'mmgsmmm&mxfc irvvvw'rwimnrwvwifw irvwwvwvwrvifvvvv i.» DUKE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Treasure "B^om $sm&m&. VjVA-'X A A AAA .\ ;'. ;\ '< ,>. .-. \ ■ i^iSraM^ml & ; w m 0" / ^ Cfc-*-^" , <-67 BYRON— The John Bull Magazine and Literary Recorder. Vol. 1 fall published), 8vo, half calf neat, Lond. 1824 *1 -is viiffii and highly' curious /s containing "My Wedding jNiOffl j: * o&nonous CAoirter m W « Jfrnotr.." Contains also The Humbugs of the Age ; The Opium-Eater ; Dr. Kitchener ; Sir Humphrey Davy, Free- masonry ; Specimens of a New Joe Miller, etc., etc. TO THE EDITOR OF THE "STAR." Sir, — It is well known that Lord Byron's " Memoirs " were read In the MS. by several persons before Moore was bribed by Lady Byron and her friends to destroy them ; but it is not, perhaps, so generally known that any portion of them is existing in print. Anyone, how* ever, who will refer to the first number of the John Bull Magazine — issued during 1824 — will there find what the editor pledges himself to be a faithful tran- script of the whole (a few lines omitted) of one of the chapters. This chapter would at any time be Interesting, but it is particularly so at the present mo- ment, containing as it does a full account in Byron's own words of the circumstances which took place im- mediately after the unfortunate wedding. There can be no reasonable doubt as to the authenticity of this excerpt, as Sogers, in his " Table Talk," is represented giving certain reminiscences from the MS. (which he saw) coinciding exactly with the facts here detailed. There were only four numbers of the magazine pub- lished : in one, if not two, of the others are shorter extracts from the " Memoirs," but they are not of much value.— lam, &c,^B9i F. GLEDSTANES-WAUGH, THE J N B 3IAGAZINE, AND LITERARY RECORDER. VOLUME I. 159743 liontron: JAMES SMITH, 163, STRAND. 1824. W. ISWIS, PRIVTER. 21.. F1XC4J-I.ANB. q c 5-, 4 ■*! CONTENTS OF VOL. I. « 3 No. I. An Apalogy for a Preface Prospectus Humbugs The Bayswater Review Toast to our own Success Light and Shadows of Irish Life .... No. I. — The Chaired Orator and the Purple-men The Veto Row Speeching and Chairing Interior of a Purple Lodge The Orange Insult The Press's Raging Fury; or the Ho- nest Reporter's Sufferings. — A new Song Song from the Spanish On the Folly of boasting of High Birth Remarks on Moore, Hogg, Jeffery, Sheridan, Cunningham, Lord Glen- bervie, Thelwall, &c French Sones, with Translations . . . . •f My Wedding Night." The obnox- ious chapter in Lord Byron's Me- moirs The Humbugs of the Age No. I. — The Opium Eater 1GK I ib. 3 ib. 4 ib. ib. 6 9 11 13 ib. 16 ib. IS 19 21 ib. Lord Byron's Letters 41 To the "Editor of the John Bull Maga- zine 42 Jeu c'Esprit, by Brinsley Sheridan,on Lord Glenbervie, &c ib. Mr. W. Farren, and the London Ma- gazine 44 Sonnet 47 To Jane 48 On Ideal Beauty 50 The Humbugs of the Age 52 , No. II. — Dr. Kitchiner ib. American Blue Stockingism,or Female University at New York 55 Fine Arts 59 The History of Geraldi, a Florentine Story Sober Sonnets for Sleek Sinners; or Rhymes from the Holy Land .... French Song, with Translation Coasting from Porto D'Anzio to Na- ples, with Translation Fragments from Rossi's Translation of r Giaour- The Humbugs of the Age No. III. — Sir Humphrey Davy .... Hydrophobia *. . To- the Editor of the John Bull Maga- zine . . Extract fram a Poem which will not be printed entire Fin e Arts , , No. II.— The Influence of Mythology 81 85 86 87 89 ib. 92 93 ib. 95 ib. iLv A7S PAGE Fashionable Female Studies 24 No. I. — Gems ib. A Critical and Political Dissertation on Ale 26 On Deception, Expression and Action in Statuary 29 The Dying Gladiator — TheLaocoon — The Venus of Canova — The Apollo — Westmacott's Houseless Wanderer ib. The Rhyming Review for the Month 32 Red-Gauntlet — Ivanhoe — Kenil- worth — The Devil's Elixir -Gil- ben Earle — Miss Ferrier's Inheri- tance — Clorinda — Adam and Eve — Rosalvina — Gesta Romanorum — Wilhelm Meister— Silent River . — Loves of the Colours — jShelly's Posthumous Poems — Songs of Is- rael — Encephalology — Hender- son's History of Wines ........ ib. Prose Postcript of Literary Notices. . 87 Monsieur Arc-en-Ciel's Philosophical Discoveries 38 The Bayswater Review ... 40 No. If. No. I. — The Three Presidents — Rey- nolds, West, and Lawrence 59 Freemasonry 63 On Literary Discipleship 68 French Song, with Translation 71 La Naissance, les Voyages, et les Amours des Bacchus ib. On the Plagiarisms committed by Sam. Rogers, on Gay 72 The Rhyming Review 74 Letter from Timothy Tickler, of Black- wood's Magazine, to the Editor of the John Bull Magazine, and the Answer thereto 78 No. III. Song 98 The Lower Orders 99 Cambridge Ale 102 Taking Care of an Invalid 104 Captain Ogleright — a Story founded upon Facts, by an Officer of the Veterans 106 A Discursive Letter on Things in general 115 Barrenness of Literature in the Month of August ib. Errata for last Number 118 Answers to Correspondents ib. List of New Publications 119 Postscript 120 On a Couple of Sentences in the last Noctes Ambrosianee. ib. 159743 iv Contents. No. IV. Prospectus and Specimen of a New Joe Miller 121 To Anthony Pasquin ib. Mrs. Coutts 123 Oxford-street ib. None of your Formal Visits ib. The Credit of the Thing ib. Shelly's Poetry ib. Translations ". ib. Puns for Cheese 124 The Disagreeable Surprise ib. A Hint ib. Regent-street ib. Gas-lighting ib. Politeness ib. To the Editor of the John Bull 125 Further Extracts from a Poem that wll not be printed entire ib. On Lent-keeping 128 On Dr. Johnson ib. On Keeping High-Company 129 The Indian Prince 129 A Rum Ditty on Rum 132 The Twelve Bells— a Tale of my Landlord 1 38 My Landlord's Story 135 A Michaelmas -day Sonnet 137 A September Vision 138 The Humbugs of the Age 140 No. IV. — Bishop, the Composer. ... ib. Instructions to a Missionary going to the West Indies 143 Brown Betty 145 Macbeth 147 A Trip to the Nore in a Steamer. 1 48 The Saint's Discomfited 151 Campbell's forthcoming Poem, Reullura 152 Midnight Potation, Dedicated to Nathan Drake 1 53 To our Correspondents and others. ... 155 Letter from John Barleycorn 157 Rhyming Postscript 1 58 Further Specimens of the New Joe Miller Basil Montagu Piccadilly Pun Judicial Two kinds of Tender Y. Y.Y Biblical Comment Offence and Defence Difference of Conjugal Treatment. . Miss Baillie Prometheus Unbound The Balls of the Morning Post Lord Ship Military Creed Cause and Effect Perils of Man Pillars in Front of Carlton Palace . . Ferdinand the Seventh Geoff ry Growler to John Bull on his Sins Time's Alteration No. V. Lord Byron's Memoirs 165 159 His Marriage ib. ib. His Departure from Lady Byron . . 166 ib.- Political Economy 167 ib. Tales for the Saints , 168 ib. No. I.. — The Miraculous Conversion ib. ib. Hints to Cockney Bachelors 170 ib. To the Editor of the John Bull Maga- 160 zine 171 ib. No. I. — Letters from Jeremy Blink- ib. insop to Timothy Fortescue. Esq... 172 ib. Home Harvest 174 ib. Sober Sonnets for Sleek Sinners 1 7.6 161 Property of Slaves ., ....177 ib. Leaves from the Papers of the late ib. Constantine Mulroony, Esq 180 ib. Joint Stock Companies 181 162 A Visit to Netherhall 183 ib. A Critical Enquiry as to who is the Editor and Writer of the John ib. Bull Newspaper ? 187 164 On English Manners 189 No. VI. My Birth-Day 191 Visit to a Colony of Maniacs at Gheel, Dear Brussels , 194 On English Manners, (concluded from p. 190) 197 A Sample of Signatures 198 Letters from Jeremy Blinkinsop to Timothy Fortescue, Esq 200 Baconian Experiments of my Uncle Harry 203 Experiment First ib. Experiment Second ib. Experiment Third 201 Oratorial Panegyric on Lord Bacon, by my Uncle 20*4 Mr. Brown's Attack on the War Esta- blishment, and the Population Re- turns % . . 2PS Trials and Travels 209 A Defence of Placemen and Decayed Boroughs, in Reply to Parliamen- tary Reformers. By a Tory 212 Another Invention hy file Celebrated M. Arc-en-Ciel 214 The Paradise of Plenty 815 Ancient Poets 217 No. I. — Gawin Douglas ib. the TREASURE ROOM JOHN BULL iWaeastne. Vol. 1. JULY, 1824. No. 1. AN APOLOGY FOR A PREFACE. " e said in our advertisement, that prospectuses were merely humbug 1 , and in that faith will we die. Take up the prospectus of any periodical work, great or small, and, after comparing' its per- formances with its promises, ask your- self honestly, if we have not spoken the truth. Begin with the bulky Encyclo- paedia, with its hundred parts, and travel down to the dirtiest two-penny which serves to light your pipe, through all the realms, or, if it so please you, reams of magazines, reviews, gazettes, council of ten, album, athenaeum, museum, et omne quod exit in hum. There, for instance, to begin with the beginning, honest Abraham Rees's Cyclopaedia, which, at starting, confessed, what every body knew would be the case, that an alphabetical Cyclo- paedia of Arts, Sciences, History, Geo- graphy, Theology, and omnia scibilia, must of necessity be a heterogeneous hotch-potch, as it is, without order, ar- rangement, sense, or meaning ; but, at the time of confession, promised in his prospectus, to make all clear and clean by an index, which promise, the worthy and venerable editor forgot to perform, thereby rendering his worshipful work a mess, like the old miser's soup in Old Mortality, where, after fishing for half- an-hour, you might have the good luck to fasten on a lump of something solid, lurking in the vast profundity of trash floating about it. In like manner, Frank Jeffery, when he first started his concern in the North countrie, vowed, in his prospectus, that he would make his Review a perfect VOL. I. picture of all the extant literature of the kingdom. How has Francis, the little, redeemed his pledge? Why, by bringing out every quarter of a year a bundle of heavy essays, principally on politics, without at all minding what the reading and writing public are operat- ing on ; or else a Imndful of puffs on the volumes vented by Archibald Constable and Co., utterly regardless of the books imprinted by their brethren of the book- vending generation. But we should fill our magazine chuckfull on this one subject, were we to proceed in this enumeration of the utter humbuggism of prospectuses, par- ticularly of the Magazine people. They all promise vast erudition, agreeable in- formation, unquestioned originality, de- cided impartiality ; in place of all which, in nine cases out of ten, they display intense ignorance, gross stupidity, unli- mited pillaging, and a fixed determina- tion to vilify their personal enemies, and bedaub with puffery their personal friends. They are all to be conducted by men of eminent character, both in a literary and moral point of view, and, no matter how they may start, you may be pretty certain that, before the end of six months, they fall into the hands of some obtuse plebeian, who cannot write three lines, and who has taken up that trade out of confessed inability to con- duct any other. Now we, on the con- trary, have promised nothing — abso- lutely nothing — therefore,reader, whether thou beest gentle or ungentle, you cannot accuse us of unduly raising your B What you will for a Preface. [JULY, expectations, or extorting your shitting out of your breeches pocket on false pretences. Blessed is the man who expects nothing, for he will not be dis- appointed. If you have expected any thing, blame yourself for the disappoint- ment, for we have not given any reason whatever for your aspirations. For this, you may be assured, we have reasons good. One of the principal of which is, that we do not well know, in our own mind, what is to be the exact line we mean to adopt. We shall just float down the stream as merrily and as carelessly as we can, writing straight a-head whatever enters our cerebrum, or cerebellum, or whatever other part and portion of us is endowed with the thinking faculty. Vo- gue la galere tant qu'elle pourra voguer I If we be wise one month, we shall be foolish the next three — if stupid, as we rather imagine we are this month, better days will dawn upon the intellectual faculties of our readers in the next. Against one thing shall we wage war — war, fierce, turbulent, no-quarter-giving — against humbug. That elderly gen- tleman shall have no favour in our eyes ; no matter in what harlequin jacket lie may think proper to array himself. Whether he appear rigged out as patriot or critic — saint or sinner — wit or ass, it is all one ; we shall most unrelentingly expose him whenever he happens to fall in our way. As for Balaam, a word, for the inven- tion of which the Rev. Mr. North, of Edinburgh, cannot be sufficiently ex- tolled ; it is entirely out of the question, but that we must have our natural sliare of that. Like the atmosphere, it surrounds all periodical works; we cannot breathe but we suck it in. And why not? Is there any act of parliament against any man's writing nonsense, and that too of the most conspicuous kind? Forbid it, Heaven ! It would be a most suicidal act, if any such existed, for it would cut the throats of nine-tenths of the proceed- ings of our lords and masters in the houses above and below. But though thus perfectly convinced of the intense necessity of Balaam, yet we shall most decidedly discharge from our pages all such matter as is avowedly and unblush- ingly so. Avaunt, therefore, Commer- cial Reports, Agricultural ditto, Medi- cal ditto. Away with Lists of Bank- ruptcies, Promotions, Preferments, with announcements of Births, Deaths, and Marriages; with Provincial Occurren- ces, whether arranged geographically in the style of Sir iWchard Phillips, or after the good darner-school process of the al- phabet, as is the mode of Cyrus Red- ding, Commander-in-chief of the small text of Colburn, Saunders, and Ottley's Magazine. Those who are concerned in farming, buying, or selling, or specu- lating — those who are looking after the loaves and fishes, the shoulder-knots and epaulettes, the coifs and wigs, the lawn-sleeves, or shovel-hats, of this world, do not need the slow-coming, snail-pace, once-a-mouth, heavy waggon of a magazine, to inform them of what guides or regulates these momentous matters, when they have the bang-up- four-in-hand fiy-a-way, smacking and dashing on every side of them in the shape of newspapers, brimful of such in- telligence, morning and evening. The births, marriages, and deaths of those whom it most concerns us to know about, are ticketed and labelled in their own appropriate repositories, as peerages, baronetages, &c. except the deaths of men conspicuous in their generation for mind in any of its va- rieties, who, indeed, rarely appear in the above receptacles, and they have their peculiar mummy-cases, in the shape of quarto, octavo, or duodecimo memoirs, published by mourning friends, in honour of the deceased, and out of compliment to the coin of the biblio- polists. As for provincial affairs, synop- ses of intelligence, or by whatever other name the stupid things are called, what do we, living in the polite regions of Smithfield, care about such barbarian matters ? What do we want to know, for instance — that the wiseacres of Wisbeach were deep in deliberation on the propriety of building a bridge at Long Sutton Wash?— A fact stated in all the glory of leaded brevier in the two hundred and eighty-sixth page of the forty-second number of the New Monthly Magazine? By abstaining from such stuff, we save our readers — a thing, good readers! not t<» be despised — the expense of at least sixteen, perhaps, twenty additional pages. As for politics, however, — but we reserve our resolves on that head, deep buried in the profundity of our own am- ple bosoms. Now, we had lib more notion of writ- ing any thing like a prospectus, when we began this essay of ours, than we had of going with Captain Parry to flirt with Iligluik, the Eskimaux beile— and yet we have written one after a sort. 18244 What you will for a Preface. 3 After a sort we may say, for we own we never had any chance of shining in 1he art of prospectuses. If any lady or gentle- man wish to see a prospectus, let him or her read over the modest and pathetic appeal to the public, lately set afloat by Mr. Mc Dermot, of the European — the New Old European, we mean — in which every thing is superb. He assures yon, that he is himself clever — his arti- cles clever — his men clever— his tout ensemble clever. He informs you that he has chosen himself editor, in conse- quence of the vast talents he found that he had displayed in writing some meta- physics for the playhouse, which he had the rare merit of reading — and promises that he will, every month, give you a chapter, on a fresh poet, and fix his place for ever in the literature of the country. There's a conspicuous Celt for you 1 We doubt if there be a finer at the door of any snufl'-shop in the metropolis. But even he is eclipsed by the com- ing glories of the European Review ; to be edited in Bayswater, and pub- lished by Pouchee, in Covent-Garden Market. This is truly the prince of all possible prospectus-writing. It starts well. It is the European Review, or Mind, and its Productions in Bri- tain, France, Italy, Germany, &c. —which, &c. means all nations in the World. In this is to be found " all the intellect of the continent as it were in deposit.'' A pretly pawn-broking phrase, Which is corroborated by the assertion that " the most distinguished men of Europe hnxe pledged to it their genius." Statesmen best acquainted with the court, the cabinet, and the country, are to write its politics — and its literature is to exhibit the sum total of intellectual and social advancement, during the gradual progress of the year. There is to be in it no pedantry, no dryness, no want of talent, discrimination, nor cou- rage, as in all other books. Nothing can be more beautiful than the naive simplicity with which the capacity of executing all these fine things is taken for granted— or than the noble jolter- headed manner in which the editor divides all arts and sciences for the better conduct of his five-shilling de- posit for Ihe pledged genius of Europe. The arrangement of Bacon, he ob- serves, though admirable for the time in which he lived, is full of errors— the table of D'Alcmbcrt, even after the lapse of some centuries, (D'Alembert lived and died in the next century to Bacon,) was but a copy of Bacon's. And, under those circumstances, he proposes his arrangement. It is ora- cular and mystic. It pnts us in mind of an orphic rhapsody on the prima stamina of the universe. General Enumeration of the Bayswater Review's intended Contents. " Principles of all things — Ele- ments which these principles originate — Beings which these elements form — Organs which these beings develope — Wants which these orgam experience —Signs which these wants excite — So- cieties which these signs produce — Countries which these societies inhabit —Earth which these countries com- pose — Planetary System to which this earth belongs." Which general arrangement is fol- lowed by a minute sub-division into half a hundred heads, according to which hydra, the great critics of Europe Will regulate this immortal work! After this he need hardly have told us, that universal conclusiveness is (he first characteristic of his forthcoming Review. We fear, however, it will never appear at all — we fear it, we say, for it holds forth all the promise of being the most splendid of butts. — But we are wasting onr time. — Therefore, no longer we'll keep you a waiting, Filling our columns with prefaces dull; Let's rather drink, without further debating, Success to our new Magazine, the John Bull. Join in the toast we are merrily drinking, Heaping your glasses, we charge you, brim-full ; We don't allow any scrupulous shrinking, When we drink to our new Magazine, the John Bull. Long may it flourish, all humbug despising, Laughing at blockhead, ass, goose, and num-scull; Honouring talent, good fellowship prizing, So success to our new Magazine the John Bull. What, then, shall we begin with? — Why any thing. Here is a lump of a story from Ireland — So let us, in the name of Boeotia, begin with that. Both Blackwood's and Colburn's last Maga- zines began with Irish affairs, and as it is evidently voted that they should be the regular bores of all good society, why should not we too open with num- ber one of a dull series of — B2 Lights and Shadows of Irish Life. [JULY, LIGHTS AND SHADOWS OF HUSH LIFE. No. I. — The Chaired Or [In the following sketch, for a story is hardly aimed at, it is endeavoured to give the feelings and arguments of the different violent parties in Ireland as they exist at present. Those who know that country, will perceive that no in- dividual character is intended in any part, though they may recognize traits common to many leaders of the several factions. The ground-work of the story has some foundation in fact.] Introductory. I do not remember where I saw it re- marked, but 1 certainly have seen it some- where, that the natives of the Gothic race, actuated by a spirit of union, went steadily forward to their great object of subjugating countries and founding kingdoms ; while the Celts, fierce and disunited to the last, were no sooner es- tablished any where, than they turned their arms on one another in savage civil war, and were consequently driven by external foes gradually into the holes and corners of Europe, the mountains of Biscay, the fastnesses of Bretagne, the highlands of Scotland, the hills of Wales, the morasses and forests of Ire- land. There has been, 1 know, much disputation, much ink-shed, and I be- lieve some blood-shed, as to the filiation and the superior claims 6f their races. I feel little interest in the quarrel, but assuming the hypothesis, which makes the aborigines of Ireland Celtic, the cha- racter of pugnacity is fully borne out by their proceedings. There is, as we all know, one grand feud of Protestant and Roman catholic, dividing the popula- tion into two great classes. It is only the representative of the feud between English and Irish-mere ; and had the reformation chanced to have taken a different course, had England remained in the pale of the Romish church, the quarrel would be just going on in the same way as it is now. Indeed, it is probable, that the mob of Ireland would be at present ultra Protestant. But besides this feud, there are a thou- sand others, incident to a demi-civilized state of society. In almost every parish, there is a hereditary quarrel handed down from time immemorial, between families of names of discordant barba- rity. Driscoll fights Sweeney ; Slattery is pitched against Shaughnessy; Con- ator, and the Purplemeri. nell is ready to hoist cudgel against Scully, all over the land. If you seek the cause of dispute, you may be told that Scully's grandfather had murdered Connell's grand-uncle, or ravished bis grandmother; but most probably you will be answered, that nobody knows why they fight, but it is an old fashion of the families, which it would be a shame to give up. Among the higher classes, the national disposition is of course curbed by the forms of polished society ; but even there, it is visible in the extra number of duels, the fierce contentions at public dinners, the angry- personal denunciations in speeches and pamphlets, which are almost peculiar to Ireland. Even the labourers in the same vineyard cannot agree to carry on the work in harmony. So long ago as the days of the martyr Charles, Ormond strenuously advised that the Roman Catholics should be allowed to meet, because he asserted, from his own long experience of them, that they could not come together without quarrelling, and his assertion was verified by the result. In our time, the Catholic body was shaken to its centre, by a division about the policy of allowing the crown a con- trol over the nomination of their prelates, or, as it was called, the Veto. The more moderate party, anxious princi- pally for the acquisition of civil rights, were willing to grant it : the more zeal- ous, including the chief orators of the sect, the priests, and consequently the mob, clamoured that it would be an in- vasion of the unity of the church, aud an abomination not to be tolerated. There was an immensity of angry dis- cussions on the subject, and the Ve- toists and Anti-Vetoists hated for the moment one another more cordially thau they did the common enemy. The Veto Row. It was during the heat and fervour of this feeling, that an aggregate meeting was called in the city of ; the object of which was, to petition Parlia- ment for the removal of the remaining enactments of the penal code. In that rich and populous city, the upper classes of the Roman Catholics were almost without exception Vetoists ; the mob, as I have already said, were there, as every- where else, enlisted warmly on the other 1824.] Lights and Shadows of Irish Life. 5 side. The Vetoiste had formed a local board, from which this meeting emanated. It was, therefore, expected that they would have had every thing their own way. A gentleman of immense weallh, and considerable talents, was chosen for the chair; the resolutions intended to be prepared, were carefully and cle- verly written, with what appeared to them a due mixture of firmness and moderation : and the most respectable men of the party were primed with speeches, intended, by an innocent de- ception, to pass for extempore. No dif- ficulty was apprehended. But alas, as in true love, so in politics, the current can seldom be got to run smooth. The mob leaders had determined that Veto- ism should not be the-order of the day. This determination, however, Ihey kept in a great measure to themselves. Their resolutions were composed in secret con- clave, by the select few ; the news- papers in their pay, uttered only indis- tinct murmurs ; the priest from the altar muttered merely vague insinuations of the dangers of the church. Underhand, every tiling was organized with a skill invigorated by fiery zeal, and rendered dexterous by continual practice. The Vetoists knew nothing about it, and went on with their preparations. They provided a spacious building capable of containing some hundreds, for they knew enough of the state of public feel- ing not to trust themselves to an exhi- bition al fresco, and they determined on filling it exclusively with their friends. When the day arrived, they succeeded in this object, and the meeting, with scarce any exception, was composed of partizans of Vetoism. The business of the day had begun. The chair was taken ; the opening speech, dwelling on Ihe grievances under which the Catholics laboured, their undeviat- ing loyalty, their devotion to the laws, their determination to act as peaceable members of society, without resorting to any agitating measures, and other simi- lar topics, was making ; when a horrible clamour outside interrupted all Ihe pro- ceedings. It was a jubilant shout, rais- ed by the mob, which had gathered in some thousands about the place of meet- ing, on the arrival of a priest, whose in- tense zeal in the cause, and powers of popular eloquence, had made him a great favourite with the rabble. He was not long idle. " What," said he, " is the meaning of all this ? Who are these peo- ple, who have taken it upon them to re- jircscnt this populous and important city ? Is there a man among them whom you would trust ? I vow to Heaven, not one. — No, I repeat it — not one \" The cry was echoed by the crowd. " No ! No!" they roared forth — " not one! down with them, down with them." " Patience, my friends," said the speaker; "Pa- tience ! let us have no violence. Is it to be endured, that they, corrupt fawners on our oppressors, lickspittle lacqueys to the ascendancy men, whose game they are playing, are to pass milk-and-water re- solutions, bowing down before our ty- rants, and begging with cap in hand for the indisputable rights to which, as men, as Irishmen, we are entitled ? Not it." Again arose the echo. " Not it — not it," was shouted by a thousand voices. " Turn them out — knock them to the devil.'* " Wait awhile, my friends," continued the priest, " wait awhile. You know Counsellor is in town ; he told me that the moment he could get out of court, where he is this instant defending a poor man, of whom the Orange magis- tracy are anxious to make a victim, he would be here." This w r as ben trovato* The generosity of the popular barrister, rescuing a poor man from the fangs of ravenous orangism, was irresistible. It raised him fifty degrees in the estima- tion of the auditory ; to whom the priest said nothing of the three guineas, which the generous lawyer pocketed on the occasion. Here another orator presented him- self; he was a man of gigantic stature, a noticeable fellow of thews and sinews, who was ever prominent in promoting a row. " Why then," said he, " it will be a pretty joke, to bring the counsellor here when all is over. The fellows inside are as cunning as foxes, and will pass their vagabond resolutions now in double quick time. The sneaking rascals will print them in the papers, as the pro- ceedings of the Catholics of the city, and the d d orangemen will chuckle at having nicked us. Who will back me in collaring the turnspit in the chair inside, and shaking the liver out of him?'' A unanimous burst of approbation as- sured the speaker that he would not be deserted in his laudable attempt. A grim smile passed over the murky coun- tenance of the priest, on seeing that what he desired was thus to be accom- plished without compromising him. He put in, however, a faint caveat in favour of moderation, which was drowned in the tumult of the now excited mob. A Lights and Shadows of Irish Life. [JULY, desperate msh was made at tho gates of the building, which those inside had hastily closed when they perceived the violence of the crowd ; and a simultane- ous attack was directed on all sides at the windows. In a moment, the doors were torn from the hinges, and the multitude rushed forward to dislodge the former occupants. They, alarmed even for life, tied as well as they could through a large window in the rear ; or, ming- ling with the invaders, gave up the con- test. At the side-windows, where the narrowness of the entrance gave the minority some chance of contending against superior numbers, the Vctoists shewed fight, and in some instances they succeeded in making their ground good. But the rush through the door over- powered them, and their partial success did them no farther service than to se- cure them an additional sallyport or two of retreat The scene of tumult was vivid. In every corner was miscella- neous fighting, and the house rang with the cries of rage, exultation, or pain; with huzzas, yells, oaths, and execrati- ons. Black eyes, bloody noses, and broken bones, were there in plentiful abundance ; happily, however, no lives Were lost. The struggle did not last two minutes; a panic had seized the •Vctoists, and sauve qui pent was soon the order of the day. The benches, plat- forms, hustings, and all the paraphernalia of public meetings, which they had erected, were torn down, and converted into weapons of offence against them- selves ; and the brawny orator, who had led forward the rabble, and done the cause some service in the fistic war, which ensued, rising upon the shoulders of his tumultuous associates, was proceeding to put his threat of collaring the chair- man into execution. That gentleman bad kept his seat unmoved during the disturbance, and now seeing the utter discomfiture of the project of his friends, had recourse to the only manoeuvre that could at all get him out of the scrape,with oven the appearance of decency. He rose, and by gestures, for no voice could be heard in the deafening clamour which raged around, supplicated for a hearing. Angry as the mob was, and flown with the insolence of victory over their supe- riors, his personal character and influ- ence had considerable weight with their leaders, and a well understood signal from them lulled the multitude, after some indignant cries of contempt and hatred, into an unwilling silence. He took advantage of the pause, to declare the meeting adjourned, and made a hasty retreat through the window behind him, amid cries of " no, no, no adjourn- ment; shame, shame," mixed with the most truculent hootings, and garnished by a flight of missiles, the fragments of the broken furniture. He escaped com- paratively unhurt, rallied about a couple of hundred of bis friends at a consider- able distance from the scene of contest; marched them to a tavern, passed unre- garded resolutions, and unavailing pro- tests, and retired home to ruminate on the absurdity of men, who think of pro- posing half measures to an unreflecting populace. SpeecMn^. and Chairing. Meanwhile the victors were subsid- ing into order. Silence was obtained, and, after some difficulty, a gentleman was found hardy enough to preside. In order to accommodate all parties, a spa- cious breach was made in the wall, and in the opening was placed the chair. — By it, was hastily thrown up a platform, on which the orators were to exhibit, so as to be heard by the crowd within and without. The arch-demagogue, the prime attraction of the day, did not however arrive for an hour, and the time was filled up by provincial performers, who tumbled through their periods for the diversion of the audience. These, however, kept carefully aloof from the grand common-places of the party,which were reserved for the chief ornament of the scene. When their prattle was get- ting generally voted tedious, a shout from the extremity of the crowd an- nounced the arrival of the counsellor, and a lane was instantly made for his passage to the platform. He sprung up in a moment, and stood bare-headed and erect in the middle of applauding thousands. His cheek was pallid, but his eyes beamed with intense excite- ment. He looked round with a slow and steady glance, and threw back bis ample shoulders to give full force io the words he was about to utter. His whole demeanour marked him a prac- tised artist in addressing such a crowd as was around him. He bowed once or twice carelessly, and waved impa- tiently with his hand to check the thun- ders of applause. Loud and long did that thunder continue, nor was it checked by any other consideration than that it was hindering their champion from speaking. When the anxious ex- 1824.] Lights and Shadows of Irish Life. ertions of the chair procured order, the orator immediately began- " Gratified as he was (he said) by the flattering, uii- bought approbation of his suffering countrymen, yet he would not waste another sentence on the subject; his heart was too full of his country, her wrongs, and her sorrows, to leave room in it for a thought connected with so in- significant a being as himself. And, heaven knows, enough there is of bitter- ness in our situation to wring and sad- den a heart like mine — Irish in every vein. Was ever a people so hapless as we ? We are strangers in our native country. Helets in the fields over which our fathers swayed. Neither time, nor our loyalty of demeanour, nor our exer- tions in fighting the battles of the coun- try with purse and person (it was in the height of the war against Buonaparte that this speech was made) nor our rea- diness to give every pledge which the most lynx-eyed investigator could de- mand, can make any impression on the minds of those whom their own baleful and bigoted passions and prejudices have arrayed in opposition to the millions of their countrymen. Year after year we are doomed to feel the bitterness of hope deferred. Year after year we have the same stale, and a hundred times refuted sophisms brought forward with unblushing effrontery to oppose our just pretensions. Can any man, who has the spirit of a man, put up with this ? But it is said that we are clamourous — gentle souls ! So it appears that we are io lie down without even the poor privilege of pigs (a laugh) without leave even to squall when our tormen- tors are plunging their knives into our throats. And again, there are agitators among us ! agitators ! aye, to be sure. I am an agitator — so I hope and trust are many whom I see around me. I hope that we will never cease to agitate and ruffle the slough of despond into which our enemies have cast us, until we emerge from its foUl waters for ever." This was a trope, or a figure — I do not know which — and, of course, was re- ceived with the applause, which is the regular tribute to trope and figure in Ireland. The orator went on. He spoke of the goodness of the Irish heart, the beauty of the emerald isle, the bravery of its sons, the chastity of its daughters. — He proved, to the satisfaction of his hearers, that Maida, and Talavera, Sa- lamanca, and Vittoria, were won by the Irish Catholic, much in the same way that l«s brother Geit from Badenoch or Lochaber would prove that they were achieved by the unaided arms of the breeches-less heroes of the Highlands. He held up the Duke of Wellington as a model of ingratitude, for not support- ing, in the Lords and the Cabinet, the cause of those men to whom alone he was indebted for the ducal coronet and the knightly garter. " Yet, in tlie army of this very man — I am sorry to say he is an Irishman, though happy to add, that his Grace has the grace to deny it — [hear, hear, and a laugh,] — though the bayonet is irresistible in the hand of a Catholic, the double epaulet of the major must not shine upon his shoulder. He may win his weary way up to the glorious privilege of commanding a company — though in practice even that paltry boon is but rarely conceded—but a regiment — What ! a Papist, an Idolator, an Ama- lekite command a regiment ! The idea would make every hair in my Lord Chancellor's wig, well arranged as it is, uncurl and stand up with horror. A Popish or Romish officer — they have a variety of pet names for us — is brave as his own sword — loyal, skilful, dash- ing, in all points of war, in all the pomp- and circumstances of military glory, in all the regularity and etiquette of mili- tary discipline, absolute and perfect — ho may be qualified io be a marshal of Fiance — but a British major he must not be ! — Why ? — Is any fault found; with his knowledge, his bravery, his ho- nour, his birth, his loyalty? Oh! no — none whatever. What then is his crime?' — He believes that the blessed Virgin — glory todier name — [here he blessed him- self, and the crowd bowed in reverence} — he believes, I say, that the Virgin* Mary is mother of God, and, therefore,. be he brave, be he all that can be said or sung in praise of a perfect soldier, he dies a subaltern !" Tumultuous uproar of applause fol- lowed this sentence. Many minutes elapsed ere order could be at all restored. The cheek of the orator was now flushed, and his eye blazing when he got through the next period. He- went over the different professions — how the Catholic could not rise in the navy, though he might direct the thun- ders of the British oak with unerring intrepidity — how parliament was closed against him, and open to mutton-pated people, whose sole merit was hatred of the majority of their countrymen — how the nobility of Howard, the antient 8 Lights and Shadows of Irish Life. [jT/LT fame of Talbot, the active loyalty of Kenmare, the tfarorilal ancestry of Clif- ford, were all equally unavailing to seat them with their peers—" or to come to matters nearer home, long standing at the bar, extensive practice, some degree of knowledge, at least of experience, Unimpeached integrity, must be coiir tented with a gown of stuff— don't laugh, gentlemen ; it may appear matter of form — but it is matter of substance — in my case it might make a difference of a thousand a-year — while insuffici- ency, inferior standing, ignorance, and want of public respect, figures away flauntingly in a gown of silk. And why — why, I ask, is the hardy sailor, the man of wealth or talent, the high-born lord, the learned lawyer kept from their stations — no impeachment is on their honour, no tache on their blazonry, no doubt of Iheir powers — but they hold by the faith of their ancestors, they believe in the creed of the majority of the civi- lized world — they believe that the Blessed Virgin [another blessing, and another responsive reverence from the multitude,] is worthy of honour. There is their crime — we all know what is its punishment." [Applause.] He had now fairly worked himself into a passion, and began to rage. He went into a history of the penal laws, from the treaty of Limerick to the mo- ment he was speaking. He reminded his audience how the Catholic priests had been hunted down like wild beasts - — a price fixed upon their heads — their churches, or, as they were insultingly called, their mass-houses closed — how the layman had been deprived of arms, aye, even of a fowling-piece, to pursue the game over the lands of his ancestors — how a papist dared not ride on a horse of the value of five pounds — how chil- dren had been set against parents by a lure to their cupidity — how the youthful progeny of the poor had been dragged away from them, to be inclosed in semi- naries of proselytism — how every thing, in short, which could be said or feigned of all former persecutions of the church, had been enacted in tenfold ferocity against the unfortunate Irish. " Yes, my friends, and fellow-sufferers, former persecutions, those of Nero and Diocle- sian, were less cruel than those of our English oppressors. These pagan prin- ces, it is true, cut off by fire and sword the holy martyrs of the church ; but they did not wage war on a whole people as a people. Where tire sword smote there Ihe victim died, and there was an eitd, But, in our ease, we were sub- mitted to the process of lingering death : we were roasted ai a slow lire. Like the tyrants of old, they bound our living bodies to the dead carcase of a treaty putrefying in their corruption. [A trope Hibernian — and, of course, followed by immense applause.] " Gentlemen, [there were not fifty coats whole at the elbows in the multi- tude, but, nevertheless, they were ex- officio gentlemen : though it would have been hard to deduce their title to the name, either from their gentleness or gentility.] Gentlemen, it is vain for us to conceal from ourselves the miserable fact of our horrible degradation. We are slaves. We dare not speak." To corroborate this fact of their slavery and silence, a tumultuous shout —That rent heaven's concave and beyoncL Frighted the Vetoists — arose, denouncing vengeance against the ascendancy, and the bloody Orange- men. When it subsided, the counsellor continued, — " Yes, gentlemen, we dare not whisper above our breath. The in- trusive novelty of this three hundred year old church — this mushroom of yester- day — must not be muttered against. Well, be it so. It shan't be so long. The ranks of the establishment are scat- tered and broken up. The Cossacks of methodism are invading them in one flank, the murky-muzzled fanatics of the presbytery are assailing them in another, while we, children of the cross," [a blessing] " bearing the sacred symbol of our holy and unchangeable religion, hoisting the oriflamme of the church, are bearing down on them in unbroken phalanx, and down the accursed thing must go. Down — down — to eternal darkness — as sunk the Arians, the Nes- torians, the Waldenses, and all other foes of Catholicity, so must sink this spawn of Luther, this swarm of locusts, which issued from the bottomless pit, as pious Pastorini, a book which you all should read, has learnedly demonstrated. But to drop the consideration of these ecclesiastical matters for the present, though I hope and trust, brother Catho- lics, they will ever be prominent in your minds, for our religion is all that is left us, and turn to the matter more immediately in hand — a chance of our re-appearing in the possession, or, at least, in the show of possession, of the rights so abo- minably withheld from us, is now before us. Something, — it is needless to exa- 1824.] Lights and Shadmvs of Irish Life. mine too minutely what — has so dis- posed the minds of those in authority, that they are thinking of doing us some sort of tardy justice. But beware of the insidious manner in which it is proposed that this should be done. Some, no doubt, actuated by a real affection for liberty — alas! they are but few — and some, out of indifference to the cause of the church, to which they nominally be- long, would grant us emancipation with- out farther conditions. But others, sham friends to our cause, which they hope to ruin by their patronage, or else obliged to bend to the bigotry or haired of the dark-gowned churchmen of Oxford, or tlie purple-visaged corporators of Dub- lin, or the iron-handed and iron-eyed Anti-Irishmen, who rule Ireland all through its ill-fated hills and valleys, bawl aloud for securities. New oaths, new tests, arc required of us — our pure episcopal order is to be put under the surveillance of the underlings of an ini- mical cabinet, our ecclesiastics, See." I need not go on any farther with the counsellor's harangue. He went over every topic, which, from long experi- ence, he well knew would excite dis- content, or inflame indignation. He proposed, that a resolution, declarator}' of their unshaken attachment to the church, and their consequent firm deter- mination to resist the insidious encroach- ments of vetoism, should be instantly adopted — and adopted it was, amid a thunder of applause. A petition, framed in any thing but the spirit of supplica- tion, was passed in a similar temper, and the whole was wound-up by a second appeal, still more animated and unconciliating, from their favourite spokesman. The mob shouted, groaned, growled, wondered, hooted, or were mute in silence, as the various portions of his fervent harangue worked on their several passions; and, when at the pero- ration, he told them to spurn with in- dignation the paltry shuffling of cow- ardly or crawling compromises of their liberties and their religion, and to trust in the goodness of their cause, which must be blessed by the God of the whole world and of Ireland, [a common piece of Hibernian bathos] they in- terrupted his uplifted voice to exclaim, as if with the cry of one man — " Say no more about it— we trust in you." He bowed, as if oppressed by the weight of a compliment which he had anticipated, and sate in modest silence — while a re- solution, hastily put, and more hastily VOL. i." carried — decreed, that the Man of the People should be drawn from the place of meeling, in triumph, to his lodgings ia a distant and more fashionable part of the city. He opposed it with becom- ing diffidence — why should he not? The Nolo Episcopari is not conlined to churchmen — but, like the unwilling can- didate for the mitre, suffered his scruples to be over-ruled, and placed himself in an open carriage, decorated by what symbols of their party they could hastily- collect — green boughs, shamrocks, knots of ribband of the emerald dye — and drawn by hundreds, happy to perform the office of coach-horses in a cause identified by them with the cause of their country. Interior of an Orange-Lodge. The procession moved on as such pro- cessions are wont to do, noisily enough ; its ranks thickening as a snow-ball, by rolling onward, Its way, 'ere it had proceeded very far, lay through a long and narrow street, through which it had to wind slowly and cautiously. Now it so happened that in that very street was a tavern of an humble class, so humble indeed, as to deserve scarcely a higher appellation than that of a public- house. In London, to be sure, it would have assumed the title of Wine Vaults, and sold tine Port and undeniable Sher- ry ; but here it spoiled only whisky- punch, and matchless porter. So it was, that, call it as you please, it was the place of meeting of one of the most vio- lent Orange Lodges of the City. That day happened to be one of those ap- pointed for their monthly meeting, and they had assembled in considerable force. Long, however, before the hour of the procession had arrived, the Orange Lodge had dissolved; bul some business of internal arrangement de- tained its Purplemen in anxious conclave. The departure of those, who, though ini- tiated in the primary mysteries, knew nothing of the purple arcana, had re- duced-the numbers to but five. These had done their business, which occupied some time ; and, as it had then advanced somewhat into the evening, they re- mained to dine. (Even the uninitiated know that matters of mastication and refreshment, as they are technically termed, are excluded, by positive and unbending enactment, from the Lodges of Orangemen and Freemasons ; but nevertheless, in both societies, these form the usual appendage to their tab urs, after C 10 Lights and Shadows of Irish Life. [JULY, business is declared utterly concluded.) Dinner was but just over, and the Right Worshipful had given, over a foaming jug of punch, the far-famed Shibboleth of the party — " The glorious, pious, and immortal memory of the great and good King William, who saved us from popery, slavery, brass money, and arbi- trary power;" with such additional pray- ers for the success of its partisans, and imprecations on its enemies, as his ta- lents or experience in that line dictated. The high bumper was duly honoured. — "The thrice repeated cry, which hails alike the wine cup and the fight" (I for- get the exact words in Don Roderick) was given with all the ability of the lungs of the company ; and the upturned glasses on the table proved that no one there had disgraced the memory of the much-loved chief, by omitting to drain the beverage to its last drop. Just then a distant shouting and tumult reached their ears, and the landlord, eagerly bursting open the door, communicated to them the intelligence that a huge Pa- pist mob, chairing their ruffian counsel- lor, was proceeding to enter the street. " What is to be done?" said he ; " I know they will tatter my house, or at the least smash my windows. Are the villains coming r" said the master, starting from his seat, which he had resumed on the entrance of the landlord. "You had bet- ter, Martin, fasten up below — hoist the shutters — bolfe»the doors — and muster as many good men, and true, as you can find to stand by you in case of an as- sault/' The advice was the best that could be given, and Martin hastened to summon his household to put it into ex- ecution. '.* What shall we do i" asked, rather anxiously, one of the five. " What shall we do ?" indignantly retorted the master — " why, stick by poor Martin, against these bloody murderers, as long as flesh and bone hold together.. Do you think that we should desert him, and leave him to be roasted at a slow fire, as these villains did the other day, in Duhallow, to Regan the proctor ? or have his ears cut off, and stitched into his mouth, as they did at Knockne- crogheryto JackStubbs, for not knowing how to bless himself?'' — "Ay," said ano- ther, " or be piked and hung out like a salmon on a gaff, as they did to the Protestants on Wexford Bridge." — " Or burnt alive," added a third, " as was the case at Scullabogue." — " The short and long of the matter," said the master, cutting short this catalogue, of enormi- ties, " is, that I shall open a Lodge of Emergency. Hand me the constitution book, brother secretary, and I shall look at the bye-law ! Is Martin purple ?" — " To the back-bone," quoth the secre- tary. " He flung us the sign of distress coming in, if I mistake not?" asked the master. " He did," was the reply. — " Call him in, then, and let him report what progress he has made below." Martin announced that all was se- cure, that he had put the women and children in the back of the house, which projected over a river, and left his son, a grown-up stripling of about nineteen, and two men-servants, on guard in the front shop. " Are they the right colour?" said the master. " Your son Tom, I know is, for I did the job for him last lodge day myself." — " I know they have got oue step," said the landlord, " but cannot say whether they are higher or not." — " Let them be tried," said the Secretary, " for we are going to open a purple or orange lodge — the former if possible — and wish to have as many in the room as we can muster." — " I shall call them," said Martin, and in obedi- ence to his call they made their appear- ance. " One at a time, brother," said the master ; and he got severally from each the word and sign which gave them title to sit under the jurisdiction of his hammer. What these tests are I cannot say, nor is it material to my story. " Before you open, brother worshipful," said one of the company, " I propose * the aforesaid;' for our brethren just now comein have not drank it yet." — " Here, Martin," said the master, " order off this punch, and post on the table a bottle of your primest port. We shall give it in the regal purple stream. ' Here is the Glorious, Pious — and may he who will not drink it be rammed into the great gun of Athlone-, and spattered into pieces against the battlements of Hell, to be made into sparables for Orangemen's shoes.' Hip 1 hip ! hurra ! hurra ! hurra ! which was of course uproariously responded by the company. As the hurraing concluded, he flung the glass vehemently against the cieling, that it might never be pol- luted by being employed in the service of a less sacred pledge, and the room im- mediately rang with the clatter of shi- vered glasses, and the jingle of their fal- ling fragments. He seized his hammer, ordered on the purple cloth, decked himself with the 1824.] Lights and Shadows of Irish Life. 11 paraphernalia of his office, in which he was followed . by his brethren : sent brother Gubbins (one of the servants, but there is in lodges no distinction of persons—- all being brethren) to tile the door, and opened business with the ac- customed prayer. •• How stands the enemy, brother?" said he to Tom ; " look out, and see." Tom looked accordingly, and reported that the crowd appeared to have met with some check, for they were only thickening at the end of the street, and making no progress. In fact, an accumulation of broken pavement at the entrance of the narrow pass had de- layed the advance for some few minutes, and they were busily employed, in re- moving it, while the more practised were reserving the ammunition thus casually in store, in expectation of that most pro- bable of all occurrences — a row. " We have brought ourselves, Worshipful," said an enthusiastic orangeman, whose father and uncle had been murdered by a party of rebels, during one of the in- surrections so common in Ireland — " we have brought ourselves, Worshipful, to a pretty pass. If there ever was a body of men to be pitied, it is the Protestants of this country. We had the land in full domination, entirely in our own power, scarce thirty years ago, and now we are obliged to skulk into holes and corners, to declare our adherence to the principles which put the house of Ha- nover on the throne — which raised its princes from being petty electors in beg- garly Germany, where,|in all probability, they would have been lacqueys, cap-in- hand to Buonaparte, or some of Buona- parte's people, to the high rank of mo- narch! of the greatest empire of the earth. We have, of our own mere mo- tion, raised the Papists from a state of lowly depression to a participation of rights which they never granted to any Protestant community in any country where they bore sway — we have given them rank, and weight, and wealth — we withheld from them nothing but the en- joyment of power, which they have always abased when they enjoyed, and which they are now clamouring for, only for an opportunity of abusing it again. They long for the days of the massacre of 1641 — their souls yearn after a repeti- tion of the rule of James, when at a slap they attainted 3,000 of us, and when they caged us up wherever they had dominion, to be murdered at the sanguinary dictate of their bloody priesthood. Blessed be God! we beat them then. The policy of our ancestors bound them with heavy chains, and they bent under them pa- tient as Issachar. In 1715, Scotland and the north of England arose in rebellion in favour of that accursed house, for which the Papists had bitten the dust beneath our swords at the Boyne, at Antrim, and at Derry, and yet all was quiet here. In 1745, the Pretender shook England to its centre — and Ireland looked on. Why? They were kept down by our fathers. But a day comes, and we re- lieve them of the weighty bonds of which they complained. How are we thanked? By rebellion after rebellion — by murder and by fire. Their gra- titude is to turn, viper like, on the hands that warmed them into life. My poor father — but to speak of matters not per- sonal to myself — are not our churches insulted — our ministers mocked — our church-yards violated — our persons at- tacked? Is not this very mob a proof — *' The noise is getting nearer, brother Andrews," said thechair. " Curse them, that ever gave them liberty to make it." — " Ay," said Andrews," they have rued it already. He that first moved Popish Emancipation in the Irish Parliament lay dead beneath a Papist ball in his heart, at Three Bullet-gate."— "I tell you what, lads," said Hopkins, the Secretary, a dashing, active, and tumultuous young man, on whom the wine he had swal- lowed had done its office in some de- gree ; " suppose we show them who we are ; suppose, I say, that we hoist a flag of defiance, and shake over the vaga- bonds the honest banner of King Wil- liam. Here it is," said he, lifting it from the chest — " here it is, my boys ; will you refuse to spread it to the blaze of day?"—" Not I, for one," said the chair, " but we should be prepared for consequences. There will be an attack on us decidedly, can wo resist? Are there arms in the house ?" — " And plen- ty," said Martin ; " the chest is in the room, with arms enough for twenty men, primed and loaded, I warrant them, and oiled, in good condition ; there is ammunition too enough for our job." — " Arm ourselves, then," cried Andrews, " in the name of the God of Joshua, son of Nun. We are going to do no harm — but force must be resisted by force — The blood be on the head of him who does the first act of violence." The Orange Insult, In a moment the chest was open, and muskets, pistols, and blunderbusses, put C 2 T2 Lights unci Shadows of Irish Life. [JULY, into the hands of each, as they chose the weapons. Of all, {here was a store ; such is the tumultuous condition of many parts of Ireland. Immediately the centre window was opened, and al- most as soon, the long Hag-staff thrust forth— up the side of which, the banner, displaying the armed figure of William, on horseback, worked in black upon an orange ground, encompassed by the war-cry of the party, " The Glorious Memory 1G90," and his family motto, " Je Maintiendray" in shining letters, slowly coiled under the guidance of Hopkins. A cross stick was pushed forth, to steady its coiners, und the hook- nosed king stood conspicuous with his truncheon, pointed as if in defiance of the crowd, which had at that moment arrived under the window. " There you go," said the operator; " there you go, bless your face. Aye, aye, we'll give them one look at your eye-brow, and scare their cowardly souls, as you did in the old time. — See how they shake. Afraid of them, indeed ! Afraid of them ! Why, in 98, 1 held the church- yard of Shanakil, by myself, against three hundred of them, arid made them skelp. Look to yourselves, however, my lads, for the Amalekites are be- ginning to look dangerous." In fact, it was as he said. The mob had suddenly stopped, like a checked wild beast, and stood, tyger-like, in act to spring. Rage, in tenfold rabidity, in consequence of their passions having been excited by the harangue of their great champion, and the intoxication always attendant on numbers, was soon the predominant feeling. Curses, loud and deep, were immediately uttered upon the figure of the victor of the Boyne. The chief, whose title gave the name, and whose recollection, the con- fidence to their hated antagonists, met their eye, slowly swaying over them in the wind. Their first files were in hasty consultation on what was to be done ; whether to commence an immediate attack with missiles, or to batter in the door by the main strength of their dense numbers. The consultation, no doubt, would have been but short, though it is not unlikely that a secret dread, in- spired by the old, and long undisputed superiority of the party which offered the insult, and a perfect certainty that they were prepared to defend it to the utmost, operated in making it longer than, otherwise, would have been the case. Within, at the three front win- dows of the upper floor, whence the flag was hoisted, stood the Purplemen, three in each, screened by the sides of the windows, or crouching under the cover of their bases ; every man with his piece cocked, and in readine s to fire at the first symptom of violence against the house. There was every reason to expect a bloody result. It would have been impossible to have missed in that immense concourse. Every shot must have told ; and if the crowd could have taken courage, after the death of some twenty or thirty of their associates, it would hare been equally impossible to have held the house against them. The civil, or military power, was out of the question ; the whole affair of the panic, or the victory, would not have lasted five minutes. The counsellor prevented these hor- rors. It was some time before the check reached his part of the procession, and when it did, those immediately about him could not tell the cause. An in- quiry, hastily passed forward from him, and as speedily answered, communicated to him how affairs stood; a hundred hands pointed at once to " The flag ! the flag !" — " The flag from the window of Martin the Orangeman." He im- mediately saw the danger, and jumping up in his chair, stamped eagerly with his foot, and pointed onward with his hand. " On ! On!" he cried, in a vehe- ment accent. " On! On! in the name of God and the Virgin ! Touch not a stone of the house, or a thread of the silk of that accursed flag. They want you to do if. It will be their greatest triumph. On! On! I implore — I pray — if you love me — if you love your cause — if you value your religion — go on." The few men of common sense, in the crowd, added their in- treaties to his, and after a dead pause, and a deep silence, Ihe unwilling multi- tude moved slowly on, darting savage and sanguinary glances at the prey with which they had hoped to have glutted themselves, and at the delested symbol of insult, which hung over them like a pestilence. When they moved forward, the mas- ter sprung up from his post. " There they go — the cowardly rascals — there they go ; true children of dirt — real fol- lowers of filthy James. Here, brethren, send them the charter song after them, like duck shot into their fails. Chorus it at the pitch of your voices. 1824.] The Press's Raging Fury, ^c. l; « Sound, sound the trumpet, sound ; Beat h'"gh your rattling drums, Behold, your hero enters, Your great deliverer comes." The roaring of the multitude soon drowned the utmost exertions of their voices, but they still continued the song ; and the crowd moved on, fretful, glow- ing, agitated, and thirsty for blood, rending the sky with shouts of execra- tion and vengeance. If, for a moment, these were intermitted, the hoarse voices of the nine Purplemen were heard float- ing above them, like surf upon the sea, chaunting disjointed verses of their fa- vourite anthem. Many a day of blood in Ireland, has resulted from a cause as trifling as what I have related. THE PRESS'S RAGING FURY ; OR, TUB HONEST REPORTER'S SUFFERINGS. Being a relation of their perils and dan- gers, and of the extraordinary hazards they undergo in their noble quest of adventures : together iviih their undaunted valour, and rare courtesy in writing facts for the public, and the manner of their spending their coin in pot-lwuses, whenever they can. Ye gentlemen of Cockney land, On beef and beer who mess, Ah, little do you think upon The perils of the Press. Give ear unto its Gentlemen, And they will plainly show All the cares, and the fears, While the type-fed cases go. All ye, that be reporters,' Must bear a valiant heart, For when you come upon the press Ye must not think to start; Nor once to be faint-hearted, At lie, fib, bounce, or so, Ye must hoax silly folks. When the type-fed cases go. The kickings and the horse-whippings Poor gentlemen endure, From hostile whip, or scornful lip, We seldom rest secure. Our sleep it is disturbed,* By dreams of Barry O We must feel whelk and wheal, When the type-fed cases go. 'Mid sheets of roaring blunders, And lies, and libels coarse, We give you charming poetry Fit to enchant a horse. Such as that pretty epigram Upon Sir Hudson Lowe,t And the bar of Helenar, When the type-fed cases go. Sometimes to Abraham's bosom A living man we send, (As lawyer Scarlett,J whom we doomed A month since to his end.) NEPTUNE'S RAGING FURY; OB, THE GALLANT SEAMAN'S SUFFERINGS. ' Being a relation of their perils and dangers, and of the extraordinary hazards they undergo in their noble adventures: together with their undaunted valour, and rare constancy in all their extremities: and the manner of their rejoicing on shore, at their return liome.' You gentlemen of England, That live at home at ease, Aht little do you think upon The dangers of the seas : Give ear unto the mariners, And they will plainly show All the cares, and the fears, When the stormy winds do blow. All you that will be seamen, Must bear a valiant heart, For when you come upon the seas You must not think to start ; Nor once to be faint-hearted, In hail, rain, blow, or snow, Nor to think for to shrink, When the stormy winds do blow. The bitter storms and tempests Poor seamen do endure; Both day and night, with many a fright, We seldom rest secure. Our sleep it is disturbed With visions strange to know, And with dreams on the streams, When the stormy winds do blow. In claps of roaring thunder, Which darkness doth enforce, We often find our ship to stray Beyond our wonted course; Which causeth great distractions, And sinks our hearts full low; 'Tis in vain to complain, When the stormy winds do blow. Sometimes in Neptune's bosom Our ship is tost in waves, And every man expecting The sea to be their graves ; See Old Times. f See Morning Chronicle. X See Courier. 14 The Press's Raging Fury, fyc. [3VlY t Which we most contradict, again, In the next post, or so, We belie, low and high, When the type-fed cases go. We laugh at faith, and prayer, With all our might, and thought, And if we be detected Strong lying bears us out. Of God we ask no succour, For he, a* all men know, Never guides us, or sides us, While the type-fed cases go. There was poor Lady Lauderdale,* Wife of an Earl renowned, [harm, While snug and warm, she thought no We burnt her to the ground ; And then with ease, like Beddome's bees,t So famed, not long ago, Lady L. revived quite well, While the type-fed cases go. We scribble doughty paragraphs, A penny a line the price, To serve our English assery With many a rare device; To please our English assery Our pains we freely show, For we toil, and we moil, While the type-fed cases go. We send 9 lords to the Indies, Who ne'er were destin'd there. Sometimes again, from France and Spain, Get letters past compare. Which in garret high carousing O'er small-beer, all-a-row, We did write, clear and bright, While the type fed cases go. When Parliament is over, And lengthy speeches past, Of Mr. Weare, or Thurtell fair, We make the folks repast : But when Dick Martin grumbles, Or Brougham does furious grow, Then we rouse up the House While the type-fed cases go. If Cobbett should abuse us, When we are all at wars, Or if John Bull misuse us, We care not for their scars ; Our roaring pens shall teach them Our brazen pluck to know, While we roar, like bear, or boar, When the type-fed cases go. ,We are no cowardly shrinkers, But true reporters bred ; We'll play our parts, like valiant hearts, And never fly for dread. We still call names most nimbly, Whether we are right or no, With our mates please the Fates, While the type-fed cases go. Then up aloft she mounteth, And down again so low; Tis with waves, O with waves, When the stormy winds do blow. Then down again we fall to prayer, With all our might and thought; When refuge all doth fail us, 'Tis that must bear us out : To God we call for succour, For He it is we know, That must aid us, and save us, When the stormy winds do blow. The lawyer and the usurer, That sit in gowns of fur, In closets warm can take no harm, Abroad they need not stir; When winter fierce with cold doth pierce, And beats with hail and snow, We are sure to endure, When tlie stormy winds do blow. We bring home costly merchandise, And jewels of great price ; To serve our English gallantry With many a rare device; To please the English gallantry, Our pains we freely show, For we toil, and [we] moil, When the stormy winds do blow. We sometimes sail to the Indies, To fetch home spices rare ; Sometimes again to France and Spain, For wines beyond compare ; Whilst gallants are carousing In taverns on a row, Then we sweep o'er the deep, When the stormy winds do blow. When tempests are blown over, And greatest fears are past, In weather fair, and temperate air, We straight lie down to rest; But when the billows tumble, And waves do furious grow, Then we rouse, up we rouse, When the stormy winds do blow. If enemies oppose us, When England is at wars With any foreign nations, We fear not wounds nor scars ; Our roaring guns shall teach 'em Our valour for to know, Whilst they reel in the keel, When the stormy winds do blow. We are no cowardly shrinkers, But true Englishmen bred; We'll play our parts, like valiant hearts, And never fly for dread ; v We'll ply our business nimbly, Where'er we come or go, With our mates, to the Streights, When the stormy winds do blow. Morning Chronicle. t Morning Post. jg24.] Song from the Spanish. 15 Then courage! all, brave gentlemen ! Then, courage! ell brave mariners, And never be dismay'd, And never be dismay'd ; While England holds a long-ear'd rout, Whilst we have bold adventurers, We ne'er shall want a trade. We ne'er shall want a trade: Our masters will employ us, Our merchants will employ us, To fetch them stuff I know, To fetch them wealth, I know ; Like men of sense, work for pence,* Then be bold, work for gold, While the type-fed cases go. When the stormy winds do blow. When we have done our week's work, When we return in safety, With wages for our pains, With wages for our pains, The tapster, and the vintner, The tapster and the vintner Will help to share our gains. Will help to share our gains ; We'll call for liquoi roundly, We'll call for liquor roundly, And if we're let, we'll owe ;t And pay before we go ; Then reel home grand, along the Strand, Then we'll roar, on the shore, While the type-fed cases go. When the stormy winds do blow. SONG FJtOM THE SPANISH. J [Mientres duerme mi nina Zefiro alegre, Sopla quedito, No la recuerdes. Sopla manso viento Al sueno suave < Y ensena a ser grave A tu movimiento, &c.J While sleeps my darling, Breeze of the west, Zephyr ! breathe lightly, Break not her rest ; Soft be your breathing O'er her sweet sleep ; Be all your movements Gentle and deep ! Bring me back, zephyr, That balmy breath, Which you will feast on, Her pearl rows beneath - y But still I charge you. Breeze of the west, Zephyr! breathe lightly, Break not her rest. Mar not her sleep, while Dreaming she lies j Death, if she wakens, I fear from her eyes. How should your stars And your fortunes be blest, That let you wander O'er such a breast ! But still I charge you, Breeze of the west, Zephyr ! breathe lightly,. Break not her rest. * Pence, certainly. Gold is out of the question. t In the old poem, " And pay before we go." The new reading is evidently much nearer the truth. X In the Edinburgh Review, No. lxxviii. is a translation of this Song, which, however, does not keep very close, to the original, as any one who compares them will see. 16 On the Folly of Boasting of High Birth. [JULY, ON THE FOLLY OF BOASTING OF HIGH BIRTH; Including Remarks on Moore, Hogg Glenbervie, 1 There is no species of pride more repulsive, than the pride of merely high birth. Now we do not say this, because we ourselves happen to be descended from three generations of taylors, beyond which we cannot count; but in simple sadness, as we would deliver a problem in Euclid. Your men of really high birth, seldom show their sense of its im- portance, obtrusively, if they are in any condition to cut a figure in the world in any other way whatever — but when it happens, that they have no other preten- sions to distinction, they too often be- come very clamorous and absurd. Yet nothing can be truer than the old ob- servation, that there is no nobility that is not sprung from beggary, or no beggary that is not descended from nobility. Talent, at all events, does not follow birth ; and we were led into these obser- vations, by a conversation we had the evening before last at \he Mitre, with some eminent literati on the subject. We could not help remarking, how many of our present literary men arose from humble situations. Tom Moore's father is, or was, a grocer and small cheesemonger, in Fleet-street, Dublin : and we are informed, that Tom's original occupation was 'tending the customers. It was here, we suppose, that while dis- pensing curry to cooks anticipating the East Indian steam of mulligatawny, he first took a fancy to the land that far away " Into the golden orient lies," and his thoughts were turned to the " spicy gales" of which he so often speaks, by the juxtaposition of mace and cinnamon. It would be, perhaps, pushing the question too far, if we were to conjecture that the far-famed sweet- ness of his verse was derived from the dulcet condiment of his paternal counter — that the heat and pungency of his political squibs could be traced to its pepper — or that the very name of Brown, which is affixed to them, was adopted in compliment to the colour, either of his father's sugars, or the paper in which his infant fingers delighted to wrap the parcels which he carried trippingly along the street. We all know that Hogg is a shepherd, not metaphorically, but li- terally battening his flocks— that Allan Cunningham used to carry a hod upon Cunningham, Jrjfery, Sheridan, Lord IcelwaU, fyc. Sfc. his shoulders, as own man to a stone- mason, a post which he has exchanged for that of being head-labourer at Chan- trey's, in Pimlico — and is the verse or prose of these eminent men in the slightest way affected by these circumstances ? Not in the least. You only remark, when you learn them, that Hogg has so much consistency, as to draw the characters in his novels with the same free pencil, fearless hand, and elegant colouring, as he marks his sheep; and that Allan hammers a story for the Lon- don Magazine, with the same delicate touch as he would use in hewing out a headstone for a blind cobler, to be erected in some woeful-looking church- yard, overrun with thistles, and infested with all sort of crawling things. We said that Hogg and Cunning- ham's original condition in life were well known — but, perhaps, of another great " talented man," of the same country, Mr. Je fiery — it may not be known, that he is, by paternal origin, a barber — Old Jamphrey, as they used to call the name in those days, having ex- ercised the tonsorial art in the Old Town of Edinburgh, with great credit to himself, and much ease to his patients. Poor Lord Byron, when we met him one night at Lady Caroline Lamb's, (about ten years ago) we remember said a pretty fair thing on this point, " You may trace the old blood, James," said he, "at work; you see the varlet is still at the hereditary trade of shaving and puffing." Now who can say, that Mr. Jeffery's barberian descent, in the least particular, injures the brilliancy of his articles? There are few peers of the realm could write any thing so clever — but Lord Byron, at that time, had taken a great dislike to the " talented man." Sheridan's father was an itinerant lec- turer, who picked up the crumbs as well as he could, by shewing that people should call b. a. y. o. n. e. t, hagnct, and s. e. r, v. a. n. t, sarvant, and other pleasant little curiosities ; yet, wc regret to say, that even Sherry, after he rose in life, had too much of this petty pride, which we are exposing, about him. For when the late Syl. Douglas,— who was a very respectable and decent man, well and honestly employed in various de- partments, in the course of which he translated a poem called Ricciardetto, 1824.] On the Folly of Boasting of High Birth. 