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Bretcer.—One who deals in deleterious drugs.

Breath.—Air received into the lungs for the purposes of smoking, whistling, &c.

Breech.—The nether extremity by which ships, fishes, and boys are guided and directed.

Brief.—The excuse of counsel for their own impertinence.

Bubble.—See South-Sea Securities, Spanish LJonds, &c.

Buffoon.—One who plays the fool professionally, whereas a wag is an amateur fool.

Bugbear.—That for which reform and improvement arc used by those r.ho are interested in opposing them.

Bumper-toasts.—See Drunkenness, Ill-health, and Vice.

Butcher.—See Suwarrow, Turkish commander, and the history of miscalled heroes, &c. &c.

C.

Cabbage.—See Tailor.

Cage.—An article to the manufacture of which our spinsters would do well to direct their attention, since, according to Voltaire, the reason of so many unhappy marriages is that young ladies employ their time in making nets instead of cages.

Calf.—The young John Bull.

Cannibal.—A slave-dealer.

Cannon.—Military law; very often synonymous with canon, ecclesiastical law.

Cant.—The characteristic of Modern England.

Canvass.—A linen cloth, of which considerable quantities are annually spoiled by painters, and obliged to be sent to Somerset House for sale.

Capers.—A remedy for boiled mutton, and low spirits.

Carbuncle.—A fiery globule found in the bottom of mines and the face of drunkards.

Cardinal.—A governor of the Romish church by whom popes are elected, and the cardinal virtues neglected.

Care.—The tax paid by the higher classes for their privileges and possessions.

Carnage.—The pastime of kings.

Cash.—A very good servant, but a bad master.

Celibacy.—A vow by which the priesthood in some countries swear to content themselves with the wives of other people.

Ceremony.—All that is considered necessary, by many, in friendship and religion.

Challenge.—Giving your adversary an opportunity of shooting you through the body, to indemnify you for his having hurt your feelings.

Chamberlain, Lord.—The King's chambermaid.

Chameleon. —See Hou«e of Commons Rat, species innumerable.

Chaperon.—A married girl of sixteen protecting her maiden aunt of sixty.

Chaplain, Military.—One appointed to say grace at mess, and drink wine with the officers.

Chicane.—See Law.

Chimxra.—The danger of Catholic emancipation.

Christian, real.—One who considers his charity towards all other religion the best recommendation of his own.

Cider.—See Verjuice.

Citizen.—A fumivorous being, much given to making money and destroying turtle.

Coffin.—The cradle in which our second childhood is laid to sleep.

College.—An institution where young men learn every thing but that which is professed to be taught.

Columbine.—A slim young woman, who after dancing for a season or two in a pantomime generally marries a Peer.

Comedy.—Obsolete, see Farce.

Compliments.—Dust thrown into the eyes of those whom we want to dupe.

Corruption.—Vide History of Boroughs.

Cottage.—Supposed to be the abode of happiness by all except those who live in it.

Courage.—The fear of being thought a coward.

Court.—The headquarters of Ennui, where the worst passions are the best-dressed, pleasure moat pursued and least found, and industry despised although idleness is felt to be a curse.

Cousin.—A periodical bore from the country, who, because you happen to have some of his blood, thinks he may inflict the whole of his body upon you during his stay in town.

Cream.—In London, milk and water thickened with chalk and flour.

Critic.—One who is incapable of writing books himself, and therefore contents himself with condemning those of others.

Cunning.—The simplicity by which knaves generally outwit themselves.

Cygnet.—A young swan. It may be doubted, however, whether Tom Dibdin was warranted in maintaining that the gentleman who lately addressed some verses to that bird in the Gentleman's Magazine, must have been a Scotch attorney, inasmuch as he was "a writer to the Cygnet"

SONNET.—THE BRIDE.

A Holy softness glisten'd in her eyes,

As bright in tearful smiles the new-made bride

Survey'd the wedded lover by her side,

Now link'd to her for ever with the ties

Of Heaven's own blest cementing, and with sighs

That breathed of speechless fondness she replied

To his enraptured words, and strove to hide

Those sweet effusions which at times would rise

To dim her radiant glances, like the dews

That fall on summer mornings, and bespeak

The heart's o'erflowiag transport, while the hues

Of love's celestial painting softly break

O'er her fair cheek, and add a blushing grace

To each divine expression of her face. A. S.

