THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE Ex Libris C. K. OGDEN THE CARISBROOKE LIBRARY VI. \ THE SEVENTH VOLUME OF THIS LIBRARY, TASSO'S JERUSALEM DELIVERED, TRANSLATED BY EDWARD FAIRFAX, Will be Published on the 23th of January 1890. THE CARISBROOKE LIBRARY. PHE Universal Library, now completed in sixty-three cheap shilling volumes, has included English versions of the " Iliad," of all extant plays of the Greek tragedians, and of some plays of Aristophanes, of Sanskrit fables, and of Virgil's "yEneid." It has followed the course of time with English versions of the most famous works of Dante, Boccaccio, Machiavelli, Rabelais, Cervantes, Moliere, as recast by English dramatists, of Goethe's " Faust " and of Schiller's Poems. It has given currency also to a series of the works of English writers, representative, as far as limits would allow, of our own literature, from Richard of Bury's " Philobiblon " to Sheridan's Plays and Emerson's Essays. In the sequence of publication variety was aimed at, but in the choice of books to be published there was always the unity of purpose that now allows the volumes to be arranged in historical order, illustrating some of the chief epochs of European literature, and especially of English literature, in the long course of time. The Carisbrooke Library continues the work of its predecessor, with some changes of form and method. It includes books for which the volumes of the former series did not allow sufficient room. Sometimes in the Universal Library a large book — Hobbes's " Leviathan," for example — was packed into small type. In the Carisbrooke Library' there is no small type. The volumes are larger ; iv THE CARISBROOKE LIBRARY. printed with clear type upon good paper, at the price of half-a-crown, and published in alternate months. In the Universal Library the editor's introduction to each volume was restricted to four pages, and there was no annotation. In the Carisbrooke Library, with larger leisure and a two months' interval between the volumes, it is possible for the editor to give more help towards the enjoyment of each book. In the Carisbrooke Library, as in the predecessor of which it is an extension, there is order in disorder. Variety is aimed at in the sequence of the volumes, while the choice of books to be issued will be still guided by the desire to bring home to Englishmen, without unfair exclusion of any form of earnest thought, as far as may be, some living knowledge of their literature along its whole extent, and of its relations with the wisdom and the wit of the surrounding world. HENRY MORLEY. THE CARISBROOKE LIBRARY. Volume I. The Tale of a Tub, and other Works, by Jona- than Swift. „ II. Tales of the Seven Deadly Sins, being the "Confessio Amantis" of John Gower. „ III. The Earlier Life, and the Chief Earlier Works of Daniel Defoe. ., IV. Early Prose Romances. „ V. English Prose Writings of John Milton. „ VI. Parodies and other Burlesque Pieces, by Can- ning, Ellis, and Frere. „ VII. Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered, translated by Edward Fairfax. PARODIES AND BURLESQUES BY CANNING, ELLIS, AND FRERE ^affantjmr fptessf BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. EDINBURGH AND LONDON PARODI ES AND OTHER BURLESQUE PIECES BY George Canning George Ellis AND John Hookham Frere WITH THE WHOLE POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN EDITED BY HENRY MORLEY, LL.D. EMERITUS PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LANGUAGE AND LITERATURE UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, LONDON LONDON GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS Broadway, Ludgate Hill GLASGOW, MANCHESTER, AND NEW YORK 1890 C O X T E X T S. Canning, Ellis, and Frere George Ellis Verses for the Vase at Bath-Eastou Poetical Tales by Sir Gregory Gander, Kn Introduction ..... The Power of Faith, a Tale . Poetical Trifles : — Elegy Written in a College Library Races, a Ballad T. :- The Cock and the Horses, a Fable The Duke of Benevento, a Tide Palinode to the Reviewers The " Rolliad " Number Two of the '■'•Rolliad'' Political Eclogues " Hue ades o formose puer'''' . Probationary Odes for the Laureateship Ode by Nathaniel William IVraxall 'Rondeau humbly inscribed to the Right William Eden George Canning John Hookham Frere .... The Microcosm .... The Beginning of the Microcosm Contributions to the Microcosm, by NING The Noble Art pfSiyearing The Slavery of Greece George Hon. Can- page 13-39 15-17 18, 19 20. 21 26, 27 28,29 3o-35 JO J>/ 39-42 40,41 42 42 43 44,45 47 49-52 55, 56 59-64 65-128 65-71 72-74 CONTENTS. A Dull Man's Wit Critique on a Great Epic: "The Reformation of the Knave of Hearts" Part I. Critique on a Great Epic : " The Reformation of the Knave of Hearts? Part II. . What Gregory Griffin hears about himself from differing Critics .... Proposal of Mr. Homespun to extend the practice of writing Criticism in the lan- guage of Weavers and Tailors Novel-writing. Is there better Reading . Superiority of Mr. Newberys little books. The Homeric qualities of Hickathrift, Tom- Thumb, and Princess Cinderella Choice of a Subject Gregory Griffin becomes A utobiographical . The End of the Microcosm, by Canning and Robert Smith . . . . A Contribution to the Microcosm, by John Hookham Frere : — Proposals for the Improvement of Shake- speare by Critical Rules. A new Dic- tionary of Rhymes Canning and Frere, from 17 SS to 1798 .... George Canning Epitaph on Mrs. Crewe's Dog Lines in Mrs. Crewe's Album ..... To Mrs. Legh tip on her Wedding-day John Hookham Frere, George Canning .... The French Revolution The Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin Inscription for the Apartment in Chepstow Castle where Henry Marten, the Regicide, was im- prisoned Thirty Years Imitation ■' Inscription for the Door of the Cell in Newgate where Mrs. Brownrigg, t/te Prentice-cide, was confined previous to her Execution ....... The Friend of Humanity and the Knife-grinder PAGE 75-81 82-87 88-93 93-101 101-106 106-112 112-118 118-123 123-128 129-133 134-139 141-154 141- -145 142 142- -144 144, 145 145 145- -154 155- -340 160 161 164, 165 PAGE i66- -168 169, I/O 172 172, 173 CONTENTS. The Invasion, or the British War-Song . La Sulfite Guillotine. A New Song attempted from the French The Soldier's Friend. Dactylics Sonnet to Liberty The Soldier's Wife. Imitation. Dactylics. Being the Quintessence of all the Dactylics that ever were or ever will be written . . . 175 Lati?i Verses written immediately after the Revolu- tion of the 4th of September . Translation of those Latin Verses The Choice. From the "Battle of Sabla" in Carlyle's " Specimens of Arabian Poetry' 1 '' The Duke and the Taxing-Man .... Epigram on the Paris Loan called "The Loan upon England "...... Ode to Anarchy. By a Jacobin. Imitation of Horace, Ode XXV., Book /..... Songs to be sung at Meetings against the Assessed Tax Bill ........ Lines written at the close of the Year 1797 Translation of the New Song of " The Army of England? written by the ci-devant Bishop of Autun ........ 191-193 To the Author of the Epistle to the Editors of the " Anti-Jacobin" ...... Ode to Lord Moira ...... A Bit of an Ode to Mr. Fox .... Acme and Septimus To the Author of the " Anti-Jacobin" Lines written under the Bust of Charles Fox at the Crown and Anchor Lines written by a Traveller at Czarco-Zelo The Progress of Man. A Didactic Poem in Forty Cantos,with Notes Critical and Explana- tory, chiefly of Philosophical tendency The Progress of Man {continued) Imitation of B ion. Written at St. Anne's Hill The New Coalition. Imitated from the Dialogue of Horace and Lydia 222 Ode. Imitated from Horace, Lib. Ill, Carm. 25 223-225 175, 176 177- •179 180- -182 182- ■184 184 185, 186 187, 188 189, 190 194- -200 200- -202 203- -205 206, 207 208- -211 211 O T O 213- -2l6 217- -219 220, 22 I xii CONTENTS. PAGE Chevy Chase ....... 226-228 Ode to Jacobinism 229, 230 The Progress of Man, Canto Twenty-third . 232-235 The Jacobin ....... 236, 237 [Erasmus Dar>vin's " Loyes of the Plants" . . 238, 239 Robert Southey's "Widow" and "Soldier's Wife"] 240-241 The Loves of the Triangles 242-251 The Loves of the Triangles {continued) . . 252-257 Brissofs Ghost 258-260 Loves of the Triangles 261-266 A Consolatory Address to his Gunboats by Citizen Muskein 267-269 Elegy on the Death of Jean Bon St. Andre . 269-272 Ode to my Country, with Letter to the Editor of the " Anti-Jacobin" 273-279 Ode to the Director Merlin 280,281 The Rovers; or, The Double Arrangement . 282-295 The Rovers ; or, The Double Arrangement {con- tinued') 296-309 Affectionate Effusion of Citizen Muskein to Havre de Grace : an Imitation of Catullus . 310-31 1 Translation of a Letter in Oriental Characters, from Bqwba-Dara-Adul-Phoola to Neek-Awl- Aretchid-Kooez 312-317 Ode to a Jacobin. From Suckling's " Ode to a Lover" 318,319 Ballynahinch. A New Song .... 320, 32 1 De Navali Laude Britannia .... 321-323 New Morality 324-340 Canning, Ellis, and Frere 341-405 George Ellis 341-344 George Ellis to Walter Scott on Ms " Marmion" 342-344 George Canning 344, 345 John Hookham Frere 346, 347 The Monks and the Giants 349-405 Appendix— Goethe's Stella, as translated in 1798 . 407-446 PARODIES AND BURLESQUES, BY CANNING, ELLIS, AND FRERE. HPHE storm of thought before and after the great French Revolu- tion began by raising in the world of letters heavy clouds of dust. The air was full of unconsidered trifles. All the winds of doctrine blew, and here in such a storm " three travellers may be seen " who cheerily press on against the gale, and laugh at all the bluster in the air. Canning, Ellis, and Frere were the three caricaturists of false sentiment who worked as comrades in the Anti-Jacobin, and gave life to that journal. Canning and Frere were within a year of the same age, Frere about eleven months older than Canning, and nearly of an age with William Wordsworth. They were young men of about twenty at the time of the fall of the Bastille. George Ellis was then a man of six-and-thirty. His first verse had been published in 1778, when Canning and Frere were children of eight or nine years old, and Ellis's age was five- and-twenty. GEORGE ELLIS. George Ellis was born after his father's death in 1753. His father had been Member of the House of Assembly of St. George, Grenada, in the West Indies, and his mother was daughter of a Member of the Council of Jamaica. He was an only son, and after a liberal education he took his place in a small world of fashion among the wits of Bath. He published at Bath two little collections, one of " Poetical Tales, by Sir Gregory Gander, Knt.," i 4 PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. the other of " Poetical Trifles, by * * * * * * * * * * *." Both were printed by and for R. Cruttwell. Each had a French motto on its title-page. The reason for the separation seems to have been, that the " Poetical Tales," of which there were forty pages, included all the pieces of the kind usually miscalled free ; so that those who did not like such pieces could leave them, and buy the " Poetical Trifles," in which there were sixty pages, and there was little or nothing to offend, with much good wit and a little sentiment to please the reader. The last " Trifle " is a contribution to the Bath-Easton Vase ; and in 1777, the year before the Poetical Tales by Sir Gregory Gander made their appearance, George Ellis had published anony- mously a burlesque description of Bath. Horace Walpole has left an account of the institution of the Vase, by Mrs. Miller of Bath-Easton Villa, near Bath : — " You must know that near Bath is erected a new Parnassus, composed of three laurels, a myrtle tree, a weeping willow, and a view of the Avon, which has been now christened Helicon. Ten years ago there lived a Madam [Riggs], an old rough humourist, who passed for a wit ; her daughter, who passed for nothing, married to a Captain [Miller], full of good-natured officiousness. These good folks were friends of Miss Rich [daughter of Sir Robert Rich, and sister to the second Lady Lyttleton], who carried me to dine with them at Bath-Easton, now Pindus. They caught a little of what was then called Taste, built, and planted, and begot children, till the whole caravan were forced to go abroad to retrieve. Alas ! Mrs. Miller is returned a beauty, a genius, a Sappho, as romantic as Mademoiselle Scuderi, and as sophisti- cated as Mrs. V[esey]. The captain's fingers are loaded with cameos, his tongue runs over with virtil ; and that both may contribute to the improvement of their own country, they have introduced bouts-rimes as a new discovery. They hold a Parnassus-fair every Thursday, give out rhymes and themes, and all the flux of quality at Bath contend for the prizes. A Roman vase, dressed with pink ribands and myrtles, receives the poetry, which is drawn out every festival. Six judges of these Olympic PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. 15 games retire and select the brightest composition, which the re- spective successful acknowledge, kneel to Mrs. Calliope [Miller], kiss her fair hand, and are crowned by it with myrtle, with — I don't know what. You may think this a fiction, or exaggeration. Be dumb, unbelievers ! The collection is printed, published — yes, on my faith ! there are bouts-rimes on a buttered muffin, by her Grace the Duchess of Northumberland ; receipts to make them by Corydon the venerable, altos — - : others very pretty, by Lord P[almerston] ; some by Lord Carmarthen] ; many by Mrs. [Miller] herself, that have no fault but wanting metre ; and immortality promised to her without end or measure. In short, since folly, which never ripens to madness but in this hot climate, ran distracted, there never was anything so entertaining or so dull — for you cannot read so long as I have been telling." George Ellis in this "flux of quality" wrote : — VERSES FOR THE VASE AT BATH-EASTON. SUBJECT, Address to the Comic Muse. Sweet Parent of Laughter, Wit, Humour, and Fun, Sworn foe to Acrostic, Charade, and bad Pun, Come, sportive Thalia, and help to describe The wonders of Bath, and its comical tribe : For should heaven propitious bestow on me lungs Of steel, or of brass, and a thousand good tongues, With a voice louder, stronger than that of old Stentor, To paint them without thee I never should venture. First, note our wise Magistrates, equally skilled, j Pen, trowel, or lancet and syringe to wield, Frame laws and directions, bleed, blister, and build, Put our minds and our bodies alike to the torture, And turn to a sceptre the pestle and mortar. 1 Next mark this sweet City, so fashioned to please, Where in summer we scorch, and in winter we freeze; 1 The Corporation of Bath is almost entirely composed of Apothecaries. — [G. E.J i6 PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. Where the old and the new town, like husband and wife, Though coupled together, are ever at strife ; Where dark lanes and passages happily meet, More intricate far than the lab'rinth of Crete, And choke up the entrance of every good street ; With a circus and crescent so wisely combined To catch every tempest of snow, hail, or wind, That kindly indulgent oft give to our view Forms far more enchanting than Guido e er drew. Nor yet for its glories indebted alone To the happy arrangement of mortar and stone ; The company sure, without flattery, may claim Some little applause, in extending her fame ; For ne'er were beheld yet sucn oddly mixed crews, Lords, Pickpockets, Sharpers, Dukes, Tailors, and Jews, Collection more strange than e'er met in the ark, When monster met monster, and clashed in the dark. But say, shall the Muse, with her dagger of lath, Strike only the follies, the whimsies of Bath ? When now the terrors of the field are o'er, And military trophies are no more, When now the squire, safe in paternal grounds, Alternate sleeps or bellows with his hounds ; Though at the daring subject half afraid The Muse recoil : yet shall her debt be paid, Nor suffer modest worth to wither in the shade. Say, ye who viewed the terrible campaign Of Warley, or Coxheath, where none were slain, And they who fell, but fell to rise again : Can none remember ? Yes, I know all must, How fierce he combated whole clouds of dust, How brave he strode along the level plain, Scorched by the sun and moistened by the rain, Armed for his country's good, his daring soul No fears could daunt, no dangers could control ; Calm and serene amid the varying noise Of cannon, trumpets, drums, old women, boys, With breast unmoved he dared the war's alarms, Led his bold bands to desperate deeds in arms, And pleased the General's orders to perform, Smiled at the tumult, and enjoyed the storm. 1 PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. 17 Now, why should I tell how the King was delighted, How the Colonels kissed hands, how the Captains were knighted ; l How his Majesty graciously made the mob stare, | And rode through the ranks with his royal wig bare, Like the modern old statue in Berkeley's famed square. I Enough for me, if luckier than my neighbours, One sprig of myrtle crown my three hours' labours. She too, perhaps, though every softer grace, Each winning charm of figure or of face, Deck her fair form, and teach that form to please, With modest dignity and sprightly ease ; Yet haply will Jemima 2 not refuse The faithful homage of the motley muse, But smile propitious on the sportive line Her eyes inspired ; and grant the Bard to twine His humble wreath around sweet Beauty's shrine. Dr. Johnson's comment upon a friend of his, of whom he was told that he had written for the Bath-Easton Vase, was, " He was a blockhead for his pains." Said Boswell, " The Duchess of North- umberland wrote." Said Johnson, "Sir, the Duchess of North- umberland may do what she pleases ; nobody will say anything to a lady of her high rank. But I should be apt to throw " [shall we say George Ellis's] " verses in his face." Ah, well ; George Ellis was capable of better things than were producible in a Fool's Paradise, "where the great fools rule the less." The Poetical Tales and Trifles had many readers. Sir Gilbert Elliot, first Earl of Minto, had never read anything so " clear, so lively, and so light." And although some of the tales were light o' love, there was frequent evidence in them of that relish for the charm of our old English literature which caused George Ellis afterwards to take a place of honour among those who brought a sense of its charm home to many readers. His pleasure in our old romances was one bond of fellowship between George Ellis and Walter Scott, who recognised in the light touch of his verse a 1 Captain Millar was knighted, and the lady of Bath-Easton died Lady Millar in 1781, aged 41. 8 Lady Jemima Ashburnham. B !8 PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. power that was in the main used worthily. The fifth canto of " Marmion "—published in 1808— Scott dedicated to George Ellis :— " Oh, born Time's ravage to repair, And make the dying Muse thy care : Who when his scythe our hoary foe Was poising for the final blow, The weapon from his hand could wring, And break his glass, and shear his wing, And bid, reviving in his strain, The gentle poet live again ; Thou, who canst give to lightest lay An unpedantic moral gay, Nor less the dullest theme bid flit On wings of unexpected wit ; In letters as in life approved, — Example honoured and beloved, — Dear Ellis, to thy bard impart A lesson of thy magic art, To win at once the head and heart, — At once to charm, instruct, and mend, My guide, my pattern, and my friend." But we are now at work of the year 1778, when George Ellis, aged twenty-five, published " Poetical Tales by Sir Gregory Gander, Knt.," which have this INTRODUCTION. Ladies,— I've often thought it was a pity, That you should ever go to hell ; "Your little persons are so pretty, And they become your souls so well. Besides, I know your hearts are good, If they were rightly understood ; Though by some wonderful fatality, You seldom practise your morality. PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. 19 One beauty is seduced by pleasure, A second led away by fashion, A third is caught for want of leisure To put her virtue in a passion. [Others fail in other ways. Ill-natured elves observe your fall] They never pick you up themselves, But stand and bawl, Calling your neighbours one and all. Then issues forth a noisy group. Talking as fast as they can utter. Like amorous turkies in a coop, Or empty bottles in a gutter. [They are spiteful, they malign you, if you only get the vapours they will put you in the papers.] But what is harder still is this, ( I know the thoughts of your Mamas) Should any of you act amiss They'll swear my verses were the cause. They'll all be canvassing and gleaning, Raking each verse to find a meaning, Whereas, you'll know, if you proceed, I never think — I don't, indeed. I only pass the rainy weather In stringing a few rhymes together ; And then I call them tales, you know, As I call this an Introduction, Because 'tis only meant for show, Not for amusement or instruction. For poets, when their works are long. Must deck them with some previous rhime, Just as a hero sings a song, To tell you he's distressed for time. There are only seven pieces in the little book of forty pages. One of them is a free adaptation of Chaucer's " Wife of Bath's Tale." Another, the seventh, is — 20 PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. THE POWER OF FAITH. A TALE. "A MIRACLE ! a miracle ! my friends '" The enraptured Selim cried, " Behold, the raging tempest ends, Mohammed to my prayer attends, And checks the insulting tide. For while it thundered and it lightened, I turned to Mecca's seven-times sacred site, — I could not speak, I was so frightened, — Our prophet, beaming through the gloom of night, Dispelled at once the elemental strife, And deigned to save his faithful servant's life." " Is the man mad, or only drunk ? " An old Egyptian screams ; " Believe me, friend, our bark had sunk, Spite of your Prophet and his beams ; But through the storm, at my request, At once the mighty Apis came, Before these eyes he stood confessed, With tail of fire and horns of flame. I saw him shake his awful brow, All Nature trembled at his nod, And hailed with tears the mystic god, The heir-apparent of a Cow." " Good folks ! " exclaimed a Cherokee, " 'Tis pity you should disagree. Why so abusive in your speeches ? The real sage such language scorns. Why can't you dress the Bull in breeches, And deck the Prophet with his rival's horns ? Yet, sirs, transform them as you please, It will not much improve your creed : If you would know who calmed the seas, Know 'twas my whip that did the deed." — " Your whip, sir ! " — " Yes." — " Your most obedient ! A very pleasant, safe expedient. A fairy, sir, perhaps, or witch ? " — — " Good sirs, repress these impious sneers f PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. 21 This whip, resounding on my breech, Made the Great Hare prick up his mighty ears, Squatting upon his radiant form, He smiled to see his bleeding slave, And with his heavenly paw dispersed the storm, And smoothed the troubled wave." While thus they quarrelled and disputed, Denied, asserted, and confuted, A sage Chinese, who near them sate And listened to the whole debate, Seizing a favourable pause, Thus oped his Asiatic jaws : " Friends, you're so learned and so funny, That I could hear you talk all night ; I'd bet the captain any money That all are vastly in the right. " But yet, to set my mind at rest, Be pleased to grant me one request. I ask not that your powerful prayers, Addressed to Prophets, Bulls, and Hares, Should dry the swelling ocean's source, Or check the whirlwind's rapid course, Or give to age the bloom of youth, Or make a traveller tell truth. — But since that power we all respect, In forming you his perfect creatures, At first thought proper to neglect The usual complement of features ; — This single proof I would propose — That all the three sit down together, To Nature leave the wind and weather. And beg of heaven another inch of nose." There were sixty pages in the companion volume of Poetical Trifles, and sixteen pieces, of which eight or nine are serious and sentimental. The best piece in the book is a parody of Gray's "Elegy in a Country Churchyard," adapted to another place of repose for what is left of the dead. 22 J'ARODIES AND BURLESQUES. E L E G Y. WRITTEN IN A COLLEGE LIBRARY. The chapel bell, with hollow mournful sound, Awakes the Fellows, slumb'ring o'er their fires, Roused by the 'customed note, each stares around, And sullen from th' unfinished pipe retires. Now from the Common-Hall's restrictions free, The sot's full bottles in quick order move, While gayer coxcombs sip their amorous tea, And Barbers' daughters soothe with tales of love. Through the still courts a solemn silence reigns, Save where, the broken battlements among, The east wind murmurs through the shattered panes, And hoarser ravens croak their evening song. Where groan yon shelves beneath their learned weight, Heap piled on heap, and row succeeding rows, In peaceful pomp, and undisturbed retreat, The labours of our ancestors repose. No longer, sunk in ceaseless, fruitless toil, The half-starved student o'er their leaves shall pore ; For them no longer blaze the midnight oil, Their sun is set, and sinks to rise no more. For them no more shall booksellers contend. Or rubric posts their matchless worth proclaim : Beneath their weight no more the press shall bend, While common -sense stands wondering at their fame. Oft did the Classics mourn their Critic rage, While still they found each meaning but the true ; Oft did they heap with notes poor Ovid's page, And give to Virgil words he never knew ; Yet ere the partial voice of Critic scorn Condemn their memory, or their toils deride, Say, have not we had equal cause to mourn A waste of words, and learning ill applied ? PARODIES AN J) BURLESQUES. 23 ( !an none remember ? — yes, I know all can — When readings against different readings jarred, While Bentley led the stern scholastic van. And new editions with the old ones warred. Nor ye, who lightly o'er each work proceed, Unmindful of the graver moral part, Contemn these works, if as you run and read. You find no trophies of th' engraver's art. Can Bartolozzi's all-enrapturing power To heavy works the stamp of merit give ? Could Grignion's art protract Oblivion's hour, Or bid the epic rage of Blackmore live ? In this lone nook, with learned dust bestrewed. Where frequent cobwebs kindly form a shade. Some wondrous legend, filled with death and blood, Some monkish history, perhaps is laid. With store of barbarous Latin at command. Though armed with puns and jingling quibble's might. Yet could not these soothe Time's remorseless hand, Or save their labours from eternal night. Full many an elegy has mourned its fate, Beneath some pasty " cabined, cribbed, confined • " Full many an ode has soared in lofty state, Fixed to a kite, and quivering in the wind. Here too, perhaps, neglected now, may lie The rude memorial of some ancient song, Whose martial strains, and rugged minstrelsy, Once waked to rapture every listening throng. To trace fair Science through each wildering course, With new ideas to enlarge the mind, With useful lessons drawn from Classic source. At once to polish and instruct mankind, Their times forbade ; nor yet alone represt Their opening fancy ; but alike confined The senseless ribaldry, the scurvy jest. And each low triumph of the vulgar mind ; 24 PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. With Griffiths, Langhorne, Kenrick, and the tribe ' Whom science loathes and scorn disdains to name, To snarl unpaid, or, softened by a bribe, Smear with vile praise, and deem their daubing fame. Their humble science never soared so far, In studious trifles pleased to waste their time, Or wage with common-sense eternal war, In never-ending clink of monkish rhyme. Yet were they not averse to noisy Fame, Or shrank reluctant from her ruder blast, But still aspired to raise their sinking name, And fondly hoped that name might ever last. Hence each proud volume to the wondering eye, Rivals the gaudy glare of Tyrrel's urn,- Where Ships, Wigs, Fame, and Neptune blended lie, And weeping cherubs for their bodies mourn. For who with rhymes e'er racked his weary brain, Or spent in search of epithets his days, But from his lengthened labours hoped to gain Some present profit, or some future praise ? Though Folly's self inspire each dead-born strain, Still Flattery prompts some blockhead to commend, Perhaps e'en Kenrick hath not toiled in vain, Perhaps e'eu Kenrick hath as dull a friend. For thee, whose Muse with many an uncouth rhyme, Doth in these lines neglected worth bewail, If chance (unknowing how to kill the time) Some kindred idler should inquire thy tale ; Haply some ancient Fellow may reply — Oft have I seen him, from the dawn of day, E'en till the western sun went down the sky, Lounging his lazy, listless hours away. Each morn he sought the cloister's cool retreat ; At noon, at Tom's he caught the daily lie, 1 The Critical Reviewers. The others are the' London and Monthly.— [Note ofG. E.] * Vide Admiral Tyrrel's monument in Westminster Abbey.— [G. E.] PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. 25 Or from his window looking o'er the street, Would gaze upon the travellers passing by. At night, encircled with a kindred band, In smoke and ale rolled their dull lives away ; True as the College clock's unvarying hand, Each morrow was the echo of to-day. Thus free from cares and children, noise and wife, Passed his smooth moments ; till, by fate's command, A lethargy assailed his harmless life, And checked his course, and shook his loitering sand. Where Merton's towers in Gothic grandeur rise, And shed around each soph a deeper gloom, Beneath the centre aisle interred he lies, With these few lines engraved upon his tomb : THE EPITAPH. Of vice or virtue void, here rests a man By prudence taught each rude excess to shun ; Nor love nor pity marred his sober plan, And Dulness claimed him for her favourite son. By no eccentric passion led astray, Not rash to blame, nor eager to commend, Calmly through life he steered his quiet way, Nor made an enemy, nor gained a friend. Seek not his faults — his merits — to explore, But quickly drop this uninstructive tale, His works — his faults — his merits — are no more, Sunk in the gloom of dark oblivion's veil. Another piece playfully imitates the conception rather than the form of Sir John Suckling's Ballad upon a Wedding, " I tell thee, Dick, where I have been." 2 6 PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. RACES. A BALLAD. O George ! I've been, I'll tell you where, But first prepare yourself for raptures ; To paint this charming heavenly fair, And paint her well, would ask whole chapters. Fine creatures I've viewed many a one, With lovely shapes and angel faces, But I have seen them all outdone By this sweet maid, at Races. Lords, Commoners, alike she rules, Takes all who view her by surprise, Makes e'en the wisest look like fools, Nay more, makes fox-hunters look wise. Her shape — 'tis elegance and ease, Unspoiled by art or modern dress, But gently tapering by degrees, And finely, "beautifully less." Her foot — it was so wondrous small, So thin, so round, so slim, so neat, The buckle fairly hid it all, And seemed to sink it with the weight. And just above the spangled shoe, Where many an eye did often glance, Sweetly retiring from the view, And seen by stealth, and seen by chance ; Two slender ankles peeping out, Stood like Love's heralds, to declare, That all within the petticoat Was firm and full, "and round, and fair." And then she dances — better far Than heart can think, or tongue can tell, Not Heinel, Banti, or Guimar. E'er moved so "raceful and so well. PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. 27 So easy glide her beauteous limbs, True as the echo to the sound, She seems, as through the dance she skim-. To tread on air, and scorn the ground. And there is lightning in her eye, One glance alone might well inspire The clay-cold breast of Apathy, Or bid the frozen heart catch hre. And Zephyr on her lovely lips Has spread his choicest, sweetest roses, And there his heavenly nectar sips, And there in breathing sweets reposes. And there's such music when she speak?, You may believe me when I tell ye, I'd rather hear her than the squeaks Or far-famed squalls of Gabrielli. And sparkling wit and steady sense. In that fair form with beauty vie, But tinged with virgin diffidence, And the soft blush of modesty. Had I the treasures of the world, All the sun views or the seas borrow (Else may I to the devil be hurled), I'd lay them at her feet to-morrow. But as we Bards reap only Bays, Nor much of that, though nought grows on 1:, I'll beat my brains to sound her praise, And hammer them into a sonnet. And if she deign one charming smile The blest reward of all my labours, I'll never grudge my pains or toil, But pity the dull squires, my neighbours. Another of the Poetical Trifles is a version of the fable which Defoe took from Sir Roger L'Estrange, and applied to the Dissenters at the beginning of his "Shortest Way with the Dissenters." 1 1 Carisbrooke Library, vol. iii. p. 227. : PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. THE COCK AND THE HORSES. A FABLE. TwaS long, ay very long ago, But when or where I don't exactly know, And if I did, perhaps you would not care ; A Cock, a lazy, listless spark, Chancing to saunter up and down, Much like a soldier in a country town, Or just as you Or I might do In Bond Street or the Park. Whether the Devil, The author of all evil. As I judge, Owed him a grudge, Or that benighted, Or otherwise misled By his own foolish head, Howe'er it was, he lighted All in a barn, 'mongst hunters, hacks, And many a coach-horse, taller, larger Than a militia major's charger ; Greys, chestnuts, sorrels, whites, bays, blacks, Not tied, or fastened up to racks, But sidling, capering about, Like chattering dowagers at a rout, And round and round the creatures danced, Snorted, and flung, and plunged, and pranced, Making the vilest noise and pother, Kicking and biting one another : Meantime our Cock, by these huge Beasts surrounded, And like some luckless dog of a Reviewer, Surprised by angry bards, and sure Of being kicked to death or miserably pounded, Though not a little in fright, Yet thought it best, Perhaps too he was in the right, To strut and crow, And give them a don-mo f, PARODIES AXD BURLESQUES. 29 And tickle up their fancies with a jest, Before he bade the world good-night. " My friends," said he, " whose graceful education Hath kept you from profaner home-bred courses, And who have still maintained the reputation Of gentlemanly, well-bred horses, Though I should be extremely proud In such good company to pass my life, Ye: as I hate a crowd Worse than a smokv chimney or a scolding wife. Permit me to propose, That, like the incidents of modern plays, We each pursue our different ways. Nor rudely tread on one another's toes." Defoe told that fable much better in half-a-dozen lines of prose, and the humour of the piece is spoilt by making the Cock know that he is joking. But this piece, like the next which follows, illustrates by the way that reaction against formalism in litera- ture which caused men weary of the ten-syllabled rhyming coup- let to break loose from its even step, and cut such capers in rhyme as formed the style which had its last good illustration in Richard Harris Barham's " Ingoldsby Legends." PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. THE DUKE OF BENEVENTO. A TALE. I HATE a prologue to a story- Worse than the tuning of a fiddle, Squeaking and dinning ; Hang order and connection, I love to dash into the middle ; Exclusive of the fame and glory, There is a comfort on reflection To think you've done with the beginning. And so at supper one fine night, Hearing a cry of Alia, Alia, The Prince was damnably confounded. And in a fright, But more so when he found himself surrounded By fifty Turks ; and at their head the fierce Abdalla. And then he looked a little grave To find himself become a slave, And thought the Corsair rather in a hurry, Out of all rules To make the Duke of Benevento curry And take care of his mules : But as 'twas vain to make a riot, Without grimace, Or a wry face, He gave a shrug, and rubbed his mules in quiet. It would have been great sport To all the puppies of the court To view these changes and disasters ; But their enjoyments Were damped by certain slovenly employments, Not more amusing than their master's. But who can paint his grief, Who can describe the transports of his sorrow, W 7 hen he beheld Almida's charms Conducted to Abdalla's arms And saw no prospect of relief? But that the blooming maid, By cruel destiny betrayed, Must no more triumph in that name to-morrow. PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. 