17 was made a lord by the title of Glenber- vie, what was Sheridan's remark ? You must know, that Syl. Douglas had been an apothecary originally, and a very re- spectable profession it is — (the late Mr. Keats, who wrote Endymion, a poem, and other books, was an apothecary) — but what then? He was now a lord. However, what do you think Sheridan said ? The old rogue was playing cards when he heard of Syl's promotion; " what's his title?" said he; "Glenber- vie," was the answer : on which he spoke the following indefensible verse while playing his game : " Glenbervie — Glenbervie — What's good for the scurvy ? But why is the doctor forgot ? In his arms he should quarter A pestle and mortar, For his crest an immense gallipot. Could any thing be conceived more illiberal ? As we ourselves are goose-descended, we shall not say any thing about taylors ; but, en passant, we may remark, that many meu — aye, men — of genius have been tailors. We instance Mr. Thel- wall, and look at his poetry ! You will find it all good measure, and excellent stuff, as Thelwall told Jeffery, when he formerly abused him. " You may curl up at me, as you like," said the rhyming tailor, " Mr. Jeffery, but I shall comb you down. I'll not be bearded by you. You shan't stir me up with your pole." This took off the edge of the eriticism very much, and Mr. Thelwall is lectur- ing to the present day, with infinite satisfaction to a crowded audience, in- cluding himself. We confess that the manners of the great cannot be immediately caught by people who come up from the low walks of life ; but, after all, what is more com- mon-place and ridiculous, than to make such an objection. Our manners are moulded to a sphere of life in which we act — a dandy initiated thoroughly in all the mysteries of Almack's, would be as much astray in a company of fox- hunting Yorkshire 'squires, as any of the 'squires would be amid the starred and spangled company of Almack's. Now you certainly would take Words- worth, if you met him in company, for a sort of upper bailiff to a smaH farm in the north ; never for a great poet and stamp distributor. What then f It only proves that Mr. Wordsworth, living in the blissful solitude of the eternal hills, or in hearing of the primaeval fall of mur- muring streams, never was used to the company of ladies and gentlemen — such as we meet eating, drinking, talk- ing, and flirting in this frivolous age. We knew an American, who, after hav- ing been reared a carpenter in all the fine simplicity and freedom from man- ners prevalent in the United States among that class of people, was left a large property by the death of a distant relation in Hampshire; He came over to this country, and found himself among rather a recherche set of fashionable re- latives. They, shocked at his manners, determined to break him in at home, be- fore they exhibited him in company — and one of the ladies was deputed to perform this difficult task. With great pains, she made him sit on a chair — eat off a plate — forbear the use of a clasp knife at meals — and some other such ceremonies. At last, he was deemed perfect enough, and a large dinner was given to the neighbouring Hantsmen, at which he was introduced. Unfortu- nately, it had been forgotten to teach him to take wine at dinner, and he accordingly made no motion towards accomplishing that piece of table ma- noeuvering. His patroness observed it, and determined to give him a hint. " Mr. L." said she, " you will take a glass of wine with me ?" — " No, thank you, ma'am," was the answer, " I much prefers porter." She looked aghast, . Ibi omnis Effusus labor - But we should be prolix, if we urged this matter any farther. We merely wished to shew that birth did not give talent — and that remarks as to breeding were unfair. Ovid, to use a quotation which has been generally overlooked, remarks : — genus et proavos et quae non fecimus ipsi "Vix ea nostra voco with this sentiment we agree. We shall, perhaps, further elucidate the subject on another occasion. VOL. I. D 18 French Songs. [JULY, FRENCH SONGS. C'est le sentiment general De toute la Sorbonne, De faire le bien pour le mal, Comme Dieu nous l'ordonne : 11 voudrois par un saint desir Pour la jeune Chimene, Lui donner autant de plaisir Qu'elle m'a fait de peine. II. L' Amour, ce tyran du bel age, De l'arc-en-ciel est le tableau : Tous deux annoncent le nuage, Tous deux ne se montrent qu'en beau. Un vernis brillant Ies decore ; Mais 1' eclat leger de ce ford Paroit, eblouit, s'evapore; Un instant le change en brouillard. The learned doctors of Sorbonhe In synod met, agree That good for evil should be done, For so runs Heaven's decree ; And such my holy feeling is Towards young and lovely Jane ! I wish to give her as much bliss As she has giv'n me pain. Love, tyrant of our youthful hours, Is like a rainbow in the air ; They both announcing clouds and showers, Th«y both appearing but when fair ; Each does a brilliant varnish wear ; But short-lived is their dazzling form, They shine, blaze forth, and disappear, And, in an instant, comes a storm. III. L'amour est un enfant aussi vieux que le monde, II est le plus petit, et le plus grand des dieux, De ses feux il remplit le ciel, la terre, et l'onde ; Et toute fois Iris le loge dans ses yeux. IV. Love's a child, yet as old as the world is his birth, Of the gods he's the greatest and small- est in size ; His flames are spread over sky, ocean, and earth. Yet Iris can lodge him, we see, in her her eyes ! *Toucher, Aimer : c'est la devise De celle-la que plus je prise. Rien qu'un regard d'elle a mon cceur Darde plus de traits et de flamme Que de tous l'Archerot vainqueur N'en scauroit on que appointer dans mon ame. To Touch, to love : the gay device Of her whom more than worlds I prize. One simple glance from her can throw More flames, more rapture in my heart, Than all the conquering archer's bow Could kindle by his potent dart. * These lines were addressed by Charles IX. of France, to his mistress, Maria Touchet. She was an apothecary's daughter, possessed of considerable charms. According to the Anecdotes of the Queens of France, she had " le visage rond, les yeux vifs et bien coupes, le front petit, le nez bien fait ainsi que la bouche, et le bas du visage admirable." There appears a rather revolting incongruity, in finding tender and delicate love-verses addressed to her, by the bloody monster of Saint Bartholomew. He wa3, however, a man of some ability. The device, " Toucher, Aimer," is a sort of anagram of her name; a species of wit much affected in those days. The royal anagram-match has, however, like many plebeian practitioners in this art, been obliged to depart from the strict spelling of her name, and spell it Toucher, to bring in an R. We all remember the unfortunate shifts to which Miss Mary Bohun's lover was driven, as recorded in the Spectator. To the lady's great indigna- tion, finding these names impracticable, he was obliged to substitute " Moll Boon," which profane contraction lost him his mistress. The " veritable anagramma" of Marie Touchet's name, we are gravely informed, is " Je charme tout." 1824.] My Wedding Night. 19 MX WEDDING NIGHT J The obnoxious Chapter in Lord Byron's Memoirs. [Every body knows that Lord Byron's Memoirs have been burnt, though it at present appears difficult to say, who should bear the blame, or deserve the credit, of such a destruction. However, we know, and every body may know if every body pleases, that there are more copies than two, beyond doubt, still existent ; and that the Memoirs, moreover, have been read by more than five hun- dred people, as Lady C ne L — b and Lady B sh could, perhaps, de- pose, if they were subposned for the nonce. Under these circumstances, it is quite impossible that they (begging their ladyships' pardon,) can remain unpub- lished. In order to expedite this good work, for we think it a pity that an expurgated edition of his lordship's autography should be lost, we here publish, with due mutilations, which we shall not specify, the chapter which has given most offence ; and, it is said, finally determined Lord Byron's relatives on the destruction of the MS. For its genuineness we can only answer, that it was given to us by a person who had the best opportunities of perusing the original. That there is such a chapter in the book, and that it was this alone which sealed the fate of the whole, is beyond all dispute.] His lordship had been just describing name — her pet name — every name of bis marriage. * * * « * " It was now near two o'clock in the morning, and I was jaded to the soul by the delay. I had left the company, and retired to a private apartment. Will those, who think that a bridegroom on his bridal-night should be so thoroughly saturated with love, as to render it im- possible for him to yield to any other feeling, pardon me when I say, that I had almost fallen asleep on a sofa, when a giggling, tittering, half-blushing face popped itself into the door, and popped as fast back again, after having whispered as audibly as a suivante whispers upon the stage, that Anne w as in bed ? It was one of her bridemaids. Yet such Is the case. I was actually dozing. Matrimony begins very soon to operate narcotically — had it been a mistress — had it been an assignation with any animal, covered with a petticoat — any thing but a wife why, perhaps, the case would have been different. " I found my way, however, at once into the bed-room, and tore off my gar- ments. Your pious zeal will, I am sure, be quite shocked, when I tell you I did not say my prayers that evening — morning I mean. It was, I own, wrong in me, who had been educated in the pious and praying kingdom of Scotland, and must confess myself — you need not smile — at least half a Presby- terian. Miss N — 1 — should I yet say Lady Byron ? — had turned herself away to the most remote verge, and tightly enwrapped herself in the bed-clothes. I called her by her name — her Christian endearment— I spoke in the softest un- der tones — in the most melodious upper tones of which my voice is master. She made no answer, but lay still, and I stole my arm under her neck, which exerted all the rigidity of all its muscles to prevent the (till then undreamt of) invasion. I turned up her head — but still not a word. With gentle force I removed the close-pressed folds of the sheet from her fiue form — you must let me say that of her, unfashionable as it is, and unused as I have been to paying her compliments — she resisting all the while. After all, there is nothing like a coup de main in love or war. I con- quered by means of one, with the other arm, for I had got it round her waist, and using all my strength, (and what is that of a woman, particularly a woman acting the'modeste, to that of a vigorous fellow, who had cleft the Hellespont,) drew her to my arms, which now clasped her to my bosom with all the warmth of glowing, boiling passion, and all the pride of victory. I pressed my lips warmly to hers. There was no return of the pressure. I pressed them again and again — slightly at last was I answered, but still that slightly was sufficient. Ce n'est que la premiere pas qui coute. She had not, however, opened her lips. I put my hand upon her heart, and it palpitated with a strong and au- dible beating under my touch. Heaven help it! it little knew how much more reason it would, ere long, have for more serious and more lasting throbbings. As yet she had not uttered a word, and I was becoming tired of her obsti- D2 20 My Wedding Night. [JULY, first time, with that coy and gentle pressure which is, perhaps, the dearest and most delightful of all sensations ever to be enjoyed by man. I knew by it that I had conquered. * * * * nacy. I made, therefore, a last appeal. ' Are you afraid of me, dearest V — I ut- tered, in a half-fond, half-querulous, tone. It broke the ice. She answered in a low, timid, alfd subdued Toice — * I am not,' — and turned to me, for the [There follows immediately, in his lordship's manuscript, a long passage — long enough to fill three of our pages, but it is unfortunately illegible. At least our co-respondent assures us that he could not decypher it — it is not, however, impos- sible that some more skilful decypherer will be found— nor is it totally out of the question, but that even this difficult passage may find its way into print.] " My sleep might have been profound, suffer nothing in her constitution — and but it was, of course, not over-long. I slept about three hours, which were sadly infested with dreams. I fancied that I had died, yet retained a puzzling sense of consciousness of existence. I seemed to be a sort of spectator of my own actions — to be looking at what the deceased Lord Byron was occupied about, yet, nevertheless, intimately blended and mixed up with all his ac- tions. After my death, I descended to the infernal regions. The hell into which I had entered, was not the orthodox de- pository for damned souls, nor was it the Miltonian region of sorrow and doleful shades; nor was it the hall of Eblis as in Beckford's Vathek ; nor what would be perhaps more to be expected from my style of reading at the time, the In- ferno of Dante, with its dread inscrip- tion of ' Lasciate ogni speranza.' No, it was the old classical hell, with the grim ferryman that poets write of, in the full costume of the JEneid, or rather, of an old weather-beaten engraving in Tooke's Pantheon. I had no sense of apprehension about me; I was but a visitor, although disembodied. Like our old schoolboy friends, Ulysses, or JEueas, I was but on a crui-ze, in quest of infer- nal novelties. I crossed the darksome flood, in the leathern boat, ploughing through it like a sluggish stream of mol- ten lava. I trod on the burning soil, and saw, through a long perspective of irregular fires, the smouldering rivers of unextinguishable flame. I perceived all the old company to whom I had been introduced by Dr. Drury at Har- row. Ixion, on his wheel ; Sisyphus rolling up his endless stone, like Southey, labouring after interminable quartos, puffed up as uselessly, and doomed to as rapid a revolution downhill ; Tityus, with his vultures, and he put me in mind of England, with her borough lords preying for ever on her entrails, while she still lingers on, and appears ever to so on. " As I had been presented to Ati Pacha, I had no scruple whatever of making my approaches to Pluto. He was sitting, silent, in which he had much the advantage of most kings with whom I have the honour of being ac- quainted, for he thereby avoided talking nonsense ; and by him sate his bride ; pale, dark-haired, with melancholy eye, and conjugal detestation of her sovereign lord ; she looked as if she would have no objection to an earthly lover. I ap- proached her, methought gallantly, and bowing reverently before her throne, with my right-hand placed with an air of devotion on my breast, I said, ' Hail, Proserpine !' " And, so saying, I awoke: but the influence of the dream was still strong upon me. The sound of my salutation rung in my cars, and the objects that met my eyes did not for some moments dispel the illusion. It was a clear Ja- nuary morning, and the dim grey light streamed in murkily through the glow- ing red damask-curtains of our bed. It represented just the gloomy furnace light with which our imaginations have illuminated hell. On the pillow reclin- ed the head of my wife, with her face paler than the while cover which she was pressing ; her hair had escaped from the night-cap, and it waved in long irre- gular tresses over her neck and bosom. She slept, but there was a troubled air upon her countenance. Altogether, that light — that cavern-like bed— that pale, melancholy visage — that disordered and dark hair so completely agreed with the objects which I had just seen in my slumbers, that I started. I was almost going to continue the address, which, in the inferior realms I had commen- ced. 'Hail, Proserpine,' was again upon my lips, but reason soon relumed. Her hand casually met mine, and, in- stead of the monumental-marble- like 1824.] The Humbugs of the Age. 21 belter creature — a beautiful woman. You may be sure it was not long * * coldness which should characterize the chill Queen of Erebus — it was warm, glowing, melting, moist — it was the hand not of a divinity, but of a much [There is some more of this chapter, but this is sufficient for a sample. We leave the remainder to the imagination of our readers. We are promised addi- tional sketches from the same quarter.] THE HUMBUGS OF THE AGE. No. I.— The There are some humbugs with which we have no patience, if we see a quack-doctor vending gin and rosema- ry-oil, under the name of the balsam of Rakasiri— or a mock-patriot bellowing loudly in a cause for which he does not care a pinch of snuff— or a pseudo-saint turning up the whites of his eyes, and rolling them about in all the ecstacies of hypocrisy, at a conventicle— or a poor anxious author sitting down to puff himself in a review, got up for the oc- casion — or twenty thousand more things of the kind, we can appreciate and pardon them all. The quack mixes — the orator roars— the saint prays — the author pufl's — for a tangible and in- telligible reason, money. This is the lawful object of humbug. Even with those who go through similar operations for fame, which is a secondary scope of the humbuggers, we are not very angry, if that fame be for any thing worth looking after. But the sort and de- scription of humbugs which we cannot tolerate, even in thought, are the fellows who, on the strength of some wretched infirmity, endeavour to puff themselves into notice, and not satisfied with being thought worthy of being objects of cha- rity and compassion, look about the company, into which they introduce themselves, for wonder or applause. Such, however, is the spirit of rival- ry, implanted by nature in the.,human breast, that, even in the most degrading things, the mind is sometimes so dis- eased as to quarrel for superiority. A dwarf, twenty-two inches long, envies and hates his fellow urchin who mea- sures but twenty-one. In an hospital, not very far from the room in which we write, it is not long since two unfortu- nates were in a ward,' labouring under that very unpleasant disorder which calumny has consigned to the exclusive use of the people north of the Tweed, Two worse cases, perhaps, never came under the eye of a physician. They were disgusting to the last degree, and, Opium Eater. strange to say, they quarrelled about their pre-eminence in misfortune. Things went so far that they proceeded even to blows, and were obliged to be separated. Here we have two wretched creatures claiming the prerogative of being the most itch-bitten of mankind, and fighting savagely for the proud dis- tinction ! To this we know no parallel, except the case of the Opium Eater, who makes it his glory that he has chewed more opiuai than any other man of his time. " Let them," says this poor ani- mal, "vaunt themselves on itch — I plume myself on opium." Instigated by hunger, it is now threp years since this man wrote the Confes- sions of an Opium Eater, for Taylor and Hessey, — and they paid him for it very handsomely ; as, indeed, they pay every body with whom they have any connexion. The article made a sensa- tion, which was kept alive by all those arts of puffing which we well know, and ere long shall most thoroughly expose. Medical men saw that it was all non- sense — men of taste perceived that it was mere fudge — but still it evidently made a sensation. Southey, with that amazing obliquity of intellect, and that bare-faced esprit de corps which dis- tinguishes the lake school, of which the Opium Eater was a sort of hanger- on, gave it a sentence in the Quarterly Review of most daubing panegyric — and magistrates, from their judicial seats, declared that it had done much mis- chief. Of Southey's total want of know- ledge of every thing connected with things that exist, there is no need what- ever to speak, it being as universally acknowledged as the existence of Saint Paul's ; and, therefore, of his opinion, which has been the regular text in all the advertisements of the book ever since, we make no account — no, not the smallest. As to the magisterial de- cision on the mischief of the book, there, too, we must demur. Some silly lads, as silly as their sheep, may have been 22 The Humbugs of the Age. [.JULY, deluded by the witra-lying of this tract, about the pleasures of opium-eating, to follow the foolish example — but we answer for it, that they soon stopped -—and the most that little Quincy can charge his conscience with, is the having contributed to send out of the world one or two incautious blockheads, who, like himself, were neither useful nor ornamental in it. In the last sentence we called this fellow, Quincy — and that, because it is right. He is humbug even to his name ; he has no right whatever to the Norman De. His father was an honest shop- keeper, who lived and died Quincy ; and his son might just as well designate himself Mr. Quin Daisy, as Mr. De Quincy. Humbug also is he as to his personal appearance, for he directs a painter (p. 142.) to paint him according to his own fancy of beautiful creation. We own that he does this in badinage ; but badinage or not, no insinuation can be more contrary to the fact. Conceive an animal about five feet high, propped on two trapsticks, which have the size but not the delicate proportions of rol- ling-pins, with a comical sort of inde- scribable body, and a head of most por- tentous magnitude, which puts one in mind of those queer big-headed carica- tures that you see occasionally from whimsical pencils. As for the face, its utter grotcsqueness and inanity is to- tally beyond the reach of the pen to describe; it is one in which George Cruikshank would revel, and we strong- ly recommend that capital artist to draw the picture of Quincy's household, as sketched by himself in the 139th and following pages of his Magnum Opus. He comes forward principally, as we know, on the ground of his having swal- lowed a large quantity of laudanum ; just as a beggar, in a foreign lazaretto, thrusts his leprous leg under your nose, in the hopes of disgusting you out of some money. If we were medically disposed, we should show the utter non- sense of every word he vents on the subject, and hold up his fictitious facts to the public gaze. But, as that would not be very entertaining to our readers, we shall just briefly analyze one of his results, and, having so done, leave him to their candid opinion. He tells us, that one clay his servant- maid (of whom we shall speak anon) possessed by the idea of her master's learning, (of which we shall also speak anon) called him down to sec a stronger who had made his way into Quincy's kitchen. It was, he says, a Malay, though how he, who does not know a word of any oriental language, disco- vered it, we are at a loss to find out. How think you, gentle reader, did this man, who tells you in every page that he is a philosopher — that he has a superb analytic head — that he, Coleridge, Haz- litt, and Ricardo, each in his depart- ment a splendid humbug, were the only thinkers in England — address the Eas- tern wanderer ? In some lines of the Iliad ! ! on what ground ? why, on this ground? That Greek, in point of longi- tude, came nearer the oriental lan- guages ! ! ! After this wise salutation — he might as well have addressed him in Che- rokee — instead of giving the poor devil any thing to eat or drink, he makeshim a present of a piece of opium, '* enough to kill three dragoons and their horses," as Q. himself confesses, which the Ma- lay bolts at one mouthful. He hopes, because the body was not found that the poor man did not die of his hospi- tality. Was there ever a greater mass Of folly and stupidity than here displayed? But mark the consequences of a Malay walking into his house. Henceforth he saw all the East, in all its deformi- ties, opened to him. " I was stared at, hooted at, grinned at, chattered at, by monkeys, by paroquets, by cockatoos — I was an idol — I was the priest — I was worshipped — I was sacrificed" — in a word, he was an ass ; all because a poor lascar had strayed away from a home- ward-bound East-Indiamau. If he saw any of these things, and there is five pages full of the stuff, it was not opium that ailed him, but insanity. We said just now, that we should speak anon of his servant-maid. There is something excessively disgusting in being obliged to look into any man's private life, but when we have it tossed into our faces, we must now and then do so. Now, in the 83d and 84th pages of Quincy's book, he bursts out into an apostrophe to his wife, very fine, and very affecting : — " Beloved M., thou wert my Electra thou thoughtest not much to stoop to humble offices of kindness, and to servile ministrations " and much more trash, which we have not room to quote. The truth of the business is, that this Electra, who did not think much (affected puppy) to stoop to servile offices, was his servant- maid long before he married her, and 1824.] The Humbugs of the Age. 23 bad often made his bed before she as- cended it. This is no blame to the wo- man : but who can bear to hear Quincy wondering at her stooping to servile offices, when it was to such that she was bred; and comparing a Westmoreland waiting-wench to the daughter of Aga- memnon, the king of men. As we are fond of biographical researches, we should request Quincy to give us an extract from his parish-register, dating the birth of his first child, and also his marriage with Electra. It would be an important addition to the chronology of the county. As for his learning, he deafens us with it at every page. He tells us, that he can write Greek; speak Greek; turn newspapers into Greek; in a word, his Greek is as great a bore to us as it was to the poor Malay. He laments over Hazlitt for not having read Plato in his youth. He exults over his being able to pose his Archididascalus in Sophocles, while yet amere boy. Now, except these absurd and disgusting boasts, he gives no proof whatever of his being able to translate a Greek page. He has never written a sentence on any classical sub- ject ; he affords no evidence in any of his writings of any minute acquaintance with the language; he has never reviewed a Greek book, nor given an opinion on a Greek sentence. Sometime last year, under his signature of X. Y. Z. he re- viewed, in the London Magazine, Miss Hawkins's Life of her Father, in the course of which she gives us some speci- mens of her brother's Greek jeux d 'esprit. Now it so happens, that these are all pitiful affairs, as far as concerns the mere scholarship of the thing, and this Quincy had tact enough to suspect. Accordingly, he puts in a general caveat, that " in these verses were some little hiatuses not adapted to the fastidious race of an Athenian audience \" This was a fine general way of cutting the knot. Why did he not, like a great Grecian as he is, point out these little hiatuses, instead of hinting at them ; or what would have been rather more satisfactory, why did he not see that beside the little hiatuses there were gross grammatical blunders. Clearly, for one plain reason, that he has not the knowledge which he pretends to. In the same article, he quotes some Latin sapphics, all of which are wrong, with- out once pointing out the defects, but endeavouring to slip out under the flimsy cover of saying, that they were less deli- cate in expression than another little poem, which very little poem so quoted abounds in errors. We say not this to blame Mr. Hawkins, who, of course, took no trouble with such trifles, but to show up the great powers of this un- equalled scholar, to whom the learned languages are vernacular. He confesseg that he imposed on the ignorant poor people of his house, some verses of Ho- mer as Malayan, during his celebrated dialogue with the Lascar, in order to preserve his reputation for learning — and it is quite evident, that a similar feeling of humbug actuates him in the nauseating succession of idle boasts with which he is continually deluging that portion of the public which thinks of him or his lucubrations. He also wishes to pass for a profound philosopher, and sets up to be one of the few who can understand Kant. In one respect we believe him. Cant and Humbug are blood-relations, and so pure a specimen of the latter must, of course, know something of the former. But, setting the pun apart, (we own punning is poor wit, but it is good enough for our subject,) we are rather of opinion that here, too, he is drawing the long-bow. Few Germans are able to master the involved, peculiar, technical language of that obscure and worthless metaphysician; — there is no translation of his works, that is, no competent trans- lation of them, into English, and we, therefore, must strenuously doubt Quin- cy's ability to read, much less to under- stand them. In this, perhaps, we may be mistaken — we suspect his ignorance of German, solely because he pretends to be intimate with it — but he may set us right easily. Let him translate for Taylor and Hessey's September number, for we wish to give him sufficient time, Kant's Chapter on the Quintessence of Spirit verbum verbo — or, if that be too hard on him, let him give the substance of each separate sentence in good English ; that is, as good as he can write, which, however, is beastly enough, and we shall confess our error. Perhaps it might be impertinent if we asked him to affix to it a psychological commentary ; though even with such an addition it would be pleasanter reading than his Letters to a Young Man, whose education has been neglected. Whoever that unhappy youth is, we sincerely pity him, if it be expected that he should read these epistles — it would have been less tor- ment had he been whipped by all the Busbys in the kingdom, into a state of 24 Fashionable Female Studies. [JULY, knowledge, which would have saved him from Hie awful infliction of the Epistolae Quincianae. We are getting completely tired of exposing this humbug anj farther, and, therefore, shall conclude with one more observation. In his own nonsensical style of bombast, he calls upon " Stony- hearted Oxford-street," — had he said stony-paved Oxford-street, there might have been some sense in it, — " thou who listenest to the sighs of orphans, anddrinkestthe tears of children," with much more childish verbiage of the same kind ; all on account, it seems, of his having, for some time, sojourned in an empty house there, with a strumpet, concerning whom nothing farther is re- corded than that her name was Ann, and that out of her honest earnings she treated Quincy to a glass — he says, of wine and spices, (p. 51.) (It was, most probably, of gin and bitters — bat, Hea- ven knows, it is of little consequence.) Now, we happen to know Oxford-street well, and must be permitted to doubt the existence, in that quarter, of such a house and household as are described irj Quincy 's book. Conceive, a large house — no furniture — no tenant, but a forlorn child — the master an attorney, or some such thing — dabbling in the law-courts, yet afraid to appear, through dread of bailiffs — the house open — a roomy suit of apartments, at the com- mand of every vagrant — and all this in Oxford-street. — W hy, to be sure, it may be vrai, for nothing is impossible; but he must be of large credulity, indeed, who would declare it, vraisemhlable. We must humbly request from Quincy Ihe number of the house in which he, and his friend Ann, used to spend their evenings then, with which request we bid him good evening, now. For now the Sun has stretched out all the hills, And now is dropt into the western bay; At last we rise, and twitch our mantle blue, Tomorrow to fresh woods and pastures new, i.e. next month, for the dissection of another "Humbug of the Age." What say you to Dr. Kitchiner? Will he do? FASHIONABLE FEMALE STUDIES. No. I. — Gems. Thanks to chivalry, and to the liberal and free spirit which it has diffused through Christendom, the restraint and seclusion imposed upon our fair domestic companions have, in modern times, been in a great measure removed ; and even philosophy has been partly stripped of her repulsive gravity, and has condes- cended to become the occasional visitant of the toilette, the drawing-room, and the tea-table. We like this order of things ; we like to share our more attrac- tive studies with our female relations and friends; though, perhaps, after all, our likings may take their rise from a sort of latent, but surely an excusable vanity, in seeing ourselves the object of attention, and feeling the influence of. lovely looks, bright with* ntelligence and inquiry, when we are solicited to des- cant on the metamorphoses of a butter- fly, the beauties of a flower, the charac- teristics of a gem, or the formation of a dew-drop. But we may give our vanity to the winds; the subject is more important than the cherishment it affords to any little passion of ours; for one of the most sovereign cosmetics for the im- provement of beauty, which we know, is intelligence — a secret long under- stood and acted upon by most ladies who have had — we will not say the mis- fortune, but the good fortune, to be plain, or who have, by accident, been deprived of traits of countenance that would otherwise have rendered them handsome. Intelligence goes far to make up for all deficiences of form or feature, while it gives a finish and an enchantment to the highest order of beauty, that can by no other means be imparted. It adds lustre to the eyes, expression to the counte- nance, elegance to the speech, and meaning to every movement. Milton has given to the picture we wish to draw, the richest colours of his fancy, " Heaven was in her eye, Id every gesture, dignity and love." Par. Lost. Intelligence, likewise, confers happiness and pleasure on many along hour, which would, by the ignorant and listless, be spent in yawning vacuity, and all the fashionable horrors of ennui. It is by this very means, indeed, that it improves beauty ; for, according to the unalterable 18'24.] Fashionable Female Studies. 25 laws of habit, the face that.always wears the wrinkle of weariness and dissatisfac- tion, will not be readily smoothed into good humour, nor even into the calm tender mien of pensive feeling. Ennui should be repelled in all its approaches ; for it will always leave behind its repul- sive expression; the eye will be deaden- ed with the sickliness of discontentment, and the often-repeated yawn will, mark the young cheek with the dimples (if we may profane the expression) of old age. We aver then, and pledge our honour on the issue, that the lady who shall dis- card ennui, and court the friendship of knowledge, will shine forth in more bright and permanent beauty, than " When i'ayre Cynthia in darksome night Is in a noyous cloud enveloped, Where she may find the substance thin and light, Breakes forth her silver beames ; and her bright head Discovers to the world."" Spenser's Faerie Queene. All the injuries now enumerated, and hundreds more, can most easily be pre- vented, by the simple expedient of keep- ing the mind amused and active, and not suffering it to slumber till the eyes become vacant, and the countenance as motionless as marble. We think, there- fore, that it is one of the richest gifts we can confer on our fair readers, to dis- play our receipt for improving beauty in its most attractive form. The ways in which it may be varied, indeed, are in- numerable; for it may be prepared so as to suit every complexion, and every shape. The choice of the varieties we leave to be made at the toilette, as we must take care to avoid the imputation of empiricism, by recommending the same form of our cosmetic to all ages and temperaments. We shall not be so unpolite, then, in recommending gems as a female study, to require a commencement with the ruder materials of mineralogy : — let that be an after-consideration, growing out of the progress of inquisitiveness into the secrets of nature and art. Our space is too limited, and we could expect no thanks for going into all the minutia? of ores of gold and silver, or of the no less useful minerals, marble, gypsum, and coal. We must, for the present, be con- tented wilh gems, and, probably at some future time, we may come to talk of Antres vast, and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks, and hills. Shakespeare. VOL. I. And if we at any time be in a critical humour, we may possibly show a little of our learning, in tracing the lines of Gray — " Full many a gem," &c. to the Odes of Celio Magno, who has " Ma (qual in parte ignota Ben ricca Gemma altrui celail suo pregio, O fior, ch' alta virtu ha in se riposla) Visse in sen di castitEt nascosta In sua virtute e 'n Dio contento visse Lunge dal visco mondan, cheFalma intrica . Cam. 6. Or, to come nearer home, we may pro- bably find some resemblance in Thom- son: Th' unfruitful rock itself, impregn'd by thee, In dark retirement forms the lucid stone." Summer. But we must arrest our sacrilegious hand from thus despoiling a poet, of his beauties; and the task, now before us, is more delightful than the crabbed and ungainly labour of hunting for plagiarism. We wish to lead our fair readers to the beauties of nature, and direct Their liberal heart, their judging eye, The flower, unheeded, to descry, And bid it round heaven's altar shed The fragrance of its blushing head j And raise from earth the latent gem To glitter on the diadem.— Gray. The word gem, though sometimes confined to the diamond, is commonly applied to all the precious stones, and particularly to those which are engraved. Jt is derived — (a word is nothing at pre- sent without a derivation) — it is derived from the Latin gemma, which signifies a bud ; because, perhaps, the Romans had their jewels cut in form of flower-buds. This may be a fancy, and we do not affirm it. Those who wish for a higher derivation, we refer to the Greek verb yi\j.w (begging pardon for our pedantry) which means, J am full, and gemma, a bud, may be said to fill or expand : this, also, may be a fancy. The high refractive power of the diamond throws back the light that falls on it, instead of allowing the rays to pass through it as glass does. This gives the gem a sparkling brilliance, Avhich no art can fully imitate. It is this, and not any phosphorescent pro- perty, that causes it even to sparkle in the dark — of which so many fables are related in the Arabian Tales. In the deepest darkness, there are always some wandering rays — some stray pencils of light to render the " darkness visible/' 26 Fashionable Female Studies. [JULY, aud these, how few or small soever, the diamond collects to a point and flashes them back into the gloom. The* pro- perty of sparkling, therefore, is one test by which a genuine diamond may be known from spurious imitations or from the more Splendent sorts of rock-crystal and other gems, Which are sometimes passed off for diamonds. A. more obvious and practical test, is the extreme hardness of the diamond, so much superior to all other substances, that it will penetrate and cut, not only glass and flint, but also the topaz and other precious stones. Paste, and all imitations, even the admirable ones of Fontanieu, may, on this principle, be at once detected ; for the suspected gem has only to be tried with glass or rock- crystal, or with the glazier's diamond. If it scratch glass, it may either be paste of uncommon hardness, or some inferior stone ; if rock-crystal or a file make any impression on it, there can be no doubt that it is artificial. The striking fire with steel, though sometimes used as a test, is not to be trusted ; as in this way flint and quartz would appear superior to the diamond in hardness ; for it is the little chip of the steel which catches fire by being struck, and the sharp edge of a flint is best adapted to detach it. In the instance of small gems, sus- pected to be spurious, Mr. Mawe re- commends squeezing them between two pieces of money; when, if spurious, they will easily be broken or crushed ; but as it is not pleasant to perform the work of destruction, even on what is spurious, all that is required is a bit of flint or quartz to scratch ihe gems with, and those who do so can never be de- ceived with the finest paste ; while rock- crystal and other stones of inferior value can always be detected by their lustre and their inferior weight. The nova minas, or Brazilian dia- monds, which are only a variety of the topaz, are the least easy to detect ; but the property of refracting light, will, when well understood, be the best test. The real diamond is never set on a foil ; jet, when it is looked at perpendicularly, a small black point appears in the cen- tre, as if it had been marked With ink, while the rest appears brilliant and sparkling. This, which is overlooked by the common observer, is taken ad- vantage of by the jeweller, who sets his nova minas on a foil, with a black point in the centre, in order to deceive even those who prelend to connoisseurship. The reason of the diamond's showing a black point is, that the ray of light which falls on the centre passes through and is lost, while all the other rays are refracted and reflected to the eye. A CRITICAL AND POETICAL DISSERTATION ON ALE. When we said that we drank ale with our cheese, we knew what a serious re- sponsibility we were taking on our- selves. But our attachment to the cause of Sir John Barlycorn — in his most ge- nuine and hopeful character, fiercely, after much long internal stfuggle, due deliberation on the momentous subject, determined us at last to make the avowal in the face of the world. We know that the dandy young gentlemen of the tenth will be horrified at the declaration ; and we, moreover, give up all the glory of figuring in a quadrille at Almack's ; but, in return for these deprivations, we have the happiness of a clear conscience and a quart of ale. In praise of this magnificent fluid, much may be said — A volume as thick as one of Coxe's histories, and as heavy as Foscolo's brains, might be concerted on so glorious a theme ; but, at present, not having the orgasm of panegyric Very strong on us, and moreover reflecting that it has been done already by a much more brilliant hand than ours, we shall content ourselves with favouring our readers with a short critique and analy- sis of the celebrated poem of the Ex- ale-tation of ale, ascribed, according to Lord Bacon, by several judicious peo- ple, to Bishop Andrews, " a great man," teste the Verulamian— > " who, (like the grass in hot countries, of which they are wont to say that it growethhay) was born grave and sober," and of which, indeed, this beautiful composition of his affords conspicuous proof. It begins well and graphically; we think we actually see the author and his friend before us. Not drunken, nor sober, but neighbour to both, I met with a friend in Alesbury vale : He saw by my face, that I was in good case To speak no great harm of a pot of good ale. 1824.] Dissertation on Ale. 27 He \*asnot mistaken iff his. physiogno- mical conjecture, for the bishop agrees to go on a carouse — and while over the cup, breaks forth with a noble pane- gyric on the liquor he was quaffing. For this we do find, that take it in kind; Much virtue there is in a pot of good ale. And I mean not to taste, though thereby much grac'd, Nor the merry-go-down without pull or hale, Perfuming the throat, when the stomach's afloat, Wijth the fragrant sweet scent of a pot of good ale. We do not over-value this sinople colour, as the heralds would call it— nor in the ales of our day do we perceive its existence, but doubtless this grave author speaks not without sufficient authority. The poet soon rises in fine poetical fury— enumerating the benefits conferred by ale on mind and body — its powers of banishing grief — its effects on The widow that buried her husband of late, Who will soon have forgotten to weep and to wail, And think every day twain, till she marry again, If she read the contents of a pot of good ale. He remarks on its operating as a belly- blast to a cold heart — its quickening powers on a lacquey — its serving as a coat to the naked, and a dinner to the hungry,whose stomach would brook a ten- penny nail. He expatiates on the benefits it confers on the various occupations Of life, the shepherd, the sower, the thresher, the mower, the blacksmith, — on the comforts and independence bestowed by it on the beggar and the prisoner— on the wit it gives to the blockhead, and Courage to the down-cast lover, of which last tact we are competent witnesses, having made a most important conquest, this day three weeks, at the Salisbury Arms in Durham-court, just after tossing off the third threepenny nip of Burton. The girl was a beautiful and modest maiden— but it is not right to kiss and tell. We shall, therefore, go on with the bishop and his ale. After many more hearty commenda- tions, he discants on its benefits to the cause of philosophy and composition. And the power of it shows, no whit less in prose, It will fill one's phrase, and set forth his tale: Fill hm but a bowl, it will make his tongue troul, For flowing speech flows from a pot of good ale. And master philosopher, if he drink his part, Will not trifle his time in the husk or the shale, But go to the kernel by the depth of his art, To be found in the bottom of a pot of good ale. In the next verse, its operations on an Oxford student are scientifically con- sidered. Give a scholar of Oxford a pot of sixteen, And put him to prove that an ape hath no tail ; And sixteen times better his wit will be seen, If you fetch him from Botley a pot of good ale. By tliis we may learn, that the scholars of Oxford were just as wisely employed in those days as they are now. Its services in the cause of religion and morality are new and pithily enume- rated. He is a little puzzled when he comes to explain its soberness ; he gets through, however, tolerably well after all. But for soberness ; needs must I confess, The matter goes hard ; and few do prevail Not to go too deep, but temper to keep, Such is the attractive of a pot of good ale. But here's an amends, which will make all friends, And ever doth tend to the best avail : If you take it too deep, it will make you but sleep i So comes no great harm of a pot of good ale. If, reeling, they happen to fall to the ground, The tall is not great, they may hold by the rail; If into the water, they cannot be drown'd, For that gift is given to a pot of good ale. If drinking about, they chance to fall out, Fear not that alarm, though flesh be but frail j It will prove but some blows, or at most a bloody nose, And friends again straight with a pot of good ale. In those days hops were not in favour. James I. as we all know, called them a pernicious weed, and the Pope falls in with the ideas of his time. Their ale-berries, caudles, and possets each one, And syllabubs made at the milking-pail, Although they be many, beer comes not in any, Bu tall arc composed with a pot of good ale. E 2 28" Dissertation on Ale. [JULY, And, in very deed, the hop's but a weed, Brought o'er against law, and here set to sale; Would the law were renew'd, and no more beer brew'd, But all men betake them to a pot of good ale! We have outlived these prejudices — though, in truth, our great brewers seem to have taken an antipathy to hops as well as our ancestors, for they favour us with little enough in their porter. We are soon treated with a piece of history and antiquities. To the praise of Gambrivius, that good Bri- tish king, That devis'd for the nation (by the Welch- men's tale) Seventeen hundred years before Christ did spring, The happy invention of a pot of good ale. The north they will praise it, and praise it with passion, Where every river gives name to a dale ; There men are yet living that are of the old fashion, No nectar they know but a pot of good ale. The Picts and the Scots for ale were at lots, S«3 high was the skill, and so kept under seal; The Picts were undone, slain each mother's son, For not teaching the Scots to make hether- ale. In all the controversy anent the Picts, we do hot remember this remarkable fact being brought forward. As we be- lieve old herring-faced Pinkerton is still alive, we strongly recommend him to duly consider this highly important testi- mony of the real cause of the abolition of the Pictish nation. The rage against beer, breaks out again towards Ihe end of this fine poem — between the bibbers of which and the ale-swillers, there appears tp have exist- ed a deadly feud. The men of beer, it appears, had accused ale of slaying its votaries — a weighty charge, and deserv- ing of instant lefutation, which it tri- umphantly receives. Now,, if ye will say it, I will not denay it, That many a man it brings to his bale ; Yet what fairer end can one wish to his friend, Than to die by the part of a pot of good ale. Yet let not the innocent bear any blame, It is their own doings to break o'er the pale; And neither the malt, nor the good wife in fault, If any be potted with a pot of good ale. They tell whom it kills, but say not a word How many a man liveth both sound and hale, Though he drink no beer any day in the year, By the radical humour of a pot of good ale. But to speak of killing them am I not willing For that in a manner were but to rail; But beer hath its name, 'cause it brings to the bier, Therefore well fare say I, to a pot of good ale. Too many "(I wis) with their deaths prove this, And therefore (if ancient records do not fail) He that first brew'd the hop, was rewarded with a rope, And found his beer far more bitter than ale. For our parts, we drink both beer and ale — not to mention porter, and, there- fore, sympathize with the sufferings of the suspended hop-planter. In the whole compass of our poetry there is not a more magniloquent and glorious stanza than the next. The wish it expresses is quite sublime. O ale ab alendo, the liquor of life ! That I had but a mouth as big as a whale ! For mine is but little, to touch the least tittle That belongs to the praise of a pot of good ale. Flow beautiful! There is not such a verse in all Wordsworth's Excursion. It concludes prettily and hospitably. Thus (I trow) some virtues I have maik'd you out, And never a vice in all this long trail, But that after the pot, there cometh a shot, And that's th' only blot of a pot of good ale." With that my friend said, " that blot will I bear, You have done very well, it is time to strike sail ; We'll have six pote more, though I die on the score, To make all this good of a pot of good ale." Now, gentle readers, is not that a fine poem? Do you think that there is a bishop now-a-days on the bench, who could compose any thing so splendid and solemn — so epic and episcopal — so tender and so true ? The age is evidently degenerating, and the church does not now glory in the mighty men that ren- dered her illustrious in the days of old. Then, indeed, there were giants in the land— men of ale and ability, as Crbly would say; whereas, now-a-days, we are sunk into blundering and Burgundy. 1824.] On Deception, Expression, and Action in Statuary. 29 Damnosa quid non imminuit dies ? Mtas parientum, pejor avis, tulit Nos nequiores, mox daturos Progenjem vitiosiorem. So sung Horace nineteen centuries ago — so say we, when closing the vene- rated volume of the labours of Andrews, we reflect with a sigh, that the lawn- sleeves envelope no poet of our times, capable of composing a strain of so divine a mood. ON DECEPTION, EXPRESSION, AND ACTION IN STATUARY. The Dying Gladiator- -The Laocoon — The Venus of Canova- macott's Houseless Wanderer. -Tlie Apollo — West- In statuary, as in painting, or in poe- try, there can be no doubt, that the production will please best which most strongly excites the mind, whether that excitement be otherwise agreeable or disagreeable. In the case of disagree- able excitements, or rather what ap- pear to be so in works of art, we know that they are not real occur- rences placed before our eyes, but sem- blances of what is or has been. In the picture of the Murder of the Innocents at Bethlehem, the reality is softened down by the picture : we can never imagine for a moment, that we are real- ly present at this horrid scene, though it be admirably painted. If we could be for a moment deceived, our pleasure would be turned into horror. We would leap upon the canvass to snatch the swords from the murderers. Such an occurrence never, we believe, took place. If it could happen, the artist must be pronounced tohavebeen unskilful in his management. We cannot, indeed, pretend to account for this feeling of men ; this pleasure which is taken in the representation of such a massacre as this, and in the horrid scenes of tragedy and romance ; but we know the fact, though we cannot explain it We know that such pleasure is received, and the artist ought to bear it in mind in all his per- formances. We shall take another illustration from Rubens' picture of Daniel in the Lion's Den. Behold the Prophet in that place of fear ! The horrid mouths of lions fierce and fell Growling around ; — a rueful sepulchre Yawns in their thirsty throats; — the vic- tim's knell Re-echoes through the cave in that wild yell — He's gone. The- cold damp sweat of agony Is bursting o'er his limbs; — But, mark how well The hope and firm composure of that eye Repels all human fear, reposing in the sky. J. G. C. But, with all the excellencies of this picture, had Rubens tried and succeed- ed to deceive the spectators, that it was a reality and not a picture they looked at ; horror, instead of pleasure, would have been the certain result. They would at once, with feelings of sympathy, which find a place in every bosom, under such circumstances, have rushed forward to save the prophet from the danger which yawned around him, or have shrunk back in terror for themselves. It is not so ; Rubens was aware what his art could do, and what it was desirable to do ; and he left to inferior painters the silly and fruitless attempt to deceive. The truth is, that were deception the summit of perfection, as it has but too often been deemed, it would be the greatest of human plea- sure to look, not at the painting, but at the realities : to feel more pleasure in beholding such ajscene as the Murder of the Innocents, than in seeing any repre- sentation of it ; to be present, while such a ruffian as Macbeth plunged the midnight dagger in the breast of his prince, than to see the imitation of it on the stage. Such principles would be, and have been, the bane of the fine arts, and the following them out has been the ruin of many a man of genius. The principle applies still more strongly to statuary, which is a degree farther removed from deception than painting ; and to attempt a deception in a statue, would be certain to pro- duce disgust. To put natural colours, for example, on a statue, would only produce a stone monster, lifeless, and voiceless. It fills the specta- tors with nearly the same feelings of horror, as a sight of Lot's Wife trans- formed into a Pillar of Salt. It would make the very blood run cold ; for it would be more an image of such a trans- formation than any other thing, as it would not exactly look like death, and it would still less look like life. It would, in fact, be a representation, or rather an attempt at representing what cannot be On Deception, Expression, and Action in Sta,tyary. [jvly, represented. Ih statuary, then, a decep- tive imitation is folly. Take as instance in the Dying Gla- diator ; one of the fine statues which re- main of the ancient sculptures, and beautifully expressive of the approach of death, a circumstance which always draws forth sympathy from those most steeled against feeling. He leans upon his hand, his manly brow Consents to death but conquers agony. y And his droop'd head sinks gradually low, And through his side the last drops ebbing flow From the deep gash — fall heavy one by one Like the first of a thunder shower ; and now, The arena swings around him — he is gone, Ere ceas'd the inhuman shout which hail'd the wretch who won. He beard it, but he heeded not— his eyes Were with his heart, and that was far away ; He reck'd not of the life he lost — nor prize, But where his rude hut by the Danube lay;— There were his young barbarians all at play, There was their Dacian mother — he, their sire, Butcher'd to make a Roman holy^dayr^- All this rush'd with his Hood. Childe Harold. Yet though the poet feels ail this so heart -rend ingly ; and though every one feels this who looks on the statue ; no- body, we presume, ever for a moment, was deceived into the fancy of being ac- tually present at the death of the Glar diator, or ever for a moment stooped down in an agony of feeling to support Ins drooping head, bind up his bleeding side, and comfort him in the hour of death, when no wife, no mother, was near him. It is impossible. The principle may also be strongly illustrated from the extraordinary group of the Laocoon, perhaps the greatest work ever performed by sculpture ; for though we admire the Venus, the Apollo, and the Antinous, for beauty, symme- try, and graceful attitude j there is more in the Laocoon to excite feeling, which as the grand test of excellence ; there is more to call up observation and thought, there is more expression, and conse- quently more excitement. We behold bis torture dignifying pajp ; A father's love and mortal's agony, With an immortal's patience blending; vain The struggle; vain, against the coiling strain, And gripe, and deepening of the dragon's grasp, The old man's clench ; the long envenom'd chain Rivets the living links;— the enormous asp Enforces pang on pang, and stifles gasp on gasp. Childe Harold. But with aJJl our strong feelings on viewing this celebrated performance, we never, for a moment, think of the reality. We never start forward to as- ' sist, nor shrink back for fear, Jest the serpent should quit Laocoon, and dart his fangs upon ourselves> We have no such feelings, and yet our sympathies are strong, for nobody can here look with indifference. Let us try our principle as a test for Other works of spulpture ; Canova's Ve- nus, for example, which has by some been highly admired, though it is liable to the grand objection brought against the English school, that it is a portrait. If this continue to influence our artists, it will infallibly crush ail the rising ex- cellencies of which we are beginning to be so proud. The error, however, is perhaps more the error of the times, than of the artist. It is the folly, the rage for portrait, which must always in- jure, must always produce a blot and a blemish, whenever it is, hunted after in historical or fancy subjects. It is one of the greatest blemishes in Rubens, that he is so eager to introduce himself and his family into his grandest pieces. Haydon has carried the folly to its acme, in his Entrance of the Saviour into Jeru- salem ; and, as if to satirize the present rage for portrait, he has introduced pro- minently into the picture, the portraits of Voltaire, Wordsworth, and Sir Isaac Newton ; in defiance evidently of all taste, consistency, and common sense. But so far from being aware of the in- congruity, or leaving it to accidental discovery, he conies forward himself to point it out as a beauty. Into the same error, Canova unfortunately fell in his statue of Venu$, which he meant, per- haps, to rival the hitherto unrivalled Venus de Medicis. If such w?is his idea, he did not act wisely ; for even if he could have excelled it, a circum- stance improbable enough, the supe- riority would not have been readily ac- knowledged by a prejudiced world, and the pomparison of a former masterpiece with a new rival, would almost infalli- bly turn out unfavourable to the latter, and the artist would at all events get the character of most arrogant presump- tion. In the case of Canova's Venus, the error lies in its being a portrait, and known and acknowledged to have been 1824.] On Deception, Expression, and Action in Statuary. 31 designed from an Italian princess, who submitted to the indelicacy of exposure in her thirst for being immortalized in stone. This, to our minds, is a circum- stance which would rob the statue of all the excellence to be desired in a work of art, and upon the very princi- ple we have just endeavoured to put on a sure foundation ; the principle of ex- citing the spectator to imagine, and to feel:— to call up in his mind a fine play of fancy, and of association. Let us contrast Canova's statue with its ancient rival. The feeling which we have in view- ing the Venus of Cleomenes— the admi- rable Athenian Venus,— arises from the thought expressed in the whole statue, of the young and beautiful goddess, just starting into birth from the foam of the sea— just opening her eyes, for the first time, on the world's wonders, and even wondering at herself, and where she is, timidly and modestly afraid to trust her- self abroad in the unknown creation around her, yet still a goddess. It re- calls the fine description which Milton has given of the first feelings of our great progenitor : As new awaked from soundest sleep, Straight toward heaven my wandering eyes I turn'd, And gaz'd awhile the ample sky. — Myself I then perus'd, and limb by limb Survey'd, and sometimes went, and some- times ran With supple joints, as lively vigour led ; But who I was, or where, or from what cause, Knew not. Par. Lost. The Venus is a being which eotrtd not readily be unveiled to human eyes, except by the art of the Athenian sta- tuary — the divine chisel of Cleomenes, who would have scorned to degrade his statue by taking the portrait of any prin- cess, or any woman who ever lived, or who was ever worshipped by the idola- try of a fond lover. The whole is beau- tifully ideal, a celestial creation of a Su- perior mind, and, as such, it awakens in every beholder feelings similar, though, perhaps, not so ecstatic as it did in the moment when the first conception flash- ed upon the soul of Cleomenes, and left the deep imprint oflhe statue's form on bis mind. Turn now to Canova's Venus, and examine the feelings which it awakens. If no explanation had been given, the first feeling would be, that it represent- ed a woman, not a goddess, about to dress herself, after leaving the bath; or who was undressing herself for the purpose of entering it ; an idea which, however well it may accord with the manners of the licentious Italians, is certainly contrary to good taste, or at all events is incomparably low, when contrasted with the expression of the Venus of Cleomenes. But how much is even this idea degraded, when it is avowed, that it is the actual portrait of a princess ? How are all onr indefinite notions of divinity and heavenliness dis- pelled at once, when we are told, it is the portrait of a mortal woman ? The beauty of the statue, though ever so transcendant, would sink at once from heaven to earth; it would die in our minds, like any other attempted decep- tion. We speak not of the flippancy and forwardness expressed in the coun- tenance of Canova's statue ; nor of the assumed and plainly affected modesty of the attitude. It is altogether expres- sive of a meretricious air. The very hair is fantastic, and wears the look of meretriciousness ; and, as such, however finely it may be executed, however beau~ tiful in feature or in proportion; and, however like it may be to the princess for whom it was designed, we hesitate not to give it an unconditional condem- nation as a statue of Venus. As a por- trait, then, it is to be tried, and not as a Venus ; for, as such, no called-up and forced imagination can ever eonsider it, as the notion of the undressed princess exposing herself to the artist will al- ways obtrude and dissolve the begun enchantment of feeling. In sculpture, we think, there has, in many instances, been a complete over- looking of expression and action; and, as such, even the finest proportioned figures fall to please trs ; must fail to charm us into admiration, and, in place of this, excite us to examine the nicety Of execution, and other inferior conside- rations which we cannot possibly think of when before a great master-piece. The Antinoas, for example, or the young A polio, may be admired for their beauty, their symmetry, and their execution; but what is this, when compared with the expression in the Laocoon, or even in the Venus. There is a want of action, like the eld style of portraits, which con- sidered nothing, but a dead and lifeless mass of unthinking features, and like 32 The Rhyming Review. [JULY, the original, only in outline and in pro- portion, but wanting all expression of tlie peculiarity of thought or of feeling, ■which is seen in every face. How dif- ferent is the effect of a production of the chisel, where some action is expressed, or some attitude of feeling or contem- plation which cannot be mistaken. In this view, the statue of the Youth ex- tracting a Thorn from his Foot, or that of the Fawn playing on the Flute, are far su- perior to the young Apollo or the Anti- nous, who do not seem to be doing any thing, or thinking about any thing ; but merely to be alphabet exercises in mo- delling by some great statuary. Such is not the case with the Belvi- dere Apollo, which is most highly ex- pressive, in both feature and attitude ; just at the moment the arrow has sprung from his bow, the artist has chosen as the moment to seize the expressive atti- tude. The shaft has just been shot— the arrow bright With an immortal's vengeance; in his eye And nostril, beautiful disdain and might And majesty flash their full lightnings by, Developing in that one glance the deity. Childe Harold. The remark of West, when he was first introduced to the original statue at Rome, was highly characteristic. He said the Apollo was like a young Mo- hawk warrior, after he had sent an arrow to the heart of his enemy. The Houseless Wanderer, by Westma- cott, affords another fine illustration of our principle, which we would not wil- lingly omit. The subject is a young gypsey female, who has been soothing her infant in the midst of her own sor- rows. The babe has just dropt its mouth from (he nipple, and fallen asleep, while the mother is in the act of heaving a deep sigh ; and so admirably is this told, that the very marble seenis to move with the intensity of her feeling, while the contrast of the infant, in a sweet and placid sleep, is masterly and fine. But we should never have, done, were we to give all the illustrations which crowd upon us. These, we hope, will serve to establish, on a firm basis, the principles contended for; that expres- sion and action are all and every thing, as, unless feelings can be strongly awak- ened, the statue, however finely pro- portioned, must be imperfect — must be a failure. THE RHYMING REVIEW FOR THE MONTH. Let us write a review ; but as every one knows, None now-a-days reads them when written in prose; Suppose, for a freak, we should try to rehearse What was scribbled last month in a handful of verse. First, then, of our novels — at once there steps forth, Sir Walter,* in mask, from the realms of the North; As careless as usual, — more careless, perhaps — As many great beauties — as many short naps. — Tis lost time to critique him — at all that is said About haste, or confusion, he just shakes his head ; He dashes on still, without heeding a word, And the critic's forgotten — the novel adored. But all must allow that his pen is more bright, When it runs upon scenes long removed from our sight; When the Templars + in chivalrous glory appear, When the voice of Queen Bess J seems to ring in the ear. * Red-Gauntlet. A Tale of the 18th Century, by the Author of Waver^y. Master go on, and I will follow thee To the last gasp, with truth and loyalty — As you Like It. 3 Vols. Constable, Edinburgh. f Ivanhoe. J Kenilworth. 1824.] The Rhyming Review. 33 When * Claverhouse sweeps in full vengeance along, Or whent Jacobite chiefs round their Chevalier throng ; Then, then, is he splendid, he's never absurd, Till he writes on the days of good King George the Third. In Red-Gauntlet the hero of course is a goose, And a law-suit occurs — 'tis his general use, Of the heroine's perfections we have no great handle, Except that she's dressed in a pretty green mantle. There's a Jacobite agent as usual at work, As dark as the midnight, as stern as a Turk. And the bore of the volume is Poor Peter Peebles, Whose senses, black law and bright brandy enfeebles. But the grandeur and obstinate pride of the Stewart, The heart-breaking tale of the lost Nanty Ewart, The good quiet quaker, though coloured too broadly, The hypocrite Turnpenny, drunken and godly ; Father Crackenthorpe jovial, and stuffy, and swilly, And the tale and the music of wandering Willie, Are touches of nature, with truth or good sense, Which our grandsons will talk of a hundred year* hence. % To pass from Sir Walter — another bring quick, sir. Ha! here is R. Gillies's Devil's Elixir, § A high German story, some pathos, much stuff, Diablerie plenty — of horrors quant, tuff. A sort of Saint Leon, mixed up with the monk, A story as hard to untwist as old junk; A style rather crabbed — digressions misplaced, In the middle of magic, a lecture on taste ; Or when murder and incest are filling our skirils, A bungling collection of hack Irish bulls, Give the picture of this — but, good, reader, there still is, Much matter to praise in these volumes of Gillies. The lady Aurelia is charmingly drawn, From the time that we hear of her passion's first dawn, Through the dark maze of fate which she's destined to tread, Till murdered she bows at the altar her head. • Old Mortality. + Waverley. X Had we time in the text, we should add that there are Some fine Tenier's touches of Scotland's old bar j For instance that glimpse, which, with so much precision, Gives Monboddo the blethering droll metaphysician. We may also inform our readers, in prose, that we have received a tiny note from a Corres- pondent, whieh we cram in here. Sir.— In Red-Gauntlet I noticed the following slips of the pen, which are at your service. In vol. 1. p. 24. " Unstable as water he shall not excel," said my father, or as the Sir- tuaoint hath it, Effusa est sicut aqua—non crescat. Now with all deference, the Septuagint is in Greek ; therefore could not contain this quota- tion from the Latin vulgate. In vol. 2. p. 83. Darsie Latimer says, that he *' was transported in one of the light carts of the country then called tumblers." Now this journal was written two or three days after the events it relates, and the name of "tumblers" was scarce changed in the interim, so as to allow Darsie to talk of what they were then called ; there certainly is some alteration now— in 1 824. — A small critic. § The Devil's Elixir. From the German of E. T. A. Hoffmann. In diesemjakre wandelte auch der.— Deuvbk. Offenllict aufden Strassen von Berlin.— Haftit Microc Berol. p. 1043. In that yeare, the Deville was also seene walking publiclie on the streetes of Berlin. 2 vols. Blackwood, Edinburgh. Query, Why does Mr. Gillies mispell year, devil, seen, publicly, streets, in the above transla- tion. He may believe us that bad orthography does not make old English. VOL. I. F 34 The Rhyming Review. [jvly, And th' events hurry on, that, though hard to discover, What the tale is about till you have read it twice over, Yet the interest is such thatj small faults little heeding, You would sit up all night to continue the reading. Besides, ere you read half a sheet you determine, That Mr. R. G. is a capital German; That he gets through Alt-Deutsch very much con amore, As we knew long ago from his beautiful Horse.* " Some account of the life of the late Gilbert Earle,"* Is a tale where a man falls in love with a girl, Who, unlucky to say, has a husband already, But proves to her faith somewhat little unsteady. She pines — and she dies — and he homeward soon ranges, [The scene of the Novel is placed near the Ganges] ; Is mournful and gloomy, sees strange alteration In country, town, faces, — in short, all the nation ; Writes pretty good sentiments — sighs with an air, In sentences tuned after dear Adam Blair ; Tells stories and scenes full of pathos and pity, Shows much knowledge of ton, and some tact of the city. In a word, makes a book, which is destined to grace A lady's boudoir, in a smart wat'ring- place; Then dies — and if Jordan's gazette may be credited, Leaves his volume to be, by young St. Leger, edited. Next, comes swimming on with a dignified carriage, With a puff from Sir Walter, the author of Marriage. We must always love talent, and shrewdness, and merit, hence We always must love her new work the " Inheritance." J How easy, yet caustic, the flow of her chat — How delicious a bore is loquacious Miss Pratt — How splendid a contrast the pompous old peer — How delightful is Gertrude, the warm and sincere. The story is piddling, but that is the fashion ; Our novelists now only think how to dash on — Make the tale but the peg, for hanging up sketches Of great men or small men, fine people, or wretches. Yet, perhaps, if H. Fielding's old plan § were revived, Our novels would be, after all, more long-lived; If a story — to which every sentence should tend, With a middle, as well as beginning and end, * The Horae Germanicae, in Blackwood's Magazine, are understood to be from the pen of Mr. Gillies, and in general beautiful things they are. f Some account, of the life of the late Gilbert Earle, Esq. written by himself. But when returned the youth ? the youth no more Returned exulting to his native shore ; But forty years were past, and then there came A worn-out man.— Crubbe, London, Knight, 1 vol. J The Inheritance, by the Author of Marriage, Si la noblesse est vertu, elle se perd par tout ce qui n'est pas vertueux ; et si elle n'est pas vertu c'est peu de chose. — La Bruyere. 3 vols. Edinburgh, Blackwood. § See, particularly, Tom Jones. Heaven forefend, however, that we should panegyrize the execution of all the details. We are only recommending the admirable epic unity of the plan. 1824.] The Rhyming Review. 35 Were arranged with due care — and no one opportunity Permitted to break up its regular unity ; — No character useless — no episode such As to draw our attention away overmuch. — Perhaps, we repeat it, with all due respect, The thing, as a whole, would have much more effect; And a lot of smart characters now-a-days squandered, Would condense in one work — and that work be a standard. But we wish not to blame the sharp elderly madam,* (We thank her too much for Miss Bess and Old Adam) She, in fact, is less faulty in this way than many, And could, if she tried, plan it better than any. Why then, let her try, — and we wager upon it, Her next story will be the best flower in her bonnet ; And we'll all feel obliged if she still, as her use is, Her cousins and friends for her butts introduces.f Clorinda is written, we're told, by Lord Dillon, % As silly a book as was wasted a quill on, From bottom to top just a bundle of havers, § A companion, in fact, for Sir Richard Maltravers. What d'ye think of the brains of a man who should bid us Deem it right for the Brahmins to burn all the widows ? Why nothing : but pray that his visage so ugly, Should be ducked, for his pains, in a pool of the Hoogly. Enough then of these — 'twere lost time, we conceive, To regard such dull filth as is "Adam and Eve.".|| To slay dead " Rosaryiva," in manner inhuman,** Or to rummage the cases of Squire A. K. Newman. Mr. Swan has translated — good reader look o'er 'em, — That storehouse, of stories, the Gest. Romanorumtff To which bards of our own from Geof. Chaucer to Scott, Are indebted — they'll own it — for many a plot. Wilhelm Meister JJ — you know 'twas Old Goethe who penn'd it — Tho' translated not well, must be still recommended; For we give it, at once, as our serious opinion, There are few finer things than the story of Mignon. There's no poetry written this month — more's the pity, We should wish for a sample to season our ditty; But our great ones are silent, and none seems inclin'd, To contend for the laurels that they have resigned. • Since the above was writteu, we have learned that the lady's name is Ferriar. f It is understood that all the characters introduced in these novels are drawn from the relations or acquaintances of the author. We think it gives them poignancy— though it must not a little annoy the good folks concerned. X Clorinda. A novel, in one volume, said to be— but we vouch not for our authority, from the classical pen of Lord Dillon— the conspicuous and sagacious author of Sir Richard Maltravers. In this last work of his, he defends the Indian immolation of women. § Havers. Scotch for nonsense. || Adam and Ere. A Margate Story. Hunts, London. 1 vol. •• Rosalviva, or the Demon Dwarf. By Grenville Fletcher. Iley, London. 3 vols. ft Gesta Romanorum. Translated by the Rev. Charles Swan. 3 vols. H. CoJbum„ London. Jt Wilhelm Meister's Apprenticeship. Edinburgh, Oliver and Boyd. 3 vols. F 2 36 The Rhyming Review. [july l Lord Byron is dead, and as dead to the Nine, Are the bards whom we knew in his spring-tide to shine. Tom Campbell is yoked to a dull magazine, Mouthy Southey writes quartos, by nobody seen. Sam Coleridge drinks gin, and keeps prating and preaching, Tom Moore to Lord Lansdown is tipsily speeching, Will Wordsworth's distributing stamps to the Lakers, Jerry Wiffen — Ben Barton— are nothing but quakers. Scott is better employed than in looking for rhymes, Croly's writing critiques for old Stoddart's New Times ; Crabbe and Bowles are with Moduses tickling their fancies, Sam Rogers makes — puns', and James Hogg makes — romances! In fact, not to talk in the style of humbug, Our poets have found out that verse is a drug ; And a drug it will be, in this our British nation, Until time fills the isle with a new generation. We have only to say, that a couple of stories,* In dramatical shape, are now lying before us; Which are pretty enough for that sort of a job, The name of the author, is Sullivan — (Bob). There's a « Loves of the Colours," not much to our palote.t Composed by some bard, with a head like a mallet: And the Hunts-^-a bad spec, as we venture to tell ye, Have published some posthumous trash of Byshe Shelly ; J In which you will find, as we found with much sadness, Some talent — obscured by much maundering madness ; A good line, here and there, in an ocean of drivel, And a thought, once or twice, sunk in blasphemous snivel. " Songs bf Israel, by Knox, from the Hebrew j" § pshaw! trash! Had David been living, O ! Knox ! what a crash He'd have made of the lump, which you wear as a head, For alloying his gold with your compost of lead. Away, then, with verses — what next shall we start ?*— Philosophy — science — phrenology — art — Voyage — travel — or history — humbug — or fun, (Of the latter, alas! my good sirs, there is none.) It were hard, we're afraid, in this metre of ours, To discuss mathematics, their doctrines, and pow'rs— - To talk wise, like Sir Humphry, on chemical matter — On medicine with Duncan or Johnson to chatter. To rush, sword-in-hand, like a Waterloo trooper, Right into the quarrel, 'twixt Charles Bell end Cooper— || • The Silent River, and Faithful and Forsaken. Dramatic Poems. By Robert Sullivan. London, Whittakers. 1 vol. + The Loves of the Colours, with a few occasional Poems, and a Trifle in Prose. London, Hbokham, 1 vol. X Posthumous Poems of the late Percy B. Shelly, esq. London, Hunts, 1 vol". § Songs of Israel, consisting of Lyrics, founded upon the History and Poetry of the Hebrew Scriptures. By William Knox, Edinburgh. Anderson. 1 vol. D There is a controversy raging now between Mr. Charles Bell and Sir Astley Cooper, Bart. about broken bones, plagiarism, and Borough Billingsgate. 1824.] The Rhyming Review. 37 Or to spout upon Hirnschadel's Encephalology,* As opposed to the doctrine of cran. or phrenology. One book we shall praise, with true heart and spirit, A volume of jollity, learning, and merit; And we hope that the Muse will here deign to " befriend her son," t While we sing of the quarto of Dr. A. Henderson,! Great tome, in whose pages the history is told, Of wine of all centuries, modern and old ; Where we all learn the tale of all kinds of the grape, From Homer's Pramnian to Atkinson's cape. When we pore on your page, we go back to the ages, When Anacreon drank Chian with Hellas's sages ; And there scarcely appears any distance between us And the days when gay Horace got drunk with Meceenas. How profoundly you talk, how antique and how classic, On Coecubian, Calenian, Surrentine, or Massic ; How sublimely you prove, in a tone grave and merry, That Falernian resembled Madeira or Sherry. We must think, so correct the research you have made is, That you went to consult some Greek vintner in Hades ; But many a bumper of good claret flowing May you quaff, e'er that journey in earnest you're going. Fifty verses we've sung — and we scarce can do better, Than to finish our ditty by taking a whetter ; Tho' no juice of the grape in our glass bubbles up, Tho' nor ancient Falern, nor new Port do we sup, Yet a liquor much balmier, though, perhaps, humbler Is steaming to heaven, from our well-plenish'd tumbler, With a jorum of that, shall we bid our adieu, Till the first day of August, dear readers, to you. P. T. O. PROSE POSTSCRIPT. We have little literary news worth is, in reality, an interesting Tour. What communicating at present, for there he has brought over with him, merits has been an unusual stagnancy of such the utmost attention of the antiquary in a commodity this merry month of June many points of view. We beg leave to last past. refer to a paper in the last Classical Hurst and Robinson have published Journal on the subject — the paper is a pleasant " Tour in Germany, and written by one as conspicuous for noble some of the Southern Provinces of the birth as for learning. Austrian Empire, in the Years 1820, Tom Moore's " Captain Rock," has 1821, and 1822, in a couple of duode- drawn forth an answer, published at cimo Volumes," which contains some Cadell's, entitled " Captain Rock de- good information, if it be not particu- tected, by a Munster Farmer." This larly deep. * farmer is no more a clown, than Tom is Bullock's " Six Months in Mexico," a bandit. There is a clever story told • Duncan, of the Row, is about shortly to publish Encephalology, or a very brief sketch of Doctor Hirnschadel's Ologies of the Cranion, and Phren. perfected by the Rationals. t Milton, P. L. Book 8. — Nor could the muse Defend her son— t The History of Ancient and Modern Wines, 1 vol. London, Baldwia. The Author's name is not given, but it is known to be Dr. Alexander Henderson. 