HAIL to thee once again, fair Maia, -most gentle Pleiad!-Since we saw thee last, and did thee honour due,' we have been treading but a weary journey. Scorching summer has passed over us, and autumn with all his floods: winter has swept by with his frosted locks, lean January and black December, and March has blown his stormy trumpet till April wept; she has now wept herself even to death, in showers. We too have gone our round. We have lived our year, fairly, a regular English year: not a meagre slip of time like the people of Arcady (their year was three months only)-nor a poor four months like they of Spain-nor even six, as the Carians did; but ours has been a twelve month's lune-nay, by Saint Mark, a year solary' even, and here are we again as gay and no wiser than formerly.

Therefore, once more a gentle welcome. Oh! mother of the sly Caducean, we know thee well. Thou art bright as thy star-like sisters, who still remain above us: thy step is light and springy; thy breath is perfumed with flowers; thy smile is soft-sweet-arch, and thy cheek, soon to be by summer half imbrowned,' is delicate yet. Thou art fit for the humour of the time: the beauty of the year is all thine own: VOL. III.

·

Spenser, Shepherd's Calendar. enjoy it, but let us he partakers with thee: thou (like all others) art nothing alone.

Happiness was born a twin

So will we be fraternal unto thee; as faithful as though Leda had been our common mother, and we will show thee, fair sister, in all thy graces to the world.

Thus mused we some few weeks ago, after having seen a beautiful (unfinished) picture by Leslie, of the Sports of May.' In it, if we remember aright, was a young girl right well conceived and delightfully dressed, listening to the amorous euphuism of an antiquated knight— (he might have been of the family of Ague-cheek, perhaps, or have quartered his arms with the Shallows)-a cavalier, sitting on the sward beside a dowager of bulk, eyed with more anger than was necessary, the attentions of the ancient gallant: a third lady, stiff in brocade, was important in the corner,a sort of pillar to this pictorial temple, while the landscape and distant sports, where gaiety was disguised in fifty shapes, and folly, happier than wisdom, was crowned with flowers, completed one of the pleasantest works of art that we have for a long time seen.

20

Under the influence of this picture we walked, and meditated somewhat in honour of the month of flowers. We thought of something elaborate, and determined on much that was agreeable. Our intentions, in short-ah! whither can they have flown? Was it not the learned Doctor Samuel Johnson, gentle reader, who said that some place (it is not Heaven, that is star-paved) is "paved with good intentions?" If it be so, then is it more honoured than its betters, more than this goodly earth. What! are all those little infant breathings of virtue embodied and cast down the illimitable gulf?' are they turned to mere marble and freestone, and begrimed by imps?-they, while Sin lifteth his flourished head' over them, are they with their wrought mosaic,' polluted and trodden under foot? It cannot be, even though the Doctor shall have averred it, nay though he should swear it also.

6

We have been digressing a little, kind reader: bear with us, however. The strait road is the shortest certainly, but for our parts, we love a little aberration: the common path is dusty, and fit only for Harris, and Thomson, and Simpkins, and the rest. We, who are pleasant and anonymous, do not profess to lead thee direct to any of the public houses of knowledge; the turnpike road is for that end, and it is open to all who come,-but we will take thee by the greenest ways, by hedgerow elms and hillocks green,' and whisper things to thee as we go along (may we not have done this already?) some of which thou mayst

not have heard before.

To return, then, to May,-to Leslie's charming picture,-to our good intentions. We thought to have written somewhat (prose or verse) in celebration of all, but we were prevented. Prevented!-and how? why, by a dream, and if thou wilt listen, reader, thou shalt hear of it without more ado. We will speak to thee as sincerely as though

thou wast father Dominic himself— (Is not that his name?—We mean him of capacious soul,' in the Duenna, whose mighty thirst it would be impossible to allay, had he less than a girdle of six feet wherein to contain his potations.)

