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Beware lest blundering Brougham* destroy the sale, While Reynolds vents his 'Dammes !' Poohs !' and Turn beef to bannocks, cauliflowers to kail.'

Zounds !'* Thus having said, the kilted goddess kiss'd

And commonplace and common sense confounds: Her son, and vanish'd in a Scottish mist.

While Kenny'st World, just suffer'd to proceed,

Proclaims the audience very kind indeed! Illustrious Holland! hard would be his lot,

And Beamont's pilfer'd Caratach affords His hirelings mentioned, and himself forgot! A tragedy complete in all but words ?1 Holland, with Henry Pettyt at his back,

Who but must mourn, while these are all the rage, The whipper-in and huntsman of the pack.

The degradation of our vaunted stage?
Blest be the banquets spread at Holland House, Heavens! is all sense of shame and talent gone?
Where Scotchmen feed, and critics may carouse! Have we no living bard of inerit ?-none !
Long, long beneath that hospitable roof,

Awake, George Colman! Cumberland, awake!
Shall Grub Street dine, while duns are kept aloof. Ring the alarum-bell I let folly quake!
See honest Hallam lay aside his fork,

Oh, Sheridan ! if aught can move thy pen,
Resume his pen, review his Lordship's work, Let Comedy assume her throne again;
And, grateful to the founder of the feast,

Abjure the mummery of the German schools; Declare his landlord can translate at least !

Leave new Pizarros to translating fools; Dunedin! view thy children with delight,

Give, as thy last memorial to the age, They write for food-and feed because they write: One classic drama, and reform the stage. And lest, when heated with the unusual grape, Gods ! o'er those boards shall Folly rear her head, Some glowing thoughts should to the press escape,

Where Garrick trod, and Kemble lives to tread : And tinge with red the female reader's cheek,

On those shall Farce display Buffoon'ry's mask, My lady skims the cream of each critique;

And Hook conceal his heroes in a cask! Breathes o'er the page her purity of soul,

Shall sapient managers new scenes produce Reforms each error, and refines the whole.)

From Cherry, Skeffington, and Mother Goose?

While Shakspeare, Otway, Massinger, forgot,
Now to the Drama turn-Oh! motley sight! On stalls must inoulder, or in closets rot ?
What precious scenes the wondering eyes invite! Lo! with what pomp the daily prints proclain
Puns, and a prince within a barrel pent,

The rival candidates for Attic fame!
And Dibdin's nonsense, yield complete content.** In grim array though Lewis' spectres rise,
Though now, thank Heaven, the Rosciomania's Still Skeffington and Goose divide the prize.

And sure great Skeffington must claim our praise,
And full grown actors are endured once more; For skirtless coats and skeletons of plays
Yet what avail their vain attempts to please,

Renown'd alike; whose genius ne'er confines
While British critics suffer scenes like these,

Her flight to garnish Greenwood's gay designs :
Nor sleeps with Sleeping Beauties,' but anon

In five facetious acts comes thundering on, i * Mr. Brougham, in No. xxv. of the Edinburgh Reprew, throughout the article concerning Don Pedro de While poor John Bull, bewilder'd with the scene, Cevallos, has displayed more politics than policy; Stares, wondering what the devil it can mean; many of the worthy burgesses of Edinburglı being so But as some hands applaud, a venal few ! incensed at the infamous principles it cvinces, as to have withdrawn their subscriptions,

Rather than sleep, why, John applauds it too. + I ought to apologize to the worthy deities for in

Ah! wherefore should we turn troducing a new goddess with short petticoats to their Such are we now. notice; but, alas, what was to be done? I could not To what our fathers were, unless to mourn ! say Caledonia's genius, it being well known there is no Degenerate Britonsare ye dead to shame, genius to be found from Clackmannan to Caithness; yet without supernatural agency, how was Jeffrey tol Or, kind to dulness, do you fear to blame? be saved? The national "Kelpies,' &c., are too un: Well inay the nobles of our present race

Watch each distortion of a Naldi's face; spirits of a good disposition) refused to extricate him. Well may they smile on Italy's buffoons, A goddess therefore has been called for the purpose; and great ought to be the gratitude of Jeffrey, seeing And worship Catalani's pantaloons, I it is the only communication he ever held, or is likely to hold, with anything heavenly # Marquis of Lansdowne.

