pilgrim to toil his way alone. The poet has some touching lines on this idea-written in advanced age. They are entitled

FRIENDS ALL GONE!

"My friends of youth, manhood, and age, At length are all laid in the ground; An unit I stand on life's stage,

With nothing but vacancy round. I wander, bewilder'd and lost,

Without impulse, or interest, or view; And all hope of my heart is, at most, To soon bid the desert adieu."

After making some general remarks on the regret with which all men of the world must look back on the errors of their career, he gracefully, and we think piously, closes with this stanza

"But this derelict state of man's lot,

That fate to the aged ordains, Bids the heart turn its hopes where it ought, Nor seek worldly cure for its pains. Thus I turn from the past and the lost, Close the view my life's picture supplies,

And while penitent tears pay the cost,

Blot the frolics of mirth from my eyes."

In speaking of this writer, we by no means desire to place him in any very high rank of his own delightful art. He was not born to figure among the "Dii majorum gentium." But he was a man of a decidedly poetic spirit, which even in the habitual distractions of a town life could not be kept down ; he was among the first, if not the first lyrical writer of his day; and though he may yield to some in richness, and others in fire, he has combined qualities which ought to transmit his name to the future generation.

In the same spirit are some fine lines on the Demolition of the Star-andGarter Tavern in Pall-Mall, a hotel in which many of the most showy coteries of his time had assembled. The extinction of Carlton House, at the same time, seemed to him ominous of the end of his intercourse with London life. The lines are remarkably

tender and graceful. He first alludes to the ruins of the hotel :

"Farewell for ever!-thus, then, falls at last

The roof where all my proudest days had past,

Where Mirth, enthroned in splendour, held her reign,

And royal voices echo'd still the strain; That roof, where minds with Life's high polish stored,

Still graced the banquets of her glowing board;

Where Wit and Wisdom mingled grave and gay,

And Reason join'd in Fancy's brightest play.

Farewell, farewell! a sad memento lie, How Fame's lost lustre dims the sorrowing eye,

And bids the heart, long cheer'd by Fancy's beam,

Sink in sad languor o'er the fleeting dream. Again farewell! for ill my sight can bear Thy crumbling ruins, once so famed and fair."

In the Star-and- Garter Tavern, the chief fashionable clubs had their dinners, and among the rest the "Dilettanti," composed of the principal travelled noblemen and accomplished gentlemen of England. He then briefly touches on the overthrown palace of the prince, where he had passed so many delightful years :

"Down falls the palace, too!--and now I see

The street, a path of deadly gloom to me: And as I range the town, I sighing say,

Turn from Pall-Mall, 'tis now no more

I CLAIM no merit-my modesty is well known to all the world-but I merely mention the following facts, and leave an envious public to draw what conclusions it likes. At the request of the whole literary world I published a series of essays under the name of Hints to Authors, in which I endeavoured to obviate the difficulties that were usually supposed to attend original composition. I laid down rules for the attainment of all the beauties of style, whether elegant or sublime; and since the period of their appearance, it is, I flatter myself, impossible to be denied, that a very great change has taken place in the literature of my age and country. We have no "Waverley Novels" now, with their absurd adherence to nature and probabi lity-no "Gertrudes of Wyoming" with their sickening simplicity-nor" Mariners of England" with their disgusting vigour and vulgar enthusiasm. thanks to my infallible rules for the concoction of novels and poems, we have

No,

and ! I do not mention names -but I think I can see in the number of my recent disciples the burly countenance of a Mrs and the bright soul-illumined eyes of a Lady

And yet only half my work is done. I shall not rest satisfied with my benevolent efforts till I have succeeded in making authorship universal-till there shall live no man, no woman, and very few children, who shall not have written a book. Oh! golden days of all-pervad ing taste and talent, when washerwomen shall be advertised for who can get up fine linen and romances,-and in short when my Hints (sold separately at half-a-guinea-see advertisement), instead of being restricted to a moiety of mankind, shall be addressed to the whole human race. In anticipation then of that happy period, let me proceed with so praiseworthy an undertaking, and macadamize the way to the very portal of the Temple of Fame.