31 Not understanding what he said, Seeing him caper like an antic, And tear his hair, and beat his head, The eunuch wisely judged him to be frantic. But she, the lovely cause of all his care, Darting a look to his enraptured soul Might soften e'en the madness of despair, Bade him his weak, unmanly rage control, Each favouring opportunity improve, And bade him dare to hope, and bade him dare to love. The Corsair in a transport of surprise. When he beheld Almida's sparkling eyes. Her faultless figure, her majestic air, The graceful ringlets of her auburn hair, That twined in many a fold to deck, Not hide, the dazzling whiteness of her neck ; The various charms her flowing robe revealed, While fancy whispered to his throbbing heart, Each nameless beauty that well-judging art, To fix the roving mind, had carefully concealed. " O Mahomet, I thank thee ! " he exclaimed, " That to thy servant thou hast given This bright inhabitant of heaven, To gild the progress of his life below, For him this beauteous houri framed ; Enjoyment I have known, but never loved till now.'' Then with a smile, Might even a Stoic's heart beguile. The fair one, with a little flattery, To his charmed ears addressed her battery. " Still may my lord," said she, " approve The happy object of his love, Then when Almida sues Let not Abdalla's heart her first request refuse : Deign to suspend but for three days The progress of your amorous flame, And to console my heart for these delays, Grant me two small requests that I shall name. 32 PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. " The first is to desire, If you incline, Five hundred lashes for two friends of mine, And just as many for a friar. The next, a litter and two mules, The heavy hours of absence to amuse, Besides a muleteer that I shall chuse, At my disposal, subject to my rules." So said, the culprit knaves appear, Upon each rascal's pampered hide The stripes are in due form applied, Which done, she chose, You may suppose, Her lover for her muleteer. Then with a voice sweet as an angel's song, While Tancred, with attentive ear, In silent rapture stooped to hear, The beauteous maid the silence broke, Conviction followed as she spoke, And truth, and soft persuasion dwelt on her enchanting tongue: " With grief those scenes unwilling I disclose, Whence every error, each misfortune, rose ; When pleasures of the lowest meanest kind, Unnerved your feeble frame, and checked the progress of your mind. " In vain your people's curses or their tears Your heart assailed, Two flattering knaves had charmed your ears, And Raymond vainly counselled, or as vainly railed. " He was your father's friend, wise, honest, brave, Him you displaced, And listening to the malice of a slave, The guardian of our crown was banished and disgraced. " Me too you loved, and I approved the flame, In hopes my counsels might have weight To prompt you to redress the state, And save from infamy your sinking name. PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. 33 " But soon your Confessor, the crafty Priest, Rage, hate, and malice, rankling in his breast, With timorous scruples filled your wavering mind ; In vain each finer feeling strove To guard your heart, and court it to be kind, While haggard superstition triumphed over love. " But justice still pursues betimes, E'en now, for she directs the hour, The Priest and the vile partners of his power Feel vengeance overtake their crimes. " The Turks' unnoticed march, last night's surprise, The foe unthought-of thundering at the gate At length have cleared your eyes, Their treacherous negligence is found, is felt, too late. " No more of this unpleasing strain — If thinking, acting, like a man Reformed by slavery's painful chain, Virtue within your breast resume her reign, Inspire your thoughts and guide your future plan, My heart will still be yours, e'en Raymond too Still loves his Prince, to him repair, Confess vour faults, his aid demand, The gallant veteran waits but your command To spread his conquering banners to the air, To sacrifice his life with you, Or rescue and relieve his native land. " Abdalla claims my promise in three days. Think then on me : Danger and death attend delays, Be virtuous, be daring, and be free." The Lady's sermon was a little long, Not but she talked both well and wittily, And then she looked so prettily, Her eyes excused the freedom of her tongue. For when a favourite mistress speaks, We always think her in the right, E'en though she talk for days or weeks, Or in the middle of the night. 34 PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. To say the truth, her speech was rather rough, But as she promised him her heart, Upon the whole he took it in good part, And as he loved her, liked it well enough. So thanked her for the good advice, And took his leave ; and ere he went, By way of compliment, Called her his guardian angel, his sweet tutor, And kissed her fair hand once or twice, And swore to be a good boy for the future. In short, it was so settled ; the third night, By good luck, too, 'twas dark as hell, Tancred, with Raymond and a chosen band, Surprise the guards, who in their fright Make but a shabby stand, And enter at the gates pell-mell. Meantime, Abdalla snug in bed, Finding Almida staid away so long, Suspecting there was something wron . Looked out ; and found his troops were killed or gone, Himself a prisoner, and alone, And Tancred reigning in his stead. And now the sore-backed scoundrels in a trice Came kindly with their counsels and advice. Proposing as a pious work Just to impale Or stick a hedge-stake through the tail Of the poor Turk. Indignant fury flashed from Tancred's eye — " Ye vile corrupters of my youth, Ye foes to honour, honesty, and truth, Hence from my sight, nor offer a reply : If the third day Within the limits of this state Disclose your stay, Not e'en Almida's self shall save you from your fate. " Go, brave Abdalla, to your native shore ; — From sloth, from vice, from infamy Your kind instructions and assistance Have haply set me free ; PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. 35 Thanks for your visit, pray return no more, Let us be friends, but at a distance. " And now, my better angel, whose kind care The mists of error from my sight dispelled, Burst the vile fetters that my reason held, Restored fair wisdom's gentle sway, Guided my steps to her, and pointed out the way ; Now while my people's eager voice, And Raymond too, confirms my choice, O come, my heavenly fair ! Ascend, adorn, and bless my throne ; Still with that cheering influence preside, My life, my future conduct, guide, Inspire my raptured heart, and make it virtuous as your own." There is only one other burlesque piece to be taken from George Ellis's little book of " Poetical Trifles." PALINODE TO THE REVIEWERS. I who, of late, in many a slanderous ditty, Burlesqued your prose and parodied your verses, With tears and trembling supplicate your pity ; Accept my penitence, forgive my curses. Good, pious gentlemen, repress your rigour, Untwist your bowels of commiseration, Think on my tender years, and till I'm bigger, Suspend the terrors of your dire damnation. Long time with harmless elegy content, Pleased in that pretty path, I paced no further, Happy to catch some straggling sentiment, And sing in simple style of love and murther. Till lured by wicked wits, indeed 'tis truth, In luckless hour listed beneath their banners, To satire's thorny way they led my youth, Evil communication spoils good manners. Dear Doctor Langhorne, you were ever good, Mild as young Nithisdale, or Lady Ellen, 1 Can you excuse my frantic, furious mood, 'Gainst wisdom and your sage decrees rebelling. 1 Vide " Owen of Carron," a Pcem by the Doctor. — [G. E.J 36 PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. O soften then your angry colleagues' fury, 1 My works, I fear, will quickly fall before 'em, Alas, they'll hang me without judge or jury, Or tomahawk and scalp me in terrorem. And you, great Kenrick, 2 Britain's last, sad hope, Prose man or poet, chymist, critic, player, Whether in easy verse you rival Pope, Or grace with dignity the critic chair. Or float in speculation's sceptic round With Priestley's patent air ; or in a trice Sink to the chaos of the dread profound, With lies and treason, politics and Price ; Dropping with printers' tears and authors' gore, See where he comes ! — I know his stars, his dashes — O spare my works, they shall offend no more — Behold, I mourn in sackcloth and in ashes. Last, though not least in love, ye learned sages, Hight Critical, who vent your secret labours From nooks and lanes, if in my desperate pages I've treated you no better than your neighbours, List, list, O list ! and hear while I proclaim All that in jest, or sober serious sadness, 1 Mr. Griffiths, &c. &c. &c. [G. E.] Ralph Griffiths was a publisher in Pater- noster Row, who began in 1749, when his age was twenty-nine, with the aid of John Langhorne, Andrew Kippis, James Ralph, James Grainger, and others, the Monthly Review, for which he secured, in 1757, a year's services as bookseller's hack from Oliver Goldsmith, at the outset of Goldsmith's career. The Monthly was a Whig review. In March 1756, Tobias Smollett started in rivalry the Critical Review, to represent Tory opinions. The Critical Review survived until 1817 ; the Monthly until 1845. Griffiths, its founder, retired from business upon the profits of his Review, lived beyond the age of eighty, and died in 1803. 2 Dr. William Kenrick, who began life as a rule-maker, published in 1759 poems, philosophical and moral, attacked in 1765 Johnson's edition of Shake- speare, produced in 1766 (revised from an edition of 1760) a comedy designed to be in Shakespeare's manner, " Falstaff's Wedding," and in 1773 a new Dictionary of the English Language, was for some time a bad-tempered critic in the Monthly Review, from which he seceded in 1775 to found the London Review, in which Priestley and others wrote. The London Review was living its short life of five years when Ellis wrote this Palinode to the Reviewers. PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. 37 I e'er devised as touching your fair fame Was riotous rage and frantic furious madness. 1 This being granted, to all Christian people The fact is clear, and can appear no other, But that I shot my arrow o'er the steeple, And in its fatal flight have hurt my brother. 2 Then seal my pardon, and from every danger May the kind Muses and Apollo guard ye, Though to your persons, to your worth no stranger, Thus prays a bard unequal to reward ye. But O, beware of libels : think, O think What ills await. The pillory's foul disgrace, The rabble's beastly shoutings, and the stink Of rotten egcrs slow streaming down each learned face. -t>o- So when the splendour of your dawn is o'er, When they who took your judgments upon trust Begin to think, who never thought before, Your pockets sunk, your credit in the dust ; May heaven in pity mitigate the blow, Th it gives such merit to the untimely bier, And may your works be all forgiven below, As truly as the world forgets them here. 1 What I have done That might your nature, honour, and exception Roughly awake, I here proclaim was madness. — Hamlet. [G. E. 2 Let my disclaiming from a purposed evil, Free me so far in your most generous thoughts, That I have shot mine arrow o'er the house, And hurt my brother. — Hamlet. [G. E.] J 8 PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. On the 24th of June 1783 Horace Walpole wrote the Earl of Strafford from Strawberry Hill, that the Anglomanie of the French " I hear has mounted — or descended — from our customs to our persons. English people are in fashion at Versailles. A Mr. Ellis, who wrote some pretty verses at Bath two or three years ago, is a favourite there." On the 3rd of September 17S3 the contest with the American Colonies was definitely concluded, and the independence of the United States recognised by the Treaty of Paris. On the nth of November a new Session of Parliament opened. The Duke of Portland was First Lord of the Treasury, in a Coalition Ministry, with Fox and Lord North Secretaries of State, and William Pitt, not yet twenty-five years old, leading the Opposition. Pitt had opposed Lord North and the American war. His first motion had been for more equal representation of the people in Parliament. He had been Chancellor of the Exchequer after Lord Rocking- ham's death, in the Ministry that closed the American war. In December 1783 Fox carried through the Commons, by a majority of 114, his India Bill. There was much feeling against it in the city of London and elsewhere, on which the King rested his per- sonal opposition to the Bill, which was accordingly rejected by the House of Lords on the 17th of December. The Coalition Minis- try was destroyed on the 19th of December. Pitt was appointed First Lord of the Treasury and Chancellor of the Exchequer, with a hostile majority in the Commons, and Fox, Burke, North, and Sheridan against him. After unflinching contest with a House of Commons that in the course of about two months carried fourteen motions against him, Pitt met a new Parliament on the 18th of May 1784. In the election for this Parliament, which gave Pitt a majority, there was the strongest opposition made by the Court and its friends to the return of Fox for Westminster. The West- minster election lasted forty days, during which faction ran high, and there were very many caricatures by pen or pencil. Lord Hood and Mr. Fox were returned, but Sir Cecil Wray, who was defeated, called for a scrutiny, and the High Bailiff refused to make a return. PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. 39 In the first discussion upon the Westminster scrutiny, Mr. Rolle, member for Devonshire, said "lie could not be kept all the summer debating about the rights of the Westminster elec- tors. His private concerns were of more importance to him than his right as a Westminster elector." Here, said the wits, the member for Devonshire " emphatically proved himself the genuine descendant of Duke Rollo ; and in the noble contempt which he avowed for the boasted rights of electors, seemed to breathe the very soul of his great progenitor, who came to extirpate the liber- ties of Englishmen with the sword." Upon this hint spake George Ellis, among other satirists of the day who set up in a newspaper of the day a series of mock criticisms of a supposed epic, the "Rolliad," with snatches of political caricature in verse, professing to be extracts from that poem. Among Ellis's con- tributions was a description of Pitt in the second number, and probably the whole of the number. 4 o PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. NUMBER II. OF THE " ROLLIAD." Our author, after giving an account of the immediate descen- dants of Rollo, finds himself considerably embarrassed by the three unfortunate Rollos whom history relates to have been hanged. From this difficulty, however, he relieves himself by a contrivance equally new and arduous, viz., by versifying the bill of indictment, and inserting in it a flaw, by which they are preserved from condemnation. But in the transactions of those early times, however dignified the phraseology, and enlivened by fancy, there is little to amaze and les- to interest. Let us hasten, therefore, to those characters about whom not to be solicitous is to want curiosity, and whom not to admire is to want gratitude — to those characters, in short, whose splendour illuminates the present House of Commons. Of these, our author's principal favourite appears to be that amiable young nobleman, 1 whose diary we have all perused with so much pleasure. Of him he says — " Superior to abuse He nobly glories in the name of Goose ; Such geese at Rome from the perfidious Saul Preserved the Treasury Bench and Capitol," &c. &c. Sec. In the description of Lord Mahon, our author departs a little from his wonted gravity : — " This Quixote of the nation Beats his own windmills in gesticulation, To strike, not please, his utmost force he bends, And all his sense is at his fingers' ends," &c. &c. But the most beautiful effort of our author's genius (if we except only the character of Mr. Rolle himself) is contained in the description of Mr. Pitt. 1 Lord Graham. PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. 41 " Pert without fire, without experience sage, Young with more art than Shelburne gleaned from age, Too proud from pilfered greatness to descend, Too humble not to call Dundas his friend, In solemn dignity and sullen state, This new Octavius rises to debate ! Mild and more mild he sees each placid row Of country gentlemen with rapture glow ; He sees, convulsed with sympathetic throbs, Apprentice peers and deputy nabobs ! Nor rum contractors think his speech too long, While words, like treacle, trickle from his tongue ! O soul congenial to the souls of Rolles, Whether you tax the luxury of coals, Or vote some necessary millions more To feed an Indian friend's exhausted store, Fain would I praise (if I like thee could praise) Thy matchless virtue in congenial lays. But, ah ! too weak," &c. &c. This apology, however, is like the nolo episcopari 'of Bishops ; for our author continues his panegyric during about one hundred and fifty lines more, after which he proceeds to a task (as he says) more congenial to his abilities, and paints — " In smooth confectionary style The simpering sadness of his Mulgrave's smile." From the character of this nobleman we shall only select a part of one couplet, which tends to elucidate our author's astonishing powers in imitative harmony : — " Within his lab'ring throat The shrill shriek struggles with the harsh, hoarse note." As we mean to excite, and not to satisfy at once, the curiosity of our readers, we shall here put a period to our extracts for the present. We cannot, however, conclude this essay without ob- serving that there are very few lines in the whole work which are at all inferior to those we have selected for the entertainment of our readers. 42 PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. So ends Number Two of the " Rolliad." Dundas was the chief butt of Number Three, and Dr. Prettyman of Number Four. In the Fifth Number, after a free distribution of satire among other politicians, the burlesque returns to Pitt : — " Shall Chatham's offspring basely beg support, Now for the India, now St. James's Court?" Two of the Fast India Company's governors were named Atkinson and Jenkinson, and shall Pitt — " Prove a pupil of St. Omer's school, Of either kinson, At or Jen the tool ? " And so the jest went on. POLITICAL ECLOGUES. In 1785 Political Eclogues followed on the "Criticisms of the Rolliad." The eclogues are compact with satire upon politicians and in burlesque of Virgil. Virgil's second eclogue becomes the Complaint of George Rose, as Corydon, to Pitt, as Alexis. " Hue ades o formose puer," is " Come, Billy, come," addressed to Pitt :— " Come, Billy, come. For you each rising day My maids, though taxed, shall twine a huge bouquet : That you, next winter, at the birth-night ball In loyal splendour may out-dazzle all ; Dear Mrs. Rose her needle shall employ To broider a fine waistcoat for my boy : In gay design shall blend with skilful toil, Gold, silver, spangles, crystals, beads, and foil, Till the rich work in bright confusion show Flowers of all hues — and many more than blow." PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. 43 PROBATIONARY ODES. Joseph Whitehead, Poet Laureate, died on the 14th of April 1785, and Literature then offered a new field of sport for the satirists with whom George Ellis was beating up game. They produced burlesque pieces as " Probationary Odes for the Lau- reateship," — Odes on the King's Birthday, in which they set their politicians singing. There was a " Preliminary Discourse," of which they made Sir John Hawkins the father, with recom- mendatory testimonies, in which Miss Hannah More and Jonas Hanway testified to Sir Joseph Mawbey's good parts for poetry. Dr. Stratford ("author of fifty-eight tragedies, only one which, to the disgrace of our theatres, has yet appeared ") and Mrs. George Anne Bellamy were made to certify in favour of Sir Gecil Wray, and so forth. The following Birthday Ode parodies another Bard's address to a king. Wraxall had travelled much, and among other achievements travelled in five months two thousand miles round the Baltic Sea. 44 PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. ODE BY NATHANIEL WILLIAM WRAXALL, M.P. I. Murrain seize the House of Commons ! Hoarse catarrh their windpipes shake, Who, deaf to travelled learning's summons, Rudely coughed whene'er I spake ! North nor Fox's thundering course, Nor e'en the Speaker, tyrant, shall have force To save thy walls from nightly breaches, From Wraxall's votes, from Wraxall's speeches. Geography, terraqueous maid, Descend from globes to statesmen's aid ! Again to heedless crowds unfold Truths unheard, though not untold : Come, and once more unlock this vasty world — Nations attend, the map of Earth's unfurled ! II. Begin the song, from where the Rhine, The Elbe, the Danube, Weser, rolls — Joseph, nine circles, forty seas are thine — Thine twenty million souls ! Upon a marish fiat and dank States six and one Dam the dykes, the seas embank, Maugre the Don ! A gridiron's form the proud Escurial rears, While south of Vincent's Cape anchovies glide: But, ah ! o'er Tagus, once auriferous tide, A priest-rid Queen Braganza's sceptre bears — Hard fate ! that Lisbon's Diet-drink is known To cure each crazy Constitution but her own! in. I burn ! I burn ! I glow ! I glow ! With antique and with modern lore ! I rush from Bosphorus to Po — To Nilus from the Nore. Why were thy Pyramids, O Egypt, raised But to be measured and be praised ? PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. 45 Avaunt, ye Crocodiles ; your threats are vain ! On Norway's seas my soul, unshaken, Braved the Sea Snake and the Kraken ! And shall I heed the River's scaly train ? Afric, I scorn thy Alligator band ! Quadrant in hand I take my stand, And eye thy moss-clad needle, Cleopatra grand ! O that great Pompey's pillar were my own ! Eighty-eight feet the shaft, and all one stone ! But hail, ye lost Athenians ! Hail also, ye Armenians ! Hail once, ye Greeks, ye Romans, Carthaginians ! Twice hail, ye Turks ! and thrice, ye Abyssinians ! Hail too, O Lapland, with thy squirrels airy ! Hail, commerce-catching Tipperary ! Hail, wonder-working Magi ! Hail Ourang-Outang ! Hail Anthropophagi ! Hail, all ye cabinets of every state From poor Merino's Hill, to Catherine's Empire great ! All have their chiefs, who speak, who write, who seem to think ! Carmarthens, Sydneys, Rutlands, paper, pens, and ink. IV. Thus, through all climes to Earth's remotest goal ! From burning Indus to the freezing Pole, In chaises, and on floats, In dillies, and in boats ; Now on a camel's native stool • Now on an ass, now on a mule; Nabobs and Rajahs have I seen ; Old Brahmins mild, young Arabs keen ; Tall Polygars, Dwarf Zemindars, Mahommed's tomb, Killarney's lake, the fame of Ammon, With all thy Kings and Queens, ingenious Mrs. Salmon : Yet vain the Majesties of Wax ! Vain the cut velvet on their backs ! George, mighty George, is flesh and blood — No head he wants of wax or wood ! His heart is good ! (As a king's shou'd) And everything he says is understood. 46 PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. AVilliam Eden, afterwards first Lord Auckland, was a diplomatist skilled in economic questions who was one of the first appointed lords of the Board of Trade when that department of the Government was established in 1776. He had been Chief Secretary of Ireland under Lord Carlisle, from 1780 to 1782, and it was he who then established the National Bank of Ireland. In 1785 he was sent as special envoy to Versailles to carry out Pitt's policy, with which he was in hearty accord, of establishing, on free trade principles, a commercial treaty with France. The very difficult negotiation was successful. The treaty was signed in September 1786, and within the next year an agreement was signed settling the disputes of the French and English East India Companies. The wits of the " Rolliad " attacked this policy. No one is more likely than George Ellis to have been the author of the following Rondeau. He learned to think much better of Pitt. Once, when Pitt was present, Ellis was asked to give some account of the Rolliad and the writers in it. He was embarrassed by the presence of the statesman whom he had himself, in his Rolliad days, so often ridiculed. But Pitt, who knew the cause of his hesitation, turned to him kindly, and joined in the request with a line from the vEneid, " Immo age, et a prima die, hospes, origine, nobis." PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. 47 RONDEAU. HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HON. WILLI -UI EDEN, ENVOY EXTRAORDINARY AND MINISTER PLENIPOTENTIARY OF COMMERCIAL AFFAIRS AT THE COURT OF VERSAILLES. Of EDEN lost, in ancient days, If we believe what Moses says, A paltry pippin was the price, One crab was bribe enough to entice Frail human kind from Virtue's ways. But now when PlTT, the all-perfect, sways, No such vain lures the tempter lays, Too poor to be the purchase twice Of Eden lost. The Devil grown wiser, to the gaze Six thousand pounds a year displays, And finds success from the device ; Finds this fair fruit too well suffice To pay the peace and honest praise Of Eden lost. 48 PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. George Ellis went to the Hague in December 1784 with the embassy of Sir James Harris, afterwards Lord Malmesbury. In the year of the outbreak of the French Revolution he wrote a History of the Dutch Revolution of 1785-87. In 1790 he published an excellent selection of specimens of the early English poets, which was afterwards enlarged and prefaced with an "Historical Sketch of the Rise and Progress of the English Poetry and Language," and went through half-a-dozen editions. In 1 791 George Ellis travelled in Germany and Italy with Lord and Lady Malmesbury. In 1 796 he entered Parliament as member for Seaford. In July 1797 — the month of Burke's death — Ellis went with Lord Malmesbury to meet the plenipotentiaries of the French Republic at Lisle. Canning wrote to Ellis there, "I ought to tell you something of what has been passing here since you left us. There is but one event, but that is an event for the world — Burke is dead. . . . It is of a piece with the peddling sense of these dogs that it should be determined to be imprudent for the House of Commons to vote him a monument. He is the man that will mark this age, marked as it is in itself by events, to all time." Canning was in hope of peace from the negotiations of Lord Malmesbury, but all chance of it was destroyed by the coup d'etat at Paris of General Augereau on the 4th of September. New plenipoteniaries were sent from Paris who made every chance of peace impossible. Ellis wrote to Canning justifying Malmesbury, and Canning wrote of the forced departure of Lord Malmesbury from Lisle. " It was not any question of terms, of giving up this, or retaining that. It was a settled determination to get rid of the chance of peace on the part of the three scoundrelly Directors, that put an end to the negotiation." Ellis then left Lisle with Lord Malmesbury on the 18th of September, returned to London, and joined Canning and Frere in setting up the Anti-Jacobui, of which the first number was published on the 20th of Novem- ber 1797. PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. 49 GEORGE CANNING. George Canning was born on the nth of April 1770. He was descended from a William Canning who, in Chaucer's life- time, was six times Mayor of Bristol, and represented Bristol in several successive Parliaments. That 'William had a son John, who also sat in Parliament for Bristol, and was twice made Mayor. That John had a youngest son, William, who restored the Church of St. Mary Redcliffe, founded the Priory of Westbury, served also as Mayor of Bristol, and died in 1476. This was the Canynge of Chatterton's Rowley Poems. His eldest brother, John the son of John, was father of a Thomas Canning, who became by marriage owner of the estate of Foxcote in Warwickshire. The great-grandson of that Thomas Canning passed on Foxcote to descendants of his eldest son ; and had also a younger son, George, who received in 1618 from James I. a grant of the manor of Garvagh in Londonderry, from whom came the line of Cannings that produced at last George Canning the statesman. A son of that George Canning of Garvagh was William, killed in Ireland in 1641. A son of that William was a George the Second, attainted in the Parliament held at Dublin by James II. in 1690. A son of George the Second was a George the Third, who had two sons, Stratford the First and George the Fourth. Stratford the First had three sons, George the Fifth, Paul, and Stratford the Second. George the Fifth was the father of the statesman, sixth George of the Canning family. Thus the last group is : — Stratford Canning (of Garvagh) George Canning Paul Canning Stratford Canning Right Hon. George Canning Lord Garvagh Sir Stratford Canning The father of our George Canning was eldest son and heir of Garvagh, but his political opinions were more free than his father liked. He became enamoured also without his father's approba- D 5 o PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. tion, and was shut out from home with an allowance of ,£150 a year. He wrote and published verse and prose ; entered to the Middle Temple, but obtained no practice at the bar ; and his first love fancy having come to nothing, he married a Miss Costello, who was eighteen years old, clever, and very beautiful, but had no money to bring him. To get rid of him his father agreed to pay his debts on condition of his joining in cutting himself off from the entail of the estate of Garvagh, which was then settled upon his brother Paul. He died exactly a year after the birth of his son George, on the child's birthday. His wife inscribed upon his tomb — " Thy virtue and my woe no words can tell, Therefore, a little while, my George, farewell ; For faith and love like ours Heaven has in store Its last, best gift — to meet and part no more." The ^150 a year died with her husband, and Mrs. Canning, to support herself and her child, went upon the stage. She had friends who caused Queen Charlotte to take interest in her, and ask what she could do for her. The desire of the young widow was to be recommended by her Majesty to Mr. Garrick. Beauty and royal patronage prevailed so far, that Garrick gave to Mrs. Can- ning leading parts, until it became evident that she wanted alike genius and training for the stage. Then she descended into secondary parts, and acted chiefly in the provinces. She was drawn unfortunately into marriage with an actor of good abili- ties but low character, named Reddish, for whom she played in 1775 when he was managing the Bristol theatre. Four years afterwards Reddish became a wreck, his mind failed, he depended for support upon the Actors' Fund, and died in 1785 in the York Lunatic Asylum. A fellow-actor, Moody, saw the great promise of Mrs. Canning's child, then seven or eight years old, in danger of destruction by the evil surroundings of his life, with Reddish for stepfather. He appealed to the child's uncle, Stratford Canning, said that the child was on the high road to the gallows, though if proper care were taken of him he would surely become a great man. When PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. 51 the uncle hesitated, Moody pressed him strongly through the interest he stirred in other members of the Canning family, and the boy was taken into a well-ordered home, on condition of strict limitation of his intercourse with his mother's family. May it not be said that we owe Canning to the manliness of that warm-hearted actor ? Canning's uncle Stratford was of the banking firm of French, Burroughs and Canning, a politician in whose house the boy first met Burke and Fox and Sheridan. A small estate at Kilbrahan, in the county of Kilkenny, had been set aside by the urgent wish of the grandmother, to provide funds (^200 a year) for the educa- tion of the boy whom his grandfather and father had between them disinherited. He was sent to Hyde Abbey School near Winchester — and lived to present his old master, Mr. Richards, to a prebendal stall in Winchester Cathedral. By the advice of Fox, who took interest in his marked abilities and rare union of wit with steady earnestness of character, young Canning was sent from Winchester to Eton. He was soon among the fore- most of the Eton boys, distinguished for his skill in Latin and English verse, his livelinesss and generosity of character. There is a note in Wilberforce's diary : " C. knew Canning well at Eton. He never played at any games with the other boys ; quite a man, fond of acting ; decent and moral." Experi- ences of his childhood had undoubtedly left deep impressions, and under all his natural vivacity made life more serious to him than to most other boys. He never forsook his mother, whom he survived only five months. From school at Winchester, from Eton, from foreign embassies, where he was employed afterwards upon affairs of state, when premier, he took care that she should have a letter every week, in which he poured out his thoughts, hopes, experiences fully, as son to mother. The heap of the letters grew. "I cannot part with one of them, but, oh, they must be burnt," she said, " burnt after I am dead." They were, in fact, returned to Canning. He was always eager and glad to see her, when himself observed of men, and visiting his mother, openly showing himself as the companion of her poor relations. 5 2 PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. After Reddish's death, she married a stage-struck draper at Plymouth who failed in business, went upon the stage and failed, but obtained afterwards business employment. He left Canning's mother — now Mrs. Hann — a widow for the third time, with two daughters and a son. But her first son George provided amply for her latest years. She lived to be eighty. When he retired from the office of Under-Secretary of State, and was entitled to a pension of ,£500 a year, he asked that it might be given not to him, but to his mother. At Eton, Canning joined his school friends, J. and R. Smith and John Hookham Frere, in setting up a school periodical, which was published at Windsor, and after itb first number, on the 6th of November 17S6, appeared once a week, price twopence. PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. 53 JOHN HOOKHAM FRERE. Canning's schoolfellow and friend, and fellow-worker in the Anti-Jacobin, John Hookham Frere, was born on the 21st of May 1769. He came of a race of Freres that was settled in Suffolk until there was a migration to Norfolk, caused by the purchase of Roydon Hall, near Diss. J. H. Frere's great- grandfather had been a Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, his grandfather was a Fellow Commoner of the same college, his father also was entered to the same college, and became a Second Wrangler in the year in which Paley was Senior Wrangler. John Frere, the Second Wrangler, was a Fellow of tne Royal Society, and was High Sheriff for Suffolk when his son was seven years old. At the end of the century, in 1799, he entered Parliament as member for Norwich. He had a sister married to Sir John Fenn, editor of the Paston Letters. She was a learned lady, who impressed the rustic population, and published "Cob- webs to catch Flies," and other instructive books for children, under the name of Mrs. Lovechild. John Hookham Frere said in later years of his aunt, Lady Fenn, " It is difficult to give any- one nowadays an idea of the kind of awe which, in my boyhood, a learned old lady like her inspired down in the country, not only in us, her nephews and nieces, and in those of her own age and rank who could understand her intellectual superiority, but even in the common people around her. I remember one day coming from a visit to her, I stopped to learn what some village boys out- side her gate were wrangling about. They were disputing whether the nation had any reason to be afraid of an invasion by Buona- parte, and one of the disputants said, with a conscious air of superior knowledge — ' I tell ye, ye don't know what a terrible fellow he is : why, he don't care for nobody ! If he was to come here to Dereham, he wouldn't care that,' snapping his fingers ; ' no ! not even for Lady Fenn, there ! ' " 54 PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. After preparation at a school at Putney under Mr. Cormick, Frere went in 1785 to Eton, where he was soon fast friends with Canning, and shared the common opinion of the boys, which especially marked Canning as their great man of the future. Sydney Smith's brother, " Bobus " Smith, stood next in the schoolboys' estimate of those among them who would be most famous in after life. PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. 