6

We dreamed-we almost shudder when we talk or think of dreams, knowing that the ingenious Sir Thomas Browne is, or was of opinion, that the arch-enemy of mankind is wont to work his purposes by the delusion of dreams.' We protest that we hate to dream; for if it be unpleasant, it is unpleasant, and therefore not to be desired; and if it be pleasant, then is the waking therefrom a pain. We hate dreams, therefore, as much as the learned knight, though for a reason somewhat unlike that which moved him. "The deceiving spirit," he says, "by concitation of humours produceth his conceited phantasm, or, by compounding the species already residing, doth make up words which mentally speak his intentions." Vulg. Errors.]

Now, although we hate dreams, yet are we subject to them, like mortals who are not anonymous,—even as Smith, for instance, who shaveth deal, or Banks who writeth 'I' to his opinions, and is at once common and singular. We come like shadows,' it is true, but we have the appetites and the frailties of flesh: We are as incarnate as Daniel Lambert of huge and itinerant memory,

or

as Mars, when he fled roaring from Diomed before Troy, and shamed his Olympian birth, and became (after we knew this) to us a mere problem. Oh! thou high and sea-born beauty, didst thou kiss his eyelids then,-or didst thou bid him turn again towards Ilium, and gather up the laurels he had lost? Fair Venus! didst thou-really we shall forget ourselves to verse, if we go on in this manner: we must be tranquil. Let us examine the matter coolly, and try the auxiliar god' by a court martial: he was as bad as

some of our auxiliars' at but for the dream? Ah!-truly, it had escaped us. We were going to be pleasant, but we will refrain. For the dream then, patient reader:-hearken unto it.

We thought we saw a figure like ourself (ourselves,-this plural is so perplexing), wrapped in a deep sleep. It was a sleep sounder than that of Silenus, when the herdsman caught him flushed and fevered in a forest cave, and the pretty Ægle stained his bald forehead with mulberries; not that we did in fancy, more than we do in fact, resemble the aforesaid Silenus, either in person or potations. Our laurels, indeed, lay by us, like those of the renowned drinker,

Serta procul tantum capiti delapsa jacebant; but further the resemblance striketh not. Our hair is luxuriant, though grey, our waist is small even as the eagle's talon; our cheek is pale, and our brain unhurt by wine. We are Anacreontic but seldom; our taste is for modester diluents; even tea is right pleasant to us, and coffee (breakfast powder is a delicacy unknown to our palate) delighteth us as it did Kien Long, of yore. We may write an ode to it yet.

We lay, then, sleeping and ungar landed. A crowd of people surrounded us. Some dressed in fantastic habits, and some in those of our olden time,-all were people of another day-the period might be that of our own Elizabeth. In the centre of the group was an arbour of flowers, with a May-crown hung conspicuously above it. Underneath was written" For the greatest.” · We-(we mean the figure, our figure) awoke. Instantly numbers of claimants appeared, each asking that the crown might be awarded to himself. We felt it to be a delicate point. "We must-know something more of ye, masters," we said. "Who are ye, for we know ye not?" "How!" said they all, at once, "not know us? then by our sufferings but you shall."—" Poor ignorant creature," said a damsel of fifty-five. (She was a spinster who had arrived at the then rare distinction of letters, and ungenerously abused her privilege by twisting her mother's tongue into lines of unamiable proportion.) N'importe! we pass her by, to consider

the claimants of the humbler sex, (the males).

"Who art thou," we said, "whose face bespeaketh riot, and whose glance an extravagant fire? Stand forth, and let us hear thy verse.-Upon that, a gay bold man,

Like a hot amourist with glowing eye, stood forward. He shouted dark and appalling words into our ear,-some very musical, and some of mighty sound. There was an unhallowed charm about them all, however, it was of murder and hate, of communions with the spirit of darkness that he spoke for a time:-but then he turned him to a gentler strain, and told of Helen and her Dardan love, in words such as none but poets ever spoke. 'Twas thus he endedSweet Helen! make me immortal with kiss.

Oh, thou art fairer than the evening air Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars. Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter, When he appeared to hapless Semele: More lovely than the monarch of the sky And none but thou shalt be my paramour. In wanton Arethusa's azure arms,

"Are you satisfied?" said Marlow, whom we now knew. "Well pleased, in truth," we answered,

but let us hear thy brethren. In the mean time take thou thy station beneath yon branching oak: we will hereafter consider thy petition." We said this with an official air; there was a spice of authority in our mouth, and we warmed into selfimportance. The dramatist carelessly sauntered to his place.