But

first, as I have thought it right to sound in some small degree the trumpet of my own glory in announcing the success of my labours, let me also confess with shame and confusion of face, that there are some blinded and ignorant mortals on whom my advices

have positively no effect whatever. First among these is an individual, who, in defiance of every rule I laid down, has written a book called the "Interdict"-a novel in three volumes

without any French or foreign lan. guage in it whatsoever, and, therefore, which has no pretensions to the genteel--full of genuine, natural, hearty humour, and, therefore, lays no claim to the facetious-in short, a work that seems to belong to a very different school from any of which I have yet taken notice-and I therefore leave Mrs Steward to the congenial society of such people as Miss Ferrier and Miss Edgeworth.

Secondly, I wash my hands of Miss Ellen Pickering, whose "Squire" was written in defiance of all my rules, and whose "Fright" is also very different from the compositions of any of my disciples. Thirdly, I give notice, that I disclaim all connexion with a young person of the name of Max Wentworth, who talks like a gentleman without any apparent effort, and runs trippingly through his three volumes, as if he had cost no trouble to his author-a grievous fault; for, unless you toil and struggle, and let people see how horribly difficult you find it to invent or support your characters and conversation, who, do you think, will give you any credit for it?-Therefore, above all things, be as stiff in your style as you can-show that every sentence is the result of hard thinking, and that your work is actually the produce of sheer unassisted fancy, and has nothing to do with your knowledge of life or power of observation. Read -;-that's all. There is but one other preliminary I wish to mention before entering seriously upon my task; and that is, the infinite gratitude I owe to Mr Rowland Hill and the Penny Postage. One half of the letters I receive from parturient authors, would have lodged me very snugly in the Fleet at the ancient rate; for there is this very great peculiarity in my correspondence, that the farther people live from civilized life, and the fewer opportunities they have had of mixing in society, the more prolific they are in novels of life and

manners. Thus I have had numerous applications for hints towards the completion of " Peeps into Almack's," "Devonshire House," and other works of that description, from cattle-dealers in the Orkneys. "Metternich, or the "Metternich, or the fate of Europe,' was sent up to me from a street in Glasgow called the Gorbals, with a request that I would be kind enough to insert the names of some streets and palaces in Viennaand of the prime ministers of the various kingdoms with which Metternich had diplomatic relations. It was written in a gentle female hand, and was in most instances correctly spelt, unless where she had occasion to mention the names of any German towns, where she seemed always to have copied the medical guide of Dr Granville; and, in humble imitation of that liter ary Sangrado, to have spilt the consonants of the alphabet on them at hazard. Having now cleared my way, I proceed to the business of this paper. The style of writing most sure of success in the present day is evidently the Impressive. One must think in italics in order to be popular; for plain matter-of-fact narrative, and even attempts at humour, or pathos, have no chance against the thrilling school. People don't like to have their feelings gradually interested by the skilful developement of a character, or to be led on, step by step, to see the workings of some real human passion in people of real human flesh and blood-they prefer to have their feelings roused as by the bursting of a mine, and to have presented to them some combination of startling contra dictions, such as a most honourable and highly religious murderer-a cannibal studying for the church-or an atheist made Lord Mayor. Since this is the public taste, all that I have to do, is to enable any one who likes to gratify it to the utmost. And, luckily, there is not the slightest difficulty in attaining the foremost rank in that style of composition.

First, with regard to the subject, let it be what is commonly called low; let your personages be the frequenters of gin-shops and the refuse of jails, but animate them with as noble and elevating sentiments as you can. It would be nothing very amazing to introduce a young nobleman with the sentiments and manners of a pickpocket or a prize-fighter. Such instances are, unfortunately, not altogether unheard of in real life; but the triumph of your art will be to

reverse this state of things, and astonish the world with the presentment of some young Dutch Sam with the philanthropy of Howard, and the learning of Porson. Young ladies of every degree-the duke's daughter and the barber's-will consider the character delightfully natural and ins teresting; and ten to one the admiration will be warmest on the part of the high-born damsel. Perhaps the same profound ignorance that makes all the mysteries of high life so intensely fascinating to young ladies in country villages-to the wives of quiet respectable clergymen and unambitious squires has the same effect on Lady Belinda with regard to the heroes and heroines of bridewells and