55 THE MICROCOSM was edited by John Smith. He and his brother Robert, with Frere and Canning, were throughout its chief supporters. Be- o-innino- on the 6th of November 1786 it was published everv Monday until the 30th of the following July, when it was wound up because Smith was then leaving for Cambridge. Canning himself did not leave Eton until 1788. But the four friends were of one mind in the work, and they united in the sale of the copy- right to the bookseller who published it, Charles Knight of Windsor, father of the Charles Knight who afterwards was a pioneer in the work of bringing good literature home to the main body of the people. The receipt was given by George Canning to the publisher for fifty guineas paid "in full for the copyright of 'The Microcosm,' a periodical work carried on by us, the under- mentioned persons, under the name and title of Gregory Griffin. Received for John Smith, Robert Smith, John Frere, and self, George Canning." The chief contributor was Canning, and I here give all his articles. The opening number, which I place before them, was written by John Smith. In the closing number Smith and Canning appear to have worked together. Only one paper of Frere's was lively, and that I append to the papers by Canning. His other papers were spoilt by a young sense of authorship, and did not reveal the bright spring of wit and humour that was in him. He wrote them as became the nephew of Lady Fenn. The boys dedicated their Microcosm to Dr. Davies, the head- master, and Frere in his later life had memories of Davies, of which one or two are recorded in the Memoir prefacing an edition, published in 1872, of the Works of John Hookham Frere, by his nephews W. E. and Sir Bartle Frere. " Davies," he said, " who was head-master in my time, was the very incarnation of authority. We boys never dreamed of his 56 PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. condescending to any physical effort other than flogging us. I never shall forget my surprise when my father took me to place me at Eton, and I saw the way in which Davies treated a man to whom I had seen every one else so deferential. " ' Mr. Frere, I believe ? Well, sir, is this your son ? ' "'Yes.' " ' Well, what can he do ? Where has he been ? ' '"At Mr. Cormick's at Putney.' " ' Humph ! not a bad school ; we have had some lads well prepared from him." And he gave me a passage to read, and away I construed for bare life. Everything about him had the same character, down to his ' Hem ! ' which might have been heard at the end of the long walk. He was ordered by his physician, when he got a little infirm, to take carriage exercise, so he had a coach-and-four ; but there was something we boys did not quite like, even in his riding in a coach-and-four, like an ordinary mortal ; and this effect was not lessened by his always using, when the horses were restive, the same phrase, and in the same tone, as he was accustomed to address to the prepositors of the lower school, ' Can't you keep them quiet there ? ' " When old King George III. came over to Eton, which he used to do very frequently, I remember the jealousy with which we watched Davies, to see that he did not play the courtier too much ; and very well he managed it. The King, too, used quite to understand and honour the kind of feeling we had." The Microcosm went through three editions in its original form within the year of its completion, 1787; and it has since been several times reprinted. THE MICROCOSM. THE BEGINNING OF THE MICROCOSM. I Monday, November 6, 1786. " Protinus Italiam concepit, ct arma virumgue, Qui modo vix culicem fleverat ore rudi? — Martial. " He, who a gnat had wept with artless tongue, ' Arms and the Man,' in loftier numbers sung." T has often been observed that an introduction is the part of a work most embarrassing to the author, as well as the least entertaining to the reader. I have frequently wished that custom, or a literary etiquette, had prescribed some form so general as to. preclude the idea of plagiarism, while it secured the author from the apprehension of misrepresenting himself to the world, as, for instance — TO The Most High and Puissant Critics, by the sufferance of their subjects, of wit, poetry, and humour, kings, defenders of taste, the mlcrocosmopolitan sends greeting, &C &C. &C. Next to this, the method almost universally adopted by periodical writers, of usurping a feigned name and character, is perhaps the most eligible ; the dignity of the author is not 59 60 THE BEGINNING OF THE MICROCOSM. diminished by the egotisms of Isaac Bickerstaff, and the man with the short face reflects no portion of the ridiculous in his character on Steele or Addison. Thus, then, I, Gregory Griffin, sally forth in this our lesser world to pluck up by the roots the more trifling follies, and cherish the opening buds of rising merit. It is the duty of a prudent general, before he hazards an engagement, to secure a safe retreat. Why should a similar conduct be less defensible in an author. And now a con- jecture there is very likely to have arisen in the minds of my readers, and which they will wonder I have not answered before, namely, who I am. Now, as nothing is more painful than an ungratified desire of knowledge, I would advise my readers to repress and smother in its infancy this unhappy passion of inquisi- tiveness, as, whatever be the success of this my work, such pre- cautions have been taken with regard to myself as shall elude all the efforts of inquiry, and baffle all the arts of curiosity. Suffice it, that I boast with them of " sucking the milk of science " from our Mother Eton, under the auspices of its present director, to whom (should this work ever be deemed worthy of so distin- guished a patronage) I would wish to presume to look up for countenance and protection. But to proceed in the explanation of my design. As this attempt may have raised some degree of curiosity within the circle to which it is addressed, as it is in itself new and unprecedented in the annals of Eton, I think it in- cumbent on me, before I proceed any farther, to give an ample account of its scope and design, that the reader may be fully acquainted with the nature of the amusement or instruction he may expect to find, and that I may obviate any objections which I foresee will arise to this undertaking. These I shall rank under the following heads : the age of the author ; the time it may take from his more serious avocations ; and the tendency of the work itself. When the respectable names of the Spectator, the Guardian, or the Rambler recur to our memory, we start, and are astonished at the presumption of a puny authoring, who dares, at so early an THE BEGINNING OF THE MICROCOSM. 61 age, tread in the steps of these heroes of wit and literature. No one can suppose that it is my intention to affect to rival these illustrious predecessors. All that I can claim is a sincere desire of executing that design in a narrower sphere, which they sustained with such applause in the wider theatre of the world. My ambition, I hope, is not illaudable, and if an apology is necessary for so early an attempt, I can plead the great examples both of ancient and modern learning. Virgil and Pope produced their pastorals long before the one became the glory of Rome as her epic poet, or the other of Britain as her philosopher and satirist. If these examples are objected to, as more peculiar to poetry than prose, Cicero's treatise " De Inventione" was the juvenile effort of that mind, which was in future time to point the thunders of its eloquence against the betrayers of their country • to crush the audacious villainy of a Catiline, or strip the deep hypocrisy of an Antony of its specious covering. If the above-mentioned compositions were only the preludes to the greater glories of a riper age, may not I, without incurring the charge of too much presumption, try the feebler efforts of my genius, and by degrees attempt to accustom myself to undertakings of a more trying and arduous nature. For the time which it may be thought to take from my more serious avocations, the answer will be briefly this. It only occu- pies a few leisure hours, which might be more triflingly, if not more unworthily employed. This is an harmless recreation at least. My only aim is that my leisure moments may in some respects be amusing, and, I hope, in some degree instructive to others as well as myself. Personal reputation cannot be my object, as the voice neither of praise nor calumny can affect him who, by remaining unknown, remains equally inaccessible to either. The friends I should gain by this attempt would be useless, the enemies (if enemies I had) harmless. Profit can- not be my object, when the circulation is confined to such a narrow compass, and even that I would not wish to enlarge. If this essay will defray the expenses incident to such an undertaking, it is the summit of my hopes, and this, by the 62 THE BEGINNING OF THE MICROCOSM. patronage of the circle I address myself to, I flatter myself I may perform. To explain the nature and tendency of the work itself is a task • of greater length and difficulty ; but this I shall willingly under- take rather than leave the smallest part of this design unex- plained, and consequently subject to ignorant misapprehensions or wilful misconstruction. My design is to amuse and, as far as I am able, to instruct. Trifling I shall endeavour as much as it is in my power to avoid, and the least tendency to immorality or profaneness I absolutely and in the strongest terms reprobate and disavow. Does any one ask from whence am I to collect the material for such an undertaking ? From whence can I have acquired a fund of knowledge, language, or observation sufficient to pursue this arduous plan? My materials are copious; the whole range, the inexhaustible fund of topics, which every event in life, every passion, every object present lie before me ; add to these the stores which history, reading, and morality, or the offspring of a muse just struggling into notice can supply, com- bined with the topics of the moment, or those which our peculiar situation can afford, together with the hints which those who think the correspondence of the Microcosm worth their attention, may casually contribute. Survey all these, and can I hesitate a moment, can I complain of a dearth of matter, or call my subject a barren one. " Quicqitid agunt pueri ; nostri farrago ZibcM." " With faithful hints pourtrays The various passions youth's warm soul displays." Not that I mean to exclude everything of the light or humorous kind. The mind must sometimes be relieved from the severity of its stricter studies, and descending from the sublimer heights of speculative thought, deign to bend to inferior objects, and participate in less refined gratifications. I consider the scene before me as a microcosm, a world in miniature, where all the passions which agitate the great original are faithfully pourtrayed on a smaller scale; in which the end- THE BEGINNING OE THE MICROCOSM. 63 less variety of character, the different lights and shades, which the appetites or peculiar situations throw us into, begin to dis- criminate and expand themselves. The curious observer may here remark in the bud the different casts and turns of genius, which will in future strongly characterise the leading features of the mind. He may see the embryo statesman, who hereafter may wield and direct at pleasure the mighty and complex system of European politics, now employing the whole extent of his abilities to circumvent his companions at their plays, or adjust- ing the important differences which may arise between the con- tending heroes of his little circle ; or a general, the future terror of France and Spain, now the dread only of his equals, and the undisputed lord and president of the boxing-ring. The Grays and Wallers of the rising generation here tune their little lyres ; and he, who hereafter may sing the glories of Britain, must first celebrate at Eton the smaller glories of his college. In the number and variety of the subjects which I may occasionally touch upon, it is impossible but that somebody may find a foible or a vanity, which he is conscious of, slightly reproved or ridiculed ; but I solemnly renounce all intention of personal applications : it would not only be cruel and un- warrantable in itself wantonly to expose defects which all are in some measure liable to, but would also effectually defeat my own intentions. Who would favour or protect him who, Drawcansir like, indiscriminately flashed and cut at all around him ? My answer to this objection is brief — " Qui capit ittefatit? " Let the galled jade wince." I have now fairly and candidly stated every part of my plan, and answered every objection which I think can be raised to it : I commit this to the public, as my first essay, with fear and trembling. Conscious of the novelty of my situation, may I hope that the higher powers will not look with a discouraging eye on my attempt. I have always seen too much care, too much attention paid to every appearance of application, and a 64 THE BEGINNING OF THE MICROCOSM. laudable ambition of excelling, to suppose that they will obstruct my harmless and inoffensive endeavours. If they find anything blameable, let them consider my age, and pardon it ; if anything praiseworthy, the good intent with which it was penned, and commend it. From my equals I look for still greater indulgence and less severity of criticism ; let them read with candour and decide with impartiality, then I am not afraid of passing the ordeal of their judgment. The mind of youth is naturally too unbiassed by prejudice, too susceptible of generous sentiments, to be unfavourable to one whose only aim is their pleasure and amusement. P.S. — Whatever persons should be inclined to favour the author with their hints on any subject, they will be received and acknow- ledged with thankfulness. A letter directed to Gregory Griffin, the Microcosmopolitan, and left at Mr. G. Knight's, Windsor, will be safely delivered, and no farther inquiries made if the parties wish to remain concealed. CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. By GEORGE CANNING. No. II. — Monday, November 13, 1786. " Jurare — et fall ere A~i/i)ie?i" — Virgil. " To swear and forswear." " Nee sine ulla mehercule ironia loouor." — ClCERO. " To speak ironically." TTAVING in my former paper, fully, and I hope satisfactorily, explained the nature and tendency of this work, and as far as I could foresee them, answered, if not obviated all the objec- tions most likely to be started against an undertaking of the kind, I shall forbear detaining my readers by any further prefatory observations, and proceed immediately in the execution of my plan ; premising only that, should it appear to the elder part of my readers that the subject now before them is too lightly treated, I would not have them conclude from thence that I am not well aware of its intrinsic weight and importance. Let them, however, be sensible that Gregory Griffin does not, with the self-assumed arrogance of an universal censurer, commit to the public these his lucubrations as dictatorial lectures on morality, but as the reflections of an impartial observer of all transactions, principally, indeed, those of this lesser world, of which he boasts himself a citizen. These, as they afforded both 6 S E 66 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. entertainment and instruction to him in their formation, he pre- sumes to hope may be the source of the one or the other to some of his readers. In this character I would wish them to consider me in the following paper, and withal to keep in their minds a maxim, indisputable perhaps from the weight of its authority — " Ridiaihtm acri Fortius, ac melius magnas frlcrumqiic sccat res." " Where moral precepts fail, The sneer of ridicule will oft prevail." It has often occurred as a matter of surprise to me and a few friends, who, like myself, can find pleasure in such speculations as arise more immediately from common occurrences, that among the crowds of pretenders who profess to teach every accom- plishment, necessary or unnecessary, to form the character of a complete gentleman, no one has as yet attempted to give instructions in a science, the use of which is more generally adopted by all ranks of people, than perhaps any other under the sun. The reader will probably guess that I allude to the noble art of swearing. So universally indeed does this practice prevail, that it pervades all stations and degrees of men, from the peer to the porter, from the minister to the mechanic. It is the bond of faith, the seal of protestations (the oaths of lovers, indeed, are a theme too trite to need discussion here), and the universal Succedaneum for logical or even rational demonstration. And here I cannot for- bear reflecting on the infinite improvements made by moderns in the method of elucidating and confirming all matters of opinion. A man nowadays has need but to acquire on equality, impudence, and to get rid of a troublesome companion, con- science, to establish whatever maxims he may take in his head. Let him but confirm with an oath the most improbable conjec- tures, and if any one calls his honour in question, the manner of settling all such disputes is too obvious to need explanation. And by these means how much unnecessary trouble does he save the rational talents of his auditors; what a world of useless CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. 67 investigation ! Who can help lamenting that this method of arguing was not long ago adopted. We should then probably have escaped being pestered by the eternal disputations of that useless set of creatures called philosophers ; as any tolerable swordsman might have settled the universal system according to his own plan, and made the planets move by what regulations he pleased, provided he was ready, in the Newgate phrase, "to swear through thick and thin." But this is a small part only of the advantages attendant on the extensive practice of this art. In the councils of the cabinet, and the wranglings of the bar, it adds weight to the most striking arguments, and by its authority enforces conviction. It is an old proverbial expression that " there go two words to a bargain ; " now I should not a little admire the ingenuity of that calculator who could define, to any tolerable degree of exactness, how many oaths go to one in these days ; for I am confident that there is no business carried on, from the wealthiest bargains of the Exchange to the sixpenny chafferings of a St. Giles's huckster, in which swearing has not a considerable share. And almost every tradesman, " meek and much a liar," will, if his veracity be called in question, coolly consign to Satan some portion of himself, payable on demand, in case his goods be not found answerable to his description of their quality. I remember to have heard of a person of great talents for inquiry, who, to inform himself whether the land or the water bore the greater portion in the globe, contrived to cut out, with extreme nicety, from a map, the different portions of each, and by weighing them together, decided it, in favour of which it is not now material. Could this experiment be made with regard to the proportion which oaths bear to the rest of our modern conversation, I own I am not without my suspicions that the former scale would in some cases preponderate ; nay, certain I am that these harmless expletives constitute considerably the weightiest part in the discourse of those who, either by their own ignorant vanity or the contemptuous mock admiration of others, have been dignified with the title of bucks. And this, 68 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. indeed, as well in that smaller circle which falls more imme- diately under my observation, as in the more enlarged society of men ; among whom, to a buck who has the honour to serve his majesty, a habit of swearing is an appendage as absolutely essential as a cockade or a commission. And many a one there is among this order, who will sit down with equal ardour and self-complacency to devise the cut of a coat or the form of an execration. Nay, even the female sex have, to their no small credit, caught the happy contagion ; and there is scarce a mercer's wife in the kingdom but has her innocent unmeaning imprecations, her little oaths "softened into nonsense," and with squeaking treble, mincing blasphemy into odsbodikins, slitterkins, and such like, will "swear you like a sucking dove, ay, an it were any night- ingale." That it is one of the accomplishments of boys is more than sufficiently obvious, when there is scarce one, though he be but five years old, that does not lisp out the oaths he has heard drop from the mouths of his elders ; while the happy parent congratulates himself on the early improvement of his offspring, and smiles to discover the promising seeds of manly wit in the sprightly sallies of puerile execration. On which topic I re- member to have heard an honest Hibernian divine, whose zeal for morality would sometimes hurry him a little beyond the limits of good grammar or good sense, in the height of declamation, declare that "the little children that could neither speak nor walk, run about the streets blaspheming." Thus, then, through all ranks and stages of life, is swearing the very hinge of conversation ! It is the conclusive supplement to argument, the apology for wit, the universal medium through which every thought is conveyed, and as to the violent passions it is (to use the words of the poet) " the very midwife of the mind," and is equally serviceable in bringing forth the sensations of anger or kindness, hope or fear, the ecstasies of extravagant delight or the agonies of comfortless despair. What mortal among us is there that, when any misfortune comes on him unexpectedly, does CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. 69 not find himself wonderfully lightened of the load of his sorrow, by pouring out the abundance of his vexation in showers of curses on the author of his calamity ? What gamester, who has reduced himself from opulence to beggary by the intemperate indulgence of a mad infatuation, does not after sitting down and venting his execrations for half-an-hour against his ill-fortune and his folly, get up again greatly relieved by so happy an expedient. Since then the advantages arising from an early initiation into the practice of swearing must so evidently appear to every person unprejudiced against it by notions (now indeed almost out of date) of religion and morality, I cannot but be surprised that no one has as yet attempted to reduce it to system, and teach the theory of an art, the practical part of which is so universally known and adopted. An undertaking of this kind could not surely fail of success, especially in an age like this when attempts of a much more arduous nature are every day presented to our notice, when pigs are brought to exercise all the functions of rationality, and Hibernians profess to teach the true pronunciation of the English tongue. It is not so very far removed, but that some of my readers must recollect the time when the noble art of boxing was, by the ever- memorable Figg and Broughton, reduced to a complete and per- fect system, and the nobility and gentry were taught theoretically as well as practically to bruise the bodies and (to use a technical term) " darken the daylights " of each other, with the vigour of a Hercules tempered with the grace of an Apollo. And it is but a little time since a celebrated foreigner actually instructed some persons, of no inconsiderable rank, of both sexes in the art of eating soup with ease and dexterity (though, in my humble opinion, few people could need a preceptor to show them the way to their mouths). Of much more utility, and surely not less successful, would be the plan I recommend. Many there were who, from tenderness of age or delicacy of constitution, were pre- cluded from the diversion of boxing. To many the science of soup-eating was useless and impracticable, merely from having none to eat ; but all have their oaths in their own power, and of 7 o CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. them neither emptiness of pocket nor corporeal or mental imbe- cility prevent the free and uncontrolled use, and almost every- body, however niggardly he may be in parting with any other of his possessions, scatters these with the most liberal profusion. Thus, then, if fostered by the hand of a skilful linguist, this science might perhaps in time come nearer than any other to realise the extravagant idea of the ingenious but romantic Bishop Wilkins of an universal language. At present, indeed, there are some slight inconveniences attending the project, among which no small one is that, according to their present general usage, oaths, like Yorick's French Friseur, by expressing too much generally mean nothing, insomuch that I now make it a rule to lessen my belief to every assertion, in proportion to the number of needless corroborative oaths by which it is supported. Nor am I, indeed, unreasonable in this, and in most cases how can I do otherwise ? Is it in human nature to suppose that when one of my friends declares his joy at seeing me, and his kind concern for my health, by intimating a hearty wish of my eternal perdition, that he really means what he says ? It has been observed by some ancient philosopher, or poet, or moralist (no matter which) that nothing could be more pernicious to mankind than the fulfilling of their own wishes. And, in truth, I am inclined to be of his opinion, for many a friend of mine, many a fellow-citizen of this lesser world, would, had his own heedless imprecations on himself taken effect, long ere this have groaned under the complication of almost every calamity capable of entering human imagination. And with regard to the world at large, were this to be the case, I doubt whether there would be at this present time a leg or a limb of any kind whole in His Majesty's service. So habitual, indeed, was this custom become to an officer of my acquaintance that, though he had lost one of his eyes in the defence of his country, he could not forego his favourite execration, but still used to vent his curses on them both, with the same ease and indifference as when they were both in his possession, so blind was he rendered to his own defects, by the continued practice of this amusement. For in no other light CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. 71 than as an amusement or a polite accomplishment can it be con- sidered by those who practise it. Did they consider it as a vice, they could not, I am sure, persevere in the indulgence of one which has not even the common excuse of having for its aim the pursuit of pleasure or the gratification of a darling appetite. I cannot believe they would so disinterestedly damn themselves, and vent in public company such imprecations as in darkness and solitude they would tremble to conceive. As an accomplishment, therefore, and as an agreeable indica- tion of youthful gaiety it must no doubt be considered, and should any one take the hint here offered him, and commence instructor in this noble science I need not, I believe, caution him against being an Englishman, or, should he have the misfortune to be born in this country, remind him of the easy transformation of our commonest homespun names into the more fashionable French or more musical Italian ; as, for instance, that of Peters into Pedro, Nicholls into Nicolini, or Gerard into Gerardot, and so on. Having thus un-Englished himself, let him get his adver- tisement drawn up in the Grahamic style, if not by the Doctor himself, professing that : — " Having added to the early advan- tages of a Billingsgate education, the deepest researches, and most indefatigable industry, &c. &c, he now stands forth as an apt and accomplished teacher of the never-to-be-sufficiently ex- tolled, the all-expressive, all-comprehensive, &c. &c, art of swear- ing. Ladies and gentlemen instructed in the most fashionable and elegant oaths, the most peculiarly adapted to their several ages, manners, and professions, &c. &c. He has now ready for the press a book entitled 'The Complete Oath Register; or, Every Man his own Swearer,' containing oaths and imprecations for all times, seasons, purposes, and occasions. Also, 'Sentimental Oaths for the Ladies.' Likewise ' Execrations for the Year 1 786.' " Let him, I say, do this, and he may, I believe, assure himself of no little encouragement among the world at large, though far be it from me to presume to promise him any extraordinary countenance in that smaller circle which comes more immediately under the inspection of the Microcosmopolitan. B. 7 2 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. THE SLAVERY OF GREECE. {Added to No. 5.) Unrivalled Greece ! thou ever honoured name, Thou nurse of heroes dear to deathless Fame ! Though now to worth, to honour all unknown, Thy lustre faded, and thy glories flown, Yet still shall Memory with reverted eye Trace thy past worth, and view thee with a sigh. Thee Freedom cherished once with fostering hand, And breathed undaunted valour through the land, Here the stern spirit of the Spartan soil, The child of Poverty, inured to toil. Here loved by Pallas and the sacred Nine, Once did fair Athens' towery glories shine. To bend the bow, or the bright falchion wield, To lift the bulwark of the brazen shield, To toss the terror of the whizzing spear, The conquering standard's glittering glories rear, And join the madding battle's loud career, How skilled the Greeks ; confess what Persians slain Were strewed on Marathon's ensanguined plain ; When heaps on heaps the routed squadrons fell, And with their gaudy myriads peopled hell. What millions bold Leonidas withstood, And sealed the Grecian freedom with his blood ; Witness Thermopylae ! how fierce he trod, How spoke a Hero, and how moved a God ! The rush of nations could alone sustain, While half the ravaged globe was armed in vain. Let Leuctra say, let Mantinea tell, How great Epaminondas fought and fell ! Nor war's vast art alone adorned thy fame, " But mild Philosophy endeared thy name." CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. Who knows not, sees not with admiring eye, How Plato thought, how Socrates could die ? To bend the arch, to bid the column rise, And the tall pile aspiring pierce the skies, The awful fane magnificently great, With pictured pomp to grace, and sculptured state, This Science taught ; on Greece each science shone, Here the bold statue started from the stone ; Here warm with life the swelling canvas glowed ; Here big with thought the Poet's raptures flowed : Here Homer's lip was touched with sacred fire, And wanton Sappho tuned her amorous lyre ; Here bold Tyrtseus roused the enervate throng, Awaked to glory by the inspiring song ; Here, Pindar soared a nobler, loftier way, And brave Alcseus scorned a tyrant's sway. Here gorgeous Tragedy with great control Touched every feeling of the impassioned soul ; While in soft measure tripping to the song Her comic sister lightly danced along. — This was thy state ! but oh ! how changed thy fame, And all thy glories fading into shame. What ? that thy bold, thy freedom-breathing land Should crouch beneath a tyrant's stern command ! That servitude should bind in galling chain, Whom Afric's millions once opposed in vain ; Who could have thought ? who sees without a groan, Thy cities mouldering, and thy walls o'erthrown ? That where once towered the stately solemn fane, Now moss-grown ruins strew the ravaged plain, And unobserved but by the traveller's eye, Proud, vaulted domes in fretted fragments lie, And the fallen column on the dusty ground, Pale ivy throws its sluggish arms around. Thy sons (sad change !) in abject bondage sigh : Unpitied toil, and unlamented die. CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. Groan at the labours of the galling oar, Or the dark caverns of the mine explore. The glittering tyranny of Othman's sons, The pomp of horror which surrounds their thrones, Has awed their servile spirits into fear ; Spurned by the foot, they tremble and revere. The day of Labour, Night's sad, sleepless hour, The inflictive scourge of arbitrary power, The bloody terror of the pointed steel, The murderous stake, the agonising wheel, And (dreadful choice) the bowstring, or the bowl, Damps their faint vigour, and unmans the soul. Disastrous Fate ! still tears will fill the eye, Still recollection prompt the mournful sigh, When to the mind recurs thy former fame, And all the horrors of thy present shame. So some tall rock, whose bare, broad bosom high, Tow'rs from the earth, and braves the inclement sky ; On whose vast top the blackening deluge pours, At whose wide base the thundering Ocean roars ; In conscious pride its huge gigantic form Surveys imperious and defies the storm. Till worn by age, and mouldering to decay, The insidious waters wash its base away, It falls, and falling cleaves the trembling ground, And spreads a tempest of destruction round. CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. 75 No. VII. — Monday, January 15, 17S7. u Joas, Ludoque dictus non sat idoncKs" — Horace. "Unfit For sprightly jokes or sportive wit." "To Gregory Griffin, Esq. "Sir, — To discharge with faithfulness the duties of the important office which you have undertaken, you ought, in my opinion, to omit nothing which might be anyways conducive to the advantage or improvement of your fellow-citizens; to the advancement of their welfare or the support of their dignity. Of this number I have the honour to be one ; and by grounding a few remarks on the subject which I now offer to your consideration, you will confer a benefit, not on me only, but on many others of the great as well as little world, who may labour under the same calamity. " You must know, Mr. Griffin, that it is my hard hap to receive an annual invitation from an old gentleman, a distant relation of mine, to spend every Christmas at his hall, in a northern county. This compliment I am never at liberty to refuse ; as his estate being very large, and himself too far advanced in life to give any apprehensions of matrimony, my family have built great hopes and expectations on his partiality for me. That you may under- stand the nature of my misfortunes, it is necessary to inform you that he is one of that race of men called country squires, who, having been deprived of the advantages of a liberal education by the foolish fondness of his parents, which occasioned them always to keep him in their sight, professes to hold book-learning in the greatest contempt. Hence he takes no small pleasure to over- throw the arguments advanced by the parson of the parish in its favour, by alleging its inefficacy to enrich a man, which he exemplifies in the poverty of his opponent ; and adds with a triumphant sneer, that 'if his learning would get him a good living, he would say something.' In short, sir, this talent of 76 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. joking is the grievance of which I complain, for when the old gentleman is once in the humour, he is apt to be unmercifully waeeish : an event which never fails to take place on the day of my arrival. " I would you could see us, Mr. Griffin, as we sit round the table in the great hall, you might then possibly form some idea of my miserable situation. It is necessary for your proper informa- tion to premise that the company on that day always consists of the Squire, with his feet in flannel (the gout, like myself, usually paying its annual visit about this time), the parson of the parish, who is always invited to welcome me, and two nieces of the squire, who have passed some years with him, not much to the advantage of their education, and are dizened out on this occasion in all their finery. " Having for several years been accustomed to sustain a very regular fire of wit all the first evening of my arrival, and knowing from experience the order in which the jokes succeed each other, I can now nearly bear the battle without flinching. The first attack is made, as the parson terms it, a posteriori, by desiring a cushion to be brought for me to sit down upon ; one of his nieces, with a suitable grin on her countenance, inquires the reason, as in duty bound, for which she is referred to me ; and on my pro- testing my ignorance of it, the old gentleman's right eye instantly assumes an arch leer at the company, while with a composed gravity he inquires of me, ' Whether birch grows pretty plentifully about Eton ? ' This question is immediately followed by an un- governable he ! he ! from the young ladies, and a sly ' I warrant ye ! ' from the parson. The Squire having for a time retained his gravity, at length, as if quite overcome by the force of his own wit, gives himself up to a loud and tumultuous vociferation. This grand volley of wit, with the scattered small shot that follow, con- cerning great home consumption of the article, great demand for pickle, diachylon, &c. &c, generally fills up the space before dinner. That joke indeed about the similitude of our arms to the American, namely, thirteen stripes, did, the first time of hear- ing, occasion me to laugh heartily ; the second recital provoked CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. 