* All these are favourite expressions of Mr Reynolds, Lord H. has translated some speciincns of Lope and prominent in his comedies, living and defunct, de Vega, inserted in his life of the author: both are † Author of the farce of Raising the Wind, and bepraised by his disinterested guests.

other pieces. Certain it is, her Ladyship is suspected of having Mr. T. Sheridan, the new manager of Drury Lane displayed her matchless wit in the Edinburgh Review. Theatre, stripped the tragedy of Bondun of the However that may be, we know from good authority dialogue, and exhibited the scenes as the spectacle of that the manuscripts are submitted to her perusal--no Caractacus. Was this worthy of his sire? or of himdoubt for correction.

self? In the melodrama of Tekeli, that heroic prince is Mr. Greenwood was scene-painter to Drury Lane clapt into a barrel on the stage-a new asylum for dis-Theatre. tressed heroes.

| Mr. Skeffington is the illustrious author of the ** Thomas Dibdin, author of The Cabinet, English Sleeping Beauty, and some comedies, particularly Fleet, Mother Goose, etc., and son of the great Eng. Maids and Bachelors: Baccalaurii baculo magis lish lyrist.

quam lauro digni. ++ "The performances of a child called the young Naldi and Catalani require little notice: for the Ruscius; his name was Betty,

visage of the one and the salary of the other will

Since their own drama yields no fairer trace Eaca muid may give a loose to genial thought, Of wit than punis, of humour than grimace.

Each swain may teach new systems, or be taught : Then let Ausonia, skill'd in every art

There the blithe youngster, just return'd from Spain,

Cuts the light pack, or calls the rattling main; To soften manners, but corrupt the heart, Pour her exotic follies o'er the town,

The jovial caster's set, and seven's the nick,

Or-done !-a thousand on the coming trick ! To sanction Vice, and hunt Decorum down:

If, mad with loss, existence 'gins to tire, Let wedded strumpets languish o'er Deshayes,

And all your hope or wish is to expire, And bless the promise which his form displays ;

Here's Powell's pistol ready for your life, While Gayton bounds before th' enraptured looks

And, kinder still

, a Paget for your wife ; Of hoary marquises and stripling dukes :

Fit consummation of an earthly race
Let high-born lechers eye the lively Prêsle

Begun in folly, ended in disgrace,
Twirl her light limbs, that spurn the needless veil;
Let Angiolini bare her breast of snow,

While none but menials o'er the bed of death

Wash thy red wounds, or watch thy wavering Wave the white arm, and point the pliant toe;

breath; Collini trill her love-inspiring song,

Traduced by liars, and forgot by au,
Strain her fair neck, and charin the listening throng !
Raise not your scythe, suppressors of our vice!

The mangled victim of a drunken brawl,
Reforming saints I too delicately nice!

To live like Clodius, and like Falkland fall.. By whose decrees, our sinful souls to save,

Truth! rouse soine genuine bard, and guide his No Sunday tankards foam, no barbers shave;

hand And beer undrawn, and beards unmown, display To drive this pestilence from out the land, Your holy reverence for the Sabbath-day,

E'en I-least thinking of a thoughtless throng, Or, hail at once the patron and the pile

Just skill'd to know the right and choose the wrong, Of vice and folly, Greville and Argyle !*

Freed at that age when reason's shield is lost, Where yon proud palace, Fashion's hallow'd fane,

To fight my course through passion's countless host, Spreads wide her portals for the motley train,

Whom every path of pleasure's flowery way

Has lured in turn, and all have led astray-
Behold the new Petronius of the day, t
The arbiter of pleasure and of play!