And as he retired we marked a man with a pleasant countenance, who had stood beside him. We beckoned, and he approached. He said (and said it smilingly and sotto voce) that he had fallen in love with Grecian fable, and that he had adopted two as his own. "Here is Endymion," said he,

The very music of whose name has gone
Into my being;

and here is the contest of Apollo and Midas."- "Oh! we will hear that by all means," we replied; " for our ears' sakes we will decide on that, lest we on the sudden become changed, and as it were asinine."My name is Lyly," the poet said, "We heed not thy name, friend." -"Pardon me, but I thought

your perfectibility might opine" "Ah! thou strange Euphuist, is it thou?" we answered: "We hope thou hast none of those weeds clinging round this pretty exotic."

None," he returned, "it is as free as my palm." "It is well, master Lyly; it is very well. Proceed then, in God's name, and be pleasant and brief." He smiled, and read the

musical contest in a clear and not

ungentle voice, and brought distinctly before our eyes the rival deities, the old wood-haunting god with his shrill-toned reeds, and the bright lyrist

Apollo, as he played

(Fore Midas) in the Phrygian shade,
With Pan, and to the Sylvan lost.

Observing, as Lyly retired (he retired with a somewhat courtly step) a steady-looking square-faced man about forty, with a wreath round his head, we enquired what he could possibly want. (A chart being in his hand, we had taken him for a geographer.) He walked towards us with a measured step, and said, that his name was Drayton, and that he had "written the Polyolbion." "We don't like foreign titles to English books, master Drayton," we answered: "Pray who or what is this same Polyolbion ?" The poet looked grave, and said that he had "turned the whole island into verse. "Um!" replied we, "a fearful transmutation, in truth; but let us hear."-He looked stedfastly at his chart, and said, "After having gone entirely and particularly through the several counties of Cambridge, Dorset, Devon, Wiltshire, Sussex, Essex, Hampshire, Berkshire, Kent, Oxford, Middle sex, Surrey". "No more, prythee, no more, master Drayton, or we perish," we exclaimed. "If thy poem be as fearful as thy catalogue-" "Thou shalt hear," he said, "a passage from another, which toucheth not much on topography. could have wished, in truth, that this my great work-but as you please." He had a strong voice, but a dry and somewhat pedantic method of reciting his verses: part of them was pleasant however; we rather liked the following stanza, which caught our ear:

The lark that holds observance of the sun
Quaver'd her clear notes in the quiet air,

"

I

to steep,

And the much softness lulled me to sleep. When in a vision, as it seemed to me, Triumphal music from the flood arose, As when the sovereign we embarged see— "Enough! (we interrupted him,) " enough, master Drayton : God be w'ye-we will consider thy claims, presently, to the crown; content thee awhile beside yon tree; there are two already waiting for our award." He walked directly towards the oak.

"And now come forward, thou with thy cap in hand. Hast thou bared thy head ready for the bays? I'faith but thou must first earn them, friend. Thy name?"-"Tis Decker," he answered mildly. "We like thee, Decker, well," we answered, “yet not so well as-but let us hear thee; and, in truth, now we bethink us, thou hast a cunning style, master Decker. Come, let us hear something of Mattheo, and bid madam Bellafront be present to us, and Fortunatus, and the rest."-He recited with a rich voice, and among other things, the following lines. They are the recollections of a penitent harlot. -When in the street,

A fair young modest damsel I did meet,
She seem'd to all a dove when I passed by,
And I to all a raven: every eye
That followed her went with a bashful

glance;

At me each bold and jeering countenance Darted forth scorn: to her as if she had

been

Some tower unvanquished would they all' 'Gainst me swoln rumour hoisted every

vail;

sail :

She crown'd with reverend praises pass'd by them,

I, though with face mask'd, could not 'scape

the Hem!'

There was much more; but he at last ended, and we bade him put on his cap and wait for our award.He bowed gently and left the circle

in silence.

A serious placid-looking man next offered himself to our notice, who called himself Philip Massinger. He opened his book quietly, and after turning over two or three leaves, as if considering what he should select,