AUTllORUSSES AND AUTOGRAPHS.—NO. II.

Returning to our married ladies—Of those hitherto mentioned, the most successful efforts should seem to have been prompted by the calls of necessity rather than the impulse of genius. In Mrs. Sheridan, indeed, as we have recently been informed, the vis scribendi soon began to operate; but an early marriage checked her intellectual growth, and forced her talents into a new direction. The wit and fancy of women are so often held in subserviency to the inclinations of their liege lords, that neither surprise nor regret is expressed, when, like one of the most amiable women in Britain, a poetess renounces authorship to become the reader or amanuensis of a linguist or a metaphysician. It may, perhaps, be some compensation to such devoted wives, that they almost ingross the praises of their male contemporaries, by whom they are sure to be gratuitously invested with pretensions to talent that they never possessed; and, on no stronger ground than the negative merit of not having published at all, it is presumed they would, had they so pleased, have left at an immeasurable distance their more enterprising rivals. Many reasons might be surmised for this partial judgment: either Helen's wit sparkles in her eyes—and it is well known that beauty possesses all-persuasive eloquence—or the beau ideal even of books far transcends reality, or the latent capabilities of excellence form an attractive picture to the imagination. From whatever circumstance it arises, every man of genius has to cite, as the most intellectual female he ever knew, some lady of domestic habits, with whom the public have never had the least acquaintance, and on whose superlative perfections he may expatiate without the risk of being contradicted. To return to our married authoresses. If tradition may be credited, few women were more engaging than Mrs. Brooke, whose "Lady Julia Mandeville" is not yet forgotten, and whose " Emily Montague" till lately contained the most animated delineations extant of Canada. Then there was Mrs. Cowley, of whom it is notorious, that the first scene of her first comedy was written in the nursery; and who afterwards, improving on the sentimental school of O'Keefe, produced " The Belle's Stratagem," which still lingers on the stage A striking and melancholy disparity appears in the various passages of this lady's life, who, after remaining before the public some fifteen brilliant years, quitted the drama, sunk into neglect, and finally retired to the west of England, where she ended her days in privacy and peace, having long been separated from literary or fashionable associates. The mother of this lady had been the admired friend of Gay, who found in her society as much animation, and perhaps more sweetness, than in that of his brilliant Duchess of Queensbury. An ingenious writer has produced an amusing record of the calamities of authors; but we might in vain refer to that work for a picture of misery so vivid and touching, as is presented by the ill-fated Charlotte Smith, enthralled by a premature marriage with a man she never loved, and compelled by the exigencies of a rising family, to slight the invocation of Poetry, and to sacrifice to the ephemeral privations of necessity, the latent capabilities of excellence, the whispered promise of immortality. But in spite of this perversity of fortune Cowper has consecrated with his gratitude the memory of " The Old Manor House," the soother of his lonely or anxious hours; and Mrs. Barbauld redeemed it from oblivion. But it is time to present a more advantageous view of female literature, and behold two ladies, who seem formed to banish every gloomy impression. Each born to a liberal station, and with aptitudes to poetry, was educated with tender care, surrounded with the comforts of affluence, and distinguished by the attractions of beauty. They were neither coevals nor rivals. A disparity of more than twenty years would, perhaps, have formed a barrier to the ties of friendship, had they been familiarly acquainted. It appears not, however, that they ever saw each other. It is only in the obituary that Mrs. Tighe and Miss Seward are associated. Mrs. Tighe struggled a few years with hopeless disease, and perished in the flower of youth, almost without having redeemed the pledge her early compositions had given of ambitious excellence. But her " Psyche," though veiled in allegory, which by few readers can be relished, though occasionally betraying the languor that preyed on the writer's delicate frame, her tender " Psyche" still lives, and Ireland cherishes as she ought her accomplished daughter, who, in beguiling her own sufferings, created an imaginary elysium. The style of this interesting woman is characterized by a certain voluptuous melancholy which appears to have pervaded the writer's mind.: She excelled in delicacy and purity of sentiment, and if we could conceive an angel descending to attune a mortal lyre, we might expect its melodious vibrations to flow in unison with the strains of Tighe. I should now take leave of the Autographs, but that my attention is mournfully recalled by the names of Inchbald and RadclifFe. The juxtaposition is evidently accidental, for these belonged not to the same class, and were insulated from all sister writers by unapproached and almost unimitated excellence. It has been pretended that original or rather creative genius belongs not to the female sex; but who has more indisputably possessed that attribute than the enchantress of " Udolpho?" Like the author of Waverley, she was the foundress of a school of novelwriters, among whom she invariably maintained pre-eminence. From childhood she was characterized by habits of abstraction, such as mark a contemplative mind; she delighted in picturesque scenery, and was a nice observer and passionate worshiper of Nature. She married early a man of sense and liberal attainments, whose society rather aided than impeded her favourite pursuits, and to whose judgment were submitted her various productions. Deeply imbued with the spirit of poetry, her first effusions were in verse, and some of her sonnets not unworthy the Italian model she had selected; hut the rapidity of her conceptions could ill brook the trammels of metre; in her mind all teemed with life and energy and intense excitement, and she struck into a wild romantic path, in which she could indulge unrestrained the enthusiasm and exuberance of her creative imagination. Fortunately for her success with the public, she possessed in a supreme degree the art of elaborating a fable, by which curiosity was awakened and suspense prolonged, with such felicity as rendered even impatience susceptible of exquisite enjoyment. Of her positive merits, however, this constructive talent formed but a subordinate part; she wrote from the fulness of inspiration, and boundless is the empire she exercises over our imaginative {Mission. It were idle to expatiate on those merits which have been ong and cordially acknowledged, but it is remarkable that without referenee to the dicta of criticism, by the tact of genius alone she has preserved congruity and harmony in her style, her personages, and her sentiments. Of Mrs. Radcliffe's domestic life little is known, but that it was spent in honourable privacy; and whilst her habits of retirement baffled curiosity, her strict propriety defied reproach. It appears surprising that she should so early have resigned the pen to which she was probably indebted for her happiest moments. To men of imagination, the world with all its rich varieties is open, to relieve or renovate the mind when absorbed and exhausted by literary pursuits; but to women of genius no such resources are offered; and if they have not a father or a brother to assist the progress of their studies, they must continue by solitary efforts to struggle into notice, and to spend their leisure in uncongenial society. Home is to them a citadel of vigilance, not a scene of pleasure or repose: to man it is as a garden, in which he refreshes his weary spirit and exercises his best affections; but to woman this seeming elysium is a school of discipline, which allows not even a momentary relaxation from laborious care.