E'en I must raise my voice, e'en I must feel
There the hired eunuch, the Hesperian choir.

Such scenes, such men, destroy the public weal:

Although some kind, censorious friend will say, The melting lute, the soft lascivious lyre, The song from Italy, the step from France,

What art thou better, meddling fool, than they?'

And every brother rake will smile to see The midnight orgy, and the mazy dance,

That miracle, a moralist in me. The smile of beauty, and the flush of wine,

No matter-when some bard in virtue strong, For fops, fools, gamesters, knaves, and lords combine:

Gifford perchance, shall raise the chastening song, Each to his humour-Comus all allows;

Then sleep my pen for ever I and my voice Champagne, dice, music, or your neighbour's spouse.

Be only heard to hail him, and rejoice; Talk not to us, ye starving sons of trade!

Rejoice, and yield my feeble praise, though I of piteous ruin, which ourselves have made;

May feel the lash that Virtue must apply.
In Plenty's sunshine Fortune's minions bask,
Nor think of poverty, except en masque,

As for the smaller fry, who swarın in shoals
When for the night some lately titled ass

From silly Hafiz up to simple Bowles, Appears the beggar which his grandsire was.

Why should we call them from their dark abode, The curtain dropp'd, the gay burletta o'er,

In broad St. Giles's or in Tottenham-road? The audience take their turn upon the floor:

Or (since some men of fashion nobly dare
Now round the room the circling dow'gers sweep, To scrawl in verse) from Bond-street or the Square
Now in loose waltz the thin-clad daughters leap; If things of ton their harmless lays indite,
The first in lengthen'd line majestic swim,

Most wisely doom'd to shun the public sight,
The last display the free unfetter'd limb :
Those for Hibernia's lusty sons repair

* I knew the late Lord Fa'kland well. On Sunday With art the charms which nature could not spare;

night I beheld him presiding at his own table, in all These after husbands wing their eager flight, the honest pride of hospitality ; on Wednesday morn: Nor leave inuch mystery for the nuptial night. ing, at three o'clock, I saw stretched before me all

that remained of courage, feeling, and a host of Oh: blest retreats of infamy and ease,

passions. He was a gallant and successful officer: Where, all forgotten but the power to please,

his faults were the faults of a sailor; as such, Britons will forgive them. He died like a brave man in a

better cause she was killed in a duel]; for had he fallen enable us long to recollect these amusing vagabonds. in like manner on the deck of the frigate to which he Besides, we are still black and blue from the squeeze was just appointed, his last moments would have been on the first night of the lady's appearance in trousers. held up by his countrymen as an example to succeed• To prevent any blunder, such as mistaking a

heroes. street for a man, I beg leave to state that it is the in- + What would be the sentiments of the Persian Anstitution, and not the Duke of that name, which is acreon, Hafiz, could he rise from his splendid sepulchre here alluded to.

at Sheeraz, where he reposes with Ferdousi and Sadi, + Petronius, Arbiter elegantiarum' to Nero, 'and the oriental Homer and Catullus, and behold his name a very pretty fellow in his day,' as Mr. Congreve's assumed by one Stott of Dromore, the most impudent Old Bachelor saith.

and execrable of literary poachers for the daily prints?



What harm? In spite of every critic elf,

When some brisk youth, the tenant of a stall, Sir T. may read his stanzas to himself;

Employs a pen less pointed than his awl, Miles Andrews still his strength in couplets try, Leaves his snug shop, forsakes his store of shoes, And live in prologues, though his dramas die. St. Crispin quits, and cobbles for the muse Lords tuo are bards, such things at times befall, Heavens ! how the vulgar stare! how crowds And 'tis some praise in peers to write at all.

applaud ! Yet, did or taste or reason sway the times,

How ladies read, and literati laud ! Ah! who would take their titles with their rhymes? If chance some wicked wag should pass his jest, Roscommon! Sheffield 1 with your spirits fled, 'Tis sheer ill-nature-don't the world know best? No future laurels deck a noble head;

Genius must guide when wits admire the rhyme, No muse will cheer with renovating smile,

And Capel Lofft declares 'tis quite sublime. The paralytic puling of Carlisle.