38 Monsieur Arc-en-ciel's Philosophical Discoveries, Sfc. [july, been the most loyal of subjects, through good and evil report, to the king of Sar- dinia at all times. We hope the appeal in their favour will not be made in in it towards the beginning, and the little poet gets a severe, and rather a deserved rap over the knuckles, for making murder so much a matter of jocularity, as he has done in his work. A translation of the " Memoirs of John Sobieski," is in progress ; it is to be from the pen of an English professor at the Russia-Polish University of Keze- mieniec. ,/r iss Sandon's long promised poem 01 tii f* "-^provisatrice," is at last forth- coming, sweetly and prettily, like every thing she does. Colonel Talbot is about to give us the " Details of his Five Years' Resi- dence in the Canadas." In Edinburgh, they are preparing for publication, the " Historical Works of Sir James Balfour of Kinnaird, Lord Lyon, King-at-Arms under King Charles I. from Original MS. in the Advocate's Library." In the same city, also, is forthcoming, the " Life and Correspondence of the Right Hon. James Oswald of Dunniken, M. P. comprizing a Period of Forty Years, from 1740." Mons. Julien is going to lithographize the Chinese text of the Works of Muni- cius, the celebrated follower of Confu- cius, who flourished about 300 years after him. To this he will add a trans- lation into Latin, as literal as the idiom of the languages will allow. This is the first attempt of the kind made in Europe. A clergyman, of the name of Gilly, has published a quarto account of his Travels, &c. among the Vaudois ; which are curious enough. More care taken with some of the decorations would not have been amiss. That singular people appear, from Mr. G.'s statements, to have peculiar claims upon the attention and the liberality of England. The House of Savoy, with peculiar ingrati- tude, were no sooner seated, by the aid of our arms, in their ancient dominions, than they began to persecute these poor people for their firm adherence to their Protestant doctrines, although they had vain. The Life of Law, the projector of the Mississippi Bubble, about a hundred years ago in France, is nearly ready for publication. There are some curious anecdotes about him in the Suffolk Papers, lately published by John Murray. There has been a great dispute be- tween Dr. Brewster and Professor Ja- mieson in Edinburgh, as to the Journal which they had formerly conducted to- gether. The consequence has been, that Constable and Co. continue to publish the Edinburgh Philosophical Journal, having ejected Brewster (the original editor) from the concern, under the superintendance of Jamieson, who is assisted by Professor Leslie, and several other coadjutors ; while Brewster has started an Edinburgh Philosophical Journal at Blackwood's. Brewster's assistants are,M'CulIoch, Hooker, Flem- ing, Haidinger, Knox, and Hibbert. A lawsuit is raised as to the property in the original title, according to the usual manner of managing such things in Edinburgh. The upshot it is easy to see, which is, that neither Journal will make a farthing. Dr. Mac Culloch is soon to bring out four lapge octavo volumes on the High- lands of Scotland. They are dedicated to Sir Walter Scott. No doubt the Doctor will be found up to trap. With this information, which is very much at your service, we have the honor to subscribe ourselves to you, (in return for which we hope you will subscribe yourselves to us) Most excellent Reader, Your most obedient and very humble Servants, The Editors of the John Bull Magazine. MONSIEUR ARC-EN-CIELS PHILOSOPHICAL DISCOVERIES AND INVEN- TIONS. BY COSMO ECCLES. Essence of Light extracted from Sun-beams — Kosmopoloscope and its uses — Sun- making — Artificial Suns on Mont Blanc and Teneriffe. As I have been singularly fortunate discoveries made, and inventions con- in obtaining from a friend at Paris, a trived, by the famous M. Arc-en-ciel, complete account of certain wonderful Rue de Bizarre, I thought it my duty 1824.] Monsieur Arc-en-cieV s Philosophical Discoveries, fyc. 39 to send the same to you, that the inven- tor, who intends to make an early ap- pearance in London, may not come upon our countrymen altogether per faltum. M. Arc-en-ciel, according to my friend's statement, has, at length, by the most ingenious and difficult experiments upon fish-scales, diamonds, Paris plaster, custard, coal-gas, and red cabbage, set at rest the puzzling question — What is light ? and has refuted the absurd idea^ of, its being mere motion, or that sun-' beams could be extracted from cucum- bers, by the discovery of the real es- sence of light, which he has found means to prepare aud preserve. In the pursuit of his interesting in vestigations,M. Arc- en-ciel was led to examine almost every substance in nature, and every produc- tion of art ;— the eyes of moles, cats, eagles, and solan geese; burgundy- pitch and virgin-silver, chalk, chesnuts, china-ware, steel-filings, wedge-gold, and sliced parsnips; nothing escaped his alt-pervading research ; every thing was subjected to experimental scrutiny. His ingenuity and labour have been re- warded by the most brilliant success, and universal amazement, that a single philosopher, self-taught and unassisted, should have 'accomplished the solution of a problem, which has so long defied the ingenuity of 1he learned, and refused to yield even to the omnipotent appara- tus of Davy, or the resuscitory battery of Dr. Ure. J M. Arc-en-ciel has carried his inge- nuity farther, by turning his brilliant discovery to the most useful account in the invention of several instruments singularly advantageous to society. Among these may be mentioned that wonderful contrivance, the kosmopolos- cope, the most important article that ever was invented for the use of man, as must be evident from the very name to every body who knows Greek, and these who do not are much to be pitied for their ignorance of what is now univer- sally spoken by fiddlers and corn-doctors. But I beg pardon of the Cheiropodist to his majesty, I was talking, I think, of the Kosmopoloscope. This instrument con- sists of two small soap bubbles inclosing a quantity of M, Arc-en-ciel's essence of light, and fitted into the eye-rings of a pair of spectacles, which may be either of gold, silver, or potassium, according to the fancy of purchasers. M. Arc-en- ciel himself recommends potassium as being, more durable, providing always it be kept out of the way of oxygen. The uses of the kosmopoloscope are so numerous, that I despair of giving an intelligible abstract within an epistolary compass ; but this I the less regret, when I understand, that M. Arc-en- ciel is himself about to publish a large folio volume in explanation of its uses, for the instruction of mankind. In brief, the kosmopoloscope is the only instru- ment ever invented which can make " all nature beauty to the eye ;" for, as the essence of light involves in it the elements of colour, by means of the kosmopoloscope we can, by day or by night, command views and prospects surpassing all lhat ever poets dreamed of Elysium. Henceforth we shall com- plain no more of dull weather, nor get into the spleen and blue devils, when a day happens to be dark with haze or rain ; for we have only to put on our kosmopoloscope, to see around us a sunny paradise, smiling in all the luxu- riance of summer beauty. The citizen " in gloomy alley pent" shall no longer regret that he is shut out from the sight of villages, and farms, and sweet-briar hedges, by the intervention of lofty houses and smoky walls, since he can, at the small expence of a kosmopolo- scope procure a sight of all that is beau- tiful in art or nature ; gardens, to wit, of unnumbered and numberless flowers spreading before him in rich magnifi- cence ; forests of every tint of green that foliage can display ; orchards loaded with golden fruit, aud vineyards hung with grapes ripe and clustering. He may see, by turns, rivers sweeping in majesty through long tracts of country, lakes and seas embosomed by mountain crescents, or stretching far through level valleys, with the blue sky hanging over all in smiling loveliness. We need no longer regret that the broad ocean rolls between Europe and the Indies, for the kosmopoloscope makes us, practically, citizens of the world, in displaying to us all the wonders and the beauties of these distant lands while we are snugly seated in our parlours, secure from all danger of tempestuous seas, yellow fever, and murdering savages. The discovery of the Essence of Light, M. Arc-en-ciel also proposes to make useful by substituting it for tallow, wax, oil, and coal-gas. It has the advantage of being greatly cheaper, as it is ex- tracted directly from sun-beams, by a very simple process, and the light it affords is even superior in brightness to that of the sun, being the true essence of the purest rays, purged and refined 40 An Additional Remark on the Bayswater Review. [July, from all impurity. Nay, M. Arc-en- ciel does not despair of making an arti- ficial sun, which shall give as much light as the natural); the only difficulty at pre- sent heing the apparent impracticability of fixing it high enough to be universally seen. He thinks, however, that if it could be securely fixed on Mont Blanc, that it would illuminate all Europe. The agent at Paris for the South Ameri- can Republic, is actually said to have bespoke a sun from M. Arc-en-ciel for the summit of Chimborago; and the Directors of the East India-Company talk of bespeaking one for the Peak of Teneriffe, if (hey could fall upon any contrivance to monopolize the light for their own ships, to the exclusion of- un- chartered traders. The moment M. Arc-en-ciel arrives, I shall do myself the honour of trans- mitting you an exjjfe'ss, and in the mean time, I remain your humble servant, Cosmo Eccles. AN ADDITIONAL REMAKK ON THE BAYfcWATEJJ ■ItEVjrBW' In our preface, proem, prelude, pro- spectus, programme, introduction, or whatever you please to call it — we mean that two - page - and - half- composition, which marches as the first article of this number, we made some remarks on that prince of Prospectusses, the never- enough-to-be-extolled manifesto of the European Review, doomed to issue from the purlieus of Bayswater. Since we wrote those Remarks, we have heard the whole history of the concern, which, as we happened to have mentioned it at all, we think we should be" quite inde- fensible, if we withheld from our readers. The Editor, then, who is to be the living deposit of all the mind, in all its branches, of Europe, is neither more nor less than a gentleman of the name of Walker, who, some years ago,, pub- lished a work in Edinburgh, under the sounding title of " Archives of Universal Science ;" in which he set out with the intention of proving, that all mankind knew nothing, and ended with demon^ strating that such was the case with at least one individual of the race, namely, himself. After this he appeared in Lon- don, and set up the Caledonian News- paper, which went the way of all flesh, with surprising rapidity; What he did immediately after,, we have no way of knowing ; but after the lapse of some time, he set about writing books of edu- cation, under the nom de guerre of A. Scott; which books we cannot charge our conscience with having read. Now we understand that Walker is to be Editor, and his double, Scott, to be sub- editor, which is an agreeable power of self-multiplication. The private and confidential meetings between the august chef de brigade and his sub. will be no doubt as edifying as a cabinet-counsel between the Roman consuls in the me- morable year, Julio et Caesar c Coss. Harry Neele, under him, is to do English literature, poetry > and all that; in the course of which we hope ari3 trust, he will favour us with remarks on the Dra- matic Sketches of the Lady*s*Magazine, which ara very pretty pieces of senti- mentality indeed. Third in command, is the Greek gen- tleman, Phoscolos, who calls himself Foscolo'; and is in general distinguished by the appropriate title of Fudgiolo. He is to be great upon Italian song. We recommend him a motto out of a wonk in' which, if he lived at the time, it is probable he would have flourished, the Dunciad — certainly he would have deserved it more than the great scholar, to whom the verses were originally destined. " Critics and dull grammarians know you better, Parent of something higher far than letter — For towering o'er the alphabet, like Saul, Stands our Digammaand out-tops them all." Ben Constant, poor body, is to write French politics, &c. and Fuseli, most ancient of painters, undertakes statuary and painting. " These are the chief in order and in might — The rest were long to tell, though far re- nown'd As Balaam boys, of Jackass' issue." And under such guidance, we anticipate a fund of amusement from the whole concern. All the good old butfc are becoming horribly stale, and the town in general is really in want of some new matter for grinning at. All we require of them is, not to be merely dull, not simply stupid, but to put in the fine racy flavour of absurdity into whatever they do. A mere idiot is a pitiable object, but, though it is perhaps not quite reconcilable with the most exalted feelings, few of us can hinder ourselves from laughing at the fantastic caprices of a poor but important fellow, who fan- cies himself a king or a philosopher. THE JOHN BULL Vol. 1. AUGUST, 1824. No. 2. LORD BYRON S LETTERS. Messrs. Charles Knight, of PallMall, East, and Henry Colburn, ofConduit- -et, have announced lor publication a portion of Lord Byron's Letters, being his correspondence with Mr. R. C. Dal- las. An injunction, however, as such of our readers as take any interest in such matters, of course know, has been obtained against their publication from the Vice-Chancellor ; some hopes are entertained that Lord Eldon will reverse the proceedings of his Sub, But poor Mr. Knight will look terribly white. If the Chancery Court won't dissolve the injunction, As one of Knight's poets — young Mack- worth Praed — sung on a different occa- sion in his own magazine. The volume contained an immensity of the chaff of Dallas himself— for the poor animal, for whose opinions, or res gestce, no living being cares the scrapings of a chamber-pan, deemed his letters of so much importance as to have thrown them in to swell the correspon- dence. It was, nevertheless, an unwise plan, for the reviews and the magazines would have infallibly extracted all Lord Byron's letters, and thereby left the book a complete caput mortuum, con- taining nothing but the vapid residuum of the epistles of Dallas. His lordship, it is well known, had not the highest possible opinion of his correspondent's powers, as is evident from the following epigram, which, though current enough in conversation, has never, we believe, got into print. To a friend who observed that Mr. Dallas looked particularly sapient on a certain occasion — Yes ! wisdom shines in all his mien — Which would so captivate, I ween, Wisdom's own goddes3 Pallas ; That she'd discard her favorite owl, And take for pet its brother fowl, Sagacious R. C. Dallas, This same propensity to make free with his friends is said to be the occa- sion of the suppression of his letters ; for, if we may believe the newspapers, Hobhouse's interference arose from his alarm lest they should contain, as they happened to do, any remarks in no wise complimentary to himself. If this be the case, it does not speak much in praise of Hobhouse's anxiety for the Liberty of the Press. Henceforward, if we hear him speaking in defence of that great principle, we must infallibly be tempted to exclaim, in the language of John Wilson Croker's clever lines — We scorn the poor attempt to fob us, And laugh to find the hoaxer Hobhouse. Hobhouse knows, to be sure, that he was in prose and verse, and, in common conversation, one of Lord Byron's most constant butts.* • Would any of our correspondents be able to favor us with Lord Byron's Song on Hobhouse, written about J819? We heard it sung somewhere about that time in Paris, by a gentleman who had a copy, and did every justice to his subject. We cannot trust a memory which is. VOL. I. G 42 Jeu (V Esprit of Sheridan. [august, We advert to the subject merely be- cause several letters of his lordship have been placed in our hands, with unlimited power of publication — but we refrain from so doing, through delicate motives, until it be legally ascertained, whether this new doctrine, so unexpectedly ad- vanced by Mr. Hobhouse's lawyers, be correct or not. In the mean time we may as well mention, for the benefit of those concerned, that some of them go back so far as 1816, when his lord- ship was in his seventeenth year, and continue till about 1815, the period of his marriage. There are some very strange domestic scenes narrated, and some still stranger adverted to, the na- ture of which we do not feel ourselves at liberty, for the present, to disclose. The critical reader may be pleased to know, that from them much light may be thrown upon some of his lordship's poems — Manfred, for instance ; one of the ablest of the critics of that powerful composition, complains that* " a sense of imperfection, incompleteness, and con- fusion, accompanies the mind through- out the perusal of the poem, owing either to some failure on the part of the poet, or to the inherent mystery of the subject;" and, of course, the admirers of Lord Byron's genius would be quite pleased at having every effort made to remedy such defects. Next month, it is probable — we shall not say certain — that we may speak more largely on this interesting subject. TO THE EDITOR OF THE JOHN BULL MAGAZINE. Sir, In the first number of your enter- taining Magazine, you quote a verse, composed as you say, by Richard Brins- ley Sheridan, on Lord Glenbervie, ex- tempore. I know this is a common version of the story, but it is, neverthe- less, incorrect. That verse occurs in a long poem by the deceased wit, written just before the opening of the Union Parliament, in 1801. I am not sure that it was ever published — indeed, I rather think it was not— in either case it is at your service. I possess a copy in Sherry's own writing, from which I inclose the transcript. I am, Sir, Your humble servant, Stratton-street. H. R. We thank our Piccadilly correspon- dent, but, as the poem is long, and the politics rather obsolete, we prefer giving a few of the most piquant verses. It is to a tune then popular — " Mr. Ante, Mr. Artie, it gives me concern." Zooks, Harry — Zooks, Harry t — How your plans all miscarry ! Though undaunted your forehead of brass ; Yet the troops, foot and horse, All join in one curse, On the impotent plans of Dundas — Yes, Harry! On the impotent plans of Dundas. The second verse is on Canning ; the third on Mr. Ryder, whom Sheridan calls Jane Ryder. Neither worth printing. unusually treacherous to give a correct copy of the words— but we have the melody still float- ing in our ears. It ran — something thus : Of all the speakers on the floor, Or lounging in the lobby O— There's none so great a standing bore As little John Cam Hobby O. Not e'en Lord Viscount Castlereagh, Our famous Irish Bobby O, Is more conspicuous in his way Than little John Cam Hobby O ! We do not vouch for our specimen being correct, but we certainly shall be answerable for its likeness. If any of our correspondents, as we have already said, possess a copy, by for- warding it to us, he may be sure of its speedy appearance. In so saying, we disclaim any dislike to Hobhouse, who is a very fair public man indeed, and very deservedly respected by all who know him ; but we have always had a great affection for preserving the little effu- sions of men of genius, which, nobis judicibus, tend to mark the author's character even more than studied and formal compositions. * Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, June 1817. f Right Hon. Henry Dundas, now better known as Lord Melville. He had been seven or eight years married to his second lady at the date of this jeu d'esprit, but had no children by her j there seems to be some allusion to this in the text. 1824.] Jeu d? Esprit of Sheridan. 43 IV. Lord Belgrave — Lord Belgrave *— Nay, why look so H grave ? And why do you never now speak ? Have the d d Sunday papers Given your Lordship the vapours, Or are you revising your Greek ? Lord Belgrave, Or are you revising your Greek ? Ha, Jenky ! Ha, Jenky ! t Now tell me what think ye, Of marching directly to Paris, With your comrades so hearty, To seize Bonaparte, And lodge him with governor Aris; Do, Jenky, Pray lodge him with governor Aris. VI. Wilberforce! Wilberforce ! % Better steer a new course, For your piety meets no requital ; And your charity's such, Truth dies at its touch, While your venom alone is thought vital ; Wilberforce, While your venom alone is thought vital. Then follow verses on Hawkins Brown, Thornton, Dr. Lawrence, or, as he is here called, Dear Lumber, the Attorney-General, the Master of the Rolls, and old George Rose, which we may safely skip. Next is the verse on Lord Gleubervie, more accurately, than we from memory quoted it. XV. " Glenbervie — Glenbervie — What's good for the scurvy ? For ne'er be your old trade forgot; In your arms rather quarter Your pestle and mortar, And your crest be a spruce gallipot ; Glenbervie, And your crest be a spruce gallipot. XVI. Liverpool — Liverpool § — Our states-master's tool, Of famine the type and the cause i When the poor, all forlorn, Ask a handful of corn, You give them a peckful of laws, Liverpool, You give them a peckful of laws. XVII. Lord Bogy— Lord Bogy |j — Who never gets groggy, Spite of Hal's and of Billy's example ; Declares all state vigour, &c. &c. The rest of the verse is musty. The last verse is on Pitt, and if not very poetical, must be allowed to be suffi- ciently bitter. XXI. But Billy— prime Billy- Why, you'd think me quite silly, Should I end and your praises omit j Ask in he'l for the name First in guilt and in shame, And the devil would hollo out — Pitt. Yes, Billy, The devil would hollo out— Pitt. • Now Earl Grosvenor. In his first speech in parliament, being hot from college, he quoted a long Greek passage, which is here alluded to. It was long a subject of joke to the news- papers, but his lordship is panegyrized for it in the notes of the Pursuits of Literature. i Now Lord Liverpool. His celebrated speech about marching to Paris, is here laughed at. Later events have proved that such an occurrence was not so impossible as then imagined. The case of governor Aris is too well known to need a note. • J. Sheridan had always a great spleen against Mr. Wilberforce. Every body knows the story of his giving Mr. W.'s name to the watchman who picked him up, when he had fallen in a drunken fit in the street. § The late Lord Liverpool, whose figure was rather cadaverous. About this time there was a scarcity of corn, and his lordship was very active in legislating about it. |J Lord Grenville. Hal, and Billy, are Dundas and Pitt, who, it is needless to say, were bon vivants of the first— any thing but water. On their convivial propensities, the opposition wits vented epigrams, sans cesse, of which the following is,, perhaps, worth remembering :— Dialogue between Messrs. P. and D. in the House of Commons. P. I cannot see the speaker, Hal ; can you ? D. Not see the speaker, damme ! / see two! G2 44 The Madness of Mr. W. Barren, [august, MR. W. FARREN, AND THE LONDON MAGAZINE. " The satirical rogue says here, that old men have grey beards : that their faces are wrinkled : that they have a plentiful lack of wit, together with most weak hams : all which, though I do most powerfully and potently believe, yet I hold it not honesty to have it thus set down." Hamlet. Mr. William Farren is an actor, of Covent Garden Theatre, who has ac- quired some celebrity by his persona- tion (on the stage) of very old and weak gentlemen : but not content with show- ing us how they walk and speak, he has, we understand, contrived to get himself engaged by Messrs. Taylor and Hessey, at a salary of Zl. per month, to shew the cockney public how ihey write. His first appearance upon " The Lon- don" stage, was in an Essay on the Mad- ness of Hamlet, about which, he is not quite clear: but he ends most safely in the conclusion, that if Hamlet really was mad, his madness, as far as it went, was just like any other madness. In the May number, he has inflicted on the unfortunate readers of this ma- gazine, an article upon the madness of Ophelia; in which he makes it quite clear io the most sceptical, that Shak- speare meant, in the latter part of the play, to represent Ophelia as mad. But he says a great many other new and curious things,— all smelling of the taste of the silly old gentleman, in whose character Mr. F. writes; and whose imbecility, shortness of memory, con- tradictions, and repetitions of himself, — clothed in an insipid, hobbling, gouty, toothless style, — he has even more hap- pily imitated, than he does Lord Ogleby or Sir Peter Teazle. Any silly old gentleman, who should bethink himself of writing at this time of day, upon the madness of Ophelia, would, very naturally, set out from a truism: accordingly Mr. Farren, in a happy vein of imitation, thus com- menceth : " The mental distemper of Ophelia is that of distraction." And again: "The conflicls of duty and af- fection, hope and fear, which succes- sively agitated Ophelia's gentle bosom, were sufficient to dissever the delicate coherence of a woman's reason. The fair and gentle Ophelia, confiding in the sincerity of Hamlet, has listened to his addresses, sufficiently to imbibe the con- tagion of love." From this we learn, among other points, that every young lady, who listens to addresses, necessa- rily falls in love immediately. " Laertes, aware of the state of her affection, cau- tions her." In this sentence there is a palpable mistake of the press, arising, no doubt, from Mr. F.'s too faithful imita- tion of the palsy-stricken hand-writing of the old gentleman : for as he talks in the sentence preceding, about " the contagion of love," he must have writ- ten, " Laertes, aware of the state of her infection." Old men, from their extreme shortness of memory, are very apt to forget, in one sentence, what they had asserted in another. This characteris- tic of their style of writing, is delicately copied by Mr. F. " Polonius peremp- torily charges her not to give words, or talk with the Lord Hamlet." " Her feelings are on every occasion made subservient to the views of Polonius, who bids her walk alone, that she may have an interview with Hamlet." " Ophelia, with affectionate duty, pro- mises to obey his commands," though it is clearly impossible that she could obey both. "Ophelia's answer (to the queen) shows, that her love had not been diminished by the wholesome les- sons of Laertes, or the harsh control of her father." Sometimes this extreme shortness of memory leads them not only into inconsistencies, but into flat contradictions of themselves — as thus: i " Ophelia is made to feel that her hopes of reciprocal affection are for ever blighted." (p. 485.) " Doating on Ham- let, whose affection for her does not ap- pear to have suffered the slightest dimi- nution, (p. 486.) " Ophelia still having confidence in her lover's affection." (p. 486.) " Her lover's ardent passion seemed to her to have subsided into cold indifference." (p. 487.) Sometimes, in cases of extreme silliness, the same sentence would contain the assertion and the contradiction. " In the madness of Ophelia, there are no intervals of rea- son : for, the poet has contrived, m ith exquisite skill, to dart through the cloud that obscures her reason, occasional gleams of recollection." (p. 487.) An old beau, in writing about Ophelia, would be very likely to talk about her in sweet phrases ; calling her (as Mr. F. does,) " the fair and gentle Ophelia," 1824.] The Madness of Mr. W. Fatten. 45 " the lovely maniac," " the beautiful and dutiful Ophelia," " an exquisite crea- ture," &c. &c and to praise her in this style : " She is decked with all the gen- tleness and modesty which distinguish an affectionate sister, and a virtuous woman.' 7 But, unless he had been un- der the powerful influence of his third glass of wine, the old bachelor would never have given so bad an account of the young lady, as is contained in this sentence: "The songs she warbles contain allusions strongly indicative of feelings of an erotic^ (from Sgwj, amor) tendency; and are such as, under the chaster guard of reason, she would not have selected." (p. 487) He would not have said that " Ophelia was inca- pable of deceit," yet, in the same page, have asserted, that she was guilty of " meanness and falsehood, involving at once the sacrifice of delicacy and truth in the most senseless coquetry." But he would soon relapse again into a maud- lin tenderness, and whimper over the sorrows of Ophelia. "That reader is little to be envied, who could smile at Ophelia's distraction; which, from gen- tle breasts, must extort tears, and sobs, and sighs — those attributes that ennoble our natures." His metaphors would be all borrowed from the Apothecary's shop, and would smack of the draught he had just swallowed. " There is something so exquisitely affecting in this draught of sorrow, that it is impossible not to drain the cup to the very dregs." He would probably think it necessary to patronize Shakspeare, and would talk of his " exquisite creations," the "ex- quisite tragedy," its ''• exquisite contri- vances," and the " exquisite specimens" to be found in it. He would send for his physician, "who is familiar with cases of insanity," and after consulting him, would thus write : " It is impos- sible to conceive any thing more perfect Shakspeare, in this scene of Ophelia's. Every medical professor, who is familiar with cases of insanity, will freely ac- knowledge its truth. The slight with- drawing of the veil, without disgusting by its entire removal, displays at once the pathological correctness, and the ex- quisite delicacy of the poet." (p. 487.) Hereafter, let nobody pretend to ad- mire Shakspeare without being able to produce his diploma from Warwick- lane. The old gentleman would at- tempt a weak antithesis : " If any thing could heighten our admiration of the immortal bard, after a careful examina- tion of the life of Ophelia, it would be the exquisite contrivance of her death." (p. 488.) Thinking of the days of his youth, when Lady M. W. Montagu taught him the language of flowers, the aucient bachelor would think Shakspeare must have had emblems in his head when he described Ophelia's garland as woven of " crowflowers, nettles, daisies, and long-purples :" and lhat he " alluded to particular varieties" of them.* He would therefore suggest an alteration in Shak- speare 's verses to explain all this, and would have us read : Therewith fantastic garlands she did make Of crowflowers, named in Drayton's Poly- olbion; The lychnis flos cuculi of Linnaeus ; 'Tis of considerable antiquity, And is by Pliny called odontitis. The double lychnis is by Parkinson Called " the fayre mayde of France," because 'tis found there. The daisy (or day's-eye,) imports virginity, &c. He would say that Shakspeare meant to perpetrate a kind of sentimental pun by choosing " wild flowers, to denote " the bewildered state of the beautiful " Ophelia's own faculties : and the or- " der runs thus, with the meaning of " each term beneath : than the picture of disease, given by CROWFLOWERS. I NETTLES. J DAISIES. Fayre mayde. \ Stung to the quick. \ Her virgin bloom. " A fair maid stung to the quick, her virgin bloom under the cold hand of death." (p. 488.) LONG-PURPLES. Under the cold hand of death. • As our readers might have some doubts whether the force of folly could go so far, we subjoin Mr. F.'s precise words: " There ought to be no question that Shakspeare intended them all to have an emblematic meaning. The ' crowflower,' is a species of lychnis, al- " luded to by Drayton, in his Polyolbion. It is the lychnis flos cuculi of Linnsus; it is of con- «' siderable antiquity, and is described by Pliny under the name of odontitis. We are told by " Parkinson it was called ' The fayre Mayde of France.' It is to this name and to this va- " riety that Shakspeare alludes in the present instance. The ' daisey' (or day's-eye) imports " « the pure virginity,' &c (p. 488 ) 46 The Madness of Mr. W. Far r en, [august, the old gentleman, delighted with his own ingenuity, would then cry out — " It would be difficult to fancy a more emblematic wreath for this interesting Victim ;" then, because he loves to quote appropriately, he would say something about " disappointed love and filial so?-- roiv — sweets to the sweet, farewell !" — and at last, getting quite frisky and wanton, would conclude as Mr. F. does— " I thought thy bride-bed to have deok'dy sweet maid, " And not have strevo'd thy grave" William Farren. Since the foregoing portion of our ar- ticle was written, it appears that Mr. Farren does not write in the character of a weak old gentleman, as we had in- advertently supposed : but comes boldly forward, in the London Magazine, for Jane, in the character of " an insane christian,"-'- an epithet to which our readers will probably think he has a. good deal more right than Hamlet, on whom he bestows it. In the number to which we allude, there are half-a-dozen mortal pages on a certain new-discovered passage in Shak- speare, beginning To be, or not to be, that is the question. This celebrated soli- loquy has been highly extolled as a fine specimen of right reasoning proceeding from a vigorous and virtuous mind; but I regard it (quoth Mr. Farren) as an incon- gruous assemblage of intruding thoughts, proceeding from an author whom 1 hold in the highest veneration. Mr. F. admits candidly, that his former articles are " a great outrage against popular opi- nion — an opinion in which all his readers (if he has any) will readily concur : and he very properly characterizes the present article, which consists only of six pages, as a minor offence. At the time Hamlet thus moralized (says Mr. F. in allusion to the passage beginning " Oh that this too too Solid flesh would melt," &c.) the theory which ultimately produced. mental alienation had not entered his mind :" yet, in the next sentence, he says that " Hamlet merely assumed madness, the better to gratify his revenge." He says, that " when Hamlet delivered the soli- loquy he was of sound mind," yet in the following page he asserts, that " Shakspeare has given an unconnected train of reasoning to Hamlet, on purpose to display the unsoundness of his intel- lect." Let our readers make what they can of the following contradictory non- sense. " When Hamlet is left alone, he displays a disrelish of life — " How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable, Seem to me all the uses of this world !" &c. . Hamlet has a strong motive for which to live. Indeed, there is no circumstance affecting Hamlet that should prompt him to entertain a thought of self-destruction ; ori the contrary, all concurred to render life desirable. The following interpre- tation of the first words of the soliloquy is quite admirable — though rather more difficult to be understood than the ori- ginal. " The question is to be, that is, to exist; or NOT TO be, that is, to cease to exist." (p. 650.) This is a good example of what may be called the al- phabetical, or A, B. C. method of rea- soning, and is clearly superior to the Q. E. D. mode. To B, that is to B— and not to B. that is not to C. for a man must B. before he can C. The following chain of what Mr. F. calls reasoning, is, he says, " in Hamlet's own way ;" though he calls him, in the same breath, " an insane christian." (p. 651.) " To die" is no more " than to sleep, and by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache, a consummation devoutly to be wished." Now Hamlet knew well that " sleep would not always end the heart-ache, as we frequently dream in our sleep of that which oppresses us when awake." (p. 650.) Does Mr. F. mean to say that dreaming about a thing is as bad as suffering it awake ? Let any body try the experiment with Mr. F.'s Essays — and when they are fairly reduced by them to a state of inaction, let them dream they are still reading them, and try which state of suffering is the easiest to bear. Mr. F. is very anxious, in some parts of his essay, to prove Hamlet an ortho- dox, high-church believer — though, in other passages, he calls him " an insane christian" — which would lead one rather to suppose he belonged to the sect of the methodists. Here is a specimen of the logic which " the insane christian" of the London, employs to prove Hamlet " a man impressed with the truths of re- vealed religion." (p. 647.) " Christians believe that a good conscience makes a man bravery-Hamlet says, that conscience makes cowards of us all — therefore Ham- let is a man impressed with the truths of revealed religion." (p. 651.) Mr. F. 1824.] Sonnet. 47 indeed seems to Ihink Ids own logic not very convincing : for he says, just after- wards, what we grieve to say is con- firmed by the personal experience of most of us, that, in the case of some christians, " it is difficult to find out what conscience has to do with the mat- ter." Mr. F. winds up this dramatic sermon with a phrase somewhat curious. " Christians," saith he, " do not doubt as to their existence in a future state : nay, philosophers (as if it were quite impossible for a christian to be a philo- sopher) since the days of Plato have not doubted. Christians have a higher mo- tive than the fear of other evils to make them suffer their afflictions with patience. If this be not plain, the devil's in it. (p. 652.) There is in the last No. of the Lon- don, an article on the Madness of Lear, by the same " sweet Roman hand." Lear is exquisitely compared to a man drinking gin, who " turns in wrath and disgust from the pure element of truth," &c. ; and then follows a long account of the plot, with quotations as ample as if Lear had only been written yesterday. Mr. F. evidently regards Shakspeare as having been a kind of mad doctor: for besides speaking of his physiological poetry, and his pathological correctness, he says, that " he displays not only a perfect knowledge of the disease under which Lear labours, but an intimate acquaintance with the course of medical treatment, which in those days, and, in- deed, till very recently, was pursued with a view to its cure." (p. 82.) Some- times he speaks of him as an apothe- cary — and says, that " he employs the proper medical agents with much effect." (p. 82.) He next gets quite wild about Lear's coronet of weeds, just as he had already done about Ophelia's flowers — and wishes us to read the passage as follows : Crown'd with rank fumiter, employ'd by Cullen, And furrow-weeds, and harlock's, whence they make Our Durham mustard; hemlocks, stinging- nettles, And cuckoo-flowers, thought good for epi- lepsy, Which hold a place in all pharmacopoeias— With darnel, otherwise call'd drunkard's grass, &c. " These plants are all wild and un- cultivated; of bitter, biting, poisonous, pungent, lurid, and distracting quali- ties. Thus Lear's crown, like Ophelia's wreath, is admirably emblematic of the sources and variety of the disease under which he labours. Yet none of the commentators have given Shakspeare credit for the arrangement." (p. 84.) We leave all this with one word. If the printing of such ineffable nonsense as this is not an insult to the public — it is not easily insulted. We have now done with Mr. Farren : whose articles, if they are remarkable for nothing else, display an intimate, and rather disgusting, acquaintance with the signs of madness, in all the shapes in which the disease has ever visited " insane christians" — and Shakspeare (whom if we took our notions of him from Mr. F. we should consider as mad as himself) is perpetually praised for his " palhological correctness and exquisite judgment," in the representation of* "in- sane christians." We cannot say much for the " exquisite judgment" of Mr. Farren : but we hope, that if he reads this article, he may have the good luck to light upon " a happiness of Reply, that often madness hits on." O. SONNET. When golden Phoebus, rising in the west, Astounds the orient with his evening beam, When ring-doves coo beneath the ocean stream, And flounders chaunt, high-perch 'd in leafy nest ; When tygers linked with lambkins all-a-breast, Walk arm in arm, symphonious, down the Strand, While the Northumbrian lion from his stand Wags his glad tail to view the union blest ; 48 To Jane. [august When round thy sides, O Monument, ihe vine Clasps its close folds with clusters budding bright, When Thames' tide changed into purple wine, Cheers red-nosed bibbers with the generous sight, Then, Tailor dear, I'll pay this bill of thine, Which in the mean time serves my pipe to light. Highgate. S. T. C. TO JANE. Being Extracts from an Unpublished Poem. " Shreds and patches."— Shakspearb. Accept, dear Jane — excuse my being free, But really amongst friends, that prudish word Starch Miss! which people of formality Are still so very fond of; is absurd ! 'Twas well enough when perukes were the rage, But is quite shocking in our smarter age. Besides, with authors, now the thing's quite out. For " Miss" would spoil their rhymes, and cut romanee, And be as outre as a quiet rout, And quite as vulgar as a country dance ; " To Miss Jane **** — horrid! 'tis a lane Without a turning — therefore read " dear Jane ! " Dear Jane ! it sounds so pretty, don't it now ? 1 dare say you have heard it many times ; Mixed up with sighs, and sweetened with a vow, From something daintier than my saucy rhymes j There, don't look sad — I dare say he is true, And 'twill be breath'd again from — you know who. Is his name Henry ? do be kind and tell, Frederick, or Edward ? those are pretty names, And link'd to Jane, will read surpassing well:-— I have known many sympathetic dames, Bid a poor sighing Benedict be gone, Because the wretch was christen'd Solomon. But, perhaps, you're not particular in this, And deem a rose, a rose at any rate ; So that its fragrance is like Summer's kiss, Whether it hold its pale or blooming state : And this, pray take my word for't, is the plan, The mind, my dear's the model of the man. The French have pretty names, and it might be You may have fancied them in preference, N'importe, n'importe, 'tis all the same to me, So you do bear our friendships with you hence : But whisper first his name, 1 burn to hear — Is't Guillot ? — Jaquet ? — Valian ? — Jean ? — my dear ? But, bless me ! here's digression — 'tis the fashion, Lord Byron used it, so did Chaucer too; And why not lesser folks, yet 'tis a passion The sooner cooled the better, what think you ? When we ride out for Hackney, 'tis no tun To be dragg'd, Gilpin-like, to Edmonton. Well, then, my saucy hobby I'll restrain, Which, like Mazeppa's, hurries me along, Heedless of all correction, curb, or rein, — Away o'er bogs and mires, he flies, ding dong; Which, in a madd'ning fox-chace, might be good, But, 'fore a lady, is exceeding rude. 1824.] To Jane. 43 Dear Jane ! (ay ! there I started you will find,) " Take these few slips of fancy," take them Jaae, I said that to your sister, never mind, Two stars can still inhabit one bright fane ; And may I from dark fancies ne'er be freed, If you and Kitty are not stars indeed ! Stars, such as those who well a world can form, Of friendship and esteem, and which pure love That is their child, may worship without harm, And feel a joy within their orbs to move ; You know I'm married, yet am nothing loth, Dear Jane and Kate, to say I love you both. I don't say I would either hang, or drown, Or swallow arsenic for thy precious sake, Or blow my brains- out in a study brown. Or leap from Fonthill's tow'rs, my neck to break ; Nor in affection for my four boys faulter, Nor take my wife to market in a halter. But this I say — (upon my life will swear,) If with devotion friendship lends her wing, If friendship bids our hearts kind feelings bear, AH that esteem, respect, and pray'r can bring- All this for Kate and thee I really nourish, And if 'tis love, in heav'n's name, let it flourish. I wish you both were married, faith, I do, To those your eyes have shone upon ere now ; Tis very pretty sport I own to woo, But better still to plight the breathless vow : And a good husband, like a faithful wife, Is solace sweet in good or ill of life. I've weighty cause to say so — that's no news, I do not mean to tell my helpmate weighs Just twelve stone seven, without her cap or shoes^ (She weighed much lighter in her single days :) But this I mean — I've found the wedded state A mighty set off 'gainst the scowl of fate. There is a bliss the single cannot know, Which we good married people always feel, To have one bosom to repose our woe, One heart that beats responsive to our weal; We had some sunshine once, now whirlwinds sweep, Wfrlaugh'd together then — and now tfje weep. Yet still we grew together like two trees, Close planted, that have twined into one; Together we do bend beneath the breeze. Or rise together when returns the sun :-^- The storm is busy with our branches — yet, €lod stay the hour when we, together, set ! Yet this is sad, and ill becomes the lay, Which should of merrier fancies credence take j Yet, though I gave my sad muse holiday, I could not help a strain for Mary's sake ; I push the tear aside— and now, 'tis gone, Broad grins are come again, to end anon. u Take these few slips of fancy," come what will, I'll not digress again, it is so rude; " Take these few slips of fancy," all my skill Can pay in part of debt of gratitude: They'll be but wild flowers, lost amidst the blaze Of fragrance vast, that marks these rhyming days, vol. i. H 50 On Ideal Beauty. [august, July, 1824. Yet, if one leaf— a moist spot On the plain Where all besides is desert, or a sand, Should 'midst some brighter garlands favor gain, And a stray smile or plaintive tear command ; I throw to others the mere poet's bays, Beauty's dear sympathy is higher praise. One wish at parting, 'tis an old one too, But none upon my word the worse for wear, And all good angels grant it cling to you, In maiden's dress, or in a marriage gear; May you, the single, seek the marriage fane, And married, be the happiest bride, " dear Jane." J. S. F. ON IDEAL BEAUTY. No original character was ever con- ceived by a painter, a poet, or a novelist, which had not in some of its varieties been noted as remarkable in some indi- vidual : — so says the author of " Weaver- ley," and he has surely some right to ba considered as a high authority. We make bold to extend the remark, and to apply it to what has been cailed Ideal "Beauty, — which has long been the ob- ject of eager but unavailing pursuit among aspiring artists. To us, we must say, the terms convey no meaning, as we can form no conception nor idea of the shadowy thing called the Beau Ideal; and, of course, can never know what the search is for, nor ascertain and iden- tify the object should it chance to be discovered. In the modes of inquiry hitherto pursued, we can never tell when we are right and when we are wrong, and must content ourselves with the state of blissful uncertainty. Let us hear Barry's account of the matter. " I will readily grant to Rey- nolds, that no man can judge whether any animal be beautiful in its kind, or deformed, who has only seen one of the species ; this is as conclusive in regard to the human figure ; so that if a man, born blind, were to recover his sight, and the most beautiful woman were brought before him, he Could not deter- mine whether she was handsome or not ; nor if the most beautiful and most de- formed Were produced, Could he any better determine to which he should give the preference, having seen only those two. To distinguish beauty, then, we must have seen many individuals of that species. If it is asked, how is more skill acquired by the observation of greater numbers? It may be answered, that in consequence ot having seen many, the power is acquired, even without seek- ing after it, of distinguishing between accidental blemishes and excrescences, which are continually varying the sur- face of nature's works, and the invaria- ble general form which nature most fre- quently produces, and always seems to intend by her productions." Now though we may readily grant the premises, we should hesitate to ad- mit the inference ; for it is concluded, and attempted to be supported from the practice of great masters, that after hav- ing made multifarious comparisons of the individuals of a species, and selected what was most beautiful in each, and composed them into a whole,— that this new production which comprehends all the selected beauties is the only possible beauty of that species, and in so far as it is receded from, deformity must ensue. An example will make this plain, and it is important that it should be well un- derstood since it is made the basis of all the rules for painting. There are many thousand individual roses, each possess- ing some little variety in point of beauty ; no two individuals, indeed, are com- pletely alike in every particular, though all are confessedly beautiful. Now, in order to make a rose supremely beauti- ful, or the perfect model and standard of beauty, the artist is directed to select from each what is most beautiful, and make a combination of the several selec- tions ; and when he has done so, if he has had taste enough to select, and genius enough to combine, then his rose is pronounced to be the most beautiful, though it be like no real rose in exist- ence. The critic and the amateur will go farther, and aver that this rose of the painter is the only possible rose which can be the summit of beauty, and if any other painter were to paint a rose, he must either paint this identical one of selected combination, or every departure 1824.] Ori Ideal Beauty, SI. therefrom will be a failure. That is, in other words, there can only be one form and one colour of a rose supremely beau- tiful, and all other forms and colours are inferior in beauty. What is true of the rose is true, according to this system, of esrery other thing animate and inani- mate. There is, therefore, only one horse that can be beautiful 5 only one peacock that can be beautiful ; and it follows, also, that there is only one land- scape which can be supremely beautiful. Such is the principle of- ideal beauty, which appears to be so absurd, that we might be supposed by those unacquainted with the discussion to have misrepre- sented or exaggerated it, though we are not conscious of having inclined such imputations. It is possible, that this principle re- specting the Beau Ideal may have origi- nated from the well known anecdote told of the Grecian artist, who, when he was about to give all possible beaoty to a Venus, which he had in comtempla- tion, took a journey all over Greece — examined every female celebrated for beauty, selected what pleased him, and combined all his selections into a Venus. The story is beautifully given in the Pleasures of Hope. When first the Rhodian's mimic art array'd The queen of Beauty in her Cyprian shade, The happy master mingled in his piece Each look that charm'd him in the fair of Greece ; To faultless nature true, he stole a grace From every finer form and sweeter face; And, as he sojourned in the Egean isles, Woo'd all their love and treasur'd all their smiles : Then glow'd the tints, pure> precious, and refin'd, And mortal charms seem'd heavenly when combin'd ; Love on the picture smil'd, Expression ponr'd Her mingling spirit there — and Greece ador'd. All this, we confess, is a pleasing and pretty anecdote, but we very much question its truth. We would scarcely credit the artist himself, though he had told it to us, for he must have deceived himself, we think, if he ever said so. It is much easier indeed to practice than to explain the manner of practising, and we know that the Greeks, who were so eminent hi the execution of masterly productions, were seldom ever right in their criticisms. We shall illustrate our doctrine by an example: a country gen- tleman, who was appointed a justice of the peace for his county, came in great distress to Sir Matthew Hale, complain- ing that he could do no good in his new office, as he knew nothing of the law. The shrewd and sensible advice of the lawyer was, that he should always fol- low his own judgment to the best of his ability, but never to attempt giving any reason for it, as his judgment had every chance to be right, though his explana- tion of it, or his trying to find law to support it, had as much chance of being wrong. It is said of Haydn, that he could never give a reason why he wrote any one passage of music in the way he did. His answer invariable was, " I wrote it thus because I liked it best so ;" even when he had altered a lew bars in a rough score, and was asked by a friend to assign the reason for the change, he could only reply, " I substituted the passage, because the first somehow or other did not please me." It would have been more according to truth, had the Grecian artist made a similar reply, than to have told the story of his tour in search of beauties. The fallacy here, is exactly similar to that of discussing, and wrangling, and theorizing about beauty in general; and is here as easily detected as in the other case. To recur to the example of the rose, we think that so far from there be- ing only one form and colour superla- tively beautiful, that there may be any number all dilferent in size, in form, and in colour, among which it would be scarcely possible to pronounce a supe- riority. We should be disposed, then, in opposition to the doctrine of ideal beauty, to conclude, that the kinds of beauty even in things of the same spe- cies, are multiplied and indefinite, and hot confined to one solitary expression of form, of colour, or of feature ; and we should not hesitate to prophecy, that the artist who is taught otherwise, and follows up what is erroneously taught in his practice, is sure to fail. It is scarcely credible, that so many absurdities should find their way into elementary precepts, and even into phi- losophic criticism, as arc every where to be met with. If a painting, for exam. pie, or a statue, has the credit of being a master-piece, it is forthwith made the standard of beauty ; and they even set about measuring its proportions, that the young artist may learn his art by H3 The Humbugs of the Age. [august, rule and compass, on a similar principle of absurdity, to that of composing an epic poem by a steam-engine. Such and the same, we esteem the folly of teaching young artists grace, symmetry, and beauty, by the measurement of the proportions of the antique statues. They are, when this is practised, deceived and deluded into a wrong path at the outset, and they ean seldom afterwards regain their way. So far has the absurdity been carried, that tables have actually been constructed of the feet, inches, and parts of an inch necessary to be observ- ed by every painter and every statuary, in embodying his conceptions of human beauty — the Venus de Medicis being taken as the standard of female, and the Apollo Belvidere of male beauty. But granting that the Venus exhibits the finest proportions of female beauty, which were ever embodied or ever con- ceived ; yet it does not follow, that there could be no other female form beautiful, or that no other Would be beautiful, that bad not all the characteristics of this. On the contrary, we conceive that there inay be a thousand other female forms, all differing in proportion from this statue, and all as supremely beautiful. The Venus is represented as a mere girl Of about fourteen or sixteen, and such as every one knows, may have a style of beauty very differ|pt, though not supe- rior to one of eighteen, twenty, or twenty- five. One may be a timid beauty like the Venus, who seems to shrink back from the world, and even from herself; another, a modest beauty ; another, a sprightly beauty ; another, a majestic beauty ; all of which characters cannot be combined in any one form — for they are totally incompatible, and if com- bined, would infallibly destroy one ano- ther and produce deformity. The tables of feet and inches drawn up from tbe Venus and the Apollo, as tbe only stan- dards of human beauty, which the young artist is to look up to, are, therefore, worse than useless;— and the following of such absurdities will infallibly injure the finest genius for the arts. This deception — this misleading, and injurious fallacy, will be most obviously exposed by bringing it to tbe test of ex- periment. Every body knows that some beauties have blue, and others black eyes; now if the theorists can show, that a mixture of blue and black would be more beautiful than either blue or black taken singly — then will we allow that we are wrong; but a blackish blue or a blueish black eye, though no such eyes, ever really occur, would, we are persuaded, appear to be the very re- verse of beautiful. J.M.N. THE HUMBUGS OF THE AGE. No. II. — Dr. Kitchener. We are half sorry for having announc- ed Dr. Kitchener as the second of this bur highly popular series, after the little opium-eater. For though undoubtedly the Doctor has quantum suffl. of hum- bug about him, yet he, by ho means, deserves to be ranked with so superb a specimen of it, with such a mass of humbugging pure as little Quincy. As we have here been obliged to allude to Q. we may as well remark, that Taylor and Hessey are most liorribly puzzled how to get rid of this tremendous bore — ffsis incubus, which is evidently smo- thering their magazine. Now, as they are both respectable men, for whom every body that we happen to know, has a regard, we shall mention to them a short and easy process of ejecting him. When next he comes towards No. 90, Fleet- street, let one of the aforesaid gentlemen plant the ball of the great toe of the dexter foot upon that part of Quincy which is most sensible, and project him across the street, at the rate of seventy- five and a half paces in a second, right a head among the sausages, bolog- nas, pigs-feet, sheeps-trotters, neats- tongues, bellies of tripe, and gammons of bacon, that abound, in luxurious heaps, in the shop of the city cook op- posite ; whose name, at the present writ- ing, we happen most unfortunately to forget. Then let him sprawl against the window, like a spread-eagle reversed —or else bursting through the pane, wamble about, while ever and anon there drops into his mouth a sausage, as fat and greasy as his own brains, or a pig's-foot, as redolent of mire as his spe- culations on divine philosophy. Taylor and Hessey may depend upon 1824.] The Humbugs of the Age, 53 it,- that they have bo other way of get- ting rid of this intolerable burr, this ca- lamitous caltrop, which has clung to them. If they follow our advice, their magazine, eased of the unhealthy load which now oppresses it, will obtain a tone, an elasticity of motion, an activity of gait, which will astonish even its pro- prietors. The application is simple but effective. As the manual part of the labour of the magazine falls principally upon Taylor, it is only fair that this pe- dal department should be executed by Hessey. Or, if he should object, let him call in Allan Cunningham, from Pim- lico. That stout youth of Nilhisdale will be most happy, we are sure, to ope- rate on Quincy — who has planted him- self in his neighbourhood very much to the disquietude of Mrs. C- who happens to be in the way that ladies love to be that love their lords ; and, with a natural maternal feeling, is afraid of the sympa- thetic effect the sight of such an appa- rition as Quincy may have on her fu- ture offspring. If it take effect, the coming baby will not serve, as its tine brothers and sisters have often done, as a model for the beautiful creations of Chantry. Enough however of this — Having thus recommended the kicking out of Quin- cy, let us turn to the knight of the knife and fork. Against him, as we have al- ready mentioned, our charges are of a far less aggravated nature. But we must nevertheless say, that one of the primest features of quackery is exhibited most notoriously in his person — we mean the variety and discrepancy of the subjects to which he turns his pen. He is a perfect, admirable Crichton in a small way. As that eminent buffoon of the middle ages brandished the sword, calculated the results of the articlabe, disputed on the physics of Aristotlo, and played — ■ Bransles, ballads, virelayes, and verses vaine, on whatever was the fashionable vehi- cle for sound in his day, so our Kit- chener wields the spit, and points the telescope, tips us the dogmata of the physics of Thomson, and hammers forth lustily the ancient music of Britain, we suppose, on its appropriate organ — in his case, with tenfold propriety more appropriate — the marrowbone and clea- ver. To him the music of the spheres is as familiar as that of the bagpipe, and he looks with equal eye, as lord of all, on the productions of Cullen or the cul- lender. Andteini, in his Adamo, is a subject of Voltaire's laughter, for mak- ing a chorus of angels commence an ode with — A la lira del Ciel Iri sia l'arco, Corde Ie sfere sien, note le stelle, Sien le pause e i sospir l'aure novelle E'l tempo i tempi a misurar non parco. In Voltaire's English — " Let the rain- bow be the fiddlestick of the heavens ! Let the planets be the notes of our music! Let time beat carefully the measure, and the winds make the sharps, &c. A very in- accurate translation, by the bye, accord- ing to Master Arouet's usual custom. This we say is matter of joke in the mouth of a cherub, but would only be correct in that of the telescopic edi- tor of Dibdin's songs. Nay, more, in the sky he would find other matters of judicious reflection. His mouth would run over with water at the signs of the zodiac. Aries would call up visions vast of haunches of mutton, dressed ve- nison-fashion, redolent of allspice and black pepper — Taurus, phantasms of glorious barrons of beef [Gemini and Cancer we leave to the accoucheurs and Sir Somebody Aldis], and so on through all the constellations of the sky. It was observed by Canning [we believe, but do not venture pointedly to assert it as a fact], that he never could look at Rev. E. Irving, the preacher, who, entre nous, will figure away in due course as a humbug of the age, without thinking that his squint was typical of the man; as, while one eye rolled upward among the sanctities of heaven, the other glanced over the devout maidens of the tabernacle below — So can our hero sweep, with one glance of his specta- cles, through the firmament of heaven and ferment of the soup-pot. It is principally on account of this aiming at being a walking encyclopaedia that we have placed him in the seats of humbug. Like Dryden's Zimri, he is every thing by starts and nothing long. Hence, with all his bustle and preten- sion, there is not a book of his but is infested with most outrageous quackery. His Peptic Precepts are humbug from beginning to end. There is nothing worth reading in them that has not been stolen, in the most barefaced manner, from a thousand unacknow- ledged sources. And yet he has the face to puff it off as original. In the *arne way he informs us, that there is not a receipt in his Cook's Oracle which he has not tried and submitted to the opi- nion of a committee of taste ! Now, this 54 The Humbugs of the Age. [august, is exactly what one of that polite nation, the Houynhms, would call " saying the thing which is not." Turn up Kitchener by chance— Here he is, page 224. " Put half-a-pint of oatmeal into a porringer with a little salt, if there be not enough in the broth — of which add as much as will mix it to the consistence of hasty-pudding, or a little thicker — lastly, take a little of the fat that ■swims on the broth, and put it on ihe crowdie — and eat it in the same way &s hasty-pudding." Gods of Gastronomy ! here is a dose for a horse! And Doctor Kitchener pretends he actually ate of that dish, and submitted it to a committee of taste! — Taste I Fob! They must have been Kamschakadales, or else Tarare must have revived to fill the prese's chair. Again, does he think any body with a head on his shoulders will believe him, when he tells us of his having eaten skate fried in dripping — or ox-cheek dressed with two whole onions, two cloves of garlick, two bay-leaves, &c. — or a. fat pudding, a compound of grease, or extract of vermin under the name of Soy, or a hundred other similar things. No! No! Doctor! We shall not swallow either your dishes or your assertions. This then is quackery of an unmiti- gated kind. We own, besides, that it does strike us as something infinitely disgusting, to see an elderly gentleman of a liberal profession and an ample for- tune, stooping to study cookery as a working cook. In the Almanach des Gourmands, all is as it ought to be. The author is an amazingly pleasant fellow, who writes on the culinary art with (hat mock gravity that is truly delightful. We receive from his book, pleasure of the same species exactly as we receive from burlesque poetry. Nobody suspects him of caring more for the subject on which he treats, than the pseudo-Homer did for the imaginary contest of Ihe frogs and mice, or Boileau for the frivo- lous disputes of the authorities of an old cathedral, concerning the due disposi- tion of a church readings-desk, or Alex- ander Pope for the trilling occurrences connected with cutting off a lady's lock of hair. But here we have coming for- ward, in propria persona, a man with no pretensions to wit, though he makes some heavy offers at it, seriously to re- present himself as personally mixing himself up wilh Ihe greasy areuna of \hc kitchen, and swallowing, for the benefit of book-making,lumps of oatmeal beaten up with the skimmings of a pot, or hor- rible fishes anointed with execrable drip- ping. It is any thing but a pleasant pic- ture: we are instinctively reminded of Polyphemus in the Odyssey (we must, though we have the fear of pedantry duly before our eyes, quote the Greek with an attempt at translation of our own, having none of the acknowledged over-settings, as the Germans phrase it, and in the case of the English Homer most appropriately, within convenient reach.) The monster is described at his feast as one, who, "H(rG»£ S'utTTl \t(i)V opEGTlTpO^Ofj Ql3d'i»TO , 6- Xweatv 'EyX.CC.Ta TS cragX-M? TE, X*' 0(7TE3S fXUEX- MVT«. -He Ate like a mountain lion, leaving none Of meat, or entrails, or of marrowy-bonej or of another personage in the same poem, Irus, the beggar-man, who is in- troduced to the readers as being con- spicuous for continually eating, and ex- hibiting no small skill in raising Ihe wind off the natives of Ithaca. lu this last particular, too, Kitchiuer may vio with Irus — for never Jew or Christian, baptized or infidel, has a more active or ready hand at demanding his due from the booksellers, on account of his various performances — and, indeed, if that were all that we could accuse him of, we should willingly bear light enough ; for the gentlemen of that trade know the value of money as well as those of any other under the sun. We mention it merely that nobody should be taken in by Kitchener, to think him a dillctanti scribbler who writes for amusement. Far from it — he puts his gobblings into print for pay. Even Sir John Hill, quack notorious as be was, had more modesty, or rather more sense of what was due to the decorum of his profession — for when he composed a cookery-book, he put to it the since much-honoured title of Mrs. Glasse. Kitchener has lately made his appear- ance with a book on spectacles — a bare- faced reprint of a former work of the same kind, which yet is most heroically pulled off in the second number of the Universal Review. The article, of com so, was written either actually by himself or from his dictation — for the reader may believe us, that poor Peter Peebles is quite correct, when he tells us, in Ked- gauntlct, thai there arc tricks in oilier trades besides selling muslins — and it 1824.] The Humbugs of the Age. 55 informs us that this bookselling specula- tion is a result of the "benevolent in- genuity which marks the spirit of the author." Benevolent figs-end. The wine our friend K. drinks is made of grapes. It is evident that the only be- nevolence he thinks of is to lift the cop- pers, partly by the profits of the book- partly by a scheme recommended in it, of opening a dep6t for selling spec- tacles to the poor, at a moderate pre- mium — which of course is intended as a job. We shall, however, believe in his benevolence, if he devotes one year's profits of the Cook's Oracle to the de- sign — on the same day we shall cheer- fully consecrate a similar proportion of .the profits of our Magazine. i In this review he tells us that he " has done himself credit by a succes- sion of works, curious, useful, and po- pular." Hah ! He has raked together some stupid songs to bad music — and got up a humbug dinner in honour of Dibdin. Here, perhaps, some one may say, Well, and where is the harm ? He has written bad books and tried to puff them — and in one instance been suc- cessful — and why not? We echo the query '. Why not? But we do think it right in us, in our new vocation, to ex- pose one circumstance to which we must decidedly allude as an undoubted piece of hum, particularly as it is the cause of the puffs which K. has received from various magazines. He has money, and can give a good dinner. Calidum scit ponere sumen. There is no better way of coming at your critic than through the paunch. There he is most vulnerable. We have heard that there is a quack woman about town who gets panegyrics written for her nostrums by poor and hungry devils — and by hiring -Lean critics for puffs with fat gobbets of mutton, contrives to physic the public very re- spectably. In a similar manner acts Kitchener, and accordingly his books are pronounced superb. But moreover and above, as Dick Martin says, he has lately succeeded in getting up a club of writers, of which he is the great critic — the Magnus Apollo — and from every one of the fraternity he receives the tribute of a puff. Of this club, if it be worth it, we shall ere long give a very sufficient analysis : but it is probable that it is not worth the paper which such an expos6 would cost. In a word, Kitchener's cookery-book is bad, and yet it is blown up into a sale by humbug. We imagine, however, the forthcoming translations from the French cooks, whom he has so unmercifully pil- laged, will put an end to this. His Peptic Precepts are quack work — so are his songs — so is every thing he has ever written— and, he himself a second Margites, who knows every thing and every thing badly, deserves to be enrolled among the venerable fraternity of the humbugs of the age. One word as to his name, and we have done. So complete an illustration of the prophetic spirit never was known. Tom Paine, when he sneered at the adaptation of the name of Phaleg to the great occurrence which took place in the days of that patriarch, could not have anticipated that he had a contem*- porary (Kitchener is about sixty), whose future occupation was distinctly sha- dowed forth in his name. On which subject we can give our readers a SONNET TO CONCLUDE. Knight of the kitchen — telescopic cook — ■ Medical poet — pudding-building bard — Swallower of dripping — gulper down of lard — Equally great in beaufet and in book — With a prophetic eye that seer did look Into fate's records when he gave thy name, By which you float along the stream of fame, As floats the horse-dung down the gurgling brook, He saw thee destined for the boiler's side, With beef and mutton endless war to wage ; Had he looked farther, he perhaps had spied Thee scribbling, ever scribbling page by page, Then on thy head his hand he'd have ap- plied, And said, This child will be a humbug of THE AGE. So far for Kitchener. Next month for Sir Humphrey Davy. AMERICAN BLUE STOCKINGISM, OR FEMALE UNIVERSITY AT NEW-YORK. It is one of the evils of wit, that it is tation, distortion, and caricature. The seldom in unison with truth and justice ; incongruous things and images, indeed, but commonly delights in misrepresen- which it brings together must always 56 American Blue Stocking ism ; or [august, transfigure their realities, and throw the mind off its natural balance in observ- ing them. But, in all its aberrations, wit was never more perversely wrong, than in its representations of the culture of the female mind. It has even, in many cases, assumed the aspect of perse- cution, and tried, by ridicule and brow- beating, to keep all females in submis- sive ignorance, while a monopoly of knowledge and rationality might be qui- etly established among their liege lords and m as ters. Th is warfare of wi t, how- ever, has not been very successful ; for female eulture seems, like the palm-tree, to have increased in spite of oppression; and few ladies are now deterred from the acquisition of knowledge by the terrors of the trite nick-name of blue- stocking. The shafts of wit, when often shot, are soon blunted ; and this one seems now to have its point completely broken. In reforming female education, how- ever, much remains still to be done ; for though it would not, perhaps, be very wise or judicious to have lady-law- yers or lady-bishops, it would be well to have something more than lady-musi- cians or lady-nothings, which, it is to be lamented, are the staple produce of our fashionable seminaries. .Lord Chester- field advised his son, as he valued his dignity, never to court distinction as a musical performer; but, if he were fond of music, to hire musicians. The ad- vice was noble and rational, and it would be well if our ladies could be persuaded to adopt and act upon it, rather than cherish the vulgar ambition of rivalling opera-girls or musicians by trade. The wits and their abettors think we have already too many intelligent ladies ; though the opinion is plainly selfish, and betrays the base spirit of monopoly. Another party undertakes to show that every thing is as it should be, and la- vishes on our learned ladies the most extravagant eulogiums. The following specimen of this somewhat novel sort of extravaganza, we lately met within a pro- vincial publication, ancl thought it worth noting as a climax, or an anti-climax, according to the humour of the reader: — " The age of chivalry is gone," but we think it very questionable, notwith- standing the bold assertion of JBurke, whether " the glory of Europe is extin- guished for ever." No, that glory was never brighter, nor ever radiated with such immaculate splendour in any of the recorded periods of the world's history, as it has done since the orator announced its irrevocable banishment. Which of the celebrated by-gone ages of literary attainment, that, like the quiet stars in a tempestuous sky, beam so calm and beautiful from the page of the historian, amidst the clang of political tumult and the bloodshed of war — and bring to our feelings a refreshment so balmy after they have been harrowed up by the long muster-roll of the crimes of mankind — a repose so sweet, after we have fatiguingly marched amidst the horrors of lawless anarchy and the butcheries and tyrannic rule ; — which, we say, of those boasted periods of literature, the Periclesian, the Augustan, or that of Leo the Tenth, Louis the Fourteenth, Queen Elizabeth or Queen Anne, can produce so count- less a phalanx of illustrious women as we have to set in array for the admira- tion and example of posterity V* Great Anna sometimes counsel takes — and sometimes tea- is the most appropriate comparison which we canthink offor this rhetorical flourish ; and, apart from the antithesis of the ex- pression, forms an excellent comment on the whole discussion ; for variety of pursuit is clearly the natural wish of every woman ; and men, whatever they may pretend to the contrary, are little less under its influence. The argument, therefore, if argument it may be called, drawn from the domestic concerns of females against their employing any part of their time in acquiring information from books, comes equally home to the other sex, who must, in ordinary cases, do many little things incompatible, ac- cording to this view, with study or re- search. The men of former times— the fathers of our literature, thought not so. The venerable Bede, the most interest- ing and authentic of our early historians, who was a monk of Wearmouth in the seventh century, was, at the age of thirty, appointed a mass-priest. The duties of this office were, as be himself tells us, to sing daily in the church ; and in the intervals to winnow the corn and thrash it, to give milk to the lambs and calves, and to do the work in the garden, the kitchen, and the bake-house of the monastery. Yet, in the midst of these heterogeneous employments, he began, at the instigation of Bishop Acca, to compose works on theology, poetry, his- tory,, rhetoric, and astrology, and the 1824.] Female University at New- York. •to fame of his learning soon spread, so that he received from Pope Sergius, in an epistle still extant,* a pressing invi- tation to come to Rome. But we must leave prefacing, and come to our sub- ject. Some time ago, an American lady — (not Mrs. Grant of Laggan) — published a brochure, entitled " An Address to the Public, particularly to the Members of the Legislature of New-York, proposing a Plan for improving Female Education," which was no less than a college or uni- versity for the instruction of ladies. Be- fore this announcement, however, preju- dices our readers against our fair autho- ress, we beg for her a patient hearing ; and we must with the same view premise that her style, both of writing and think- ing, are very transatlantic, though she has less of Mary Wolstonecroft than might have been anticipated. " In calling on iny countrymen," says Miss Emma Willard, " to effect so noble an object, the consideration of national glory should not be overlooked. Ages have rolled away— .barbarians have trodden the weaker sex beneath their feet — tyrants have robbed us of the pre- sent light of heaven, and fain would take its future also. Nations, calling themselves polite, have, made us the fancied idols of a ridiculous worship, and we have repaid them with ruin for their folly. But where is that wise and heroic country which has considered that our rights are sacred, though we cannot defend them? That, though a weaker, we are an essential part of the body politic, whose corruption or im- provement must affect the whole ? And which, having thus considered, has sought to give us, by education, that rank in the scale of being to which our importance entitles us? History shows not that country. It shows many whose legislatures have sought to improve their various vegetable productions, and their breeds of useful brutes; but none whose public councils have made it an object of their deliberations to improve the character of their women. Yet, though history lifts not her finger to such an [a] one, anticipation does. She points to a nation, which, having thrown off the shackles of authority and precedent, shrinks not from schemes of improve- ment, because other nations have never attempted them ; but which, in its pride of independence, would rather lead than follow in the inarch of human improve- ment ; a nation, wise and magnanimous to plan, enterprising to undertake, and rich in resources to execute. Does not every American exult that this country is his own ? And who knows how great and good a race of men may yet arise from the forming hand of mothers, en- lightened by the bounty of that beloved country, to defend her liberties, to plan her future improvement, and to raise her to unparalleled glory. " As evidence that this statement does not exaggerate the female influence in society, our sex need but be consi- dered in the single relation of mothers. In this character, we have the charge of the whole mass of individuals, who are to compose the succeeding generation ; during that period of youth, when the pliant mind takes any direction, to which a forming hand steadily guides. How important a power is given by this charge 1 Yet, little do too many of my sex know how either to appreciate or improve it. Unprovided with the means of acquiring that knowledge, which flows liberally to the other sex, having our time of education devoted to frivolous acquirements, how should we under- stand the nature of the mind so as to he aware of the importance of those early impressions which we make upon the minds of our children ? — Would we rear the human plant to its perfection, we must first fertilize the soil which produces it. If it acquire its first bent and texture upon a barren plain, it will avail com- paratively little, should it be afterwards transplanted to a garden." Such are the objects which Miss Wil- lard recommends to the Americans, and nobody will deny that they are laudable and praise-worthy, whatever may be thought of the mode by which she pro- poses to accomplish her design. To this we shall therefore now attend, and give our readers an opportunity of con- templating the skeleton of Miss Wil- lard's female university. The first re- quisite, of course, is an edifice, with com- modious rooms for lodging and recita- tion, apartments for the reception of ap- paratus, and for the accommodation of the domestic department. There must also be a library of useful books ; musi- cal instruments ; some good paintings to form the taste and serve as models; VOL. I. * William of Malmsbury de Gestis Regum. 