77 a smile, but I am now grown so callous by dint of frequent repetition, that I can hear it without moving a muscle of my countenance. " At dinner my troubles begin afresh. The very dishes are calculated to furnish out a set of witticisms. The leg of mutton he supposes he may help me to, as he dares to say that I never heard of any such thing at Eton ; the boiled fowls he conjectures to be too common food for me ; and he declares himself, not without apprehensions, that I may find fault with the poorness of his wines, being accustomed to drink none but the choicest else- where. During the interval between the first and second course, it is easy to perceive that there has been some little plan concerted for my surprise or mortification. Every nose in company has a forefinger applied to it to enforce secrecy ; and every eye is fixed on my countenance, to enjoy the transports which I am expected to discover at the entrance of a plum pudding of immoderate size ; half of which is immediately transferred to my plate, accompanied with sundry wise cautions to lose no time and not to be too modest. While in my own defence I am endeavouring to make away with some little portion of it, the Squire declares he thought he should surprise me ; and on my disclaiming any such surprise, an appeal is made to the rest of the company, by whom it is un- animously resolved that, when the pudding made its appearance, I betrayed the strongest symptoms of rapturous admiration. " Finding it in vain to contend, I now resign myself to my fate ; nor long the time before the old gentleman's countenance begins to undergo various revolutions, which seem to prognosticate some stroke of uncommon pleasantry, and at the appearance of a dish of pippins I prepare myself with Christian patience for the ' good story ' which I am assured I have never heard before, namely, ' a full and true account of his being caught in Farmer Dobson's orchard, stealing, as it might be, just such apples as these, when he was just about my age.' It is now, Mr. Griffin, just fourteen years since I first heard this story, and every one of the fourteen times of telling it he has, with wonderful facility, adapted it to my comprehension by contriving to be 'just about my age' when the 7 8 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. adventure happened. The tale being told, it is customary for one of his nieces to ask me in a whisper ' if I don't think him monstrous funny ? ' On my assenting to it, I am informed that ' he has some such comical stories, I can't think,' and that ' she will get him to tell me how old Dixon tricked the Londoner.' Nor is it without an infinite number of protestations that I am able to make her sensible of my perfect acquaintance with all the circumstances of that notable history, and to dissuade her from a courtesy so superfluous. " After some short respite I perceive the old gentleman begins to grow waggish again, and am soon desired to stand up and measure heights with the young ladies. As I am some years older than they, I have been regularly found some inches taller every time of measurement ; and this circumstance has as regu- larly produced one wink of the Squire's right eye, and two several repetitions of the old proverb, that ' 111 weeds grow apace.' " Next follows my examination by the parson touching the pro- ficiency which I have made, prefaced, indeed, by the Squire's declaring himself willing to wager anything on ' my knowing all about it as well as the best of them.' During the ceremony he usually falls asleep, and on waking takes the opportunity to have a fling at the parson by asking significantly ' whether I am too hard for him ? ' " But, in short, Mr. Griffin, I lament my inability to give you a perfect idea of this character, which, however, I am persuaded, is not very uncommon. There are, no doubt, many who in the same manner aim at the reputation of wits, without any advan- tages either of natural abilities or acquired understanding. On such as these I could wish you to bestow some advice for the correction of their ignorant pretensions, and the amendment of their erroneous opinions. These are the people most apt to indulge their satirical humour at the expense of your fellow- citizens, whose honour and credit it is your duty to defend against every calumniatory imputation. Tell, then, these good people how widely mistaken they are in supposing that the mind of youth, like the vegetation of the walnut tree, is quickened by CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. y 9 blows in its advances to maturity. Tell them that the waters of 1 [elicon do not flow with brine, nor are the laurel and the birch so intimately interwoven in the chaplets of the Muses as they are willing to believe. Tell them, also, that an increase of knowledge does not necessarily bring with it a proportionable increase of appetite, and that the being able to read a Roman author with facility does not justify the supposition of an immoderate desire for toast and butter, and an insatiable craving for plum pudding. Remind them that these and all familiar jokes which they are pleased to make use of on these occasions have been made the same use of at least fifty times before, Advise them to reflect how often they themselves, on the same subjects, at stated oppor- tunities, have reiterated those regular bon-mots and trite conceits ; how often given vent to the same strain of annual waggery, to the same sallies of periodical facetiousness. And let them know, that as they have but little to boast of on the score of novelty, they have as little on that of humour. If, on the repetition of their witticisms, a grin takes possession of the countenance of their auditors, warn them that they mistake not the sneer of ridi- cule for the smile of approbation ; and hint to them, that though, by the respect or diffidence of those at whose expense it pleases them to be merry, they may be secured from being rendered openly ridiculous, they may still be liable, and likely to become, secretly contemptible. — I am, sir, yours, «&:c &c." The grievance of which my correspondent complains is well worthy of being attended to, nor had it escaped my notice, but he has placed his subject in so proper a light that to dilate on it farther would be totally superfluous. I shall therefore only ven- ture to throw together some observations of a more general kind. It is with men of their wit as with women of their beauty. Tell a woman she is fair, and she will not be offended that you tell her she is cruel. Tell a man that he is a wit, and if you lay to his charge ill-nature or blasphemy he will take it as a compli- ment rather than a reproach. Thus, too, there is no woman but lays some claim to beauty, and no man will give up his pretensions 8o CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. to wit. In cases of this kind, therefore, where so much depends upon opinion, and where every man thinks himself qualified to be his own judge, there is nothing to a reader so useless as illustra- tion, and nothing to an author so dangerous as definition. Any attempt, therefore, to decide what true wit is must be ineffectual, as not one in a hundred would be content to abide by the deci- sion. It is impossible to rank all mankind under the name of wits, and there is scarce one in a hundred who does not think that he merits the appellation. Hence it is that every one, how little qualified soever, is fond of making a display of his fancied abilities, and generally at the expense of some one to whom he supposes himself infinitely supe- rior. And from this supposition many mistakes arise to those who commence wugs with a very small share of wit and a still smaller of judgment : whose imaginations are by nature unprolific, and whose minds are uncultivated by education. These persons, while they are ringing their rounds on a few dull jests, are apt to mistake the rude and noisy merriment of illiterate jocularity for genuine humour. They often unhappily conceive that those laugh with them who laugh at them. The sarcasms which every one disdains to answer they vainly flatter themselves are unan- swerable, forgetting, no doubt, that their good things are unworthy the notice of a retort, and below the condescension of criticism. They know not, perhaps, that the ass, whom the fable represents as assuming the playfulness of the lap-dog, is a perfect picture of jocular stupidity ; and that, in like manner, that awkward absurdity of waggishness, which they expect should delight, cannot but disgust, and instead of laying claim to admiration, must ensure contempt. But, alas ! I am aware that mine will prove a successless under- taking, and that, though knight-errant-like I sally forth to engage with the monsters of witticism and waggery, all my prowess will be inadequate to the achievement of the enterprise. The world will continue as facetious as ever in spite of all I can do, and people will be just as fond of their " little jokes and old stories " as if I had never combated their inclination. CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. Si Since, then, I cannot utterly extirpate this unchristian practice, my next endeavour must be to direct it properly, and improve it by some wholesome regulations. And herein shall I imitate his most Christian Majesty, who by licensing a limited number of brothel houses, restricted an evil which he never could entirely have sup- pressed ; prevented many of the ill consequences which naturally arise from promiscuous libertinism ; and drew, moreover, from the profits no very inconsiderable revenue, thus, from the folly of individuals deriving advantage to the community. Equally advantageous to the public, and equally profitable to myself, will be the plan which I have laid down, and which I have already bestowed some pains to bring to perfection. I propose, if I meet with proper encouragement, making application to Parliament for permission to open "A Licensed Warehouse for Wit," and for a patent, entitling me to the sole vending and uttering wares of this kind for a certain term of years. For this purpose I have already laid in jokes, jests, witticisms, viorceaus, and bon-mois of every kind, to a very considerable amount, well worthy the attention of the public. I have epigrams that want nothing but the sting ; conundrums that need nothing but an explanation ; rebuses and acrostics that will be complete with the addition of the name only. These being in great request may be had at an hour's warning. Impromptus will be got ready at a week's notice. For common and vernacular use I have a long list of the most palpable puns in the language, digested in alphabetical order. For these I expect good sale at both the universities. Jokes of all kinds ready cut and dry. N.B. — Proper allowance made to gentlemen of the law going on circuit, and to all second-hand vendors of wit and retailers of repartee who take large quantities. N.B. — Attic salt in any quantity. N.B. — Most money given for old jokes. B. F 82 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. No. XL — Monday, February 12, 1787. " Res gesttz regumque, ducumque, ct iristia bella, Ouo scribipossint numero, monstravit Homcrus? — Horace. " By Homer taught, the modern poet sings, In epic strains, of heroes, wars, and kings." — Francis. There are certain forms and etiquettes in life which, though the neglect of them does not amount to the commission of a crime, or the violation of a duty, are yet so established by example and sanctioned by custom, as to pass into statutes, equally acknowledged by society, and almost equally binding to individuals, with the laws of the land or the precepts of morality. A man guilty of breaking these, though he cannot be transported for a felon or indicted for treasonable practices, is yet, in the High Court of Custom, branded as a flagrant offender against decorum, as notorious for an unprecedented infringement on propriety. There is no race of men on whom these laws are more severe than authors, and no species of authors more subject to them than periodical essayists. Homer having prescribed the form or, to use a more modern phrase, set the fashion of epic poems, whoever presumes to deviate from his plan must not hope to par- ticipate his dignity. And whatever method The Spectator, The Guardian, and others, who first adopted this species of writing, have pursued in their undertaking, is set down as a rule for the conduct of their followers, which, whoever is bold enough to transgress, is accused of a deviation from the original design, and a breach of established regulation. It has hitherto been customary for all periodical writers to take some opportunity, in the course of their labours, to display their critical abilities, either by making observations on some popular author and work of known character, or by bringing forth the performances of hidden merit and throwing light on genius in obscurity. To the critiques of The Spectator, Shakespeare, and more particularly Milton, are indebted for no inconsiderable CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. S3 share of the reputation which they now so universally enjoy, and by his means were the ruder graces and more simple beauties of '•' Chevy Chase " held up to public view, and recommended to general admiration. I should probably be accused of swerving from the imitation of so great an example, were not I to take occasion to show that I too am not entirely destitute of abilities of this kind ; but that by possessing a decent share of critical discernment, and critical jar- gon, I am capable of becoming a very tolerable commentator. For the proof of which, I shall rather prefer calling the attention of my readers to an object, as yet untreated of by any of my im- mediate predecessors, than venture to throw in my observations on any work which has before passed the ordeal of frequent exa- mination. And this I shall do for two reasons ; partly, because were I to choose a field, how fertile soever, of which many others had before me been reaping the fruits, mine would be at best but the gleanings of criticism ; and partly, from a more interested view, from a selfish desire of accumulated praise ; since, by mak- ing a work, as yet almost wholly unknown, the subject of my consideration, I shall acquire the reputation of taste, as well as judgment ; — of judiciousness in selection, as well as justness in observation ; — of propriety in choosing the object, as well as skill in using the language, of commentary. The epic poem on which I shall ground my present critique has for its chief characteristics brevity and simplicity. The author — whose name I lament that I am, in some degree, pre- vented from consecrating to immortal fame, by not knowing what it is — the author, I say, has not branched his poem into excres- cences of episode, or prolixities of digression ; it is neither varie- gated with diversity of unmeaning similitudes, nor glaring with the varnish of unnatural metaphor. The whole is plain and uni- form ; so much so, indeed, that I should hardly be surprised if some morose readers were to conjecture that the poet had been thus simple rather from necessity than choice ; that he had been restrained, not so much by chastity of judgment, as sterility of imagination. 84 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. Nay, some there may be, perhaps, who will dispute his claim to the title of an epic poet, and will endeavour to degrade him even to the rank of a ballad-monger. But I, as his commentator, will contend for the dignity of my author, and will plainly demonstrate his poem to be an epic poem, agreeable to the example of all poets, and the consent of all critics heretofore. First, it is universally agreed that an epic poem should have three component parts — a beginning, a middle, and an end ; secondly, it is allowed that it should have one grand action or main design, to the forwarding of which all the parts of it should directly or indirectly tend, and that this design should be in some measure consonant with, and conducive to, the purposes of morality ; and thirdly, it is indisputably settled that it should have a hero. I trust that in none of these points the poem before us will be found deficient. There are other inferior properties which I shall consider in due order. Not to keep my readers longer in suspense, the subject of the poem is " The Reformation of the Knave of Hearts." It is not improbable that some may object to me that a knave is an un- worthy hero for an epic poem — that a hero ought to be all that is great and good. The objection is frivolous. The greatest work of this kind that the world has ever produced has " the Devil " for its hero ; and supported as my author is by so great a precedent, I contend that his hero is a very decent hero, and especially as he has the advantage of Milton's, by reforming at the end, is evidently entitled to a competent share of celebrity. I shall now proceed to the more immediate examination of the poem in its different parts. The beginning, say the critics, ought to be plain and simple — neither embellished with the flowers of poetry, nor turgid with pomposity of diction. In this how exactly does our author conform to the established opinion ! He begins thus : — " The Queen of Hearts She made some tarts." Can anything be more clear ! more natural ! more agreeable to the true spirit of simplicity ! Here are no tropes, no figurative CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. 85 expressions, not even so much as an invocation to the Muse. He does not detain his readers by any needless circumlocution, by unnecessarily informing them what he is going to sing, or still more unnecessarily enumerating what he is not going to sing ; but, according to the precept of Horace : — "In medias res, A'on scats ac no fas, audit or on rapit — " That is, he at once introduces us and sets us on the most easy and familiar footing imaginable with her Majesty of Hearts, and interests us deeply in her domestic concerns. But to proceed — " The Queen of Hearts She made some tarts, All on a summer's day." Here indeed the prospect brightens, and we are led to expect some liveliness of imagery, some warmth of poetical colouring ; but here is no such thing. There is no task more difficult to a poet than that of rejection. Ovid among the ancients, and Dryden among the moderns, were perhaps the most remarkable for the want of it. The latter, from the haste in which he generally produced his compositions, seldom paid much atten- tion to the limce labor, "the labour of correction," and seldom, therefore, rejected the assistance of any idea that presented itself. Ovid, not content with catching the leading features of any scene or character, indulged himself in a thousand minutiae of descrip- tion, a thousand puerile prettinesses, which were in themselves uninteresting, and took off greatly from the effect of the whole ; as the numberless suckers and straggling branches of a fruit-tree, if permitted to shoot out unrestrained, while they are themselves barren and useless, diminish considerably the vigour of the parent stock. Ovid had more genius but less judgment than Virgil ; Dryden more imagination but less correctness than Pope ; had they not been deficient in these points the former would certainly have equalled, the latter infinitely outshone the merits of his countryman. Our author was undoubtedly possessed of 86 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. that power which they wanted, and was cautious not to indulge too far the sallies of a lively imagination. Omitting, therefore, any mention of sultry Sirius, sylvan shade, sequestered glade, verdant hills, purling rills, mossy mountains, gurgling fountains, &c. &c, he simply tells us that it was "All on a summer's day.'' For my own part I confess that I find myself rather flattered than disappointed; and consider the poet as rather paying a compli- ment to the abilities of his readers, than baulking their expec- tations. It is certainly a great pleasure to see a picture well painted ; but it is a much greater to paint it well oneself. This,, therefore, I look upon as a stroke of excellent management in the poet. Here every reader is at liberty to gratify his own taste, to design for himself just what sort of "summer's day" he likes best ; to choose his own scenery, dispose his lights and shades as he pleases, to solace himself with a rivulet or a horse-pond, a shower or a sunbeam, a grove or a kitchen garden, according to his fancy. How much more considerate this than if the poet had, from an affected accuracy of description, thrown us into an unmannerly perspiration by the heat of the atmosphere, forced us into a landscape of his own planning, with perhaps a paltry good- for-nothing zephyr or two, and a limited quantity of wood and water. All this Ovid would undoubtedly have done. Nay, to use the expression of a learned brother commentator — quovis ■pignore deccrtem, " I would lay any wager," that he would have gone so far as to tell us what the tarts were made of, and perhaps wandered into an episode on the art of preserving cherries. But our poet, above such considerations, leaves every reader to choose his own ingredients, and sweeten them to his own liking ; wisely foreseeing, no doubt, that the more palatable each had rendered them to his own taste, the more he would be affected at their approaching loss. " All on a summer's day." I cannot leave this line without remarking that one of the Scribleri, a descendant of the famous Martinus, has expressed his suspicions of the text being corrupted here, and proposes CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. S 7 instead of "all on" reading "alone," alleging, in favour of this alteration, the effect of solitude in raising the passions. But Hiccius Doctius, a high Dutch commentator, one nevertheless well versed in British literature, in a note of his usual length and learning, has confuted the arguments of Scriblerus. In support of the present reading he quotes a passage from a poem written about the same period with our author's, by the celebrated Johannes Pastor, 1 intituled " An Elegiac Epistle to the Turnkey of Newgate," wherein the gentleman declares that, rather indeed in compliance with an old custom than to gratify any particular wish of his own, he is going — " All hanged for to be Upon that fatal Tyburn tree." Now, as nothing throws greater light on an author than the con- currence of a contemporary writer, I am inclined to be of Hiccius' opinion, and to consider the " All " as an elegant expletive, or, as he more aptly phrases it, ekgans expletivum. The passage there- fore must stand thus : — "The Queen of Hearts She made some tarts All on a summer's day." And thus ends the first part, or beginning, which is simple and unembellished, opens the subject in a natural and easy manner, excites, but does not too far gratify our curiosity, for a reader of accurate observation may easily discover that the hero of the poem has not, as yet, made his appearance. I could not continue my examination at present through the whole of this poem without far exceeding the limits of a single paper. I have therefore divided it into two, but shall not delay the publication of the second to another week, as that, besides breaking the connection of criticism, would materially injure the unities of the poem. B. 1 More commonly known, I believe, by the appellation of Jack Shepherd. 8S CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. No. XII.— Monday, February 12, 1787. " Servetur ad imam, (hi ali s ab incepto proccsserit, et sibi constet. n —RORA.CE.. " From his first entrance to the closing scene, Let him one equal character maintain."— Francis. Having thus gone through the first part, or beginning of the poem, we may, naturally enough, proceed to the consideration of the second. The second part, or middle, is the proper place for bustle and business, for incident and adventure : — " The Knave of Hearts He stole those tarts." Here attention is awakened, and our whole souls are intent upon the first appearance of the hero. Some readers may per- haps be offended at his making his entree in so disadvantageous a character as that of a thief. To this I plead precedent. The hero of the Iliad, as I observed in a former paper, is made to lament very pathetically that " life is not like all other posses- sions, to be acquired by theft." A reflection, in my opinion, evidently showing that, if he did refrain from the practice of this ingenious art, it was not from want of an inclination that way. YVe may remember, too, that in Virgil's poem almost the first light in which the pious ^neas appears to us is a deer-stealer ; nor is it much excuse for him that the deer were wandering with- out keepers, for however he might, from this circumstance, have been unable to ascertain whose property they were, he might, I think, have been pretty well assured that they were not his. Having thus acquitted our hero of misconduct, by the example of his betters, I proceed to what I think the master-stroke of the poet. " The Knave of Hearts He stole those tarts, And — took them — quite away ! ! " CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. 89 Here, whoever has an ear for harmony and a heart for feeling must be touched ! There is a desponding melancholy in the run of the last line ! an air of tender regret in the addition of " quite away ! " a something so expressive of irrecoverable loss ! so forcibly intimating the Ad nunquam reditura ! t: They never can re- turn ! " in short, such an union of sound and sense as we rarely, if ever, meet with in any author, ancient or modern. Our feelings are all alive, but the poet, wisely dreading that our sympathy with the injured Queen might alienate our affections from his hero, contrives immediately to awaken our fears for him by telling us that — " The King of Hearts Called for those tarts." We are all conscious of the fault of our hero, and all tremble with him, for the punishment which the enraged monarch may inflict : " And beat the Knave full sore ! " The fatal blow is struck ! We cannot but rejoice that guilt is justly punished, though we sympathise with the guilty object of punishment. Here Scriblerus, who, by the bye, is very fond of making unnecessary alterations, proposes reading " score " instead of " sore," meaning thereby to particularise that the beating be- stowed by this monarch consisted of twenty stripes. But this proceeds from his ignorance of the genius of our language, which does not admit of such an expression as " full score," but would require the insertion of the particle " a," which cannot be, on account of the metre. And this is another great artifice of the poet. By leaving the quantity of beating indeterminate, he gives every reader the liberty to administer it, in exact proportion to the sum of indignation which he may have conceived against his hero, that by thus amply satisfying their resentment they may be the more easily reconciled to him afterwards. "The King of Hearts Called for those tarts, And beat the Knave full sore." qo CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. Here ends the second part, or middle of the poem, in which we see the character and exploits of the hero portrayed with the hand of a master. Nothing now remains to be examined but the third part, or end. In the end it is a rule pretty well established that the work should draw towards a conclusion, which our author manages thus : — " The Knave of Hearts Brought back those tarts." Here everything is at length settled ; the theft is compensated, the tarts restored to their right owner, and poetical justice, in every respect, strictly and impartially administered. We may observe, that there is nothing in which our poet has better succeeded than in keeping up an unremitted attention in his readers to the main instruments, the machinery of his poem, viz., the tarts ; insomuch that the afore-mentioned Scriblerus has sagely observed that " he can't tell, but he doesn't know, but the tarts may be reckoned the heroes of the poem." Scriblerus, though a man of learning, and frequently right in his opinion, has here certainly hazarded a rash conjecture. His arguments are overthrown entirely by his great opponent, Hiccius, who con- cludes by triumphantly asking, " Had the tarts been eaten, how could the poet have compensated for the loss of his heroes ? " We are now come to the denoue?nent, the setting all to rights ; and our poet, in the management of his moral, is certainly supe- rior to his great ancient predecessors. The moral of their fables, if any they have, is so interwoven with the main body of their work, that in endeavouring to unravel it we should tear the whole. Our author has very properly preserved his whole and entire for the end of his poem, where he completes his main design, the reformation of his hero, thus — " And vowed he'd steal no more." Having in the course of his work shown the bad effects aris- ing from theft, he evidently means this last moral reflection to CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. 91 operate with his readers as a gentle and polite dissuasive from stealing. " The Knave of Hearts Brought back those tarts, And vowed he'd steal no more ! " Thus have I industriously gone through the several parts of this wonderful work, and clearly proved it, in every one of these parts, and in all of them together, to be a " due and proper epic poem," and to have as good a right to that title, from its adherence to prescribed rules, as any of the celebrated masterpieces of antiquity. And here I cannot help again lamenting that, by not knowing the name of the author, I am unable to twine our laurels together, and to transmit to posterity the mingled praises of genius and judgment, of the poet and his commentator. Having some space left in this paper, I will now, with the per- mission of my readers of the great world, address myself more particularly to my fellow-citizens. To them the essay which I have here presented will, I flatter myself, be peculiarly serviceable at this time, and I would ear- nestly recommend an attentive perusal of it to all of them whose muses are engaged in compositions of the epic kind. I am very much afraid that I may run into the error, which I have myself pointed out, of becoming too local ; but where it is evidently intended for the good of my fellow-citizens it may, I hope, be now and then pardonable. At the present juncture, as many have applied for my assistance, I cannot find it in my heart to refuse it them. Were I to attempt fully explaining why, at the present juncture, I fear it would be vain. Would it not seem incredible to the ladies were I to tell them that the period approaches when upwards of a hundred epic poems 1 will be exposed to public view, most of them nearly of equal length, and many of them nearly of equal merit, with the one which I have here taken into consideration, illustrated, moreover, with elegant etchings, de- 1 Bacchus ; abolished in the succeeding year. 9 2 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. signed either as hieroglyphical explanations of the subject, or as practical puns on the name of the author ? And yet in truth so it is ; and on this subject I wish to give a word of advice to my countrymen. Many of them have applied to me by letter to assist them with designs for prefixing to their poems, and this I should very will- ingly have done had those gentlemen been kind enough to sub- scribe their real names to their requests ; whereas, all that I have received have been signed Tom Long, Philosophus, Philalethes, and such like. I have therefore been prevented from affording them the assistance I wished ; and cannot help wondering that the centlemen did not consider thai it was impossible for me to provide typical references for feigned names, as, for ought I know, the person who signs himself Tom Long may not be four feet high, Philosophus may be possessed of a considerable share of folly, and Philalethes may be as arrant a liar as any in the kingdom. It may not, however, be useless to offer some general reflec- tions for all who may require them. It is not improbable that, as the subject of their poems is the Restoration, many of my fellow- citizens may choose to adorn their titlepages with the representa- tion of His Majesty Charles the Second escaping the vigilance of his pursuers in the Royal Oak. There are some particularities generally observable in this picture, which I shall point out to them, lest they fall into similar errors. Though I am as far as any other Briton can be from wishing to "curtail" His Majesty's wig "of its fair proportion," yet I have sometimes been apt to think it rather improper to make the wig, as is usually done, of larger dimensions than the tree in which it and His Majesty arc concealed. It is a rule in logic, and I believe may hold good in most other sciences, that omne majus cofitinet in se minus, that " everything larger can hold anything that is less," but I own I never heard the contrary advanced or defended with any plausible arguments, viz., "that every little thing can hold one larger." I therefore humbly propose that there should be at least an edge of foliage round the outskirts of the said wig, and that its curl? CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. 93 should not exceed in number the leaves of the tree. There is also another practice almost equally prevalent, of which I am sceptic enough to doubt the propriety. I own I cannot think it by any means conducive to the more effectual concealment of His Majesty that there should be three regal crowns stuck on three different branches of the tree. Horace says indeed — " Pictoribus at que poetis, Quidlibct audendi semper fit it crqua potesfas." " Painters and poets our indulgence claim, Their daring equal and their art the same." — Francis. And this may be reckoned a very allowable poetical license, inasmuch as it lets the spectator into the secret " who is in the tree." But it is apt to make him at the same time throw the accusation of negligence and want of penetration on the three dragoons who are usually depicted on the foreground, cantering along very composedly, with serene countenances, erect persons, and drawn swords very little longer than themselves. No. XVIII. — Monday, March 12, 1787. " Fntiturfamd si/i." — TACITUS. " He becomes a witness of the opinions which others entertain of him." " Mercury," says the fabulist, " wishing to know in what esti- mation he was held by mankind, put off the insignia of divinity, and assuming the air and appearance of a mere mortal, entered into the shop of a statuary. Having purchased, at a considerable price, a Jupiter, a Juno, a Fury or two, and some other knick- nacks of the same kind, ' And what,' said he, pointing to a statue of himself, which stood on graceful tiptoe in the window, ' what may be the price of that elegant image ? ' ' Sir,' replied the artist, ' you have proved so good a customer to me for some of my best 94 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. pieces that I shall but do you justice if I throw you that paltry figure into the bargain.' " Prevalent as every species of curiosity is among mankind, there is none which has so powerful an influence over every man as this desire of knowing what the world may think of him. There is none the gratification of which is so eagerly desired, or in general so heartily repented of. A man in his absence will undoubtedly be spoken of with more freedom than when present. His faults will be more openly pointed out ; his vices more strongly censured ; his whole char- acter will undergo a stricter examination, and will be scrutinised with less reserve and more impartiality. Censure will not be restrained by the fear of giving offence, nor praise allured by the hopes of conciliating affection. Should he, therefore, take advantage of his supposed absence to discover the true opinions of others with regard to himself, he will run no little risk of hearing disagreeable truths, which, at the same time that they inform him of foibles in himself, against which he had hitherto shut his eyes, seldom or never fail to estrange his esteem from those to whom he is indebted for the information. Advice, however earnestly sought, however ardently solicited, if it does not coincide with a man's own opinions, if it tends only to investigate the improprieties, to correct the criminal excesses of his conduct ; to dissuade from a continuance, and to recom- mend a reformation of his errors, seldom answers any other purpose than to put him out of humour with himself, and to alienate his affections from the adviser. If, then, censure, even when thus courted under the name of kindness, is so destructive to all friendship, how much more so must it be when being bestowed unasked and unavowed, its intention seems not so much to caution as to criminate, to reform as to condemn ; for in this light must all strictures passed on an absent person appear to himself, when, instead of the candour of open advice, the warnings of friendly admonition, he fancies that he discovers the meanness of secret calumny, the malice of deliberate detraction. CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. 