tap-rooms. If you could manage to lay your scene in Portsmouth dockyard, and fill your whole novel with convicts and nothing else, your fortune would be made. A benevolent parricide with chains on his legs would be a captivating subject, with a powerfully wrought description of an attempt to escape while the dockyard and ships in harbour had been hu manely set on fire. This, with a few scenes from the interior of the hulks, the friendships and hatreds that diversify those horrible depositaries of virtuous theft and praiseworthy homicide, would be sure to sell your book, if you would be particular in following my instructions as to style. Never name any thing, however small or unimportant, without a strong epithet. If your hero, for instance, asks in some moment of enthusiasm for a glass of gin, call it "the horrordarkened cup of that appalling beverage." He drank a jug of beer-" He revelled in the foam-covered liquidhe swallowed it wildly, furiously— paused for breath-again sank his mouth, chin, nose into the gigantic tankard, and with a deep gulp of satisfaction, tossed the empty utensil into the fire, and with an appalling oath that shook the rafters of the crazy barn, shouted, 'Tis done, ha! ha! I've swigged it all-all-every drop, ha! ha!" You see at once the picturesqueness of the latter mode of description; and yet you will observe, after all, that it expresses exactly the same event as the first miserable sentence, namely, the fact of his drinking some beer.

In the next place, be very particular in your descriptions of scenery. Whenever you have occasion to introduce the moon, do it in blank verse,

but print in the usual type. It has a fine effect. The same principle applies also to general reflections, particularly on the uncertainty of life, the advantages of a disregard of law and morality, or other subjects of that kind. With regard to what a set of pedantic blockheads are pleased to call the "keeping" of a character, treat it with the contempt it deserves. Shew your versatility by painting the same character in a different light in every chapter. The contrasts between what the reader expects and what you describe, are great strokes of art. Thus, when you leave the hero at the end of the first volume in the act of making his dying speech at the gal lows, be sure to open your second volume with the same hero mounted on a fiery grey, curveting down Regent Street to the admiration of all beholders.

Your similes must all be drawn from the most solemn objects you can think of; and, above all things, be very copious in the use of the word hell. You cannot mention it too often. Infinity eternity-blood-ocean, and abyss, are also to be scattered plentifully over every page-an unfinished sentence is sometimes very effective. A rigid adherence to these rules, with a plentiful disregard of grammar or probability, will enable you to take your place among the chief denizens of the Impressive Literature of England. I close this lucubration, as usual, with a specimen, to which I have given the taking title (though without the slightest connexion with the contents) of JIGG SNAGG; OR, THE MODERN HYPERION.

CHAPTER I.-The Dutch ClockThe Arrival.

The wind, that had been blowing a hurricane of vast and overwhelming vehemence and impetuosity all day, had subdued its sullen mood, and only growled at fitful intervals, as if in anger at its prey having escaped it, at about twenty minutes past eight on Wednesday evening the fourth of December, seventeen hundred and five. Gust succeeded gust with fearful irregularity; momentarily, a wilder howl rose dismally amidst the lesser shrieks of the agonized elements, and suddenly a calm-dull, dead, motionless as an inanimate flake of moonlight-added a new ghastliness to the tempest by the very absence of the appalling noise which had hitherto

marked its power. Through the thick darkness that accompanied this wild war of nature, the traveller who should have passed the little wayside public-house, known to the few neighbouring rustics who frequented it by the name of the Brindled Bullock, might have descried a pale light cast across the road from the upper portion of the window of the tap-room. The lower half was shrouded from external view by a thick red curtain, probably of dyed worsted, or some equally common material. The light flickered across the road, and illuminated the gable end of a low stable near the roof, while the door and all the contiguous parts were shrouded in impenetrable gloom. On this occasion the little tap-room was fuller than usual. Some farmers, who had been attending a large market held in a considerable town about fifteen miles to the westward, had put into the Brindled Bullock for shelter from the storm; and the astute cares of Jeremiah Buggles seemed to have reconciled them so perfectly to their compulsory imprisonment, that they showed no disposition to recede from their comfortable quarters in front of a blazing fire. The rest of the company consisted of a few of the usual frequenters of the house, who kept themselves modestly withdrawn from the vicinity of their superiors, and satiated their animal propensities with bread and cheese and a small modicum of ale.

