THE BIRTH OF THE DIMPLE.

CUPID once toying with his mother fair,
Entwining rose-wreaths in her sunny hair,

Let fall a thorn; which, e'er it reach'd the ground,
Pierc'd in her wanton cheek a grievous wound.
The echoing grove with loud laments she fills;

Her pearly tears increase the weeping rills.

"Cease, mother, cease"-the young dissembler cries"Lest grief should blind those bright immortal eyes. "To heal thy wound I'll add another grace,

"The loveliest charm shall deck thy peerless face."Then Cupid, wiping with a silken tress

Her tearful eyes, receiv'd a soft caress;

Which he with coaxing fondling joy repaid,

Snatch'd a sly kiss, and then triumphant said,

"View in the glass of this pellucid stream

"Thy lovely cheeks-they now more beauteous seem."
He paus'd delighted; while, with mute surprise
And conscious pleasure dancing in her eyes,

The Goddess gaz'd, and smil'd-Love's dimple rose,
And for its throne the cheek of Beauty chose.

THE METAMORPHOSES OF LIFE.

In nova fert animus mutatas dicere formas

Corpora

Opes irritementa Malorum.

LETTER I.

COUSIN SARAH TO COUSIN SUSAN.

On! dear cousin Susan, such news I've to send,
(And I know, my dear cousin, you're always my friend)
Not one of those frumpish old maids, never glad

If their friends are not driven right stark staring mad,
By the loss of their fortune-or what's sadder far,
Their sister gone off with some pennyless Tar,
Having previously made what they call a faux pas.
No, I've heard you declare, that your heart's warmest wish
Was to get yourself married, and see me grow rich:
And you know, my dear Susan, all lengths I wo'd go
By praising your beauty, to get you a beau,

But ogling and dancing and cutting a dash

Wont take with the beaus if you haven't the cash.

Though they love to despair, to this point they keep steady,
They'll not hear of marriage without you've the ready.
And I've heard dandies say-(they deserve to be shot)
She's a sweet pretty creature-how much has she got?
So without more ado-or making a stop,

I'll tell you down right, love,-Pa's shut up his shop.
Not shut up his shop like our neighbour's, who get
In that vile nasty paper they call the Gazette.

He has sold off at prime, dear, lace flannels and socks,
Having made t'other day a great speck in the stocks;
Not stocks for our legs, love, but something like dice,
Where a man may get ruined or rich in a trice,
And a Jew, if he's lucky, a Lordship may be,
As quick as you'd cry "cockolorum and gee."
Yet I don't understand how they change one so quick,
But I know that they often send folks to old nick;
And I've heard people joke, with a quizzical hem,
That Downing-street Nic sends as many to them.

Thank my stars, from our business they kindly release us,
And have made my dear Pa, twice as rich as old Croesus.
And Rattle the Broker tells Ma, he'll be bound,

Her husband's made more than twice twelve thousand pounds;
And having, dear Susan, no chicken but me,
Only think when he dies what a catch I shall be.
I'm full of delight at the thoughts-what a sight!
To see me the wife of some great Barrow-night.-
A Barrow-night's wife-no, my Sue, never fear,
I'll have money enough to be wife to a Pair.
Should a Barrow-night offer, my lips how I'll curl
And tell him down right, I look out for an Earl;
I'll turn up my nose, and his offers I'll spurn,
And look sour-like butter-milk out of a churn-
He may fall on his knees, he may sigh and complain,
But a mere Barrow-night, I can treat with disdain.
What! give up my money and freedom on his count,
I wouldn't, dear Susan, accept of a Viscount.

Eur. Mag. Vol. 81. April 1822.

Xx

But a Duke, or an Earl, or a Marquiss, dear Sue,
Shall be husband to me, love, and cousin to you.
What's a great Barrow-night, dear,—'twixt you and I,
The're as thick in the City, as fish in a fry.
But this I declare, with my money and wit,

I'll never consent to accept of a cit:

And I'm all on a tingle-my nerves on a jar,
At whatever comes East of that vile Temple Bar.
We've cut all our friends in the Borough already,
The grocer, poor Frank-and the boot-maker, Neddy.
And Tom, whose poor heart at my name used to beat,
We don't even nod if we pass in the street.

It makes me quite titter to see their vexation,

Mere friends to feel vexed-why we've cut each relation,
The nearest and dearest-let them chafer and fret,
'Twas right to discard them—a low vulgar set.
And having got suddenly rich-my dear Sue,
We're resolved to behave as all other folks do,
Nor stand shilly shally and making a fuss,
At treating the rest as the rest would treat us.
For virtue and feeling and truth are all trash,
In the eyes of the world, if you're loaded with cash,
And the best man on earth, tho' praised and respected,
Soon finds, without money, he's lost and neglected;
Whilst dinners and dances, and all you can wish,
Tumble in by the dozen as soon as you're rich.—
But I can't write much more, tho' I've much more to say,
For we're going to night to the great Opera,

Where I shall behold a fine spark, Lord Trevallion,

And where singing and dancing are all in Italian,

For English gives delicate ears so much pain,

That people of fashion can't bear Drury Lane.