95 It cannot then but be evident to every man how dangerous an experiment it is thus artfully to search out the opinion others may entertain of him, which, when discovered, is generally the cause of not a little mortification, and makes an impression on the mind hardly ever to be effaced by subsequent professions of esteem, or even a series of disinterested services ; an impression which is deepened by a sense of the treachery of those who took advantage of his absence to canvass his faults, and by a remem- brance of the dishonest artifice by which he obtained a knowledge of their opinions. And if it be thus necessary for every man to be cautious of prying into the opinions of others with regard to himself, it is no less necessary that he should beware before whom or what persons he delivers his own opinion. An unlucky censure, an unintentional sarcasm has sometimes checked the progress of intimacy, has loosened the bonds of friendship, and has branded the unwary author of it with the title of a cynic or a slanderer. I remember an incident of this kind, which, though not very serious in its consequences, must nevertheless have been ex- tremely distressing. A gentleman in a crowded theatre turned suddenly round to a stranger who sat beside him, and inquired hastily, "What ugly hag was that coming into an opposite box?" The stranger, with a low bow of acknowledgment, replied that it was his sister. The gentleman, confounded and ashamed, made an eager but awkward endeavour to exculpate himself, and as errors, like misfortunes, seldom come singly, " Pardon me, sir," cried he, " it was not that good-looking young lady I meant to point out to you, but that deformed witch that sits next to her." The stranger repeated his obeisance, " And that, sir," said he, " is my wife." There is not perhaps another situation so distressing as one of this kind, where an unhappy mortal having, by a casual inadvertency, made one false step which he is unable to retrieve, becomes conscious of his mistake, and unwilling to go forward, yet not knowing how to recede, confused in apolo- gies and entangled in excuses, seeking in vain for some clue of g6 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. explanation, wanders through a maze of error, and is lost in a labyrinth of perplexity. But it is not my intention to weary my readers through the whole of this paper with prudential cautions and dogmas on dis- cretion. I shall at present consider my subject only as it relates to myself. " Scribam ipse de vie" "I will become my own his- torian," says Cicero, in that extraordinary specimen of unbounded vanity, his letter to Lucceius, "multorum tamen exemplo, et darorwn virorum" " in imitation, however, of many and illustrious men." To become "their own historians" has been the constant practice of all my illustrious predecessors, none of whom have omitted in some part of their works to descant on the importance and usefulness of their undertaking ; to display the unavoidable inconveniences, or boast of the peculiar advantages incident to their situation. Availing myself of these precedents, I may be allowed to boast, that there is no one who enjoys so many favourable opportunities of gratifying the curiosity, which I have made the subject of this paper, of discovering the real opinion my readers entertain of myself and my lucubrations. Personally unknown, even to my fellow-citizens, as Gregory Griffin, I am afforded considerable entertainment by becoming an auditor of their criticisms on the work, and a confidant of their conjectures on the author. Many a time have I heard in silence my own accusation ; have joined in a general sneer, or even affected to participate in a hearty laugh at my own expense. And as often, to the great pain of my natural modesty, have I tacitly assented to the praise, or even loudly concurred in the commendations of my own performances. In trials of the former kind, I own I have sometimes found it difficult to restrain the feelings of an author, and have been ready to give vent to my indignation when I have seen my labours degraded to the most menial employments, and insultingly placed under a pound of butter, or wrapped round the handle of a tea- kettle. At other times I have been sinking with shame and confounded with gratitude, when I have chanced to meet with gentlemen who have been so good as to clear me of all my faults, by kindly taking them on themselves, and candidly confessing CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. 97 that they did send me this or that paper, and did give me permission to publish it, without acknowledging my obligations. To these gentlemen I am proud of an opportunity to return my thanks for the honour they confer on me, and to assure them that all my papers are very much at their service, provided only that they will be so kind as just to send me previous notice which they may think fit to own, that my bookseller may have proper directions, if called upon, to confirm their respective claims, and for the prevention of any error which might otherwise arise, should two persons unfortunately make the same choice. In the course of the discoveries which have been confidentially imparted to me, I have been not a little amused by the variety of positive proofs on which each has grounded his knowledge of the author. So confident, indeed, have been some assertions, that I have been much staggered in my belief, and almost in- clined to doubt my own identity. About three weeks ago I was very seriously alarmed by intelligence which I received of an illness under which I then laboured. My informer was certain of his fact, but enjoined me not to mention it again ; he had, it seems, been let into the secret by a friend of his, who had been told of it by an acquaintance of his, who had had it from a near relation of his, who had been informed of it by an intimate of hers, who had heard it from the best authority. Here, indeed, was the clearest conviction and proofs which amounted to a certainty, and I really began to be very uneasy about the conse- quences of my indisposition, when I was happily relieved from my anxiety by another friend of mine, who, with like injunctions of secrecy and equal positiveness of assertion, assured me that I was then very well, and had been seen in a commoner's gown at one of the universities. But nothing has diverted me more than the various strictures passed on me by such as have wished either to correct me by counsel or damp me by discouragement. In these I have been frequently amused by a fair arrangement of contradictory criticisms and objections, which obviate each other. Awkward imitation, and affected originality ; the ostentation of reading, and the want 9 8 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. of it, have been carped at with equal severity. Some have objected to the "price twopence," and others to the precox ingenium; some are offended by the arrogance of unnecessary egotism, and others sneer at the unimportance of anonymous obscurity. As specimens of these opposite censures I shall subjoin a few short letters, by which various well-meaning persons have, at different times, kindly attempted my reformation. "Sir,- — From the promising exordium of your elegant work I own I expected to find much better amusement, and, let me add, instruction, than humorous caricatures of the foibles and follies of your fellow-citizens ; let me hope, sir, you will no longer proceed on this plan, but will rise to subjects more worthy your genius and abilities. — I am, sir, yours, Amicus. "Lincoln's Inn, Nov. 25, i786. ,: " Mr. Griffin, — I thought you promised, in the beginning of your work, that you would confine it to your fellow-citizens ; this you have not done. You will, perhaps, answer that you have at least chosen such subjects as would instruct and improve them. But that is not what I mean. In short, sir, are we to have any satire, or are we not ? — Yours, A Fellow-Citizen. "Eton, Feb. 19, 1787." " Sir, — I am extremely pleased with the whole of your admirable work. It is a praiseworthy attempt, and if it succeeds, which I cannot doubt, will reflect great honour on the place of your education. I hope you will continue to intersperse it through- out with poetical pieces; I received much pleasure from those which I have already perused, and am certain every one who views your work through a medium of candour must do the same. — I am, sir, your admirer, " " Mr. Gregory, — I like your work very well upon the whole ; CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. 99 very well indeed, but pray beware of poetry ; stick to prose and you may succeed, but poetry, sir, will never do. Another thin-, Mr. G., I would advise you— to imitate Mr. Addison more; you can never copy too closely so great an original. Take my advice, sir, and believe me, — Your well-wisher, Criticus." "I write merely to warn you, sir, that imitation, carried too far, becomes plagiarism. An Addison, sir, may be imitated too far. I hate even Garrick thus at second hand. — Yours, " Censor." " My dear Sir, — I am particularly pleased with your equitable treatment of correspondents, in paying so strict attention to their communications, and yet not making that a plea for inactivity or a remission of your weekly labours. That you may long continue to enjoy the reputation you so justly merit, is the sincere wish of, sir, — Your admirer, E. P. "London, March i, 1787." "As long as you gave one number a week, Mr. Griffin, it was all very well, and I took two of each, but now you give two every week; and though you pretend to do it out of justice to corres- pondents, let me tell you, sir, it has a very mercenary appearance, and so long as this continues, I shall only take one of each, so you'll get nothing by it. — From your humble servant, "Anas!" " Sir, — In a literary performance by a juvenile author, I feared to find intermixed muchof the common trash of periodical papers- stories of love-adventures ' founded on facts,' luckless pairs, happy marriages, and jumbles of jealousy and sentimental affection. I am, sir, happily disappointed, and hope you will continue without any mixture of stuff about love, which young men ought to know nothing of, thus to amuse. — Your constant reader, " Gertrude Grum." loo CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. " Mr. Griffin, Sir, — This comes to let you know that, though I can't write nor read, our Peter writes this for me, and I hear all your papers read in our kitchen. I don't understand none of them, not I ; but I see there's nothing at all about love, or about maid-servants making their fortunes by marriage. Oh, Mr. Griffin, if you be he they says you be, you know the person that I love best. He is to be sure the prettiest behaved, sweetest young gentleman, and his name begins with a — no, but I won't tell you what his name begins with neither ; but could not you just give him a hint about his loving humble servant, as he calls me, " Maritornes." " P.S. — Peter can read and write, and cipher too." I have taken some liberties with my last correspondent, in adjusting the orthography of her letter, so as to adapt it to common comprehension ; if there is any other alteration she must look for its cause in the P. S., where Peter (totally, I believe, with a view to his own aggrandisement, and without the privity and con- sent of his fair employer) declares his skill in ciphering, which he has practised with such success as to render the deciphering a matter of no small difficulty. I shall not add any comment to the preceding letters, but leave them, like the gravitation and centrifugal force which philosophers talk of, to counteract each other's tendency ; and conclude my paper, as I began it, with a tale, which though, perhaps, it may be very old, enjoys a double advantage, which tales seldom do, of being extremely short and extremely apropos. A painter of great skill and eminence, who wished to have his work as free from blemishes, and as correctly beautiful as a picture could be made, hung it up one morning in the public market-place, with a request that every one would take the trouble to mark what he thought the faulty part of the performance. Coming in the evening to carry home his picture, he was surprised and mortified to find every part of it covered with faults. Not a muscle of the body or a feature of the face but bore some sign of disapprobation. Resolving, however, to see whether his piece CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. 101 was entirely destitute of beauties, he hung it up next morning in the same place, desiring that every one would be so kind as to set some mark on what he thought the excellences of the picture. Coming as before in the evening to carry it away, it was not a little consolation to him to find those very parts that had before exhibited the strongest signs of dislike, now marked with the utmost encomium ; to find that if he had before had reason to lament having excited universal disgust, he might now be pro- portionably proud of having conciliated universal admiration. No. XXII. — Monday, April g, 17S7. " Tantum de medio suviptis accedit honoris." — HORACE. " Such honour common subjects may receive." " Sir, — It must no doubt often have occurred to a writer of your penetration, that there is nothing more unjust and illiberal than those ill-grounded prejudices which confound in general censure, or undistinguishing contempt, any particular class or description of men. And yet these prejudices, however sensible we cannot but be of their improper tendency, we are all too apt to indulge ; till, nourished by long habit, they take as deep root in our minds as if they had been implanted there by nature, and acquire such strength as enable them to withstand the most forcible arguments, to resist the most palpable conviction. " There are in Turkey a body of men against whom universal contempt is indiscriminately as well as undeservedly directed, and these are the worshipful company of grocers ; insomuch that should any member of a noble family have disgraced himself and his connections by living a life of tranquillity, or what is worse, dying in his bed, that is, a natural death, his name is never pro- nounced by his relations but with disapprobation and disgust, and his memory is consigned to infamy for having, as they say, lived and died like a raccal, or grocer. 102 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. " The person who has now the honour to address you is a mem- ber of a community who, by the courtesy of England, are like the raccals of Turkey, collectively involved in the most indiscriminate ridicule, the most comprehensive contempt. I say collectively, sir, because individually we are allowed to have no existence, the wicked waggery of the world judging nine weavers and nine tailors requisite to the formation of one man. Yes, sir, to so high a pitch have they carried the disrespect in which these professions are held, that in the eyes of 'the many ' (as the poet calls them) to address a man by the appellation either of weaver or tailor im- plies not only, as formerly, a reflection on his horsemanship, but on his personal courage, and even his personal existence. " I, sir, am a weaver. I feel for the injured dignity of my pro- fession, and since, thanks to my own genius and two years and a half of education at an academy on Tower Hill, I have a very decent acquaintance with the classics — that is, I know them all by name, and can tell Greek when I see it, any day in the week ; and since, as far as Shakespeare's plays and all the monthly magazines go, I have a very pretty share of English book-learning, from these considerations, Mr. Griffin, I think myself qualified to contend, not for the utility and respectability only, but for the honour of the art of weaving. Tailoring, as it is secondary to weaving, will of course partake of the fruits of my labours, as, in asserting the dignity of the one, I maintain the credit of the other. "To this end, Mr. Griffin, I shall not appeal to the candour of my readers, but shall provoke their judgment. I shall not solicit their indulgence, but by the force of demonstration will claim their assent, to my opinion. " Poetry, sir, is universally allowed to be the first and noblest of the arts and sciences, insomuch that it is the opinion of critics that an epic poem is the greatest work the human mind is capable of bringing to perfection. If, then, I can prove that the art of weaving is in any degree analogous to the art of poetry, if this analogy has been allowed by the whole tribe of critics so far, that in speaking of the latter they have used the terms of the former, and have passed judgment on the works of the poet in the Ian- CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. 103 guage of the manufacturer ; nay, if poetry herself lias condescended to imitate the expressions, and to adopt the technical terms into her own vocabulary, then may I surely hope that the sanction of criticism may challenge the respect, and the flattery of poetry (for imitation is the highest degree of flattery) may claim the admira- tion of mankind. " First, then, with regard to criticism. To select a few examples from a multitude of others, are we not entertained in the works of Longinus and the Gentleman's Magazine with delectable disserta- tions on the weaving of plots and the interweaving of episodes ? Are we not continually informed that the author unravels the web of his intrigue, or breaks the thread of his narration ? Besides these, a friend of mine, a great etymologist, has assured me that bombast and bombasin originally spring from the same root, and fustian, everybody knows, is a term applied indifferently to pas- sages in poetry, or materials for a pair of breeches. So similar is considered the skill employed in the texture of an epic poem and a piece of broadcloth, so parallel the qualifications requisite to throw the shuttle and guide the pen. " I was not a little pleased the other day to find, in the critique of one of the most eminent writers of the present day, the works of a favourite poet styled a tissue. An idea then occurred to me, suggested perhaps by my partiality for my profession, which I am not without some faint hope of one day seeing accomplished. " By a little labour and ingenuity it might surely be discovered that the works of different authors bear a considerable affinity (like this of the tissue) to the different productions of the loom. Thus, to enumerate a few instances, without any regard to chrono- logical order, might not the flowery smoothness of Pope be aptly enough compared to flowered satin ? Might not the composi- tions of all the poets laureate, ancient and modern, be very pro- perly termed Princes' Stuff? And who would dispute the title of Homer to Everlasting ? For Shakespeare, indeed, I am at a loss for a comparison, unless I should liken him to those shot silks, which vary the brightness of their hues into a multitude of different lights and shades. And would orthography allow of the pun, I io+ CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. might say, that there are few poets but would be proud to be thought worthy of the Green Bays. '• For proof of the use which poetry makes of the weavers dictionary, vide ten thousand odes on spring; where you may catch the fragrance of the damask rose, listen to the rustling of the silken foliage, or lie extended with a listless languor, pillow- ing your head upon the velvet mead ; to say nothing of Nature's loom, which is set to work regularly on the ist of May, to weave variegated carpels for the lawns and landscapes. Now, Mr. Griffin, these similitudes, though very pretty and very apropos, I own I am not perfectly satisfied with. The Genoese certainly excel us in the article of velvets ; and French silks are by many people far preferred for elegance to any of English manufacture. I appeal then to you, Mr. Griffin, if these allusions would not be much more delightful to British ears, if they tended to promote such manufactures as are more peculiarly our own. The Georgics of Virgil, let me tell you, sir, have been suspected by some people to have been written with a political, as well as poetical view ; for the purpose of converting the victorious spirits of the Roman soldiery from the love of war, and the severity of military hard- ships, to the milder occupations of peace, and the more profitable employments of agriculture. Surely, equally successful would be the endeavours of our poets, if they would boldly extirpate from their writings every species of foreign manufacture, and adopt in their stead materials from the prolific looms of their countrymen. Surely we have a variety which would suit all subjects and all descriptions ; nor do I despair, if this letter has the desired effect, but I shall presently see landscapes beautifully diversified with (all due deference being paid to alliteration) plains of plash, pastures of poplin, downs of dimity, valleys of velveret, and meadows of Manchester. How gloriously novel would this be ; how patrio- tically poetical an innovation, which nothing but bigoted prejudice could object to, nothing but disaffection to the interests of the country could disapprove. "Excuse me, sir, if I have detained you beyond the usual limits of a letter, on a subject in which I am so deeply interested. CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. 105 Pardon, sir, the partiality of an old man to the profession of his youth ; and, oh ! Mr. Griffin, may your paper be the means of rescuing from unmerited ridicule and illiberal contempt an art which has added a clearness and a polish to the remarks of criticism, and has clothed the conceptions of poetry in the language of metaphor : an art inferior to none but those which have so frequently and so successfully borrowed its assistance ; nor even to them, unless it can be proved, that that which pro- vides the necessary raiment for the body, should yield to those which are but the sources of amusement to the mind. — I am, sir, yours, &c. H. Homespun." I cannot but own myself much pleased with the enthusiasm which seems to animate my correspondent while he treats on a subject so near his heart. He has, I can assure him, my full approbation to his proposed improvements ; and I am convinced every well-meaning person in His Majesty's kingdoms must feel the force of his reasoning. Will any caviller presume to contend that our looms are not as fertile of poetic imagery as those of our neighbours ? Have we not handkerchiefs of printed cotton crowded with all the beauties of rural scenery? and "azure flowers that blow," in the carpets of the Wilton manufactory ? Nay, even* supposing an unquestionable inferiority on the side of the English looms, would not every Englishman still show a laudable partiality to his country? and by such a preference, what he lost in poetry would he not amply make up in patriotism ? In short, so convinced am I by Mr. Homespun's arguments, that I cannot help taking the earliest opportunity to recommend to such of my correspondents as may have been induced by the forwardness of the season to begin odes on spring for the use of the Microcosm, that they would be careful to stick to the produc- tions of the English loom, if they think it necessary to draw meta- phors from weaving at all ; that is, if they do really think that Nature can be embellished by the technical terms of Art, and that the works of the Creator can receive additional beauty by being assimilated to those of the manufacturer, which, in my io6 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. humble opinion, I will confess does not appear to be the case. I know no better advice that I can give to my correspondents on this head, unless, indeed, it were, not to write odes on spring at all. B - No. XXVI.— Monday, May 14, 1787. "Fabula nullius veneris, sine pondere, ct arte? — Horace. "A silly story, without weight or art." Novel-writing has by some late authors been aptly enough styled the younger sister of Romance. A family likeness indeed is very evident, and in their leading features, though in the one on a more enlarged, and in the other on a more contracted scale, a strong resemblance is easily discoverable between them. An eminent characteristic of each is fiction — a quality which they possess, however, in very different degrees. The fiction of romance is restricted by no fetters of reason or of truth, but gives a loose to lawless imagination, and transgresses at will the bounds of time and place, of nature and possibility. The fiction of the other, on the contrary, is shackled with a thousand restraints, is checked in her most rapid progress by the barriers of reason, and bounded in her most excursive flights by the limits of probability. To drop our metaphors, we shall not indeed find in novels, as in romances, the hero sighing respectfully at the feet of his mis- tress during a ten years' courtship in a wilderness, nor shall we be entertained with the history of such a tour as that of St. George, who, mounting his horse one morning in Cappadocia, takes his way through Mesopotamia, then turns to his right into Illyria, and so by way of Grecia and Thracia, arrives in the afternoon in Eng- land. To such glorious violations as these of time and place romance writers have an exclusive claim. Novelists usually find it more convenient to change the scene of courtship from a desert to a drawing-room, and far from thinking it necessary to lay a CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. 107 ten years' siege to the affections of their heroine, they contrive to carry their point in an hour or two, as well for the sake ot enhancing the character of their hero, as for establishing their favourite maxim of love at first sight ; and their hero, who seldom extends his travels beyond the turnpike-road, is commonly content to choose the safer, though less expeditious, conveyance of a post- chaise, in preference to such a horse as that of St. George. But these peculiarities of absurdity alone excepted, we shall find that the novel is but a more modern modification of the same ingredients which constitute the romance, and that a recipe for the one may be equally serviceable for the composition of the other. A romance (generally speaking) consists of a number of strange events, with the hero in the middle of them, who, being an adventurous knight, wades through them to one grand design, namely, the emancipation of some captive princess from the oppression of a merciless giant, for the accomplishment of which purpose he must set at nought the incantations of the caitiff magician, must scale the ramparts of his castle, and baffle the vigilance of the female dragon, to whose custody his heroine is committed. Foreign as they may at first sight seem from the purposes of a novel, we shall find, upon a little examination, that these are in fact the very circumstances upon which the generality of them are built, modernised, indeed, in some degree by the trifling transfor- mations of merciless giants into austere guardians, and of she- dragons into maiden aunts. AVe must be contented also that the heroine, though retaining her tenderness, be divested of her royalty, and in the hero we must give up the knight-errant for the accomplished fine gentleman. Still, however, though the performers are changed, the char- acters themselves remain nearly the same. In the guardian we trace all the qualities which distinguish his ferocious predecessor, substituting only, in the room of magical incantations, a little plain cursing and swearing, and the maiden aunt retains all the prying vigilance and suspicious malignity — in short, every endowment but the claws which characterise her romantic counterpart. The 108 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. hero of a novel has not indeed any opportunity of displaying his courage in the scaling of a rampart, or his generosity in the de- liverance of enthralled multitudes ; but as it is necessary that a hero should signalise himself by both these qualifications, it is usual to manifest the one by climbing the garden-wall, or leaping the park-paling in defiance of " steel-traps and spring-guns," and the other by flinging a crown to each of the post-boys on alighting from his chaise and four. In the article of interviews the two species of composition are pretty much on an equality, provided only that they are supplied with a quantum sufficit of moonlight, which is an indispensable requisite, it being the etiquette for the moon to appear particularly conscious on these occasions. For the adorer, when permitted to pay his vows at the shrine of his divinity, custom has estab- lished in both cases a pretty universal form of prayer. Thus far the writers of novel and romance seem to be on a very equal footing, to enjoy similar advantages, and to merit equal admiration. We are now come to a very material point, in which romance has but slender claims to comparative excellence — I mean the choice of names and titles. However lofty and sonorous the names of Amadis and Orlando ; however tender and delicate may be those of Zorayda and Roxana : are they to be compared with the attractive alliteration, the seducing softness of Lydia Lovemore and Sir Harry Harlowe, of Frederic Freelove and Clarissa Clearstarch ? Or can the simple " Don Belianis, of Greece," or the " Seven Champions of Christendom," trick out so enticing a titlepage and awaken such pleasing expectations as the " Innocent Adultery," the " Tears of Sensibility," or the " Amours of the Count de D and L — y " ? It occurs to me, while I am writing this, that as there has been so considerable a consumption of names and titles as to have exhausted all the efforts of invention and ransacked all the allite- rations of the alphabet, it may not be amiss to inform all novelists, male and female, who under these circumstances must necessarily wish with Falstaff to know " where a commodity of good names may be bought," that at my "Warehouse for Wit" I have laid in CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. 109 a great number of the above articles of the most fashionable and approved patterns. Ladies may suit themselves with a vast variety, adapted to every composition of the kind, whether they may choose them to consist of two adjectives only, as the " Gene- rous Inconstant," the "Fair Fugitive," or the name of a place, as " Grogram Grove," " Gander Green," or whether they prefer the still-newer method of coupling persons and things with an "or," as " Louisa ; or, the Purling Stream," " Estifania ; or, the Abbey in the Dale," " Eliza ; or, the Little House on the Hill." Added to these I have a complete assortment of names for every indi- vidual that can find a place in a novel, from the Belviles and Beverleys of high life, to the Humphreyses and Gubbinses of low, suited to all ages, ranks, and professions, to persons of every stamp, and characters of every denomination. In painting the scenes of low life, the novel again enjoys the most decisive superiority. Romance, indeed, sometimes makes use of the grosser sentiments and less refined affections of the squire and the confidante as a foil to the delicate adoration, the platonic purity, which marks the love of the hero and suits the sensibility of his mistress. But where shall we find such a thorough knowledge of nature, such an insight into the human heart, as is displayed by our novelists, when, as an agreeable relief from the insipid sameness of polite insincerity, they condescend to portray in coarse colours the workings of more genuine passions in the bosom of Dolly the dairymaid, or Hannah the housemaid. When on such grounds, and on a plan usually very similar to the one I have here endeavoured to sketch, are founded by far the greater number of those novels which crowd the teeming catalogue of a circulating library, is it to be wondered at that they are sought out with such avidity and run through with such delight, by all those (a considerable part of* my fellow-citizens) who cannot resist the impulse of curiosity, or withstand the allure- ments of a title-page? Can we be surprised that they look forward with expecting eagerness to that inundation of delicious nonsense with which the press annually overflows ; replete as no CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. it is with stories without invention, anecdotes without novelty, observations without aptness, and reflections without morality ? Under this description come the generality of these per- formances. There are, no doubt, a multitude of exceptions. The paths which a Fielding and a Richardson have trodden must be sacred. Were I to profane these by impertinent criticism, I might with justice be accused of avowed enmity to wit, of open apostasy from true feeling and true taste. But let me hope to stand excused from the charge of pre- sumption if even here I venture some observations, which, I am confident, must have occurred to many, and to which almost everybody, when reminded of them, will be ready to give a hearty concurrence. Is not the novel of " Tom Jones," however excellent a work in itself, generally put too early into our hands, and proposed too soon to the imitation of children ? That it is a character drawn faithfully from nature, by the hand of a master, most accurately delineated and most exquisitely finished, is indeed indisputable. But is it not also a character in whose shades the lines of right and wrong, of propriety and misconduct, are so intimately blended and softened into each other, as to render it too difficult for the indiscriminating eye of childhood to distinguish between rectitude and error? Are not its imperfections so nearly allied to excel- lence, and does not the excess of its good qualities bear so strong an affinity to imperfection, as to require a more matured judg- ment, a more accurate penetration, to point out the line where virtue ends and vice begins ? The arguments urged in opposition to this are, that it is a faithful copy of Nature. Undoubtedly it is ; but is Nature to be held up to the view of childhood in every light, however unamiable; to be exhibited in every attitude, how- ever unbecoming? The hero\s connection with Miss Seagrim, for instance, and the supposed consequences of it, are very natural, no doubt ; are they therefore objects worthy of imitation ? But that a child must admire the character, is certain ; that he should wish to imitate what he admires, follows of course ; and that it is much more easy to imitate faults than excellences, is CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. in an observation too trite, I fear, not to be well founded. A character virtuous and amiable in the aggregate, but vicious in particular parts, is much more dangerous to a mind prone to imitation, as that of youth naturally is, than one wicked and vicious in the extreme. The one is an open assault on an avowed enemy, which every one has judgment to see, and conse- quently fortitude to resist ; the other is the treacherous attack of an insidious invader, who makes the passions his agents to blind the judgment, and bribes the understanding to betray the heart. Such is the character of Jones. He interests our affections at the moment that his actions revolt against our ideas of propriety ; nor can even his infidelity to Sophia, however ungrateful, nor his connection with Lady Bellaston, though per- haps the most degrading situation in which human nature can be viewed, materially lessen him in our esteem and admiration. On these grounds, therefore, though there cannot be a more partial admirer of the work itself, I cannot hesitate a moment to consider that " faultless monster," Sir Charles Grandison, whose insipid uniformity of goodness it is so fashionable to decry, far the more preferable to be held up to a child as an object of imitation. The only objection urged to this is, that Grandison is too perfect to be imitated with success. And to what does this argument amount? truly this, it tends to prove that an imitator cannot come up to his original ; consequently, the surest way to become a Jones is to aim at being a Grandison ; for according to that argument, let a man rate his virtue at the highest price, and the natural bias of his passions will make him bate something of his valuation. Hence, therefore, the character of Grandison is assuredly the properer pattern of the two. An attempt at the imitation of that must necessarily be productive of some attainment in virtue. The character of Jones can neither operate as an incitement to virtue, nor a discourage- ment from vice. He is too faulty for the one and too excellent for the other. Even his good qualities must, on an undis- cerning mind, have a bad effect ; since, by fascinating its affec- tions, they render it blind to his foibles ; and the character ii2 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. becomes the more dangerous in proportion as it is the more amiable. But to return from this long digression to the consideration of novels in general, some of my fellow-citizens may perhaps con- jecture that I have affected to undervalue them from interested motives ; and that I would wean them from their study of them, for the purpose only of increasing the demand for my own lucu- brations. To wipe off any suspicions of the kind, and to prove to them that my only motives are a view to their advantage, I promise, in the course of a few numbers, to point out to the observation, and recommend to the perusal of professed novel readers, a set of books, which they now treat with undeserved contempt ; but from which I will prove that they may derive at least as much entertainment, and certainly much more useful instruction, than from the dull details of unmeaning sentiment and insipid conversation ; of incidents the most highly unnatural, and events the most uninteresting. No. XXX. — Monday, June n, 1787. " Qua?ito rectius hie." — Horace. " How much superior he," &c. From the time that I first promised my fellow-citizens I would point out a set of books to their observation, from the perusal of which, if substituted in the place of novels, they might derive at least equal advantage and entertainment, there has scarce a day passed in which some attempt has not been made by different correspondents, either by letters of inquiry or conjecture, to fore- stall my good advice, and anticipate my intended recommenda- tion. Some have been so good-natured as to cloak counsel under the garb of conjecture, and under pretence of guessing my inten- tions, have recommended their own favourite studies to my notice, as fit objects for my recommendation to the notice of my fellow- citizens; and furnished me with arguments for the support of CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. 