The political state of England at the date at which our story commences was complicated and disturbed. The tyrannical conduct of Henry VIII., in pursuance of the league into which he entered against the liberties of both countries with the ambitious and mercenary Louis XIV. of France, had left a difficult task to his successor, the noble and imperious Anne. The war with the united republics of Holland and America exhausted the finances of the country, whilst a threatened invasion by the Neapolitans and Bohemians made even the most resolute tremble for the fate of Britain. Marlborough had not yet risen, like a sirocco fresh from the brimstone plains of arid desolation, to sweep into insignificance the banded armies of foreign and domestic foes. The thunderbolt lay sleeping, like a swan upon the waters of a lake. It was soon to burst forth in its desolating vengeance, and laugh, in the exulting spirit of its selfconscious omnipotence, at all the puny

efforts of its opponents. In these tremendous circumstances it is not wonderful that the conversation, even of the lower orders, was of a higher cast than might have been expected in more peaceful times. Men's minds were sharpened, as on a nether millstone, amidst the jarrings of so many varying elements, radiating to one centre from a common focus. Though dealing in corn and cattle, they were the countrymen of Clarendon and Chatham. Those names were a beacon to guide them in that stormy sea, over which brooded the darkness of a curse-a vapour as of men's groans. Oh! if the magic of a mighty name, the thrilling power that lives within its sound, were known to those who guide our country's fate, they would be loth to bury in oblivion the names of the great dead who live for ever!

"I am no friend to the finesses of diplomacy," observed Farmer Wiggins of Towcester, a large square-built man, in the ordinary dress of the period, high jack-boots with military spurs, a long silver-handled sword, buff doublet and Spanish sombrero surmounted with red ostrich feathers-"It hurts the delicacy of the moral sense, and seems to me scarcely in accordance with the eternal fitness of things." "Very true," replied a yeoman of about the same age, but more humbly appareled in slashed silk doublet and high-heeled shoes" the same observation has frequently occurred to me: the vigorous prosecution of the war is undoubtedly our duty at the present time, and the only object of apprehension is, that the imposition of new taxes may give rise to popular discontent." "If they do not lay the impost upon hops," observed Jerry Buggles with a smile, " I shall have no objection to their fiscal regulations." "Hops!" interrupted one of the rustics, "methinks, Master Buggles, you may rest quite easy on that point, as much as I should if the tax were imposed on carriages and four." There was a loud laugh at this sally. "The knave!" muttered the discomfited landlord," he seems to know I adulterate;" then speaking aloud, he said, "Gentlemen, if the thunder to-night does not turn the beer in the cellar sour, it will be a convincing proof of the excellence of the materials."

While this interesting and characteristic conversation was proceeding, the eyes of a good many of the guests

were attracted to the eccentric motions of the Boots attached to the establishment. He was a tall, sallow-complexioned man, of perhaps five or sixand-twenty years of age. There was something indescribably awful in the wild glance of the blood-shot eyes, which, from time to time, he cast ou the window. It seemed as if they had grown red, from constant gazing on the glowing embers of infinity. Great whiskers, of a hue rivalling that of molten lava, shook their shaggy magnificence over either cheek, and prolonged themselves to the very verge of his white and rigidly compressed lips. He leaped up from time to time, as if under the agency of some internal irresistible power, and gazed on the worm-eaten Dutch clock, which clucked, like a gigantic broad-faced hen over her numerous chickens, the minutes-"Not yet, not yet!" he uttered in a deep deprecatory tone," Gracious Heavens! not yet!"

The spectators gazed on him in silent astonishment: some more courageous than the rest had even some thoughts of addressing him; but such is the power of vivid and intense emotion, that it repels the haughtiest spirit, and forces the proudest, the noblest, the wisest, to recede from it in involuntary awe. While the conversation was in this way at a stand still, suddenly, through the low wailings of the now-exhausted storm, a voice was heard at the outside, but so indistinctly as to make it impossible to determine what the precise words were, to which it gave utterance. Nearer it came, and nearer still, then clearly and distinctly, so as to be heard by every person in the room, the same voice exclaimed, " Boots, ahoy!"

All held their breaths-not a muscle was moved-the individual thus alluded to cast one last glance at the face of the Dutch clock, smiled with au expression of infinite hallucination, and in a voice of thunder replied, "Coming, sir!"

He left the room, the company felt as if a dim haggard weight were lifted from off their oppressed bosoms. The farmers applied more lustily to their jugs of hot-and-hot-but their tranquillity was of short duration; a sup. pressed groan, which increased in vehemence till it finally rose into a shrill unntterable scream, was heard from the little stable across the road