58 American Blue Stockingism, %c. [august, maps, globes, and other philosophical apparatus. The branches of instruction proposed, our authoress divides into reli- gious and moral, literary, domestic, and ornamental. In the first, it is proposed that the pupils shall be taught, by exam- ple as well as by precepl, the import- ance of female duties; and, by lectures, the evidences of Christianity and a course of moral philosophy. Upon this head she is very brief, though it, appears to us to be the most important of all the others, insomuch as it comprehends the doctrine of the passions and temper, which ought to be early explained and impressed upon the minds of those who are likely to have the charge of a family. The literary department is that which will give rise to the most obstinate dis- cussion, should the plan ever be carried into effect. The difficulty Miss Wil- lard complains of, is not that she is at a loss as to what sciences ought to be learned, as that females have not proper advantages to learn any. Many writers have given excellent advice what should be taught, but no legislature has pro- vided the means of instruction. Not, however, to pass over this fundamental part too slightly, she goes into a brief mention of intellectual and natural phi- losophy. Of the first, she seems to know nothing, probably because she was de- barred on account of her sex from the honours of a university education. "Na- tural Philosophy," she says, " has not often been taught to our sex. Yet, why should we be kept in ignorance of the great machinery of nature, and left to the vulgar notion, that nothing is curi- ous but what deviates from her common course? If mothers were acquainted with this science, they would communicate very many of its principles to their chil- dren in early youth. From the bursting of an egg buried in the fire, I have heard an intelligent mother lead her prattling inquirer to understand the cause of the terrific earthquake!!! But how often does the mother, trom ignorance on this subject, give her child the most errone- ous and contracted views of the causes of natural phenomena — views, which though he may afterwards learn to be false, are yet, from association, ever ready to return." — Sufficiently common-place, though strangely illustrated. Domestic instruction should be con- sidered important in a female seminary. To superintend the domestic depart- ment, there should be a respectable lady, experienced in the best methods of housewifery, and acquainted with pro- priety of dress and manners. Under her tuition, the pupils ought to be placed for a certain length of time every morn- ing. A spirit of neatness and order should here be treated as a virtue ; and, the contrary, if excessive and incorrigi- ble, be punished with expulsion. There might be a gradation of employment in the domestic department, according to the length of time the pupils had re- mained at the institution. The elder scholars might then assist the superin- tendant, in instructing the younger, and the whole be so arranged, that each pu*- pil might have advantages to become a good domestic manager, by the time she has completed her studies. A system of principles should be philoso- phically arranged, in a systematic trea- tise on house-keeping, and taught, both in theory and practice, to a large number of females, whose minds have been ex- panded and strengthened bj a course of literary education; and, those among them, of an investigating turn of mind, would, when they commenced house- keeping, consider their domestic opera- tions as. a series of experiments, which either would prove or refute the system they had been taught." As to ornamental branches, MissWil- lard is by no means novel in her recom- mendations of painting, elegant pen- manship, music, and the grace of moti- on. Needle-work is not mentioned, because the best style of what is useful in this branch, should either be taught in the domestic department, or made a qualification for entrauce. The use of the needle for other purposes, besides the decoration of a lady's person, or the convenience and neatness of her family, she regards as a waste of time, as it af- fords little to assist in the formation of the character. We should be disposed to say as much, or more perhaps, in re- spect to elegant penmanship, which we think has a strong tendency to render the mind punctilious, little, and vacant of firmness. We think we have ob- served this very strongly, in those who have, by dint of perseverance, acquired the art of forming fine letters. We think it was the Emperor Honorius,, alias the Chicken-feeder, who was distinguished by the title of K«X»yf«|>er colours than paintings in oil. Whatever degree of skill lie may possess in the arrange- ment and effect of his compositions, he has undoubtedly acquired from studying the works of Sir Joshua Re}nolds — the benefit he has derived from that great model, is evident in his most successful works ; but he seems to have either dis- regarded or overlooked one of the most charming and desirable characteristics of that master — his simplicity. There is in Lawrence's pictures a crowding to- gether of petty objects — scraps of pillars, and curtains, and tassels artificially ob- truded — and a vulgar flickering of gaudy colours and lights, that may have the effect of dazzling the lower order of spectators, on a hot day, in the exhibi- tion ; but such flirting and finesse of effect in pictures is extremely inimical to true taste, and affords but a paltry substitute for qualities of a more estimable charac- ter. He gives to his portraits, however, expressions that are always animated and interesting, and particularly in his female heads, with an air of drawing- room refinement which no other painter, of the present day, can accomplish : but we must add, that his expressions are in general too much affected — his sub- jects seem acting the parts of ladies and gentleme:i, instead of looking uncon- sciously dignified, like persons of real refinement and aristocracy. His at- tempts at grace are like the prudery of a meretricious woman — and when he wishes to give a gentlemanly character to a radically vulgar personage, lie makes him look like a clean-washed Italian soprano singer at the opera. Look for instance at his portrait of Sir Humphrey Davy, the chemist, with his safety-lamp behind him ; was there ever so ridiculous a metamorphose, or so apt an illustration of what we have observed '! Many of his pictures, though they are laboriously finished iu detail, want that true identity of character in resemblance which Reynolds dared to give and had the power to make interest- ing. Upon the whole, though Lawrence is in many respects an artist of great merit and first-rate accomplishment, yet, we are of opinion, that his works will 1824.J Fine Arts. 63 tend to vitiate the taste and emasculate the character of the English school. The defects and extravagances of Rey- nolds were those of a fervid mind in its thirsty pursuit after novelty and power in nis art — hut those of Lawrence are the offspring of weakness, and the result of being badly educated for a painter. Of his effects in the historical depart- ment of the art, it would be unfair to say any thing, as he has the good sense to keep thetn covered up from public in- spection. These remarks we have thrown hastily and, perhaps, carelessly together ; but we believe that they will be found to contain the real facts of the case. There is an enquiry less liberal, to be sure, still to be made — but, as it happens to' be not less weighty in its effects, direct and indirect, on the interests of British art, we shall not, on a future occasion^ shrink from making it. It is neither more nor less than an enquiry as to the actual means, independent of eminence as an artist, which raise a man to power and notoriety in the profession. Our readers may believe us, in the mean time, that there is no circle in ihe world in which there is more backstairs management than in the Academy. We know it — and shall ere long devote a paper to this subject exclusively. FREEMASONRY. I care not whether Freemasonry be the primary invention of Adam in Para- dise, as is laid down in their own archives, or devised and ex-cogitated by the Rosicrucians as some hold, or in- troduced into the western quarters of the world by Peter Gower, by which name our old crony, Pythagoras, makes his appearance in the manuscript dts- covered and commented on by John Locke. I never troubled my head with any such disquisitions, holding the craft and mystery of antiquarianism in con- tempt ineffable. True it is, and deny it will I not, that many a time and oft I raised the psalm of In history we're told How the lodges of old Arose in the East, and shone forth like the Sun- But all must agree, That divine masonry Commenced when the glorious creation begun. But I did it perfectly careless, and ab- solutely indifferent as to the verity of the fact which I was chaunting with indefa- tigable bill, like Will. Wordsworth's sparrows. Far different, however, were the feelings with which I gave forth, in* joyous chorus, the conclusion of the- verse — Then charge bumpers high, And with shouts rend the sky, To masonry, friendship, and brotherly love. For that is a totally distinct sort of busi- ness. Hang the antiquity of the order — but fill bumpers high on any ground whatever. My brethren in arms will, I know, condemn me in word, though nine-tenths — yea, ninety-nine hundredths of them will agree with me in the secret abysses of their bosom, when I say, that I never could look upon freemasonry in any other light, than a most admirable pre- text for dining, supping, smoking, drink- ing, boozing, jollifying, guttling, guz- See in the East the master stands, The wardens South and West, Sir, Both ready to obey commands, Find work, or give us rest, Sir; zling, gorging, and ingurgitating toge- ther. An invention with much skill and talent, devised for that most laud- able of purposes. Not that I am at all inclined lo depreciate any of the solemn pomps and mysteries which are carried forward in lodge; for they give a degree of grandeur and gusto quite delectable. Every thing in its proper place. The order and cetemony satisfy the human mind, that it is ..going to partake a ra- tional enjoyment. Hear the poet! 64 Freemasonry. [august, The signal given, we prepare, With one accord, Obey the word, To work by rule or square ; Or, if they please, The ladder raise, Or plumb the level line; Thus we employ Our time with joy, Attending every sign. All this is quite magnificent. No- spent my time with joy in getting through thing can be better— though, entre nous, such operations. However, the chorus gentle reader, I must say, that I never clears all the mystery. But when the glass goes round, Then mirth and glee abound, We're all happy to a man ; We laugh a little, we drink a little, We work a little, we play a little, We sing a little, are merry a little, And swig the flowing can. With every item of which I most cor- hearing, who will crack the old Joe dially agree, except those particulars Miller, and tell us that drinking a deal, which state that we drink a little. It must be hard drinking indeed, and that must have been mere modesty on the any man who practised it must be ad- part of the minstrel ; for I can positively dieted to a Dram, assert, after thirty years campaigning, It is certain that you hear much that in every instance of which I know amongst us of the vast designs and any thing, it should stand, we drink a proud glories of freemasonry ; as, d — d deal. Is there no punster within When earth's foundations first were laid, By the Almighty Artist's hand; 'Twas then our perfect laws were made, Established by his strict command : Hail mysterious, hail glorious masonry, That makes us ever great and free. And again, The solemn temples, cloud-capt towers, And stately domes, are works of ours, By us those piles were raised; Then bid mankind with songs advance, And through the etherial vast expanse, Let masonry be praised. Words, by the way, phonant to the desty we claim for ourselves all virtues Syrietoi. Pray, madam, do you know also, as what that means? With immense mo- On freedom and friendship our order began, To deal squarely with all is the chief of our plan ; The sneer then of fools we esteem as a feather, Since virtue's the cement that binds us together. Or, From east to west, from north to south, Far as the foaming billows roll, Faith, Hope, and silver-braided Truth, Shall stamp with worth the mason's soul. But there would be no end to this, if I members of parliament. It seems, that were to go on quoting all our panegyrics at one time masonry was there for a on ourselves. One specimen I shall give while suspended ; what was the conse- fiom Cornwall— the land of tin and quence? Why, 1824.] Freemasonry . 65 Fair Virtue fled, Truth hung her head, O'erwhelmed in deep confusion : but this state of affairs could not last. For Cornubia's sons determined then Freemasonry to cherish ; They roused her into life again. And bade her science flourish. Now virtue bright, truth robed in white, A nd friendship hither hastens ; All go in hand to bless the band Of upright Cornish masons. Now it may be a pity, after these fine •verses, to say, that all the science, learn- ing, genius, wit, truth, freedom, friend- ship, and the rest, may be easily, simply, and veritably resolved into the fact, that we are most valorous over the bowl, most scientific in mixing it, and most free from any scruples in partaking of it. To my taste, those of our songs — 1 shall Then, landlord, bring a hogshead, And in a corner place it, Till it rebound, "With hollow sound, Each mason here will face it : Fill to him, To the brim, Let it round the table roll ; The divine Tells us, wine Cheers the body and the soul. Or else a full conclave, chorussing Let every man take glass in hand, Drink bumpers to our master grand, As long as he can sit or stand With de-cen-cy. give the reason for quoting songs so libe- rally anon — which tell us plain facts un- adorned, (and so adorned the most). Indeed, I must admit, that there are very few which do not, in some part or other, directly allude to the circum- stance, but I like it without gibberish. Let me hear a jolly old fellow sing out I remember, on one occasion, an emi- nent poet, I forget his name, but, I be- lieve, it was James Montgomery, pro- posing an ingenious amendment on this verse. We were singing it about five in the morning; "Right worshipful,'' hiccoughed he, " don't you think the song would be much improved if we gave it, As long as he can sit or stand, Or speak, or see. We jumped at the thought, and have so chaunted it ever since. There is no virtue, however, so conti- nually asserted as our harmony and bro- therly love. No doubt, there is no ce- ment in the world equal to that which binds people engaged in the cause of bottle emptying. I should walk from Hyde-park corner to Mile-end, to meet a good and upright member of that pro- fession ; but, in no other way that I can see, does Freemasonry promote these mental accomplishments. In our lodge — number shall be nameless — we have the most brotherly contentions possible, as to the fit person to fill the chair, presid- vor., i. ing o'er the sons of li^ht, as my old friend Rob. Burns sings, or who is to be warder senior or junior, or deacon, or secretary, or, still more important, trea- surer. John Briggs the baker said 1his, or something to this effect, one evening at the Castle and Falcon, to William Jenkins, the ironmonger, as they were blowing a cloud together — and Jenkins denied the fact. He said it was impossi- ble for one mason to injure another — Briggs, a mason himself, brought instan- ces to support his previous assumption — the argument rose, and it ended by the asserter of brotherly love taking his fraternal antagonist by the waistband of K 66 Freemasonry. [august, Daniels, could give us some important information on that bead. The world, in general, is not inclined to allow us one virtue to which we lay especial claim ; viz. the early hours at which we repair to our labours. On this point, however, our poets are unani- mous. the breeches, and flinging him down stairs. I confuted the rascal in that manner, quoth Will, and proved to him that Sal lust was right when he asked quis autem amicior quant f rater fratri. These accidenls will occur in spite of us — but in truth, our charities are good — and, if I mistake not, that excellent mirror of knighthood, Sir Harlequin* When the Sun from the east first salutes mortal eyes, And the sky-!ark melodiously bids us arise, With our hearts full of joy we the summons obey, Straight repair to our work and to moisten our clay; or, as in the song of brother Ancell, the of Gibraltar — eminent sergeant who wrote of the siege Behold as the Sun in the east does arise, Our master the workmen and hirelings employs. I know that this is typical, and not to an explanation of this sort in the annosa be known to the uninitiated, and receives volumina vatum. — Thus, When a lodge just and perfect is formed all aright, The Sun-beams celestial {although it be night) Refulgent and glorious appear to the sight. But commend me to the plain inter- and thirty degrees, as may be seen by pretation, if you will permit me to argue a parte post, instead of a parte ante. For myself, T must say that I never retired from lodge until an hour when I might have the pleasant notes of the sky-lark saluting my ears. Like Gray, I love to see the sun above the upland lawn ; and surely, if it is a glorious object when single, it must, as George Col man the younger long ago observed, it must be doubly so when seen double. What I have said above of masons in general, is of course to be understood as applicable to all its orders and degrees ; whether the red, black, or blue ; whe- ther they joy in the lofty designation of knights templars, scorning Cymon, or K. H.'s, or princes, ot knights of Malta, or any other title that pleases the ear. For they have all the one end, and the same ultimate scope — namely, the pro- viding a good and sufficient pretext of wagging the jaw-bone, and smacking the nether-lip. Therefore, the name is of no consequence, and so the wise con- sider it. I wish you joy brother, said the master, after he had made Tom Moore, of your being raised to the rank of a royal arch super-excr-llent mason. A royal arch super-excellent jackass, said Tom, I wish I had a glass of grog. Its strange to say, that in republican America, they carry the rank up to two the orations of a Doctor Somebody, who spoke most rapturously on the subject. I explain the fact, by recollecting that the Americans are most strenuous drink- ers, and as they have classified that sci- ence into minute divisions and subdivi- sions, with a philosophical minuteness unknown to other nations — such as an- tifogmatics, gall-breakers, &c. — so, per- haps, have they arranged the kindred doctrine of freemasonry on similar prin- ciples. I said that I should explain why I quoted so much song ; principally then, because song is the language of free- masonry, and the only place in which its dogmata can be found preserved — [Sometimes, I submit it to the craft, ex- pressed far too clearly. I shall not, of course, do the mischief I deprecate, by further explaining what I mean, but let any one, properly versant with the sub- ject, look over the famous song of " Once I was blind and could not see," and, they must allow, that it requires no great sagacity to smell a rat there.] Be- sides, I am fond of songs, and differ en- tirely from the splenetic water-drinking, cabbage-eating Ritson, who has exclud- ed those of our craft from his selection. That sour creature says, in his preface, " Songs on what is called freemasonry seemed calculated rather to disgrace • Wr back of the Treasury. In one particular more we shall trace Jam's plagiarism, and then conclude. Jay has made bis hero a justice of jeace, and so must Rogers of course — mt how absurdly has he managed it. •for in his porch is he less duly found, ") Vhen they that cry for justice gather f round, > Ind in that cry her sacred voice isdrown'd;} lis then to hear and weigh and arbitrate, ..ike Alfred, judging at his palace-gate. lealed at his touch, the wounds of discord close, &c. What a filthy king's-evil sort of idea s that in the last line. Nothing, besides, an be so absurd as to compare a mo- [ern justice with Alfred, who, though a •arbarian sort of a king enough, was till a king ruling over the destinies of a lation, such as it was— and we submit hat it is but a small recommendation o a justice, of any sort, that llie cry for ustice should be drowned in his juifo- 3ent. Turn from this to the original, :om which this miserable daubery has een copied. 'he time shall come when his more solid sense, Vith nod important shall the laws dispense, A justice with grave justices to sit, [wit. He praise their wisdom, they admire his No greyhound shall attend the tenant's pace, No rusty gun the farmer's chimney grace; Salmons shall leave the coverts void of fear, Nor dread the thievish net, or triple spear; Poachers shall tremble at his awful name, Whom vengeance now o'ertakes for mur- der^ game. Here are the occupations which we know make up the daily life of :i coun- try justice. He is busied with the game-laws — not thinking of acting a little Alfred, in a kind of three-penny way, undercover of a commission. We have said enough to prove that Rogers is so guilty of imitating Gay's poem of the Birth of a 'Squire — in his own composition, named and entitled Hu- man Life, as to come under the unhappy designation of a plagiary. The mind, truly imbued with critical feeling, will be able to appreciate the mighty diffe- rence — theguiph profound, which sepa- rates the imitator from the original poet. After this, how absurd and truly silly must that poetical commandment of Lord Byron's appear, in which he says, " Thou shalt not steal from Samuel Rogers/' when, in fact, any unfortunate pickpocket so offending, would run a mighty risk of purloining property which the said Samuel had come at by most unlawful means already. But Byron — peace to his ashes — was most manifestly humbugging at the time, as he usually was whenever he spoke of Rogers. He played the most unfair practical joke ever passed off in the literary world, when he insisted on tying the dsad body of Jacquelin to the best of his own poems — Lara. When James Smith shortly after met them both in the park walking together, he said, that thoy put him in- evitably in mind of the volume of their conjoint labours — one grand-looking, though uneven in its gait — the other hanging to him. dead and prettily dressed. For, be it known, that Ro- gers, at that time, did the duudy. In this poem of Human Lite are two lines amazingly monotonous in their gingle, but which instinctively occur to us whenever Ave see Sam. To-day we look as we looked yesterday, And we shall look to-morrow as to-day. With which quotation we beg leave to finish our article, having previously pre- dicted, that there is Tiobody in London who will be so delighted with it as Sam himself, who is a fellow of infinite drol- lery. 76 The Rhyming Review. [august* THE RHYMING REVIEW. 1. We have heard, and believe it, our style of review Has been lik'd and applauded by folks not a few — And, therefore, to please the good people once more, We hold ourselves ready to meet their encore. 2. Prose reviewing we've said, and will say it again, Is a thing quite a bore t0 the children of men — There's no one so blind who can't see that each fellovv, From the Whigs who write Balaam for old blue and yellow, 3. To the quarterly people of Albemarle-street, Who sit in a row round old Will Gifford's feet ; And theme to the creatures, who, twelve times a-year, Inspired by the fury of sadly small-beer, 4. Write the monthly review beneath Griffith's worn banners, And curry, poor creatures, like cow-hides at tanners j But, with cautious stupidity, beat a retreat, When the subject critiqued is high, wealthy, or great. 5. Or lower again those whose scribbling is seen In column — or page, in a dull magazine — All — all, from the first to the last, we declare To be humbugs in grain — and great humbugs they are. 6. What clown from St. Bees, or Dunbarton, or Dunstable Does not know that Frank Jeff is but scrub to A. Constable ; That no volume would suffer that critic's damnation, Which came from the mountain of Old Proclamation. - . 7. Who thinks that cross Gifford would venture to worry A quarto, red-hot, from the counter of Murray ; That Campbell would treat a smart novel from Colburn, As if it were printed by Benbow, in Holborn. 8. Would a volume of Taylor and Hessey's be undone, We ask you, my friend, by a cut from the London ? Or would not Old Monthly keep silent and still lips 'Gainst the slips of a pamphlet from Sir Richard Phillips. 9. You may question why may not this bookselling crime, Which infests prose critiquing infest also rhyme ! We shall answer at once, " My good Sir, in a word, it, If ev'n so inclusive, could by no means afford it." 10. We rhymesters-^-we vouch it — have always enough in The hunt after rhymes without thinking of puffing. And would post our best friend in a verse in a minute, If we thought that we found a good rhyme thereby in it. II. Jn truth, as the world to our detriment knows, We think less of our int'rests than people of prose ; And provided our measures will merrily run, Why — a fig for the trade — and success to good fun ! 12. But we're sorry to say that the press has been idle This month past — and therefore our muse must we bridle, (From Addison's poems we borrow this trope)* But next month we'll do rather better, we hope. • Every body knows Addison's lines, so joked on by Johnson, " I bridle in, &c." The Rhyming Review. >' 13. Yet we think it is right we should say something grand on The volume of poems by pretty Miss Landon,* Though why something grand — something neatly and prettily, Something smelling, in short, of the sweet law of Italy ; 14. Full of love and of wooing — of feeling and hearts, Of eyes, and of lips — and — [you know the rhyme} — darts ; Of whispers by moonlight — of walks in groves shady, Would suit better far with this brilliant young lady. is. With truth we may say — in our life we have never, From a lady so young, met with verses so clever; And we think she has chosen the fit theme by Jove, For what can a woman well write on but love ? 16. ; We'd swallow as soon jalap blended with manna, As a tragedy-trash from old mother Johanna ; And who does not wish plunged right under the Jordan, Mrs. Heman's Epics — or Veils of Miss Porden ? 17.' There's no poem besides — for we're sure that our time Shan't be wasted by stuff, titled " Letters in Rhyme :"t Should we talk of poor Edwards' lumbering prose, Which has slaughtered the tale of Antigone's woes. J 18. What novels ! But few — Well, but here as beginner, We have the " Memoirs of a justified Sinner." § Composed with much talent and science, and rhet'ric, By that great theologic, Hogg, the shepherd of Ettrick. 19. It is curious and full of good matter beside, Some parts are told well — and some thoughts well apply'd ; Much writing is strong, and still more is as coarse As the Shepherd e'er wrote, and he writes like a horse. 20. But still though we blame it for this, let us see The colouring from nature still fresh— though 'tis free; We hate the same stuff pour'd from one flask to t'other, Till all flavour is lost, and the liquor turns mother. 21, This tale is the sole one of vigour or pith, There's Caroline and something by A. W. Smith, || There's Scott's Village Doctor H — and Tales from Afar **, The three are not worth half a puff of segar. 22. Theresa of Marchmont, the fair Maid of Honour, tt Must excuse us from wasting a sentence upon her ; And our tongue with our brains must be woundidly maundering, Ere we notice the ass from the Orient Wandering. JJ 23. Let them pass — Dr. Clarke, though translated to Heaven, Has just published his volumes, nine, ten, and eleven ; §§ Heavy books, by the mass ! full of learning, 'tis true, sir, But hard to be read as we think— What think you, sir ? • The Improvisatrice, with other Toem*, by L. E. L. (Lelitia Elizabeth Landon) Hurst, [rid Co. f Letters in Rhyme. J Antigone of Sophocles, translated by Mr. Edwards § Memoirs and Confessions of a justified Sinner. Longman and Co. It is correctly reported o be written by Hogg. || Caroline and Zelile, by A. W. Smith. ^ Village Doctor, by Mr. Scott. ** Tales from Afar, by the author of " Tales from Switz- |rland." ff Theresa Marchmont; or, the Maid of Honour. J J Oriental Wanderings, a jmancc. §§ Clarke's Travels, 8vo. vols. 9, 10, and 11. 78 To Timothy Tickler, Esq. [august, 21. Mr. Stanhope's Olympia, with plates by G. Cooke, * Is, certes, a mighty magnificent book; But here Goldsmith's critic is right to a letter, t " If more pains were taken, the work would be better." 25. Hogg's % Tour on the Continent — why we admit it, We've not read it, and therefore, perhaps, should be pitied; But lord bless your heart, sir, we think the day's over, When the matter of taking a steam-boat at Dover; 20. And driving about whether slower or quicker, < Devouring strange dishes, or quaffing strange liquor, Getting quizzed by the natives in every direction, While thinking they mean you respect and affection, 27. - Should entitle a man to commita whole volume, i Discoursing in tone, whether merry or solemn, On what since the peace is as known to all people, As the dragon of Bow, or St. Magnus's steeple. ******** 50. Here is a skip you will say — you are growing quite thrifty, To jump from thrice nine in a moment to fifty. My dear friends we acknowledge the thing is an evil— But then we've no room — and are driven by the djevil. § I \ ( We stop the press, and take out two or three pages of what we must confess was mere Balaam, about books, thrown in according to the ancient and laudable custom of sheet-filling at the cud of our Number, in order to make room for a. letter to us from Mr. Timothy Tickler, of Blackwood's Magazine, and our answer thereto. About 350 copies had been thrown off, when a copy of Blackwood reached us, and we lost no time, as our renders will perceive. About 120 of these copies were sold — if the purchasers of them think it worth while, by bringing them to the shop, 163, Strand, they shall be exchanged. We print Mr. Tickler's letter in italics between our own, so as to answer verse by verse. TO TIMOTHY TICKLER, ESQ. SOUTHSIDE. The Editor of the John Bull Magazine, Greeting, Your time, Mr. Tickler, but idly was spent, When your goose-quill in anger against me was bent — Hawk to fight against hawk is a mighty bad plan, sir. However, for the present, good-humoured I answer. T. Who you are, I don't know, Mister T'other Jjhn Bull, But your horns seem as sharp as the first's to the full; If his prick like a rapier, yours tear like a hanger ; Heaven knows which is Mcdardwi, and which Dopptl-gunger. Nought in common with John have I got, Mr. T., Save the name, and that's open to him, you, or me; 'Twas a glorious old name, ere the three were begotten, And glorious 'twill be when the three blades are rotten. __, * Stanhope's Topography of the Plain of Olympia, with plates by G. Cooke. f In the Vicar of Wakefield, we quote from memory, " Alwavs say a picture would he better, if there had been more pains taken with it— and remember to praise the works of Pietro Perujnno. X Tour on the Continent, by Hogg, Esq. § That is, the printer. To Timothy Tickler, Esq. . 79 II. One calm word with you, lad: you well know I'm an old one, And I think you 1 11 admit, both a big and a bold one — And I tell you, young man, His abundantly clear, That two months at this rate will complete your career. Your age — somewhat else too — I know — let me hint it, And if you're not civil, perhaps I may print it ; Two months is my date ! Why, the same let me tell you, Was once said of your own magazine, my dear fellow. III. That a man should be all over boldness is Jit, In the great cause of Loyalty, Wisdom, and Wit\ — But I hold it mere folly, that you shovld go down In a cause that's unworthy the commonest clown. Your last distich I take not — 'Tis made, I should guess, Into nonsense hy blundering work of the press. If\ battle for loyalty, wisdom, or wit, 1 shall write what I please in what style I think fit. IV. I perceive you have learning- — I trace in your style The precision and polish of Attica' s file — shame! that your weapons, so terse and so trim, Should be poison d with venom, not pointed with whim. What ? renown ? Good Sir, where is my venom shown ? — Good-natured my matter, good-humoured my tone. Oh ! Tim., I am grieved — what I say is too true — To find such dull nonsense thus scribbled by you. V. Byron's chapter proclaims him the Worst of the Bad — Unless charity whisper, most wild of the mad. 1 confess the alternative vexes me sadly ; And I envy no eyes can contemplate it gladly. Byron's Chapter proclaims him to be what he was, For vexation I own / can't see any cause :— And Charity too ! Well, 1 may be tar-barrell'd, But that's the last feeling I'd have' for Childe Harold. VI. That for tickling the vein of some vile heartless flirt The Genius of Harold could stoop to such dirt — That a Poet like this could be less than a Man, I loathe the conviction :~<-go hug it who can ! What poor Lady Byron, " a poor heartless flirt." For shame, Mr. Tim! 'tis you dabble in dirt ! How sagacious your noble antithesis too — Of Poet v. Man. 'Tis so terse and so new ! VII. But that you, sir, — a wit, and a scholar like you, Should not blush to produce what he blush'dnot to do — Take your compliment, youngster — this doubles (almost) The sorrow that rose when his Honour was lost. I blush not a shade. Why I should, I don't know ; I consider that chapter a curious morqeau, A bonne bouche which 'twas pity should wander adrift, I'd just do the same by a lost bit of Swift. 80 To Timothy Tickler, Esq. [august. VIII. Was it generous, Bull — nay, sans phrase, was it just, When, whatever he had been, he slept in the dust — To go barter and truck with betrayers of trust, For a sop to the Cerberus-jowler of Lust ? Just ! gen'rous ! Were Byron again upon earth, For your pains, what a butt would you be for his mirth ! Trust ? N6ne was betrayed, Sir. Lust ? Plenty no doubt, By the Baron was catered, but I starved it out. IX. Was it spleen against him? — Then you warred with the dead: — Was it pelf ? — No, — whatever you want, 'lis not Bread — Was it fun ? — O how merry to trample and tear The heart that was bruised through the breast that was bare. Spleen ? Avarice ? Nonsense. " The war on the dead— And the bruised breast I trample with merciless tread. What breast — or what trample ? Ah ! Tim, that a man Should survive when his brains have all left his brain-pan ! X. Leave this work to the Whigs : — 'tis their old favourite game ; Moore did this and was damn'd: the vile slink of his name Will offend people's nostrils a hundred years hence, For he warr'd against women, and pocketed pence. /war against women ! The charge I deny, 'Tis unfair — 'tis untrue — there's no other reply. What care I for the Whigs and their laureat, Tom Moore ! From that blame both my verse and my breast shall be pure. XL But you ! — well, you^re young, and were probably drunk, I won't think you (for once) irreclaimably sunk; Drop this vice — that, depend ont, won't injure your spunk — So says one that you won't call or Bigot or Monk. What vice do you mean ? I'd reply if I knew. If either be drunk, my dear Tim, it is you, Who praise to the stars the vile fellow who wrote it, [The chapter Inica], and scold me who but quote it. XII. Fie, fie ! Mister John, I am sorry to think You could do such a Whig-looking thing, even in drink ; — — You may turn up your nose and cry, " He's turn'd a Stickler !" I do stickle for some things, Quoth * TlMOTHV TlCKLKH. I do turn my nose up, and I grieve to have seen Such mere twaddle and cant in your far-famed magazine ; 1 can scarcely believe 'tis Old Tickler has said it, or Kit North put it forth — so Yours, truly, Albany, July 31, 1894. The Editor. THE JOHN BULL iim< Vol. 1. SEPTEMBER, 1824. No. THE HISTORY OF GERALDI. A FLORENTINE STORY. Faction rent the state of Florence some hundred years ago— it is not ne- cessary to specify when — and the lower orders were inflamed against the upper. It was only a variation of the old eternal war of the shirtless versus the shirted — a war which, we fear, will last till time shall be no more. One party cried up the cause of social order, and denounced their antagonists as desperate and wicked insurgents. The other party were as clamourous for the common privileges of mankind, and stigmatized their opponents with the vexatious title of oppressors and tyrants. Which party was right I know not, nor, indeed, do I much care. But though the shirtless — the desca- misados as the Spaniards call them — composed the great bulk of our Floren- tine agitators ; yet some who mixed much in their politics did actually wear ruffles with a shirt appended. These people were of a higher class, of course, and took the side they did from several reasons. Some, because they wished to hear themselves talk, and would not be listened to among the nobles — others, because they flattered themselves that they would be the natural leaders in case of success — some through vexa- tion, because the aristocratical party did not reward their merit, as they thought it deserved, or because some great ringleader on that side of the ques- tion had not looked civil!}' on a wife or daughter — we must add a few through principle. This last, you may be sure, was but a small body, and we say it, VOL. I. not invidiously of that particular Floren- tine faction, but because the body of men who join any party through princi- ple is very small. If he who reads this is a young man he will not believe us, but set us down as cankered and pre- judiced — if he be at all stiff-bearded below the chin, he will in all probability say that we are right. The motives of the men of principle were as various as possible — almost as various as these men among them. Some hated tyranny in the abstract, and wished for fair play to all parties— some haled tyranny exercised against them- selves, and wished to be able to exercise it on others — some thought that it was patriotic to have a revolution — some wished it to be considered religious. Why it is, O reader, I shall not say; but listen thou to my words vy ith as per- fect faith as if you heard an oracle, when I tell you, that I have ever found young gentlemen hot from school, who, of course, by their long experience in the simple art of governing mankind, and their deep thinking on every sub- ject whatsoever, are eminently qualified for the task, to be very active and in- dustrious, and loquacious votaries of these things. Among the most ardent of these was Geraldi, of whom I am going to tell you a story. Geraldi had been educated in Ihe highest branches of erudition, and was, indeed, a very clever young man. In those days lived a doctor from Padua, of the name of Hoparros, and he was Geraldi's tutor. Hoparros was great in Greek beyond any M 82 The History of Geraldi. [sept. man of his time. He gave you the doctrine of particles, and smelt you an Iambic amid an acre of misprinted prose. Stern would be his frown at the unhappy miscreant who would pro- nounce a short penultimate long, or vice versa. If you put an anapaest in the fourth seat, he would thunder forth in indignation. A theologian was pleaching to him one day on the interpretation of one of those passages of Scripture on which we generally place some of our most sanguine hopes of future redemption. " What think ye," said the preacher, " of this sublime text, that opens the kingdom of heaven to all believers." — " I think," said Ho- parros, " that the first aorist used in that particular phrase should be rather a second aorist, as we see in the corres- ponding passage of Xenophon," which he immediately quoted. Hoparros spoke and wrote a Baby- lonish dialect, in which his vernacular language was slashed with Greek. He'd call to a waiter at a tavern — " Bring me, you dog, a rasher of pork, vcl* tj tojouto." When demolishing his Qfth egg at breakfast, he would say, it put him in mind of the mundane egg of the cosmogonists, and quote the lines of Aristophanes on that subject. When lie wrote a book about Signor Volpone, a great statesman, who died about these times, he quoted fourteen hundred au- thors to prove that man was mortal. All this made every body think Ho- parros was a great man, and he himself was particularly convinced of the truth of this assertion. He accordingly gab- bled more Greek, wrote more polyglot, and put on a wig. His wig was as big as that which Colley Gibber wore in Lord Foppington, when it was brought on the stage in a sedan chair between two porters. The doctor was proud of this wig, for he said that it made him look like the favourite bird of Minerva. Other people laughed at it, in particular one Forgeron, who, though a priest, had turned jack-pudding in the north- country, and was arlechino-primo to Giallazurif company. Hoparros only smiled, and quoted Epicletus's opinion on the propriety of despising things not in our power. The Doctor had taken part with the unshirted, because he thought the Greeks, every institution of whom he used to say was pluperfect, were of the same way of thinking ; and he sung the song of Harmodius and Aristogiton, in which he made three emendations, two for the sake of the metre, one for the sense, which he thereby spoiled, accord- ing to the custom of critics. He soon inoculated Geraldi with the same opi- nions, and when the young man emerg- ed from the cloisters of a college to the bustle of real life, he speedily outran his master. The Doctor only wished to smoke, quote Greek, and repine at mis- government in quiet. Geraldi wished to put an end to misgovernment by the most summary proceeding. He joined the chief clubs in Florence of people of the same principles, and made speeches which carried conviction among all- those who agreed with him. A fancy seized them of pulling off their breeches, and Geraldi accordingly pulled off his. Now, for a reason which I pretend not to explain, the aristocracy of Florence were most particularly nettled at this unbreeching, and determined to make a stand against it. Accordingly, to work they went, and soon proved that they were the strongest power after all, in spite of all the speeches against their feebleness and want of efficacy. They passed a decree of the senate, by which it was ordained, that every man found about the street unbreeched, should be banished the state, as a most pestilent member. As might be foreseen, there were loud clamours against this act of tyranny. Public meetings were called and well attended, in which it was mag- nanimously resolved to die sooner than wear breeches. Geraldi was very busy in all these, and, by his eloquence and energy, made many converts to the cause. " This well never do," said the prime- senalor, " we must pull them up." " What," said another, " the breeches?" " No," replied the first, " but the con- spirators; pull them up before the judge, and he shall tickle them according to the Pandects of Justinian." This was one of those prophecies which never fail of being fulfilled. Accordingly they were seized, and Geraldi among the rest. The judge took his seat, and frowned wickedly. In those d a J s •* was no joke to be tried before a chief- judge. Witnesses proved that they sjaw Geraldi unbreeched, and heard him * Or some such thins t Yellow and blue. ■1*24.1 The History of Geraldi. 83 speak in defence of the general prin- ciple. Others swore thai, to the best of their belief, he wrote long letters to other unbreeched clubs over the water, and was strongly suspected of having composed an ode in ridicule of knee- buckles. At this fact, the chief-judge cried ha ! and looked round the court. Every body saw that it was all over with our poor hero. The forms of the court, however, required that he should be called on to say something in his de- fence, and accordingly he was told to begin. His eye was kindled with fire, and he evidently looked on himself as a person entrusted with the protection of the most glorious principles in the world. " My lord," said he, clearing his throat; the court was mute in attention t you could hear a pin drop. " Silence/' said the crier. " My lord," continued Geraldi, " I am here to be tried to-day for doing that which, what- ever may be the issue of this trial, I shall regard as the most honourable action of my life. I have stood up for the bare truth ; I have bowed to the naked majesty of reason • I have strip- ped off the coverings of sophistry and imposture — and for that am I here. I have remounted to the principles of things, and casting off the habits of this shallow generation, gone back to the customs of my ancestors. I am accused of introducing novelties — of being a prosel y te and preacher of the new phi- losophy. How much do they err who make this accusation. If remotest an- tiquity be novelty — if genuine simplicity be adulteration, then do I plead guilty, but not till then. Go back to the days of Adam, when he and his consort Eve, in naked majesty, seemed lords .of all. Who then heard of breeches i Did the father of mankind on awaking in his couch of flowers, fanned by the whispers of melting winds, roused by the dulcet fall of murmuring streams, call lustily to a valet-de-chambre to bring him -what, even in the present degraded and deprayed times, are significantly desig- nated as inexpressibles? Impossible! Shades of the heroes and patriarchs of old, look down from your empyreal thrones on which you are seated, with- out the disguise of this disgraceful garb, and refute these audacious men, who declare that the practices which you, the glories of the olden time, followed without exception, are mere trifling no- velties. But, even if they were, I ap- peal to the eternal dictates of truth and reason. Great and glorious goddesses, do you not dictate the necessity of every man being his own dresser? Shall the liberty of the subject be invaded in this point, on which are bottomed our dearest hopes? Shall we be tied up in bonds and shackles? Waistbands and knee-strings avaunt ! To them I shall not bend my free untamed spirit. I protest against them — I denounce them — I abominate them — I abhor them. fJring forth your racks — destine me to your torments, I am prepared for all ! And you wicked men who sit in judg- ment on me," &c. &c. I have not time to say over again, all that Geraldi said. He spoke of the breaches of the constitution, and de- clared that he would mend them. His oration was a model of eloquence. All Florence, both those who were pro and con, declared that the days of Demos- thenes and Cicero were again revived ; and when he concluded by the fine apostrophe from one of their own poets, il Dottore Smelfango, * Thy spirit, independence, let me share, Lord of the lion heart and eagle eye ; Thy steps I follow with my bottom bare, Nor heed the blasts that howl along the sky. An unanimous burst of applause fol- lowed, which lasted for several minutes, and called forth the stern remonstrances of the judge, who proceeded at once to deliver the sentence of the court. He entered into a history of breeches front the first establishment of civilhsed so- ciety — shewed how important they were to the seat of government — descanted on the villany of their opponents— and concluded by addressing the prisoner in a stern tone. ** Allez vous en, mon ami," said he, " andate al diavolo."t With which solemn words he concluded his oration. These were the technical phrases at that time used in the Florentine law, for sending a man into banishment. * This free imitation of the original, is literal to a word. It may have been said before -bat how does that alter the affair ? A joke's a joke for a' that. * Get away — go to the devil. M2 84 The History of Geraldi. [sept. Accordingly, Geraldi was sent on his tra- wls for his country's good. Great was the indignation among the breechesless. Hopanos sputtered in Attic phrase. * iv ! tytv ! said he, for few indeed are the righteous now-a-days, and quoted Euri- pides to the same effect. Others called a meeting of Geraldi's friends, to take into consideration the necessity of subscrib- ing something towards making his exile comfortable — for, at that time, you must know, that the great majority of those who were against wearing breeches, in- cluding Geraldi,certainly had no pockets therein to stow away purses. The Doctor attended, and spoke of Aristi- des, until every one in the room sympa- thized with the indignation of the Athe- nian, who gave his vote for the banish- ment of that great man, in consequence of being bored with so often hearing of his name. A. subscription was entered into, and it amounted to — I do not know how many ducats. Now in those days, among that party, was a very active avocato of the name of Jacopo, a Savoyard. The air of the mountains, and, indeed, of the north in general, is so keen, that it notoriously sharpens the wits of the inhabitants of such regions. It so happens, also, that brains is a more common commodity there than beef, and, accordingly, the men of the north long have been in the habit of descending into the fat regions of the south, where they feed upon their neighbours. Jacopo walked as usual, southward, with his shoes slung over his shoulder; and as he had never been used to breeches-wearing in his own country, it is only natural that he joined the breechesless party. Accordingly he wrote long books about it, against the most strenuous partizan of the aris- tocracy, and it gained him much praise, and a little pudding. Moreover, he speeched, and speeched as became an advocate without a brief. When he got briefs, as happened long after the times of which I am speaking, he left off speeches when they brought him nothing, cushioned his book, and cut the patriots. But, at the date of this our veridical history, he was ardent for Geraldi, and his words, as the saying is, won gold — for he was made the treasurer on the occasion. It may be asked, how being made treasurer to a voluntary subscription could win gold ? Have you ever heard the story of the highlander who sued for promotion? " Why, Duncan," said his officer, " you know you can neither read nor write, and though willing to promote you, that puts it out of my power." — " Put, your honour," said the mountaineer, " coot make her nainsell a lance-corporal." — "That, to be sure, I could do," replied the captain, " but there is no extra pay for that rank, and there is extra duty." The highlander, however, told him he had bis reasons for wishing it, and was promoted accord- ingly. From being one of the dirtiest soldiers in the regiment, he became the cleanest. His wife was better decked out than before — and a considerable amelioration appeared to have taken place in his finances. The officer was amazed — and enquired how this could be done without increase of pay. " Na, sir," said Duncan, ' 'tere is na pay, but tere's parquisits." What a lance- corpo- ral's perquisites arc, I shall not inform the reader, it being no part of my story .f So, though there is no pay in being treasurer to a charity-subscription, there are perquisites. Money was, of course, sent to Geraldi, and he received it with gratitude : but human blessings are never without some proportion of pain. There is always a little bitter in the sweetest cup. On looking over the list of those who had come forward in his behalf, he did not see the name of his old tutor, the Grecian Doctor. Ge- raldi had a great talent, and a great inclination for writing letters ; and, ac- cordingly, he sat down and composed the following epistle from the island in which he was confined, to a friend in Florence. It will not take more than twenty co- lumns, and therefore I shall copy it. . EPISTLE OF GERALDI TO HIS FRIEND. Dear Friend, * Alas ! Alas ! t We may as well finish the story, though our author does not. " Perquisites, man,"- said the captain, " and what the devil perquisites has a lance-corporal ?"■ — " She has te -1824,] Sober Sonnets for Sleek Sinners. 85 But, on second thoughts, I shall not copy it. It would be taking a paltry advantage over my readers. Suffice it then to say, lhat in this letter he spoke much of the ingratitude of the human race — of the sad fact, that when a man is out of sight he is out of mind — and many other novel and original reflec- tions of the same nature. The circum- stance of the neglect of Hoparros — the Doctor, from whose os rotundum he had imbibed the first lessons of freedom — he said, chagrined him more than the recollections of all his other friends, gild- ed as they were by the ducats. There never yet was an ill story of a man ex- tant, that did not come to his ears through the agency of a d — d good- natured friend, and the contents of this letter were soon communicated to the Doctor. He twisted the back of his wig to the front, and as hastily, through fear of suffocation, twisted it back again. * " Tt rovro," said he, " vce misero mihi, what do I hear i What does the man mean ? Here am I, the poorest abate in Florence, on a salary of sixty ducats a year, out of which I have subscribed thirty — ripta-v w«vto5,+ as Hesiod says. I shall not rest under the imputation. I shall have it all explained, ut par est,\ and he took a pinch of snuff. Of course Hoparros set about the ex- planation with all the efforts of his power, and wrote a ream of paper in a hand illegible to mortal man. He dived and inquired, and delved, and fidgetted, and at last a meeting of the subscribers to Geraldi was called. Of course the first thing they did was to overhaul the accounts of the treasurer, when there was found a******** Hiatus in MSS. * # * We have in vain endeavoured tq come at the conclusion of this highly interesting Florentine tale. It appears to throw a light on some of the transac- tions of that great state, during the mid- dle ages. We publish so much as the above, in the hopes that some able Italian scholar — some writer of history — will endeavour to complete it. SOBER SONNETS FOR SLEEK SINNERS J Or, Rhymes from the Holy Land. BY SIR JOHN BARLEYCORN, BART. " Haud inexpertus loquor." I had a dream that was not all a dream. Methought I rested in a cavern vast, Adown whose darksome sides strange seats were plac'd Filled with red visag'd forms, that now did seem To feed on fire, for often ihey did cast Curl'd smoke around, so that I scarcely trac'd Aught palpable, amidst th' incessant blast. Anon strange sounds would rush my portals through, And some" did cry for spirits as in haste, And then came tinglings as of shrieking bell — Sudden a screech of many voices flew Through the dense atmosphere, as 'twere a hell: — And one did bellow " coming" — I did wake And found the Cider Cellar and my steak. geein' oot o' te candles to te men," was the answer, " and te are nain te waur o' bein' dippit in hot water — and tere's te creash, (the grease) ye ken, yer honour." Such were the per- quisites of a lance-corporal. * What is this. Alas! miserable me. _ f Half of the whole. J As is right. 86 French Song. [SEPT. II. ** How glorious is the morning's balmy kiss, And how the snoring citizen doth lose His profit by not early rising, Jack ?" So spoke my sober cousin, Jemmy Twiss, As I reel'd Strand-ways from a jolly boose That Falstaff might have envied, spite his sack, — Prince Hal would jump at such without his shoes. "Ah ! Jemmy '." then I sighed, as paviours do, «f Upon my soul, thou'rt right, my lad of wax, And so I always rise by three o'clock, But 'tis from Offley's table, with a crew That are upon wry faces quite a tax, And then we've done, than you, my jolly cock, More business by four bowls, and lots of max!" III. There were two lived together — One was young And blithe too, as is May, and scarce had seen Thirty dark winters pass his cottage by ; — The other he was age-marked, yet there hung Perpetual freshness, like the fadeless green Of Paradise ere yet was serpent nigh — Upon his frosty pow. Oh, be he sung Till comes the last eclipse, when all shall fall, Then let him fall the last, for he doth bear Smiles, gladd'ning, consolation to each heart,; The grave, the coffin lid, may shut out all, But he shall live immortal in his art. These dwell'd together, up hill, down the dale, I am the one — aad that my pot of ale. :< TRENCH SONG. d'un REPAS DELECTABLE. Apprenez les lois D'une troupe aimable : — II faut faire choix Que tout soit sor table; Jamais neuf a table, Toujours plus de trois. Si le vin nous inspire Que des indiscrets N'aillent point redire Nos propos secrets. Que Bacchus, que 1' Amour, Tous deux d' accord ensemble, Regnent tour a tour, Enfin, qu'il ressemble A ce que rassemble, Cet heureux sejour. RULES FOR A DINNER PARTY, By Dauchet, a Poet of Auvergne, who wrote some Operas. Shall I tell you the plan To get up pleasant feasts ? — Make a choice of a set Of agreeable guests ; Take care with each other To make them agree ; Never nine at a table, But still more than three. If the glass should draw forth Any prate indiscreet, • Be sure there is none Who what's said will repeat. Let Bacchus and Love Their soft influence expand, And reign, turn about, O'er the board, hand-in-hand. In a word, let it be, In good feelings and cheer, A circle as gay As the glad circle here.* • This song appears to have been made for a particular party, most probably in the country. 824.J From the Italian of Tassoni. FROM THE ITALIAN OF TASSONI. * COASTING FROM PORTO D* ANZIO TO NAPLES, OtlT OF TASSONf. [See Vieusseux's very interesting Travels, lately published, VoL II. p. 168, 169.] ' Le donne di Nettun vede sul lito In gonna rossa e col turbante in testa. Rade il porto d'Astura ove tradito Fu Corradin nella sua fuga mesta. Dr l'esempio crudele ha Dio punito, Che la terra distrutta e inculta resta; 3uindi monte Circello orrido appare Col capo in cielo e con le piante in mare. S'avanza e rimaner in quinci in disparte Vede PoDza diserta e Palmarola, Che furon gia della citta di Marte Prigioni illustri in parte occulta e sola. Varie torri sul lido erano sparte; La vaga prora la trascorre e vola, E passa Terracina ; e di lontano Vede Gaeta alia sinistra mano. Lascia Gaeta, e su per l'onda corre Tanto ch'arriva a Procida, e la rade : Indi giugne a Pozzuolo, e via trascorre, Pozzuolo che di solfo ha la contrade. Quindi s'andava in Nisida e racorre, Ea Napoli scopria l'alta beltade; Onde dal porto suo parea inchinare La Regina del mar, la Dea del mare." II. There shet saw Neptune's dames upon the shore, With turban'd heads and scarlet robes bedight ; Astura's port she brush'd, by which of yore, Corradin was betrayed in mournful flight ; Of God's just vengeance still the marks it bore, Lying abandon'd, in neglected plight. Thence they Circello's awful mountain gain, Whose head meets Heav'n, whose feet repel the main. Thence by the coast of Ponza's desert isle, And Palmarola, did she voyage on. The city of Mars, as places of exile, Employed these regions, desolate and lone. All on the shore stand many a tow'red pile : The wandering bark flew by them — and anon Passed Terracina, then from far she spied- Gaeta lying on her left-hand side. III. Soon was it left behind, and next they past By Procida along the surges loud, Pozzuolo soon in view appeared, with haste By that sulphurous land the vessel ploughed. By Nisida they sail, and next at last Discover Naples in her beauty proud, Where from her haven seemeth to incline The ocean's queen, the Goddess of the brine. *»* We intend not to admit, on any account whatever, a regular review of a book, being thoroughly satisfied that the public is sick of reviewing, which as it is carried on at present, is as base a business as can well be conceived. It is, per- haps, not altogether improbable, that we shall on some fine morning sit down and write a regular history of the internal management of every one of them, a subject with which we are acquainted intus el in cute, if it would not have too cannibal an air to attack our brethren in the bond of periodicalism. But as we have quoted the above pretty lines out of Vieusseux, we are bound to recommend his work as a most interesting one. It is a wonderful effort for a foreigner to write our language with such purity and precision as he does. At the end of his work, he has given a pleasant view of the present stale of Italian literature, which contains a I • The continuation of this beautiful Episode, containing Vetius'9 interview with Manfredi, is highly coloured ; but I have only quoted the description of the Voyage, of which any tra- veller, who has sailed along this coast, will easily perceive the accur»cy.-r-2Vb/e by Vieusseux. t Venus. 83 Italian Songs. [SEP*. great deal of what is new, to us at least. For instance, be quotes some fragments of Pellegrino Rossi's translation of the Giaour,, which we shall copy, putting the original with them side by side, for the sake of comparison. L'aer taceva, e il mar co venti in pace No breath of air to break the wave; Lambiva umile il pie del sacro avello That rolls below the Athenian's grave, U del grande d'Atene il ciner gia.ce. That tomb, which, glowing o'er the cliff, Dalla rupe in che appar splendente e bello first greets the homeward veering skiff, Par ch'ei primo saluti il buon nocchiero High o'er the land he saved in vain. Che rivolge le nave al dolce ostelk). When shall such heroes live again. Cosi dorme sublime il gran guerriero Nel suol chi in van salvo. Mondo infelice Quando fia che ritorno a farti altiero D'un altro pari eroe * * * ****** Region della belta ! mite e sereno Fair clime, where every season smiles L'e sempre il cielo, e all'eternal sorriso Benignant o'er those blessed isle3 ; Sennamora la terra, e infiora il seno. Which, seen from far Colonna's height, . Per entro al core andar ti senti un riso. Make glad the heart that hails the sight, Poi ch'all' altura di Colone giunto And lend to loneliness delight. Scopre il guardo quel dolce paradiso. There mildly dimpling ocean's cheek, Here is another morceau. L'Alma, che i suoi pensier cupa ripiega Sui mali ond'e per le sue colpe afflitta, E'scorpion cui d'intorno il fuoco lega. La cerchia delle fiamme ognor piu fitta Lo stringe si che mille punte acute Fin la midolla gli han cerca e trafitta D'ira egli impazza e sol nelle ferute Del pungiglion che per nemici ei serba Trov'or per se nel suo martir salute * * • * * * # Si divien contr' a se cieco, inumano L'uom ch' han stretto i rimorsi e lacerato, O si per doglia orrenda e fatto insano Carco grave alia terra, in ciel dannato, Del ben gli chiude oscurita le porte, La rea disperazion gli siede a lato, Ha le fiamme d'intorno e in sen la morte. The mind that broods o'er guilty woes, Is like the Scorpion girt with fire; In circle wanowing as it glows The flames around the captive clan, Till inly search'd by thousand thieves, And maddening in her ire, One sad and sole relief she knows, The sting she nourish'd for her foes, Whose venom never yet was vain, Gives but one pang and cures all pain, And darts into her desperate brain : So do the dark in soul expire, Or live, like Scorpion, girt by fire; So writhes the mind remorse hath riven, Unfit for earth, undoomed for Heaven, Darkness above, despair beneath, Around it flame, within it death. And a third. Si l'amore e, per dio, lume superno; Viva scintilla dell' immortal fuoco Dei Serafini ; e fiamma onde 1' eterno Leva i nostri pensier di basso loco: Anzi tanto fulgor sui nostri passi Spande, che il ciel ver noi par che s'abbassi. Egli e favilla del divini affetti Largita all' uomo, perche il suo pensiere Spiechi dall' esca vil de rei diletti. E raggio del Fattor di' tutte sfere; E corona di luce eterna ed alma, Che del mortale abbella e cerchia l'alma. Yes, Love,' indeed, is light from heaven, A spark of that immortal fire With angels shar'd, by Allah given, To lift from earth our low desire. Devotion wafts the mind above, But heaven itself descends in love ; A feeling from the godhead caught, To wean from self each sordid thought; A ray of him who form'd the whole ; A glory circling round the soul! I grant mij love imperfect, all That mortals by the name miscall. Is not this very prdUy ? T. F. 1824.] The Humbugs of the Age. 89 THE HUMBUGS OF THE AGE. No. III. — Sir Humphrey Davy. It has been our lot, on several occa- sions during this last month, to have heard good-natured and sage people ex- claiming against the gross impropriety we were about to commit in enrolling the name of Sir Humphrey Davy in the register of the humbugs of the age. An elderly gentleman, in a elaret-coloured coat, whom we met by mere chance one evening at Steevens's, was particu- larly indignant, and as his conversation with us, whom he little suspected to be the culprit whose enormities he was denouncing, embodies all the objections we have heard, we think there can be no better way of communicating them to the public than through that medium. " It is a shame, Sir," said he, " that in this country no one can win his well- earned way to honour or rank by the exercise of superior talent, but he be- comes, on that very account, the object of slander and scurrility. Here, Sir, I see in this little magazine, written and published by God knows whom, an announcement that the first chemist in the world — a man whose birth among us confers an honour on the country — a man who is, even at this moment, travelling for scientific purposes, and is, as he ever has been, under similar circumstances, received with distin- guished honours — is to be held up to the shafts of ridicule, or, at all events, of insolence, as a humbug — as a fit companion for some unknown creature who chews opium for a magazine in Fleet-market, or a cooking recipe- monger. It is not fair, Sir." With all this, and much more to the same effect, did we agree while conversing with our claret-coloured friend at Steevens's. But he need not apprehend that we are going to post Sromredevi (as his Italian correspon- dent titled him) as a humbug on ac- count of his chemistry. We there own Jvis merits as a man of science — as far as that word can be applied to the bun- dle of jointless facts which constitutes chemistry at present — and what is of still higher importance, we frankly ad- mit the great advantage several of his inventions have been to the country, and are proud of the fame he has con- ferred on his native land among fo- reigners. Far different, indeed, are VOL. I. our reasons for inscribing him among the humbugs of the age. It is not of Davy, the chemist, we are going to speak, but of Sir Humphrey, the gen- tleman. In this latter capacity no humbug can be more super-eminent. He is in this peculiar and special ground as great as little Quincy himself. It is a pity that we cannot see our- selves with others' eyes — or perhaps it is not a pity, for it might tend to make us miserable, without amending us in any important particular. If we could, however, Sir Humphrey would keep to his crucible, and drop the drawing- room. His lady would strip off the cerulean stockings, which have con- verted her stout legs into a pair of blue posts, and tattle scandal and gossip with the other old women, male and female, who compose her coteries. It is not much more than 20 years ago that Sir Humphrey, known by the name of Numps, was a petty apo- thecary in some barbarous town in Cornwall ; and although he has since risen highly in the world, and mixed with some of the best society in Eng- land, he may be assured that he has still a gait and gesture, and habits and manners, nothing better than a village Ollapod. The clothes of a gentleman do not sit easily upon him ; and you are always tempted to wish that he wore, as formerly, a clean apron. The very pre- cision of slovenliness with which he dresses himself, inevitably puts you in mind of a natty little fellow called up suddenly to attend a dowager patient with some lenitive cataplasm, or sooth- ing enema. He smells of the shop com- pletely. Sir Humphrey was one even- ing particularly superb and dandyish, dressed in a green velvet waistcoat, with gold spangles on it, at Miss Lydia White's, when she observed, that he looked as if he had stepped out of a box. " A pill-box, by G — , ma'am, then," said Lutterel, " and I see the powdered licorice has stuck to his waist- coat." How absurd is this conduct ! If we saw such people as Lord Petersham — or any similar gaby, so rigged out, we should only think it of a piece with the general character of the man, and pass it by; but for Davy — the inventor of N 00 The Humbugs of the Age. [sept. iodine, of the safety-lamp, of Heaven knows how many things beside — the great chemist— the deep philosopher — to come forward, showing himself off in green and gold, is really the ne phis ultra of absurdity. But it is his daily practice. He is dcvore", as the French would say, with a rage for playing the fine gentleman. He lounges into a room with what he thinks is an elegant languor; but which is much more like what the polite dialect of slang, now so much cultivated by our wits and fine writers, would call the gait of a j ogle- hunter, on a morning sneak [a pick- pocket looking after his. business.] He then sits down, swinging his arms with an amiable nonchalance, which reminds one instinctively of the motion of a sign on a windy-day. Then he talks elegant trifles to young ladies, in what he imagines is the delightful tone of easy conversation, but which as much resembles that unacquirable art as the love-letter of the school-master, which poor Tom Pipes carries in Peregrine Pickle, did the real epistle, written by the gentleman himself. The poor fel- low fancies himself irresistible among the girls, and is evidently pluming him- self, while conversing with them, on the hope that they are saying to their own hearts, what they will give utterance to when he withdraws from their company — " How delightful a man is the great Sir Humphrey Davy ! — What a charm- ing fellow — You see how he was telling us about the last new novel, or the set of china, or the pattern of a lace, or the cut of a gown — not at all about che- mistry. O ! he is a universal genius — You never, my dear, would take him for a great philosopher." In part of this anticipated speech, his hopes are gene- rally gratified. The young ladies, whom he has been boring by his brilliant conversation, generally vote him " no philosopher" — but they as generally add, that it is a pity so clever a man should make himself so great a fool. In pursuance of this excellent system of his, he thinks it quite fashionable to affect indifference to his wife. There is something irresistibly comical in see- ing Sir Humphrey and his lady in a company together, particularly at their own house. They never, by any chance, interchange a word, but if they happen to get together into the same circle, at dinner for example, they are conti- nually talking at one another. What- ever position her ladyship lays down, her knightly helpmate is surely a side- wind to contradict it. He considers her as having grown too old, and, therefore, a bore ; she as evidently looks upon him as an ass. No man is a hero to his valet-de-chambre : we suspect it is as impossible to be a savant to a man's wife. Our couple have reversed mat- ters. He talks badinage, and follies, and frivolities, in the tone of a country pedant determinedly light, and aims at making fierceful and playful hits, which he effects with the elegance and fancy of a paviour. She, on the contrary, despises the mere feminine chatter of the day, and discusses topics of literature and science in a manner which, to speak chemically, would turn the best- natured alkali in, the world into an acid. She was a Mrs. Ap— Somebody — Ap-Rees, we believe, or something equally hideous — no that we do not wonder at her changing it even into Davy. At all times she has been a bas- blcn of the very first water. We re- member her some fifteen years ago — per- haps longer — in the literary coteries of Edinburgh. About that time the top literary society of that city was oppres- sive to an awful degree. Puppyism was predominant beyond all former pre- cedent. The Scotch leeteratvti, as they call themselves, had taken it into their heads to imitate the French society of the last century. This absurd mania prevailed chiefly among those whom Cobbet compliments with the title of feelosofers. Heavy poor clowns, clever enough, we suppose, in the sciences, were hard at work, endeavouring to ape the elegancies of Paris in the days of Louis Quinze. Because D'Alembert, and Maupertuis, and others of that grade, had frequented female society, and been regarded as ornaments at, the petits soupers of the Parisian belles, such folks as Playfair thought it would be quite the thing for them also. Play- fair was a poor schoolmaster — a parti- cularly unfortunate trade in Scotland — for the best part of his life ; and owed his rise in society to any thing but the cultivation of the graces. He was a regular Dominie Sampson, a little, and but little, improved by the application of a curry-comb ; but then he thought it would be one of the finest things pos- sible to be elegant, in order that people might wonder at the grace and gusto of his accomplishments, as well as the powers of his mind — just the same by the way that Sir Humphrey is playing 1824.] The Humbugs of the Age. 91 off now, so much to the merriment of his acquaintances. Voltaire and Co. were deists too, and Playfair was a deist of course. The French wits — who were wits — had joked ingeniously on what we poor people believe to be sacred subjects — and, of course, Play- fair, who was no wit, but a fine spe- cimen of a hard-headed mathema- tician — had his dry joke, and cutting- sarcasm, and agreeable rallying on the same subject. [We do not take Play- fair invidiously as a sample of the whole, nor because we have not living specimens plenty of this bourgeoise gentilhomme sort of philosophers alive and well, this present minute, in Scot- land, though they are not in such good odour as formerly — but because he is dead, and we do not wish to hurt living people, and have a particular objection to being prosecuted for libel, as we undoubtedly should be if we ventured to speak the truth about auy of that particular set, as Blackwood, we should think, could tell.] You would see this hard, dry, underbred, withered, old Scottish pedagogue, at balls and routs, persuading himself that the days of the philosophers of France had revived in Auld Reekie. This mixture of dandy- ism and science, which has always ap- peared to us one of the most disgusting things in the world, gave the ton to the Edinburgh society, and Mrs. Ap. was up to her eyes in blue. We re- member to have been present when old Playfair was talking airily — Heaven help the mark — on Madame de Stael's .Coriune, and a set of Mrs. A .'s parasites, (the lady had money) were asserting, on what grounds we cannot conjecture, that she was the Corinna. Every body knows that the vain creature who wrote the novel drew the heroine for herself — but Mrs. A. swallowed the lump of incense. Playfair put in, however, a faint caveat. He did not think her tall enough. " She wanted," he said, " of the proper height for Corinna, an inch and some ." He then coughed. He was going to say an inch and some lines — when he caught himself in time to hinder the mathematics from burst- ing out. Sir Humphrey married her for — What? Why, for love, to be sure: what else does a man ever marry for ? And if a little money comes, it is no harm. Her blue stockingism was delighted to the highest, and his ambition of shining among the fashionables instead of lec- turing to them, also received its grati- fication. He dedicated his work on "Agricultural Chemistry" to her; which, as the book chiefly treats on analysis of dung and other manures, was a well- turned compliment. Frere, in his capi- tal little poem, " Whistlecraft's Pro- spectus and Specimens," has a sly hit at this absurd dedication. We forget the lines, but he laughs at dedicating to re- latives, in that easy and good-humoured style, which characterizes him beyond all other writers of ottava rima. The satire is meant against this dedication of Davy's; and nothing could better deserve it than such a piece of nonsen- sical affectation of conjugality in the face of the public. All that, however, is over entirely now, and he finds it bon-ton to be as negligent as he was formerly gallant. Both are equal pieces of humbug. As a counterbalance for Davy's pup- pyism in fine society, he has taken into his head, that it is spirited and manly to talk obscenely among men. This is always the refuge of poor wits, or rather of people setting up for wits. There is poor Tom Campbell, for instance, who never said a good thing in his life, but is continually straining after one, and he knows no way of doing it but by talking dirt. Numps carries it to a high degree, and is quite in raptures with the cleverness he displays. He is ever- lastingly telling of his amorous adven- tures, and occasionally turning them by a side-wind to a scientific account. It is a pity that we cannot tell his story of the invention of the safety-lamp, with which he once regaled us at the Royal Society. It is a rich specimen of what we allude to, but we dare no more than allude. • This talent of his, with some absurd attempts at playing mag- nifico, made him abominated at the Alfred. There are some queer stories about him connected with that club. He evidently considered himself quite the attraction of the place, and thought that if he withdrew his countenance, it must go down. He had contrived to get himself on the committee, where he was excessively disagreeable; and, at last, out of disgust at not being able to domineer over every body in his own way, he, to the infinite delight of his brethren in office, resigned. He, of course, expected that the Alfred was gone ; when, to his surprise and morti- fication, his place was immediately filled up by the Marquis of Camden. That N 2 The Humbugs of the Age, 4fC. [sept. was an unkind cut ; but, nevertheless, finding that he, no more than the Danes in former days, could put down an Alfred, quietly continued his subscrip- tion under the management of that committee of which he no longer made a part. He was very busy there during the rumpus between Sabine and others, which we mention, merely as an excuse to tell a joke. Hylton Jolliffe, he of the hat, was very active against Sabine ; and Tom Murdock, when he heard about the quarrel, said, that it reminded him of his school-boy days, it being a revival of the war between the Sabines and Rum-'uns [Romans]. It is not a bad pun for Murdock. The puppy tone follows Davy even in his writings, and in his lectures was a perfect bore. We see him continually straining after effect, and anxious to show you that he knows literaiure, alto- gether as well as he does chemistry. For instance, what can be more puerile than his turning away to waste an en- tire page upon the proper mode of form- ing a Greek name for Iodine. (It is quite evident, en passant, that he knows nothing of Greek). And, in his lectures, though people came to hear chemical facts, they were entertained half their time with passages of his own poetry ; the most stupid things conceivable — which he chaunted forth with unwearied throat, and immeasurable ears gaping for a tribute of applause, at the end of each putrid morceau. Of his government of the Royal So- ciety, it is not our intention here to speak, having an idea of over-hauling that learned body altogether some fine morning ; and we may as well now put an end to our paper. Davy, the gentle- man, is a Humbug of the age. If he would forswear fine clothes, and fine company ; if he would give up the notion of being a clever man in genteel society or polite conversation ; if he would stick to his own particular profession, every body would rejoice in his talents, tem- pered, as they then would be, with mo- desty. As it is, he may believe us when we assure him, that Voltaire's complaint about Congreve is often re- peated at his expense. Congreve sunk the author when Voltaire called to see him, and did the gentleman. The Frenchman was displeased, and very justly said, " If Mr. Congreve were no more than a gentleman, he should not have been troubled with my visit." So say we of Davy. If his merit only lay in wearing a green gold-bespangled velvet waistcoat in a blue-stocking party, he would not be troubled with this paper. We should have thought as little about him as we do of one of his nonsensical ship-models, which he keeps floating in stinking salt-water, in Somerset-House, to the great dis- satisfaction of the nasal organs in their neighbourhood. The people there call the reservoir in which they are, Numps's pond — we should prefer styl- ing it Davy's locker ; and there, or in the more ample reservoir which goes by that name among our tars, might re- pose, for aught we care, the person of Sir Humphrey the gentleman. We would not so easily part with Sir Hum- prey the chemist, and are not without hopes that Shis paper will do him some essential service. Farewell then, Mr. P. R. S. Next for a man of note. Ladies and gentle- men, we have the honour of announcing to your consideration, for October, Bishop, the Composer. HYDROPHOBIA. " Nay, Robert, 'tis true, His a dangerous time, Many folks have been bitten. I tell you I know it, Have gone mad— lost their brains without reason or rhyme;" " Gone mad — pray, dear Timothy, how do they show it?" " Why, first, they great hatred of water display ;" " Stop, Tim — for if that proves one's senses are undone, Get a waistcoat for me, without further delay, For, in that case, no mortal is madder in London !" 