Hear, then, ye happy sons of needless trade i The puny schoolboy and his early lay

Swains, quit the plough, resign the useless spade! Men pardon, if his follies pass away;

Lo, Burns and Bloomfield, nay, a greater far,
But who forgives the senior's ceaseless verse, Gifford was born beneath an adverse star,
Whose hairs grow hoary as his rhymes grow worse? Forsook the labours of a servile state,
What heterogeneous honours deck the peer! Stemm'd the rude storm, and triumph'd over fate:
Lord, rhymester, petit-maitre, pamplileteer !* Then why no more? if Phoebus smiled on you,
So dull in youth, so drivelling in his age,

Bloomfield, why not on brother Nathan too?
His scenes alone had damn d our sinking stage ; Him too the mania, not the muse, has seized;
But managers for once cried, “Hold, enough! Not inspiration, but a mind diseased:
Nor drugg'd their audience with the tragic stuff. And now no boor can seek his last abode.
Yet at their judgment let his Lordship laugh, No common be enclosed, without an ode.i
And case his volumes in congenial calf ;

Oh! since increased refinement deigns to smile
Yes ! doff that covering, where morocco shines, On Britain's sons, and bless our genial isle,
And hang a calf-skin on those recreant lines.t Let Poesy go forth, peryade the whole,

Alike the rustic and mechanic soul. With you, ye Druids ! rich in native lead,

Ye tuneful cobblers ! still your notes prolong, Who daily scribble for your daily bread;

Compose at once a slipper and a song; With you I war not: Gifford's heavy hand

So shall the fair your handiwork peruse, Has crush'd, without remorse, your numerous band. Your sonnets sure shall please, perhaps your shoes. On all the talents' vent your venal spleen;

May moorland weavers boast Pindaric skill,+ Want is your plea, let pity be your screen.

And tailors' lays be longer than their bill! Let monodies on Fox regale your crew,

While punctual beaux reward the grateful notes, And Melville's Mantle prove a blanket too? And pay for poems—when they pay for coats. One common Lethe waits each hapless bard, And, peace be with you! 'tis your best reward, To the famed throng now paid the tribute due, Such damning fame as Dunciads only give

Neglected genius ! let me turn to you. Could bid your lines beyond a morning live;

Come forth, o Campbell I give thy talents scope; But now at once your fleeting labours close,

Who dares aspire if thou must cease to hope? With names of greater note in blest repose.

And thou, melodiouş Rogers! rise at last, Far be 't from me unkindly to upbraid

Recall the pleasing memory of the past;
The lovely Rosa's prose in masquerade,

Arise ! let blest remeinbrance still inspire,
Whose strains, the faithful echoes of her mind, And strike to wonted tones thy hallow'd lyre;
Leave wondering comprehension far behind. I Restore Apollo to his vacant throne,
Though Bell has lost his nightingales and owls, Assert thy country's honour and thine own.
Matilda snivels still, and Hafiz howls;

What I must deserted Poesy still weep
And Crusca's spirit, rising from the dead,

Where her last hopes with pious Cowper sleep! Revives in Laura, Quiz, and X.Y.Z. $

Unless, perchance, from his cold bier she turns

To deck the turf that wraps her minstrel, Burns * The Earl of Carlisle has lately published an eighteenpenny pamphlet on the state of the stage, and

* Capel Lofft, Esg., the Miecenas or shoemakers offers his plan for building a new theatre: it is to be and preface-writer-general to distressed versemen: a loped his Lordship

will be permitted to bring forward kind of gratis accoucheur 19 those who wish to be anything for the stage-except his own tragedies.

delivered of rhyme, but do not know how to bring + Doff that lion's hide,

forth. And hang a calf-skin on those recreant limbs. + See Nathaniel Bloomfield's ode, elegy, or what.

