as Wood and Barclay walk, gainst tiine, How well the subject suits his noble mind,

His style in youth or age is still the same, “A fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind.' For ever feeble and for ever tame.

Triumphant first see Temper's Triumphs shine! Oh! wonder-working Lewis ! monk, or bard,

At least I'm sure they triumph d over mine. Who fain wouldst make Parnassus a churchyard ! of Music's Triumphs all who read may swear, Lo! wreaths of yew, not laurel, bind thy brow,

That luckless music never triumph'd there.*
Thy muse a sprite, Apollo's sexton thou !
Whether on ancient tombs thou tak'st thy stand,

Moravians, rise : bestow some meet reward By gibbering spectres hail'd, thy kindred band ;

On dull devotion-LO! the Sabbath bard, Or tracest chaste descriptions on thy page,

Sepulchral Grahame, pours his notes sublime To please the females of our modest age;

In mangled prose, nor c'en aspires to rhyme; All hail, M.P. !* from whose infernal brain

Breaks into blank the Gospel of St. Luke, Thin-sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train ;

And boldly pilfers from the Pentateuch ; At whose command 'grim women'throng in crowds,

And, undisturbed by conscientious qualms, And kings of fire, of water, and of clouds,

Perverts the Prophets, and purloins the Psalms. With small grey men,'' wild yagers,'and what not,

Hail, Sympathy! thy soft idea brings To crown with honour thee and Walter Scott; A thousand visions of a thousand things, Again, all hail! if tales like thine may please, And shows, dissolved in thine own melting tears, St. Luke alone can vanquish the disease ;

The maudlin prince of mournful sonneteers. Even Satan's self with thee might dread to dwell, Ard art thou not their prince, harmonious Bowles ! And in thy skull discern a deeper hell.

Thou first, great oracle of tender souls:

Whether in sighing winds thou seek'st relief, Who in soft guise, surrounded by a choir

Or consolation in a yellow leaf; Of virgins melting, not to Vesta's fire,

Whether thy muse most lamentably tells With sparkling eyes, and cheek by passion flushid,

What merry sounds proceed from Oxford bells ;! Strikes his wild lyre, whilst listening dames are

Or, still in bells delighting, finds a friend hush'd ?

In every chime that jingled from Ostend; 'Tis Little ! young Catullus of his day,

Ah! how much juster were thy muse's hap, As sweet, but as immoral, in his lay!

If to thy bells thou wouldst but add a cap! Grieved to condemn, the muse must still be just,

Delightful Bowles I still blessing and still blest, Nor spare melodious advocates of lust.

All love thy strain, but children like it best. Pure is the flame which o'er her altar burns ;

'Tis thine, with gentle Little's moral song, From grosser incense with disgust she turns:

To soothe the mania of the amorous throng ! Yet kind to youth, this expiation o'er,

With thee our nursery damsels shed their tears, She bids thee .mend thy line and sin no more.'

Ere miss as yet completes her infant years ; For thee, translator of the tinsel song,

But in her teens thy whining powers are vainTo whom such glittering ornaments belong,

She quits poor Bowles for Little's purer strain, Hibernian Strangford ! with thine eyes of blue,t

Now to soft themes thou scorest to confine And boasted locks of red or auburn hue,

The lofty numbers of a harp like thine ; Whose plaintive strain each love-sick miss admires,

• Awake a louder and a loftier strain,'$ And o'er harmonious fustian half expires,

Such as none heard before, or will again! Learn, if thou canst, to yield thine author's sense,

Where all discoveries jumbled from the flood, Nor vend thy sonnets on a false pretence.

Since first the leaky ark reposed in mud,
Think'st thou to gain thy verse a higher place,
By dressing Camoëns in a suit of lace ?!