1824.] Extract from a Poem. 93 TO THE EDITOR OF THE JOHN BULL. Mr. John Bull, Last month, it seems, you were shorn of some verses, through the interposition of the Devil. By way of making you the amende honorable, he now transmits you a few, through the medium of his wpper-secretary, Your obedient, Claw Clovenquill. Should his Infernal Majesty be deemed no better than other Royal Poets, you will be obliging enough to return his MS. by post — making use of your grate as a letter-box. N.B. Your kitchen-grate, for it is summer-time on earth — if I mistake not, about your latitude. EXTRACT FROM A POEM, Which will not be printed entire. — 1823. DIABOLUS LOQUITUR. 44. The bard whose fingers wield that mighty pen, Of which, in stanza forty-three, I spake; Is one whose spirit walk'd awhile with men, But swell'd with indignation till it brake. Cleft is the yew that makes the stoutest bows, And satires dart the riv'n heart neediest throws. 45. And his, whose first thoughts met the critic's frown, In riper years hurl'd back each envious taunt; Mingling such venom as his foes had shewn, With sweets that all but he must ever want : His keenest sarcasms flatter while they satirize,* Like dead sea -apples, or mask'd goodly batteries. 46. Even as the scent of India's perfumed grass, The vigor of his mind came forth — by crushing; And thus in many things it comes to pass, The diamond's lulstre is brought out by brushing, And if you ne'er had struck the stubborn flint, Would you have ever known a spark was in't? 47. Another case is this, for boys who love Vice more than Virgil, holidays than Horace, And think that every science but " the glove," Or naked " bunch of fives," a deuced bore is, There's nought like birch, unless their flanks are iron, Like mine; — but I'm forgetting Baron Byron. 48. And though I thought it proper to adduce As many relevancies as I could, With moderate brevity, to shew the use Of mental, and of corporal thumps, I should Not spread my paint too thickly, lest it crack ; The load of proof breaks many a doctrine's back. • At least the sufferers appear to think so; for example, the title "Maudlin Prince of Mournful Sonnettcers," has been triumphantly quoted in the advertisements, announcing a recent edition of Bowleses sonnets. This » making *' increment .of every thing" with a ven- geance. Extract from a Poem. [sept< 49. In its young prime, his fancy's fearless wing Wanton'd along a paradise of feeling, All radiant, pure, and fervid, as a spring At the first blush of morn; till somehow stealing A curious peep above the walls of Eden, In Eve his grandmamma's old slippers treading. — 50. Over he fell ! but I was near to catch him, And save him both from future fall and rising j Yet no one knows how hard I'm forced to watch him '. His truant tricks are verily surprising. For though I've set my seal on him for ever, And bound him with a chain that few can sever, 51. Whene'er I do but leave him for an instant, Gambolling at the full length of his tether, (I never to the measure of a pin, stint One that's been used to freedom altogether,) He darts at Heaven fiercely, as if he tried To drag all H 1 up with him at his side j 52. Which makes it clear he'd not be with me long, But for the spell his first mishap threw round him ; Though latterly his plunges are less strong, As if a gravity of soul had bound him ; like the gross corpulence that oft assails A time-worn body, when its vigor fails. 53. Yet much of this depression may be owing To the vile treatment of his fellow men, Who, when they spy a neighbour downward going, So little strive to help him up again ; They seem to hope their friends may fill the abyss. And break the fall, in case their footing miss. 54. As if the avenging Godhead had a maw Capable, as a glutton's, of satiety, And, like a tiger, arm'd with tooth and claw, When hunger'd, always ready were to fly at ye ! With only this partition 'twixt them posted, — That one loved victuals raw — the other roasted ! 55. Thus, when the vermin see, with fear and wonder, Some lion spirit struggling in my snare, They seldom gnaw one single mesh asunder, Copying the fabled mouse's grateful care ; But rather would, than blunt their teeth to set Him free, club tails and double twist the net. 56. I speak of writers; for though other men, In this respect, be much the same way tending, Yet, if they soar not on the exalting pen, Few can see whither they their course are bending; Reptiles may pass, more noxious than the snail, Unheeded, if they want his slimy trail. Fine Arts. 95 57. Tis a strange trade they drive, who live by shewing The world their souls, to make their bodies thrive ; Their brain the die that stamps the paper coin By which they're doomed at once to starve and live, Spinning, like spiders, from their own warm breasts, The web that fills their mouths, and builds their nests ! 58. Most wonderful it seems, that man can catch The wing'd thought, and bind it to his page Eternal captive there ! It is to watch That momentary flash, amidst the rage Of summer tempests darting through the air, And on the canvass fix its wandering glare. 59. Yet, literally this is almost done By Martin ; — not the wight who deals in blacking, Though sure the brightest lightning that e'er shone, Compared to that, in lustre, would be lacking; 3 And none will doubt that Pm a judge of black, Remembering I've it always on my back. 60. No ; tis the painter Martin that I mean ; That heavenly tint he throws appears collected From all that bright on earth, mingling the sheen Of arms, of starlight on the wave reflected ; Of sunset windows, forest-tops, and spires, To make his touches all the eye desires. 61. But I am wondering at man's puny doing, Like a mere mortal ! and it always happens so, When the mind's eye one object is pursuing, It takes a most miraculous size and shape, and so Seems to the microscopic view much greater, Than all that's really vast in art or nature. FINE ARTS. , No. II. — On the Influence of Mythology. The mystery which so constantly in- it has been produced. The observati- volves every important movement and on, that man cannot of himself produce circumstance of human destiny, is the such events and phenomena, must be origin of the singular train of feelings made very early by the rudest and most and fancies usually referred to enthu- unthinking savage; and, the instant siasm and superstition. These are all such an observation is made, the fancy closely interwoven with our hopes and must be awakened and inspired to pic- our fears of future good or future ture its shadowy conjectures in the sem- evil, awakened, in the first instance, by blance of reality. The process thus the mysterious events and phenomena begun, and afterwards followed up by with which we are connected from in- successive generations, may be supposed fancy and boyhood. No event, indeed, to be the origin of the fanciful systems — no circumstance, — no phenomenon, of superstition and mythology, which ever takes place in nature, which, if it have from time to time originated in be examined and thought about, will different and distant nations, fail to produce wonder how it has taken Whether we are right in this deduc- place, and by what unseen machinery tion, we cannot prove, as all our rea- 96 Fine Arts. [sept. sonings from our own feelings or our own speculations, must, when applied to savage life, be at best only conjectu- ral; and, in such cases as (he present, we always reason from our own no- tions, whether we be aware of it or not. — But, however such feelings and opi- nions originated, we are certain that they are universally diffused, and, of course, must have an equally universal interest and influence, and must give a colouring and a character to all the pur- suits and all the modes of thinking which prevail among men. We know, from historical fact, that this is so : we know, thai, in all ages and nations, the reigning mythology has stamped its character on manners, on government, and on the feelings ; and given an as- pect of grandeur or of awful mystery to almost every national event, and almost every individual movement. This is the point where some modern critics of high authority have made their stand, to show that the superstiti- ous systems of the heathen world were alone fitted for all the grand and mag- nificent displays of human superiority in the regions of taste and fancy ; while Christianity, by dispelling the darkness of superstition, has frozen up and blast- ed all the fair promises of modern ge- nius, has left the ancients the undis- puted masters of every talent and every excellence, and has made it impossible for a modern poet, or a modern painter, to do more than an infant could have done when the ancient mythology reigned in all its glory, and in all the splendid magnificence of its wild and its lofty conceptions. Now, it is asserted, all this has been swept away by the plain realities of Christianity, and the vision of Olympus, and its celestial population of Gods and Demi-Gods, is no more ; — and the rays of their divinity have been bedimmed and darkened by the dazzling light of our religion, and in the blaze, all the fire of genius has also been outshone. For poetry has ceased to come upon us with the fire of its former inspirations ; and painting has been tamed down to soberness and reality, and charms us ho more with the heavenly freshness which breathed from the canvass of Zeuxis and Apelles ; and architecture is now heavy and deformed, and taste- less—a ludicrous and jarring mixture of barbarism and beauty — the result of an impossible effort to conjoin the light, tasteful, and harmonious style of anti- quity with the rude, Gothic taste which has now been entailed on genius in every department of the Fine Arts.* Now, there is no splendid mythology in credit and in belief, from which to derive the machinery of an epic poem or the interest of a drama,-~no, not even to give fire to an ode, or to cast an ely- sian air over a pastoral. Now, alle- gory is for ever destroyed, for the reli- gion on which it rested has vanished from our belief; and the painter or the statuary, who dreams of obtaining fame by allegory, is the dupe of a vision which he can never realize ; for nobody will now give a moment's credit to such fictions as pretend to represent the ge- nius of a nation or of a river, or to em- body in female forms the virtues or the vices of human nature. The modern painter tries in vain to be great or sub- lime. He cannot introduce the Gods of antiquity without producing what is tame and uncredited. Christianity curbs and hems him in wherever he tries to advance; and its truths and its realities look coldly and unwelcomely on all his creations of fancy, — and blast every vigorous and luxuriant scion of his ris- ing genius. Notv, the architect has no longer to contrive the graceful porticos of a tem- ple, uncontaminated with Gothic arches and Gothic bas-reliefs, and all the trum- pery of towers and turrets, and colon- nades in solemn mimickry of forest- trees, bedizened with fantastic carvings in wood and stone, and with other sym- bols of folly and of tastelessness. Now the architect must become a mere buil- der, and must lower his genius to the contrivance of vulgar rows of windows, — which may indeed be useful enough to admit light, but are monstrous cor- ruptions of the simplicity of the ancient temples. + All this corruption, it is asserted, is plainly chargeable on our religion, which is the very bane of genius — the deadening draught which makes the heart beat languidly, — checks the dance of the spirits, and unfeathers the wing of fancy the instant she tries to ascend or to soar. A man of genius, therefore, * See Brewster's Encyclopaedia. Art. Civil Architecture. t Brewster's Encyel. Art. Civil Architecture. 1824.] Fine Arts. 97 who now arises is lost — must be lost from the same baneful and paralysing efltects, as all belief in the sublime and elegant mjthology of the ancients is now gone ; and, paint as he will, gods, and heroes, and muses, the cold look of a christian withers at once his budding laurels, and scowls in pity or in con- tempt upon his Venus, or his Apollo, or his Hercules. Such arc the charges — and they are strong — which critics, in the depth of their judgment, have discovered and preferred against our religion ; but fact and not assertion must be the test of the argument. Look to the history of ge- nius and tasle, and say whether the system which is so loudly declaimed against, has in effect done all the injury with which it is charged. Have there been no christian poets — no christian painters — no christian architects, to disprove the assertion and throw it back on their accusers ? Is the fact so, that genius has disappeared from the world since the abolition of the ancient my- thology, and the promulgation of ano- ther and a better system ? The absur- dity, indeed, is fast giving way, which gave implicit faith to the critics of an- tiquity, and could allow no excellency nor merit where it had not been award- ed by them ; but in part it still keeps its ground, and even where it no longer remains in force, it has left traces be- hind it, which will not be soon or easily obliterated, and will long maintain their influence on public opinion. Of this, numerous illustrations crowd upon us ; but one striking instance, which is known to all, will suffice : According to the ancient mythology, every country and every kingdom had a goddess to preside over their affairs, — nay, every river and forest had some divinity, who either presided there, or made there an occasional residence. Now this fable the ancients as firmly, believed, as we believe that there is no proof of it whatever. But though no- body now believes this in the enligbten- ed nations of Europe, yet there are still allusions made to it, by our poets and orators, and representations made of it by our own painters and statuaries. No- body now believes in the existence of an imaginary goddess called Britannia, whose business it is to watch over the interest and the prosperity of Britain: or, in the existence of another imagi- nary and inferior divinity, called Hiber- nia, whose peculiar attention is direct- VOL. I. ed to Ireland, and who amuses herself, when not oppressed with employment, by playing upon a golden harp. All this, it must be confessed, is a pretty enough fancy— an elegant and a beautiful fable ; but, it is all a fancy and a fable, which Christianity disclaims, and reason revolts from ; yet, in defiance of both, painters will paint their Bri- tannias and their Hibernias ; and poets and orators will talk of them as real and embodied divinities ; and statuaries will make allegorical groups of them ; and the artists of the mint will embla- zon them on coins and medallions, for no other apparent purpose, but to per- petuate Heathenism, after it has every where else disappeared. And, is it wonderful, we may justly ask, if artists will persist in all this foolery and nonsense, — elegant though it be, and classical though it be, — that they should fail to awaken interest or feeling ? If there has been a falling off in the genius of our artists, it is here we are to look for the cause, and not in Christianity; it is to their hacknied mimickry of what pleased in the an- tique, because it was in unison with public feeling and popular belief, and which can never please now, both be- cause all imitation and mimickry of this kind are foreign to genius, and because the artist himself, not being in earnest in his belief, can never persuade others, by any hypocrisy, that he is in earnest : for earnestness, and zeal, and enthu- siasm, cannot be put on so perfectly as to produce more than a momentary de-r ception. The ancient poets, on the contrary, and the ancient painters, firmly believ- ed in the existence .of their gods and goddesses, and their muses and nymphs of the fields, rivers, and seas ; and, be- ing in earnest themselves in the belief, they could easily persuade others, from the well-known principle of sympathy being contagious. Not so the modern imitator : he neither believes himself in what he pretends to fancy, nor does he seem to care whether any body believes- it or not. How then, since tbis is so, can he ever, expect to interest the feel- ings of those to whom he addresses himself, either by the canvass or in verse? But is it proper— is it just, to charge home all these failures on Chris- tianity? Is it right to say, because, as christians, we believe not in the exist- ence, nor in the goddessbip of Britan- nia and Hibernia, and look unfeelingly O 98 Fine Arts. (sept. and coldly on the finest of the hypocriti- cal representations of them, — that there- fore Christianity has been the cause of failure in the painters or the sculptors ? And because we do not give credit to the existence or the divinity of a modern poet's muse,— since he himself does not give credit to it, nor ever demands it of us, but puts on an awkward and sheep- ish air in his warmest addresses to this imaginary and uninteresting thing called a muse — is Christianity to blame for dissolving the charm, which, in the clas- sical ages, ihe poet's invocation to his muse possessed when he was in earnest about his invocation? — And will any body believe or listen to a puleing hypo- crite, who scarcely takes the trouble to disguise his hypocrisy ? "Will any body put up with lame and lifeless imitation, so long as the originals are within reach? All failures and deficiencies of this kind, therefore, so far from being charge- able on Christianity, are clearly charge- able on the indolence and the blunder- ing system of imitation adopted by the moderns on their first emerging from the darkness of the middle ages, and which have never, as they should have been, completely exploded and aban- doned. If we are called on to produce a list of modern names, which may rival or even rank with the great men of the ancients, we boldly meet the challenge, as we can muster as goodly an array of men of genius as can be mustered from the annals of the classical mythology. We cannot, indeed, boast of an Orpheu s, whose music could make the trees of the forest dance around him ; nor of a Zeuxis, who had the bad taste to paint grapes so naturally as to degeive the birds; — but we can boast of modern poets and modern painters, who will not shrink before any of the great men of antiquity. Statuary we must as yet give up, notwithstanding the great efforts which have lately been made in Italy and Erilain ; and architecture we must also partly give up. The ancient paintings have perished, and we are here deprived of comparison. But in poetry, the ge- nius of the moderns has been gloriously triumphant. We cannot, indeed, pro- duce an epic poet to compare with Ho- mer — nor a dramatic poet to compare with Eschylus, or Aristophanes, — nor a lyric poet to rival Pindar. But we have a still more numerous array of incom- parable names ; for who of the ancient classical poets can be compared with Dante ? — Who of them could rival Ariosto or Tasso? — Whom could they produce to match with Shakespeare, or Milton ? — "Which of the ancient poets could be mustered to rank with Spenser, Dryden, Young, Pope, Cowper, and Burns ? That they have superior poets in some departments is not the ques- tion ; but it is not quite clear that there is not one name in all antiquity, which deserves to stand in the same rank with those just named, not to speak at all of our own splendid galaxy of living poets. In oratory, the ancients, though they may justly boast of Demosthenes and Cicero, and a few others, could not pro- duce one orator to match Lord Chat- ham, or Mr. Burke, — could not name one — not even Chrysostom— to rival Massilon, who, though be spoke a lan- guage better fitted for the nursery than the pulpit, — yet conquered with the power of a master the defects of his French, and was sublimely eloquent in defiance of drawing-room verbiage and pastoral prettyism. SONG. l. There is no Wrinkle on my brow, No sadness in mine eye, Who ever saw my tear-drops flow ? Or heard my plaintive sigh ? And ever jocund is my smile, And joyous is my tongue; "Who then could guess how all the while My heart of hearts is wrung? 1824.] The Lower Orders. 99 While jests are flowing from my lip ; While loudest is my laugh ; Or while with those, Who largest sip, The cheering howl I quaff, Who could suspect that all inside No touch of joy could feel ? Or that the smiling face should hide A soul of lifeless steel. Yet so it is, no care have I For aught I say or do ; Deep in yon grave my fond hopes lie, Under the church-yard yew. I live without a thought — an end — A purpose to pursue; And care not how through life I wend. So that it were passed through. But why should I my friends torment With sorrows all my own ? It gives my bosom more content To feel them quite alone. And, therefore, do I smooth my brow, And brighten up mine eye, And check the tear, though prompt to flow, And stop the bursting sigh. THE LOWER ORDERS. For many years it has been a question .among philosophers and philanthropists, whether or not it is either politic, or beneficial, to instruct the lower classes of society in any branch of knowledge, which might not tend directly to the im- mediate improvement of their powers, for ' performing the mere mechanical functions which Uieir station in society required, for the general good of the commonwealth. Indeed, many of the opponents of the system of improvement carried their praise of the blessed effects of ignorance to such an extent, as to assert, that every hour that the urchin, who was destined for the trade of a shoemaker, spent in learning his alpha- bet, was just so much subtracted from the time he ought to have been learning that trade; and that the shoes of his majesty's lieges suffered in exact pro- portion. But though reason and expe- rience has put such Mfrra-ignorantial theories to the rout, still much is wanted to put the community on a right method of bestowing education, in such a way as may promote the public welfare ; and it is with the intention of pointing out the more general of these errors on both sides, that we lay the following thoughts before our readers, in the hope, that at least it may call their attention to a sub- ject so vitally interesting to the well- being of the country at large. It is now pretty generally admitted, that, in the parts of the country where education is most generally diffused, the people are both more moral, and, by a natural consequence, more loyal sub- jects than in those where the cultiva- tion of the intellect is neglected. The whole of Scotland was an example of this, and the border counties — the Lo- thians and a great part of the west low- land counties are so still. But, say the advocates of ignorance, the city of Glasgow and its manufacturing depen- dencies, where the people are at least as well educated as in any other part of the kingdom, whatever they once might have been, are now (witness their po- lice-reports and assize calendars) neither a religious, a moral, nor a loyal people. We admit they are not, and for a very plain and obvious reason; fifty years ago, there was not in Glasgow one man in twenty, who could not read and write ; whereas now, we can assert from the best authority, that of the whole of the cotton-manufacturers,which form so large a proportion of the population of that city, not above forty in the hundred 02 100 The Lower Orders. [sept. can read a sentence, and of these, per- haps, not one in the forty has either the inclination or opportunity of improv- ing themselves by reading. In fact, as education has retrograded, crime has advanced, and so it ever will be found to do. We would quote only another in- stance (though we could many) the con- verse of the former, where increase of education has caused a decrease of crime. It will long be remembered in Scotland, what a scene of disgraceful outrage took place in the streets of Edinburgh, on the morning of New- year's-day, 1812, when a band of des- peradoes, joined by the apprentice-boys of the town, kept the streets for several hours, and assaulted and robbed num- bers of the passengers; during which riot, several lives were lost. This dis- graceful scene called the attention of the thinking part of the community to the source of so extensive an evil ; when, upon diligent scrutiny, it was dis- covered, that the education of a great mass of the younger part of the popu- lation had been wholly neglected ; and, while the people of Scotland were secure- ly hugging themselves in the universal diffusion of education throughout their country, there were actually thousands, in the very centre of the capital, who were totally ignorant even of their alpha- bet. Such a fact only required to be known, in order to be remedied ; a pa- rochial school, on the same principle as those of the country parishes, was set a-going; and a gentleman, admirably qualified both for his talents and bene- volence, took an active interest in the immediate superintendence of the insti- tution. The proficiency of the pupils, as might have been expected, was com- mensurate with the zeal and talents of their instructors ; and, since that period, though an average of 150 have passed through the school annually, and these of the very lowest orders of a large city, there has only been one solitary instance of a pupil of that establishment being called before a magistrate, to answer for an offence, and that one did not enter the school until he was fourteen years of age, and only remained in it for six months. But while advocating the cause of education in general, it is necessary to obviate the effects of a too ardent phi- lanthropy, which would spoil by forcing that which would grow and flourish of its own accord. Many worthy indivi- duals, fully convinced of the advantages of education, wish to make it general by eleemosynary encouragement. This, for several reasons, is impolitic. In the case of a parish pauper, we should cer- tainly instruct him on the same principle "that we would clothe him ; because, if it is not done at the public expense, it will not be done at all ; but, upon the same principle, it would be just as pro- per to clothe as to educate the son of a mechanic, who can afford to do so at his own expense — for what he gets without paying for, he will neither value so highly, nor use to such advantage. Let us add, that the habit of receiving charity destroys that spirit of indepen- dence which is so essential to the cha- racter of the subject of a free country ; and damps the feeling of reliance upon one's own exertions, which is indispen- sable in making a man turn his talents to the best account for his own benefit; and, consequently, for the benefit of the community to which he belongs. Again, we deny the propriety of forc- ing education by artificial means, upon the same principle that we object to forcing the production of any other com- modity ; first, because more may be pro- duced than there is a demand for ; secondly, because what is produced will be of inferior quality ; and thirdly, be- cause, like every thing else that is forced, it will be liable to continual interrup- tions and fluctuations, and will end in a series of jobs for the benefit of private individuals. Need we say that in this latter case the public interest will be gradually lost sight of, until at length it is totally neglected. As for the first of these objections, it is universally admitted then, that edu- cation is an essential benefit, or even necessary, to the community at large — so is food — so are clothes — why not then give a fair and just price for what is necessary, to a comfortable existence? If the people are of opinion that other things contribute more to their comfort than the education of their children, let them be convinced of their error, by seeing the beneficial effects of edu- cation on the children of their neigh- bours ; and not force instruction down their throats, any more than you would feed the family of a man, to enable him to spend the money that ought to be employed for that purpose, at the ale- house. This is not charity, but the abuse of it, for by this you encourage education, at the expense of the greatest 1824.] The Lower Orders. 101 end of education — morality; and fie •child so educated will, when he becomes a father, expect a similar boon from charity, or will neglect his children, as his father neglected him. Our second position is so obvious, that it may be dismissed by asking this very simple question. Is it possible, in the nature of things, that the pensioned schoolmaster, whose livelihood is quite independent of his exertions, will take the same pains as the man whose ex- istence depends on the proficiency of his pupils ? If any one thinks so, let him look to free-schools wherever they exist, and without going out of the empire, the history of tlioseof the sister- kingdom will fully demonstrate, that such must, in the course of time, degenerate into jobs — indeed, for that matter, we might, if we liked, look nearer home. What then is to be done ? Is the edu- cation of the poor 1o be neglected, or, what amounts to the same tiling, to be left entirely to chance and their own exertions ? We say by no means. Let education be placed within their reach by economy of their slender means. We know that by a strict attention to this, children can be educated in the country, giving a sufficient income to the schoolmaster, and paying" for all the materials that he requires^ at the rate of about 6*. 8d. per scholar per annum ; that is at an average, instructing a child in reading, writing, and the practical rules of arithmetic, which it has been possible to do on an average of three year's tuition, for the sum of 1/. sterling. But suppose, that in the metropolis and other large towns, that sum should re- quire to be doubled, is there any of the working classes who can earn their bread , who cannot pay 3 Jrf. per week for the education of each of their children? Yet, for this sum, we know that a much better education than falls to the lot of many, even of the middling classes, could be conferred. What still further will tend to the moral improvement of the lower classes, is the spirit which has of late appeared in the country of inquiry upon scientific subjects — a thirst of knowledge has been cherished and supplied by the system of publishing works, in cheap numbers, for the exclusive behoof of the lower orders. Of these, the most prominent is the Mechanics' Maga- zine, which, from the able manner in which it is conducted, and the extensive circulation it enjoys, cannot fail to do incalculable service to the cause of improvement throughout the empire. Were more books upon the same prin- ciple published, (and the demand must cause an adequate supply) we should in a few years hear but little of the neces- sity of gratuitous education, as the father who has the good fortune to en- joy reading himself, will be stimulated to exert his industry and economy to the uttermost, to enable him to bestow a like advantage on his children. There is only one more argument which of late has come into vogue against encouraging education among the lower orders, which we think it necessary to refute before concluding. It is said, if you educate every one, where is the advantage of the middle classes over the lower, in being able to educate their children? By diffusing education among children of an infe- rior rank, you are taking the bread from your own children, and giving it to those of others. Allowing this to be true, the motive for withholding a be- nefit from others is too selfish for a ge- nerous mind to listen to for a moment. But luc kily, like most arguments against the am lioratkm of the human race, it is futile. Every discovery and improve- ment in -nechanics gives employment to hundrev > of all classes of the commu- nity. The more you add to the power of a nation, the more you enrich her and every individual she contains. James Watt, the son of a" schoolmaster, in a» obscure village, has done more teal good to the people of Great Britain than all the statesmen she has produced since the revolution. The more widely you diffuse education, by fair and honour- able means, the greater is your chance of bringing forward such men, and of increasing the wealth, the power, and the happiness of the people. A Mechanic of Fleet Street. *#* We have published the above almost as it reached our hands. A few alter- ations in orthography, and one or two in style, we have made ; but, in other respects, it is as it came from its author. In spite of the editorial " we," whieh he has assumed, it is the bon&jide production of a mechanic. That class, always of the highest importance to a nation, always forming one of the main sinews of a country's strength, has only of late fallen into proper hands, and been turned 102 Cambridge Ale. [sept. towards purposes worthy of intellectual beings. This good work has been, in a great degree, effected by the Mechanics' Institution, a most interesting body, of whose rise and progress we, ore long, shall take most decided notice. It has given us great pleasure to perceive that they have properly appreciated the designs of trading politicians of all parties, who have occasionally come among them, and are determined to keep aloof from the furtherance of all such humbugs. The Me- chanics' Magazine, alluded to by our correspondent, is a work of much more pith than its unpretending appearance would lead the unreflecting to imagine. No work we know of has contributed more to diffuse information among the people. We trust that similar principles as those which actuated our correspondent will long continue to spread among the order to which he belongs — they would soon raise them above what they have been too long made by those who care nothing whatever for their real interests. What that has been we can tell them in a word, with which they are very familiar — They have been, on all occasions, made neither more nor less than — tools. P. S. We suppose that it is totally unnecessary to remark, that our correspon- dent is a Scotchman — it is quite evident, from his universally citing Scotland as his authority, on all occasions, according to the general practice of all folk north of the Tweed. We wonder why he has not mentioned the Glasgow Mechanics' Ma- gazine. AH in good time ! CAMBRIDGE ALE. A little book, in a dictionary shape, has been just published, under the title of Gradus ad Cantabrigiam. The wit is poor enough, and the slang no great matter. The Cantabs ought to do better things. However, as we are professed ale-drinkers, we were glad to see one little bijou from John's on that subject; and accordingly, having nothing to do this fine morning, we translate it, giving the preface from the dictionary. " Ale. Cambridge has been long celebrated for its ale; we have ourselves quaffed no small quantities of this inspiring beverage, and remember the rapturous exclamation of a celebrated classic on receiving some dozens of Audit * stout, 'All hail to the Ale, it sheds a halo round my head.' " (Which, as we go along, we must remark, was a very stupid attempt at wit on the part of the celebrated classic.) " Among the many spirited effusions poured forth in its praise by Freshman, Soph, Bachelor, and Bigwig, none appears more worthy of record than the following Sapphic ode, from that cradle of the Facete, St. John's College. In Cerealem Haustum: ad Promum Johannensem, A. D. 1786. I. Fer mihi,+ Prome, oh ! cohibere tristes Here, waiter, here, bring me a bottle of ale, Quod potest curas! Cerealis haustus The best of all medicines for banishing Sit mihi prcesens relevare diro care, Pectora luctu. A medicine I never have known yet to fail In making blue devils to vanish in air. * Audit. A meeting of the master and fellows, to examine or audit the College accounts. A feast in hall succeeds, on which special occasion is broached that " aureum nectar" cele- brated above, Gradus ad Cantabrigiam. It is a favourite subject with the university wits. So poor Marmy Lawson, in his parody on Gray's ode, Dear lost companions in the spouting art; Dear as the commons smoking in the hall; Dear as the audit ale that warms my heart, Ye fell amidst the dying Union's fall. And again— Fill high the Audit bowl, The feast in hall prepare. f A word most obnoxious to a pun. Who does not know the old clench— Prome, Prome, pro- me potum ? 1824.] Cambridge Ale. 103 Ilanc sitim ssevam cetera domare, Hoc (puella absente) leva dolens cor Ueus mihi curse, Cereale donum, Fer medicamen. Euge! non audis?* sibilat fremitque Aureum nectar, fluviique ritu Aspice a sumrao ruit ore zythus Spumeus obbae ! Cernis \ ut vitro nitet invidendo Lucidus liquor ! comes it facetus Cui jocus, quteum Venus et Cupido Spicula tingunt. II. Were my bosom with sorrow just ready to burst, And no woman were near, 'tis to this I should fly j [thirst, So here with its flood, let me banish my And draw from it courage, my grief I defy. III. Ha ! bravo ! d'ye hear it ; it whizzes and pops, This nectar of gold ; and as fast as the tide Does the worshipful extract of barley and hops [side. Flow frothing all over the black-bottle's IV. See, see, how the glass which I envy, by Jove, [quor's beam ; Shines glorious and bright in the glad li- Wit comes at its call — and the goddess of love [in its stream. Hastes with Cupid, his arrows to bathe Nunc memor charse cyathum replebo Virginis! curae medicina suavis! Hinc mihi somni — ah quoque, suaviora Somnia somno. O Dapes § quae Isetitiamq ; prsebes Omnibus vero veneranda Diva! Tu mihi das, alme Ceres, amanti Dulce levamen. Hos bibens succos generosiores Italis testis nihil videbo Hos bibens succos neq ; Gallicanae Laudibus uvae. Cum Johannensi latitans suili t Grunnio, et scribo sitiente labro Hos bibam succos et arnica musis Focula ducam. To the health of my darling a bumper I fill,- Here's my love ! of all sorrow a solace is she. Sleep will follow the draught — ay, and dreams sweeter still [may be. Than slumbers, no matter how sweet they VI. O goddess, who fills every stomach with food, And bosom with fun, mighty Ceres, all hail ! [mood, The pangs of my love in its gloomiest Are allayed by this potion of generous ale. VII. While quaffing this liquor more noble by much, I care not a farthing for Italy's wine; While quaffing this liquor I care not to touch What France can produce from her much bepraised vine. VIII. Then while lying at ease in my own Johnian sty, I grunt and I scribble with still thirsty lip, This liquor to poesy, sacred will I In the name of the muses unceasingly sip. *'.f Bottled ale highly up." Gradus. f An allusion to the University name for the men of John's— Johnian Hogs. Whence it arose has not been rightly, or with any degree of probability, ascertained. A variety of con- jectures are offered in the Gentleman's Magazine, for 1795, with the following jeu d'esprii:— "A genius espying a coffee-house waiter carrying a mess to a Johnian in another box, asked if it was a dish of grains. The Johnian instantly wrote on the window Says , the Johns eat grains, suppose it true, They pay for what they eat— does he so too ? {A mighty pointless attempt at a jeu d'esprit, by ike bye.) Another writer, whom I should suspect to be Mayslerre Ireland , the pseudo-Shakespeare, 104 Taking Care of an Invalid. [sept. TAKING CARE OF AN INVALID. So far back as 18 — , being advised to remove from (he cily of ■ '< to the country, for the benefit of my health, which had got somewhat out of order by close study and confinement ; instead of taking up my residence at a watering- place, I resolved to ramble through some parts of Durham. Letters of introduc- tion were easily procured from some friends, to acquaintances living near such places as I proposed to visit. My reader need not for a moment be appre- hensive, that he is about to be bored with a prosing journal, detailing accounts of scenes, rocks, and vallies— no such thing — the " cuisine," is somewhat more to my taste ; and there is not a reason- able being in existence, who will not frankly admit that the pleasantest view, seen in the whole of a country trip, is the view of the " dejeuner.'\ My first visit was to a plain straight- forward fox-hunter, to whom I had an introduction, and who received me with all the frankness usually attendant on such a character, assuring me, at the same time, how much he regretted that the state of my health would not allow me to go deep into the bottle, but that Mrs. — — would take charge of me, and see my wants attended to. Here is some of the influence of " gossiping ;" long before my arrival, every, little cir- cumstance connected with me was fully known, and thus it plays its part, in- fluencing in some way even the minutest concerns of our lives. At dinner, Mrs. rqsolving to take charge of me, assigned me the seat'next to her. Mr. was in the act of ask- ing, whether he should send me part of the dish before him, and I was just as- senting (it happening to be the very thing I should have preferred) but, the hostess at once interposed, asking, with the greatest surprise, could " any such thing be recommended to an invalid. She must be allowed to know what was, and what was not fit, for a delicate per- son, and had prepared under her own eye, ' a made-dish,' such as was fit for an invalid after a journey/' Spirits of Kitchiner! of Curtis! and all the other aldermanic tribe of eating animals, look down with pity on a poor disciple, whose only fault was that of having been troubled with a bit of a short cough, or a little thickness of wind, and for this small offence was doomed, in the face of the very fare lie could have feasted on, to eat that which he ever loathed, and the very sound of whose name, even now, makes him shudder — " a made dish, after a journey !" To prescribe the quality of the thing to be eaten, seemed a mere preliminary act of guardianship on the part of my hostess ; to order the quantity followed naturally enough, as a matter of course ; but, though with patient submission to inexorable fate, I ate almost to reple- tion of viands thus presented, my only recompence was> — " Oh, you really are doing nothing, you have scarcely eaten a morsel." Repeated assurances that I already had abundance were oPno avail, my plate was still loaded with unsparing hand. To diversify the scene, or rather to produce a diversion, I tried to get some fluid to sip, by way of interlude ; and while in the act of calling to the servant, my hostess, ever watchful of my com- forts, seemed disposed to crown her attentions, by adding to the pile already before me, but her attention was roused to another subject. The sound of the word, " glass of ale," as I called to the servant, suspended every other purpose. lias, or pretends to have, discovered the following, in a very scarce little book of epigrams, written by one Master James Johnson, Clerk, printed in 1613. To Ike Sckollers qfSainct John his College. Ye Johnnishe men, that have no other care, Save onelie for such foode as ye prepare, To gorge youre foule polluted trunks withall ; Meere swine ye bee, and such your actyons all; Like themme ye runne, such be youre leadea pace, Nor soule, nor reasonne, shynethe in your face. Edmund Malone, Esq. of 2SfaC& Utttt sagacity, would discover, with half an eye, that the above was not the orthography of 1613. Sainct— themme— reasonne— shijnethe y &c. For a further account, see Cambridge Tart, p. 279. 1824.] Taking Care of an Invalid. 105 " Surely, sir, your physician docs not allow yon ale, it is quite impossible: such beverage is never allowed to an invalid. I see I must take charge of you ; you'i! allow me to show you how to mix yo :r wine and water, it is the only drink fit for delicate persons."- Literally horror-struck at the very name of that vilest of all vile mixtures, wine and water, I still felt that resist- ance or protestation were alike unavail- ing, and so was obliged to make a virtue of sad necessity, and submit with as much composure as I could assume. Wine, sir, as every body knows, was once, even in this great wine-bibbing country, used only medicinally; but now it has be- come so much an article of every day's use, that all trace of its original charac- ter is lost, I mean that character of nau- seousness that appertains to every part and portion of the res-medica — however it was once my lot to drink port, I say medicinal port, with every circumstance of feel and gesture that attends the act of gulping down some compost of the pharmacopolists. Possibly you may have witnessed the sensation that is caused by the arrival of an unexpected guest; and. amongst other causes of bustle, in a country-house that does not rejoice in a w ell-stored wine- cellar the haste with which a courier is dispatched to the next town for the " wine for dinner." — Just fancy, for a moment, such a skipper, returning home with this article of luxury committed to his charge: — see the zeal with which he grasps the neck of a brace of bottles, one in each fist, and then think of the effect that a trot of two or three miles, on a hot day, will have on its contents ; -—then think what must be the feelings of a man, who happened to get a glimpse of the probation to which that luckless wine had been subjected, and at dinner, on asking for a glass of ale, is peremp- torily told he must have Avine and water, which is his utter aversion at the best of times; and then, when an awkward clown clumsily inserts a bad cork-screw, sees, to his utter dismay, the cork come away piecemeal, and the turbid " black strap" issue, gurgling forth, loaded with fragments of cork, or sediment, or both, now rendered even more manifest by the watering to which it is subjected; — when, I say, you have all these prelimi- naries in your mind's eye, just figure a devoted being, endeavouring to still the qualm that kicks at his stomach, and vol. 1. tries to compose the wrinkle that would twirl up his nose, as he prepares to gulp down the nauseous draught, to which his guardian angel had doomed him. — Picture to yourself all this, and have you not, at one view, the very climax of human miserj' ? The dinner-scene, to my great relief, passed away, and the signal for the ladies to retire gave some prospect of being freed from farther outrage, for so it may truly be called ; but my hostess, lest by any possibility I might forget her attention, perceiving my eye to stray towards a flask of clear mountain-dew that was laid on the table, strictly, as her parting injunction, forbad any other liquor than negus. The host was not so excessively sub- missive as to have every command car- ried into execution, and he allowed me to fortify myself with some of the " pa- tience" which he found probably to be. indispensable to himself, whenever he wished to assume even the appearance of being a free agent. Thus strength- ened I took courage, and resolved, that, come what may, at the tea-table I should drink no medicinals. There, happily, no subject of difference occurred ; all went quietly on, and as early hours are necessary for an invalid, I was conducted to my sleeping apartment shortly after 10 o'clock. Here, at my very entrance, I felt a glowing proof of the attention paid to my comforts as an invalid, par- ticularly an asthmatic one ; a huge pile of wood blazed before me, though on referring to my diary I found the time of the year was June ?d. The curtains were drawn closely round the bed, the window-shutters carefully barred, blinds, &c. &c. adjusted so as to defy Boreas himself to slide in one puff to my as- sistance, even if at my last gasp for a mouthful of fresh air. But, Sir ! I was an invalid, and somewhat asthmatic : therefore, in every particular, as you see, treated as such ! ! To undo all the other overt-acts of attention was easy enough, but as for the great blazing log that was literally hissing in the fire- place, to eject that was quite out of the question. So, submission being the order of the day, nothing remained for me, but to make up my mind quietly to bear " those ills we have," though the catalogue seems pretty full, as even the last section of our first day's history testifies— a blazing fire, close curtains, and a pile of down for an asthmatic. P 106 Captain Ogleright. [sept # CAPTAIN OGLERIGHT, A Story, founded upon Facts, by an Officer of the Veterans. list—list — oh — list ! 'Shakspeare. The life of a soldier is checquered by a greater variety of scenes and circum- stances, than that of roost individuals — his wandering profession, his uncertain period of residence in any one particu- lar place — his connections with indivi- duals, suddenly formed, and as sudden- ly to be broken, make him what may be truly called a citizen of the world. — He has no spot upon earth where he can say to himself, this is my fixed place of abode — my home:— No— even after a night of heart-expanding conviviality, when he has sworn eternal friendship with a circle of casual merry-makers and good fellows — when he has been placed upon a level with his betters in wit or wealth, by the potent and equal- izing influence of the grape, or brandy, or whiskey toddy,— he is liable to be roused out of his deep and refreshing slumbers, to be hurried oft" in a twink- ling to some distant part of the king- dom — to some foreign country — or to — the lord knows where. A soldier's life then is one of continu- al excitement, and he who is not an old stager in the profession, and whose heart is unaccustomed to the sudden tearing up of friendships and attachments by the roots, how much pain has he to en- counter before he can pass through the world in a soldier-like kind of way. For my part, I have been always of a pa- thetic and even melancholy turn of mind, and it was the opportunities that I saw in a soldier's life for an indul- gence of my favourite feelings, that first induced me to adopt the profession of the army. A few 3 ears since I was quartered with my regiment in a se- cluded and agreeably-situated town in one of the western districts of the sister- kingdom. All the knowledge of which that 1 shall give my readers is, what they can collect from description. A small river of clear water, meandering through morasses for a distance of seve- ral miles from the mountains where it takes its rise, divides the town into two equal parts, by a sort of east and west division, which are united by a narrow bridge, with houses, inhabited by petty grocers, linen-merchants, retailers of leather, snuff-manufactuiers, with nu- merous and indispensable little venders of native whiskey, which latter house* are always well frequented. — To the east of the town the wide-spreading bog of Allen extends its flat surface of heath and water, to an extent beyond the reach of human eye; the prospect of this wild morass is excluded from the view on the north and south by thick woods, and elevations of the country which diversify the landscape on each side, for a considerable space. To the west, and at about the distance of nine miles, is a chain of hills of very impos- ing magnitude and a variety of shapes, far above the tops of which is seen tow- ering, in majestic superiority, that pile of earth and rock and fern commonly called in the district I am describing, " the hill of the white fairy." The immediate environs of the town are decorated by handsomely-situated little villas, belonging to the gentry of the place : — a few old family-mansions are to be seen, surrounded by lofty trees, the remains of former and more pros- perous days — but those latter edifices are many of them deserted by their owners ; and those that are inhabited by Ihe descendants of goodly ancestors, are much neglected and gone to decay. This town, like most others of equal extent, has its church for the weekly resort of the pious and well-inclined — its goal for the reception of refractory characters, its chapel, so called par ex- cellence, for its Roman Catholics, and its meeting-house for its saints. — It also has to boast of its old castle and its holy well. — At the western entrance there stands a badly whitewashed — desolate — inalt-house looking building, called the Veterans Barracks, appended to one end of which, as a sort of codicil, was a small shop, commonly called the canteen, kept by the sergeant-major's wife, smelling strongly of pipe-clay, red herrings, and rancid butter, and in which a great deal of every thing might be purchased for due consideration. Every object in and about this barrack 1824.] Captain Ogleright. gave one the idea of peaceable and idle times — groups of half-dressed soldiers were to be seen at all hours of the day, with foraging-capson their heads and sus- penders over their waistcoats, loitering about in the sunshine, or gazing list- lessly from the small windows of their apartments, while regiments of newly pipe-clay'd duck-trowsers were suspend- ed on lines to Grenadier ?' Mr. C. Moreatt has sent us a circular letter, touching ' A Chart of the Trade of England;' and, we conclude, that noticing thus much is sufficient for all his purposes. 1824.] A Discursive Letter on Things in General. lib We have not forgotten our promise of noticing the European Review, as A. B. insinuates, but question whether it is worth it. Perhaps next month. ' Inside the Curtain,' mistakes us much if he thinks that we shall open our columns to green-room scandal. If we were so minded, we might do no little in that line ; but it is hardly fair that the private lives of actors and actresses should be liable to a more scrutinizing examination than those of any other people. From X. Q. and his ' Elegies,' we most X. Q. Z. be, And lor the letter which he asks, lo ! we've given him three. We own the joke is an old one, but we could not resist versifying it when we got a lot of elegies with the signature. It is a pity that ' A Tribute to departed Genius,' did not contrive to write better lines than these : ON THE LAMENTED DEATH OF OXBERRY, THE COMEDIAN. Mourn, reader, for the death of one so merry, As him I grieve for, gay Mr. Oxberry. He was a man quite free from any faults, And kept good ale and gin in his wine-vaults. He published from the prompt-book many plays, And never was addicted to bad ways, &c. &c. The bard may have his lines again on calling for them. f Translations from the modern Greek,' probably in our next. We comply with Z. Q.'s request, and give, accordingly, a list of the books of the month, as follows. We may, perhaps, continue to do so, as it appears some people wish for it ; on what principle we cannot conjecture. HullmandeU's Art of Drawing upon Stone, with twenty plates, royal 8vo. 15s. — Life and Journal of the Rev. Joseph Wolf, 8vo. 7s. — Voltaire's Philosophical Dictionary, vol. 4. 12mo. 8s. — Nicholls's Armenianism and Calyanism compared, 2 parts, 8vo. II.— Bearcroft's Practical System of Orthography, 12mo. 3s. 6d. — Canova's Works, 2 vols, roy. 8vo. 41. 4s. — Ditto, large paper, 6/. 6s. — The Human Heart, 8vo. 10s. 6d. — Hawker's Instructions to Young Sportsmen, Third Edition, royal 8vo. 1/. 10s. — An Account of the Peak Scenery of Derbyshire, by J. Rhodes, 8vo. 14s.~ The Art of French Cookery, by M. Beauvielier, 12mo. 7s. — Elgiva, or the Monks, an Historical Poem, 8vo. 8s. — Rus- sell's New School Alias, 8vo. half-bound, 12s. — Pilkington's Dictionary of Painters, new Edition, 2 vols. 8vo. U. 4s. — Malcolm's Poems, f.cap, 8vo. 6s. — Smith's Guide to English Composition, Logic, &c. 8vo. 10s. 6d. — Wentworth's Poetical Note-book, 12mo. 7s.— Dupin's Journal of a Residence in Ashantee, 4to. 2J. 12s. 6d. — Burns' Poems, with Wes- tall's Designs, 12mo. 9s. — Ditto's Songs, with Ditto, 12mo. 9s. — Sutleffe's Medical and Surgical Cases, 8vo. 16s. — Fiulayson on Preserving the Health of Seamen, 8vo. 4s. — Coombe's Elements of Phrenology, 12mo. 4s. — Walton's History of English Poetry, by Park, 4 vols. 8vo. 21. 10s. — Tales of a Traveller, by the Author of the ' Sketch- Book,' 2 vols. Svo. 1/. 4s. — Caprice, a Novel, 3 vols. 12mo. 1Z. Is. — Gurney's Peculiarities of the Society of Friends, new Edition. 12rao. 5s. — A Selection from Denou's Sermons by the Rev. E. Berens, 12mo. 5s. — Paha! That's all — our monthly work is o'er, Good bye until October — And then we'll meet you gay once more, No matter drunk or sober. 120 A Discursive Letter on Things in General. So saying, let us conclude, I lift my eyes upon the radiant moon, That long unnoticed o'er my head has held Her solitary walk : and as her light Recals my waml'ring soul, I start to feel That all has been a dream. Alone I stand Amid the silence. Onward rolls the stream Of time, while to my ears its waters sound With a strange rushing music. O! my soul ! Whate'er betide, for aye, remember thou These mystic warnings, for they are of Heaven. [SEP! POSTSCRIPT. On a Couple of Sentences in the last Noctes A mbrosiance. O'Dohbrtv. — " You would disapprove, I suppose, of the attack on De Quincy in the John Bull Magazine ?" North. — "Disapprove? I utterly despised it; and so, no doubt, did he. They say, he is no scholar, because, he never published any verbal criticism on Greek authors — what stuff," &c. We beg leave to set Mr. North right, on two most important facts, which lie has, most magnanimously, mistated, in this last speech of his. In the first place, whether he despised our article on Quincy, (it is really too ridiculous to call him 7?£ Quincy) or the contrary, which is not of much consequence to the world in gen ral, the little animal himself did no such thing, for he immediately wrote half-a-dozen mortal pages, in answer, for the London, which Taylor, with sounder sense, suppressed, well-knowing, that the less that is said about these things the better; and, being perfectly conscious that any thing in the shape of reply would call down, from us, a crushing rejoinder. Such was the manner of Quincy's contempt for us, and we know that he is, this very moment, writhing under the infliction. Secondly, We did not say he was no Greek scholar, because he had never pub- lished verbal criticisms on the language. We said, he had never published any thing- whatever, which could make us suspect that he knew Greek, and we repeat it. We added a proof that he had quoted, in the London, some Greek verses, abounding in blunders; which, if he had been a scholar, he could not have missed observing, without dropping a hint of their incorrectness. We have no- thing but his word for it, that he knows Greek. He is, we own, constantly referring to Plato for example; but, it is perfectly plain, from the blunders which he adopts, that it is from the Latin translation that he derives his informa- tion. The fellow's writings are so utterly contemptible, that they are not worth minute examination to hunt-up and expose his ignorance ; but we defy any body, from them, to prove the affirmative side of the question, and to bring forward any thing, out of his works, barring his own disgustfully boasting assertions, which could warrant any suspicion of his knowledge of Greek. We should like to see somebody take up our defiance. Having thus shewn that Mr. North knew nothing, whatever, of what he was talking about, when he lugged in " the Quincy creature" by the head and shoul- ders, we bid him adieu, begging leave to ask him what end does he purpose to gain by " paiking at us J" We are in perfectly good-humour with him, and are only sorry that he should think fit to quarrel with us, in defence of one whom, but for private reasons, he would most willingly confess to be one of the greatest literary bores ever spewed upon the public. Need we say any more? A nod, &c. &c. THE JOHN BULL Vol. 1. OCTOBER, 1824. No. 4. PROSPECTUS AND SPECIMEN OF A NEW JOE MILLER. In the church-yard of St. Clement Danes, as you proceed down the Strand, after you have passed the famous steeple which that unfortunate blockhead, John Williams, (who wrote by the name of Anthony Pasquin) in one of the few happy moments vouchsafed to his brick- dust-brain,* declared to be a mile-stone run to seed, namely, St. Mary-le-Strand, you will pass by the tomb of Joseph, usually called Joe Miller. There should the punster come the earliest guest, And there the joker crack his brightest jest ; And many a quiz should o'er that ground be played, That ground now sacred by Joe's relics made. — Popb. There are few more holy spots in this our metropolitan town. We think that there ought to be a regular annual pil- grimage to the grave. All the wits of the city — by which we mean pot merely the regions inside Temple Bar, but also the adjoining dominions of Westminster and Southwark — should go in gloomy pro- cession, with a sad smile on their coun- tenances, induced by a jest of James Kenny, or What-d'ye-call-him Pool. There they should shed tears over their departed chief, as Madam Poki, Moun- seer Bogi, or Mr. Poodle Byng, did over the inanimate corpse of Tamahamaha, Dog of Dogs and King of the Sandwich Islands. And quaffing round the woeful ground, Should troll the mournful ditty ; And sigh for him who lies below, The jovial and the witty. Joe was a comedian of the lowest class — the Teague of his day. The Irish- man declared himself no Irishman— but, perhaps, it was on the same principle that Matthews declares Yatesno mimic, t * So Gilford — or Gilford's friend, in the notes on the Baviad and Meeviad. TO ANTHONY PASQUIN. Why dost thou tack, most simple Anthony, The name of Pasquin to thy ribald strains ? Is it a fetch of wit, to let us see Thou, like that statue, art devoid of brains ? But 'twill not do — for altho' Pasquin's head Be full as hard, and nigh as thick as thine ; Yet has the world, admiring, thereon read Many a keen jest, and many a sportive line : But nothing from thy jobbernowl can spring, Save impudence, and filth; for out — alas '. Do what you like 'tis still the same vile thing, Within all brick-dust, and without all brass, &c. &c. We quote from memory — but the whole should be read — and particularly with Williams's own special pleading notes on it. t " Why, Sir," Matthews says, « Yates ought to stick to what he can do. There never VOL. I. R 122 Prospectus and Specimen of a New Joe Miller. [OCT. — because the imitation is too true to be palatable. He kept a public-house, at the back of St. Clement's, and we war- rant was a good man to call up, to sea- son a second bowl by a song. He could not read or write — but neither can Kean. It did not hinder him from being the worse player ; and though, like the tragedian, he did not keep a private secretary to spell for him, he married a wife to read him his parts — which was better. As for his wit, we doubt not that he was great in the green-room, and shining over a shoulder of mutton — but, verity forces us to confess, that we have only one jest of his recorded, which amounts to no more than this, that he, being one time called on to wonder at the length of a pike (fish), which was three feet long, declared that he saw no wonder in it, having frequently handled a half-pike double that length — as, in- deed, he did, if he ever handled a spon- toon. His name, nevertheless, is registered on the roll of wit — prime, and first-rate — by the universally-known fact, that it is blazoned in everlasting colours on the title-page of our current Encyclopedia of Waggery. Not wishing to tease or perplex our readers with archaeological details, in the manner of that patriarch of magazinery, John Nichols, or biblio- graphical Balaam, like the reverend Thomas Frognall Dibdin, we shall not enler into the reasons which have seated him on this magnificent throne to look dowji on us, inferior tribes of jest- mongers. Let those who wish bother their brains with such speculations — we ever detested dry discussions, and never wrote for the Gentleman's Magazine. Sad is it to say, that his tome hath grown venerable ; you could not now make a ten-year-old stripling laugh at the best joke in the book. He would as soon think of smiling at the sallies of Jackass — we beg pardon — Janus We- thercock in the London. All are known, familiar as Mother Barbauld's Little Charles, or Toby Taylor's, of Ongar, barbarous inventions for decoying young children into decorum, if you hazard one in company, " Bah !" says some red-nosed soaker in the corner, ** p. 43," and you are abashed. No new person has arisen to correct this lamentable state of affairs. Keat's Flowers of Wit are as unpalatable as his late namesake's (John the Ipecacuanhian's) Flowers of Poesy, or brimstone — and the contem- porary* attempt of a similar nature proves its author to be what his name indicates — a very wee-wit — Sir. (That is a bad pun, and, moreover, an old one; therefore, good reader, pass it by, and pretend you did not see it). Moreover, and above, sorry are we to declare that many jokes appear in the book of Josephus of that nature, which is not readable before virgins and boys. We cannot quote examples, because that would be as bad as what we blame; but let any body go down to Bromptou, and there turn over Ihe volume, in com- pany with that venerable philanthropist, Mr. Will. Wilbeiforee, either at bis own hospitable mansion, over a quid of opi- um — or at the sign of the Two Brewers, over a pot of beer from the Cannon brewery, and we are sure he will point out many most reprehensible passages, without our being reduced to the neces- sity of sullying our pages by them. From such dangerous and combustible mate- rials the compiler of a book of faceties must, now a-days, most strenuously re- frain. Yet weed Joe of these, and you sadly diminish the thickness of his vo- lume, Again ; Sterne complains, in his Tris- tram Shandy, that writers are but too often similar to apothecaries, in conti- nually pouring the same liquor into one vessel from another. He meant to be severe in this senlencc on plagiaries — and, with great consistency, stole that very sentence itself from old Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy. Now, a more apothecary-like pilferer than Joseph never existed. " Half of Joe Miller," said the reverend Sydney Smith, long ago in the Edinburgh Beview, " may be traced to Athens— and the other half to Bagdad." This, though not quite true — for your professed wits never let a story slip without mending it — is almost so. was such acting as his Iago to my Othello — highly applauded in Liverpool. The Liver- pool men have more real taste than the Londoners. But then the fellow Hatters himself he is a mimic — He is no more a mimic, by G — , than I am an alderman. And then he thinks he takes me off— no more like me, by G— , than—. Besides, mimicking people is so unfair." t Wewitzer's . -, we forget what. 1824.] Prospectus and Specimen of a New Joe Miller. 123 Joe's Irishmen are the Scholastici of Hierocles, and the very bull* which a brother-re viewer of the parson's declared, in his review of Miss Edgeworth's Irish Bulls, to be the ne plus ultra of bull- making, is actually to be found figuring in the pages of the Grecian. So much for learning. Now, it has struck us that we could get up a jest-book of our own, and that nothing was wanted but a beginning to make us go merrily on. The current wit of the month, (as Dr. Johnson called it in his letter to Case) will always, we think, afford us material sufficient, with- out at all poaching on the newspapers, who never pick up the really good things ; and, therefore, as the thing only wants a commencement, let us, wilhout farther prospectus, (a thing which we have already and most truly denounced as humbug) dash off, little caring whether our first dozen — for we shall limit our- selves to a dozen — be particularly good or not. Like smugglers, we shall be con- tented if we carry one cargo in five. 1. MRS. COUTTS. Mrs. Coutts made her appearance the oilier day on the links of Leith — dressed in a most magnificent fashion — so as quite to overawe our northern neighbours. " Hoot, mon," said a gen- tleman by-standing, who did not know who she was, " you's a bra' gudewife — she'll be a countess, I'm thinking?" — " No," replied Mr. David Brydges, " no just a countess- but what's better — a discountess." 2. OXFORUS-STREET. Why is Oxford-street like a thief's progress ? This lengthy street, of ceaseless din, Like culprit's life extending, At famed St. Giles's doth beg-in — At fatal Tyburn ending-. 3. NONE OF YOUR FORMAL VISITS. Frederick North, some short time since, on his return from the opera, found the house of his next neighbour but one on fire, and hastened to volun- teer his exertions to extinguish it. In order to do this more efficiently, he got on the roof of his own house, and crossed over to that of the house in danger. Here he mistook a window in the roof for leads, and, unluckily, slept on it : of course lie broke through, and came down through the entire house, tum- bling down the welled staircase. He received some fractures, and was taken up senseless. It was a long time before he recovered. When he did, he had totally forgotten every thing connected with the accident. He remembered go- ing to the opera, and returning from it ; but the fire, and the fall, had totally been obliterated from his brain. Those about him informed him of all these things, and added, among the rest, that the gentleman, in whose house he was hurt, had been unremitting in his visits to inquire about him. " Aye," said North, " he was returning my call; for, you know, I dropped in oil him the other night." 4. THE CREDIT OF THE THING. A methodist preacher was once seized with a fancy for converting the jews, and invited them to atlend his chapel to hear him preach. Several attended the call. In the course of his sermon to them, he took occasion to describe our Saviour's entry into Jerusalem, of which he gave rather a new version. " He entered the city," said he, " mounted on a magni- ficent charger, covered with purple hous- ings, and decked with trappings of gold and silver." One of his flock, who knew the facts of the case, could not stand this ; " Why, brother," cried he, " it was upon an ass that he rode." — " And if it was," replied the preacher, redden- ing with indignation, "should we be the first to expose the circumstance, and that before such company." 5. SHELLEY'S POETRY. The Duke of Gloucester was playing whist the other day, when an ace was played in a suit, of which he had no cards. "I'll ruff it," said his Royal Highness. — " I'm at it, " — " Then," said Col. D. , " your Roy al Highness is like one of Shelley's heroes — Prince Athanase." (at-an-ace.) 6. TRANSLATIONS. The old schoolmaster's translation of the first line of Caesar has been long a standing joke at our universities ; " Om- * That of the man in a coffee-house writing a letter, and perceiving an Irishman looking" over him. He immediately wrote, " I should write more, but that I find a blackguard Irishman is looking over my shoulder, and reading every word I write." — " You lie, by J s," said the Irishman, " I did not read a word of it." The " by J— — s" of course makes it an Irish story — but it is, nevertheless, in Hieroc lc» R2 124 Prospectus and Specimen of a New Joe Miller. [OCT. nis Gallia divisa est in partes tres." — " All Gaul is quartered into three halves;" but our current literature can match it. A French translator interprets "the Green Man and Still" into " L'hommt verd et tranquille ;" and we have as good on our side of the channel. In the tran- slation of the Memoirs of the Duchess of Orleans, just published, " Deux en sont uiorts, et on dit publiquement qu' ils ont ete empoisonnees," is thus rendered, " Two of them died with her, and said, publicly, that they had been poisoned; 7 ' which was clever for dead men. 7. PUNS FOR CHEESE. Dialogue between Horace Twiss and Horace Smith. S. " This curst old cheese would be well named in French." T. " How V S. " Why, it is rotten from age." T. " Very well, indeed — but ugly as it looks it is like love itself, for it is all- mity." 8. THE DISAGREEABLE SURPRISE. Tom Campbell, some time since, on a visit to his native land, stopped at Haddington, and was particularly struck with the beauty of a pretty chamber- maid. He got to bed, and fell asleep to dream of her. Out of his slumber he was gently awaked, and, to his great delight, saw this charming girl standing by his bed-side with a light, seemingly a little embarrassed. " Would you, Sir," she stammered out, " have any objection to a bedfellow?"— "Objection!" said Tom, starting up, "how could I? I shall be delighted — overjoyed." — " Oh ! Sir," replied the girl, quite pleased, " I am sae glad ! There's a drunken loon o' a rider frae Brummagem below — and we ha'e nae bed for him— sae I made bauld to ask to turn him in wi' you, for nae other body wad thole him, (endure him) an I'm muckle obliged for yer sae kindly consenting." 9. A HINT. Luttrel, though a good conteur, occa- sionally proses. He was the other night telling rather a long story, — when Rogers interrupted him by saying, " I beg your pardon, Luttrell ; but, I am sure the person, from whom you heard that anecdote, did not tell you the whole of it."—'' He did," said Luttrell. "Ah !" said Rogers, " I took it for granted you never could have waited for the end of it." 10. REGENT-STREET. When Regent-street was first build- ing, Perry attacked the plan and execu- tion of it most bitterly, in the Morning Chronicle. Nash casually met him, and complained of this. " If,'' said the ar- chitect, " you would point out any de- fects in the street, I should, most wil- lingly, correct them, and adopt your views, if I thought them well founded." " Why, Sir," replied Perry, " I am no architect, and, therefore, cannot enter into details;— but I dislike the street from one end to the other." — " I do not doubt it," said Nash, nettled, " for one end is the Regent's house — the other, his park." This repartee has been neatly versified : — Says Perry, " With minor defects, my good friend. My head I don't mean to be teasing ; I object to the whole — for the street, from one end To the other, to me is displeasing." " I doubt it not, Sir," replied Nash, in a fret, Which he now was unable to smother, « For the house of the Regent at one end i» set, And his park, we all know, forms the other." 11. GAS-LIGHTING. Shortly after gas-lamps were adopted in London, a gentleman walking down Piccadilly observed to his companion, that he thought they gave the street a very gay appearance. " Pardon me," said the other, " I think it looks most gas-ly,"— (ghastly.) 12. POLITENESS. " George," said the king to Colman, " you are growing old." — " Perhaps so," was the reply, " but lam a year younger than your majesty." " A year younger, George ! how do you know that ?" " First, by the almanack, please your majesty; — and, secondly, because my innate loyalty is such, that I should not presume to walk into the world before my king." So far for our first dozen. — We hope it is our worst. Chorus of readers. — So do we. 1824.] Extract from a Poem, 125 TO THE EDITOR OF THE JOHN BULL. Worthy Mr. Bull, Demonopolis. His High -Mightiness of the lower regions laughed so exultingly at your accept- ance of his Rhymes, that although (by his order) I send you the enclosed, my concern for you suggests that you would do well to commit them to the flaming return-post I once mentioned : — unless, indeed, you think of being speedily with us, and, in that case — you can put them in your pocket. Yours for ever, Clan. Clovenquill. Erratum in last Extract, Page 93, Stanza 45, From e: mask'd goodly batteries," dele " goodly." FURTHER EXTRACTS FROM A POEM THAT WILL NOT BE PRINTED ENTIRE. DIABOLUS LOQUITUR. 9. I shall not, like Asmodeus,lift the roof Of every house that holds a knave (in London), To shew my trembling pupils, from aloof, What deeds are done, what men are made or wndone : His was, indeed, an admirable art ; But less than mine, for I unroof the heart. 