113 their own propositions. Others have contented themselves with forming a variety of conjectures ; and some of them have so far piqued themselves on their sagacity that they have confidently offered me wagers of ten to one, which I can assure my readers I expect no small applause for not having accepted, when they consider, that had my views been at all mercenary, I might here have taken the opportunity to pick up a very comfortable sum in a very honourable way. Others again have been so conscious of their own unbounded attachment to the study I have laboured to depreciate, as to think themselves particularly pointed at in that sentence where I complained of the unmerited contempt with which the objects of my intended recommendation are treated ; and have sent me the most affecting assurances of better be- haviour for the future. Historiophilus cannot help being sur- prised that I should know he had never " read his Bible," which he doubts not is the book to which I propose calling his attention, but he promises me faithfully henceforward to read a chapter of it every night going to bed, and never to devour at most above three novels in a month. Latinus's conscience has been equally busy in informing him that the books I mean for his perusal can be no other than the classics, to which, though he owns he has hitherto neglected them, to gratify his taste for sentiment, he is now determined, in compliance with my advice, to give the most ardent attention, and as an earnest of his amendment, he tells me he has already struck out his name from the list of subscribers to the circulating library, for which he adds, rather archly, my bookseller he believes will not consider himself under any great obligation to me. Though I must assure these gentlemen that all their supposi- tions are very erroneous, I cannot but confess myself very much pleased at the above-mentioned salutary, and I will add unfore- seen, effects of my censorial exertions. Not but I am a little sur- prised that any of my correspondents could for a moment suppose me so devoid of delicacy as to propose as a substitute for senti- ment the dull perusal of the unpolished ancients, and a study so unfashionable as religion. H 114 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. There arc, besides those already mentioned, another set of cor- respondents of whom I must take some notice before I proceed to the discovery of my purpose. These are some who have con- tinued to send me frequent assurances of the little credit they give to my professions of disinterestedness, and who resolve, in spite of my declarations to the contrary, to persevere in believing the studies to which I wish them to give so much application to be no other than my own lucubrations. One gentleman in par- ticular has taken the trouble to be extremely witty on the subject, and has had the art, by a course of the most apt and pointed obser- vations, to turn my own declaration against me. He adduces the example of a highwayman with great success, and tells an interest- ing and affecting story (but rather of the longest), extracted as it seems from the "Newgate Calendar, or Malefactor's Bloody Register," by which it appears that this highwayman " denied this murder before he was accused of it,'and so got himself found out." This my gentleman considers as exactly a case in point, and proceeds accordingly, through a long series of logical divisions, and some very nice and subtle distinctions of "whys" and "wherefores," to argue that my disavowal of any sinister view to my own advantage could have been derived from nothing but a perfect consciousness of the same, and consequently must be ascribed to precisely the same motives as the unsolicited protestations of his hero the highwayman. Ingenious as are the arguments, and conclusive as are the in- ferences of my worthy correspondent, I must beg leave to differ from him very decidedly on the present question, and however sure the grounds of the indictment preferred against me may appear to him at present, I doubt not but the very material evi- dence which I shall produce on my part will, ere long, induce him to alter his opinion, and to give a verdict in favour of my disinterestedness. I shall now therefore no longer delay to bring forward, as sub- stantial and satisfactory witnesses of my disinterestedness, the books which I think so fully capable of supplying the place of those studies which usually engross the attention of our novel-readers, CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. nj and these are no other than the instructive and entertaining his- tories of Mr. Thomas Thumb, Mr. John Hickathrift, and sundry other celebrated worthies, a true and faithful account of whose adventures and achievements may be had by the curious and public in, general, price twopence, gilt, at Mr. Newbery's, St. Paul's Churchyard, and at some other gentleman's, whose name I do not now recollect, the Bouncing B., Shoe Lane. I am well aware that full many are the opinions I shall have to combat against in behalf of my recommendation. Many there will be who will ungenerously cavil at the size of my proteges, armed with a sort of cowardly criticism, which, though it dares not venture any strictures on a bulky folio, or scan the merits of even a tolerable corpulent quarto, yet thinks itself fully competent to give a decided opinion on so small an offspring of literature, and to persecute an unprotected i6mo with the most unrelenting severity. To show, however, the very high estimation in which I am confident they deserve to be held by the literary world, I shall not condescend to compare them with those precious farragos in the room of which I intend introducing them to my fellow- citizens. Far higher are my ideas of the comparative excellence of Mr. Newbery's little books, and more especially of the two to which I have before alluded. In the heroes of these, a candid and impartial critic will readily agree with me that we find a very strong resemblance to those who are immortalised in Homeric song ; that in Hickathrift we see portrayed the spirit, the prowess, and every great quality of Achilles; and in Thumb, the prudence, the caution, the patience, the perseverance of Ulysses. There is, however, one peculiar advantage which the histories of the modern worthies enjoy over their ancient originals, which is that of uniting the great and sublime of epic grandeur with the little and the low of common life, and of tempering the fiercer and more glaring colours of the marvellous and the terrible with the softer shades of the domestic and the familiar. Where, in either of the great originals, shall we find so pleasing an assemblage of tender ideas, so interesting a picture of domestic employments as the following n6 CONTRIBUTIONS TO THE MICROCOSM. sketch of the night preceding that in which Tom Thumb and his brethren were to be purposely lost in the wood ? " Now it was nine o'clock, and all the children, after eating a piece of bread and butter, were put to bed. But little Tom did not eat his, but put it in his pocket. And now all the children were fast asleep in their beds ; but little Tom could not sleep for thinking of what he had heard the night before, so he got up, and put on his shoes and stockings," Sec. How forcibly does this passage bring to the mind of every classical reader the picture which Homer draws of Agamemnon in the tenth book of the " Iliad." "AW ovk Arpeidr]!' Aya/j.^pn>ova, woLfiiva. \au>v y iiirvos %x e y\vicep6s, iroWa \), but not claimed by Frere.~\ December 25, 1797. TI7E have been favoured with a translation of the Latin verses * * inserted in our last number. We have little doubt that our readers will agree with us, in hoping that this may not be the last contribution which we shall receive from the same hand. Parent of countless crimes, in headlong rage, War with herself see frantic Gallia wage, Till worn and wasted by intestine strife, She falls — her languid pulse scarce quick with life. But soon she feels through every trembling vein, New strength collected from convulsive pain : Onward she moves, and sounds the dire alarm, And bids insulted nations haste to arm ; Spreads wide the waste of war, and hurls the brand Of civil discord o'er each troubled land, While Desolation marks her furious course, And thrones, subverted, bow beneath her force. Behold ! she pours her monarch's guiltless blood, And quaffs, with savage joy, the crimson flood ; Then, proud the deadly trophies to display Of her foul crime, resistless bursts away, Unawed by justice, unappalled by fear, And runs with giant strength her mad career. Where'er her banners float in barbarous pride, Where'er her conquest rolls its sanguine tide, M 178 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. There, the fair fabric of established law, There social order, and religious awe, Sink in the general wreck ; indignant there Honour and virtue fly the tainted air ; Fly the mild duties of domestic life That cheer the parent, that endear the wife The lingering pangs of kindred grief assuage, Or soothe the sorrows of declining age. Nor yet can hope presage the auspicious hour, When peace shall check the rage of lawless power ; Nor yet the insatiate thirst of blood is o'er, Nor yet has rapine ravaged every shore. Exhaustless passion feeds the augmented flame And wild ambition mocks the voice of shame : Revenge, with haggard look and scowling eyes, Surveys with horrid joy the expected prize ; Broods o'er each remnant of monarchic sway, And dooms to certain death his fancied prey. For midst the ruins of each falling state One favoured nation braves the general fate, One favoured nation, whose impartial laws Of sober freedom vindicate the cause ; Her simple manners, midst surrounding crimes Proclaim the genuine worth of ancient times ; True to herself, unconquerably bold, The rights her valour gained she dares uphold : Still with pure faith her promise dares fulfil, Still bows submissive to the Almighty will. Just Heaven ! how envy kindles at the sight ! How mad ambition plans the desperate fight ! With what new fury vengeance hastes to pour Her tribes of rapine from yon crowded shore ! Just Heaven ! how fair a victim at the shrine Of injured Freedom shall her life resign, POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 179 If e'er, propitious to the vows of hate, Unsteady conquest stamp our mournful fate ; If e'er proud France usurp our ancient reign, And ride triumphant o'er the insulted main ! • •••••« Far hence the unmanly thought — the voice of fame Wafts o'er the applauding deep her Duncan's name What though the conqueror of the Italian plains Deem nothing gained while this fair Isle remains, Though his young breast with rash presumption glow. He braves the vengeance of no vulgar foe : Conqueror no more, full soon his laurelled pride Shall perish — whelmed in ocean's angry tide ; His broken bands shall rule the fatal day, And scattered fleets proclaim Britannia's sway ! i8o POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. No. VIII. January I, 179S. A CORRESPONDENT has adapted the beautiful poem of ^"*- the " Battle of Sabla," in Carlyle's " Specimens of Arabian Poetry," to the circumstances of the present moment. We shall always be happy to see the poetry of other times and nations so successfully engaged in the service of our country, and of the present order of society. THE CHOICE. FROM THE " BATTLE OF SABLA," IN CARLYLE'S " SPECIMENS OF ARABIAN POETRY." [Ellis (B.). Not assigned {M.)] I. Hast thou not seen the insulting foe In fancied triumphs crowned ? And heard their frantic rulers throw These empty threats around ? " Make now your choice / The terms we give, Desponding Britons, hear ! These fetters on your hands receive, Or in your hearts the spear." Can we forget our old renown ; Resign the empire of the sea ; And yield at once our Sovereign's crown, Our ancient laws and liberty ? POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 1S1 Shall thus the fierce destroyer's hand Pass unresisted o'er our native land ? Our country sink, to barbarous force a prey, And ransomed England bow to Gallic sway ? II. " Is then the contest o'er ? " we cried, " And lie we at your feet ? And dare you vauntingly decide The fortune we shall meet? A brighter day we soon shall see, No more the prospect lours ; And conquest, peace, and liberty, Shall gild our future hours." Yes ! we will guard our old renown ; Assert our empire of the sea : And keep untouched our Sovereign's crown, Our ancient laws and liberty. Not thus the fierce destroyer's hand Shall scatter ruin o'er this smiling land ; No barbarous force shall here divide its prey, Nor ransomed England bow to Gallic sway. in. The foe advance. In firm array We'll rush o'er Albion's sands — Till the red sabre marks our way Amid their yielding bands ! Then, as they lie in death's cold grasp, We'll cry, " Our choice is made ! These hands the sabre's hilt shall clasp, Your hearts shall feel the blade." Thus Britons guard their ancient fame, Assert their empire o'er the sea, And to the envying world proclaim, Our nation still is brave and free ! — 182 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Resolved to conquer or to die, True to their King, their Laws, their Liberty : No barbarous foe here finds an easy prey— Unransomed England spurns all foreign sway. The following poem has been transmitted to us, without preface or introduction, by a gentleman of the name of Ireland. We apprehend, from the peculiarities of the style, that it must be the production of a remote period. We are likewise inclined to imagine, that it may contain allusions to some former event in English history. What that event may have been, we must submit to the better judgment and superior information of our readers ; from whom we impatiently expect a solution of this interesting question. The editor has been influenced solely by a sense of its poetical merit. THE DUKE AND THE TAXING-MAN. [Sir Archibald Macdonald, Chief Barotl of the Exchequer, entered as Bar. Macdonald (C. B.), Lord Chief Baron [M.).\ Whilome there lived in fair Englonde A Duke of peerless wealth, And mickle care he took of her Old constitution's health. Full fifty thousand pounds and more To him his vassals paid, But ne to King, ne countree, he Would yield the assessment made. The Taxing-man, with grim visage, Came pricking on the way, The Taxing-man, with wrothful words, Thus to the Duke did say : POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 1S3 " Lord Duke, Lord Duke, thou'st hid from me, As sure as I'm alive, Of goodly palfreys seventeen, Of varlels twenty-five." Then out he drew his gray goose quill, Ydipp'd in ink so black, And sorely to surcharge the Duke. I trowe, he was ne slack. Then gan the Duke to looken pale. And stare-d as astound, Twaie coneynge clerks, 1 eftsoons he spies Sitting their board around. "O woe is me/' then cried the Duke, " Ne mortal wight but errs ! I'll hie to yon twaie coneynge clerks, Yclept commissioners.'' The Duke he hied him to the board, And straught gan for to say, "A seely 3 wight I am, God wot, Ne ken I the right way. "These varlets twenty-five were ne'er Liveried in white and red; Withouten this, what signifie Wages, and board, and bed ? •'And by Saint George, that stout horseman, My palfreys seventeen, For two years, or perchance for three, I had forgotten clean." 1 Twaie coneynge clerks. — Coneynge is the participle of the verb to ken or k It by no means imports what we now denominate a knowing one : on the contrary, twaie coneynge clerks means two intelligent and disinterested clergymen. - Seely is evidently the original of the modern word silly, A teely wight, how- ever, by no means imports what is now called a silly fellow, but means a man of simplicity of character, devoid of all vanity, and of any strange ill-condu ambition, which, if successful, would immediately be fatal to the man who indulged it. 1 84 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. " Naie," quoth the clerk, " both horse and foot To hide was thine intent, Ne seely wight be ye, but did With good advisament. 1 " Surcharge, surcharge, good Taxing-man, Anon our seals we fix, Of sterling pounds, Lord Duke, you pay Three hundred thirty-six." EPIGRAM ON THE PARIS LOAN, CALLED THE LOAN UPON ENGLAND. \_Frere {£.), but not claimed by Frere. Not assigned (M. ).] The Paris cits, a patriotic band, Advance their cash on British freehold land : But let the speculating rogues beware, They've bought the skin, but who's to kill the bear ? 1 Good advisament means— cool consideration. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. iS = No. IX. ODE TO ANARCHY. By a Jacobin. being an imitation of horace, ode xxv. book i. [Lord Morpeth (B.).] O Diva, gratum qtnc regis Ant in in ! January S, 179S. /"^ ODDESS, whose dire terrific power ^-^ Spreads, from thy much-loved Gallia's plains, Where'er her blood-stained ensigns lower, Where'er fell rapine stalks, or barbarous discord reigns ! Thou, who canst lift to fortune's height The wretch by truth and virtue scorned, And crush, with insolent delight, All whom true merit raised, or noble birth adorned ! Thee, oft the murderous band implores, Swift-darting on its hapless prey : Thee, wafted from fierce Afric's shores, The Corsair chief invokes to speed him on his way. Thee, the wild Indian tribes revere ; Thy charms the roving Arab owns : Thee, kings, thee, tranquil nations fear, The bane of social bliss, the foe to peaceful thrones. 1 86 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. For, soon as thy loud trumpet calls To deadly rage, to fierce alarms, Just order's goodly fabric falls, Whilst the mad people cries, "To arms ! to arms !" With thee Proscription, child of strife, With death's choice implements, is seen, Her murderer's gun, assassin's knife, And, "last, not least in love," her darling guillotine. Fond hope is thine, — the hope of spoil, And faith, — such faith as ruffians keep ; They prosper thy destructive toil, That makes the widow mourn, the helpless orphan weep. Then false and hollow friends retire, Nor yield one sigh to soothe despair ; Whilst crowds triumphant vice admire, Whilst harlots shine in robes that decked the great and fair. Guard our famed chief to Britain's strand ! Britain, our last, our deadliest foe : Oh, guard his brave associate band ! A band to slaughter trained, and " nursed in scenes of woe." What shame, alas ! one little Isle Should dare its native laws maintain ? At Gallia's threats serenely smile, And, scorning her dread power, triumphant rule the main ! For this have guiltless victims died In crowds at thy ensanguined shrine ! For this has recreant Gallia's pride O'ertumed religion's fanes, and braved the wrath divine ! "What throne, what altar, have we spared To spread thy power, thy joys impart ? Ah then, our faithful toils reward ! And let each falchion pierce some loyal Briton's heart. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 187 The following song is recommended to be sung at all convivial meetings convened for the purpose of opposing the Assessed Tax Bill. The correspondent who has transmitted it to us informs us that he has tried it with great success among many of his well- disposed neighbours, who had been at first led to apprehend that the 120th part of their income was too great a sacrifice for the preservation of the remainder of their property from French confiscation. [Canning, Ellis, and Frere (/''.).] You have heard of Rewbell, That demon of hell, And of Barras, his brother director ; Of the canting Lepaux, And that scoundrel Moreau, Who betrayed his old friend and protector. Would you know how these friends, For their own private ends, Would subvert our religion and throne ? Do you doubt of their skill To change laws at their will ? You shall hear how they treated their own. 'Twas their pleasure to look, In a little blue book, At the code of their famed legislation, That with truth they might say, In the space of one day, They had broke every law of the nation. The first law that they see, Is " the press shall be free ! " The next is " the trial by jury : : ' Then, "the people's free choice; " Then, " the members' free voice " — When Rewbell exclaimed in a fury — ■ 1 88 POETRY OF THE ANTLJACOBIN. " On a method we'll fall For infringing them all — We'll seize on each printer and member : No period so fit For a desperate hit, As our old bloody month of September. We'll annul each election Which wants our correction, And name our own creatures instead. When once we've our will, No blood we will spill, (Let Carnot be knocked on the head). To Rochefort we'll drive Our victims alive, And as soon as on board we have got 'em, Since we destine the ship For no more than one trip, We can just make a hole in the bottom. By this excellent plan On the true rights of man When we've founded our fifth revolution, Though England's our foe, An army shall go To improve her corrupt constitution. We'll address to the nation A fine proclamation, With offers of friendship so warm : — Who can give Buonaparte A welcome so hearty As the friends of a thorough reform ? " POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 189 No. X. January 15, 1798. T^OR the two following poems we are indebted to unknown -*■ correspondents. They could not have reached us at a more seasonable period. The former, we trust, describes the feelings common to every inhabitant of this country. The second, we know too well, is expressive of the sentiments of our enemies. LINES, WRITTEN AT THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR 1 797. [Author unknown.] Loud howls the storm along the neighbouring shore — Britain, indignant, hears the frantic roar : Her generous sons pour forth on every side, Firm in their country's cause — their country's pride ! See wild invasion threats this envied land : Swift to defend her springs each social band ; Her white rocks echoing to their cheerful cry, " God and our King ! " " England and victory ! " Yes ! happy Britain, on thy tranquil coast No trophies mad philosophy shall boast : Though thy disloyal sons, a feeble band, Sound the loud blast of treason through the land : Scoff at thy dangers with unnatural mirth. And execrate the soil which gave them birth, With jaundiced eye thy splendid triumphs view, And give to France, the palm to Britain due : rgo POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Or, — when loud strains of gratulation ring, And lowly bending to the eternal King, Thy Sovereign bids a nation's praise arise In grateful incense to the favouring skies — Cast o'er each solemn scene a scornful glance, And only sigh for anarchy and France. Yes ! unsupported Treason's standard falls, Sedition vainly on her children calls ; While cities, cottages, and camps contend, Their king, their laws, their country to defend. Raise, Britain, raise thy sea-encircled head, Round the wide world behold thy glory spread ; Firm as thy guardian oaks thou still shalt stand, The dread and wonder of each hostile land ! While the dire fiends of discord idly rave, And, mad with anguish, curse the severing wave. Queen of the Ocean, lo ! she smiles serene, 'Mid the deep horrors of the dreadful scene ; With heartfelt piety to Heaven she turns— From Heaven the flame of British courage burns — She dreads no power but His who rules the ball, At whose " great bidding," empires rise and fall ; In Him, on peaceful plain, or tented field She trusts, secure in His protecting shield — Gallia, thy threats she scorns — Britain shall never yield ! An Englishwoman. POETRY OF TUB ANTI-JACOBIN. 191 TRANSLATION OF THE NEW SONG OF THE "AR M Y O F E N G L A N D." WRITTEN BY THE CI-DEVANT ITSHOP OF AUTUN. With Notes by /lie Translator. [Author unknown.] Good Republicans all, The Directory's call Invites you to visit John Bull ; Oppressed by the rod Of a King, and a God, 1 The cup of his misery's full. Old Johnny shall see AVhat makes a man free ; Not parchments, nor statutes on paper ; And stripped of his riches, Great charter, and breeches, Shall cut a free citizen's caper. Then away let us over, To Deal, or to Dover — We laugh at his talking so big ; I He's pampered with feeding, And wants a sound bleeding — Par Dieu / he shall bleed like a pig ! 1 General Danican, in his Memoirs, tells us, that while he was in command, a felon, who had assumed the name of Brutus, chief of a revolutionary tribunal at Rennes, said to his colleagues on Good Friday, " Brothers, we must put to death this day, at the same hour the Counter- Revolutionist Christ died, that young devotee who was lately arrested : " and this young lady was guillotined accordingly, and her corpse treated with every possible species of indecent insult, to the infinite amusement of a vast multitude of spectators. i 9 2 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. John, tied to the stake, A grand baiting will make, When worried by mastiffs of France ; What Republican fun ! To see his blood run, As at Lyons, La Vendue, and Nantz. 1 With grape-shot discharges, And plugs in his barges, With national razors good store, We'll pepper and shave him, And in the Thames lave him — How sweetly he'll bellow and roar ! What the villain likes worse, We'll vomit his purse, And make it the guineas disgorge; For your Raphaels and Rubens, We would not give twopence ; Stick, stick to the pictures of George. No Venus of stone, But of good flesh and bone, Will do for a true Democrat ; 1 The reader will find in the works of Peter Porcupine (a spirited and instruc- tive writer), an ample and satisfactory commentary on this and the following stanza. The French themselves inform us, that, by the several modes of destruction here alluded to, upwards of 30,000 persons were butchered at Lyons, and this once magnificent city almost levelled to the ground, by the command of a wretched actor (Collot d'Herbois), whom they had formerly hissed from the stage. From the same authorities we learn, that at Nantz 27,000 persons, of both sexes, were murdered ; chiefly by drowning them in plugged boats. The waters of the Loire became putrid, and were forbidden to be drank, by the savages who conducted the massacre. — That at Paris 150,000, and in La Vendue 300,000 persons were destroyed. — Upon the whole, the French themselves acknowledge, that two mil- lions of human beings (exclusive of the military), have been sacrificed to the principles of Equality and the Rights of Man : 250,000 of these are stated to be women, and 30,000 children. In this last number, however, they do not include the unborn ; nor those who started from the bodies of their agonising parents, and were stuck upon the bayonets of those very men who are now to compose the "Army of England," amidst the most savage acclamations. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 193 When weary with slaughter, With John's wife and daughter, We'll join in a little chit-chat. The shop-keeping hoard, The tenant and lord, And the merchants 1 are excellent prey : At our cannon's first thunder, Rape, pillage, and plunder The order shall be of the day. French fortunes and lives, French daughters and wives, Have five honest men to defend 'em ; And Barras and Co., When to England we go, Will kindly take John's in conunendam. 1 At Lyons, Jabogues, the second murderer (the actor being the first), in his speech to the Democratic Society, used these words, " Down with the edifices raised for the profit or the pleasure of the rich ; down with them all. Commerce and arts are useless to a warlike people, and are the destruction of that sublime equality which France is determined to spread over the globe." Such are the consequences of Radical Reform ! Let any merchant, farmer, or landlord; let any husband or father consider this, and then say, " Shall we or shall we not contribute a moderate sum, in proportion to our annual expenditure, for the purpose of preserving ourselves from the fate of Lyons, La Vendue, and Xantz." — Styptic. N i 9 4 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. No. XL [Canning {C. M.). Hammond (B.).] January 22, 1798. TI7E have said in another part of our paper of this day, " that * * though we shall never begin an attack, we shall always be prompt to repel it." On this principle, we could not pass over in silence the " Epistle to the Editors of the Anti-Jacobin" which appeared in the Morn- ing Chronicle of Wednesday, and from which we have fortunately been furnished with a motto for this day's paper. We assure the author of the Epistle, that the Answer which we have here the honour to address to him, contains our genuine and undisguised sentiments upon the merits of the poem. Our conjectures respecting the authors and abettors of this performance may possibly be as vague and unfounded as theirs are with regard to the editors of the Anti-Jacobin. We are sorry that we cannot satisfy their curiosity upon this subject — but we have little anxiety for the gratification of our own. TO THE AUTHOR OF THE EPISTLE TO THE EDITORS OF THE "ANTI-JACOBIN." 1 Nostror urn sermonum candide judex ! Bard of the borrowed lyre ! to whom belong The shreds and remnants of each hackneyed song ; 1 It is hardly to be expected, that the character of the Epistle should be taken on trust from the editors of this volume : it is thought best, therefore, to subjoin the POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 195 Whose verse thy friends in vain for wit explore, And count but one good line in eighty-four ! Whoe'er thou art, all hail ! thy bitter smile Gilds our dull page, and cheers our humble toil ! whole performance as it originally appeared : a mode of hostility obviously the most fair, and in respect to the combatants in the cause of Jacobinism, by much the most effectual. They are always best opposed by the arms which they them- selves furnish. Jacobinism shines by its own light. To the respectable names which the author of the following address has thought proper to connect with the Anti-Jacobin, no apology is made for thus preserving this otherwise perishable specimen of dulness and defamation. He who has been reviled by the enemies of the Anti-Jacobin must feel that principles are attri- buted to him of which he need not be ashamed : and when the abuse is conveyed in such a strain of feebleness and folly, he must see that those principles excite animosity only in quarters of which he need not be afraid. It is only necessary to add, what is most conscientiously the truth, that this pro- duction, such as it is, is by far the best of all the attacks that the combined wits of the cause have been able to muster against the Anti-Jacobin. EPISTLE TO THE EDITORS OF THE "ANTI-JACOBIN." Hie Niger est : lame lu, Romane, caveto! To tell what generals did or statesmen spoke, To teach the world by truths, or please by joke ; To make mankind grow bold as they peruse, Judge on existing things, and — weigh the news ; For this a paper first displayed its page, Commanding tears and smiles through every age ! Hail, justly famous ! who in modern days With nobler flight aspire to higher praise ; Hail, justly famous ! whose discerning eyes At once detect mistakes, mis-statements, lies ; Hail, justly famous ! who, with fancy blest, Use fiend-like virulence for sportive jest ; Who only bark to serve your private ends- Patrons of Prejudice, Corruption's friends ! Who hurl your venomed darts at well-earned fame- Virtue your hate, and Calumny your aim ! Whoe'er ye are, all hail ! — whether the skill Of youthful Canning guides the rancorous quill, i 9 6 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Yor yet — though firm and fearless in the cause Of pure religion, liberty, and laws, — Though truth approved, though favouring virtue smiled, Some doubts remained — we yet were unreviled. Thanks to thy zeal ! those doubts at length are o'er ! Thy suffrage crowns our wish ! — we ask no more To stamp with sterling worth each honest line Than censure clothed in vapid verse like thine ! With powers mechanic far above his age Adapts the paragraph and fills the page, Measures the column, mends whate'er's amiss. Rejects that letter, and accepts of this ; Or Hammond, leaving his official toil, O'er this great work consume the midnight oil — Bills, passports, letters, for the Muses quit, And change dull business for amusing wit : — His life of labour at one gasp is o'er, His books forgot — his desk beloved no more ! — Proceed to prop the Ministerial cause ; See consequential Morpeth nods applause; In ev'ry fair one's ear at balls and plays The gentle Granville Leveson whispers praise : — Well-judging patrons, whom such works can please ; Great works, well worthy patrons such as these ! Who heard not, raptured, the poetic sage Who sung of Gallia in a headlong rage, And blandly drew, with no uncourtly grace, The simple manners of our English race — Extolled great Duncan, and, supremely brave, Whelmed Buonaparte's pride beneath the wave ? I swear by all the youths that Malmesbury chose, By Ellis' sapient prominence of nose, By Morpeth's gait important, proud and big — By Leveson Gower's crop-imitating wig, That, could the powers which in those numbers shine, Could that warm spirit animate my line, Your glorious deeds which humbly I rehearse — Your deeds should live immortal as my verse ; And while they wondered whence I caught my flame, Your sons should blush to read their fathers' shame ! Proceed, great men ! — your office is not done ; Proceed with what you have so well begun : POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 197 But say — in full-blown honours dost thou sit 'Midst Brooks's elders on the bench of wit, Where Hare, chief-justice, frames the stern decree, While, with their learned brother, sages three, Fitzpatrick, Townshend, Sheridan, agree ? Or art thou one— the party's flattered fool, Trained in Debrett's, or Ridgeway's civic school — One, who with rant and nonsense daily wears, Well-natured Richardson, thy patient cars — Load Fox (if you by Pitt would be preferred) With every guilt that Kenyon ever heard — Adulterer, gamester, drunkard, cheat, and knave, A factious demagogue, and pensioned slave ! Loose, loose your cry — with ire satiric flash ; Let all the Opposition feel your lash ; And prove them to these hot and partial times A combination of the worst of crimes ! But softer numbers softer subjects fit : — In liquid phrases fill the praise of Pitt ; Extol in eulogies of candid truth The virgin minister — the heaven-born youth ; The greatest gift that Fate to England gave, Created to support, and born to save ; Prompt to supply whate'er his country lacks — Skilful to gag, and knowing how to tax ! With him companions meet in order stand — A firm, compact, and well-appointed band : Skilled to advance or to retreat, Dundas, And bear thick battle on his front of brass ; Grenville with ponderous head, which matched we find By equal ponderosity behind But hold, my Muse ; nor farther these pursue ! — Great editors, we have digressed from you ; From you, to whom our trivial lays belong, From you, the sole inspirers of our song ! Proceed — urge on the same vindictive strain, To gain the applauses of great Malmesbury's train ; With jaundiced eyes the noblest patriot scan ; Proceed — be more opprobrious if you can ; Proceed — be more abusive every hour — To be more stupid is beyond your power. I9 8 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Who sees nor taste nor genius in these times, Save Parr's buzz prose, 1 and Courtenay's kidnapped rhymes ? 