* Hayley's two most notorious verse productions are

Triumphs of Temper and Triumphs of Music. He Mend, Strangford ! mend thy morals and thy taste; has also written much comedy in rhyine, cpistles, etc, Be warm, but pure; be amorous, but be chaste; etc. As he is rather an elegant writer of notes and Cease to deceive; thy pilfer'd harp restore,

biography, let us recommend Pope's advice to Wy.

cherley to Mr. H.'s consideration, viz. to convert his Nor teach the Lusian bard to copy Moore. poetry into prose,' which may easily be done by taking

away the final syllable of each couplet. In many marble-cover'd volumes view

+ Mr. Grahame has poured forth two volumes of Hayley, in vain attempting something new; cant, under the name Sabbath Walks and Biblical


See Bowles's Sonnets, etc.--Sonnet to Oxford, and • For every one knows little Matt's an M.P :-See Stanzas on hearing the Beils of Ostend. a Poem to Mr. Lewis, in the Statesman, supposed to

Awake a louder, etc. etc., is the first line in be written by Mr. Jekyll.

Bowles's Spirit of Discovery, a very spirited and + The reader who may wish for an explanation of pretty dwarf epic. Among other exquisite lines we this, may refer to Strangford's Camoëns, p. 127, note have the following:

A kiss to page 56, or to the last page of the Edinburgh Re. view, of Strangford's Camoëns.

Stole on the list ning silence, never yet It is also to be remarked, that the things given to Here heard ; they trembled even as if the power,' etc. the public as Poems of Camoëns, are no more to be That is, the woods of Madeira trembled to a kiss, found in the original Portuguese than in the Song of very much astonished, as well they might re, at such Solomon).

Ja phenomenon,

By more or less, are sung in every book,

Oh, Amos Cottle ! for a moment think Froin Captain Noah down to Captain Cook. What meagre profits spring from pen and ink ! Nor this alone ; but, pausing on the road,

When thus devoted to poetic drealns, The bard sighs fortli a gentle episode ;*

Who will peruse thy prostituted reams! And gravely tells-attend, each beauteous miss - Oh, pen perverted ! paper misapplied ! When first Madeira trembled to a kiss.

Had Cottle still adorn'd the counter's side, Bowles ! in thy memory let this precept dwell, Bent o'er the desk, or, born to useful toils, Stick to thy sonnets, man !-at least they sell. Been taught to make the paper which he soils, But if some new-born whim, or larger bribe,

Plough'd, delved, or plied the oar with lusty limb, Prompt thy crude brain, and claim thee for a scribe; He had not sung of Wales, for I of him. If chance some bard, though once by dunces fear'd, Now, prone in dust, can only be revered;

As Sisyphus against the infernal steep If Pope, whose fame and genius from the first

Rolls the huge rock, whose motions ne'er may sleep. Have foild the best of critics, needs the worst,

So up thy hill, ambrosial Richmond, heaves Do thou essay; each fault, each failing scan;

Dull Maurice all his granite weight of leaves :t The first of poets was, alas! but inan.

Smooth, solid monuments of mental pain ! Rake from each ancient dunghill ev'ry pearl,

The petrifactions of a plodding brain, Consult Lord Fanny, and confide in Curll ;+

That ere they reach the top fall lumbering back Let all the scandals of a former age

again. Perch on thy pen, and Autter o'er thy page;

With broken lyre, and cheek serenely pale, Affect a candour which thou canst not feel,

Lo! sad Alcæus wanders down the vale ; Clothe envy in the garb of honest zeal;

Though fair they rose, and might have bloom'd at Write, as if St. John's soul could still inspire,

last, And do from hate what Mallet did for hire. I

His hopes have perish'd by the north:ern blast : Oh! hadst thou lived in that congenial time,

Nipp'd in the bud by Caledonian gales,
To rave with Dennis, and with Ralph to rhyme :: His blossoms wither as the blast prevails :
Throng'd with the rest around his living head, O'er his lost works let classic Sheffield weep;
Not raised thy hoof against the lion dead;

May no rude hand disturb their early sleep !!
A meet reward had crown'd thy glorious gains,
And link'd thee to the Dunciad for thy pains.!

Yet, say! why should the bard at once resign

His claim to favour from the sacred Nine? Another epic! who inflicts again

For ever startled by the mingled howl More books of blank upon the sons of men ?

Of northern wolves, that still in darkness prowl ; Baotian Cottle, rich Bristowa's boast,

A coward brood, which inangle as they prey. Imports old stories from the Cambrian coast,

By hellish instinct all that cross their way;
And sends his goods to market-all alive!