SHAKSPEARE, King ohn. ever he or any one else chooses to call it, on the Lord C.'s works, most resplendently bound, Torm a enclosure of Honington Green. conspicuous ornament to his book-shelves :

1 Vide Recollections of a Weaver in the Moorlands The rest is all but leather and prunella, of Statfordshire. * This lively little Jessica, the daugliter of the noted It would be superfluous to recall to the mind of Jew K-seems to be a follower of the Della Crusca the reader the authors of The Pleasures of Alemory school, and has published two volumes of very respect and The Pleasures of Hope, the most beautiful

didac able absurdities in rhyme, as times go; besides sundry tic poems in our language, if we except Pope's Essay novels in the style of the first edition of The Monk. on Man; but so many poetasters have started up.

These are the signatures of various worthies who that even the names of Campbell and Rogers are figure in the poetical departments of the newspapers.become strange.

No! though contempt hath mark'd the spurious This fact in Virtue's name let Crabbe attest: brood,

Though nature's stérnest painter, yet the best. The race who rhyme from folly, or for food, Yet still some genuine sons 'tis hers to boast,

And here let Shee and genius find a place, Who, least affecting, still affect the most ;

Whose pen and pencil yield an equal grace: Feel as they write, and write but as they feel : To guide whose hand the sister arts combine, Bear witness Gifford, Sotheby, Macneil.*

And trace the poet's or the painter's line ;

Whose magic touch can bid the canvas glow, • Why slumbers Gifford ? once was ask'd in vain !!

Or pour the easy rhyme's harmonious now; Why slumbers Gifford ? let us ask again.

While honours, doubly merited, attend Are there no follies for his pen to purge?

The poet's rival, but the painter's friend. Are there no fools whose backs demand the scourge ?

Blest is the man who dares approach the bower Ai here no sins for satire's bard to greet ?

Where dwelt the muses at their natal hour : Stalks not gigantic Vice in every street?

Whose steps have press'd, whose eye has mark1 Shall peers or princes tread pollution's path,

afar, And 'scape alike the law's and muse's wrath? The cline that nursed the sons of song and war, Nor blaze with guilty glare through future time, The scenes which glory still must hover o'er, Eternal beacons of consummate crime?

Her place of birth,

her own Achaian shore. Arouse thee, Gifford! be thy promise claim'd, But doubly blest is he whose heart expands Make bad men better, or at least ashamed.

With hallow'd feelings for those classic lands;

Who rends the veil of ages long gone by, Unhappy White! while life was in its spring, #

And views their remnants with a poet's eye. And thy young muse just waved her joyous wing,

Wright i t 'twas thy happy lot at once to view The spoiler caine; and all thy promise fair

Those shores of glory, and to sing them too : Has sought the grave, to sleep for ever there.

And sure no common muse inspired thy peni
Oh! what a noble heart was here undone,

To hail the land of gods and gorllike men,
When Science' self destroy'd her favourite son!
Yes, she too much indulged thy fond pursuit ;

And you, associate bards ! who snatch'd to light 1 She sow'd the seeds, but death has reap'd the fruit. Those gems too long withheld from modern sight; 'Twas thine own genius gave the final blow,

Whose mingling taste combined to cull the wreath And help'd to plant the wound that laid thee low. Where Attic flowers Aonian odours breathe, So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, And all their renovated fragrance flung, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, To grace the beauties of your native tongue; View'd his own feather on the fatal dart,

Now let those minds, that nobly could transfuse
And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart: The glorious spirit of the Grecian muse,
Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel,

Though soft the echo, scorn a borrow'd tone:
He nursed the pinion which impelld the steel ; Resign Achaia's lyre, and strike your own.
While the same plumage that had warm'd his nest
Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast.

