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experience may supply that propriety of manner and that moderation in which he is at present lamentably deficient. The tone of the following lines is certainly amusing:

• But hail those days, when men, no longer great,
Shall yield to northern amazons the state,
When some prime minister shall stare to hear
This monstrous news low whisper'd in his ear:
"Sir, the reformers in the north have sent
Twelve Oldham matrons into parliament;
The dames of Rochdale at your levee press;
Three Stockport virgins wait with an address."
Say in our land, where female beauty reigns,
"What means this tumult in a vestal's veins ?"'

The subsequent passage is written with great vigour; though the personal allusions, which it is supposed to convey, are more suited to some local election-squib than to a grave satire on the state of the nation :

"Ye too shall live, whom no vain rules confine,
Who quit your duty's path to follow mine,
Is there no parson, eloquently warm,
Discord's arch-priest, apostle of reform,
No holy demagogue, who quits his gown
And wand'ring flock, while he misleads a town?
Is there no Justice, of seditious speech,

Who damns the laws which he has sworn to teach,
Bids men be free, yet rules with brow profound
(Despotic democrat!) the country round?
All who, or brave, or treacherously sly,
Blaspheme with boldness, or with caution lie,
Priests, printers, orators, immortal crew,

No pow'r of mine shall fail to second you."

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The happiness of the author's style, and the intimate acquaintance which it indicates him to hold with some of the best writers of antiquity, make us little willing to remark the pettiness of spirit which we occasionally detect. We have much more pleasure in expressing the entire coincidence of our judgment, and of our feelings, with those of the author in the ensuing lines: Still there are some, who hail the golden reign, The times foretold by Carlile and by Paine, The holy æra,' the enlighten'd day,

When man, unprejudic'd, shall cease to pray,
When purg'd by fire, and purified from pray'r,
Churches shall fall, no congregations there,
Till ivy clothes our old Cathedral walls,
And owls hoot, unmolested, thro' St. Paul's.
I own I love the good old village-tow'r,
The bell slow tolling at Devotion's hour,
The yew-tree sobbing as the wind sails by,
The turf where, unprofan'd, our fathers lie,

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The sable scutcheons on the wall within,
The rustic crowd, yet ignorant of sin,
The "pale-eyed pastor," venerably gray,
Who leads to Heav'n the unreforming way.
Say, shall these fall, and fall without defence?
Forbid it satire

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Appended to the dialogue is a translation from Horace, not surpassing mediocrity, and disappointing the expectations which we formed from the touches of classical elegance in the dialogue. Differing as we do from the author in most of his political doctrines, we shall nevertheless be sincerely glad to hail him again, whether as a censor of the manners of the age or as a candidate for fame on territory more appropriate to the vagaries of fiction.

Art. 14. Tribute of Affection to the Memory of Mrs. Elizabeth Susanna Frederica Whitehouse. By the Reverend John Whitehouse, Rector of Orlingbury, Northamptonshire. 8vo. pp. 57. Conder. 1819.

Lines written by a clergyman to the memory of his deceased wife, and apparently at a time when his mind was under considerable agitation, we cannot think of subjecting to any critical scrutiny. A tone of mournfulness, deep and fixed, pervades the whole of this pamphlet, which arrests the attention and insures the sympathy of every reader; particularly as the character of the deceased is delineated in a manner entirely free from extravagance and ostentation. In support of our opinion, and also from the belief that it is a favourable specimen of the poem, we may quote the following passage:

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In early life,

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And in the bloom of beauty, she retired
In conscious dignity, and not disdained
Το pass her life with me in rural shades
Where in the bosom of retirement,
She found her duties and her happiness.
There chiefly 'midst th' endeared domestic scene,
Amidst the circle of her family,

Her husband, children, household; in that sphere
Where lovely woman has her part assigned,
And which, when well performed, is as a chain
And ornament of gold about her neck,
She shone, pre-eminent; thereby ennobling
The name of home, and rend'ring it the abode
Of peace and happiness. Who could behold
The mother and the wife, fulfilling thus
Each social duty, amiable and good

In life and manners; faithful, gentle, kind;
Who could behold her, in prosperity

Modest and unassuming, with full hand
Diffusing happiness around, nor own

Suck

Such worth above all price? or in the hour
Of sickness and adversity; ah, where

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Could such a friend be found, to sooth the pang
Of sore distress, to bind the wounded heart,

And heal the throbbings of the mind that's stung
With treachery, or base ingratitude!'

Art. 15. The Vale of Slaughden, a Poem, in Five Cantos. By James Bird. 8vo. pp. 107. 75. 6d. Boards. Baldwin and

Co. 1819.

The incidents related in this poem are told in an interesting manner, though much cannot be said in favour of their originality; since both the story and the language constantly recall to our recollection Campbell's "Gertrude of Wyoming." The introduction of Alfred in the cottage is neither well conceived nor happily executed; and we think that it both diminishes the interest and detracts from the uniformity of the poem.

Art. 16. Sketches from St. George's Fields; by Giorgione di Castel Chiuso. 12mo. 78. Boards. Stodart and Steuart. 1820. We fully believe that this author has lately been a prisoner, but not for debt; and we are equally incredulous as to his name, imagining him to be about as near a relation to Giorgione the painter as he is to any Italian. We are sorry also to be obliged to doubt concerning his place of confinement, his Castel Chiuso ;' which, we strongly suspect, would be found much nearer to St. Sepulchre's Church than to the Surrey Theatre. Wherever he may have been immured, or whoever he may be, he is a very clever fellow, and worthy to tread with freedom, and not with any restraint, in the steps of George Colman, the Younger.