Aged or young, the living or the dead,
Lines forty thousand, cantos twenty-five!
Fresh fish from Helicon! who'll buy? who'll buy?

No mercy find--these harpies must be fed.

Why do the injured unresisting yield The precious bargain's cheap-in faith, not I.

The calm possession of their native field? Too much in turtle Bristol's sons delight,

Why tamely thus before their fangs retreat, Too much o'er bowls of rack prolong the night! Nor hunt the bloodhounds back to Arthur's Seats If Commerce fills the purse, she clogs the brain, And Amos Cottle strikes the lyre in vain.

Health to immortal Jeffrey ! once, in naine. In him an author's luckless lot beholdt,

England could boast a judge almost the same; Condemn'd to make the books which once ho sold.

In soul so like, so merciful, yet just, Oh, Amos Cottle -Phæbus! what a name

Some think that Satan has resign d his trust,
To fill the speaking trump of future fame !

And given the spirit to the world again,
To sentence letters as he sentenced men.

With hand less mighty, but with heart as black, * The episode here alluded to is the story of Robert a Machin' and 'Anna d'Arfet,' a pair of con.

With voice as willing to decree the rack; stant lovers, who performed the kiss above mentioned, that startled the woods of Madeira.

• Mr. Cottle, Amos, Joseph, I don't know which, but † Curll is one of the heroes of the Dunciad, and was one or both, once sellers of books they did not write, a bookseller, Lord Fanny is the poetical name of and now writers of books that do not sell

, have pube Lord Hervey, author of Lines to the Imitator of lished a pair of epics: Alfred-(poor Alfred ! Pye Horace.

has been at him too!)- Alfred and the Fall or I Lord Bolingbroke hired Mallet to traduce Pope Cambria. after his decease, because the poet had retained some + Mr. Maurice hath manufactured the component copies of a work by, Lord Bolingbroke (the Patriot parts of a ponderoas quarto, upon the Beauties of King), which that splendid but malignant genius had Richmond Hill, and the like it also takes in a ordered to be destroyed.

charming view of Turnham Green, Hammersmith. Dennis the critic, and Ralph the rhymester: Brentford, Old and New, and the parts adjacent, Silence ye wolves! while Ralpli to Cynthia howls, Poor Montgomery, though praised by every Making night hideous; answer him, owls! English Review, has been bitterly reviled by the Edin.

Dunciad. burgh. After all, the bard of Sheffield is a man of See Bowies's late edition of Pope's Works, for which considerable genius; his Wanderer of Switzerland is he received 300l. : thus Mr. B. has experienced how worth a thousand Lyrical Ballads, and at least fifty much easier it is to profit by the reputation of another degraded epics.' than to elevate his own.

Arthur's Seat, the hill which overhangs Edinburg,

Bred in the courts betimes, though all that law But Caledonia's goddess hover'd u'er
As yet hath taught him is to find a flaw;

The field, and saved him from the wrath of Muure; Since well instructed in the patriot school

From either pistol snatch'd the vengeful lead, To rail at party, though a party tool,

And straight restor'd it to her favourite's head; Who knows, if chance his patrons should restore That head, with greater than magnetic power, Back to the sway they forfeited before,

Caught it, as Danaë caught the golden shower, His scribbling toils some recompense may meet, And, though the thickening dross will scarce rehne, And raise this Daniel to the judginent-seat ?

Augments its ore, and is itself a mine. Let Jeffries' shade indulge the pious hope,

• My son,' she cried, 'ne'er thirst for gore again, And greeting thus, present him with a rope :

Resign the pistol and resume the pen; • Heir to my virtues! man of equal mind!

O'er politics and poesy preside, Skill'ą to condemn as to traduce mankind,

Boast of thy country, and Britannia's guide! This cord receive, for thee reserved with carc,

For long as Albion's heedless sons submit, To wield in judgment, and at length to wear.'

Or Scottish taste decides on English wit,

So long shall last thine unınolested reign, Health to great Jeffrey ! Heaven preserve his

Nor any dare to take thy name in vain.

Behold, a chosen band shall aid thy plan, life,

And own thee chieftain of the critic clan. To flourish on the fertile shores of Fife,

First in the ranks illustrious shall be seen And guard it sacred in its future wars,

The travellid thane, Athenian Aberdeen. Since authors sometimes seek the field of Mars !