Let these, or such as these, with just applause

Restore the muse's violated laws;
There be, who say, in these enlightend days, But not in flimsy Darwin's pompous chime,
That splendid lies are all the poet's praise ;

That mighty master of unmeaning rhyme;
That strain'd invention, ever on the wing,

Whose gilded symbols, more adorn'd than clear, Alone impels the modern bard to sing.

The eye delighted, but fatigued the ear;
'Tis true that all who rhyme-nay, all who write- In show the simple lyre could once surpass,
Shrink from that fatal word to genius-trite; But now, worn down, appear in native brass ;
Yet Truth sometimes will lend her notlest fires, While all his train of hovering sylphs around
And decorate the verse herself inspires :

Evaporate in similes and sound:

Him let them shun, with him let tinsel die: • Gifford, author of the Baviad and Mæviad, the

False glare attracts, but more offends the eye, first satires of the day, and translator of Juvenal.

Sotheby, translator of Wieland's Oberon and Virgil's Yet let them not to vulgar Wordsworth stoop, Georgics, and author of Saul, an epic poem.

The meanest object of the lowly group, Macneil, whose poems are deservedly popular, par. ticularly Scotland's Scaith; or, The Waes of War, of which ten thousand copies were sold in one month.

Mr. Gifford promised publicly that the Baviad * Mr. Shee, author of Rhymes on Art, and Ele. and Mæviad should not be his last original works. ments of Art. Let him remember .Mox in reluctantes dracones.' + Mr. Wright, late Consul-General for the Seven

Henry Kirke White died at Cambridge in October Islands, author of a very beautiful poem entitled 1806, in consequence of too much exertion in the pur. Hore Ionicæ ; descriptive of the isles and adjacent suit of studies that would have matured a mind which coast of Greece. disease and poverty could not impair, and which I The translators of utho have since death itself destroyed rather than subdued. His published separate poems, which evince genius that poems abound in such beauties as must impress the only requires opportunity to attain eminence. reader with the liveliest regret that so short a period The neglect of the Botanic Garden is some proof was allotted to talents which would have dignified of returning taste. The scenery is its sole recommen. even the sacred functions he was destined to assume, dation,

Whose verse, of all but childish prattle void,

Say, will not Caledonia's annals yield Seems blessed harmony to Lambe and Lloyd : * The glorious record of some nobler field, Let them--but hold, my muse, nor dare to teaclı Than the wild foray of a plundering clan, A strain far, far beyond thy humble reach :

Whose proudest deeds disgrace the name of man! The native genius with their being given

Or Marmion's acts of darkness, fitter food
Will point the path, and peal their notes to heaven. For outlaw'd Sherwood's tales of Robin Hood :

Scotland ! still proudly claim thy native bard,

And be thy praise his first, his best reward ! And thou, too, Scott,f resign to minstrels rude

Yet not with thee alone his name should live, The wilder slogan of a border feud :

But own the vast renown a world can give : Let others spin their meagre lines for hire;

Be known, perchance, when Albion is no more, Enough for genius, if itself inspire !

And tell the tale of what she was before;
Let Southey sing, a!though his teeming muse,

To future times her faded fame recall,
Prolific every spring, be too profuse;
Let simple Wordsworth chime his childish verse,

And save her glory, though his country fall.
And brother Coleridge lull the babe at nurse:

Yet what avails the sanguine poet's hope, Let spectre-mongering Lewis aim, at most,

To conquer ages, and with time to cope?
To rouse the galleries, or to raise a ghost;

New eras spread their wings, new nations rise,
Let Moore be lewd ; let Strangford steal from Moore, And other victors fill the applauding skies;
And swear that Camoëns sang such notes of yore; A few brief generations fleet along, Hayley hobble on, Montgomery rave,

Whose sons forget the poet and his song :
And godly Grahame chant a stupid stave;

E'en now, what once-loved minstrels scarce may Let sonneteering Bowles his strains refine,

claim And whine and whimper to the fourteenth line; The transient mention of a dubious name! Let Stott, Carlisle, Matilda, and the rest

When fame's Joud trump hath blown its noblest Of Grub Street, and of Grosvenor Place the best,

blast, Scrawl on, till death release us from the strain,

Though long the sound, the echo sleeps at last; Or Common Sense assert her rights again.