10. And little hardship can I find in that ; When all the daedal workmanship's my own ; For my repairs fit in so very pat, And frequent, that I seldom leave a stone Of the first building, — doing as the nurse did, Who darn'd a pair of hose from silk to worsted. ******* 13. Perhaps, as I'm turned author, I should give The preference to such of that degree As I may deem the most deserve to live To the all-infamous eternity, That Satan's mention surely will bestow on them, — Making time's billows blacken as they flow on them. 14. And, on reflection, there are few that have An equal claim to such pre-eminence ; And none a greater, — still " except and save" The two great corps of g — and b — , whom hence- Forward I'll handle with all due decorum, But, for this once, bards must be d— d before 'em. 15. The witty sinners ! they have swarm'd in shoals, Begging but one small quill from out my wing To pen their lies ; and offering e'en their souls For such a syphon to Castalia's spring : 'Twas a sore point, for Michael's huge hand-rocket Singed almost every feather from its socket ; 16. However, I have saved them a few stumps, Trick'd up with beards I strip from off the plumes Moulted by angels, when perchance the dumps O'ercloud their heavenly nature, which assumes An earthly groseness, and, on such occasions, I furnish pens for poets of all nations. 126 Extract from a Poem. [oct. 17. 'Tis wonderful, indeed, how well they write ; The barrels being warranted " well-baked," Dingy perhaps, — but that, with vanes so bright, Is not perceived, — and he who ne'er has slaked His thirst of curiosity by trying them, Cannot do better than be quickly buying them. 18. The cost is economical, for 'tis But giving what it's ten to one I shall have. Whether a gift or no ; and small is his Wit, or I should say, he can none at all have. Who will not make a virtue while he may Of giving what I soon shall snatch away. 19. And even those who prize not virtue's fame Would like to be considered men of business, And have some value for the thing they claim, However feebly; but in some a dizziness Hinders their noting the sly gulf below Whereinto at the next blind step they go : 20. And thus in idle sport they carry on Hypocrisy's dull farce, — at perfect ease, — Thinking as they've to-day a soul their own, To-morrow they may sell it, if they please, — Ne'er dreaming, when at last the market's full, The sales may probably be rather dull. 21. I shall not always pay the present price To those who vend me their k( immortal part;"* Now-fame for pride, and gold for avarice, Sore for the head, and pleasure for the heart, Exemptions from the worst of worldly ills, And, — as I said, — for bards, my patent quills. * * * * * * * - • 27. However, Pve no reason to complain, For murders, rapes, and all that sort of thing, Are what alone can e'er assuage the pain I feel or have felt, — dear as the cool spring To a parch'd lip, they seem the contribution a Gen'rous world makes to pay Heaven's executioner.* 28. Liberal enough it ever was, I own ; But those same ,t Brimstone reward them for*t ! themselves alone Have made it, since they wrote, as much again, By the sweet sins their scribeships blest my sight with, Besides the spirit they made others write with. ******* But I rejoice at the " strange alteration" That if years have wrought" in S y's destination.! • This rhyme is Cockney— and I grieve I penned it— But, gentle reader, I've not time to mend it. f Mysterious.— Editor. J Though we have let the devil's tongue loose on our chief Poet, yet we must say, that, in this instance, it is quite at variance with our own opinions. — Editor. Extract from a Poem. 127 31. In his youDg days I gave him up for lost, And deem'd me of one sin-born soul bereft, Treading bright Freedom's path ; but he soon crost Over to my side — ratting to the left, Which, lest you may not understand me quite; In death is what the living call the right." . 32. This bard, I say — for so the Crown has dubb'd him — Too politic to be a politician, When soap of gold from honour had clean scrubb'd him. Now took upon himself to make decision, — Shunning, of course, to argue, for you all Know that all arguments are radical — 33. On the respective merits of the dead; Induc'd to it, no doubt, good man, by reading The work on which a word or two I've said, Where finding that some gents, with small good-breeding Had penn'd (unhang'd) lampoons on their Creator, And every beauteous ordinance of Nature. 34. He thought that he might fairly 'scape a swinging — Perhaps a singeing, as he saved Heav'n trouble — If he awhile amused himself with flinging The Almighty's bolts around; he might, too, double His earthly pension, by the heav'nly pay He shower'd on some that I had stow'd away. 35. But there I nabb'd him. While he was contented To "deal damnation round the land," and show How ultra-loyal was the rage he vented On many a former friend, his present foe, I praised ; and Heav'n scarce blamed him, though astonish'd, Knowing how few could be unjustly punish'd ; 36. But when he seized upon salvation too, And handed it about in brimming measure, All of all regions vow'd to make him rue This daring waste of Heav'n's rewarding treasure, Lavishing it on folks no whit entitled, And robbing me of souls that I by right held. 37. States might admit a hangman volunteer, To save the wages — spite of JacWs objections — But, few a self-placed treasurer would endure, To ope the public purse to his connections; Thus, though a king in fight may need allies, He seldom asks their aid to share the prize. 38. But I have done with S y; let him roll Through the world's common-sewer, which in time- Yet he may'clare it — soils the purest soul, Fitting it for the epithet " sublime," A Latin flower of praise that none would claim Who guess d the filthy root from which it came. 128 Extract from a Poem. [OCT. 39. Yes — I have done with him; at least in this World, though I hope to meet hitn in another ; A meeting fraught, to one, at least, — with bliss; — And will not he, too, joy to see the smother Of his friend's fireside kindling to receive him ? Oh ! what a warm reception I will give him ! 40. His works, — prose, verse, plays, letters, epics, all — Except W T , that was own'd above, Before a touch of mine could on it fall, — I have cramm'd in, and on my largest stove, Thinking it meet his Muses should expire, Like Eastern widows, on their husbands' fire. 41. And to both Muse and spouse its much more creditable Thus to be fried, than die a natural death; Though one might grace a shelf, the other head a table, Awhile, they both must yield their fame or breath, Not being immortal; p'rhaps if widows were, Or might be, suttees would be somewhat rare. 42. But as it is, when the last links are riven That bound the Spirit to its native clod, Yet gall and canker still, if means are given To shake them off, and seek a new abode, Why, convicts deem it better far to try one's Fate at the tree, than linger on in irons. 43. But, by this time, some folks may wish to know Why thus I trample on a name that's dead; A name already laid so basely low By the best pen an inkhorn ever fed? — I answer — paltry malice fits my station, And devils, like men, Come, in honour, love, and truth, Come, the hour of bliss is nigh. Come to me, thou much-loved youth. And if the experiment succeeds, ought they not to suspect that their verses are not ballasted with good-sense, else they would not be so easily overset? P. N. is not only ignorant but imper- tinent ; and if we discover, as we in all probability shall do, his real name, we shall show him that we know how to tickle a malefactor who beards us in our den. The Billingsgate Melodies do not shine in wit. There is a little power of fear displayed in the introductory prose, hut the MS. Magazine of Merchant Taylors should consist. of better things than such stuff" as " I'll in," says Betty Bowers, " I'll in and take some gin j For I expect some showers From Donkey's horrid din. For Donkey He did bray All on his way To Billingsgate. The lion's jaws she entered— &c " Yonng gentlemen ought to be better employed, lie who writes about don- keys, should reflect for a while whether he is himself not copiate in some respect with the objects of his muse. From -some expressions, however, in the letter signed " Peter Salmon," we should have no objection to hear again from "the large red brick building deep in one of the narrow streets of the city, bounded on one side by Thames-street and the brewery of the Borough cham- pion, and on the other by plodding East- cheap." We-must again repeat, that we do not intend to fill our pages with reviews, and, therefore, decline the very clever one on Dr. Mac CoUoch'-s excellent Tour through the Highlands of Scot- land ; this we do with reluctance. We decline also the trashy puff on Wash- ington Irving's Tales of a Traveller.; This we do with the greatest pleasure. " A Rum One" must pardon us when we tell him that be is " a milk and wa- ter one." 1824,] To our Correspondents and Others 157 Christopher will see he has been at- tended to. R. F. in our next. We have no objection to a Carthusian's promised translations, only let ihein not Jbie too lengthy. We shall conclude thi$ .article with a spirited song by a. friend, .who stands us on this occasion instead of a herald. To our trusty, arid well-beloved Friend, the Editor of ike John Bull Magazine.— These come greeting. It giveth me much satisfaction, my hearty ^nd loving sub- ject, for so to you (under favour) do I owe my revivification— must I call you ; it giveth me much satisfaction, that I have at last found, in .the land of Cockaigne, a champion able and williug to throw down the glove in my behalf, to maintain and practice my ancient rights, to proclaim unto the death my indisputable sovereignty. A canting spirit on the one side, and an affected one on the other, odious and horrible as the pestilential birds of fable, have too long been permitted to flap their noxious wings in the face of jolly wisdom ; insomuch that the plump, cheerful dame, was hardly able to sit inner arm-chair, and scarcely dared to grin her delight at the farce of life, enacted about her. Hypocrisy, with her army of self-taught preachers, almost V poor-souled" her to her grave; whilst finical and fashionable abstinence nearly brought the old soul io death's door, without giving her .a struggle for her mortality. But the day of regeneration is arrived, and the shout of" up, up and be doing," hath gone abroad from the south even unto the north, and the east and the west winds shall do my bidding. My " regular pewter quart" shall take its glorious stand again, and the " brown jug" shall " foam" its spirit forth in the high places, and at the jovial feast board. My monarchy shall again flourish in the year of ante-cant twenty-four. John Barleycorn;, Burton Ale-house, 1 o'clock, p. m. Commonly called Sir John Barleycorn. Editor of John Bull, Friend of the bottle, Shout with glad voice and fall, Cite each wet throttle. Come away, worst and best, Hark to die summons; Come from east, come from west, There's no " short commons .'" 2. Come from the deep" shades?' And " cellar" so steaky; The topers, and flash- blades, Are at Cock-a-Leeky, ; Come every shag-coat, And true heart that wears one, Come every gay note, And clear pipe that -cheers one. Quit dull cheer — shirk small beer, Cut wine and water, Come and bring deftly here, Magnums to slaughter, With this song, in the prayer of which we coiucide, we have done, first chaunt- ing a bellman's verse : Begging all Teading people to remember, That we shall come before them in No- vember, Leave undrunken the tea, The " made wine" untasted, At " commerce''' — rearle" Let old maids be basted. Rush as 'the-camels rush , For drink in .Sahara, Come as .the waters, gush Adown Niagara ; Faster come, faster come. Come arid be mellow, ■*' Corinthian'"-^-" kiddy-rum" "Tutor" and " Fellow ! A. In the roll — in the roll — Gay areo.urraustecs, High is ;the waasail-bawj, P,ipes. are jm clusters. Warm or cool — now fill full Pass chaunt, or story — Editor of John Bull, Now for our glory ! Meanwhile we pledge their healths in brim- mers full, And sip ourselves, the Editor of Bull. [ 158 J RHYMING POSTSCRIPT. One Percival has in the press a History of Italy, And Dibdin has some Comic Tales — I hope they're written wittily : Our old friend Vaudoncourt will give us all his Spanish Letters, And Horace Walpole's friends the trash h' has written to his belter*. The Travels, too, of General the Baron Minatoli Will soon be out — I hope they won't, like some folks, prove his folly. Then Patterson upon the Spleen, and Milk upon old chivalry, And Foster's Manuscripts from Locke, and other learned drivelry, And Southey's Hist'ry of the Indies, (I don't mean the Laureat) Which Bob won't give the Quarterly, and Gifford leave to worry at, — Are in the .press — along with an original Nosology ; And old-Monsieur Lamarck's New Illustrations of Conchology. / ; A novel., called Gilmore — and Mr. Bowditch's Madeira, And Surgeon Fosbrooke gives us, in his tome upon the Ear, a Most famous way of curing folk, whose hearing has departed; And for the sake of all deaf men, we trust h' has made a smart hit. A. Wilson promises some tales we know not grave or merry, And Sir R. Hoare will give a book all about Heytesbury. Mr. Powlet is engag'd in writing Letters on the Trinity, And.this one book is all that comes beneath the head " Divinity." Then Cochrane tells us how he liv'd for two years in Columbia, A Hermit comes from Italy — and next we are struck dumb by a New volume of Miss Seward's Letters, which, we think, will never sell at alt; Per Freischutz comes the next in order — but we cannot tell at all How we can ever get a rhyme for Morini's Monnmenta, Or Wentworth's Australasia, unless we could invent a New set of words that one might use on difficult occasions. We hear that Dr. Eastmead has made Sundry Observations On a Hyaena's den — and some Outinian on the Drama, Is publishing Remarks which will be quite enough to damn a Man's reputation evermore for sense : and Astley Cooper Is soon to have his Lectures out ; we hear some barrel hooper Will write some trash about the Wines of Germany and France, And a new book on Duel, which is printing, will advance Our knowledge on that charming art, which few can practice twice. And we're to have some Fire-side Scenes — 1 hope they will be nice; And Mr. Gait has Rothelan, a Story, in the press, And some one else has Naval Sketches printing — I confess The title pleases me much more than Lambert's Genus Pinus, A word which comes most luckily for me to rhyme with finis. Some verses of the above, like Southey's Thalaba, require a verse-mouth to reaJ them — otherwise they might be taken for a hobbling sort of prose. But even if they were, good readers, you need not break your hearts about it, — Need you ? J THE JOHN BULL Him* Vol. 1. NOVEMBER, 1824. No. 5. FURTHER SPECIMENS OF THE NEW JOE MILLER. Our last set of specimens had their due effect. In every sense of the word they told well ; and that being the case, we should be rather absurd if we did not con- tinue them. As we have not now tba necessity of writing a prospectus, or preface, we shall double our dose, and solace our readers with four-and-twenty jests in- stead of twelve. 1. BASIL MONTAGU. Every body knows that Easil Mon- tagu, the lawyer, is a son of the late Earl of Sandwich. Jekyl observed him one day hastening out of court, and asked him where he was going? — " Only to get a Sandwich/' was the re- ply. " Aye," said Jekyl, " turn-about is fair-play." 2. PICCADILLY. George Colman driving lately home- wards through Hyde Park corner, ob- served an apple-stall just by it. " 1 see," says he, " they have made Picca- dilly like a Roman supper. It begins with Eggs,* and ends with apples. 1 ' 3. PUN JUDICIAL. The Roman supper suggested ano- ther pun to old Sir John Sylvester. A thief, who was convicted before him, was proved to have commenced his ca- reer of vice by egg-stealing, from which he proceeded to other acts of depravity. ■ Yes," said Sir John, " ab ovo usque ad mala." 4. TWO KINDS OF TENDER. Mr. Garrow was once cross-examin- ing an old woman, who was witness in a property cause. He wished to elicit from her that his client had made a fair tender to the opposite party, which had been refused, but Mas not able to get it out of her ; on which Mr. Jekyl wrote, on a slip of paper, and threw across to Garrow, these neat lines: — Garrow forbear — this tough old jade, Will never prove a tender maid [made.] 5. y. y. y. The first article of the last number of Blackwood's Magazine, No. 92, ends with the following sentence : — " Heaven preserve our country ! when its children are taught to strip them- selves naked, lhat their enemies may ob- tain their clothing, and to throw them- selves into the flames, that they may avoid the pinching influence of the northern blast; and when they are, moreover, taught that this alone is knowledge, light, and wisdom." [Signed] " Y. y. y." " A very appropriate signature," said John Murray, when he read it, " and quite in keeping with the last word, for where should wisdom come from but the wiseV [?/'*•] 6. BIBLICAL COMMENT. In the 109th Psalm, the 18 6. Then there was another, which, great In scandal, made virtue its pet, And expos'd each t6te-a-tete Of th' intriguing alphabet; It puts me in mind of the Dutch, Who, to make their sons evil eschew, Shew them comical sights — O! such Were not, when this old book was new. 7. But, lord, what a change since then, ■ I scarce can believe my own eyes, For new manners there must be new men, As some old big-wig cries ; Your mags, are your only reading, For so full of learning they grew, Tou'd think they all were bleeding, Now this old book isn't new. 8. There's old King Kit at the head, Long life to the jolly old buck, For his modesty, troth, the less said — Butthere's wit, fun, and plenty of pluck, Many bitter bold things too he says, Though he now and then puffs off some few, Do n't Kit, for we value your praise ' Much more when more scarce and more new. 9. Then stalks the Monthly, my eye, Does it stand on its right end or not? I never behold it but cry " What a tail our old pussey has got," 1824.] Oeoffry Growler to John Bull on his Sins. 165 So solemn, so stupid an air Of wisdom its pages embue ; Poor Colburn, he does not know where He stands, now his book is n't new. 10. Tarn and Col are two puts, let 'em go, We have other game elsewhere, And there goes the London, and oh ! A little the worse for wear ; With still the same subjects on hand, Still boring us with the same crew, Why Mags, were not worse plann'd When this old book was new. 11. We're tired of Bill Hazlitt's gall, We're weary of musical swipes, We're sick of Ned' Herbert the small. His bodtled small-beer gives us gripes; And yet they've some clever scribes, To give the devil his due, They should give higher bribes, And the public something new. 12. And next is Sir Knight with his tail, A pack of young puppies unbroke, Who think that when wit shall fail Sheer pertness as goodas a joke. Atliis dinner I cannot but laugh, 'Tis a poor imitation, t'wont do, Kit's nodes are better by half, His impudence has something new. 13. The Quarterly, pompous and grave, Like an owl in a bush, blinking dull, Can pounce when despair makes it brave, And crack a pretender's thick skull. Old Gifford's the king of the gang, His cookery beats Kitchiner's blue; To make curries of ouran-outang, 'Tis a relishing dish and quite new. 14. The Edinburgh, splenetic, rash, First clawing, then purring, alack ! What a sorrowful sight is a man Grown old, a political hack. Though last, not the least. Sir John Bull, An impudent dog, but true blue, You, his hands, give a long and strong pull, That his Mag. may grow old though now new. 15. But, lord, what a farce are Reviews ! For you know as well as I, John, That howe'er they poor devils abuse, They will still, lad, go gabbling on. ] No, we care not a farthing, and so For no favour we'll truckle or sue, They all to the devil may go, Though that, 1 believe, is not new. V We have given Geoffry's epistle, song and all, as he sent it to us, being determined stand-up fighters, and never afraid of looking a facer straight in the face. First, then, as to Lady Byron. We are sure that her ladyship need not be seriously hurt by any assertions of her profligate lord ; and we know no better way of silencing unfounded and eager calumny, than by actually shewing what the thing really was which had been so much talked about. Her ladyship's character is quite above imputation, and need not be afraid of the sneering of pot-boys or the sniggering of servants. Let our correspondent look at the conversations of Lord B., extracts of which are published in the Attic Miscellany, and then say whether we, who have access when we please to ihe Memoirs of his Life, have been severe or not in our selection. What would Geoffry think of the following bijoux, and Lord and Lady B.'s opinion as to the publication of his memoirs? LORD BYRON'S MEMOIRS. " I am quite indifferent about the world knowing all they contain. There are very few licentious adventures of my own, or scandalous adventures that will affect others, in the book. It is taken up from my earliest recollections, almost from childhood — very incoherent, written in a very loose and fa- miliar style. There are few parts that may not, and none that will not, be read by wo- men.' Another time he said, ' A very full account of my marriage and separation is contained in my memoirs. After thty were completed, I wrote to Lady Byron, proposing to send them for her inspection, thai any mis-statement or inaccuracy (if any such existed, which I was not aware of) might be pointed out and corrected. In her answer she declined the offer, without assigning any reason, but desiring, not on her own account, but on that of her daughter, that they might neverappear, and finishing with a threat. My reply was the severest thing I ever wrote, and contained two quotations, one from Shakespeare, the other from Dante. I told her that she knew all I had written was incontrovertible truth, and that she did not wish to sanction the truth. I ended by saying that she might depend on their being published. [How gentlemanlike a peer!] It was not till after this correspondence that I made Moore the depository of the MS."' HIS MARRIAGE. " The first time of my seeing Miss Mil- banke was at Lady 's. It was a fatal day; and I remember that in going 166 Geoffry Growler to John Bull on his Sins, [not. up stairs I stumbled, and remarked to Moore, who accompanied me, that it was a bad omen. I ought to have taken the warn- ing. On entering the room I observed a ypung lady, more simply dressed than the rest, sitting alone upon a sofa. I took her for a humble companion, and asked Moore if I was right in my conjecture. * She is a great heiress,' said he in a whisper, that became lower as he proceeded, 'you had better marry her, and repair the old place at Newstead.' " There was something piquant, and "' what we term pretty, in; Miss Milbanke; her features were small and feminine, though not regular. She had the fairest skin imaginable. Her figure was perfect for her height, and there was a simplicity and retired modesty about her, which were very characteristic, and formed a striking contrast to the cold artificial formality and studied stiffness of what is called fashion. She interested me exceedingly. . If, is unne- cessary to detail the progress of our ac- quaintance : I became daily more attached to her, and it ended in my making her a proposal that was rejected. Her refusal was couched in terms that could not offend me. • I was besides persuaded, that in declining my offer she was governed by the influence of her mother, and was the more confirmed in this opinion, by her reviving the correspondence herself twelve months after. The tenour of the letter was, that although she could not love me, she desired my friendship. Friendship is a dangerous word for young ladies. It is love full fledged, and waiting for a fine day to fly. • " It had been predicted by Mrs. Williams , that 27 was to be a dangerous age to me. The fortunerie/ling witch was right. It was des- tined to prfive so. . I shall never forget it. Lady Byron {Burn he pronounced it) was the only unconcerned person present. — Lady Noel, her mother, cried. I trembled like a leaf; made the wrong responses, and after the ceremony called her Miss Mil- banke. There is a singular history attached to the ring. The very day the match was concluded, a ring of my mother's, that had been lost, was dug up by the gardener at Newstead. I thought it had been sent on purpose for the wedding ; but my mother's marriagejiad not, been a fortunate one, and this ring was doomed to be the seal of an unhappier union still. "After the ordeal was over, we set off for a country-seat of Sir Ralph's, a~nd I was surprised at the arrangements for the jour- ney ; and somewhat out of humour to find a lady's maid stuck between me and my bridef It was rather too early to assume the husband, and I was forced to submit, but with a very bad grace. Put yourself in my situation, and tell me whether I had ' some reason to be in the s,ulks.'' HIS DEPARTURE FROM IADY BYRON. " Our honey-moon was not all sunshine* It had its clouds; and Hobhouse has some letters which would serve to explain the rise and fall in the barometer; but it was never down at zero. You tell me the world - says I married Miss Milbanke for her for- tune, because she was a great heiress. All I have ever received, or am likely to re- - ceive, was 10,000?. My own income at this period was small, and somewhat be- spoke. Newstead was a very unprofitable, estate,, and brought me in a bare 15002. a- year. The Lancashire property was ham- pered with a law-suit', which has cost me 14,000/. and is not yet finished. We had a house in town, gave dinner-parties, had separate carriages, and launched into every sort of extravagance. This could not last long. My wife's 10,000?. soon melted away. I was beset by duns, and at length an execution was levied, and the bailiffs put in possession of the very beds we had to sleep upon. This was no very agreeable state of affairs, no very pleasant scene for Lady Byron to witness: and it was agreed, she should pay her father a visit till the storm had blown over, and some arrangements been made with my creditors. You may suppose on what terms we parted, from the style of a letter she wrote me on the road. You will think it begun ridiculously enough. ' Dear Duck,' &c. Imagine my astonishment to receive immediately on her arrival, a few lines from her father, of a very unlike, and very unaffectionate nature, beginning, 'Sir,' and ending with saying, that his daughter should never see me again. In my reply, I disclaimed his authority as a parent over my wife ; and told him, I was convinced the sentiments expressed were his, not hers. Another post, however, brought me a confirmation, under her own haud and seal, of her father's sentence. I after- wards learned from Fletcher, my valet, whose wife was at that time femme de chambre to Lady Byron, that after her de- - finitive resolution was taken, and the fatal letter consigned to the post-office, she sent to withdraw it, and was in hysterics, of joy that it was not too late, It seems, however, that they did not hut long, or that she was afterwards over-persuaded to forwrrd it. There can be no doubt that the influence of her enemies prevailed over her affection for me. You ask me if no cause was assigned for this sudden reso- lution ? if I formed no conjecture about the cause ? I will tell you, I have prejudices about women, I do not like to see" them eat. Rousseau makes Julie un peu gourmande , but that is not at all according to my taste. I do not like to be interrupted when I am writing. Lady Byron did not attend to *hese whims of mine. One evening, short- v 1824.] ' Political Eoonorny- 167 ly before our parting, I was standing br- ances, when Lady Byron came up to n:e fore the fire, ruminating upon the em bar- and said, ' Byron, am I in your way?' rassments of my affairs and other annoy- to which I replied, '■Damnably.''" Pretty lights and shadows of domestic life ! We shall not print the still worse morceau on Lady Caroline Lamb. Her friends should decidedly horse-whip the retailer of that conversation. For the sake of manhood we hope it is not genuine. Secondly, as to Kitchiner, he is a humbug, sans phrase, be he sixteen or sixty. He looks the latter. Thirdly, as to Lord Dillon, the name of his novel was wrongly copied by the transcriber ; and the reviewer, who wrote from memory, adopted it without troub- ling his head whether it was Clorinda or Rosalinda. As for his looks, not being able just now to lay hands on our reviewer, we cannot say whether he called them " ugly," for rhymes sake or not; nor does it matter a farthing. Lastly, As to Cockneyism, the best answer we can make is to request our cor- respondent himself to write us an article on the question which he proposes. We doubt not but that he is sufficient to resolve it satisfactorily. POLITICAL ECONOMY. Inscribed to James Mill, Esq. Ev^nnx. Who shall dare to touch the grand corner-stone of this science? Which, like the earth, is " established upon the waters ;'" and this, according to the theory of Dr. Macculloch, and the prac- tice of Conway castle, is the surest foun- dation of any. " Demand," says the Economist, " creates supply ;" and the Economist, is right. Do not we eat "when we are hungry, drink when we are dry, put up our umbrellas when it rains, put on our spencers when it snows, go to bed when we are sleepy, make love when we have nothing to do, and die when we can live no longer ? Not the least doubt of it. The position is every jot as plain and as true as Katerfelto's celebrated lecture upon lightning and thunder, the best, by the way, that the world ever heard upon the subject. " Laties and gentelmans,'' said the philosopher of cats and cards, the best philosophy again, as those virgins whose love is only heavenward invariably pass through it in their progress thither. " Laties and gentelmans," said the philosopher, "I vill tell you vat is de dunder, and I vill tell you vat is de lightnin ; and, Laties and Gentelmans, 1 vill tell you vat not is de dunder, and I vill tell you vat not is de lightnin." Here was the pro and the con, the quid arid the necquids, as palpable as if the proposition had been enunciated by the Stagirite himself. Then came the demonstration ; " La- ties and Gentelmans, de dunder — is de dunder; and de lightnin is— de lightnin ; vox. I. and, Laties and Gentelmans, de dunder is not — de lightnin ; and de lightnin is not — de dunder. Derefore, laties and gentelmans," said the sage, with an air of triumph, " I have tolt you, in de first place, vat positifely is de dunder ; and vat positifely is de lightnin; and, la- ties and gentelmans, 1 have told you, in de second place, negatifely vat not is de dunder, and negatifely vat not is de lightnin. So, laties and gentlemans, as de oder filosofere do say in de oder ma- te re, I do say in dis matere Quod erat demonstrandum, laties and gentlemans." Glorious philosopher ! Hunt, and Mills and Croker, Bentham and Boithwick Gilchrist, all the sophi of the east, and all the sophists of the west, must go to Katerfelto at last. What is all this about ? I'll tell you : Write it ia your tables-, yc lords of the creation { Ye queens of those lords, let your albums be albums no more, blacken them with it in every page! Scratch it upon your quizzing glasses, ye interme- diates! that it may be for ever before your eyes. Let every thing that has a point, no matter how blunt, keep scratching at it ; and let it be scratched upon every thing that has a surface. Let it ride upon the winds, and roar in the waters. Let angels read it by the light of heaven, (vide MaccuHoch's Highlands and Western Isles of Scot- land,) and fishes by their own candles in the deep. Blot out all elsej and let the universe be full of it. Demand creates supply. Wastminstcr-hall creates its 168 Tales for the Saints. [NOV. own clients ; the Old Bailey creates its thieves, the very pair of old breeches, for the very filching of which the lucky dog; is sent to he a freeholder and M. P. in New South Wales, are created by Moses, the jew, with his black canvass bag. Here, however, that curse of all philosophy, yclept a " double-handed shot," comes smack through.thc running rigging of as trim a vessel as ever spread her rays on a sea of ink. Well might the physical saint-makers, Michael An- ge!o, and all the other humbugs, who- ever scratched a lime-stone, or dipped a hog's bristle in grease in furtherance of the fine arts, of priestcraft and the holy inquisition, clap a pair of horns on the Jewish lawgiver for — (L&vr-gitwr is not the word ; again, for Moses got the tables before he gave them. Therefore, pitch the whole fathers of the church, with Poole and Matthew Henry about their necks, make Moses the law getter in all time coming, and say Katerfelro bade you ; or, if you do not like himself, say his cat ; a far more orthodox-looking article than is to be found in the pulpit of many a church. For " for" was the word we stopped at Never were the horns of a dilemma more apparent than in this same Moses the jew. They are these : Is Moses a jew because he wears a beard ; or does he wear a beard because he is a jew ? Cornelius Agrippa. Queens Square, Monday, •TABES FOR. THE SAIKTS. No. I. — The Miraculous Conversion. •Most respected and beloved Sir, (says Mr. Clough, rising up. to address the Rev. Bengo Oollyer, when presiding at the last meeting of the Saints, in Orange-street) I crave the indulgence of this respectable assembly, while I un- ,fold to view the good things vouchsafed by benevolence, in leading back sin- ners from their evil ways. I have, Sir, so many stories of this kind to tell, that I scarcely know which to begin with. But, as I see on the bench before me, -amongst the ranks of our brethren, some worthy members of the military profession^ I shall select, from the long list in my note-book, the wonderful con- version of a soldier. Not long ago, in the regiment, fheii quartered in Dublin, there happen- .ed to be a man who, was remarkable .both for his bodily strength and military . prowess. To his allegiance to his earth jy prince he was true, but from the service of him that is. above be was an apostate. Oh! Sir, how shall I describe him? — how shall I recite the sad tale! Oh! how it would me'' '..is now regenerate soid, were he here to listen to me, while I reminded him of his misdeeds, of his vile- uess, of his blasphemy. — Sir, he seldom uttered a sentence without an oath, and his oaths were of the most frightful de- scription. Blush not, my dear friends in the red coats, that a brother should be so wicked ; he then resembled you in nothing but in the livery he wore ; but lie is now reclaimed and walks " clothed in the armour of light." This man, Sir, on one particular occa- sion, having uttered some horrible im- precations, was rebuked by a most reli- gious fellow-soldier, who asked him wher ther he was not afraid of being struck dumb, for thus abusing the excellent gift of speech. But so obdurate was he, that, waxing wroth, he had the har- dihood even to repeat his assertion with many more oaths. In two nights after this, he happened to be on duty as sen- tinel, when the officer on going round to visit the out-posts came to the place where he had been stationed, and re- ceiving no answer to the usual challenge, thought that he must have deserted ; but, on coming nearer, he found him lying on the ground, covered with a cold sweat. He appeared quite insensible, was stupid as if horror-struck. — He was at once raised up and taken to the guard- house, but could give no account of what had occurred, except by signs. — It was at length discovered, that as he paced back and forward at his post, a huge animal, of the shape of a goat, ap- proaching him from behind, put its fore- feet on his shoulders, pressed him to the earth, and kept him there unable to speak or move. The goat had -vanished — who it was I need not say, my bre- thren — but its influence remained heavy on the body and soul of the soldier, so he lay in the stale in which he was found. Sir, his companions but laughed at and derided him, so bard of heart were they j his officers declared him an im- 1824.] Tales for the. Saints. 169 postor, and only pretended to be dumb. At last he was sent to the hospital. But, oh ! how shall I tell the sad tale of his sufferings — his oppressions — and his wrongs— he bore them all with the meekness of a lamb — and, thanks to his unshaken fortitude, he now has his dis- charge in his pocket in spite of the gain- sayers. Some of the wicked ones said he ought to be flogged, until he spoke and confes- sed himself a cheat ; others that he ought to be bled — more blistered, and so on — these latter cruelties were put in prac- tice one after another with vile inge- nuity. He was bled, and bled again, in order to force him, through fear of death, to confess ; but, though reduced to the last stage of misery, and even when the cruel steel was again bared to spill his precious blood, to use the lan- guage of the profane stage, " He smiled at the drawn dagger, and defied its point," for he was yet strong and shrunk not. . In the same room with our poor bro- ther was another fellow-sufferer, who, like William Huntingdon, of blessed memory, may write himself S. S. — mean- ing " Sinner saved," a title far f more glorious than any that mere man can confer. This excellent man, having already received the light himself, un- dertook the task of infusing it into the soul of his poor benighted brother, who could neither hear nor speak, and had never learned to read or write. But, oh ! how delightful it is to recount the mira- culous success of his undertaking. Sir, in one short week he could write, on a slate, most graceful, well-shaped let- ters. He did not, it is true, practice to write with a quill in sand, as Joseph Lancaster advises for beginners — no ; — but on a slate, hard as had been his own unregeuerate heart. In a fortnight he could read a hymn ; in a month, a gos- pel; and so great was his progress, that even the gainsayers stood reproved, and confessed it most miraculous. A most worthy man, a very pious young officer, happened, about this time, to visit the hospital, and seeing our poor brother pale and emaciated, — many parts of his body being, as it were, seared as with a hot iron, and others Weeding with wounds; in a word, seeing him treated like a malefactor, he promised to speak in his behalf, and possibly procure his discharge. During the whole course of his trial he never shewed the least symptom of hearing, until the word dis- charge was pronounced : — but that blessed sound operated on him like a charm ; it opened the cearments of bis ears, for he testified his thanks by a smile,— but as yet he spake not. That was reserved until the discharge was granted ; at the very sight of it her danced with joy, and sung, and spoke, — he prayed ; but swore not. Oh! Sir, here was a conversion and a miracle. He intended to address you this even- ing — but is engaged in another good work. — He is joined with that great re- former John Hale, of whom we all have heard so much. — John Hale, Sir, until lately, was a baker of bread, and minis- tered to the wants of the body — but he lost that humble calling, and has turned to a better trade — he now provides for the wants of the spirit, being a worker in the vineyard. As the great Wesley of old was sent to reclahn the coliiers, those two disriples are about to go forth amongst the soldiers. John Hale shall address tlrem with speeches and tracts, onr new brother will show them the scars on his arms, and the swellings on his feet, caused by weakness arid bleed- ing; and if these cannot move them to follow his bright example, from his pocket drawing forth his discharge, he will : 4f Shoulder his stick, and tell how it was won." Henceforth, Sir, you shall see no more of our fellow-creatures clothed in, the wages of sin ; I mean those red coats. I crave pardon of our worthy brethren in red before me, but I know that, be- fore long, they will cease to follow iu the ranks of the destroyer, preferring to lead, like good shepherds, the flocks of the righteous. Sir, they are about to turn over to our ranks, and, instead of being arrayed in gorgeous red, they will be clothed in sober black. Instead of goading the sides of brute animals with spur and lash, they will tear open the seared consciences of the worldling and the gainsayer, and show them bare and bleeding. This is their proper calling — in this they will follow our examuie — by this they will thrive and prosper; fraud and violence shall disappear, and the whole community be divided into two great classes — the flocks and the shepherds. — So having spoken, Mr.. Clough sat down amidst thunders of ap- plause. The soldiers present were espe- cially vociferous in their approbation, Z2 170 Hints 10 Cockney Bachelors. [NOV. and it was evident that more than one among them pondered in his mind the possibility of getting up a similar mi- racle, t When the applause had subsided, Corporal Clancy, an Irishman, with a particular fine specimen of a high Tip- perary accent, claimed the attention of the auditory ; but, in imitation of Sche- herazade, the queen of story-tellers, we shall defer to the next number the cor- poral's tale. HINTS TO COCKNEY BACHELORS. Most men wish to pass for wits, a very excusable species of dissimulation, or, at least, to be considered agreeable companions. I think, therefore, I shall render such gentlemen, and the elegant coteries they frequent, an essential ser- vice by giving them the following hints, which, if properly attended to, cannot fail to produce Ihe desired effect. There are several single gentlemen in the pub- lic offices to whom they will be particu- larly useful, and, indeed, now that wear- ing military uniforms is exploded in fashionable life, I think the military may read them with much profit and edification. I. Never arrive at tlie place to which you are invited at the time appointed, by which means you may pass for a man of business, or a man of pleasure, as occa- sion may require. Should the lady or gentleman of the house make any obser- vation on this, you must observe, with % reat good-humour, that from your fre- quent inattention to punctuality in your appointments, you are called by jour friends—" the late Mr. A," N. B. Take care not to aspire to it coeknically ; stay, lest some rival should hint that you should, therefore,* be cut. it When you are seated at dinner, exa- mine if there be any ham at table, which you must call for, and, having tasted, praise immoderately, affecting to be a wonderful connoisseur in hog's flesh. Your hostess, anxious to convince her guests what an excellent housewife she is, will not fail to ask you the best me- thod of saving her bacou, to which you will reply, " To waste her poultry." III. Should there be a Frenchman in com- pany (in failure of him, any foreigner will answer your purpose,) when he is helped to ham, which you can easily contrive to have done by giving proper directions to the ; servant* ask him, in a voice to be heard by every one present, if he will not take something with it — to Which he will certainly answer (for these fellows are exquisite gourmets,) " Safe, I would like a little chicane (chicken);" upon which you will, of course, look archly at the company, and say, " Ay, Sir, I think you do look like a tricking fellow." IV. As you took care to arrive late, it is to be taken for granted that the lady of the house placed you in the seat nearest her- self. When, therefore, the fish is re- moved, you must insist on exchanging places with her (now that her official duty is over) to spare her the trouble of carving, adding, that such is bon-ton, as you saw it when you last dined at Sir Humphrey Guzzle's party in Finsbury- square. V. If you happen to visit in any Gothic family, where it may fall to your lot to say grace, when the cloth is removed, first ask if a clergyman be present, and on being answered there is not, say, with a significant nod, " thank God!" Or, leaning forward with a graceful in- clination of the head, place each hand upon a decanter of wine, and say, " For what we are going to receive, may the Lord make us truely thankful." Then, as you pass round the wine, observe, that you think coasters a very inappli- cable term for the decanter-stands, and that jo%-boats, in your opinion, would be much more suited to their avocations. VI. When the dessert is laid, some imper- tinent will take an opportunity of paying court to his entertainers, by praising the excellence of the fruit, or their tasteful arrangement; at which you are to look round the table inquiringly, and say, with an ineffable smile of self-compla- cency — " I," laving a particular empha- sis oti the word I — " I never saw a table less deserted." — Your rival, who had be- gun to poach upon your free-warren, . imagining virat " more is meant than 1824.] Hints to Cockney Bachelors. meets the ear," will be quite confounded and not venture a remark ; you will, therefore, extinguish a formidable rival in your efforts to be the star of the com- pany. F VII. If the children are introduced during the dessert, the chances of which are ten to one in your favour, take the youngest boy on your knee, and place your glass of wine within his reach ; a bait he will be sure to take, by drinking part of its contents ; then turning to mamma, say, " This young gentleman is born for the church— he has already commenced his labours in the vineyard." VIII. Be sure not to retire from the gentle- men till cards are introduced among the ladies. Should one of your companions, in order to spare his friend's wi.ie, which is common enough with a certain class of toad-eaters, make a proposition to join the ladies, ask him how long is it since he entered into orders? by which inter- rogation you may fairly calculate upon silencing his impertinences for that even- ing. When you have entered the draw- ing-room, walk about, and coming to the largest group engaged at a round game (the name of which you must pre- viously make yourself acquainted wilh,) enquire what they are playing at ; and when you are told it is Commerce, Spe- culation, or Loo, say, that, " If you were to judge by their numbers, you would have concluded it was Vingt un." IX. Should there be dancing, take care to invite for your partner the young lady whose papa gives the most frequent din- ner-parties, and whom you must endea- vour to entertain with several anecdotes, while the side-couples caper through the pantalon ; for example, relate that anec- dote on your journey to Paris, for you must pretend to be a great traveller ; by 171 repeating Horace Smith's excellent and quite new jokes, you will make your lady laugh, particularly if you are any thing of a good-looking fellow, or understand perfectly the figure of the Lancers, no mean accomplishment in these days of quadrilling; upon which some genius, envious of your happiness, will enquire what it was you said to make the young lady laugh so immoderately, to which you will reply carelessly, that you were talking nonsense (which, by-the-bye, will be true.) You will then request to be introduced to papa, a man probably in official sta- tion, of which he will not be a little vain ; but, to make you think as highly of him as possible, he will dilate most elo- quently on the incouvenience of serving public-offices, and tell you, that he is every day beset with petitioners, whom he is obliged to drive from his house by force. You may then very well address him in these words : " My dear Sir, never drive these people away, it will procure you a bad name." — " What then, Sir," he will ask, " must I do?"— " Why, Sir, wait till they go away of their own accord." By a due attention to these simple hints you will very soon acquire the re- putation of a clever fellow, and your company, in consequence, be courted by all your acquaintance. But, as it will be necessary to keep up this cha- racter by further exertion on your part, I will, if I find that I have not been throwing pearls before swine, give you, at some future period, such additional instruction as shall answer your most sanguine expectations. In the mean time, I am, gentlemen, Your well-wisher, Jeremy Spruce. Monument Coffee-house, Oct. 29, 1824. to the editor of the john bull magazine. Dear John, There are ten thousand minor imps of quackery, and inferior generations of humbugs, who are too insignificant to meet the slash of your broad-sword, but are yet very well adapted for the prick of my stiletto. Against these, with your leave, I proclaim war — there's my gage — and as I maintain it manfully and stoutly, so help me God. But no more rhodomontade. Through the means of a series of letters, I propose to ridicule absurdities, carp at ignorance, satirize vanity, and expose humbug, &c. &c. &c. I intend to laugh, weep, cry, neglect, blame, and criticize just as my humouT urges me, and without any settled iutention. I have 172 Letters from Jeremy JMnkinsop, fyc. [xov. sent you my first letter, which, if you like, I suppose you will insert in your Maga- zflie, and then you shall have another next month. If you disapprove of it, it must go the way of all flesh, and then you can light your — « no, that's stale, you can send it down to your cook, to pin on the roast-beef next Sunday ; that will Ao, John, a good English idea. Yours, &c. Jeremy Blinkinsop. * No. I. — Letters from Jeremy Blinhinsop to Timothy Forteseue, Esq. Dear Tim, I know you bate humbug and love venison, so I take an opportunity of gra- tifying both your appetites at once, by a fine fat haunch from our chase, and four Numbers of John Bull — the Magazine I mean, not the paper, for you get that, if I recollect, at the library. Inimitable John! But you shall read, and judge for yourself. He gave us a fine howl of " Bishop" last month, which put some queer crotchets into my head. I don't mean to say that I practised a cadenza into the kennel— no, no, Bishop's not the stuff for that-^-poor maudlin wine and water, cooked up with spices and trumpery; it will do for old' women and Di*. Kitchener, but not for such out-and- outers as you arid I. By the bye, a lad from Cambridge writes me, that they Were all laid up there last term from "lushing Bishop," and have now recur- red to " milk-punch," and " bliie-ruin." Sensible fellows, by the Lord Harry ! But I am perambulating about my sub- ject* instead of meeting it face to face. VVell then, I was telling about John Bull, and "The Humbugs of the Age,'' and I think I said, for I had rather over- look than look over a letter, that these papers had set my pericranium out upou| a search after humbugs. Heaven knows it had not far to go ! I .walked half au hour— I read half auhour — and I thought —no, hang it, I did not think half an hour, but I found my pocket-book, or, as the canting phrase Iras it, my " album," brim-full, " trabaccante," as the Italians say, crammed up to the very throat. You understand me, Tim; for I am not given to waste my breath unnecessarily, considering that one puff too much may eventually leave me with one puff too little. VVell then, I mean to say, that I would turn my memoranda to some ac- count; so I'll scrawl you a hilly-dux once a month, with all necessary infor- mation respecting my improvements and discoveries in the said art. Besides, you like a little chit-chat gossip, though you are such a rum-looking old fellow. I think the devil meant you for amethodist parson, only he found that you wanted no helping hand of his to bring you to the gridiron, and so, kind, generous soul ! he left you to work a coach, instead of a church. A-propos ! this brings me to the first page of my memorandum. D'ye know Jack Sleath ? He's a master of the new school they are building in St. Paul's church-yard, which place, by the bye, he obtained by managing to humbug a parcel of joulter-headed citi- zens, the electors, who were mightily taken by his fine face and person ; for, to do him justice, -be possesses these qualities above, or at least equal to, any man I ever saw. Then he is a D. D., which being interpreted, means — no, no, it does not mean a dirty dog, for " Brutus is an honourable man." Well, well, never mind ; it means just whatever you please, dear Tim. More- over, he is one of the committee, who sit in council at the county fire-office once a week, with Barber Beaumont at their head; the man who was a minia- ture painter, and married Viekery, the barber's daughter ; you remember, I dare say. I see you nod your head, and therefore continue my narrative by in- forming you, that Jack performs this duty every Friday, instead of brandish- ing the ferula and minding his school, and for which he receives per week one guinea. Besides this, he has distilled a new edition of Gibbon out of the old ; that is to say, he has manufactured a re- print, and calls himself " the editor;" the more appropriate title wouid be, " corrector of the press." This, with a few children's school-books, which he has also reprinted, are the whole amount of deserts by which he has obtained the * Mr. B. will perceive that we have suppressed his postscript. It is not at all im- possible that we may meet him some of these evening* at his evening haunts. But we in general prefer Charlotte-street. 1824.] Letters from Jeremy Blinkinsop, fyc. 173 sounding list of titles which grace his title-pages; but which, to those who know the man, serve for much the same purpose as the post and lantern you see glimmering up an obscure alley of the city, to arrest the steps of young or old debauchees. Now I wish you to know, that "this same learned Theban" has been for tlie last six years meditating an edition of Homer, but which has not as yet made its appearance in public. Heaven forbid that it ever should ! How- ever, I like to anticipate, so you shall have its history. Iu the outset, our noble Dr. with all that modesty and dif- fidence which is said to attend genius {but which, entre-nous, is ail a hum) summoned to his assistance a fellow- labourer at his vineyard. This worthy coadjutor was nothing more or less than a naturalized Jew. I regret that his name has slipped my memory, but, I have often seen the man ; however, he happened to be a man of talent, which the doctor happened not to be; " And so between them both, they lick'd the platter clean." Their plan, I understand, was this, the pedagogue was to transcribe Heyne's text, and abridge his notes, and the re- doubtable enemy of all grunters, was to write the dissertations, original annota- tions, and all matters which required any nous. But, alas ! dissentions will creep into the best-constituted republics — the doctor and the Jew could not pull together, a rupture ensued, and the des- cendant of Levi pocketed his MSS. and turned his back for ever upon Homer and the schoolmaster. What produced .these jfsrs I cannot precisely say, as I was not in the council-chamber when they went to logger-heads. Some say, ,and with their opinion I am most in- clined to subscribe, that the doctor would wot consent to let his assistant's name appear on the title-page; he wanted to sport the Jew's wit for his own, which "he thought himself entitled to, by being the head of the confederacy, and that more potent persuasion, " Do, and we go snacks." Others say, that the doctor wished to have an emblematical title-page, which was to represent the old Greek scatter- ing pearls before swine. The Je w thought this an attack upon his unhappy tribe ; but the more probable supposition is, that the doctor's modesty had typified himself amongst the grunters. I have also heard it stated, that our " prince of pedants," who is a renowned " catgut scraper," offended his compeer by tuning up the old song, " I got a bit of pork, And I stuck it on a fork," &c.<&c. But be that as it may, the partnership was dissolved, and the world had to mourn for a time this ever-to-be-memo- rable edition. " AH that's bright must fade, The brightest still the fleetest ; All that's sweet was made But to be lost when sweetest." ' " Fade!"— "Lost!' V-Oh! no, the doc- tor's works can never fade ! and, as to " lost," why I don't see how that can be, for 1 am sure it would be no loss, if they were obliterated for ever. But, unfortu- nately, that is not the case ; the edition of Homer only slumbers awhile to blaze forth again more brightly. It is now go- ing on at full speed, under the superin- tendance, guidanpe, correction, assist- ance, and God knows what, of a quon- dam pupil of the all-learned editor, who would act a more friendly part to his old master, for whom he professes such a profound veneration, if he ndvised him to mind his school, leave Homer alone, and, as Pope says, " Sink into himself, and be a fool." I would tell you some rum stories about this " lord of the sonndbg lash," but my boy Sam says, it is not fair to tell tales out of school. I would tell you how he once mangled an exquisite pas- sage from the " Pleasures of Memory," mistaking it for the composition of one of his own pupils. I would tell you how, like "Classic Hallam,* much renown'd for Greek." He denounced the thunders of his ven- geance upon fome lines from the " Poeue Gnomini," which an unfortunate urchin had boldly filched from thence, and palmed off upon his master as his own —how he altered those said lines, and * Hallam reviewed Payne Knight's Taste, and was exceedingly severe on some Greek verses therein ; it was not discovered that these lines were Pindar's, till the press rendered it impossible to cancel the critique, which still stands an everlasting monument of Hallam's ingenuity." — English Bards, fife. 174 Home Harvest. [NOV. how many blunders be committed in those said alterations. I would tell you how these verses, with Sleath's exquisite corrections, were afterwards submitted to Dr. Maltby's perusal — how Dr. Maltby detected the blunders, aud how he sung a choral dirge over the poor pedant, accompanying it with appro- priate action, which dirge, I dare say, Tim, you recollect. " Hie, haec, hoc, Lay him on the block ; Qui, quae, quod, Bring me the rod ; Noun, pronoun," &c. &c. But you must be quite sick of this " bluest of blue-bottles," and I have said enough to show his capacity for editing Homer. If it were not for his insignificance, I would get John Bull to inroll him amongst the " Humbugs of the Age." But that would please the 4hing too much, " Who breaks a butterfly upon the wheel ?" Not John, 1 trust ; I take him to be a slow hound of better scent. I have just a little corner of my paper left, what shall I say?— Oh! here's a tit-bit for you, an epigram, which I dare say you have not heard, as it is not in print. The author's name I do not know, but it was written upon one Mr. Sheepshanks, who is, or was, tutor of Jesus College, Cambridge, and who, in his infinite sagacity, mispelt the word satyr. " The satyrs of Rome were satyrs of note, They'd the head of a man, and the legs of a goat ; But the satyrs of Jesus all satyrs surpass, They've the shanks of a sheep, and the head of an ass." How do you like it ? A tolerable speci- men, is it not ? I have some more of the sort by me, which I shall probably trans- mit you from time to time. Yours, &c. Jeremy Blinkinsop. HOME HARVEST. " And Tom and Dick, and Bill and Joe, And Humphrey with his flail, And Tom kissed Betty " I will not swear but that I may be sometimes very much abused at merry meetings — especially homely ones ; but I am entirely postive that, at such, there would be no fun at all without me. The good-nartured gibe, the innocent jest, would fail to drop glibly from the un- moisteced lips; there would be no " ex- cellent music," no " flashes of merri- ment" ripping up the" ravelled sleeve of care," no personifications of " laughter holding botlju his sides," nothing that cures sorrow and kills grief, if Sir John Barleycorn did not hold his place at the feast-board, the worshipped tutelary saint of the holiday. It would, indeed, be a dry-s&w-du&t kind of make-believe with- out me. It is not one of the least important improvements of our times, that I am again becoming popular and of exceed- ing estimation in the houses of the great. Under one of my aliases, or alii, if I may make for myself a plural, that of " Old October," I am again petted in the steward's room, and sent round in chrys- tal at the table of " ray lord." This is indeed as it should be, and the re vol u- Glee of Dame Durdon. tion thus effected in my favor is of more vital importance to the common-weal of Britain, than as if all our boroughs were made pure, all our senators disinterested, all our lawyers honest, our poor-laws free from hardship, and our game-code free from objection. There is not a man that takes me by the hand but contri- butes his mite to the wealth of the nation, and the best commentary that a monarch can make upon his address to his par- liament, when he pledges himself to support the trade and commerce of bis country, is to grant me a presentation, and to imbibe my arguments, be they never so potent. But it is at the unsophisticated board of our " country's pride" — a " bold" and happy " peasantry," that I am, perhaps, in my " tip-top" glory, and even there, at no other time, so glorious, as at that jubilee of accomplished hopes, and ar- dent labours, the " merry harvest-home." It is then that I embrace, overpower, almost kill my enthusiastic votaries with kindness — it is then that I am the be-all and the end-all there — it is then that I move around without a parallel — then 1824.] Horns Harvest. 175 that I become Sir Oracle, and dazzling with my clearness my enraptured vota- ries, it is then that I almost, nay often quite, induce them to double in idea the delights by which they are captivated and caught. It was but a moon since — I believe they connect in idea these meetings with moons — that I, to use a plain but serviceable phrase, "played first fiddle" at a jolly harvest-home. It was held in a regular olden-style mansion, and what is as good, with the olden-style customs too. There was the master — " the foun- der of the feast," as goes the cue ballad of the celebration ; and there was the " mistress," and there were their family, the " young farmer" being at the head of them, and the " bettermost" people of (he parish. And thither- too came " the halt and lame," who once could shake a foot, and sport a toe — and (he blithe and active who would do so now — and thither flocked the bailiff, not he of writs and bonds, but he of ricks and herds — and the shepherd and the dairy- men, and their wives and their children, ali came, even down to the little carter- • boys and the pig-keepers — all came, " For it was the peasant's holiday, Aud made for to he merry." I was deemed of too much importance to become common during the demoli- tion of veal-pies and rounds of beef, my younger brother, Mr. Single X, being more thought of just at that period : su I made myself useful in the Hieumj;ki«s with something more substantial than flattery —secure in the knowledge, »s was Nelson when he broke the line at the Nile, that my time would come.' Need I now describe the feats of arms and appetite here displayed ? Need I dilate of hopes no longer deferred, of expectations realized,* of tiie m'tnuBiiver- ings of the knife and fork, and Ibey were the sabre and the pike, and the baron of beef, the enemy to be annihilated ; in short, dare I attempt the transfer of the whole lively, eager, scene, its clatter, and its clamours ; the Aejv« Jl n\ayyh of its exertions, to this record ? My friends, I dare not, the tiling is impossible ; I must leave it to your imaginations, with this special piece of gratuitous admo- nition. You that have heard and seen harvest-home merriments, go and see and hear them as oft as they occur again ; and ye that have. not, embrace the first opportunity of doing so, and dwell in ignorance no longer. But the " keen demands of appetite" are allayed — the beef has yielded, the plum-puddings are not. The brown oaken clean- rubbed table is cleared of the broken-down salt-cellars and the wounded platters ; the fragments are gathered up, and polished horns and clear drinking-cups are arranged around, like the "Satellites and tributary stars round one bright and glorious planet, whilst I in the midst, showing my crowned head above a portly throne, reign omni- potent, and in the hearls of my people, fearing no rebellion against my decrees, no treason against my authority. He of Plantagenet may boast his peculiarities, but it is I that " hare no brother, am like no brother ;" I only that am " myself alone.'' Then soon came also the evidences of my potency — the pleasant proofs of my winning ways ; 5 mean the cheerful tale, arid the hearty chaunt, and sly kissings, and squeezings of bands, and outpourings of honest protestations. Then came too the health of the " squire" and " madam," and the test of the " noble family," till at last, grown emboldened by the kind particip'ttioo we lent to their merriment, they called upon the second son of our host, who was to be the future manager of the estate, for a song, after wishing him "good crops and fair seasons." — This yowng gentleman, for so he is every inch of liim, bad seen and mingled in good society," and till recently had been educated with little idea to an agricul- tural life ; but he was a sportsman, and one that could drink his wine with Sir Harry, and his ale once or twice a year with his father's labourers, and so he had the tact to suit his musical discourse to the temperament of his company, whilst its quality tickled their predilections. — This is it. VOL. I. Come, fill high your glasses ! There should not be one That would shrink from his post till our revels be done ; In the morn over stubble and heather we'll roam, But to-night, my companions, this, this is our home. ' Then fill the bright pewter, and crown the clean horn, And we'll ouaft* to the health of old John Barleycorn. 2 A 176 Sober Sonnets for Sleek Sinners. [not I shall ne'er look about me at barn, and at mow, But confess they are filled by the drops from your brow, Nor see, rich in plenty, the smiles of my land, But own, next to God, they were raised by your hand, And I ever would heal the fatigues of your horn, At eve with a bumper of John Barleycorn. Oh ! the proud in their palace may revel in wealth, But ours, merry men, are the riches of health ; And whilst pomp scarce/ran hide the frail form and pale cheek, Our faces are glowing with Nature's own streak. And the viands of foplings we ever must scorn, When contrasted with those of hale John Barleycorn. Then liuzzah, brother farmers, we'll fill the cup yet, Tis a home-harvest trophy we dare not forget. And as in the field we confess but one rule, Here, here, altogether we'll pull a strong pull ; Huzza, fellow-labourers, we've housed the rich corn, We'll now worship, we'll tipple, Sir John Barleycorn. I flowed my delights — I overwhelmed interludes between the comedy of enough the young squire, and the rest, with my and the farce of too much, and I ulti- gratitude, until I so insinuated myself mately retired, conqueror of all, to our into their good graces, that I really be- landlord's parlour, and drank a gigantic gan to tremble lest the repeated and in- rummer of excellent punch to the next cessant drains upon my treasury, which merry meeting, fortified and strengthened in the shape of a portly barrel ornamented in my assurances, that not even at so one corner of the kitchen, would not desperate, yet so glorious an engagement, exhaust the ways and means of my four as an home-harvest, can friend or foe or five hours empire. Reels, however, defeat or deny the omnipotence and in which the performers soon became majesty of naturally, and spite of themselves, per- John Barleycorn. feet, and other merry dances, acted as October 5th, 1824. SOBER SONNETS FOR SLEEK SINNERS; Or, Rhymes from the Holy Land. BY SIR JOHN BARLEYCORN, BART. (2Vb. II.) " Spectatum Admissi risum teneatie." I. Man, man is born to trouble! that's the cry With milk-and-water, good intentioned folks, People who take delight to mystify, In sombre habits, all our cheerful jokes ; And faith I think it is not all my eye— And Betty Martin— for by " Faggs" new fly I've just had one of these same misery pokes. " A basket, zur, from Lunnun !" roars our Joe, The usual Mikemas goose, I dare say, zur, Which Mister Publisher of Pat-Nos-Row Returns in lieu of patriges and firt"* I burst the basket ; pat ience ; what a go ! No birds ! but " Travellers tales i" which are I fegs, Not the plump goose, but only goose's eggs 1 • A bright figure of Joe's, to describe a hare— take a lesson, sons of slang. 1824.] Property of Slaves. 177 II. I am not in the " Fancy,*' and not born To all the genteel manners of their day, But yet, like them, I well could learn to scorfl A whipper-snapper, pestering, popinjay, Who comes — " tattered" a bit, and somewhat " torn," To rail at " pluck" from his Americay,* But don't be angry, Mr. Thomas Cribb, Geoffrey is not the man that you must " fill," He that has wrote with ardour and with glee, Of " bang up" coachman that for daff. would call, Of " mountebanks," and " rips," and " shicery," Wouid never eat his words, and own such fall ; Tis not Wash. Irving throws this " Paris*' apple,+ But Irving Edward, of fam'd Hatton chapel. III. Why is it, Mr. Crayon, that you seem So very fierce 'gainst Drury's little chief? And join the silly cry to hunt him down ? Upon my life — I say it with some grief, There is athwart youf fame, an ugly " beam,*' That should have spar'd the " mote*' upon his crown. I fear, my Geoffrey, that yonr gizzard burns With spite, nurs'd up against the buskin'd swain, Because, forsooth, he told your trans, at kernes; They know as much of nous as some in Spain ; But really, Mr. Jrving, you should screen You indiscretion better — for you know With many clever folks he's still the go, And is, what name nor nature make you — keen. PROPERTY OF SLAVES. We had an old acquaintance once — peace be to his ashes — who had a habit of cutting a disquisition short, when he thought too many words had been spent upon it, by crying, " Facts, sir, give me facts ; one fact is worth a bushel of argu- ments." And if the commodity so called for did not come at the call, he would say, let us change the subject, for no- thing must come from nothing. Pray what do you think of the weather? Now we, in the same way, have a vast predilection for facts ; and, in no case do we remember that the goodly rule -of giving them on all occasions, has been so much neglected as duriitg the whole progress of the West India con- troversy, and that through all its ramifi- cations. Yet a plain man, in a question turning exclusively on matters of fact, might expect every now and then at least a sample of them. Reasonable, however, as the expectation would be, it is disap- pointed. We are treated in their stead with loud declamations on the abstract sin, shame, and wickedness of slavery ; with deductions, drawn a priori, on what the infamousconduct of slaveholders must be, without at all deigning to enquire what it is: and with demands for inter- ference with property assumed to be ne- cessary, without aifording us the slightest proof as to the validity of the assumption. There is, we candidly admit, at once one reason Why we should be reluctant to embark in this question; which is merely that it has been so often brought befori the public, as to lose what must be the first look-out for a periodical — its piquancy ; but that drawback being ad- mitted, there is no other, whatever, to hinder us from giving our opinions. We * Spare me, ye poets. In Cockaigne my rhyme is perfectly legitimate, t " Paris apple." Not King Charles' Paris, but Mount Idas' Paris. I pen this note for the benefit of my " back-slum companions." 2 A 2 178 Property of Slaves. [NOV. have oautiously abstained from mixing ourselves up with any of the political parties of the country, and, in all proba- bility, shall so continue ; but this is not a party question. The topics insisted upon by Whig and Tory have nothing in common with the management of the West Indies. Reform in Parliament will not be furthered or impeded by negro insurrection. Roman Catholic Emancipation, in its anticipated bless- ings or dangers, will find no parallel in the forced manumission of Jamaica pea- santry. The holy alliance will be totally undisturbed or unsupported by the af- fluence or beggary of West India pro- prietors. A man, we think, may give his opinion on this point without ever having heard that such animals as Whig, Tory, or Radical existed. We must confess, that it is not unna- tural to expect to meet this question con- sidered in a variety of quarters.. Let those who complain, for instance, that it fills the columns of the John Bull too much, recollect the unceasing exertions made by those who have, no matter how or why actuated, declared themselves the enemies of our colonists, to keep their view of the affair continually before the public eye. Let the immense and well-contrived machinery which they have at their command, be taken into accounts, and the fame, such as it is, which is sure to follow the activity of any of their agents. Will any person then feel any amazement that a reaction, resembling in some partial degree the action which called it forth, has taken place ? It is in vain to tell us of the pu- rity of the motives, the piety of the lives, the Christianity of the doctrines of the prime movers in this anti- West-Indian campaign. The planters know, that if their designs be carried into execution, spoliation is the lot they must expect, preceded, in all probability, by an at- tempt, and no trifling attempt, at their extermination. Is it then wonderful, we repeat, that they too, in turn, should call the attention of the British public to their case as often as they possibly can ? Nobody likes to be robbed and murdered, even though the thing be done in the manner of the beggarman of Gil Bias, in the name of God, or by per- sons of the most exemplary character, and the most amiable manners. We, however, do not now mean to enter into a consideration of the whole controversy. That would be too wide for our narrow limits, and, besides, we have already professed a disinclination to argue, and an intention to bring merely a few facts, from time to time, under notice, principally in answer to ill-founded assertion. What, in truth, put us upon writing this paper at all, was our chancing to look over that ama- zing and classical magazine, Knight's Quarterly, which we are sorry to see engaged in carrying on the cause of cant, in some small degree. The paper we allude to begins in the 85th page of the first volume, and stretches to the 94th. It bears the signature of T. AT. the initials of Thomas Macauley, son of the celebrated Zachary, and we may perceive in it strong outbreakings of his paternal spirit. There are few cleverer young men in England than this gentle- man. His classical articles, his spirited songs, his learned, brilliant, and deeply- pondered papers on Italian literature, to omit others which are equally worthy of commendation, amply entitle him to this praise. Yet here, in this paper, he sinks into what John Bull, with such ma- licious alliteration, denominated him, a " sucking saint.'" The old, odious twad- dle of the Missionary meetings stares us in the face. The stock stories of Hodge and Huggins — absolutely the only cases cited — are still as steadfastly relied on, as if Mr. Hodge had not been punished for his enormities, such as they were ; and as if a total upset had not been long since given to the thousand and one calumnies vented against Mr. Huggins. These are the arguments, now for the facts. Let us, as Southey says, in his letter about Lord Byron, " blow off the froth." According to Mr. Thomas Ma- cauley, the slave in the West Indies must labour without remuneration— he can acquire no property of any descrip- tion — he can be sold at the pleasure of his owner — he cannot appeal to . any court of law — and he works under the lash, " driven forward like a horse," all of which are recapitulated, with much indignant energy and spiteful eloquence, in the 86th page of Knight's first volume. They are all untrue. We shall not, for the present, meddle with the three last grievances— but we can lay our bands immediately on a do- cument which will speak for itself, in answer to Mr. Macauley's two first on the list, viz. that a slave must work without remuneration — and that he can- not acquire property of any description. Thattheyrfo acquire property in Kingston, and the other great, or comparatively 1824.] Property of Slaves. 