Only think, for high fashion, how terribly coarse,

To hear Kean, roaring "Richard," 'till he makes himself hoarse;
And what person of style can endure that Charles Kemble,
Whose acting, dear Sue, sets you all on a tremble,
With sorrow or joy, like the vulgar and needy;
And your not a bit better with Young or Macready.
They both niade me cry 'till I thought I should faint,
But it struck me my tears would discolour my paint,
Which was laid on so thick, that I sat on the rack,
Lest my laughing and crying should make it go crack.
So I soon dried my eyes, an expression of face
Amongst people of fashion's the greatest disgrace,
And to fashion and style your pretensions are vain,
If your countenance shews you feel pleasure or pain.
For nothing, my dear, is so very genteel

As a face which displays that the heart can not feel.
And the height of good breeding's to have no pretension
To probity, feeling, to wit, or invention

As I aim at the highest, my greatest desire,

Is to look like a doll moved about by a wire.

Good bye, my dear Sue, in a month at the most
I'll write you a world of good news by the post.

And I'll send my address-for we've quitted our Alley.
I remain, my dear Sue, your affectionate Sally.

D. E. W.

ESSAY ON POPE'S ART OF CRITICISM.
(Continued from page 253.)

IN the former part of this essay, we took a short review of the subject of Pope's "Art of Criticism," and of the author's design in writing it; with a few observations on the characters of the most celebrated critics of ancient and modern times. We now proceed to remark the great improvement made since its first appearance, in literature in general, but more especially in the art of Criticism; to select from the poem such passages as deserve attention for their novelty or elegance; and lastly, to point out such as appear to have been taken from or suggested by the works of other authors.

We are first to observe the great improvement, made in the art of Criticism since the period, at which this poem was written. "And here," to use the words of a learned and judicious writer, on this subject, "in order to ascertain with due precision the merits of Pope as a critic, it will be necessary to consider, what previous steps had been taken for the advancement of this branch of literature. Before we proceed therefore to estimate more particularly the value and utility of what he has left us in this department, it will be proper to dwell, for a short time, on the origin and progress of English Criticism, and to trace its course to the nineteenth century."

"Little attention had been paid to, and few books of any worth published in, English prose; before the middle of the sixteenth century. Those, who aspired to the character of learning, neglected the vernacular, for the Latin tongue, in which alone they could hope for an extended circulation of their ideas. We may indeed date the first attempt to raise a model of English style, from the Toxophilus of Roger Ascham, which appeared in 1544. This treatise was composed professedly with the view of shewing with what elegance, purity, and precision, the language might be written, and of giving an example of diction more natural and more truly English than was used by the common writers of that age. The consequence of this attempt was such as its ingenious author had in view. In fact, English Criticism owes its birth to this production; for, struck with the

novelty and beauty of the experiment,
the minds of the literati were immedi-
ately turned towards the construction
and improvement of their native tongue;
and, eight years after the publication of
the Toxophilus, appeared for the first
time a work, which could with proprie-
ty be termed a book of Criticism. This
valuable composition was Wilson's Arte
of Rhetorike, published in 1552."*.
It was shortly afterwards succeeded by
his Arte of Logic, and translations of
some of Demosthenes' Orations. Of the
Arte of Rhetorike, Mr. Warton, the
historian of English poetry, has ob-
served that "it is liberal and discursive,
illustrating the arts of eloquence by ex-
ample, and examining and ascertaining
the beauties of composition, with the
speculative skill and sagacity of a cri-

tic.

It may therefore," he adds, "be justly considered as the first book or system of Criticism in our language." These productions, which we have just mentioned, gave the spur to genius, and other critical works followed in rapid succession, which may be classed in the following order; Roger Ascham's Schoolmaster, published in 1570, a work which, like his Toxophilus, exhibits a very improved model of style, and deservedly holds a very high rank in the estimation of scholars; in 1575, Gascoigne's Instruction concerning the making of English Rhyme; in 1582, Mulcaster's Elementaire, or Rules concerning the right writing of the English Tongue in 1586, Webb's Discourses of English Poetry, with the Author's Judgment touching the Reformation of English Verse; Puttenham's Arte of English Poesie in 1589; Thynne's Notes on Chaucer in 1590; Harrington's Apology of Poetrie in 1591; Sir Philip Sidney's admirable Defence of Poesy in 1595; Mere's Palladis Tancia, or Wit's Treasurie in 1598; Campion's Observations on the Arte of English Poesie in 1602; Daniel's Defence of Rhyme in 1603; Lord Bacon's Essay on the Advancement of Learning in 1605; and in 1610, his celebrated treatise On the Wisdom of the Ancients; Bolton's Hypercritica, which was written in 1617, though not published till 1722; and Ben Jonson's Discoveries, given to the world, after his death, in

* Drake's Biographical Essays, vol. 2.