Herbert shall wield Thor's hammer,t and some Can none remember that eventful day,

times, That ever glorious, alınost fatal fray, When Little's leadless pistol met his eye,

In gratitude, thou'lt praise his rugged rhymes.

Smug Sydney, I too, thy bitter page shall seek, And Bow Street myrmidons stood laughing by **

And classic Hallam, ý much renown'd for Greek; Oh, day disastrous ! on her firm-set rock, Dunedin's castle felt a secret shock ;

Scott may perchance his name and influence lend,

And paltry Pillans) shall traduce his friend; Dark rolld the sympathetic waves of Forth,

While gay Thalia's luckless votary, Lambe, ! Low groan'd the startled whirlwinds of the north;

As he himself was damın'd, shall try to damnn. Tweed ruffled half his waves to form a tear,

Known be thy name, unbounded be thy sway! The other half pursued its calın career it

Thy Holland's banquets shall each toil repay; Arthur's steep summit nodded to its base,

While grateful Britain yields the praise she owes The surly Tolbooth scarcely kept her place.

To Holland's hirelings and to learning's foes.
The Tolbooth fele-for marble sometiines can,
On such occasions, feel as much as man--

Yet mark one caution, ere thy next Review

Spread its light wings of saffron and of blue, The Toibooth felt defrauded of his charms, If Jeffrey died, except within her arms: 1 Nay, last, not least, on that portentous morn, *His Lordship has been much abroad, is a member The sixteenth storey, where hiinself was born, of the Athenian Society, and Reviewer of Gell's Topo. His patrimonial garret, fell to ground,

graphy of Troy.

+ Mr. Herbert is a translator of Icelandic and other And pale Edina shudderd at the sound :

poetry. One of the principal pieces is a Song on the Strew'd were the streets around with milk white Recovery of Thor's Hammer: the translation is a

pleasant chant in the vulgar tongue, and endeth thus: reams,

Instead of inoney and rings, I wot, Flow'd all the Canongate with inky streams;

The laminer's bruises were her lot: This of his candour seem'd the sable dew,

Thus Odin's son his hammer got.' That of his valour show'd thc Lloodless hue;

* The Reverend Sydney Smith, the reputed author

of Peter Plymley's Letters, and sundry criticisms. And all with justice deem'd the two combined

♡ Mr. Hallam reviewed Payne Knight's Taste, and The mingled emblems of his mighty mind.

was exceedingly severe on some Greek verses therein: it was not discovered that the lines were Pindar's till the press rendered it impossible to cancel the critique,

which still stands an everlasting monument of Hallain's * In 1806, Messrs. Jeffrey and Moore met at Chalk ingenuity; Farm. The duel was prevented by the interference The said Hallam is incensed, because he is falsely of the magistracy; and, on examination, the balls of accused, seeing that he never dineth at Holland House. the pistols, like the courage of the combatants, were if this be true,"I am sorry-not for having said so, but found to have evaporated. This incident gave occa- on his account, as I understand his Lordship's feasts sion to much waggery in the daily prints.

are preferable to his compositions. If he did not re. + The Tweed here behaved with proper decorum; view Lord Holland's performance, I am glad, because it would have been highly reprehensible in the English it must haye been painful to read, and irksome to half of the river to have shown the smallest symptom praise it. If Mr. Hallam will tell me who did revie! of apprehension.

it, the real name shall find a place in the text; provided, This display of sympathy on the part of the Tol- nevertheless, the said name be of two orthodox mus cal booth (the principal prison in Edinburgh), which truly syllables, and will come into the verse; till then, Hjam seems to have been inost affected on this occasion, is must stand for want of a better. much to be commended. It was to be apprehended # Pillans was a tutor at Eton. that the many unhappy criminals executed in the front ( The Honourable G. Lamle reviewed Beresford's might have rendered the edifice more callous. She is Miseries, and is, moreovus, author of a farce enacted said to be of the softer sex, because Iter delicacy of with much applause at the Priory, Stanmore; and feeling on this day, was truly feminine, though, like damned with great expedition at Covent Garden. It most feminine impulses, perhaps a little selfish. was entitled IV'histle for It.

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