The main story in this little volume, which most generally reminds us of the celebrated humourist whom we have just mentioned, is the following; to our minds, a happy tale; and we hope that it may be found equally to the relish of our readers. Lawless, a genial companion, of more wit than principle, has issued from the King's Bench, armed with a day-rule; and in Leicester Square, at the very door of Brunet's hotel, he is arrested by a bailiff and his follower. Dissembling his security, he instantly conceives a plan for amusing himself at the expence of these old enemies. He therefore invites them to dinner at Brunet's; which invitation, on the sight of a pocket-book seeming to contain notes, (the only unnatural thing in the story!*) and on the expected assistance of Mr. Snare his follower in case of an attempted rescue, Mr. Fang politely accepts. He suggests, however, the natural difficulty of dining at a French coffee-house, without possessing a word of French, and inquires how he is to proceed?

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The author had better have rested the success of Lawless on his powers of persuasion, as Fielding before him :

"Thou hast a tongue

Would charm a bailiff to forego his hold."

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* A very

"A very proper question," Lawless cried,
"And one that shows you are a man of sense;
Faith, you must do as others, who can hide
Their want of learning with their impudence —
Affect an easy careless negligence;

If aught should puzzle you, pray look at me,
And when, surprised by any exigence,
A nod or movement of my eye you see,
('Tis all the French you need) exclaim, Oui, oui."
The bailiff having briefly thus instructed,
Who promised to observe his orders well,
His new companions Lawless now conducted
Up the three steps that front Brunet's hotel
Fang, arm in arm with Lawless, with a swell
Moved boldly forward; Snare brought up the rear;
And, tho' from Jaunay's kitchen the rich smell
Regaled him with the promise of good cheer,
Felt his new situation somewhat queer.

Lawless was known; so when the coffee-room
He entered, all the waiters stared to see
Him so attended; yet did none presume
To laugh, or shrug; and stared the company
There dining, as the oddly sorted three
One of the largest tables occupied ;

And some suspected how the case might be;
This Lawless saw; and willing to decide
All doubts at once, he to the waiter cried,

"Eh Garçon! vite! la carte à Monsieur Snare ;
Et faites venir ici Monsieur Jaunay.
(Fang, choose our dinner

-

here's the bill of fare)
Ecoutez, Jaunay, vous me connoissez,
Ce sont des sergents, qui m'ont arrêté,
Mais sans aucun droit de me deténir ;
Faites les payer-je serai donc vengé.
A leur dépens je veux me divertir.

N'est ce pas juste, eh Fang?"" Oui, oui, Mounseer.”

A bow, a smile, from Jaunay, and a look
Most knowing, answer gave, and testified

That well the spirit of the plot he took;
The parties dining smoked the jest, and eyed
The awkward Fang, who turn'd on every

The unintelligible bill of fare,

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And, loth to own his ignorance, still pryed
On every column with a studied stare,
As if he knew one item printed there.'
• At length the jest a little tedious grew;
And Lawless from his much bewilder'd
The puzzling columns of the carte withdrew,
And search'd them o'er a dinner to devise,

side

eyes

That

That well the bailiffs' throats might cauterizę :
Of each high-season'd dish he made selection;
And oft he nodded to his new allies,

Who cried, "Oui, oui,” aloud, while each direction
In French, to add cayenne, escaped detection.
And since high-season'd dishes thirst create,
He order'd larger glasses for their wine,
And call'd for those that most exhilarate,
Champagne, and Hermitage, and Chambertin,
And this he call'd superb, and that divine;
And, as each bottle was demanded, made
To Fang and Snare the stipulated sign;
These manfully the part of Frenchmen play'd,
And roar'd "Oui, oui," with laughable parade.

⚫ Dinner was served. It would have made you smile,
To see the uninitiated pair

Sit looking at each other for a while,

As doubting what to think of their new fare,
Then turn to Lawless, with inquiring stare,
To learn from him the true style of proceeding;
Then clumsily attempt, with awkward care,
To catch the right Parisian mode of feeding,
So indispensible to men of breeding.

They sipped the soup, and found it wondrous hot;
The fish came next, and that was hotter still;
And fire, as each of the fricandeau got

A taste, their mouths and throats appear'd to fill.
Large draughts of wine might mitigate the ill,
And Lawless, as he pledged them, gaily cried,

"Come, pass the bright Champagne; who heeds the bill? I care not, so my friends be satisfied,

And wine, so excellent, be still supplied."

The wine indeed was bright; and most divinely
With briskness leaping in the glass it show'd;
And o'er their brains the subtile fumes crept finely,
As down the unwonted throats the nectar flow'd.
Each glass they took new zest for more bestow'd;
And now, so fairly were they enter'd in,

So loudly did their laughter now explode,

So near to riot was their mirth a-kin,

That soon 'twas needful to restrain the din.'

We are forced to curtail the lively description that follows of the bailiff's openness of heart, encouraged by his wine. At last, however, he grows very offensive, and Lawless is obliged to produce his day-rule.

• Not more Morroco's prince in horror stares,

When, Portia's picture trusting to behold;

From the Death's head the upbraiding scroll he tears,
Deluded by the specious glare of gold,

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