And glory, like the phoenix 'midst her fires,
But thou, with powers that mock the aid of praise, Exhales her odours, blazes, and expires.
Shouldst leave to huinbler bards ignoble lays:
Thy country's voice, the voice of all the Nine,

Shall hoary Granta call her sable sons,
Demand a hallow'd harp-that harp is thine.

Expert in science, inore expert at puns?

Shall these approach the muse? Ah, no! she flies, * Messrs. Lambe and Lloyd, the most ignoble fol.

And even spurns the great Seatonian prize; lowers of Southey and Co.

Though printers condescend the press to soil his hero or heroine will be less addicted to Gramaryo; Not him whose page, if still upheld by whist,

By the by, I hope that in Mr. Scott's next poem With rhyme by Hoare, and epic blank by Hoyle: and more to grammar, than the Lady of the Lay, and Requires no sacred theme to bid us list.. her bravo William of Deloraine.

It may be asked why I lave censured the Earl of Ye, who in Granta's honours would surpass, Carlisle, my guardian and relative, to whom I dedica- Must mount her Pegasus, a full-grown ass; ted a volume of puerile poems a few years ago. The guardianship was nominal, at least as far as I have! A foal well worthy of her ancient dam, been able to discover: the relationship I cannot help, Whose Helicon is duller than her Cam. and am very sorry for it ; but as his Lordship seemed to forget it on a very essential occasion to me, I shall There Clarke, still striving piteously 'to please,' not burden my memory with the recollection. I do Forgetting doggrel leads not to degrees, not think that personal differences sanction the

unjust A would-be satirist, a hired buffoon, condemnation of a brother scribbler : but I see no reason why they should act as a preventive, when the A monthly scribbler of some low lampoon, author, noble or ignoble, has for a series of years be Condemn'd to drudge, the meanest of the mean, guiled a discerning public' (as the advertisements have it) with divers reams of most orthodox, imperial And furbish falsehoods for a magazine, nonsense. Besides, I do not step aside to vituperate Devotes to scandal his congenial mind; the Earl; no-his works come fairly in review with Himself a living libel on mankind. those of other patrician literati. Ir, before I escaped from my teens, I said anything in favour of his Lord.

Oh! dark asylum of a Vandal race ! ship's paper books, it was in the way of dutiful dedi: At ouce the boast of learning, and disgrace; cation, and more from the advice of others than my own judgment, and I seize the first opportunity of pronouncing my sincere recantation. I have heard ihat some persons conceive me to be under obligations to Lord Carlisle ; if so, I shall be most particularly

* The Games Hoyle, well known to the votaries happy to learn what they are, and when conferred, of whist, chess, ctc., are not to be superseded by the that they may be duly appreciated and publicly vagaries of his poctical namesake, whose poem comacknowledged. What I have hunbly advanced as an prised, as expressly stated in the advertisement, all opinion on his printed things, I am prepared to support.

the plagues of Egypt." if necessary, by quotations from elegies, eulogies, odes,

† This person, was the writer of a poem denomiepisodes, and certain facetious and dainty tragedies nated the Art of Pleasing, as : lucus a non lucenda' hearing his name and mark:

containing little pleasantry and less poetry. He also • What can enoble knaves, or fools, or cowards?

acted as monthly stipendiary and collector of calum. Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards!'

nies for the Sirlirist.

1. Into Cambridgeshire the Emperor Probus trans. So says Pope. Amen!

ported a consideralile herly of Vandals.'-(Abon,

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