It is not without emotion that I turn to Inchbald, who in the order of time should have preceded Radeliffe: an involuntary impulse assigns to her the last, not least honoured place. Born of humble parents, the early indications she gave of superior intelligence were neither prized nor understood; her rare endowments, instead of gratifying, seem to have alienated from her the affections of her domestic relatives, and she had not only to struggle with the disadvantages inevitable to a neglected education, but to endure the slights and persecutions inflicted by vulgar ignorance. But genius endureth all things for its own sake. Little as Elizabeth Singer owed to cultivation, she contrived to discover books which she devoured rather than read, and became passionately enamoured of dramatic poetry. As she approached maturity, her miseries increased; she found her home intolerable, and as a desperate resource, resolved to try her fortunes on the stage. She was scarcely sixteen when she took this resolution, for which it was not probable she should obtain the assistance or even the sanction of her parents. Of her aptitudes to the theatrical profession, report speaks not highly; her memory was prompt and retentive, her voice sweet and powerful, but she had a slow and somewhat defective articulation, was destitute of confidence, and overflowing with sensibility. But to whatever disabilities she might be liable, her majestic stature and beautifully expressive countenance insured her attention from the manager or the audience. She was engaged in a provincial company; but had no sooner entered on her new caieer, than she became sensible of the dangers to which it must expose her unfriended youth; and it was this painful conviction which induced her to accept the hand of Mr. Inchbald, already in the wane of life, with whom she steadily pursued the profession she had chosen, for which, however, she soon avowed unqualified abhorrence. The principles which had determined her choice, continued to influence her conduct; she lived without reproach, but on her husband's death, found herself with no other resource than her talent and energy supplied. By what gradations she became an authoress is not known: by an intercourse with the stage, so often the school of talent, she might in some degree surmount the disadvantages of a sordid education; she at least acquired that knowledge of the

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