179 great, maritime towns, is obvious to every visitor ; but, lest it be said that such are not fair specimens, we shall just extract, from Doctor Stobo's statistics of the Virgin Islands, the following paper, let- ting it speak for itself. We beg only to presume that every article here valued is set down at the lowest possible rate, as all acquainted with the West Iudies will perceive. Visible Property possessed by Slaves in the Virgin Islands. £ S. 38 Horses, at £7 10s. sterling each 285 938 Horned Cattle, at £5 4690 2125 Goats, 10s 1062 10 1208 Pigs, 10s 604 33120 Poultry, Is. 6d 2484 23 Boats, ~£b 115 Fish Pots and Fishing Tackle 123 10 Property in Buildings, chiefly in Town 700 Furniture and Utensils, at 15s, per head 4968 £15,032 " In the above statement, T have not estimated the disposable portion of esculents and fruits, and cotton raised by slaves, they cultivate, on their own account, about 1675 acres of land, which is estimated to yield annually £3 10s. sterling, per acre, in total £5862 IOs. The number of slaves, who cultivate ground for their own benefit, being 2933, and each negro is averaged to cultivate 2 rood 11 perches, which is esti- mated to yield annually £\ 19s. lOd. they possess slock to the value of =£9125, which are estimated to yield annually £1369, or to each for their labour, arising from stock and crop, £% 9s. 2d. annually on their own account. " After supporting themselves, the sur- plus they dispose of at market, which amounts to a very considerable sum. The industrious all possess, in cash, considerable sums. I am fully satisfied that they are in possession of capital, arising from sale of stock and crop, to fully the amount of =£5000 sterling. " It would be very desireable to have similar returns from the other colonies." Here is a small group, the visible pro- perty of the slaves, who, according to Mr. Thomas Macauley, can acquire no property, and receive no remuneration for their services, amounts, at an under- valuation, to 15,000/. It is probably worth double the sum. We understand that Mr. Zachary Macauley is connected with the East Indies ; will he take the trouble of computing the property of the same number of Hindoo //ee-labourers, working not under the lash, receiving remuneration for their toils, and per- mitted to acquire property ? Or, with- out doubling the Cape of Good Hope, will Mr. Thomas Macaulay favour us, in the next Quarterly Magazine, with the average property of the equi- valent class in England, the peasantry which peoples our workhouses ? Will any of his Irish friends give him data to construct a paper on the visible property of the free-labourers of Mun- ster; free, we say, beyond all doubt, being not only secure from the overseers' lash, but actually freeholders to a man, raw materials for making members of parliament, constituent parts of the British constitution? To what an ex- panse would the astonished optics of Pat open, if it could be proved to him that a whole province of his tribe was worth half what is here set down as the property of the oppressed slaves of the Virgin Islands, who can hold no proper- ty according to Mr. Thomas Macauley. - [ 180 ] [not, LEAVES FROM THE PAPERS OF THE LATE CONSTAflTlNE MULROONEY, ESQ. This young gentleman, whose un- timely fate has been the cause of such poignant sorrow to his friends and numer- ous circle of acquaintance, who looked forward to the time when he should shine forth in all the splendour of matured genius, was a native of the emerald isle. He was born at Ballynoggiu, in the county of Galway, on the 7th Jan. 1803. His parents were of high descent, trac- ing their pedigree even from royalty itself, but, for the last kw centuries, they had been left nothing but their blood and men's opinions, " To shew that they were gentlemen." In fact, they had, for many generations, rented a small farm of about thirty acres, and between that and a still-pot, the art of using which to the best advantage was hereditary in the family, they ma- naged to make out a tolerable sort of subsistence. Constantino was the eldest of five children ; and, as the heir and represen- tative of the family, it was determined to bring him up to one of the learned professions. He received the rudimenls of an excellent education in a celebrated hedge-academy, of which an ecclesiastic, of the name of father HeiTernan, was at that time rector. He was afterwards put under the charge of master Ti- mothy Delany, who kept a seminary in a barn, some five miles distant. When his education was completed, he was sent to London to his maternal uncie, Mr. Felix O'Whooloughan, who was an eminent schoolmaster and attorney, somewhere in the neighbourhood of Bloomsbury-square. While iu London, he got acquainted with some great literary characters, who wrote descriptive essays upon fires and lego-medical reports of coroners' in- quests, for the public press. He even was occasionally employed in that way himself, but that stile he found beneath his dignity, and of late years he wrote chiefly iu Taylor and Hessey's maga- zine, and was a valuable contributor of the great apostle of the fancy, Mr. Pierce £gan. His character was mild, calm, philo- sophic, and contemplative. His genius was great, but not under control: his aspirations were grand, and all his plans were ou the most extended scale ; for, as Barry Cornwall says of his friend Shelley, in the Edinburgh Review,, he was a great band at grasping alter im- possibilities. The specimen which is at present submitted to the public, seems to have been part of a chapter of a stu- pendous work, on which, as Mr. Southey on his history, he was to rest his future fame. It was a historical account of the taverns and pot-houses of the metro- polis; but, alas! he never lived to finish this his opus magnum. From the sketchy way in which the following are written, it would appear that these were only notes, and not digested into any form capable of meeting the public eye. " Fleet-street, as far as regards taverns, is most certainly classic ground— every turn we take some object presents itself, which forces on our memory the second Augustine age of English literature. Johnson, Goldsmith, Reynolds, and though last, not least, their Biographer and cronie, Bozzy, are brought before us in all the vigour and life of rea- lity. The Mitre, where he often dined, and where Hogarth met his party to H B n (eta, beta, pie.) The Cheshire cheese, where the board at which ho often presided is still shown, hollowed by the action of his elbows (at least so says old Harry, a venerable waiter in a brown wig). The Cock, where he spent his evenings, and Bolt-court where he lived. Byron has said, that the air of the forum breathes Cicero ; surely we niay say, that the air of Fleet-street breathes the great lexographer. But to business. The Mitre, aS its name imports, is a good, honest, jolly, tory, high-church tavern, gives excellent steaks, chops, joints, and port, and takes in a copy of Blackwood's Magazine, which being afterwards bound in parts of two num- bers each, remains on a shelf patent to the lieges. When the templars led the taste and fashion of the town, this coffee- house of the templars was the fashion- able coffee-house ; but, since fashion, like freedom, has migrated " farther west," it has become no more the resort of dandies; but it still retains all that is valuable, good cheer and merry fellows ; it's a cheap house, and that's an object, to me at least. The Cheshire Cheese, Old Wine Court. — It is universally acknowledged that men, and bodies of men, whose whole 1824.] Joint-Stock Companies. 181 faculties have been unremittingly turned to one object, during the whole of their lives, acquire uncommon powers of per- forming that object well. Hence the unerring aim of the American wood- man, the steady foot and eye of the Chamois hunter of the Alps, and the pre- cision with which the South American nooses the furious buffalo. The same principle is exemplified in this house during nearly a century ; beef-steaks and mutton-chops have been the staple culinary manufacture of this tavern, and of these subjects (as Hazlitt has said of the Stot in political economy) the Ches- hire is king. This is also a cheap house ; a man escapes atter a chop, cheese, a saliad, a pint of porter, a dram, and a glass of punch, for about three shillings of the lawful money of the realm. The Cock, near Temple-bar. Rabbits (Welch) poached eggs, and bottled stout, are the glory of this house. This gives the true feeling of the tavern; which has without variation, or shadow of change, for centuries beheld the nightly revels of all manner of men, from the royster of Queen Bess's days, the beaw and mohawk of the days of Queen Anne, to the exqui- site or dandy ruffian of the present day. Every thing bespeaks it — the long nar- row passage leading to it, the massive chimney-pieces of the sixteenth century, surmounted by carved wainscot. Chim- nies made in a barbarous age, long ere Count Rumford was dreamt of, and when people could conceive no possible mode of making a house comfortably warm, than by putting enough of coals on the fire. In summer these chiuini.es are shut up, but in winter they blaze like a burning fiery furnace, and answer the double purpose of heating the room, and preparing the caseous delicacies for which the house is celebrated. This house pos- sesses at present, and long may it conti- nue to possess them,two excellent things, a handsome bar-maid,* who whisks about with an air half-modest half-co- quette, with a smart but blushing answer for every one who addresses her, and the largest tumblers to be found in anj house but one, in this division of the metropolis. The Cock takes in no news- paper, it having been founded before the first newspaper was published in England, that is, before the days of Queen Elizabeth. " The Rainbow spans with bright arch the opposite side of the way from the Cock, and is a feather plucked from its tail, by the ex-head-waiter of that establishment, supported too by a strong dissenting party of its customers. Like its parent, it deals in Welch rabbits and peached eggs, to the amount of 200 per night ; and it also takes no newspaper, wisely considering that a tavern was in- tended to feed the body and not the mind. Like it, it possesses the bottled stout, big tumblers, pretty bar-maid, (though not so pretty to my taste) and is, in fact, the Cock modernized." JOINT-STOCK COMPANIES. In those days seven women shall lay hold on one man, saying, we will eat our own bread, and, wear our own apparel, only let us be called by thy name, to take away our reproach." Though, since the death of Brothers and Joanna Southcote, and the dotage of the guide-spinning Dr. Slop, of May- Fair, who not only made oath, and said, that Joanna was to give birth to Shiloh, but prepared the forceps and the green- bag, had subscribed sevenpence-half- penny towards the purchase of the sa- cred cradle and a dozen of napkins for the incomprehensible progeny, there has been rather a dearth of prophecy; yet the loss has been more than made up by an unprecedented quantity of ful- filment. That learned convert from the catholic faith, who left the service of ' The Times' newspaper in scorn, be- cause they had the assurance to quarrel with him for denouncing the bad acting of a Thespian who was not upon the boards at all, and who has since " gone to and fro the earth," seeking what he might put to rights, has been fortunate enough to find out the whole interpreta- tion of the Apocalyps. He maintains, that the great theatre of the events therein displayed, is nothing more than England ; that the great city, " the mother of all abominations," (he is not a native) is London ; that the seven vials — he says, the true reading is *■ viols' — are the in- struments of seven fiddlers, who once threatened to kick him out of the pit at Drury-lane, because his hissing drown- ed that of the serpent; that he meets * Teropora mu*»»>»ur. 182 Joint-Stock Companies. {NOVi ■with the angels every night in Fleet- street; that the unclean spirits are rum and gin, and Irish whiskey, (he drinks brandy himself, and wine when he gets it;) and, that the witness, who crielh in the streets, without any man regarding his testimony, is himself. Furthermore, he says, that the seven heads are seven aldermen, whose names he affects to keep secret ; and that the ten horns can easily be found in the corporation. He further insists, that Robert, Lord Waith- man, is death upon the pale horse; and, that the party who follow his lordship, are by him more dreaded than hell. Such a mass of valuable interpretation, hatched and brooded over as it is, yet to be for one year longer, cannot fail to astonish and convince a world so very prone to wonder and believe, as that in which we live; and there is no doubt, but the effigies. of a man, who has advo- cated so many marvellous things within the city of London, will be set up in Guildhall to keep the giants in order. When a great man does great things, it is very natural for small men to do small things ; and thus the words, at the top of this article, which had long puz- zled the world ; as the more that civili- zation, and experience extended, the more did both legislatures and saints set their faces against such a commodity of wives as seven; while the ladies,' in one voice, declared, that, if they should garret it for life, they would never put the question to a man, far less lay hold of him ; and that such of them as were asked and answered, declared, in one voice, that after the ceremony was clenched, they would not wear their own apparel, but claim, as their mo- thers had done, that part of their hus- bands which is so sweetly symbolical of two united into one ; but now met with a perfect solution, in the rage which at present exist for the establish- ment of joint-stock companies. The seven women are seven monied per- sons, Jews, Quakers, Or others of the city of London ; they take hold of an Actuary, who takes away the reproach, both of their establishing a monopoly against the public, and of their doing the dirty work of the concern with their own hands; and, it is just from the hope of its affording them abundance of bread to eat, and apparel to wear, that they enter into the speculation. It is to be regretted, that a system which has been so decidedly foretold, and which possesses so many advan- tages in itself, should be opposed by the ignorant prejudices of individuals. In our opinion there is nothing better than a joint-stock company. Though Professor Malthus, Mr. Place, and all the other philosophers of checks have overlooked it, the increase of brains has obviously a much lower ratio to the in- crease of population, than has the in- crease of food. To see this one has only to open one's eyes, and one will find fifty men (especially within Tem- ple Bar) who dine abundautly, for one man who can speak sense. Now, if the wits of one be found inadequate for any enterprise, the only alternative is, to club the wits of another. This is accom- plished by joint-stock companies; and it could not be accomplished in any other way. Philanthropists and lovers of improve- ment will, therefore, rejoice at the num- ber that are established, and in progress, and men who have fertile heads (in any place but the osfrontis) will drudge at the invention of more. Mrs. Fry's grand pawn-broking company will,for in- stance, be an excellent thing for all par- ties. It will be very beneficial to the pub- lic; because, when folks go from bad to worse, they are said to go "out of the Fry-ing pan into the fire,'' while this wjll be coming out Of the fire and'going into the Fry-ing pan, returning from worse to bad, which is a retreat in so far. As for Mrs. Fry again, and the other "Tossers of the Pan," they will save all the fat. At present, they get very little interest for their money, unless they hazard the whole of it, or bring themselves within the chastisement of those usury-laws so much detested by Jeremy Bentham, Serjeant Onslow, and the whole rem- nant of the twelve tribes of Israel; whereas, under the new system, they can get handsome profits without hazard- ing the loss of a penny. It would be impossible to do jnstice to all the projected companies ; and, so, the better way will be to give the hint of a few more. First, then, it would save a great deal of time and trouble if all loyal addresses to the king were furnished by a joint-stock company ; they could be had much cheaper, and they would introduce 60 perfect a uni- formity of loyalty, as could not fail to make England the wonder and the envy of all nations. Secondly, if Ihere were a matrimonial joint-stock company, the deuce is in it if there would be any elopements or actions for crim. eon. or 1824.] A Visit to Netlierhall. 183 any old families dying out for (he want of heirs. Thirdly, a joint-stock com- pany for the holding of whig and radi- cal meetings, and the making and re- porting of speeches for the same, would not only save a great deal of time, which is at present wasted, but prevent the recurrence of such another affair as that at Manchester, in 1819. Fourthly, a joint-stock shaving company, where half-a-dozen rich ladies should pin the napkin, and half-a-dozen more froath the soap, and some of the cleanly and clever-handed gentlemen brandish the razors, would shave the lieges much closer than the twopenny shops, which, at present disfigure the streets. Lastly, if a joint-stock humbugging company were properly established, it would pre- vent thousands of individuals from making- themselves ridiculous. A VISIT TO NETHERHALL. Scenes of early life awaken so many recollections, and are associated with so many delightful sensations, that we al- ways behold with pleasure those objects which, like the beacon to the mariner, serve to revive the memory of past en- joyment. To a man of a metaphysical and contemplative turn of thought, per- haps, these reminiscences afford the highest degree of intellectual pleasure. The imaginative powers displayed in poetry, and the embodying these cre- ations of genius by the hand of the artist, as well as a contemplation of the beau- ties of nature, will unquestionably afford a bi^,h feeling of satisfaction to a mind so constituted : but, highly as these sen- sations are to be appreciated, 1hey fall very short, in my opinion, of the im- pression made upon the heart and mind of him who, in manhood, traces the loca- lities of his juvenile amusements. I was led to these reflections by a visit I lately paid to 1he " Academic Shade" where I received the foundation of whatever virtue or literature I possess ; things were, indeed, changed since my time; my contemporaries had dispersed over the face of the inhabitable globe, encountering various vicissitudes of for- tune, engaged in almost every occupa- tion, and filling situations in every pro- fession, trade, and gradation of society. They were gone and " left not a trace behind." The tree, which bore in star- ing characters the catalogue of their names, was no longer to be found, or if still distinguishable, those characters had so grown with its growth as fo be no loager legible. The playground still retained its pristine appearance. The school-room, where fifty lines of Homer paid the for- feit of delinquency, continued a promi- nent object. The great bell which, like the curfew,'regulated the duration of our vol. I. scholastic imprisonment, still held its unerring exactitude of command. The awful code of discipline, stuck upon the wall to warn sinners against transgres- sion, but which was always thought to be " more honoured in the breach than in the observance," reminded me of the many pranks 1 played off with impunity ; for though the principle of Lycurgus was not formally adopted, yet it was detec- tion that always constituted the offence. When I review the space that has inter- vened since that period of innocent re- creation and improvement, what a waste presents itself; not, indeed, a blank, but as chequered as a chess-board with vi- cissitudes " Creta an carbone notandi." My old friend and preceptor gave me a kindly and hospitable reception. It happened to be a day of recreation ; an invitation having been received a few days previously " to spend iflie day" with farmer Coulson. Every countenance beamed will) pleasure, every eye glis- tened with delight. Every face (at a season of life when the feelings are pour- trayed in the unsophisticated language of nature) shewed the innate feelings of happiness and anticipated enjoyment that was expected from this excursion. The post-chaises were now wheeled into the fore court, the postboys greeted, horses admired, the master's indulgence lauded, and all anxious lo give him the morning salutalion with peculiar empha- sis and energy on this joyous occasion. This was the foreground, (all joy, hap- piness, and satisfaction ;) but in the back-ground of the picture a physiogno- mist might have read " the week's dis- asters in the mor»ing faces" of those who composed it. A query, " If all these young gentlemen were to be of the pro- jected party ?" an answer in the affirma- tive, however, set all things to rights. A loud cheer testified the satisfactiop 2B 184 A Visit to Netherhalt. [NOV. "With 'which' this part of the 'audience re- ceived the welcome intelligence. All being now distributed through the differ- ent post-chaises, the cavalcade began to move along; the arrangement and con- duct of which was under the direction of one of the masters, Dr. S. who, mount- ed on a sorrel pony, with a huge oaken stick in his hand, was tacking through the carriages, like Commodore Trunion on his voyage to get married. Our route through Waltham and Nasingbnry was truly picturesque and beautiful. The road, as we approached the latter place, is situated on the edge of a hil), whichcomes to the level of the adjacent plain by a gentie descent. The view, at all times beautiful, was rendered peculiarly interesting by our presenfce ; for as we winded our course hi a serpentine circuit round the girdle of the hill, the post-chaises became visi- ble at irregular intervals, and the boys who descended from them were scattered over the face of the hill that intervened between the road and plain, which, with the romantic church, the rural village, and highly-cultivated country, formed one of the most beautiful and enchant- ing landscapes the imagination can well picture. Leaving this charming scene, >ve passed through a still beautiful though solitary district. Not a house or human face, exclusive of our own party, to be met with. We soon approached a defile, on one side of which is an almost perpendicular hill, and at its base a small amphitheatre bounded by lofty trees, in the midst of which was constructed a tasteful and elegant building. In any other situation it might, however, have passed unnoticed ; but so situated, it was like the snow-drop in the wilderness, beautiful in its native solitude, but worth- less if transplanted into the vernal regions of the cultivated parterm Scarcely had we emerged from this charming spot, before the smoke of the farmer's kitchen intimated both our ar- rival at Netherh.aH, and the preparations being made for our reception. Farmer •€'. the proprietor of the land adjacent to 'Nelherhall, was a most excellent speci- men of a modern English yeoman, though, perhaps, he had, from a constant contemplation of ihe beautiful ruins of the castle, transfused a slight tinge of the antique into his own character. Hospi- tality, in the true old English acceptation of the word, was his ruling passion; his motto— the burthen of all his jocund ditties; and though he had as much of the good Samaritan in his composition as a modern sinner could well possess, yet the word charity was not to be found in his vocabulary. lie looked upon every child of Adam as his brother, and, Iherefore, entitled to his assistance, as far as his means could allow bim to dis- pense it. To form an idea of his person, figure toyourselfa tall, v* ell-proportioned, good-humoured looking man, his years somewhat above fifty: such an indivi- dual as at some period of your life you have seen on a Sunday evening silting with a pipe in his mouth, on the bench which usually extends on either side of the village ale-house. You will never see honest C. again so seated— he is gone to rest with his fathers, and peace be to his manes. Alighted from the post-chaises, the hearty welcome over, we were taken to a long room, with tables set out with eatables meant for a luncheon, or as it would be termed in high life, a "dejnne a la fourchette ;" but eating and drink- ing are vulgar habits, worn indiscrimi- nately by all his majesty's liege subjects. For my own part, I have always esteemed, as a first-rate genius, the Grecian men- tioned by Hierocles, who, endeavouring to annihilate (his odious practice, would have taught his horse to live without food, but, to his inexpressible mortifica- tion, found that he died when he had nearly accomplished his purpose ; but, in this enlightened age, however, this age of invention and improvement, I assert (and I think I can see as far as my neighbours) that this desirable object ■will be accomplished through the medium of galvanism, grs, or steam, and extin- guish the fame of Mrs. Rundles " Art of Cookery," consign to the tomb of all the Capulets the "Almanac des Gourmands," raise Cambaceres from the dead, and send Sir William Curtis with sorrow to bis grave. 1 will not, therefore, dwell on such a subject ; but as every good writer ought to do, hurry my reader into the midst of business. Here, then, was an ass riding a donkey, and an ass being rode by three rank and file juvenile equestrians ; there a youthCnl aspirant for the laurels of the brave, engaged in single combat with a gander; and not far off a wicked a'.id unmannerly cow, perceiving Ihe learned Dr. S. in a reflecting attitude, curtailed as to his skirts, and bedaubrd, as to his externals, with mud and dirt, by an un- lucky roll in the kennel, occasioned by the neglect of his equestrian edncation, 1824.] A Visit to Netherhall. 185 having mistaken him for a scarecrow, advanced 1o pay her respects " a VEcqs- soise" at the same time articulating a sound, which the vizier in the Arabian Nights, who understood the language of birds, would have interpreted " Long life to the Duke of Ar gyle." This saluta- tion, however, was by no means accept- able to the learned Dr., who immediately put himself in a posture of defence, and, in consequence, a fierce and obstinate contest ensued ; victory was for a long time doubtful, but at lengtb declared in favour of the Doctor, though the palm of gracefulness was awarded to his antago- nist ; for, in the rencontre which decided the affair, the cow making a lunge, and at the same time kicking up her rearward extremities, and raising her tail perpen- dicular to her back (a position which must be allowed to be an excellent imi- tation of that of the left-hand, practised by performers in the fencing art) would inevitably have destroyed the Doctor upon the spot, had not he, in the manner of a Spanish gladiator at a bull-fight, most adroitly slipped aside, and laid such a lusty stripe of his baton on the cow's loins as to make her scamper iugloriously from the field of action. Some appre- hensions were entertained, particularly by the ladies, for the safety of the Doctor; but we, who knew the courage and prowess of the man, left him to fight his own battle, and never did a conqueror at the Olympic games receive the palm My first to ruin often leads, My next's the scene of warlike deeds, My whole the name of yonder fair, Of Sylphic form and graceful air; Whose humble slave 1 boast to be, Would she but deign to pity me. " La ! sir," said Miss Betsy, as soon as she comprehended the gist of this enigma, " are you making riddles on me ?" — " It is but fair play, my dear," replied the gallant preceptor, " for your eyes have made a riddle of my heart." This sally, which, of course, produced its laugh, added to the impromptu cha- rade, a species of verse much admired by ladies, made evidently a strong impression on Miss Betsy's heart, already predis- posed in his favour by the vast intrepi- dity which he, like a second Guy of of victory with more pleasure than his learned Doctorship did the meed of praise and gratulation which was now showered upon him from all sides. We were shortly after invited to din- ner, which I should have passed unno- ticed, but that our repast was the feast of reason and the flow of soul. You may be sure that we all played a very conspicuous part at the knife and fork — all, I must say, with the exception of our worthy Coryphaeus. The Doctor ate little or nothing, but looked unuilerable things. His appetite, I mean his sto- mach appetite, was gone, and he feast- ed at the optics. This denouement was brought about by the ' juxta position,' as he himself said, of a young lady, the daughter of a farmer in the neighbour- hood, whose brilliant black eyes, ruby lips, and rosy cheeks made such a deep incision in his heart, as to mount all his amatory propensities on the back of Pegasus, who has been since seen, fre- quently flying with* billet-doux to the battlements of Netherhall. Having de- termined to commence operations in poetry, no sooner was the cloth removed than he fired off the following charade directly at the young lady's heart. After having been for a quarter of an hour in profound meditation, he uttered, in a tone of solemn and melting pathos, and a look as amorous as Malvolio's in Twelfth Night : Warwick, had displayed in the. combat with the cow. Determined to follow. tip his success, he immediately, while the dessert was yet blushing on the table, volunteered to sing a song of his own composition. He said it was extempore — to my knowledge he had made it three years before — but that was no matter. It was not the first time a similar trick had been played off, nay, even within the angust walls of St. Stephens. Clearing his throat, he quavered forth the following stanzas : — Ah, who can love controul, "Which, seated in the soul, Its victim rules with domineering sway ? None can its force withstand, All yield at its command, And own this truth — to love is to obey. 2B2 186 A Visit to Netherhall. '. [not. 2. By love's almighty power, Ao emperor, like a flower, ^ Is made to droop, to languish, and decay ; But if the fair he gain, As flowers after rain Throw off their wet, he throws his cares away. 3. Oh, who can e'er reveal The pangs that lovers feel. When they suspect their charmer is untrue ? Like to the Tciging sea, They find that jealousy Stirs up the passions at the maddening view . 4. No human voice can tell What joys his bosom swell, Whu- feels his ardent fiery kiss returned, By her who trembling glows, Half conscious of the woes She had inflicted while with love he burn'd. 5. Oh, when shall love decay, When shall it fade away? Say, shall it fly when death calls us away ? No, it exists in heaven, From whence it first was giv'n, And there it shall exist in everlasting day. These lines astonished those who were the whole study of his life hitherto' knew the doctor, only from the circum- but he now appeared to be in pursuit o* stance of his having so rivetted his mind a fellowship of another description. He on the acquirement of a fellowship, that did not fail to be rallied on this point, Greek, Latin, and the Mathematics, but he replied still in poetic numbers. What's a table, richly spread, Without a woman at its head. When, however, surprise had passed this keen encounter of the wits, gave off, Jibe, a cockney scholar, who thought him courage to attack the cockney in nothing great, good, or well-bred beyond turn ; he said, " that, however Jibe might the limits of Temple Bar on the one side, endeavour to depreciate him, it should or Houndsditeh on the other, and who be judged by the company if he could had an invincible antipathy to the doc- not write better poetry than Mr. Jibe tor's poetry, because it was not the himself. Jibe coloured excessively, and frovvth. of Fetter-lane, or Change A lley, denied the soft impeachment of verse- egan to criticise these verses, by ob- making. " No, no, sir," said the perse- jecting, in limine, to the use of the word vering pedagogue, " that wont do, you domineering, observing, that it was not a know that it 6 vvas you who wrote the bepithet by any means happlicable to the translation of the French song in last passion of love; the bands, said he, may Sunday's Examiner." — " And if I did," indeed bind, but never gall, which is said Jibe, "I leave it to the company certainly implied in that ere term. With that it" is more jaunty than any thing scowling look, the poet replied, that he you could do.'' We expressed a desire meant to allude to the bands of Hymen, to hear this Melibosan contention, and the god of matrimony. Hymen, Q Hy- accordingly, Jibe, after a little hemming menae, as Catullus sings — and, as the and crying, " Pon honour, quite ab- husband was canonically Lord, (Domi- surd," began his translation, first repeat- nus,) and master the epithet, domineer- ing the French, according, to the dialect ing — a dominando— was most pertinent, of Covent Garden. We listened all at- The applause the doctor received on tention 1 8-124 • ] Who is the Editor of Hie John Bull Newspaper ? 1 &7 Faisons l'amotir, faisons la guerre, Ces deux metiers sont pleins dattraits ; La guerre au monde est un peu chere, L'amour ea rembourse les frais, Que Teiinemi que la bruyere Soient tour a tour serres de pres ; , Eh ! mes amis peut on mieux faire, Quand on a depeuple la terre, Que de la repeupler apres ? The, cockney'* translation was then read, with, inimitable emphasis and effect. Let us make love — let us make war, This is our motto, boys, these are our courses.? War may appear to cost people dear, But love reimburses, but love reimburses. The foe, and the fair, let them see what we are, For the good of the nation, the good of the nation ; "What possible debtor can pay his debts better Than depopulation with re-population. When this translation had been duly discretion, produced his attempt as fol- commented upon by the judges, the Dr. . lows : — arose, and, with due emphasis, and good 1. . Let us make love— let us make war, Two trades so great in story ; The cost of war is greater far Than any sense of glory. 2. But love, that binds in pure delight All sexes and all stations, Clears off the debt, and makes it light, Through all her bright relations. 3. A debt unpaid has never stain'd Her honour, or her station, Depopulation's loss we've gain'd,.- By love's re-population. We were pondering in deep muse in school had got engaged in fistic combat order to decide between these rival with the prime swell of the village youths, bards, and the decision, probably, would and the searcher of the ring was in re- have been that of the impartial critic in quisition. We went out to quiet the Gay's Pastoral, tray, which, as it broke up, our critical An oaken staff he merits for bis pains. synod shall here break off my paper, when a loud tumult on the green, Whether I shall resume it again, remains before the door, disturbed our peaceful in the bosom of meditations. The crack boy of the . The Peripatetic. A C. . IUCAL INQUIRY AS TO WHO IS THE EDITOR AND WRITER OF THE JOHN BULL NEWSPAPER. In the John Bull newspaper, of Sun- concerned in this paper has any con- day, October 17th, 1824, (there is no- neciion whatever with a monthly maga- thing like being accurate in the dates zine which has assumed our titfe." of important transactions) you will find All which is as true as gospel ; but it these words : — may be recollected that we had, three *' While we are speaking of ourselves months ago, said the same thing in we feel called upon, for many reasons, mellifluous verse, which, in all proba- ta without offering any opinion of the bility, our readers altogether forget, publication,) to state that no person Ou which account- we beg leave to Who is the Editor of the John Bull Newspaper? [arov. 188 remind them that the venerable ancient, Timothy Tickler, Esq. of Blackwood's Magazine, had thought proper to in- form us that — Who you are I don't know, Mr. T'other John Bull ; In reply to which we told the elder that— Nought in common with John have I got, Mr. T. Save the Name, and 'that's open to him, you, or me. 'Twas a glorious old name, ere the three were begotten, And glorious 'twill be when the three blades arc rotten. J. B. M. No. 2, p. 78. And having done this, we submit that it was rather tardy in John Bull to deny us. This, however, is a matter of the very smallest importance. But the notice in the paper has suggested to us, as a fitting and fair object of specula- tion, to consider who it is that has thus, in the face of day, cut us — in other ■words, who is the author of the John Bull? There is nobody who sits down to write a dissertation on the authorship of Junius, who does not begin it with some fine and high spoken sentences on the importance of the inquiry ; the propriety of satisfying a laudable cu- riosity ; the impenetrable mystery in which the secret was kept, until the very moment when the present author, sitting down, developed it with piercing acumen, and held up the writer to the • blaze of day. Having, from the start- ing-post, professed ourselves enemies, point-blank, of humbug in every shape, and this pompous exordium being only a specimen of that venerable commo- dity, in a different appearance, we shall not at all imitate these enquirers. Hum- bug we say it is, for instead of being actuated by any of these above-men- tioned propensities, the authors are only intent on displaying their own abilities, in sifting evidence, with the very sensible under-plot, however, of raising the wind at the expence of a bookseller. Nor shall we imitate these aforesaid personages in the mode of evidence which they generally bring, which is something as follows: v Taylor, the bookseller, says that Junius must have been Sir Philip Francis, because they both made strait lines so " for quotations, instead of the usual circumbendibus employed by the rest of the world, so " ". Dr. Busby proves him to be De Lolme, because Junius is a pure idiom- atic writer of English ; and De Lolme, being a foreigner, has filled his English style with solecisms. Mr. Almon sets up Hugh Boyd, be- cause the said Boyd, being drunk, said that he was the man. Mrs. Princess Olivia Serres Wilmot de Cumberland proves it to be her grandfather, Dr. Wilmot, because she thinks fit to say so. Mr. Stephens thinks it was Home Tooke, because Tooke wrote against Junius, and had an implacable hatred towards him. Charles Butler and others declare it to be Lord George Sackville, because Lord George Sackville spoke to one Swinny in the park. Several bestow it on Edmund Burke, because he used to say utinam fecissere . Others on Lord Chesterfield, because, being an impotent dandy, who could write about shirt-ruffles, and the im- propriety of scratching one's head, he was qualified to compose vigorous epistles. Others, again, on one Greatorex, an Irish lawyer, because, after having been an ass during his life, he ordered " stat nominis umbra" to appear on his grave- stone after he was dead. Lastly, and finally, CEdipus Oroonoko starts Suett, the comedian, which we think the most sensible of all ; and, when we next go by Oroonoko's shop, we shall chew a quid of pigtail with him. in token of .approbation. We perceive that we have forgotten the laurel-crowned LL.D. who puts Junius in hell, having his features abo- lished for ever with an iron-binding,* exhibiting to the spectator the appear- ance of a pot-headed Peripatetic, which certainly is a most ingenious idea of that eminent writer of hexamiters. Leaving, therefore, this method of investigation, we shall conduct' our enquiry as to who is the Bull, in our own way, first disposing of those to whom public favour has hitherto attri- buted the authorship. Lest we should Masked had the libeller lived, and now a vizor of iron Rivetted round his head, had abolished his features for ever. — Vision of Judgment. 1824.] On English Manners'. 18£ offend the amour propre of any of these gentlemen, by not giving him his due precedence, we put them in alphabetical order, viz. Croker, John Wilson, M.P. Hooke, Theodore Luttrell, Christian, name to us un- known Smith, James Twiss, Horace, M.P. These five are, we believe, all who have appeared as candidates for the situation in point, and we shall most conscientiously reject them all. 1. Mr. Secretary Croker denied the John Bull, by implication at least, in Parliament, and it would be a breach of privilege to suspect him after that dis- avowal. 2. Mr. Theodore Hooke has been too much persecuted by the Government, and occupied by his own affairs, in one way or another, to be able to mind those of others ; and we believe nobody will accuse Bull of keeping clear from the concerns of the remainder of man- kind. ■ 3. Mr. Ampthill Park Luttrell is too much of a dandy to be so stiff a repre- sentative of the pugnacious parts of our natural character. He may be able to write very pretty advice to Julia ; but, to use a polite phrase, which he will understand, to write John Bull is not in his breeches. 4. That it is not James Smith is de- monstrable, from the fact that James has never been known to tell any of the John Bull jokes before-hand, nor to sing any of the John Bull songs after publication, things which afford com- plete evidence, that he had nothing to do with it. Besides, there is never any mention of Mrs. Fubbs, of Crutched- friars, nor Mr. Dobbs, of Houndsciitch, in its columns, and James cannot write without introducing these heroes. 5. There remains Horace Twiss. — What would we not give, that the laws of modern decorum allowed us to repeat the Hibernian epigram on his mo- narch ; for it would be the fittest an- swer to his letter denying the author- ship of John Bull I Did he never hear the epigram George Colmau made when he read his denial. They say I'm John Bull, exclaims Twiss. Nay, alas, You mistake, my dear Horace, they call you Jack-ass. Putting these five, therefore, out of the question, who is John Bull ? We have shewn who he is not. We know, if we liked, that we could hand down any person we wished to immortal fame, by just mentioning what we know on the subject. But, gentle reader, before we have told.you who it is, we beg leave to ask you a question. A thousand, if you please, will be the reply, if you are a polite reader, as we are bound to suppose you. Well then, the question is, can you keep a secret ? Of course. And so can we. But come, we own that is putting you off rather cavalierly, after having raised your expectations so consider- ably, and we shall therefore not baulk you any longer. We shall mention the name without any concealment, cir- cumlocution, periphrastic, round about, or circumbendibus, without beating about the bush, and about the bush, and never touching the bush ; but plainly, simply, honestly, squarely, flatly, precisely, exactly — The actual John Bull rs ■ ; is not that a well-known character? You cannot take up any book of anec- dote, particularly piquant, and exact anecdote, such as Captain Medwin's book on Lord Byron, without finding him, or her, (for is of all ages and sexes,) playing a most con- spicuous part. Having thus disburdened ourselves of our secret, we shall reserve the dis- quisition on the evidence, external and internal, which has led us to this con- clusion, so satisfactory and so luminous, until next month. In the mean time, gentle readers, we request that you will not make any ill use of the confidence we have so unreservedly placed in you. ON ENGLISH MANNERS. . If one, accustomed to the unchanging habits of some of those secluded districts of the world, in which the grandson not only follows the steps, but wears the garments of his grandfather, and where changes of costume are marked out by space and not by time, he would be apt to say of English manners, what Pope ISO English Manners, [NOV. said of women, that they have " no character at all." A people, from the highest to the lowest, influenced by the vicissitudes of trade, moved where it invites, or from whence it drives, and raised and lowered in their relative im- portance by the chances which it turns up, can have no permanent character upon which to build any thing like a system. They are like their climate or their sky, in a state of constant change, so that that which would be a faithful^ portrait of any one set of persons to-day, ceases to have likeness to-morrow. As Englishmen are they upon whom those vicissitudes operate first arid most directly ; it is among them that there is a. total want of every thing like national manners, at least of manners which might not with just as much truth be predicted of an Englishman at Naples or Astrachan, as of an Englishman in London. We have no doubt our nobi- lity, our fine gentlemen, our clergy and our literati, but they merge in the general oblivion of character ; the first being dis- tinguished only by his armorial bearing ; the second, by a sort of constitutional ennui, which lets one know that he is out of his element; the third, by a head gear a little more unseemly than that of other men; and the fourth, by no cha- racteristic distinction. All is business among the men of England — gain is their god, and his worship is all their glory. JSo doubt they write and reason, and dispute and harangue, as eloquently as the men of any other nation ; but they do that as a matter of business, and not for the abstract furtherance of art or science, or the theoretic discovery of truth. The most profound philosopher of the English schools, or the most elo- quent speakers at the English bar, or in the English senate, differ in subject, but not in object, from the most successful breeder of cattle, or the most skilful con- structor of steam-engines. We do not say that this is faulty ; we only say that it exists, and that existing, it takes away all those little trails and peculiar distinctions, without which it is impos- sible to find or to describe manners. A less busy and bustling and changing society, may be compared to one of the old-fashioned engines, which were put in motion and regulated by a horse turn- ing a wheel here, and a boy drawing a string there, while that of England re- sembles one moved and regulated by a single power. The one is, if you will, like an ancient galley, with its benches of rowers, all of them in sight, and moving it heavily along by hard labour, at their respective oars; while the other dashes away like a steam-boat, in which you hear the rush of the water, and see the -rapidity of the motion, but you can dis- cern no separate impulse. The very cause, however, which takes away from Englishmen every thing which a foreigner would call character, tends to stamp upon Englishwomen a character, not only different from that which the sex have in other countries, but more particularly and decidedly feminine. It is pretty generally admitted that the English ladies are among the most desirable shafts in the quiver of Cupid; but they remain in that quiver, or are satisfied with being that only in the games of the owner. They meet not with men in their worldly pursuits, and combat not with them in their intrigues, as they do in some other countries. It is impossible to live near them, and not admire them; but still their wars against the other sex are waged only against the heart ; and a mistress, in England, is quite pleased at being drawn in the same vehicle with her paramour, with- out ever attempting to snatch the reins and the whip, for the purpose of direct- ing that vehicle herself. The sexes come not, as it were, upon each other's ground. The men have their business, their po- litics, and their parties; and the women have their eloquence, their love, and their maternal alieotion : or if (as is very likely to be the case) the lady be, after all, the real governor, the gentleman al- ways has the credit of it ; which, for all public and political purposes, answers just as well. The separation of the sexes in their youth, which the habits of a commer- cial people renders necessary, has no doubt the first and principal effect in forming this peculiar character of the English ladies; but it is also assisted by political circumstances. The more absolute and tyrannical that any go- vernment is, the more eertain is it that females will be the real depositories of porter. Despots rule by their passions, and where this is the case, the stronger passion is the sovereign despot; and hence woman, whether at large or in the harem, rules, as a matter of course. (To be concluded in our next.) THE JOHN BULL dine* Vol. 1 . DECEMBER, 1824. No. 6. MY BIRTH-DAY. " Ob, 'tis a day/ a day of mirth and jollity ! The like was never seen before^ from high to low." Modern Song. " The gloomy mouth of November !" I do not like the assertion, the reflec- tion, the what you will — it is an exagge- ration born of those who live in garrets, and who see the sweet sun but o'Suu- days. There is no such thing as gloom in bonny Old England, where her chil- dren can, for the most part, live as they ought to live, and die jovial fellows. They, I mean, who pay the best tribute lo the old dame's glories^ by enjoying the fruits, and the corn and oil, which, with a hearty good-will, she pours upon them from her horn of plenty. Gloom ! there is not such a word in the whole chapter of our history ; it was banished the state when the Barebonss were driven out, and men took the manufac- ture of " home-brewed" seriously into action. Gloom ! there is not enough in the whole country to make a jacobin, or keep alive emigration ; the " clank of the canakin," like fires in an African forest, scares away the monster ; whilst, at the same time, as do the countryman's beaten kettles and saucepans entice the bees into a swarm — it congregates to- gether the mimics of dull care, and all those that are the antipodes to the blue- devils. But I am exuberant — and no wonder — it is the season of my re-invi- goration, the repletion of my life and spirit. I have been laid like the vam- pire, if I may compare things of evil with things of good report — in the beams my life-blood and am enriched with omnipotence for another year. I have, Antaeus like, kissed my mother-earth VOL. I, again, and again am invincible. Octo- ber, " old October," has commenced my rites, has opened the celebration of my birth-day. Children and fathers, ye that are the sacrin'cers to my altar, the proselytes to the sweet flowing elo- quence of Britain's nectar, will you have a Parthian glance at the rationally happy anniversary — the holiday which not even in a coronation, or triumph, has a pa- rallel. Well, then, there came to my making the hale and the hearty of all ranks and divisions in life — every order of society. The Doric basement, and the Corin- thian capital, each had its representa- tive, and with all of them it was the la- bour of love to pleasure me. First came, clothed in their best, and crowned with a wreath of barley, they that are the country's pride, a bold peasantry ; those who, whether they toil beneath a bright sun in the bounteous corn-fields, or in the misty city, do yet furnish forth their evening banquet by the sweat of their brows. These bore homely banners be- fore them, symbolically decorative of their several employments; whilst thp regular " pewter quart," glittering like a glow-worm when she lights the fairies o' Midsummer nights to their fantastic and tiny revelries, and reflecting the shunshine of my portly countenance, was elevated, like the host of Scotland before the jolly clans that now attended my muster-cry, as the badge and ensign of their numerous levies. There was no affectation, no sycophancy in the salu- 2C / 192 My Birth-Day. [dec. tation with which they greeted me ; but who have yet an act of gratitude to per- they bent as men who feel they have form to their heartiest benefactor. This done their duty to their employers, but . was their birth-day gratulation— Our country claims her people's praise, His people's love our King, And these the patriot still shall raise, When we are withering; But yet there is a duty still To thee, which now we pay, For thy warm smiles our pewters fill, Thy spirit wets our clay. Chorus. — Then round about thy throne we go, And catch thy bounties as they flow; And the last pledge from which we part Shall be thy regular pewter quart. We do not envy others power, Nor sigh for others gain ; A quiet heart, amidst life's shower, Tis better to obtain ; We'll give the great man all his wealth, The proud man all his might, Content to quaff old England's health With hearty friends at night. Chorus. — And thus, then, pacing round thy throne, We prove ourselves, indeed, thine own ; And such the creed thou would'st impart Each time we fill the pewter quart. Then live for ever — master — friend, For ever shine on us, To thee, midst toil, we lowly bend, In pleasure serve thee thus — We feel not labour, pain despise, And scorn at tasks to grieve, Assured by hope, that never dies, We'll meet with thee at eve. Chorus. — Then our glad chorus loud we'll swell To thee, who hast no parallel, And on our tombs, when we must part, Let there be hung thy pewter quart. To this issue of a line noble souls in their callings from Monday to Satur- succeeded, the centre of my army of pa- day, in order to sport their bottle of triots, the shafts as it were of the state's black-strap, and their one-horse-chay, pillar ; they who depending upon those o' Sundays and holidays ; in short, they beneath them, for much of their own sue- without whom the world could not live, cess, themselves supply that which is and who would themselves break stones above, the flourishes of the community, for Mr. M'Adam, or manufacture gas with comforts and authority. I mean, they for the impulsion of cricket-balls, with- came who labour all the live-long day, out the patronage of the world. Well, distributing their merchandize and their they gave me a stave too, short and commodities, from behind heterogene- lively, like little Knight the actor-man, ously filled counters, and crammed and a great deal more to the purpose warehouses ; they who barter the pro- than Robert Elliston's new four-horse duce brought over the deep waters from power Tale of Enchantment. Suppose far countries ; for, in this case, not vile, we give it, by way of affording plain but honest lucre — men who labour hard prose a minute's breathing-time. Oh ! thou art the chief for bewitching us, Whether in warehouse or shop, Of all the dear sw«ets that flow into us Thine is the true cheering drop — 1824.] My Birth-Day. Quacks they may prate of their piracies — - Dons they may talk of champaigns, But thine, when it passes our ivories, Physics at onca all our pain. Da Capo. Then hail to thee, King of life's pleasures, Hail to thy old frosty pow, We never shall lose all our treasures Whilst thus we can hug thee as now ; May thy smiles for ever be beaming, For ever o'er sorrow prevail, And long may thy bright eye be gleaming From out of our barrel of ale. Da Capo. 193 Last, but not least, came the great and the rich, and the noble — the flour- ishes of the capital, the elegant Corin- thian finish to a noble erection. I am not talking of those of the aristocracy who wear out their monotonous lives in drawing-rooms and club-houses, who leave home, " sweet home," for the frivolities of France, its dancers and its coffee, and the hearty hospitalities of the " water-walled bulwark," to court the dissipations of the cities of the Adri- atic — I am not talking of such who fear to face the north-wind, or the kiss of the morning ; but of them who love the wild halloo, and the hounds' melody, for whom hill and dale have charms, even though the bared oaks and the stripped hedges are blossoming with snow, not vegetation, and the winter- king sits enthroned on his palaces of ice upon the hill-top, and the deep valley, chaining into submission all nature by the power of his sceptre. Of them who deem exercise an effort of wisdom, and the enjoyment of life an application of prudence ; of them who love the dog and the gun, and who feel " a new ar- dour to their souls conveyed" amidst the enthusiastic sallies of sporting compa- nionship. Of them who can make a hearty breakfast, and a gap in the cold sirloin, 'ere the sun is two hours old, and who can be thankful to a good-natured benapt at noon for a luncheon of home- baked bread, and home-brewed ale, who can say a kind thing to the farmer's wife, and a complimentary one to his daughter, and who can afterwards wash down his bread and cheese with " old October," that once again rivals that nectar of our forefathers. Such were they, that came like " worthy gentle- men" to John Barleycorn's birth-day. The hunting-horn and the fowling-piece were slung over their shoulders, and the fox-brush and the pheasant's plum- age gracefully crested in their caps. They were clothed in various uniforms — sober green — and gay scarlet — and modest drab, and upon their banners were the several emblems of their field- sports curiously emblasoned. I confess to you, to you who love to live, and let live, that I was more happy in thus bringing together, in one bond of union, the several members of my ministry, than was evenMenenius Agrippa when he allayed the fury of a Roman demo- cracy by his celebrated fable — and I was determined, as I listed their con- cluding lay, to bind them still closer to my government by growing stronger each succeeding anniversary. Though there's life at the west-end, yet still we forget it, When fled from its smoke, and from Parliament hours, For never were hearts, if the fashion would let them. More form'd to be jovial and light than ours. Then may the sun still shine Upon thee and thine, Though on others, old boy, the rain-cloud lowers, And thy corn and the vine Shall still be the sign We will rally about in smiles, or in showers. There is not in Albion, though glories surround it, The richest and fairest in all the wide earth, So noble, so honour'd, so cheerful a spirit As thee, hearty chieftain — the god of our mirth! 2 C 2 194 Visit to a Colony of Maniacs at Gheel, near Brussels. [dec. To thee all shall raise An off 'ring of praise, Great pattern of strength ; mighty foe unto dearth, And the glitt'ring rays Of Albion's best days Shall ne'er fade 'neath thy sceptre — great model of worth ! Then to-day, as again, thou art rob'd in thy glories, Bold peasants, brave yeomen, and lords of the land, And churchmen, the Pope's men, old Whigs and old Tories, Come again to enrol themselves 'neath thy command; Nor party, nor sect, Nor pride, nor neglect, Shall defile thy bright spots where thy dear temples stand, But united and free, And happy with thee, Immortal in fame shall be Barleycorn's band. For obvious reasons, and as I hold it to be a sin most grievous and ungallant ever to " kiss and tell," the conclusion of the happy holiday, whose commence- ment I have chronicled, I must leave to the surmises of my admiring readers. Those who have had the wisdom to enrol themselves as members of the col- lege of good living, will need no ghost to arise from its sarcophagus to dole out, in hollow notes and slow, the con- cluding history of a " free and easy" banquet, and those who prefer buttered toast and "rot-gut" tea to mutton- chops and ale o' mornings, and weak wine and water to bottled porter or " twelve bushels to the hogshead" at dinner, do not deserve to be flattered by the blazon of any illuminations. The Public's Friend, John Barleycorn. 1st Nov.— from my mash-tub — 1824, VISIT TO A COLONY OF MANIACS AT GHEEL, NEAR BRUSSELS. There is no fiction in the following account, though the title of it may lead to such a supposition. The facts are no less genuine than singular, and rest upon the basis of ocular testimony and authentic record. It is not the first time, however, that this remarkable village has been made the theme of in- accurate and fanciful narrative. M. Jouy, for example, in ' The Hermitc de la Chaussee d'Antin/ gives a very flat- tering, but false, picture of this interest- ing establishment. He tells us, that four-fifths of the inhabitants of Gheel are maniacs, in the strongest sense of the term, and yet they are permitted to enjoy, without inconvenience, the same liberty as the other villagers ; that in the middle ages, a magistrate of Anvers, named Pontecoulant, feeling for the situation of the poor maniacs, crowded together in a small hospital, caused them to be carried to Gheel, and distributed among the inhabitants, to whom an adequate sum was paid for their board. The selection of this vil- lage, he informs us, was not made by chance ; for, being situated in the midst of an extensive plain, which every where surrounds it, the super- intendence is easy, and two or three men are sufficient to shepherd the- whole flock of maniacs, who, at the sound of a bell, return to their several homes to dinner. Wholesome food, pure air, regular exercise, and all the appearance of liberty, are found to be successful in curing the greater part of them within twelve months. Thus M. Jouy has thought proper to embellish, or rather to falsify, the real state of the circumstances. The era which he had transferred to the middle ages, bears the recent date of 1803, when M. Pontecoulant, the prefect of Dyle, of which Brussels is the capital, caused, as the Hermit has said, the ma- niacs to be sent to Gheel. The docu ment published by Pontecoulant on this occasion is now before us, from which we learn, that, from the confined and unhealthy situation of the hospital at Brussels, the poor patients^ — who were afflicted with the most dreadful of all distempers, were rendered incurable. Having heard that he could have the patients better accommodated at Gheel, he sent a physician to ascertain the state 1824.] Visit to a Colony of Maniacs at Gheel, near Brussels. 195 of the village, and, on his recommenda- tion, proceeded to arrange with the in- habitants to further his humane views. The first correct account which was published is contained in M. Herbou- ille's ' Statistical Account of the Dis- trict,' who tells us, that " This strange traffic has been, time out of mind, the only resource of the inhabitants of Gheel, and no accident from it was ever known to have taken place." Dr. Andree, who published a work on ' Charitable Establishments/ iu 1808, is still more credulous respecting the misrepresentations of Gheel than any previous writer. He gravely tells us, he was informed that madness is as endemic at Gheel as goitres are in Switzerland, adding, with great naivete, that the wea- ther was so bad when he passed through the country, that he could not examine into the foundation of the opinion. The most correct account which we have hitherto met with is that by M. Esquirol, and we shall liberally avail ourselves of his information. We had not proceeded far into the village, when we recoguised the poor fellow mentioned by M. Esquirol, who supposed himself to be the prince of performers on the violin. He immedi- ately recognised us as strangers, and politely introduced himself and his vio- lin to our notice. He was about the age of fifty, of dark complexion, and had a singular, though indescribable, look of keen anxiety, mixed with an air of exultation, arising at times to haughtiness or contempt for all around him. He had been a violin-player in Brussels for many years, and it was pro- bably, though we could not learn, jea- lousy, or vanity, respecting some rival performer, which had deranged his in- tellects. Besides the superiority of his performances on the violin, which was his ruling theme, he believed himself to be of noble birth, to be immensely rich, and to be destined to arrive at the high- est honours and dignities in the state. These notions presented themselves to his mind in the most disorderly combi- nations, but always with most surpris- ing spirit and vivacity — a circumstance' which rendered him always happy. He enjoyed the greatest possible liberty, and was even steady enough, we were told, to sing in chorus at the church on festival days ; though this was not pecu- liar to him, as several of the other pa- tients also assist. He sometimes goes to the neighbouring hamlets, and performs at the peasants' balls and dancing par- ties. At our request, he performed se- veral airs and pieces of very difficult and intricate music, without a single mistake, or missing a single note, though he was sometimes out in the time. While he was playing, he continued to talk very inco- herently, in a loud voice, and then it was he played too rapidly. It is wor- thy of remark, that though he fancied hiniself to be immensely rich, yet he took, without hesitation, the monoy which we offered him for his music We presented our letters of introduc- tion to the good old rector of St. Aman- zius, who was highly delighted to show us all tlie curiosities of his church, and to tell us all the legends connected with it. If we might judge from its architec- ture, the edifice appeared to belong to the thirteenth or fourteenth century. It is but small, compared with the magnifi- cent structures which were usually erect- ed at that period. ' On each side of the grand altar are two groups of figures, as large as life ; in one of which is a statue of St. Nymphna the Martyr; and in ano- ther two maniacs in chains, for whose recovery the saint is in the act of pray- ing. To this saint the colony of Gheel appears to owe its origin. Here bones were miraculously discovered so long ago as the seventh century ; and, as was usual in those times, they were resorted to for the cure of all sorts of diseases. Whether it was by accident, or policy, we know not, but it was soon disco- vered and reported, that St. Nymphna's bones had a peculiar influence in the cure of maniacal affections ; or, in the language of the times, were possessed of the power of driving away evil spirits from those whom they tormented. The fame of the cures performed at Gheel, like those at present said to be achieved by Prince Hohenlohe, was soon trum- peted through every quarter of Christen- dom, and the shrine of Nymphna was ac- cordingly soon crowded with devotees. Maniacs were brought thither in great numbers, accompanied by their rela- tives, and it became a lucrative avoca- tion for the villagers to accommodate the pilgrims and provide for their wants. The saint, after the lapse, of twelve centuries, still maintains her celebrity for the cure of these distressing affections of mind ; but, as we might have antici- pated, her credit seems to be rather on the decline ; for the old rector reluc- 196 Visit to a Colony of Maniacs at Gheel, near Brussels. [dec. sleep apart upon straw, or on a bag of chopped straw; while those who are harmless have beds similar to their hosts, and eat at the same table. Those, of course, who are lodged in the town have better food and better beds, though they have not so good air as in the farms and hamlets. The patients, who are maintained at the expense of the hospi- tals of Brussels and Malines, are clothed in woollen-stuff; the others according to the fancy of their relatives. The greater number of the patients live like the inhabitants of the country, on milk, butter, and potatoes, being allowed little bread or animal food in proportion. They are allowed to walk in the streets, or in the country, without fear, without restraint, and even without being mustered ; and when they escape beyond the territories of the commune, they are pursued by the gens d'armerie, and conducted back to their homes. When any of them become unruly they are loaded with irons, both on the hands and feet, and we saw one poor fellow whose legs were much lacerated by the, friction of his irons. In every house, indeed, we "saw rings fixed, either near the chimney or the bed, for the purpose of securing a chain when found neces- sary. We learned that upwards of fifty of the male boarders were employed to the great advantage of their hosts, in agriculture and other simple labours ; while the female patients are employed in sewing, and making lace, but are never put to perform domestic services. They receive for these labours a very small additional allowance of food ; but this is so very small, that those who live among the peasantry often barter the whole for a flask of beer on Sundays. They are not allowed to go to the paris'i- church, for the purpose, perhaps, of keeping it beyond the hazard of dis- turbance ; but many of them attend at the church of St. Amanzius, where fifty or sixty of them, and amongst others our friend the musician, assist in singing and in other parts of the service. It is rare that any of them interrupt or disturb the service, and this is imputed to the influence of St. Nymphna. It is the strict orders of the police, that none of the patients be seen out of doors after sun-set, under the penalty of a pecuniary fine; and that those who are furious or dangerous be not permitted to go out on any occasion, or under any pretence. On inquiring into the expencc of tantly admitted, that though he had fre- quently seen cures effected by the inter- cession of the saint, yet these were be- coming daily more rare. We were cu- rious to learn the nature of the ceremo- nies which were gone through in such cases ; and we obtained from our reve- rend Cicerone the following detail ; which is likewise contained in a pamph- let sold at the church, along with the whole history, true and fabulous, of St. Nymphna and her miraculous cures. The relatives of the patient have to attend for nine days in the church of St. Amanzius, during which, the ma- niac, either alone or with others in the same circumstances, is lodged near the church, under the surveillance of an old woman who is skilful in her vocation. A priest attends every day to celebrate the mass and read prayers, while the maniacs, assisted by boys of the village and devotees, go round the clujrch thrice on the outside and thrice on the inside. When 4hey arrive at the centre of the church, where the shrine of the saint is placed, they kneel and are dragged three times under the shrine, that is, each time they make the circuit of the church. If the patient be furious and unmanageable, one of the villagers, or a boy, is hired to go through the ceremonies in his stead. In the mean time, while the patient is performing his processions, his relatives in the church are assiduous in their supplications to the saint. On the ninth day grand mass is said, and the patient is exorcised; and on every repetition of the nine days it is the same. These ceremonies, how- ever, are by no means performed by all the maniacs who are sent to Gheel; and the time is perhaps fast approaching when they will be entirely discontinued, though we should hope that this will not be the case with the interesting colony to which they have given origin. The maniacs are distributed among the inhabitants of Gheel, with whom the relatives of the patients enter jnto a sort of contract. The body of the town, and more particularly the vicinity of the church, is in most request ; though some patients are lodged in the neighbouring farms and hamlets. We saw very few, however, beyond the boundaries of the town. Each inhabitant may take from one to five patients; and for the poor of the commune an hospital is provided, into Which eight or ten are received. The patients who are mischievous or unruly 1824.] On English Manners. 197 boarding arid keeping, we learned that when the patients are sent from private families, the charge is from six to twelve hundred francs; but when sent from public charities, it is no more than two or three hundred francs per annum. The magistrates of Brussels maintain a su- perintendent at Gheel, whose office it is to take care that justice be done to their patients. He has an inspector under him, who examines strictly into parti- cular cases, and these officers, with two physicians, form a commission of super- intendence for the patients of both Brussels and Malines. Several of-these gentlemen, to whom we were intro- duced, were extremely polite in giving us every information respecting their singular establishment. The maniacs who are sent to Gheel are for the most part incurable, or are brought to try the miraculous powers of the shrine of St. Nymphna. Among the most prevalent causes of mental de- rangement, the usual enumeration was made to us of religious despondence and melancholy ; unsuccessful and deluded ambition; disappointments in love; and domestic misfortunes — of all which, the most dreadful cases, and those the most hopeless of cure, arise from religious causes. We observed one singular- looking being with long, lank, black hair hanging down to his shoulders, his hands folded on his breast, and his sunk eye fixed on the ground .- who, at times, broke out into loud ebullitions of mirth and singing. On inquiring into his his- tory, we found that he was persuaded his future condemnation was unalter- ably fixed; and he was a hopeless repro- bate who could not expect mercy ; though his devotion was such that he praised God for his goodness in thinking him worthy to be condemned to eternal punishment. It reminded us of Tobias Swinden's wild opinion, that the sun was hell, and that its light being caused by the burning of the wicked, God was glorified in their punishment. Suicides are very rare : thirty years ago a patient cut his throat in the church, during the nine day's ceremony for his cure. The mortality among the patients is a little more than that of the other inhabitants ; but the females, in particular, are sub- ject to a diarrhoea, which often proves fatal. When their mental alienation is intermittent, it is frequently cured, when the patient can be induced, during the sane intervals, to engage in rural la- bours. It is a singular fact, indeed, that more cures take place in the suburbs than in the town, though in the former the patients are worse treated. These last two years the number of patients has been about 400. m. s. ON ENGLISH MANNERS. [Concluded The Salique law in France prevented women from sitting on the throne, but it did not prevent them from making a tool of its occupant, for the accomplish- ment of always the most selfish, and of- ten the most ridiculous, purposes. In a comparatively free government, on the other hand, and especially where there is any thing like a free press, the intrigues which give women the su- preme power are exposed 'ere they be ripened. Those circumstances necessarily in- fluence the education and habits of the English lady. Trained up for enjoying the society of her own sex, she is more mild and soft in her manners than the females of any other country; and, though she be less calculated for being the companion of man in his thoughts and his schemes, she is not, upon that account, the less lovely or desirable. from p.'.190.] It has been said, that, " an Italian lady will inspire you; and a French one will amuse you; but an English one will love you." This is true ; not that each has the quality alleged, and wants the other, but that each is marked by her predominant character. The separation of the sexes in their , youth, the modes of education, and the slender hopes that English ladies have from political intrigue, produce a cer- tain censoriousness and disposition to pick holes in the character of their own sex, which is not found in such inten- sity any where else. This does not, of course, apply to the very highest classes of society. Among such, the national character, whatever it may be, is never found to be strongly marked. Courtiers and court nobles are, like kings and priests, of the same family all over the world ; and locality ia situa- 198 A Sample of Signatures. [O-EC. tion, manners, or politics, has much less influence upon them than upon the other classes of society. In England, however, persons of this class have a much less distinct character than in other countries. The influence of wealth is continually raising individuals, through all the gradations of rank, up to the peerage; and the reaction, of the same cause, is as constantly bringing down the old families, and forcing them either to become the debtors of plebeian money-lenders, or put their noble hands to some sort of work. Those circum- stances stamp upon the English nobi- lity a very considerable portion of that want of character, which distinguishes the males, and of those peculiarities which distinguish the females. As English ladies are much more educated for the society of each other, and disposed to give one another the benefit of advice, so they are much more intolerant of each other's frailties, than those of any other nation whatever. The education and habits do not neces- sarily lessen the tendency to become frail ; but they throw an almost insepa- rable bar in the way of those who have once erred. This, again, makes the dis- tinction between those who have been known to err, and those who have not been known to err, much more strik- ing than it is any where else ; and, if this does not operate in preserving the virtue of the former, it, at least, entails upon the latter a greater depth and hope- lessness of misery and suffering than in any other country ; and while England makes a public boast of the purity and elegance of those of her daughters who have not erred, she might, if she chose, boast equally of the numbers of the very flower of her daughters whom re- lentless custom has consigned to infamy and ruin, upon grounds in which there are more of tenderness than of turpi- tude,— more to pity, and even to ad- mire, than to punish. It seems, how- ever, to be the nature of all peculiarly rigid systems, whether of manners or of religion, to produce saints who are pure in proportion to the numbers of the inevitably damned, from among whom they are elected. The vengeance of the infallible is not the only flaming sword which keeps the erring from the path that leads back to honourable life. For when the error is committed by a married lady, when she has, perhaps, after a forced marriage with a man she hated, and after years of misery and neglect, felt the return of a tenderness which the brutal conduct of her lord had extinguished, and, in an unguarded hour, (very much, haply, to the said lord's joy) eloped with another; there the law allows him to follow her still, to record her error upon the pages of every journal in the kingdom ; and, by harassing the paramour with a fine, do what in it lies to get her ill-treated at the hands of him who, in the unfor- tunate turnings-up of chance, has be- come her only protector and her only friend. No conduct can be either more cruel or more absurd than this: If the husband feels any loss at all,, from the departure of his wife, it is a loss which money can in no way make up ; and, as that money can have no effect upon the lady, unless it be to procure ill-usage for her, it can answer no purpose but to proclaim the mean and mercenary dis- position of him, at whose instance, in whose name, and for whose emolument, it is sued for and recovered. A SAMPLE OF SIGNATURES. Another short Extract from a long Poem. "■ Philip ! — Sparrow ! James, There's toys abroad; anon I'll tell thee more." " Men should be what they seem." Shakespeare. One William Shakespeare, he who whilome glanc'd From earth to heaven with awe-enraptured eye — And as he gaz'd, with mind and soul entrane'd, Stole their proud splendors for his minstrelsy — He in his magic volume hath advane'd Golden opinions, which should neve* die, Such as should suit the most fastidious clime. And flourish, all in all, till after time. King John. ^ -l A Sample of Signatures. 199 This mortal — all immortal in his thought, Demands " whafs in a name"— and deems a rose By other title would as soon be bought In Covent-Garden, for the daintiest nose, And please as well — so it were beauty fraught. The most fastidious of our city beaux ; Though its cognomen in the world's opinion Was plain as cabbage, and as coarse as " inion." But 'tis quite different how in modern schools, • The age such homely notions won't endure; With it the old ones were a pack of fools — A prosy set, and humble as demure : We work with very different sort of tools When we've to chisel out a signature — The famous Richard Smith* and old John Brown, Are now no longer on the alter'd town. Perhaps you wish examples, my friend John ? I don't mean you, good-natur'd Editor, But John, the public, who, when put upon : The trail of curiosity, will stir And fluster, like a Turkish don, When flash'd upon him Grecian scimitar : Well, dearest public, as I love thy grin, ■ I'll whet the whistle first, and then begin. John, thou hast read, I know by hook or crook — (For if thy pocket would not stand the pay, Thou hast begg'd, borrow'd, or e'en stole the book — ; Aye stole, for I did lose one in that way), Tales of my Landlord — (which so deftly took The town's ear, and the country's in its way) Thou hast read these, friend John, and know the chiel That is their Author, set this crying ill. Old Jedediah Cleishbottom ! — alack ! That ever Scott should march in masquerade, It puts one's very feelings on the rack, To see a giant start a pigmy trade ; A trade soon foilow'd by as strange a pack As e'er, on common sense, tried escalade — Upon my life it is beyond a joke When e'en Sir Walter keeps his " pig in poke." But to be sure his ether — incog, name. This one, by which he gulls full half the world, . • Is but a plain one — so our honest flame Of passion shall on dandier cheats be hurl'd, Thorough-bred foplings, who do fight for fame Under the false flags they lately have unfurl'd, There are a hundred such — some old, some new, And (as the birds are scarce) I'll bag a few. In magazines — fine covers they've indeed To harbour game for sportsmen like to me, Such as do flutter, an extensive breed, Among their leaves in bowery mystery ; Yes, these afford a pretty decent feed For this same prating peacock-dress'd new fry ; But, bring them down, and cut their comb and claws, And roast them soundly, you shall find them daws. There's Barry Cornwall — it is well enough In your first essay, p'rhaps, to wear a mask, But in a man notorious it is stuff, And profitless as is an empty flask ; Proctor besides, to men quite up to snuff, Has nothing in it which would mar a task ; When titles make the man a clever fellow, I'll speculate in leather and prunella. vol. i. e d 200 November, 1824. Letters from Jeremy Blinkinsop, fyc. Then Geoffrey Crayon — 'tis a title vile To cheat the cockneys, aDd to gather pence, But helps no jot the lame dog o'er the style, Nor gives one pennyweight of consequence. Besides, it keeps ear-promise for awhile, Only anon to break it to the sense ; Irving is better far — for with much talk He only paints at best with common chalk. The opium-eater — pshaw, we'll pass him by, And all his dose of strange intoxication, I'll wager odds enough he'll never cry His nostrums more to fuddle half the nation j Good Mr. Bull, you've work'd him mightily, And physic'd humbug in a proper ration ; In fact, young chap, you should be dubbed D. D. For your prescription written for De Quincy. JElia's a humbug which the London crams Adown our throats, or throws into our face, As if we did not know those things were Lambe's Which, e'en to dull Companionship, adds grace ; Knight's Quarterly is full of such queer shams, Though there they slap on at a, pretty pace, Sealey and Blunt, that town will never shun Which gave their smart Etonian such a run. Campbell and Co. — but, hark ! the dinner chime, Alarum sweet to merriment and cheer, Bids me to tell the rest another time, So close pro-tern., dear John, your raptur'dear ; Hazlett, the doleful — Horace Smith, the mime, All shall be well remember'd, never fear ; So farewell now — to wait I were a sinner, For there's no humbug in a well-dress'd dinner. [DEC. J. S. F. BETTERS FROM JEREMY BLINKINSOT TO TIMOTHY lORTESCUB, ESQ. No. II. Dear Tim, I am glad you liked my last letter, and continue my correspondence in fur- therance to your wishes. I dined the other day at a bachelor's, party, given by our friend Bob Turner, and amongst the " choice spirits," for it was intended to be a " roaring bout," were two clergy- men, the one a fox-hunter and a whip, the other a professed wit. From the one, by way of conversation, we got nothing but a tissue of slang phrases, "towel a drag," "roads run woolly*" " working a church ;" and speaking of a clergyman, who had lately lost an election to a living, where he had been some time curate, he observed, '* that it was very hard the poor fellow should be pushed off the box, when he had driven that road sq long." The other maintained bis old fame of being a wit, hy a succession of smutty tales, and coarse jokes. Now, Tim, you know well enough that I am neither a saint, nor a Joseph, but with all my levity and folly, I cannot endure to see a man crack a joke with bis foot in the pulpit, or descend so far from the austerity and propriety of the character he professes, as to reduce himself to a level with any coal-heaver, cobbler, or tinker, whom be may happen to meet with ; and I ex- pressed my feelings and sentiments pretty freely on the subject. And how do you think my philippics were an- swered ? by being called a whig, a ra- dical, a jacobin. And this is the cant of the day ! these are the slanders which are thrown in the teeth of every indi- vidual who has the spirit to raise his finger against the vices of the cloth, that they are enemies to their govern- ment, and maliciously endeavour to bring discredit upon the church, which, I8ELJ Letters from Jeremy Blinkinsop, fyc. 26l say these gentlemen of the tender con- science, is the first step towards confu- sion—anarchy — rebellion ! But this hue and cry, like that raised by the wild Indians, when on the point of rushing to the attack, has had its effect — it has eitjgjp| damped the spirit of those who were drawing out their batteries in de- fence of truth and justice, so as to deter them from the contest ; or it has ren- dered their shock too weak to produce any lasting impression. There is a set of people, and they, perhaps, form the larger part of the community, a very good, plain, pains-taking sort of beings, but whose pockets withall weigh hea- vier than their heads, who have been bred up, from their early years, in a sort of superstitious veneration for the clergy, and who consider every syllable breathed against their spiritual pastors as so many pounds weight in the scale, which is hereafter to decide upon their everlasting weal or woe. Upon such persons the cant about church and state has produced, as your doctor would say, the desired effect. But the world is now, or, at least, ought to be, too old to be terrified at such bugbears. This was all very well in those good days of yore, when a happy sinner would purchase absolution and remission for a pound of farthing rushlights — when a man's conscience was troubled within him, at the sight of a sheet of foolscap, (for they did not use Bath-post in those days) scrawled all over with denuncia- tions, anathemas, and the Lord knows what, yclept a "Bull." This was all very well when men walked about with their eyes shut, and ran against every post in their way with their eyes open — it was a mutual benefit to "the priest and layman — the former knew it to be his policy to keep the other from pry- ing into his secrets ; and the latter, from his ignorance, reaped the advantage of an easy conscience. But " the days of chivalry are gone!" — men boast of be- ing freed from the shackles of religious trickery — but are they ?— is not the same policy still preserved among the clergy? — and is not the world just as much duped by it as it was heretofore ? If not, what means all this outcry ? Why is one body of the state to be ex- empt from that scrutiny to which all others, high and low, are subjected ? If their motives, principles, and actions are as pure as they would have them appear to be, they would rather court than check inquiry — and this inquiry, so far from bringing the church into disrepute, and subverting the govern- ment, would combine and strengthen both. The priest is not now a distinct member — he is just as much a smatterer in politics as in theology — perhaps more so — he is no longer a private, but a public character. Your bishops may sit in the house of lords — and do upon occasions ; and your country parson is nine times out of ten a magistrate. Whether this is right or wrong 1 do not intend to discuss — my reason for men- tioning it was merely a tacit mode of implying, that when a man thrusts him- self into notice, and quits his obscurity, he has ho right to grumble at the dis- cants which are made upon him, but must expect to receive censure for his actions if they are incorrect, as well as praise if they are praise-worthy. To wind up this long preamble, let me say then that the church, either as a body, or as individuals, have no more reason to be exempt from public re- marks, than any other set of men. Suppose, my dear fellow, because John Bull ridiculed Sir H. Davy's foppery, that the chemists were to charge him with disaffection to the reigning power, and establish their imputation upon similar grounds to those used by the clergy — that he wished to throw disre- pute upon chemistry — and what would be the result?, — why, no one would buy drugs — and then his majesty, or the privy-council, could not have a " black dose," when they happened to be dis- ordered—they must die — and John's paper on Sir Humphrey was evident treason. Suppose the lawyers were to pursue the same plan — suppose Broug- ham, upon any censure which appeared in print on any gentleman of the long- robe, were to use the following argu- ment — " This attack, my lord, is clearly and palpably .put forth for no other purpose than to aid and abet anarchy and confusion — the aim is to throw a slur over the members of the bar, in the hopes that no one will place a brief in their hands — the issue will be, that the laws will fall fnto disuse — every thing will be done with violence — might will overcome right — and what are we then to expect but rapine, blood- shed, violence, and chaotic confusion?'* " Spectatum admissi risum t©n«»tts, aiaici.' 2D2 202 Letters from Jeremy Blinkinsop, <§-c'. [dlc. And yet what difference is there be- tween this and the arguments used by the clergy ? Why must the two ideas of a church and a state be so closely united ? For no other reason than that they would have it so. But let them be ever so intimately connected, what evil effects can accrue to the one, by weeding out the corruptions which have overgrown the other. The closer the connection between these two powers, the greater will be the advantage re- sulting to the one, as the deformity of the other is diminished ; — and then, in plain English, that man who unmasks the artifice by which a churchman screens his ill-deeds, is the true friend of his government, be he of what sect or party, or what rank he will. You, Tim, must see through the juggling trick which makes everything, now-a- days, a political question — and you cannot but despise it. The church has no right to be mixed up with the go- vernment — it ought not to be made a political question— it is not one, or I should not be writing to you ; for, between ourselves, I hate politics — and so 1 do cant and humbug, be it in church or state, and will do ray best to expose it. When I sat down to my desk, I had not the slightest idea of keeping you so Jong to hear my preachings and pros- ings; but "what is writ, is writ," — and you must consider this as a sort of preface, a candid declaration that I have no party-views in directing an arrow, every now and then, towards the pulpit. — My bow is already bent — I may as well speed the shaft—" so here goes : — If you put on your spectacles, and look over the advertisements of the first newspaper, or magazine, that falls in your way, you will find the following : "Ad. Cleros. On fine 4to. writing- paper. £1 10s. " Sexaginta Conciones (Anglice scriptae) nunquamantehac provulgato, lithographice impressa?, fideliter MSS. imitantes, in usum publicum Verbi Di- vini Prajconum accommodate a Pres- bytero Ecclesiae Anglicans. " Conciones hae lithograph icae in commodum Clericorum Sacris Ordini- bus novissimd initiatorum, illorumque sacerdolium, qui affectant, adaptantur. Sis, tamen, uti possunt illi, quibus, propter occupationum, ampliludinem, saepe auxilii hujus generis opus est. Quod ad fidcm spectat orthodoxo sun- to ad conslructionem vero nitido et diserto." - Now, Tim, in case you may have forgotten your Latin, I will furnish you with a translation: — "Sixty Sermons (written in English) and never before published, faithfully lithographed to imitate hand-writing, adapted for the use of the ministers of the divine word, by a member of the Church of England. "These Sermons are intended for the use of those who have been lately ad- mitted into holy orders, or those who are educating for the church. They may he also useful to those who, from the multiplicity .of their occupations, have need of an assistance of this sort. They are orthodox, and written in a neat and elegant style.'' This I take to be a clear specimen of clerical tricking and juggling. Why was the advertisement written in Latin ? —That the profane might not under- stand it. This underhand mode of pro- ceeding savours strongly of something not right; otherwise, why not let it be public to all, who have eyes to read, or ears to hea*r ? But no — it is treason against the state to publish a parson's humbuggery to his flock— men must be kept in ignorance of the tricks by which they are duped, if they wish to be saved. Then, my dear Tim, just observe the Wording of the last clause— " useful to those who, from the multi- plicity of their occupations, have need of an assistance of this sort; — all this long rigmarole means, those who can't write their own sermons, or it means nothing. For what, ia the name of heaven ! are a parson's occupations ? — driving stage-coaches ? — fox-hunt- ing? — or cramming up smutty tales? — Pretty occupations forsooth ! — aud well befitting these holy men, who are so pure, that it is impiety to raise your finger against them! — 1 make no more comments upon it, but leave it for your consideration till you hear from me again. Yours, &c. Jeremy Blinkinsop. 1824.] Baconian Experiments. 203 BACONIAN EXPERIMENTS OF MY UN6LE HARRY. e: Knowledge is power." :-Lord Bacon. My Uncle Hairy is so enthusiastic an admirer of the inductive logic of Lord Bacon, that he firmly believes no- thing can be real or true — not even his own existence — which will not bear to be examined by the standard of the No- vum Organum. This way of thinking has often made him appear, to those who do not know him, as a whimsical hu- mourist, though nothing is farther from his character ; as he is always serious, earnest, and zealous in the pursuit of truth, and would consider a joke or a piece of* humour to be a prodigal waste of our brief and valuable time. With him the admiration of Bacon is not, as it is with some, a mere opinion to hang their common places on ; for he spends his whole life, and an odd one it is, in illustrating the doctrine by the most singular and ingenious, though some- times laughable, experiments. A few of these 1 carefully noted while the pro- cesses were in progress, and, with his permission, I leave them at your dis- posal. EXPERIMENT FrRST. " What is the cause-" said my uncle, who was always cause-hunting, " what is the cause that puppies and kittens take delight in running round and round after their tails ? 1 have observed that little thing by the chimney-corner enjoying itself in this way for the whole morning, and I am determined to find out the cause." This occurred at breakfast, and I was accordingly prepared to expect amusement from the experiments of the day, though an unfortunate appoint- ment prevented me from seeing the commencement of the process. On returning. I found my uncle impransus, as he said, which is interpreted un-dined, and sitting squat on the carpet with the aforesaid kitten gamboling about him. " 'Evfr,xm, iujufta, 1 have found it, I have found it!" he exclaimed, while his old grey eyes sparkled with pleasure ; and, without waiting for my question as to what he had found, he got alertly upon bis legs. But accustomed as I was to his singularities, I could, with the ut- most difficulty, refrain frocn laughing out, when I perceived that he had con- structed for himself an ample tail, which he began to pursue with great ardour till he became giddy and popped down into the squat position in which he was when I entered the study. " It is very pleasant — only try it," said he, " I do not wonder that these ani- mals take peculiar delight in it. I feel my head just as if 1 had finished my bottle of claret, or as if 1 had breathed a bladder full of the nectarine gas. In- ductive experiment, my dear Hal," he continued, " is the very soul of truth. Had I not contrived this Galvanic tail for myself, I should have gone to my grave in ignorance of the cause why kittens and puppies pursue their tails. Take a memorandum of it, Hal, lest the important discovery may perish with us." " The facetious Montaigne," said I, " was in doubt when he played with his cat, whether he or she was most amused." But my uncle cut me short by saying, that Montaigne knew nothing of induc- tion, and was no authority on any point; for his wit was idle, and his com- mon-places were all from the ancients, who were wholly ignorant of induction. EXPERIMENT SECOND. My uncle was as keenly ardent to make discoveries for the benefit of man- kind as ever Mr. Owen of Lanark was ; and, as he was a professed enemy to spe- culation and theory, he always appealed to experiment. One of his plans of philanthropy was founded on the great discoveries of Gall and Spurzheim, that our dispositions and propensities arise from parts of the brain pushing out the bone that covers them, till it becomes ex- ternally a bump or knob. Now, my un- cle argued, that if the bumps of theft, lying, and murder, could in infancy be prevented from shooting out, all these crimes would bona fide be abolished. He accordingly invented an instrument on the principle of the hernial truss, and forcibly applied its two compressing knobs to the organ of murder in the aforesaid kitten. This was, indeed, at the risk of wholly destroying its mous- ing talents ; but the sacrifice of one kitten was a trifle when balanced with the total abolition of the crime of murder ! The poor kitten was kept under the" torture of the murdcr-com- 204 Baconian Experiments. [dec. press for no less than two months, when my uncle, being impatient to know the result, assembled all his domestics, and several of his neighbours, to see his ameliorated cat refuse, with banian hor- ror, to touch a mouse. " I hope, my friends," he said with eagerness, " that you shall this day ■witness the greatest discovery which has yet resulted from the inductive logic of the great Bacon, in the changed dispo- sition of this feline animal, whose race has, in all ages, waged implacable war upon mice. It will be the glory of the age we live in, to have found out the means of preventing for ever the crime of murder and the horrors of war, by simply applying a strong compress behind the ears of our children." The cat was released, and a mouse ■was at the same time emancipated from a cage-trap. " Now mark," said my un- cle, " how her nature has been changed ! She does not, as you perceive, attempt to catch ! — Good heavens ! She is, in- deed, off with it !" he exclaimed, with bitter disappointment, as the gentle cat made a rapid spring — seized her prey — and darted out of the room with it in her murderous jaws. Though foiled in this, however, he continued to contrive other similar ex- periments, both by compressing the bumps and by fostering their growth. At one time he attempted to make a wise goose, by squeezing its brain for- ward ; and to make a sprightly ass, by fostering the merry bump of an ass-colt. His experiment on a young cuckoo was more arduous, as he wished, by forcing the organs of tune and philoprogenitive- ness into extraordinary size, to make it more musical than the nightingale, and more paternal than the pelican ; but, unluckily, the experiment was foiled by the cuckoo prematurely dying apoplectic. He was very anxious to have tried his compress on the head of his groom, in order to destroy his amative organ ; but Dick could not be per- suaded; nor could he induce me to try to become as great a poet as Milton, or as great a philosopher as Newton, by putting on his compress. For himself — he was so well satisfied with his bumps as they were, that he declared he had not the least occasion for the compress. EXPERIMENT THIRD. " Cold," said my uncle," is a solid as heat is a fluid body, which fact I thus prove. Put your hand amongst this pounded ice and you will feel all the flesh and blood of it shrink, and crowd, as it were, more closely together — in a word, become more solid than before. Nay, in a frosty morning, I can distinctly feel the solid cold in the air, and you may see it also in the thick vapour of the breath. Every one has smelt the cold, particularly during a London fog; and I shall now let you hear that it is an elastic solid. For this purpose I have procured this waggoner's whip, which Dick shall operate with on the cold in Ihe garden." Dick, accordingly, ac- companied my uncle and me to the garden, where he begun most scienti- fically to crack the whip. " Now," said my uncle, " mark the sound ; the cord of the whip striking the solid body of cold in the air, acts in a similar man- ner to a drum-stick striking oh the head of a drum. This experiment," he con- tinued, " must convince every body who witnesseth it, that cold is a hard solid substance, which may be touched, tasted, smelt, seen, and heard, as dis- tinctly as any other substance in na- ture, heat and magnetism not excepted. This I esteem, my dear Hal, one of my most important and useful disco- veries, save, perhaps, my discovery of the real existence of the fluid of dark- ness." I am sorry that I have mislaid the experiments by which he proved the fluidity of darkness, and also those which proved nothing to he an internal motion of the particles of the air, as they were, in my opinion, superior in ingenuity to those which are usually brought to prove heat to be motion, and light to be fluid. To make some amends for the want of these, I shall give you a laboured and eloquent ORATORIAL PANEGYRIC ON LORD BACON, BY MY UNCLE. ." Bacon," said my uncle Harry, when he had concluded his experi- ments, proving darkness to be a fluid, " may be considered as the great father of all that is useful in modern philoso- phy — having most fearlessly and most successfully attacked all the bulwarks of prejudice— having disencumbered t himself of the shackles of the gramma- rians and commentators, whose stupi- dity and dullness had nearly smothered 1824.] Mr. 'Brown, on the War Establishment. 205 all the celestial fire of genius that lived and burned in the works of the Greeks and Romans, and had portentously threatened to bury the human mind itself under their tomes of unintelligible lore — and having trampled on all the useless mass of grammars and com- ments, and made his way with fearless heroism into the pure atmosphere of nature — Lord Eacon stood alone among the works of God, and looked abroad on their sublimities with all the hum- bleness with which it becomes an im- perfect being to look upon perfection. Me felt his ignorance, and felt it strongly, and he looked with contempt, or with pity, on the dull and ignorant grammarian, who, bedecked with his un- intelligible jargon of unmeaning terms, strutted amidst his pile of musty vo- lumes with all the insolence of untamed and untamable pride, and thought the works of the Almighty beneath his regard — because he could not so well and easily bepatch them, as he could do the works of man, with the musty cob- webs of the schools. He could not persuade men to talk of the potentiality of the sun, nor make the stars to be cases or moods of the moon ; though they suffered him to rack out his dull inven- tion upon Homer and Demosthenes, and to try to dim witli his vile breath the unquenchable light of their genius. All the accumulated rubbish of the grammarians Lord Bacon cleared away from his study, and determined to em- ploy the sublime and unrivalled powers which God had given him, in thinking for himself; and it is to Lord Bacon alone that we owe the whole goodly fabric of modern art and science, as it was he who taught men to experiment and to observe; and to think rather than to fancy and dream; and to in- vent unmeaning terms to apologise for their stupidity and ignorance, and im- pose upon the vulgar by a learned array of mysterious and meaningless words. In brief, my dear Hal, it is to Lord Bacon that the world will be indebted for this sublime discovery, which I have now happily completed, of the fluidity of darkness." My uncle, on concluding his oration, retired to consign himself to the arms of sleep for the night, and to continue his investigations upon dreaming, on which he has also learnedly experimented and profoundly spoken. Sednunc satis jam in presentia: my uncle himself may, perhaps, send you something better than this scrawl. A. MR. BROWN'S ATTACK ON THE WAR ESTABLISHMENT, AND THE POPU- LATION RETURNS. Of the several ways of obtaining no- toriety, that of taking up singular opini- ons, and persisting to defend them with inflexible and head-strong obduracy, seems much easier, and greatly more successful, than any sort of useful and meritorious exertion which is pursued with unobtrusive modesty ; and so long as such opinions interfere not with the public welfare and happiness, there seems no good reason why the persons who hold them should not be indulged to talk about them, and write about them, till they reap the gratification of their boyish vanity, in seeing their names capitalized and bandied about in the public prints of the day. The case becomes very different, however, when a person attempts to make him- self notorious at the expenceof the pub- lic, by spreading alarms of vague» and undefineable danger, which are but too apt to lay hold of the minds of the peo- ple, and influence their conduct. Mr. Brown, we conceive, is a person of this stamp, and we feel it to be our impera- tive duty to denounce him as such, and render, as far as our influence goes, his unfounded alarms harmless and nuga- tory. We have his own assertion that his motives are not selfish and interest- ed, and we verily believe, that his alarms do not rank under the category of pro- ductive labour ; but he must have mo- tives for coming before the world swag- gering and dogmatising so outrageously — he must have proposed to himself some end or aim to be attained — and to us that end seems to be nothing else than the gratification of an idle and cul- pable vanity. But let that pass — we should not indeed have taken the trou- ble to disturb his little day-dreams had it centred in the moon or in the depths of the earth ; but, assuming as it does a shape so questionable, we wish tq> 206 Mr. Brown, on the War Establishment. [dec. put the , public on their guard against him, though perhaps our admonitions may not, to use his own elegant lan- guage, " possess perspicuity sufficient to make an impression on tlie faculties of an idiot, or force sufficient to constrain the resistance of madmen." What makes Mr. Brown'at this mo- ment a very dangerous sort of person, is the known prevalence of small-pox, which, after they had for some years nearly disappeared, have again resumed their ravages in many parts of the coun- try. Now the causes of the reappear- ance of this terrible disease are obvious enough, and have been clearly traced and stated by gentlemen of the highest professional eminence. They are briefly these : 1 . The neglect of vaccination, particularly among the lower orders, who, notwithstanding the facilities held out to them, have been lulled into secu- rity and neglect in proportion as small- pox have been lately of rare occurrence. £. Imperfect vaccination, from not em- ploying Mr. Bryce's test, and from trust- ing to non-professional vaccinators.* 3. Most of all from continuing tie practice of small-pox inoculation, in which Mr. Brown is an avowed delinquent. He talks of prohibiting the cow-pox inocu- lation by Act of Parliament ; but if he, arid such as he, had met their deserts by a salutary law of restraint, we hesi- tate not to declare our opinion, that we should not have now heard of the re-ap- pearance of small-pox. It well becomes Mr. Brown, after doing all in his power to -keep the poison of small-pox afloat for several years past, in the health- ful air of Musselburgh, by continuing to inoculate all whom he could persuade to submit to the measure — it well be- comes him, we say, to c«pie forward now with alarming accouiits of their inprease ! Why, he himself has been the main cause of the evil, so far as his in- fluence reached, and, we think it would be doing no more than their duty re- quires, if the magistrates of Mussel- burgh should set about a serious inves- tigation of his conduct, with a view to adopt coercive measures to restrain such farther assaults on the public health of the borough. In these sentiments we are sanctioned by the authority of S. Bourne, M. p. who stated to the House of Commons, that, in his opinion, they would be as much justified in preventing, by restraint, the inoculation for small- pox, as a man would be in snatching a tire-brand out of the hands of a maniac about to setfire to a city. We conceive, indeed, Mr. Brown is almost as cul- pable as if he were going about bul- lying his patients to allow him to intro- duce into their families the contagion of the plague or of typhus fever, for the small-pox have not been less destruc- tive than either iu their former ravages ; and if Mr. Brown, and such as he, be allowed to persist in propagating the virus, the consequences may again be- come dreadful. In a limited degree they are so already. But let us more closely examine Mr. Brown's proofs, otherwise he will not hesitate to complain of " detraction ;" though on this subject we think it would not be easy to detract him, if we may so use the term. He tells us, that ex- perience has shown that the natural small-pox have made their appearance after complete vaccination — not in the least modified, but in the highest degree confluent and followed by death. But the experience of no practitioner in the kingdom bears Mr. Brown out in such round and unblushing assertions, and Dr. Munro has inferred, from- a; most extended induction, that in the whole " annals of physic there are not above six or eight fatal cases of small-pox alter cow-pox ; whereas, at an average, one in four hundred dies from the inocu- lated small-pox; not to mention that this practice often entails the loss of an eye, of a limb, or of general health, which the cow-pox never do. But Mr. Brown maintains a deter- mined scepticism with regard to the authority of all who oppose his views, and he premises " once for all" which phrase with him means again and again, that, after the various tergiversations [a learned term for lies'] of these gentle- men, it is impossible to allow much, if any credit, to the different opinions and * All parents should insist upon their surgeons using Mr. Bryce's test, in cases of cow- pox. It consists in inoculating, on the fli'th day, the other arm from the one first inocu- lated. If the first inoculation has been perfect, both pocks will ripen at the same time; if this does not take place, the constitution has not been properly affected, and the inocula- tion must be repeated. 1824.] Mr. Brawn, on the War Establishment. 207 defences they now bring forward — their evidence must be considered as that of parties to the cause, and entitled to very little attention." By the same rule, Mr. Brown's own evidence must be wholly set aside, as he also is a party to his own cause; which, moreover, he would have most effectually betrayed, even had it been tenable, by his intem- perate violence. He seems to have something like an instinctive antipathy towards all his professional brethren connected with the army, or holding official situations, and in no very guard- ed terms gives them to understand that he does not believe one word which they have said, or shall say, on the sub' ject. It is but fair to conclude, he says, that the minds of those who are con- nected with the Duke of York and the medical board, must labour under con- siderable prejudice; and farther, it is curious to observe, even the anxiety of a private soldier to support the cause of vaccination — again, it is somewhat sur- prising, and rather suspicious, that the vaccine practice should receive its prin- cipal support from medical practition- ers connected with the army. Indeed, in almost every page he throws out similar insinuations, which, to say the least of them, are more likely to bring Mr. Brown himself into suspicion, than those highly respectable gentlemen he so unfairly and unprovokedly stigma- tizes. Our readers will no doubt wonder that we are all this while overlooking Mr. Brown's proofs ; but they will won- der more when we tell them that we have bond, fide bsen actually giviug them as his proofs are chiefly of ths nature of snarling negations, directed against the army- practitioners, mixed up with a few broad assertions respecting his own practice. He calculates most san- guinely on the belief of his readers, and thrusts his opinions with so much auda- cious hardihood upon them, that unless they previously know something of the man, they might think he had more in- terest at stake than the indulgence of a little vanity. When Mr. Brown so liberally deals out his suspicions and accusations of others, it is but natural to infer, that he is himself in the habit of unfair dealing: it is an inference indeed which few would fail to make. But we shall not lay so much stress upon it, as to rank him among " the least creditable class VOL. I. of practitioners," who, according to the report of the National Vaccine Board, are the only persons that now persist in the pernicious practice of small-pox inoculation ; and Mr. Brown confesses, that he is fully aware of the contempti- ble state of those who have hitherto opposed vaccination, and shudders to be classed among them. Circumstances, however, have come to our knowledge, which reduces the value of Mr. Brown's authority, more than the irascible and unmannerly style in which he attacks all that is respectable in the profession* We shall just bring to his recollection, his not only calling himself, but, when he met with a rebuff, repeatedly sending his apprentice, to insistjupon the mother of a respectable family to give her autho- rity for a statement concerning her children, dictated by him, and favour- able to his views of inoculation, though directly contrary to what she distinctly knew and told him was the fact ; which fabricated statement, with others in all likelihood of a similar cast, he intended, no doubt, to use for persuading others into his absurd opinions. It may be stated also, that Mr. Brown is not pro- fessionally employed by that family ; and the inference is, that he must be at a distressing loss for favourable cases among his own patients, when he is forced to commit so unblushing an out- rage on good manners as this was, to get up a number of cases plausible enough to make a swagger with. After such unfair and unprofessional conduct in one instance, and we pledge ourselves for the truth of what we have said — how can we be sure that Mr. Brown will not resort to a similar mode of going to work, whenever he is puz- zled to extricate himself from the net he has so blindly run his head into — nay, how can we be sure that he has not resorted to it in numerous other in- stances, in laudable imitation of Drs. Eady, Jordan, Whitlaw, and others of the confraternity of quacks, who earn their daily bread thereby. After know- ing this, it would not be easy for any one to force himself to credit Mr. Brown when he says. " I can assure you, sir, in examining my own practice, few or none escaped (small-pox) at the distance of six years after vaccination, that were placed in circumstances favourable for the operation of the epidemic; very few at four years, and at the moment I am now writing, cases of failure are occur- 2 E 208 Mr. Brown, on the Population Returns. [dec. ring here exactly in conformity to these principles." Now, the question natu- rally suggests itself, if this is so, if cases are so plentiful, what induced Mr. Brown to try to induce a respectable mother to tell a direct falsehood concerning her own children, for the purpose of aiding him to support his system. But it is not so, at least such things have occurred to no respectable practitioner so far as ■we know, except Mr. Brown himself. Dr. Munro expressly says, that, it appears both from the cases which occurred in his own family, and numerous others, " that the preventive power of cow-pox does not wear out, and also, that it is not proportioned to the ages of the pa- tients." We do not deny, for the fact is noto- rious—that small-pox has frequently succeeded perfect vaccination. Hut we are sure that the disease is in. almost every case mild and mitigated — that the primary fever, though sometimes severe, runs a rapid course, and has an early termination, and that secondary fever never supervenes at all ; and we chal- lenge Mr. Brow a to bring properly- authenticated cases' of the contrary, or to give up his cause ; got- up cases will not do. But in this the cow-pox stand nearly on the same ground with small- pox ; a position, however, which to Mr. Brown appears " so ridiculous and des- titute of all truth, as not to deserve the smallest attention." That is, in other words, Mr. Brown's avro? Ityn is to be believed in preference to a whole host of the most respectable practitioners, namely, Willan, Kite, Withers, Mills, Adam, Ring, Bryce, Laird, Bateman, Woodville, Moore, Hennen, Ramsay, Smith, &c. {See Munro, page 81.) Nay, the second attack of small-pox is, according to the same authority, sometimes malignant and fatal, as was the case in a patient of Dr. Graham's, of Dalkeith ; who, though he had had small- pox when three years old so severely as to be considerably marked, was twenty years after seized again, and died on the twelfth day. It. is well known, also, that nurses who have had small-pox, often catch the contagion again from suckling children labouring under the complaint ; and surgeons who inoculate, have not unfrequently been seized with it from the matter being absorbed in casual scratches on their hands. " No," says Mr. Brown, " it has been distinctly proved that whoever has once passed through small-pox in a satisfactory man- ner, will not again be subjected to that disease." Here is assertion with a ven- geance, in the very face of the fact which so lately occurred only about fuur miles from where Mr. Brown resides, in the fatal case of Dr- Graham's already men- tioned. Mr. Brown seems to be particularly vexed to think that our increased popu- lation, should be ascribed to the banish- ment of the small-pox by means of vac- cination. Perhaps it would be going too far to say, that the rapid doubling of our population is wholly owing to the. introduction of cow-pox ; but when we consider, that before its introduction small-pox carried off, in Britain and Ire- laud alone, from thirty to forty thousand souls every year, or about one in fourteen of all that are born, and that since the cow-pox was introduced there has been . an increase of our population of about fourteen in the hundred in ten years,in all . about four millions of souls of increase : when we consider all this, we must cer- tainly look upon cow-pox, notw ilhstand- ing Mr. Brown's ill-natured declama- tion, as indeed a boon from heaven. And though, as Mr. Bryce says, there should still remain one in three thousand unprotected after vaccination, or a hun- dred and eighty-seven of those annually born ; and though of these there should die one in fourteen from small-pox, yet will thirteen persons only die annually from small-pox, in place of forty thou- sand. It appears not so to the profound and diving intellect of Mr. Brown, who has most perversely discovered, that, " those who were employed to take down the numbers (in the last census) in a great many instances, if not in all, look down the numbers which belonged to a family, and not those who actually formed the family at the time, by which means a vast number were taken down twice." And mark what follows: "the consequence of all this foolish and cri- minal conduct has been, that for these six or eight years past, the ravages of small-pox have been nearly as great as before the Jennerian discovery was in- troduced." If this is not absolute rav- ing, we must give up our claims to understanding. We can only account for Mr. Brown producing such a proof of his incapacity to talk soberly, bv sup- posing his thoughts to be perpetually haunted with a huge bug-bear, in the form of a Jennerian practitioner. YV hat 1824.] Trials and Travels. 209 must the worthy clergymen, school- masters, and others who numbered the people think, when they see themselves thus publicly accused by a professional surgeon, of going from house to house propagating the pestilence of small-pox. We dare say it would have been the last thing which they would have dream- ed of, that a few names innocently re- peated, would have led to such awful consequences. Another charge which Mr. Brown makes against cow-pox is, that he has observed, since their introduction, an in- creased severity in scrofulous cases, a:id a more early occurrence of phthisis pul- inonalis: he also coincides with those who think they have rendered measles more severe and fatal. We are quite astonished to hear such doctrines broach- ed by a professional man. Who does not know that it was one of the greatest evils attending small-pox, to aggravate scrofula and consumption, if not to en- gender them ? How many did they not render blind and deformed by the deve- lopement of scrofula ? Every old woman in the country, indeed, speaks as de- cidedly on the dregs of small-pox, as Mr. Brown could do of the sequelae of syphilis or scarlatina. And as for the in- creased severity of measles and hooping- cough, it seems in a great measure out of the reach of proof, and an assumption of a very gratuitous stamp. It would be endless to follow Mr. Brown through all his misrepresenta- tions ; but we cannot pass over his mode of giving effect to his alarms, by referring to years yet to come, when, be says, in the confident spirit of prophecy, that the small-pox will infallibly drive the cow-pox from the field, after making victims of thousands of the unsuspect- ing. It is consoling to think that Mr. Brown's credit is not so great as to give general currency to any oracular speech, which it may seem good to him to utter and publish, though it may influence many. We hope, however, that we have in this paper prepared an antidote for the virus he has been so industrious to propagate ; and, in doing so, we have, we hope, a laudable and proper interest for the welfare of the public. We assure Mr. Brown that we do not belong to the army, and are quite unconnected with official situations. But we cannot sit quietly and hear the institutions of our country impudently abused ; and we think that those who do so, richly de- serve to get " kail o' thare ain groats." We declare most solemnly that we have no malice towards Mr. Brown, but we think that so long as he persists in send- ing abroad the plague of small-pox, that he is a very dangerous person, whom it would be injustice to the public for us to overlook, and we pledge ourselves to keep a strict watch over his future proceedings with regard to the contro- versy. TRIALS AND TRAVELS; Being a few Leaves from the unpublished Note-Book of Sir Joseph Jolterhead, Bart, made at JJome and Abroad. 1 Vol. Svo. pp. 380. In the introduction to this curious diary, Sir Joseph gives some account of the ancient, illustrious, and truly Eng- lish family of the Jolterheads; and, in the course of it, he makes some re- marks which would be very serviceable to those of our cotemporaries who fill the same situation in the world of let- ters that the Jolterheads do in the world of life. There is this difference, how- ever, between them, that he makes such a claim to ancestry, and shews a knowledge of the antiquarian, to which they can have no title. He proves, very triumphantly', that the Jolterheads did not, as some would have us believe, come in with the Saxons, the Danes, or the Normans ; that they were not only great before the heptarchy, but even leading men long previous to the inva- sion by Julius Csesar. According to Sir Joseph, they derived their patronymic appellation from the builder of Stone- henge ; and, according to what we hold to be antiquarian authority, many de- grees overproof, we find, that the Jol- terheads had not only much influence in the Celtic parliament, which, from the evidence of the " Cheesewricy" in Cornwall, and the remains of the gar- den of the Black Prince in Kennhigton Oval, were holden alternately upon Sa- lisbury Plain and Cader Idris (at which latter, by the way, the project of invad- ing Mexico by Madoc, and working the silver mines there, under tbedirec- 2E2 210 Trials and Travels. [dec. tion of the same Parson Jones who turn- ed the Pavys mine, in Anglesey, to such account, was planned) but that their power at court was so unlimitted, that they could elevate to the kingly office, or dethrone from it, whomsoever they chose. It was for this reason that the aforesaid founder of Stonehenge had his own name of Joe (which has, by the bye, always been the family-name) augment- ed by the garnish of" alter-head," mak- ing, in all, " Joe-alter-head," which, for the sake of euphony, or according to a well-known tendency in language, has been changed to " Jolterhead," the mo- dern name. At least such is the opinion of General Vallancey and the Reverend Mr. Davies. We presume not to de- cide. The baronet is most successful in de- fending his family against the imputa- tion of having obtained their name from their political alterations, from the shill- ings tbey had from York to Lancaster, and from Lancaster back again to York ; from their violence during the civil war, and their alterings in every thing that followed. In all these ancient matters he is equally dignified and satisfactory ; but when he comes to his own times, and treats of the indignities and wrongs which his family have sustained, at the hands of a certain Lord Yesterday, he loses his patience, and with that, as is very apt to be the case, his argument. The mother of Lord Yesterday had been charwoman at the treasury during the influence of Lord Bute, and he him- self had passed through a remarkable gra- dation of offices, till he had been ele- vated to the peerage, and had built, as nearly under the nose of Sir Joseph Jol- terhead as he could, a splendid mansion, to which he had given the name of Per- quisite Priory. Sir Joseph hated both this mansion and its owner; and, in re- turn, the latter, whose diplomatic prac- tices had enabled him to procure a story out of the least possible number of hints, had alleged, that the pure descent of the Jolterheads had been rendered a lit- tle doubtful by a French valet, a Scotch tutor, and an Irish gentleman, who had been in the family for three successive generations. The means which the ba- ronet took to prove his truly English descent in this case, was a challenge to his lordship to a bout at cudgels ; but his lordship pleaded his privilege, and the matter went no further. The baronet began, however, to be not at all pleased with his situation. Changes had taken place in the country, at which he felt not a little mortified. The rustics, who used to think it an honour if his ancestors condescended to salute their wife and daughters, or sent them a puppy to nurse, now hinted that they would not bear the freedom of the first, or submit to the expense of the second ; the farmers, who used to borrow all their ideas at the castle, would now both dispute and disobey the oracles of its wisdom; once the barber would not shave the baronet, till he had completed his tonsorial services for the excisemen, to whom he had made a previous engagement, and who was, in fact, under his hand; and the apothecary refused to leave the black- smith's wife, upon whom he was attend- ing in a case of extremity, although the baronet's favourite horse had the bots. These were hard matters enough, but still they were only the beginnings of sorrow. As in cases of weakness of the heart, the blood rushes there, leaving the extremities cold and blanched ; so, when the chief of the Jolterheads began to be in trouble, the posse who posses- sed the neighbourhood, poured their aid toward Jolterhead castle, till they were exhausted; cousins, connexions, and acquaintances of Lord Yesterday, men of more elevated noses, and more sable or sallow complexions than the Jolter- heads, occupied the lands from which these were ejected ; and Sir Joseph com- plained that he was left alone in the midst of strangers. These soon outfaced him. at the sessions, and out-bullied him at elections, till his power was confined to the church, and the parish-offices; and this he held solely because the suc- cessors to his people being mostly of the Jewish ? persuasion, or in some way des- cended from or connected with the scat- tered of Israel, gave themselves little trouble about Christian worship. But when a man has once lost hjs influence in secular matters, his hold upon the clergy is but slight. The par- son smelt the sweet savour of the newly- established kitchens, and forgot the decaying castle ; the Jews were in time converted, the apostles were well paid for their trouble, and the result was, that Sir Joseph Jolterhead was eclipsed at church, and Miss Biddy, his sister, (or, as the parson had magniloquent ly styled her, the Lady Rodolpha) was jostled in the very chancel, by a dame in gay dia- 1824.] Trials and Travels. 211 monds and greasy satin, with a nose like the back of a reaping-hook, eyes like two jars of black-currant jelly, and a mouth, which, as Sir Joseph avers, Miss Biddy Jolterhead could compare to nothing but the mandibles of an un- fledged sparrow. These again were matters hard to be borne, especially by those in the hands of whose ancestors had been, the destinies of kings; and, therefore, the baronet began to bestir himself. The houses, the equipages, the improvements, every thing about the Hebrews were now grand and expensive ; and he, to beat them upon their own ground, felled all the old timber and mortgaged part of his estate. This brought him but small advantage : the sale of the timber did not pay the expense of improving the land from which it was cut ; and the premium, together with a few years in- terest, eat up all that had been raised upon the mortgages. So that Sir Joseph Jolterhead was, by a good deal, a poorer man, and as far behind his neighbours as ever. He was hampered in his very sports. . Fences, visible and invisible, put a stop to his coursing ; and if a favourite dog found a circuitous path to the old cover, bounce went a spring-gun, and the faithful animal never returned to his master. Even at the race-course he was out-done ; for after these new per- sonages came about him, all the skill in horse-flesh which he had been aforetime allowed to have, could not enable him to bet upon the winner; and, it seemed that, as the sons of pawnbrokers and . old-clothes-men were gaining upon Sir Joseph Jolterhead, so crazy-looking hacks were distancing the best cattle in England. Whenever he met with his Hebrew neighbours they not only had much more money in their pockets than he, but what they had seemed to draw what be had towards it, by an incom- prehensible but powerful attraction. Defuit Meanwhile rents fell and taxes rose : and as Sir Joseph had to depend wholly upon the former and to pay the latter to their last farthing, his situ- ation became more unpleasant every day. He had once supported the mi- nister through thick and thin, and he now made clamorous application for support in return ; but the minister, finding where the power was, turned a deaf ear to Sir Joseph Jolterhead, and leaving him to shrug his shoulders, went on to improve the commercial laws. Upon this, Sir Joseph became very an- gry, and affected to talk big ; but his influence was gone, and so nobody cared a straw for his talking; nay, some of those who really had stuck by him for a long time, and who had vowed to stick by him to the end of the chapter, began to hint at the great public advantages which followed when the land frequently changed its proprietors. In conse- quence of Ihese things he became sullen, and dragged and stalked about quite an altered man, blaming every one of that government which he had once worshipped, and railing at every insti- tution of that country which he had once adored. In this state of things, Miss Biddy's conduct had nearly broken his heart. Though he had neither the means nor the inclination of falling into the habits of the males of the new race, Miss Bid- dy loved, though she could not afford to imitate, the finery of the females. She, however, took every method in her power to cultivate their acquaintance ; and, in the course of a few months, Miss Biddy Jolterhead became the wife of Jacob Jacobson, Esq., a gentleman possessed of more hundred thousands than teeth, and whose pedigree, which could be traced by a very short and clear line to a blind alley of Hounds- ditch, became there oblivious even to herald eyes. Multum, 212 A Defence of Placemen and Decayed Boroughs, §c. [dec. A DEFENCE OF PLACEMEN AND DECAYED BOROUGHS, IN REPLY TO PARLIAMENTARY REFORMERS. EY A TORY. Mr. Editor— I trust to your impartiality with respect to political partyism, for the insertion of the following remarks on an interesting topic. They are, in- deed, obvious enough ; but they cannot, I think, be too often and too strongly stated, when the misrepresentations which they combat are circulated with so much industry. I am, &c. A Staunch Tory. Toryfi eld-house, Jan. 30, 1819. The most superficial acquaintance with human nature will enable us to perceive the absurdity of any system of laws or form of government which pre- tends to be incapable of amendment. Society is in its very nature fluctuating and changeable, and laws and institu- tions, which do not keep pace wilh the march of its improvements or decline, must always entail a multitude of evils. How absurd, then, it will be said, the conduct of those who oppose and de- precate all the measures which our pa- triots have recommended for abolishing the errors and purging off" the corrup- tions that so notoriously infest our con- stitution and our government ! Is not the country sinking into the gulph of- ruin, from which nothing but a reform in parliament can snatch her ? Are not the people amused with this phantom of liberty, and with high-sounding acclaims of prosperity and abundance, while they are loaded with every species of political grievance : their corn kept at a high rate by a wicked and interested regulation — every necessary of life, such as tea and tobacco, taxed beyond the reach of purchasing — the right of suffrage with- held from the body of the people — and seats in parliament and boroughs sold like cattle in a cattle-market ? And all for what ? — To have every bad measure of the administration supported by in- terested hirelings — mere pieces of court- machinery, who only move by the weight of gold — solid gold, which the minister contrives to have introduced into their pockets. Now the remedy of all those evils is easy "ind safe — as we have nothing more to do than reform our parliament, by excluding placemen from the house of commons, by abolishing the right of election in decayed, or — (in the elegant language of the reformers) — rotten bo- roughs — by making suffrage universal — and by rendering parliamentary elec- tions annual. Let us think for a mo- ment of these proposed improvements in the order we have stated Ihem. Placemen have for many years been an inexhaustible theme for the de- clamation of the party in opposition. By them every person who occupies a public-office is considered and de- nounced as a vampire, who goes his nightly rounds to drain the public purse and fatten on the spoils of the treasury. And for these charges, I admit, that there exists but too much proof. I am convinced that peculation to an enor- mous extent is carried on in the public- offices, and that undue methods are often resorted to for the increasing of court emoluments, though I am equally convinced that these abuses are much exaggerated. But such are not the principal evils that are dreaded from those hated placemen. They are de- nounced as forming a junto of interested supporters of the measures pursued by the executive, and are, consequent!}', supposed to hesitate at no deceit, how- ever wicked, and to scruple at no mea- sures, however dishonest or dishonoura- ble, in order to accomplish their designs. But, would the influence and the means of peculation, which placemen possess, be diminished or destroyed by their exclusion from the House of Com- mons? It wou'.d indeed be exerted in a more secret manner, but perhaps with still more efficacy than now, when it is almost acknowledged, or, at least, but thinly veiled. The proposed reform then would, probably, in this particular case, open a path for more dangerous forms of intrigue and corruption, and might have a greater tendency to de- base than to elevate the characters of our public officers. There would also result from the pro- posed exclusion an evil, which seems never to have occurred to any of our reformers — it would shut up almost the only access which the House of Com- mons has to important state-information. 1824.] A Defence of Placemen and Decayed Boroughs, fyc. The proceedings of the executive are, from their very nature, in a great mea- sure concealed, till they come to be known by their effects, and a destruc- tive measure can only be stopped in most cases by a legislative act, after it shall have produced irreparable evils. This is not a speculative opinion. .The members of the first American congress were, perhaps, as much prejudiced against placemen, as the most deter- mined exposer of corruptions in Britain can possibly be ; and yet they were under the necessity, in spite of the most obstinate and preposterous opposition, to request the presence of the secretary of the treasury to assist in their financial measures. When such exclusion as our reformers advise was found to be so em- barrassing, and placemen found indis- pensible in the legislative assembly of the United States, where prejudices against them were so strong, how can we avoid concluding that they were not only useful, but that they cannot at all be dispensed with; with the evils which they bring with them, therefore, we must bear, or palliate them as we best can. But how is this salutary measure to be obtained ? How are the public officers, whose presence is necessary to the very existence of a well-regulated legislature, be introduced into the House of Com- mons ? It is not indeed provided for by statute, nor perhaps is it necessary. But I shall be told that there is a law almost directly against it, which enacts, " that if any person, being chosen a member of the House of Commons, shall accept of any office from the crown, during such time as he shall continue a member, his election shall be declared to be void, and a new writ shall issue as if such person so accepting was naturally dead." It is, however, wisely subjoined, that such a person shall be capable of being again elected, at the choice of the electors. Now this, which to a theoretical in- quirerinto theBritish constitution would appear to be a defect of no common magnitude, is most effectually remedied by connivance. At the first institution of boroughs, the number of members which they were declared to be capable of returning, was no doubt proportionate to their wealth or their population. But wealth is continually shifting its chan- nel, and population is frequently trans- ferred from one town to another, accord- ing to the fluctuation of manufactures and trade. When this happens, it would 213 no doubt be but fair, that the right of suffrage should be transferred also ; but, justice and right, in practical politics, must often give way to expediency and public utility. In this case, the trans- ference proposed would violate justice as it would infringe the charters of tke boroughs which had thus in the change of human affairs fallen from their former station. Besides, their decay is produc- tive of great advantage, as it remedies the evil which would otherwise accrue from the exclusion of placemen — and enables the administration to get their own members elected into the House of Commons, which in many cases would have been otherwise impractica- ble ; for, the electors of such boroughs as have fallen into decay being less nu- merous, gives the friends of administra- tion an opportunity of obtaining a greater influence over them, and they are con- sequently thus empowered to have the public officers returned to parliament in defiance of popular clamour. Time has thus produced, as in politics it fre- quently does, what the wisdom of the framers of the British constitution had overlooked, and has converted what is ignorantly denounced as a nuisance, into a useful and almost indispeusible part of our constitution. These treasury-boroughs also are in- dispensible for the support of the crown ; for were the minister unable to secure a majority in the House of Commons, al- most every public measure would either be negatived or produce an impeach- ment ; there would be perpetual changes of ministers — the whole nation would be stirred up to commotion — and would exhibit one continued scene of confu- sion and misrule. This the decayed boroughs do much to avert; and they must, on that account, be reckoned the greatest blessing — next to liberty of speech and freedom of action, which our constitution provides for. But it is contrary, it is said, to politi- cal justice, that two or three men in one part of the kingdom shall have the power of checking as many members of parliament, as several hundreds of equal or superior rank and wealth in another. — Perhaps the objectors are right in this ; for, if the right of suffrage be granted at all, why not grant it in an equal degree to men of the same rank and influence. If this doctrine of right however be adhered to and acted upon, I am afraid that instead of that august 214 M. Arc-en- CieVs New-Invented Rainbow. [dec. fabric which it has cost us so much blood and treasure to rear and maintain, we should soon have nothing to boast of, but the confusion of a lawless rabble or the rule of a lawless tyrant. Nay, if we are allowed to refer to experience, we may be bold to say, that it is con- trary to human nature, and to the tex- ture of human society, that such a right should ever be recognised, for we can adduce no example of any country where it ever was acted upon — nor could I imagine it ever brought into operation except in the fancies of Uto- pian dreamers ; we demand an unequi- vocal example before we risk a hazard- ous experiment. But what, it may be asked, would the House of Commons be improved were the right of suffrage extended, so far only as is practicable ? The number of the members, it must be obvious, could not be increased, without being pro- ductive of the utmost confusion, for every numerous assembly is a mob, and although the treasury-boroughs were deprived of their ancient charters, and their rights transferred to towns which have recently increased, no very great number more could be returned to par- liament by those boroughs which wish to be considered independent. The House of Commons, in short, would consist in that case of similar elements as at present, with the serious disadvan- tage of wanting official information — from the exclusion of the public officers. Their deliberations would of course be the same, and the laws would have a similar character and tone to what they have now. There are at present in the House of Commons members of the most various professions and pursuits, and it may be doubted whether there is a single indi- vidual in the whole nation who is not represented, or, which is the same thing, whose sentiments are not some time or other expressed in that house. Now this is exactly what is wanted ; for no man, I presume, would expect that all the acts of the legislature should tally with his political opinions, or even with the opinions of any party. It is suffi- cient that these sentiments be expressed in the House and published to the na- tion. If they are important and just, the most venal administration that ever ruled the British empire, would find it unsafe to disregard them. If they are of a contrary stamp, they will fall de- servedly into contempt. This leads me to consider the only circumstance which would render re- form at all expedient — namely, that it would humour the prejudices of a nu- merous and respectable class of men who have taken umbrage at the glaring corruptions in the representatiow, and will be satisfied with nothing short of complete perfection. They do not seem to recollect that nothing human admits of this ; and since, by their own acknow- ledgment, we have advanced farther to- wards perfection than any state, ancient or modern, ever did ; would it not be better to abide by the system we have found so superior, rather than overturn it by rash experiments, which, in every probability, would make things worse instead of better? — I meant to have said something about elections, but I find my paper is already long enough, and tedious enough too, as my opponents will say. ANOTHER INVENTION BY THE CELEBRATED M. ARC-EN-CIEL. Another of M. Arc-en-Ciel's inven- tions, though not so aspiring as sun- making is, nevertheless, exceedingly ingenious. He does not, however, lay claim to originality in the invention of the Terasanthr6p6n, as it is mentioned by Homer in the eleventh Iliad. Ev ve^ej' d-nipti-e TEpaj jAEpoirtov dvOpwTTttv ; ver.28, though the art of rainbow-making has been lost these two thousand years. Newton, indeed, made some approaches towards it in his prismatic experiments; but it was reserved for M. Are-cu-Cicl to revive it in all its original Homeric splendour. The Terasanthropon is contrived with the same philosophic simplicity as the kosmoholoscope, being nothing more than a small elegant globular bottle of polarized Iceland spar, inclosing, like the other, a quantity of M. Arc-en-Ciel's essence of light. The bottle is inclosed in two opaque cases of ass-skin parch- ment, the inner of which is full of im- perceptible needle perforations, of the most tasteful patterns, through which 1824.] The Paradise of Plenty. 215 the essence makes its way so soon as the outer case is shifted. The result is beyond all description wonderful ; the sight is dazzled and overpowered by the ^brilliant rainbow tints, which are thus poured upon it in regular and unceas- ing radiance and variety ; it is, indeed, a Terasanlhropon. The chief use which M. Arc-en- Ciel proposes to make of the instrument is as a female ornament, and were it not degrading to philosophy to make it a nursery-toy, there certainly never was a more happy device for the amusement of infant curiosity. The poor nurse will, indeed, no longer have to lament her inability to gratify a squalling child with the pretty rainbow, heretofore out of her reach, as the Terasanthropon is expressly contrived for making rainbows of every possible diversity of size. At Paris they are quite the rage at present, no lady of ton venturing to appear with- out, at least, one splendid iris, either on her head-dress or placing about her neck. The Terasanthrop6n does, indeed, make the most superb necklaces and bracelets : Zones also and flounces have been lately introduced, far surpassing the natural rainbow in richness and play of colouring. But the grandest triumph of the Terasanthropon was seen in the person of Madame Arc-en-Ciel, who appeared one evening at. the opera in a costume wholly composed of rainbows. EveVy conception of angels, and sylphs, and seraphs which painters and poets have given us— was so splendidly out- 'shone by the iridescent robes of Ma- dame Arc-en-Ciel that the whole audi- ence burst out into one loud exclama- tion of Mon Dieu ! and sunk swooning on the benches. The device, however, which seems to have made the most impression on my friend, was that of an iris reversed and stuck in the front of a wig-turban, like ihe crescent of Ma- homet, or the horns of the Egyptian goddess Isis. "With this effect of the Terasanthropon — my friend was quite in raptures, and raves of it with all the ex- travagance of a mad lover. The rainbow scarf is also a great favourite with him — and it may gratify your female readers to learn, that a large order for Madame Arc-en-Ciel's scarfs, &c. has been dis- patched to Paris express, from the bouse of M. B. M. and Co. and may be ex- pected in a few days. M. Arc-en-Ciel also gives displays, by means of the Terasanthrop6n, on a scale of matchless grandeur— throwing rainbows over a vast extent of country, to the amazement of the people in- cluded in the measureless span of the iridescent arches. He means, indeed, to announce himself, on his arrival in England, by a display of this kind — the most superb which has ever 1 been attempted in this country. .He has constructed a grand Terasanthropon for the purpose, which will throw an iris the whole way from Dover to Lon- don, or from that to John O'Groats. C. E. THE PARADISE OF PLENTY. Soft rumbling brookes, that gentle slumber dread, With divers trees, and sundry flow'ring bankes. A spacious plain on every side Strewed with pleasaunce — like a pompous bride When first from virgin bower^ she comes on early morn. Spenser. Alzara, who had never felt a wish to leave his native mountains, nor ever conceived that happiness could exist beyond the barren steeps of Gnmar, chanced, one day, as he watered his camels at the spring, to meet with a caravan of Circassian merchants, whom the water had attracted thither. On entering into conversation with the strangers, they described the bounties of Arabia the Happy in such glowing colours, as to kindle in the breast of Alzara an irresistible desire of visiting vol. r. that garden of bliss. He became weary of the bleak prospect whieh Gumar un- varyingly presessted. To him the moun- tains now w ore a darker shade of brown, and the pure streams which fell from the rocks, and were lost in the desert, wanted the bordering of flowers, the shade of myrtles, and the music of birds, which his imagination had pictured in the happy region. He went with re- luctance to tend the Hocks of his father, and murmured at his scanty fare of milk and dates. His countenance be- 2 F 216 The Paradise of Plenty. [DEC. came gloomy, and melancholy settled in his bosom. The smile -of cheerful- ness rose on his check only when he had climbed to the summit of Ras' el Djed to look, with longing hopes, to- wards the mountains on the horizon, beyond which the happy Yemen was situated. Determined to leave a coun- try which, to him, presented nothing but sameness and misery, and not dar- ing to ask permission from his father, he contrived, on a beautiful evening in summer, to elude observation, and bid farewell to the rocks and deserts of Gumar. To avoid being discovered by those whom he knew would be dispatched in search of him, he took &. rout which, being destitute of water, was never tra- versed. Guided by the star which had so often directed him in his wanderings through the desert, he hastened bver the sands in all the impatient anxiety of hope. The pleasures which he expected , soon to enjoy glowed in his fancy, and caused the long track of the wilderness to appear in his eye of less extent than the vaie of palms, where he had passed his youth in many a gay frolic and inno- cent amusement. He had now reached the ridge of mountains which he had often seen far in the horizon, when the sun arose in splendour from the edge of the desert behind him. All day he wan- dered, with unabated ardour, along the foot of the ridge, in search of the path which had been described to him by the Circassians. But the evening approach- ed before he coidd discover any part of the rocks that was accessible. Having then discovered a slope, which, though rugged, did not present so formidable a barrier as several others, Which he had attempted previously without success, — he clambered up from cliff' to cliff, till he had nearly reached the middle of the mountain. But coming, at last, to the bottom of a precipice, which was not to be surmounted, he began to de- spair of ever arriving at the happy Yemen. On casting a look of sullen disappoint- ment at the barrier which seemed to ter- minate his hopes, he perceived aDervise on the top of the precipice, gathering ber- ries from the over-hanging shrubs. He made signs to the old man that he had lost his way, and requested him to point out the path over the mountains. Tire JDervise readily directed him how to tind the way to the summit of the rock, and offered him sue!) accommodations as his tent afforded, promising to direct him on his journey on the morrow. Alzara's mind was so full of the beau- ties which he imagined were to be found in the country whither he was travelling, that he could not conceal from his en- tertainer the purpose of his journey. In- stead of approving of his design, however, the prudent old man began to describe to him the pains of pleasure, and the listless languor induced by uninterrupted happiness. But observing that Alzara was little inclined to listen to his advice, he took him to a rock adjoining the tent, where he hoped, he said, to con- vince him by his own observation. They entered a passage which led through the rock to the opposite side of the mountain, and seemed to be scooped out by the hand of nature. When they had reached the farther end of the pas- sage, a prospect burst upon the astonish- ed Alzara, which far exceeded in beauty the brightest of his dreams. On the one hand was an extensive forest of orange and palm-trees, of the most stately growth, the tops of which were yellow with the evening light of the sun. The shrubs, which grew on the borders of the forest, were covered with variegated blossoms, and imparted to the air the fragrance of a thousand odours. This wilderness of flowering shrubs was parted by a stream, the mur- murs of which were faintly heard from a plain on the opposite side, which ex- tended farther than the eye could reach, and was adorned with every flower which beauty, or fragrance, could render pleas- ing. But, amidst all this profusion of delights, the enraptured youth did not perceive the least trace of an inhabitant, and turning to his guide, whom he had forgotten in the first ecstacies of asto- nishment, " Why," said he, " does the lovely scene before us attract no inha- bitants? I think I should never tire in wandering along the shades, or re- galing myself with the fruit of those beautiful orange-trees, in tracing the windings of the brook, which murmurs so sweetly, and of gathering nosegays of the spikenard and laurel-roses which grow on its margin." — " It is only in- experience," replied the Dervise, " that makes you so enchanted with those imaginary pleasures. This is called the Paradise of Plenty, and is a place of punishment and not of enjoyment. Thi- ther the Sultan of Yemen sends all those who have endeavoured to amass wealth, at the expence of probity and 1844.] The Paradise of Plenty, :17 ustice, foolishly conceiving that riches are calculated to yield them unmingled happiness. For this purpose were those flowers planted on the borders of the stream ; for this were the orange-trees reared in the forest. Here ripe fruits hang on every bough ; the purest water flows in the brook ; and every sense is gratified at the moment of wishing. It is not then without inhabitants as you supposed, but listlessness has so over- come them, from the satiety of gratifica- tion, that all have retired to their bowers of myrtle, to dose away the hours, which to them seem never advancing. Num- bers of them, in a fit of despair, swallow a deadly draught of opium, and choose to perish in the energy of madness, ra- ther than sleep away a whole life of in- dolence. Those beautiful colours of the evening-sky which, to you, heightens so much the loveliness of the landscape, cannot force from those slumberers a single glance of delight. Nothing, in- deed, appears alive in that silent region, but the industrious bee, which, as it collects the honey from the blossoms, lulls the listless exile into deeper slum- bers. No, Alzara, these delights, in our present stage of existence, we cannot enjoy. Allah has forbidden the sons of men to be idle. Return with me, then, to the tent, rest till morning, when you may go back to your father, and con- tent yourself with the moderate plea- sures to be found at home." Alzara paused for a moment, and, with a sigh, was about to take a fare- well look of the Paradise of Plenty, but the sun had now set, and darkness veil- ed all its beauties. He turned to follow the Dervise, and went toward the tent, musing in disappointed silence ; but whether he pursued his journey, or re- turned to Gumar, the story sa-dth not. N. N. ANCIENT POETS. No. I. — Gawin Douglas. " Gawin Douglas," says Holinshed, " was a cunning clerk, of many faculties, a man of excellent erudition, and a very good poet •" and as we heartily agree Consider it warily, read oftener than anis, Well at ane blink sly poetry not ta'en is ; in this with the old chronic!er, we shall try to make good our opinion. In due obedience, therefore, to our author's judicious but quaint advice, We have perused and reperused his " Werkis," and, for many an hour, have been delighted with his merry humour, his graphic strokes of character, his rich- ness of fancy, and bijs fresh picturesque sketches of rural landscape and rural feelings. It is somewhat singular, that the Bishop of Dunkeld has been so much overlooked in this age of revived admiration for the fathers of our poetry ; though the reason is obvious enough, his language being rather difficult, and believed to be more so than it really is, by those who shrink back from the trial because it is Scots. Yet the same per- sons will read and relish the productions Alas for ane, vvhilk lamp was in this land Of eloquence, the flowing balmy strand ! And in our English rhetoric, the rose, As of rubies, the carbuncle been chose ; And as Phcebus does Cynthia precel, So Gawin Douglas, Bishop of Dunkell, Had when he was into this land on live, Above vulgar poets prerogative. of Burns, or Sir Walter Scott, though it is to be reeollected, that there was a much greater approximation between the Engiish and Scots of those early times than now ; and those who can read Chaucer, Gower, and Langeland, will have little difficulty, with the help of a glossary, in understanding Gawin Douglas. The language was considered indeed so analogous to that of the South, as to be called English by cotemporary writers ; for example, in Sir David Lindsay's character of our author, in his " Prologue of the ^Complaint of the Papingo" * Edit. Edinburgh, 1592, 4lo. p. 185. 218 Ancient Poets. [dec. Those who are fond of the Scots poetry or the more modern national poets, will find the productions before us much superior to them all, with the single ex- ception of Burns ; who, it must be con- fessed, far excelled our author in sweet- ness, tenderness, and pathos, though he can bear a comparison in graphic des- cription, in the painting of rural scenery, and in unbounded variety of fancy, while the glow and the energy of his mind give a charm to his most barren and unpromising subjects. Gawin Douglas was of noble descent, being the* third son of Archibald, com- monly denominated the great Earl of Angus; who, when he was unable to persuade James IV. to abandon the in- vasion of England, retired from the court, and sent his two eldest sons as his representatives to the ill-Ikied army, both of whom were killed in ihe field of Flodden. Our author's profession involved him in all the wicked machina- tions so common in those times of tur- bulence and misrule; and though he did not want decision of characlcr, he dis- liked the warfare of altercation; and resigning his pretensions to certain ap- pointment, because they were contest- ed, he established himself quietly in the diocese of Dunkeld, a place richer, per- haps, in poetic attraction and pictures- que landscape, than any other in " the land of the mountain and flood." It was here lhat he employed his leisure in composing his poems, which have often derived some of their most splendid passages from the fine romantic scenes where he watched, The brightening roses of the sky, A 'd gaz'd on Nature with a poet's eye. Pleas, of Hope.. The excellence of his genius, and his great erudition, caused his renown, as he says of the fame of Hercules, "to walk wide," and he was, in consequence, chosen to settle some negotiations in London, where it is supposed he died of the plague ;* for To popes, bishops, prelates, and primates, Emperors, kings, princes, protestates, Death sets the term and end of all their height. Police of Honour, iii. 79. According to the taste of the period, he was fond of writing allegorical pieces; and this spirit sometimes breaks out even in his prologues toVirgil, as in the eighth book, which is a fine moral allegory, but much deformed and ob- scured by alliteration, though in his other pieces he seldom offends much in this way. Asa specimen of this corrup- tion of genuine poetry, we shall quote a stanza or two of the eighth prologue. Of drivelling and dreams what doth to endite? For as I lean'd in an lea in Lent this last night, I slid on ane swevining, slumb'ring ane lite, And soon ane selcauth sage I saw to my sight Swooning as he swelt would, and sowped in site Was never wrought in this world more woeful ane wight Raming : — " Reason and right are rent by false rite, Frienship flemed is in France and faith has the flight, Lies, lurdanry, and lust are our load stern, Peace is put out of play, Wealth and welfare away, Love and lawty both tway, Lurkis ful dern. END OF VOL. I. * Polydore Virgil, Ang. Hist. p. 53. A (^ I 1 : m mssessasxsglsi •ajAemsisi ■ *, ■ I i