2 i Buss prose.— The learned reader will perceive that this is an elegant meto- nymy, by which the quality belonging to the outside of the head is transferred to the inside. Buzz is an epithet usually applied to a large wig. It is here used for swelling, burly, bombastic writing. There is a picture of Hogarth's (the " Election Ball," we believe), in which, among a number of hats thrown together in one corner of the room, there is not one of which you cannot to a certainty point out the owner among the figures dancing, or otherwise distributed through the picture. We remember to have seen an experiment of this kind tried at one of the universities with the wig and writings here alluded to. A page taken from the most happy and elaborate part of the writings was laid upon a table in a barber's shop, round which a number of wigs of different descriptions and dimensions were suspended, and among them that of the author of the writings. It was required of a young student, after reading a few sentences in the page, to point out among the wigs that which must of necessity belong to the head in which such sentences had been engendered. The experiment succeeded to a miracle. The learned reader will now see all the beauty and propriety of the metonymy. 2 Kidnapped rhymes. — Kidnapped implies something more than stolen. It is, according to an expression of Mr. Sheridan's (in the Critic), "using other people's thoughts as gypsies do stolen children — disfiguring them, to make them pass for their own." This is a serious charge against an author, and ought to be well supported. To the proof then ! I a an ode of the late Lord Nugent's are the following spirited lines — ' ' Though Cato lived — though Tully spoke — ■ Though Brutus dealt the godlike stroke, Yet perished fated Rome ! " The author above-mentioned saw these lines, and liked them — as well he might — and, as he had a mind to write about Rome himself, he did not scruple to enlist them into his service ; but he thought it right to make a small alteration in their appearance, which he managed thus. Speaking of Rome, he says it is the place " Where Cato lived " . . . A sober truth, which gets rid at once of all the poetry and spirit of the original, and reduces the sentiment from an example of manners, virtue, patriotism, from the vitce exemplar dedit of Lord Nugent's, to a mere question of inhabitancy. Ubi habitavit Cato — where he was an inhabitant-householder, paying scot and lot, and had a house on the right-hand side of the way as you go down Esquiline Hill, just opposite to the poulterer's. But to proceed — "Where Cato lived ; where Tully spoke, Where Brutus dealt the godlike stroke — By which his glory rose ! ! ! " The last line not borrowed. We question whether the history of modern literature can produce an instance of a theft so shameless, and turned to so little advantage. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 199 Or is it he, — the youth whose daring soul With half a mission sought the frozen pole ; — And then, returning from the unfinished work, Wrote half a letter, — to demolish Burke ? Studied Burke's manner, — aped his forms of speech ; Though when he strives his metaphors to reach, One luckless slip his meaning overstrains, And loads the blunderbuss with Bedford's brains. 1 Whoe'er thou art ! — ne'er may thy patriot fire, Unfed by praise or patronage, expire ! Forbid it, taste ! — with compensation large Patrician hands thy labours shall o'ercharge ! 2 1 And loads the blunderbuss with Bedford's brains. — This line is wholly unintel- ligible without a note, and we are afraid the note will be wholly incredible unless the reader can fortunately procure the book to which it refers. In the " Part of a Letter," which was published by Mr. Robert Adair, in answer to Mr. Burke's " Letter to the D. of B.," nothing is so remarkable as the studious imitation of Mr. Burke's style. His vehemence and his passion, and his irony, his wild imagery, his far-sought illustrations, his rolling and lengthened periods, and the short quick-pointed sen- tences in which he often condenses as much wisdom and wit as others would expand through pages, or through volumes— all these are carefully kept in view by his opponent, though not always very artificially copied or applied. But imitators are liable to be led strangely astray, and never was there an instance of a more complete mistake of a plain meaning than that which this line is intended to illustrate — a mistake no less than of a coffin for a corpse. This is hard to believe or to comprehend ; but you shall hear. Mr. Burke, in one of his publications, had talked of the French " unplumbing the dead in order to destroy the living," — by which he intended, without doubt, not metaphorically, but literally, "stripping the dead of their leaden coffins, and then making them (not the dead, but the coffins) into bullets." A circumstance perfectly notorious at the time the book was written. But this does not satisfy our author. He determines to retort Mr. Burke's own words upon him ; and unfortunately "reaching at a metaphor," where Mr. Burke only intended a fact, he falls into the little mistake above-mentioned, and by a stroke of his pen transmutes the illustrious head of the house of Russell into a metal, to which it is not for us to say how near or how remote his affinity may possibly have been. He writes thus — " If Mr. Burke had been content with ' unplumbing' a dead Russell, and hewing him (observe — not the coffin, but him — the old dead Russell himself) into grape and canister, to sweep down the whole generation of his descendants," &c. &c. &c. The thing is scarcely credible : but it is so ! We write with the book open before us. 2 Qu. — Surcharge? 200 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Bedford and Whitbread shall vast sums advance, The land and malt of Jacobin finance ! Whoe'er thou art ! before thy feet we lay, With lowly suit, our number of to-day ! Spurn not our offering with averted eyes ! Let thy pure breath revive the extinguished lies ! Mistakes, mis-statements, now so oft o'erthrown, Rebuild, and prop with nonsense of thy own ! Pervert our meaning, and misquote our text — And furnish us a motto for the next ! ODE TO LORD MOIRA. [Ellis (C. B. M.).] If on your head 1 some vengeance fell, Moira, for every tale you tell, The listening Lords to cozen; If but one whisker lost its hue, Changed (like Moll Coggin's tail) to blue, I'd hear them by the dozen. But still, howe'er you draw your bow,- Your charms improve, your triumphs grow, New grace adorns your figure ; HORACE. ODE VIII. BOOK II. IN BARINEN. 1 Ulla si juris tibi pejerati Pxna, Barinc, nocuissel unquam ; Dente si nigro fieres , vel uno Turpior ungui. Credere m. -Sed tu simul obligdsti Perfidum votis caput, enitescis Pulchrior multo, juvenumque prodis Publica cura. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 201 More stiff your boots, more black your stock, Your hat assumes a prouder cock, Like Pistol's (if 'twere bigger). Tell then your stories strange and new, Your father's fame 1 shall vouch them true So shall the Dublin papers : Swear by the stars 2 that saw the sight, That infant thousands die each night, While troops blow out their tapers. Shuckbrough 3 shall cheer you with a smile, Macpherson 4 simpering all the while, With Bastard 4 and with Bruin : 4 And fierce Nicholl, 5 who wields at will The emphatic stick, or powerful quill, To prove his country's ruin. Each day new followers 6 crowd your board, And lean expectants hail my Lord With adoration fervent : Old Thurlow, 7 though he swore by G — No more to own a master's nod, Is still your humble servant. 1 Expedit matris cineres opertos Fallere, et toto - tacit urna noctis Signa cum coelo, gelidaque Divos Morte carentes. Ridet hoc, inquam? Venus ipsa, rident Simplices 4 Nymphev ; ferus 5 et Cupido, Semper ardentes acuens sagittas Cote cruenta. Adde quod pubes tibi crescit omnis Servitus crescit tiova ; 7 nee priores ImpicB tectum domincB relinquunt Scepe miriati. Te suis matres metuunt juvencis 202 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Old Pulteney 1 too your influence feels, And asks from you the exchequer seals, To tax and save the nation : Tooke trembles * lest your potent charms Should lure Charles Fox 2 from his fond arms, To your administration. Te 1 senes farci, misertzque ^nuper Virgines ?iupt(B, tua ne retardet Aura Maritos. * The trepidation of Mr. Tooke, though natural, was not necessary ; as it appeared from the ever-memorable "Letter to Mr. Mac Mahon" (which was published about this time in the Morning Chronicle, and threw the whole town into paroxysms of laughter), that in the Administration which his Lordship was so gravely employed in forming, Mr. Fox was to have no place ! POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. No. XII. January 29, 1 798. T^HE following ode was dropped into the letter-box in our publisher's window. From its title — " A Bit of an Ode to Mr. Fox " — we were led to imagine there was some mistake in the business, and that it was meant to have been conveyed to Mr. Wright's neighbour, Mr. Debrett, whom we recollected to have been the publisher of the " Half of a Letter " to the same gentleman, which occasioned so much noise (of horse-laughing) in the world. Our politics certainly do not entitle us to the honourable distinction of being made the channel for communi- cating such a production to the public. But, for our parts, as we are "not at war with genius," on whatever side we find it, we are happy to give this poem the earliest place in our paper ; and shall be equally ready to pay the same attention to any future favours of the same kind, and from the same quarter. The poem is a free translation, or rather, perhaps, imitation, of the twentieth ode of the second book of Horace. We have taken the liberty to subjoin the passages of which the parallel is the most striking. A BIT OF AN ODE TO MR. FOX. [Ellis (C. M.). Frere (Z?.), but not claimed by Frcre.~\ On 1 grey goose quills sublime I'll soar, To metaphors unreached before, That scare the vulgar reader : 1 Non usitata nee tenui ferar Penna, biformis per liquidum cethera Vates. 204 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. With style well formed from Burke's best books- From rules of grammar (e'en Home Tooke's), A bold and free seceder. 1 2 whom, dear Fox, you condescend To call your honourable friend, Shall live for everlasting : That 2 Stygian gallery I'll quit, Where printers crowd me as I sit Half-dead with rage and fasting. *& v 1 3 feel ! the growing down descends, Like goose-skin, to my fingers' ends — Each nail becomes a feather : My 4 cropp'd head waves with sudden plumes, Which erst (like Bedford's, or his groom's , Unpowdered, braved the weather. I mount, I mount into the sky, "Sweet 5 bird," to' 1 Petersburg I'll fly: Or, if you bid, to Paris ; Fresh missions of the fox and goose Successful treaties may produce ; Though Pitt in all miscarries. Scotch, 7 English, Irish Whigs shall read The pamphlets, letters, odes, I breed, Charmed with each bright endeavour : 1 Non ego, quam vocas Dilecte, Maecenas, obibo, 2 Nee Stygia cohibebor unda. 3 Jamjam residunt cruribus asperre Pelles : et album mutor in aliteni 4 Superne ; nascunturque loeves Per digitos humerosque plumae. Visam gementis littora Bosphori, Syrtesque Gastulas, 5 canorus Ales, 6 Hyperboreosque campos. 7 Me Colchus, et qui POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 205 Alarmists ! tremble at my strain, E'en 2 Pitt, made candid by champagne, Shall hail Adair " the clever." Though criticism assail my name, And luckless blunders blot my 3 fame, ! 4 make no needless bustle ; As vain and idle it would be To waste one pitying thought on me As to 5 " unplumb a Russell." 1 dissimulat metum. me peritus Discet Iber, Rhodanique - potor. Absint 3 inani funere nasnias. 4 Luctusque turpes, et querimoniae. 3 sepulchri Mine supervacuos honores. 2o6 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. No. XIII. ACME AND SEPTIMUS; OR, THE HAPPY UNION, CELEBRATED AT THE CROWN AND ANCHOR TAVERN. [Ellis (C. M.).] February 5, 179^- "T^OX, 1 with Tookc to grace his side, -^ Thus addressed his blooming bride — " Sweet ! should I e'er, in power or place, Another citizen embrace ; Should e'er my eyes delight to look On aught alive, save John Home Tooke, Doom me to ridicule and ruin, In the coarse hug 2 of Indian Bruin ! " He spoke ; 3 and to the left and right, Norfolk hiccupped with delight. Tooke, 4 his bald head gently moving, On the sweet patriot's drunken eyes His wine-empurpled lips applies, And thus returns in accents loving : 1 Acmen Septimius suos amores Tenens in gremio, mea, inquit, Acme, Ni te perdite amo, &c. 2 Caesio veniani obvius Leoni. 3 Hoc ut dixit, Amor sinistram, ut Dextram, sternuit approbationem. 4 At Acme leviter caput reflectens, Et dulcis pueri ebrios ocellos Illo purpureo ore suaviata. Sic inquit, mea vita, POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 207 "So, my dear 1 Charley, may success At length my ardent wishes bless, And lead, through discord's lowering storm, To one grand radical reform ! As, from this hour I love thee more Than e'er I hated thee before ! " He spoke ; 2 and to the left and right, Norfolk hiccupped with delight. With this good omen they proceed ; 3 Fond toasts their mutual passion feed ; In Fox's breast Home Tooke prevails Before 4 rich Ireland * and South Wales ; * And Fox (un-read each other book), Is law and gospel to Home Tooke. When were such kindred souls 5 united ! Or wedded pair so much delighted ? 1 Septimille, &c. 2 Hoc ut dixit, Amor sinistram, &c. 3 Nunc ab auspicio bono profecti Mutuis animis amant, amantur. Unam Septimius misellus Acmen Mavult quani 4 Syrias Britanniasque. 5 Quis ullos homines beatiores Vidit, quis venerem auspicatiorem ? I.e. the Clerkship of the Pells in Ireland, and Auditorship of South Wales. 2o8 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. No. XIV. February 12, 1798. T T has been our invariable custom to suppress such of our cor- respondents' favours as conveyed any compliments to our- selves, and we have deviated from it in the present instance, not so much out of respect to the uncommon excellence of the poem before us, as because it agrees so intimately with the general design of our paper, to expose the deformity of the French Revo- tion, to counteract the detestable arts of those who are seeking to introduce it here, and above all, to invigorate the exertions of our countrymen against every foe, foreign and domestic, by showing them the immense and inexhaustible resources they yet possess in British courage and British virtue ! TO THE AUTHOR OF THE " ANTI-JACOBIN." [Mr. Bragge, afterwards Bathurst.] Foe to thy country's foes, 'tis thine to claim From Britain's genuine sons a British fame ; Too long French manners our fair isle disgraced, Too long French fashions shamed our native taste. Still prone to change, we half resolved to try The proffered charms of French fraternity. Fair was her form, and Freedom's honoured name Concealed the horrors of her secret shame : She claimed some kindred with that guardian power, Long worshipped here in Britain's happier hour : &> POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 209 Virtue and Peace, she said, were in her train, The long-lost blessings of Astraca's reign. But soon the vizor dropped — her haggard face Betrayed the Fury lurking in the Grace — The false attendants that behind her pressed, In vain disguised, the latent guilt confessed. Peace dropt her snow-white robe, and, shuddering showed Ambition's mantle reeking fresh with blood ; Presumptuous Folly stood in Reason's form. Pleased with the power to ruin — not reform ; Philosophy, proud phantom, undismayed, With cold regard the ghastly train surveyed ; Saw Persecution gnash her iron teeth, Whilst Atheists preached the eternal sleep of death ! Saw Anarchy the social chain unbind, And Discord sour the blood of human kind ; Then talked of Nature's rights, and equal sway, And saw her system safe — and stalked away ! Foiled by our arms, where'er in arms we met, With arts like these the foe assails us yet. Hopeless the fort to storm or to surprise, More secret wiles his envious malice tries : Diseased himself, spreads wide his own despair, Pollutes the fount, and taints the wholesome air. While many a chief, to glory not unknown, Alarms each hostile shore and guards our own, 'Tis thine, the latent treachery to proclaim ; An humbler warfare, but the cause the same. In vain had Pompey crushed the Pontic host, And chased the pirate swarm from every coast : Had not the Civic Consul's watchful eye Tracked through the windings of conspiracy, 2io POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. The crew that leagued their country to o'erthrow ; The base confederates of a Gallic 1 foe ; Exposed, confounded, shamed, and forced away, The "Jacobin Reformer 2 of his day." 'Tis thine a subtler mischief to pursue, And drag a deeper, darker, plot to view ; Whate'er its form, still ready to engage, Detect its malice, or resist its rage : Whether it whispers low, or raves aloud, In sneers profane, or blasphemies avowed ; Insults its king, reviles its country's cause, And, 'scaped from justice, braves the lenient laws : — Whate'er the hand, in desperate faction bold, By native hate inspired or foreign gold ; Traitors absolved and libellers released, The recreant peer or renegado priest ; The sovereign-people's cringing, crafty slave, The dashing fool, and instigating knave, Each claims thy care ; nor think the labour vain ; Vermin have sunk the ship that ruled the main. 'Tis thine, with truth's fair shield to ward the blow, And turn the weapon back upon the foe : I'o trace the skulking fraud, the candid cheat, That can retract the falsehood, yet repeat : To wake the listless, slumbering as they lie, Lapt in the embrace of soft security ; To rouse the cold, re-animate the brave, And show the cautious all they have to save. 1 Conjuravere Gives nobilissimi Patriam incendere — Gallorum gentem infestissi- mam nomini Romano in bellum arcessunt — Dux Hostium cum exercitu supra caput est.— Orat. Caton. ap. Sallust. 2 Turn Catilina polliceri tabulas novas, proscriptionem locupletium, Magis- trate, Sacerdotia, rapinas, alia omnia quas bellum atque lubido Victorum fert. — Sallust. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. an Erect that standard Alfred first unfurled, Britain's just pride, the wonder of the world ; Whose staff is Freedom's spear, whose blazoned field, Beams with the Christian Cross, the Regal Shield ; That standard which the patriot barons bore, Restored, from Runimede's resounding shore ; Which since, consigned to William's guardian hand. Waved in new splendour o'er a grateful land ; Which oft in vain by force or fraud assailed Has stood the shock of ages — and prevailed. Yes ! the bright sun of Britain yet shall shine, The clouds are earthborn, but his fire divine ! That temperate splendour, and that genial heat, Shall still illume, and cherish empire's seat ; While the red meteor, whose portentous glare- Shot plagues infectious through the troubled air, Admired, or feared no more, shall melt away, Lost in the radiance of his brighter day ! BINES Written under t/ie Bust of diaries Fox, at the Crown and Anchor. I'll not sell Uncle Noll, Charles Surface cries ; — I'll not sell Charley Fox, John Bull replies ; Sell him, indeed ! who'll find me such another ? — Fox is above all price ; so hold your bother. — Morning Post, February 6. To make our readers some amends for this miserable doggrel, we will present them, in our turn, with some lines written under a bust, not at the Crown and Anchor, by an English traveller. We believe they are more just ; we are certain they are more poetical. 212 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. LINES Written by a Traveller at Czarco-Zelo, imder the Bust of a certain Orator* once placed between those of Demosthenes and Cicero. [Frere (B.), not claimed by Frere. Bolton Corney had a copy of the " Anti- facobin " in which fames Boswell had -written in the margin of these lines that they " were written by William Pitt, as I learned from his nephew on the 28th of May 1808, at a dinner held in honour of his memory."] The Grecian orator of old, With scorn rejected Philip's laws, Indignant spurned at foreign gold, And triumphed in his country's cause. A foe to every wild extreme, 'Mid civil storms, the Roman sage Repressed ambition's frantic scheme, And checked the madding people's rage. Their country's peace, and wealth, and fame, With patriot zeal their labours sought, And Rome's or Athens' honoured name Inspired and governed every thought. Who now, in this presumptuous hour, Aspires to share the Athenian's praise ? — The advocate of foreign power, The yEschines of later days. What chosen name to Tully's joined, Is thus announced to distant climes ? — Behold, to lasting shame consigned, The Catiline of modern times ! [* A bust of Fox was so placed by the Empress Catherine.] POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 213 No. XV. THE PROGRESS OF MAN. A DIDACTIC POEM. IN FORTY CANTOS ; WITH NOTES CRITICAL AND EXPLANATORY ; CHIEFLY OF A PHILOSOPHICAL TENDENCY. DEDICATED TO R. P. KNIGHT, Esq. 1 [Canning (C. F. M.). Gifford, IV. Frere{B.\ but assigned by Frere to Canning.} CANTO FIRST. CONTENTS. The Subject proposed. — Doubts and Waverings. — Queries not to be answered.— Formation of the stupendous Whole. — Cosmogony ; or the Creation of the World : — the Devil — Man — various Classes of Being : — Animated Beings — Birds — Fish — Beasts — the Influence of the Sexual Appetite — on Tigers— on Whales — on Crimpt Cod — on Perch — on Shrimps — on Oysters. — Various Sta- tions assigned to different Animals : — Birds — Bears — Mackarel. — Bears re- markable for their fur— Mackarel cried on a Sunday — Birds do not graze — nor Fishes fly — nor Beasts live in the Water. — Plants equally contented with their lot : — Potatoes — Cabbage — Lettuce — Leeks — Cucumbers. — Man only discon- tented—born a Savage ; not choosing to continue so, becomes polished— re- signs his Liberty — Priestcraft — Kingcraft — Tyranny of Laws and Institutions. — Savage Life— description thereof: — The Savage free — roaming Woods- feeds on Hips and Haws— Animal Food — first notion of it from seeing a Tiger tearing his Prey — wonders if it is good — resolves to try — makes a Bow and Arrow — kills a Pig — resolves to roast a part of it— lights a Fire — Apostrophe to Fires — Spits and Jacks not yet invented. — Digression. — Corinth. — Sheffield. — Love the most natural desire after Food. — Savage Courtship. — Concubinage recommended.— Satirical Reflections on Parents and Children — Husbands and Wives — against collateral Consanguinity. — Freedom the only Morality. &c. &c. &c. [* Payne Knight had published in 1796 "The Progress of Civil Society," a didactic poem in six books.] 214 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. February 19, 1798. WHETHER some great, supreme o'er-ruling Power, Stretched forth its arm at Nature's natal hour, Composed this mighty whole with plastic skill, Wielding the jarring elements at will ? Or, whether sprung from Chaos' mingling storm, 5 The mass of matter started into form? Or chance o'er earth's green lap spontaneous fling The fruits of autumn and the flowers of spring ? Whether material substance, unrefined, Owns the strong impulse of instinctive mind, 10 Which to one centre points diverging lines, Confounds, refracts, invigorates, and combines? Whether the joys of earth, the hopes of heaven, By man to God, or God to man, were given ? If virtue leads to bliss, or vice to woe? 15 Who rules above ? or who reside below ? Vain questions all. — Shall man presume to know ? On all these points, and points obscure as these, Think they who will — and think whate'er they please ! Let us a plainer, steadier theme pursue — 20 Mark the grim savage scoop his light canoe ; Mark the dark rook, on pendent branches hung, With anxious fondness feed her cawing young. Ver. 3. A modern author of great penetration and judgment observes very shrewdly, that " the cosmogony of the world has puzzled the philosophers of all ages. What a medley of opinions have they not broached upon the creation of the world? Sanconiathon, Manetho, Berosus, and Ocellus Lucanus, have all attempted it in vain. The latter has these words, Anarchon ara kai atelcutaion to pan, which imply that all things have neither beginning nor end." See Goldsmith's ' ' Vicar of Wakefield ;" see also Mr. Knight's poem on the ' ' Progress of Civil Society. " Ver. 12. The influence of mind upon matter, comprehending the whole question of the existence of mind as independent of matter, or as co-existent with it, and of matter considered as an intelligent and self-dependent essence, will make the sub- ject of a larger poem in one hundred and twenty-seven books, now preparing under the same auspices. Ver. 14. See Godwin's "Enquirer," Darwin's "Zoonomia," Paine, Priestley, S:c. &c. &c. ; also all the French Encyclopedists. Ver. 16. Quastio spinosa et contortula. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Mark the fell leopard, through the desert prowl, Fish prey on fish, and fowl regale on fowl ; How Lybian tigers' chawdrons love assails, And warms, midst seas of ice, the melting whales ; Cools the crimpt cod, fierce pangs to perch imparts, Shrinks shrivelled shrimps, but opens oysters' hearts ; Then say, how all these things together tend To one great truth, prime object, and good end ? First — to each living thing, whate'er its kind, Some lot, some part, some station is assigned. The feathered race, with pinions skim the air — Not so the mackarel, and still less the bear : This, roams the wood, carnivorous, for his prey ; That, with soft roe, pursues his watery way : This, slain by hunters, yields his shaggy hide ; That, caught by fishers, is on Sundays cried. — But each contented with his humble sphere, 40 Moves unambitious through the circling year ; Nor e'er forgets the fortune of his race, Nor pines to quit, or strives to change his place. Ah ! who has seen the mailed lobster rise, Clap her broad wings, and soaring claim the skies ? 4 5 Ver. 26. "Add thereto a tiger's chawdron." — Macbeth. Ver, 26, 27. "In softer notes bids Lybian lions roar, And warms the whale on Zembla's frozen shore." — Progress of Civil Society, Book I. verse 98. Ver. 29. " An oyster may be crossed in love."— Mr. Sheridan's " Critic" Ver. 34. Birds fly. Ver. 35. But neither fish nor beasts— particularly as here exemplified. Ver. 36. The bear. Ver. 37. The mackarel — there are also hard-roed mackarel. Seddehis alio , Ver. 38. Bears' grease, or fat, is also in great request ; being suppo led to have a criiiiparous, or hair-producing quality. Ver. 39. There is a special Act of Parliament which permits mackarel to be cried on Sundays. Ver. 45-49. Every animal contented with the lot which it has drawn in life. A fine contrast to man, who is always discontented. 2i6 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. When did the owl, descending from her bower. Crop, 'midst the fleecy flocks, the tender flower ; Or the young heifer plunge, with pliant limb. In the salt wave, and fish-like strive to swim ? The same with plants — potatoes 'tatoes breed — 50 Uncostly cabbage springs from cabbage seed ; Lettuce to lettuce, leeks to leeks succeed ; Xor e'er did cooling cucumbers presume To flower like myrtle, or like violets bloom. — Man only. — rash, refined, presumptuous man, 55 Starts from his rank, and mars creation's plan ! Born the free heir of nature's wide domain, To art's strict limits bounds his narrowed reign ; Resigns his native rights for meaner things, For Faith and Fetters— Laws, and Priests, and Kings. {To be continu We are sorrv to be obliged to break off here. The remainder of this admirable and instructive poem is in the press, and will be continued the first opportunity. The Editor. Ver. 49. Salt -ioaae— wave of the sea — — Poctee passim. I er. 50. A still stronger contrast, and a greater shame t:> man, is found in plants — they are contented — he ind changing. Mens agitat miAi, nee placidd con tenia c\ Ver. 50. Potatoes 'tatoes breed.— for the sake of verse, not meant to imply ■-• root deg -• -. Not so with man — Mga Progeniem vitiosiorem. POETRY OE THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 217 No. XVI. [Canning (C. F. M.). Hammond (/?.).] February 26, 1798. ' I ''HE specimen of the poem on the "Progress of Man," with which we favoured our readers in our last number, has occasioned a variety of letters which, we confess, have not a little surprised us, from the unfounded and even contradictory charges they contain. In one we are accused of malevolence, in bringing back to notice a work that had been quietly consigned to oblivion ; in another, of plagiarism, in copying its most beauti- ful passages ; in a third, of vanity, in striving to imitate what was in itself inimitable, &c. &c. But why this alarm ? has the author of the " Progress of Civil Society " an exclusive patent for fabricating didactic poems ? or can we not write against order and government, without incurring the guilt of imitation ? W'c trust we were not so ignorant of the nature of a didactic poem (so called from didaskein, to teach, and poema, a poem ; because it teaches nothing, and is not poetical) even before the " Progress of Civil Society " appeared but that we were capable of such an undertaking. We shall only say farther, that we do not intend to proceed regularly with our poem; but having the remaining thirty- nine cantos by us, shall content ourselves with giving, from time to time, such extracts as may happen to suit our purpose. The following passage, which, as the reader will see by turn- ing to the Contents prefixed to the head of the poem, is part of the first canto, contains so happy a deduction of man's present state of depravity from the first slips and failings of his original state, and inculcates so forcibly the mischievous consequences of 2i8 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. social or civilised as opposed to natural society, that no dread of imputed imitation can prevent us from giving it to our readers. PROGRESS OF MAN. Lo ! the rude savage, free from civil strife, Keeps the smooth tenour of his guiltless life ; Restrained by none, save Nature's lenient laws, Quaffs the clear stream, and feeds on hips and haws. Light to his daily sports behold him rise ; 65 The bloodless banquet health and strength supplies. Bloodless not long — one morn he haps to stray Through the lone wood — and close beside the way Sees the gaunt tiger tear his trembling prey ; Beneath whose gory fangs a leveret bleeds, 70 Or pig — such pig as fertile China breeds. Struck with the sight, the wondering savage stands, Rolls his broad eyes, and clasps his lifted hands ; Then restless roams — and loathes his wonted food ; Shuns the salubrious stream, and thirsts for blood. 75 By thought matured, and quickened by desire, New arts, new arms, his wayward wants require. From the tough yew a slender branch he tears, With self-taught skill the twisted grass prepares ; The unfashioned bow with labouring efforts bends So In circling form, and joins the unwilling ends. Next some tall reed he seeks — with sharp-edged stone Shapes the fell dart, and points with whitened bone. Ver. 61-66. Simple state of savage life — previous to the pastoral, or even the hunter-state. Ver. 66. First savages disciples of Pythagoras. Ver. 67, &c. Desire of animal food natural only to beasts, or to man in a state of civilised society. First suggested by the circumstance here related. Ver. 71. Pigs of the Chinese breed most in request. Ver. 76. First formation of a bow. Introduction to the science of archery. Ver. 79. Grass twisted, used for a string, owing to the want of other materials not yet invented. Ver. 83. Bone— fish's bone found on the sea-shore, sharks' teeth, &c. &c. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 219 Then forth he fares. Around in careless play, Ivids, pigs, and lambkins, unsuspecting stray. 85 With grim delight he views the sportive band, Intent on blood, and lifts his murderous hand: Twangs the bent bow — resounds the fateful dart, .Swift-winged, and trembles in a porker's heart. Ah ! hapless porker ! what can now avail 90 Thy back's stiff bristles, or thy curly tail ? Ah ! what avail those eyes so small and round, Long pendent ears, and snout that loves the ground ? Not unrevenged thou diest ! — In after times From thy spilt blood shall spring unnumbered crimes. 95 Soon shall the slaughterous arms that wrought thy woe. Improved by malice, deal a deadlier blow ; When social man shall pant for nobler game, And 'gainst his fellow-man the vengeful weapon aim. As love, as gold, as jealousy inspires, 100 As wrathful hate, or wild ambition fires, Urged by the statesman's craft, the tyrant's rage, Embattled nations endless wars shall wage, Vast seas of blood the ravaged field shall stain, And millions perish — that a King may reign ! 105 For blood once shed, new wants and wishes rise : Each rising want invention quick supplies. To roast his victuals is man's next desire, So two dry sticks he rubs, and lights a fire, Hail fire ! &c. &c. Ver. 90. All! what avails, &c. — See Pope's "Description of the Death of a Pheasant." Ver. 93. " With leaden eye that loves the ground." Ver. 94. The first effusion of blood attended with the most dreadful consequences to mankind. Ver. 97. Social man's wickedness opposed to the simplicity of savage life. Ver. 100 and 101. Different causes of war among men. Ver. 106. Invention of fire- -first employed in cookery, and produced by rubbing dry sticks together. 2 20 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. No. XVII. March 5, 1798. TX 7E are obliged to a learned correspondent for the following ^ ^ ingenious imitation of Bion. We will not shock the eyes of our fair readers with the original Greek, but the following argument will give them some idea of the nature of the poem here imitated. ARGUMENT. Venus is represented as bringing to the poet, while sleeping, her son Cupid, with a request that he would teach him pastoral poetry — Bion complies, and endeavours to teach him the rise and progress of that art : — Cupid laughs at his instructions, and in his turn teaches his master the loves of men and gods, the wiles of his mother, &c. — Pleased with his lessons, says Bion, I forgot what I lately taught Cupid, and recollect in its stead only what Cupid taught me. Imitation, &c. WRITTEN AT SAINT ANN'S HILL. [Ellis (£.). Gifford ( W. ). No doubt Gzfford.] Scarce had sleep my eyes o'erspread, Ere Alecto sought my bed ; In her left hand a torch she shook, And in her right led John Home Tooke. O thou ! who well deserv'st the bays. Teach him, she cried. Sedition's lays — She said, and left us ; I, poor fool, Began the wily priest to school ; Taught him how Moira sung of lights Blown out by troops o' stormy nights ; POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 221 How Erskine, borne on rapture's wings. At clubs and taverns sweetly sings Of self — while yawning Whigs attend — Self first, last, midst, and without end ! How Bedford piped, ill-fated bard ! Half drowned, in empty Palace-yard : How Lansdowne, nature's simple child, At Bowood trills his wood-notes wild — How these and more (a frenzied choir) Sweep with bold hand Confusion's lyre, Till madding crowds around them storm " For one grand radical reform ? " Tooke stood silent for a while, Listening with sarcastic smile ; Then in verse of calmest flow, Sung of treasons, deep and low ; Of rapine, prisons, scaffolds, blood, Of war against the great and good ; Of Venice, and of Genoa's doom, And fall of unoffending Rome ; Of monarchs from their station hurled, And one waste desolated world. Charmed by the magic of his tongue, I lost the strains I lately sung, While those he taught remain impressed For ever on my faithful breast. Dorus. Something like the same idea seems to have dictated the fol- lowing stanzas, which appear to be a loose imitation of the beautiful Dialogue of Horace and Lydia, and for which, though confessedly in a lower style of poetry, and conceived rather in the slang, or Brentford dialect, than in the classical Doric of the foregoing poem, we have many thanks to return to an ingenious academical correspondent. POETRY OF THE A NT I -JACOBIN. THE NEW COALITION. {Author unknown. Gifford?~\ I. F. When erst I coalesced with North, And brought my Indian bantling forth, In place — I smiled at faction's storm, Nor dreamt of radical reform. ii. T. While yet no patriot project pushing, Content I thumped old Brentford's cushion ; I pass'd my life so free and gaily, Not dreaming of that d d Old Bailey. in. F. Well ! now my favourite preacher's Nickle, He keeps for Pitt a rod in pickle ; His gestures fright the astonished gazers, His sarcasms cut like Packwood's razors. IV. T. Thelwall's my man for state alarm ; I love the rebels of Chalk Farm ;— Rogues that no statutes can subdue, Who'd bring the French, and head them too. v. F. A whisper in your ear, John Home, For one great end we both were born ; Alike we roar, and rant, and bellow — Give us your hand, my honest fellow ! VI. T. Charles, for a shuffler long I've known thee : But come, for once I'll not disown thee ; And since with patriot zeal thou burnest, With thee I'll live — or hang in earnest. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. No. XVIII. {Canning {C). EMs\m\\ March 12, 1798. TI 7E are indebted for the following exquisite imitation of one * * of the most beautiful odes of Horace to an unknown hand. All that we can say is that it came to us in a blank cover, sealed with a ducal coronet, and that it appears evidently to be the production of a mind not more classical than convivial.* ODE. Whither, O Bacchus, in thy train, 1 Dost thou transport thy votary's brain With sudden inspiration? Where dost thou bid me quaff my wine, And toast new measures to combine The Great and Little Nation ? Say, in what tavern I shall raise 2 My nightly voice in Charley's praise, And dream of future glories, 1 HOR. LIB. III. CARM. 25. DITHVKAMBUS. Quo me, Racche, rapis, tui Plenum? quoe in nemora, aut quos agor in speeus, Velox mente nova? '-' Quibus Antris egregii Ccesaris addiar Eternum meditans decus Stellis inserere, et consilio Jovis? [* At a banquet given on Fox's birthday at the Crown and Anchor, Jan. 24, T798, the Duke of Norfolk proposed as a toast, " Our Sovereign's health. The Maj of the People.' ] 224 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. When Fox, with salutary sway, (Terror the order of the day) Shall reign o'er King and Tories ? My mighty feelings must have way ! x A toast I'll give — a thing I'll say, As yet unsaid by any, — "0//r Sovereign Lord /" let those who doubt My honest meaning, hear me out — " His Majesty— the Many!" Plain folks may be surprised, and stare 2 As much surprised as Bob Adair At Russia's wooden houses ; And Russian snows, that lie so thick ; :; And Russian boors * that daily kick With barbarous foot, their spouses. What joy, when drunk, at midnight's hour, 4 To stroll through Covent- Garden's bower, Its various charms exploring ; And, midst its shrubs and vacant stalls. And proud Piazza's crumbling walls, Hear trulls and watchmen snoring ! 1 Dicam insigne, recens, adhuc Indictum ore alio, 2 Non secus in jugis Exsomnis stupet Evias, Hebrum prospiciens, 3 et nive candidam Thracen, ac pede barbaro Lustratam Khodopen. 4 Ut mihi devio Ripas, et vacuum nemus Mirari libet ! * There appears to have been some little mistake in the translator here. Rho- dope is not, as he seems to imagine, the name of a woman, but of a mountain, and not in Russia. Possibly, however, the translator may have been misled by the inaccuracy of the traveller here alluded to. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN^ 225 Farent of wine, and gin, and beer, 1 The nymph of Billingsgate you cheer ; Naiads robust and hearty ; As Brooks's chairmen fit to wield Their stout oak bludgeons in the field, To aid our virtuous party. Mortals ! no common voice you hear ! - Militia colonel, premier peer, Lieutenant of a county ! I speak high things ! yet, god of wine, For thee, I fear not to resign These gifts of royal bounty. 1 O Naiadum potens Baccharumque valentium Proceras manibus vertere fraxinos. 2 Nil parvum, aut humili modo, Nil mortale loquar. Dulce periculum est O Linaee sequi deum Cingentem viridi tempora pampino. 2-6 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. No. XIX. March 19, 179S. T7OR the authenticity of the inclosed ballad, we refer our readers to a volume of MS. poems discovered upon the removal of some papers, during • the late alterations which have taken place at the Tax Office, in consequence of the reports of the Finance Committee. It has been communicated to our printer by an ingenious friend of his, who occasionally acts for the deputy collector of the parish of St. Martin in the Fields ; but without date, or any other mark, by which we arc enabled to guess at the particular subject of the composition. CHEVY CHASE. [Sir Archibald Macdonald, Lord Chief Baron, (C.B. M.).] God prosper long our noble king, Our lives and safeties all : A woful story late there did In Britain's Isle befall. Duke Smithson, 1 of Northumberland, A vow to God did make ; The choicest gifts in fair England, For him and his to take. " Stand fast, my merry men all," he cried, " By Moira's Earl and me, And we will gain place, wealth, and power, As armed neutrality. I 1 The only child of Percy, Duke of Northumberland, who died in 1750, was a daughter who had married Sir Hugh Smithson. Sir Hugh took the name of Percy, and was created Duke of Northumberland in 1767. This ballad is of his eldest son, Duke Smithson the Second.] POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 227 " Excise and customs, church and law, I've begged from Master Rose ; The garter too — but still the blues I'll have, or I'll oppose." " Now God be with him," quoth the king, " Sith 'twill no better be ; I trust we have within our realm Five hundred "ood as he." s v The Duke then joined with Charley Fox, A leader ware and tried, And Erskine, Sheridan, and Grey Fought stoutly by his side. Throughout our English parliament, They dealt full many a wound ; But in his king's and country's cause, Pitt firmly stood his ground. And soon a law, like arrow keen, Or spear, or curtal-axe, Struck poor Duke Smithson to the heart, In shape of powder tax. Sore leaning on his crutch, he cried, " Crop, crop, my merry men all ; No guinea for your heads I'll pay, Though Church and State should fall/' Again the taxing-man appeared — No deadlier foe could be ; A schedule of a cloth-yard long, Within his hand bore he. " Yield thee, Duke Smithson, and behold The assessment thou must pay ; Dogs, horses, houses, coaches, clocks, And servants in array." 228 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. " Nay," quoth the Duke, " in thy black scroll Deductions I espy — For those who, poor, and mean, and low, With children burthened lie. " And though full sixty thousand pounds My vassals pay to me, From Cornwall to Northumberland, Through many a fair countee ; " Yet England's Church, its king, its laws, Its cause I value not, Compared with this, my constant text, A penny saved is got. "No drop of princely Percy's blood Through these cold veins doth run ; With Hotspur's castles, blazon, name, I still am poor Smithson. " Let England's youth unite in arms, And every liberal hand With honest zeal subscribe their mite, To save their native land : " I at St. Martin's Vestry Board, To swear shall be content, That I have children eight, and claim Deductions ten per cent." God bless us all from factious foes, And French fraternal kiss ; And grant the king may never make Another duke like this. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 229 No. XX. ODE TO JACOBINISM. [Author unknown. Ellis ?] March 26, 1798. I. "pv AUGHTER of Hell, insatiate power ! "^^^ Destroyer of the human race, Whose iron scourge and maddening hour Exalt the bad, the good debase ; Thy mystic force, despotic sway, Courage and innocence dismay, And patriot monarchs vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone ! 11. When first to scourge the sons of earth, Thy sire his darling child designed, Gallia received the monstrous birth — Voltaire informed thy infant mind : Well-chosen nurse ! his sophist lore He bade thee many a year explore ! He marked thy progress, firm though slow, And statesmen, princes, leagued with their inveterate foe. III. Scared at thy frown terrific, fly The morals (antiquated brood) Domestic virtue, social joy, And faith that has for ages stood ; POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Swift they disperse, and with them go The friend sincere, the generous foe — Traitors to God and man avowed, By thee now raised aloft now crushed beneath the crowd. IV. Revenge, in blood-stained robe arrayed, Immersed in gloomy joy profound ; Ingratitude, by guilt dismayed, With anxious eye wild glancing round, Still on thy frantic steps attend : With Death, thy victim's only friend, Injustice, to the truth severe, And anguish, dropping still the life-consuming tear. Oh ! swiftly on my country's head, Destroyer, lay thy ruthless hand ; Not yet in Gallic terrors clad, Nor circled by the Marseilles band, (As by the initiate thou art seen) With thundering cannon, guillotine, With screaming horror's funeral cry, Fire, rapine, sword, and chains, and ghastly poverty. IV. Thy sophist veil, dread goddess, wear, Falsehood insidiously impart ; Thy philosophic train be there, To taint the mind, corrupt the heart ; The generous virtues of our isle Teach us to hate and to revile ; Our glorious charter's faults to scan, Time-sanctioned truths despise, and preach the Rights of Man. An English Jacocix. POETRY OF THE AXTI-JACOBIN. 231 No. XXI. [ Canning and Frere (C). Fib's (/?.)• Argument and Poem, Canning: Freris notes. Ellis (M.),] April 2, 179S. TI7E premised in our sixteenth number that though we should not proceed regularly with the publication of the didactic poem, the " Progress of Man " — a work which, indeed, both from its bulk and the erudite nature of the subject, would hardly suit with the purposes of a weekly paper — we should, nevertheless, give from time to time such extracts from it as we thought were likely to be useful to our readers, and as were in any degree con- nected with the topics or events of the times. The following extract is from the twenty-third canto of this admirable and instructive poem, in which the author (whom, by a series of accidents, which we have neither the space nor indeed the liberty to enumerate at present, we have discovered to be Mr. Higgins, of St. Mary-Axe) describes the vicious refinement of what is called Civilised Society in respect to marriage ; contends with infinite spirit and philosophy against the factitious sacred- ness and indissolubility of that institution, and paints in glowing colours the happiness and utility (in a moral as well as political view) of an arrangement of an opposite sort, such as prevails in countries which are yet under the influence of pure and unsophisticated nature. In illustration of his principles upon this subject, the author alludes to a popular production of the German drama, the title of which is the " Reformed Housekeeper," which he expresses a ho] >e of seeing transfused into the language of this country. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. THE PROGRESS OF MAN. CANTO TWENTY-THIRD. ON MARRIAGE. CONTENTS. Marriage being indissoluble, the cause of its being so often unhappy. — Nature's Laws not consulted in this point. — Civilised Nations mistaken. — Otaheite — Happi- ness of the Natives thereof — Visited by Captain Cook, in his Majesty's ship Endeavour — Character of Captain Cook. — Address to Circumnavigation. — Description of his Majesty's ship Endeavour— Mast, Rigging, Sea-sickness, Prow, Poop, Mess-room, Surgeon's Mate — History of one. — Episode concern- ing Naval Chirurgery. — Catching a Thunny Fish. — Arrival at Otaheite — Cast Anchor — Land — Natives astonished. — Love — Liberty — Moral — Natural — Religious — Contrasted with European Manners— Strictness — Licence — Doctors' Commons — Dissolubility of Marriage recommended — Illustrated by a Game at Cards — Whist— Cribbage — Partners changed — Why not the same in Marriage? — Illustrated by a River. — Love free. — Priests, Kings. — German Drama — ■ Kotzebue's " Housekeeper Reformed." — Moral Employments of Housekeeping described. — Hottentots sit and stare at each other — Query, why? — Address to the Hottentots. — History of the Cape of Good Hope. — Rt'sumtf of the Argu- ments against Marriage.— Conclusion. EXTRACT. Hail ! beauteous lands, 1 that crown the Southern Seas ; Dear happy seats of liberty and ease ! Hail ! whose green coasts the peaceful ocean laves, Incessant washing with his watery waves ! Delicious islands ! to whose envied shore Thee, gallant Cook ! the ship Endeavour 2 bore. There laughs the sky, there zephyr's frolic train, And light-winged loves, and blameless pleasures reign : There, when two souls congenial ties unite, No hireling Bonzes chant the mystic rite : 1 The ceremony of invocation (in didactic poems especially) is in some measure analogous to the custom of drinking toasts : the corporeal representatives of which are always supposed to be absent, and unconscious of the irrigation bestowed upon their names. Hence it is, that our author addresses himself to the natives of an island who are not likely to hear, and who, if they did, would not understand him. 2 His Majesty's ship Endeavour. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 233 Free every thought, each action unconfined, And light those fetters which no rivets bind. There in each grove, each sloping bank along, And flowers and shrubs, and odorous herbs among. Each shepherd 1 clasped, with undisguised delight. His yielding fair one — in the captain's sight ; Each yielding fair, as chance or fancy led, Preferred new lovers to her sylvan bed. Learn hence, each nymph, whose free aspiring mind Europe's cold laws,' 2 and colder customs 3 bind — O ! learn, what Nature's genial laws decree — What Otaheite 4 is, let Britain be ! Of whist or cribbage mark the amusing game — The partners changing, but the sport the same ; Else would the gamester's anxious ardour cool, Dull every deal, and stagnant every pool. — Yet must one 5 man, with one unceasing wife, Play the long rubber of connubial life. 1 In justice to our author we must observe that there is a delicacy in this picture which the words in their common acceptation do not convey. The amours of an Fnglish shepherd would probably be preparatory to marriage (which is contrary to our author's principles), or they might disgust us by the vulgarity of their object. But in Otaheite, where the place of shepherd is a perfect sinecure (there being no sheep on the island), the mind of the reader is not offended by any disagreeable allusion. 2 Laws made by parliaments or kings. 3 Customs voted or imposed by ditto, not the customs here alluded to. 4 M. Bailly and other astronomers have observed, that in consequence of the varying obliquity of the ecliptic, the climates of the circumpolar and tropical climates may, in process of time, be materially changed. Perhaps it is not very likely that even by these means Britain may ever become a small island in the South Seas. But this is not the meaning of the verse ; the similarity here proposed relates to manners, not to local situation. D The word one here means all the inhabitants of Europe (excepting the French, who have remedied this inconvenience), not any particular individual. The author begs leave to disclaim every allusion that can be construed as personal. 2 3 4 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Yes ! human laws, and laws esteemed divine, The generous passion straiten and confine ; And, as a stream, when art constrains its course, Pours its fierce torrent with augmented force, So Passion, 1 narrowed to one channel small, Unlike the former, does not flow at all. — For Love then only flaps his purple wings, When uncontrolled by priestcraft, or by kings. Such the strict rules, that in these barbarous climes, Choke youth's fair flowers, and feelings turn to crimes ; And people every walk of polished life 2 With that two-headed monster, Man and Wife ! Yet bright examples sometimes we observe, Which from the general practice seem to swerve ; Such as, presented to Germania's 3 view, A Kotzebue's bold emphatic pencil drew ; Such as, translated in some future age, Shall add new glories to the British stage ; — While the moved audience sit in dumb despair, " Like Hottentots, 4 and at each other stare." With look sedate, and staid beyond her years, In matron weeds, a housekeeper appears. The jingling keys her comely girdle deck — Her kerchief coloured, and her apron check. Can that be Adelaide, that " soul of whim," Reformed in practice, and in manner prim ? 1 As a stream — simile of dissimilitude, a mode of illustration familiar to the ancients. 2 Walks of polished life ; see " Kensington Gardens," a poem. 3 Germania — Germany ; a country in Europe, peopled by the Germani ; alluded to in "Caesar's Commentaries," page i, vol. 2, edit. prin. — See also several didactic poems. 4 A beautiful figure of German literature. The Hottentots remarkable for staring at each other — God knows why. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 235 — On household cares intent, 1 with many a sigh She turns the pancake, and she moulds the pie; Melts into sauces rich the savoury ham ; From the crushed berry strains the lucid jam; Bids brandied cherries,- by infusion slow, Imbibe new flavour, and their own forego, Sole cordial of her heart, sole solace of her woe ! While still, responsive to each mournful moan. The saucepan simmers in a softer tone. 1 This delightful and instructive picture of domestic life is recommended to all keepers of boarding schools, and other seminaries of the same nature. - It is a singular quality of brandied cherries, that they exchange their flavour for that of the liquor in which they are immersed.— See Knight's " Progress of Civil Society." 23 6 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. S No. XXII. TO THE EDITOR OF THE " ANTI-JACOBIN." [Nares (IV.).] April 9, 1798. IR, I saw with strong approbation your specimen of ancient Sapphic measure in English, which I think far surpasses all that Abraham Fraunce, Richard Stanihurst, or Sir Philip Sidney himself, have produced in that style— I mean, of course, your sublime and beautiful " Knife-grinder," of which it is not too high an encomium to say, that it even rivals the efforts of the fine- eared dramatic poet, Mr. Southey. But you seem not to be aware that we have a genuine Sapphic measure belonging to our own language, of which I now send you a short specimen. THE JACOBIN. I am a hearty Jacobin, Who own no God, and dread no sin, Ready to dash through thick and thin For freedom : And when the teachers of Chalk Farm Gave ministers so much alarm, And preached that kings did only harm, I fee'd 'em. By Bedford's cut I've trimmed my locks, And coal-black is my knowledge-box, Callous to all, except hard knocks Of thumpers : POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 237 My eye a noble fierceness boasts, My voice as hollow as a ghost's, My throat oft washed by factious toasts In bumpers. Whatever is in France, is right ; Terror and blood are my delight ; Parties with us do not excite Enough rage. Our boasted laws I hate and curse, Bad from the first, by age grown worse, I pant and sigh for univers- 1 al suffrage. Wakefield I love — adore Home Tooke, With pride on Jones and Thelwall look, And hope that they by hook or crook Will prosper. But they deserve the worst of ills, And all the abuse of all our quills, Who formed of strong and gagging bills A cross pair. Extinct since then each speaker's fire, And silent every daring lyre, 2 Dumfounded they whom I would hire To lecture. Tied up, alas ! is every tongue On which conviction nightly hung, 3 And Thelwall looks, though yet but young, A spectre. B. O. B. 1 This division of the word is in the true spirit of the English as well as the ancient Sapphic. — See the "Counter-scuffle," "Counter-rat," and other poems in this style. 2 There is a doubt whether this word should not have been written liar. 3 These words, of conviction and hanging, have so ominous a sound, it is rather odd they were chosen. 238 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. [Erasmus Darwin was a physician at Lichfield, who corresponded with Rousseau, was in high professional repute, eccentric, and benevolent. If there was no more wisdom in him than Miss Seward saw and put on record in her life of him, he was not over-wise. He wrote verse when visiting his patients, in a carriage of his own invention which must greatly have surprised his horse. He turned eight acres of ground near Lichfield into a botanical garden in 1778, and wrote a poem, the "Botanic Garden," of which the second section, " The Loves of the Plants," was first published in 1789, the first section, "The Economy of Vege- tation," in 1792. The poem was very much believed in until it was burlesqued in the Anti-Jacobi)i. It proposed to show — " What Beaux and Beauties crowd the gaudy groves. And woo and win their vegetable loves." To " vegetable loves " Darwin appended the note that " Linnaeus, the celebrated Swedish naturalist, has demonstrated that all flowers contain families of males or females, or both ; and on their marriages has constructed his invaluable system of botany." This was the kind of stuff Erasmus Darwin produced as a poet : — " Sweet blooms Genista in the myrtle shade, And ten fond brothers woo the haughty maid. Two knights before thy fragrant altar bend, Adored Melissa / and two squires attend. Meadia's soft chains five suppliant beaux confess, And hand in hand the laughing belle address ; Alike to all she bows with wanton air, Rolls her dark eye, and waves her golden hair. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. zyj Woo'd with long care, Curcitmu, cold and shy, Meets her fond husband with averted eye : Four beardless youths the obdurate beauty move With soft attention of Platonic love. With vain desires the pensive Alcea burns, And, like sad Eloisa, loves and mourns. The freckled Iris owns a fiercer flame, And three unjealous husbands wed the dame. Cupressus dark disdains his dusky bride, One dome contains them, but two beds divide. The proud Osyris flies his angry fair, Two houses hold the fashionable pair. With strange deformity Plantago treads, A monster birth ! and lifts his hundred heads ; Yet with soft love a gentle belle he charms. And clasps the beauty in his hundred arms. So hapless Desdemona, fair and young, Won by Othello's captivating tongue, Sighed o'er each strange and piteous tale, distressed, And sank enamoured on his sooty breast." These eight-and-twenty lines of text Erasmus Darwin accom- panied with more than one hundred and sixty prose lines of annotation ; and he perpetrated this absurdity at the mature age of fifty-eight. Southey was a youth of two-and-twenty when he expressed His sense of the desolation that war brought into the homes of wives and children, whose husbands and fathers had been taken from them to be food for powder, in those verses which suggested, happily for us, the "Needy Knifegrinder." Ridicule hurts nothing that is true. Southey's theme was serious, his feeling real, and it will be seen that there is no attack upon the rich in the passing carriage and horseman ; only the suggestion that help was near, but the loud wind drowned the dying woman's voice, as in the tumult of political storm the weak voices of such sufferers are often swept unheard upon the winds : — 2 4 o POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. THE WIDOW. Cold was the night wind, drifting fast the snow fell, Wide were the downs and shelterless and naked, When a poor wanderer struggled on her journey, Weary and way-sore. Dreary were the downs, more dreary her reflections • Cold was the night-wind, colder was her bosom : She had no home, the world was all before her, She had no shelter. Fast o'er the heath a chariot rattled by her, " Pity me ! " feebly cried the lonely wanderer. " Pity me, strangers ! lest with cold and hunger Here I should perish. " Once I had friends, but they have all forsook me ! Once I had parents — they are now in heaven ! I had a home once — I had once a husband — Pity me, strangers ! " I had a home once — I had once a husband — I am a widow poor and broken-hearted ! " Loud blew the wind, unheard was her complaining, On drove the chariot. Then on the snow she laid her down to rest her ; She heard a horseman — " Pity me ! " she groaned out Loud was the wind, unheard was her complaining, On went the horseman. Worn out with anguish, toil and cold and hunger, Down sunk the wanderer, sleep had seized her senses, There did the traveller find her in the morning ; God had released her. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 241 And these were the " Dactylics," written by Southey at two-and- twenty, ridiculed more roughly by Gifford with the lines ending, " God help thee, silly one ! " THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. "Weary way-wanderer, languid and sick at heart, Travelling painfully over the rugged road, Wild-visaged wanderer ! ah, for thy heavy chance ! Sorely thy little one drags by thee bare-footed, Cold is the baby that hangs at thy bending back, Meagre and livid and screaming its wretchedness. Woe-begone mother, half anger, half agony, As over thy shoulder thou lookest to hush the babe, Bleakly the blinding snow beats in thy haggard face. Thy husband will never return from the war again, Cold is thy hopeless heart, even as Charity ! — Cold are thy famished babes ! God help thee, widowed one ! As to the measure of those lines, it is also to be remembered that if the principles of Latin quantity be applied to an English use of Latin measures, not only Southey's, but all such pieces, are metrically ridiculous. The shaping of the movement of the verse is by a conventional use of accent in the place of quantity. The mature Darwin as a poet was himself absurd ; the young Southey was not.] Q 242 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. No. XXIII. [Frere (C). Canning [B.). Introduction, Canning: Poem, Frere [M.)i] April 1 6, 1798. \\ 7E cannot better explain to our readers the design of the * * poem from which the following extracts are taken than by borrowing the expressions of the author, Mr. Higgins, of St. Mary Axe, in the letter which accompanied the manuscript. We must premise that we had found ourselves called upon to remonstrate with Mr. H. on the freedom of some of the positions laid down in his other didactic poem, the " Progress of Man;" and had, in the course of our remonstrance, hinted something to the disadvantage of the new principles which are now afloat in the world ; and which are, in our opinion, working to much prejudice to the happiness of mankind. To this Mr. H. takes occasion to reply — "What you call the new principles are, in fact, nothing less than new. They are the principles of primeval nature, the system of original and unadulterated man. " If you mean by my addiction to new principles that the object which I have in view in my larger work (meaning the " Progress of Man " ), and in the several other concomitant and subsidiary didac- tic poems which are necessary to complete my plan, is to restore this first and pure simplicity ; to rescue and recover the interest- ing nakedness of human nature, by ridding her of the cumbrous establishments which the folly, and pride, and self-interest of the worst part of our species have heaped upon her — you are right. Such is my object. I do not disavow it. Nor is it mine alone. There are abundance of abler hands at work upon it. Encyclo- pedias, treatises, novels, magazines, reviews, and new annual POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 243 registers, have, as you are well aware, done their part with activity, and with effect. It remained to bring the heavy artillery of a didactic poem to bear upon the same object. " If I have selected your paper as the channel for conveying my labours to the public, it was not because I was unaware of the hostility of your principles to mine, of the bigotry of your attachment to ' things as they are ; ' but because, I will fairly own, I found some sort of cover and disguise necessary for securing the favourable reception of my sentiments ; the usual pretexts of humanity and philanthropy and fine feeling, by which we have for some time obtained a passport to the hearts and understandings of men, being now worn out or exploded. I could not choose but smile at my success in the first instance in inducing you to adopt my poem as your own. "But you have called for an explanation of these principles of ours, and you have a right to obtain it. Our first principle is, then — the reverse of the trite and dull maxim of Pope — 'Whatever is, is right.' We contend, that ' Whatever is, is wrong:' that institutions, civil and religious, that social order (as it is called in your cant) and regular government and law, and I know not what other fantastic inventions, are but so many cramps and fetters on the free agency of man's natural intellect and moral sensibility ; so many badges of his degradation from the primal purity and excellence of his nature. " Our second principle is the ' eternal and absolute perfecti- bility of man.' We contend that if, as is demonstrable, we have risen from a level with the cabbages of the field to our present comparatively intelligent and dignified state of existence by the mere exertion of our own energies, we should if these energies were not repressed and subdued by the operation of prejudice and folly, by kingcraft and priestcraft, and the other evils inci- dent to what is called Civilised Society, continue to exert and expand ourselves in a proportion infinitely greater than anything of which we yet have any notion — in a ratio hardly capable of being calculated by any science of which we are now masters ; but which would in time raise man from his present biped state 244 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. to a rank more worthy of his endowments and aspirations ; to a rank in which he would be, as it were, all mind ; would enjoy unclouded perspicacity, and perpetual vitality ; feed on oxygen, and never die but by his own consent. " But though the poem of the " Progress of Man " alone would be sufficient to teach this system and enforce these doctrines, the whole practical effect of them cannot be expected to be produced but by the gradual perfecting of each of the sublimer sciences — at the husk and shell of which we are now nibbling, and at the kernel whereof, in our present state, we cannot hope to arrive. These several sciences will be the sub- jects of the several auxiliary didactic poems which I have now in hand (one of which, entitled the " Loves of the Triangles," I herewith transmit to you), and for the better arrangement and execution of which I beseech you to direct your bookseller to furnish me with a handsome Chambers's Dictionary ; in order that I may be enabled to go through the several articles alpha- betically, beginning with Abracadabra, under the first letter, and going down to Zodiac, which is to be found under the last. " I am persuaded that there is no science, however abstruse, nay, no trade nor manufacture, which may not be taught by a didactic poem. In that before you, an attempt is made (not un- successfully I hope) to enlist the imagination under the banners of geometry : botany I found done to my hands. And though the more rigid and unbending stiffness of a mathematical sub- ject does not admit of the same appeals to the warmer passions, which naturally arise out of the sexual (or, as I have heard several worthy gentlewomen of my acquaintance, who delight much in the poem to which I allude, term it, by a slight mis- nomer no way difficult to be accounted for — the sensual) system of Linnaeus ; — yet I trust that the range and variety of illustra- tion with which I have endeavoured to ornament and enlighten the arid truths of Euclid and algebra, will be found to have smoothed the road of demonstration, to have softened the rugged features of elementary propositions, and, as it were, to have strewed the Asses' Bridge with flowers." POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 245 Such is the account which Mr. Higgins gives of his own undertaking, and of the motives which have led him to it. For our parts, though we have not the same sanguine persuasion of the absolute perfectibility of our species, and are in truth liable to the imputation of being more satisfied with things as they are than Mr. Higgins and his associates, yet as we are in at least the same proportion less convinced of the practical influence of didactic poems, we apprehend little danger to our readers' morals from laying before them Mr. Higgins's doctrine in its most fascinating shape. The poem abounds, indeed, with beau- ties of the most striking kind — various and vivid imagery, bold and unsparing impersonifications ; and similitudes and illustra- tions brought from the most ordinary and the most extraordinary occurrences of nature — from history and fable — appealing equally to the heart and to the understanding, and calculated to make the subject of which the poem professes to treat rather amusing than intelligible. We shall be agreeably surprised to hear that it has assisted any young student, at either university, in his mathematical studies. We need hardly add that the plates illustrative of this poem (the engravings of which would have been too expensive for our publication) are to be found in Euclid's Elements, and other books of a similar tendency. LOVES OF THE TRIANGLES. A MATHEMATICAL AND PHILOSOPHICAL POEM. INSCRIBED TO DR. DARWIN. ARGUMENT OF THE FIRST CANTO. Warning to the Profane not to approach— Nymphs and Deities of Mathematical Mythology — Cyclois of a pensive turn— Pendulums, on the contrary, playful — and why ?— Sentimental union of the Naiads and Hydrostatics— Marriage of Euclid and Algebra. — Pulley the emblem of Mechanics— Optics of a licentious disposition— distinguished by her Telescope and Green Spectacles.— Hyde Park Gate on a Sunday morning — Cockneys — Coaches. — Didactic poetrv — Nonsensia— Love delights in Angles or Corners— Theory of Fluxions explained — Trochais, the Nymph of the Wheel— Smoke-Jack described— Personification 246 ~" POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. of elementary or culinary Fire. — Little Jack Horner— Story of Cinderella- Rectangle, a Magician, educated by Plato and Menecmus— in love with Three Curves at the same time — served by Gins, or Genii — transforms himself into a Cone — The Three Curves requite his passion — Description of them — Parabola, Hyperbola, and Ellipsis — Asymptotes — Conjugated Axes — Illustrations — Rew- bell, Barras, and Lepaux, the Three Virtuous Directors — Macbeth and the Three Witches — The Three Fates— The Three Graces— King Lear and his Three Daughters — Derby Diligence — Catherine Wheel. — Catastrophe of Mr. Gingham, with his Wife and Three Daughters overturned in a One-Horse Chaise — Dislocation and Contusion two kindred Fiends — Mail Coaches — Exhortation to drivers to be careful — Genius of the Post Office — Invention of Letters — Digamma — Double Letters — remarkable Direction of one — Hippona, the Goddess of Hack-horses — Parameter and Abscissa unite to overpower the Ordinate, who retreats down the Axis Major, and forms himself in a Square — Isosceles, a Giant — Dr. Rhomboides — Fifth Proposition, or Asses' Bridge — Bridge of Lodi — Buonaparte — Raft and Windmills — Exhortation to the re- covery of our Freedom — Conclusion. CANTO I. Stay your rude steps, or e'er your feet invade The Muses' haunts, ye sons of war and trade ! Nor you, ye legion fiends of Church and law, Pollute these pages with unhallowed paw ! Debased, corrupted, grovelling, and confined, 5 No Definitions touch your senseless mind ; To you no Postulates prefer their claim, No ardent Axioms your dull souls inflame ; For you no Tangents touch, no Angles meet No Circles join in osculation sweet ! 10 Ver. 1-4. Imitated from the introductory couplet to the " Economy of Vege- tation " : — " Stay your rude steps, whose throbbing breasts enfold The legion fiends of glory and of gold." This sentiment is here expanded into four lines. Ver. 6. Definition. — A distinct notion explaining the genesis of a thing. — 1 1 'olfius. Ver. 7. Postulate. — A self-evident proposition. Ver. 8. Axiom. — An indemonstrable truth. Ver. 9. Tangents. — So called from touching, because they touch circles and ' never cut them. Ver. 10. Circles. — See Chambers's Dictionary, Art. "Circle." Ditto, Osculation. — For the osculation, or kissing of circles and other curves, see Huygens, who has veiled this delicate and inflammatory subject in the decent obscurity of a learned language. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 247 For me, ye Cissoicis, round my temples bend Your wandering curves ; ye Conchoids extend ; Let playful Pendules quick vibration feel, While silent Cyclois rests upon her wheel ; Let Hydrostatics, simpering as they go, 15 Lead the light naiads on fantastic toe ; Let shrill Acoustics tune the tiny lyre ; With Euclid sage fair Algebra conspire ; The obedient pulley strong Mechanics ply, And wanton Optics roll the melting eye ! 20 I see the fair fantastic forms appear, The flaunting drapery and the languid leer ; Fair sylphish forms — who, tall, erect, and slim, Dart the keen glance, and stretch the length of limb ; To viewless harpings weave the meanless dance, 25 Wave the gay wreath, and titter as they prance. Such rich confusion charms the ravished sight, When vernal Sabbaths to the Park invite. Ver, 11. Cissois. — A curve supposed to resemble the sprig of ivy from which it has its name, and therefore peculiarly adapted to poetry. Ver. 12. Conchois, or Con thy I is. — A most beautiful and picturesque curve ; it bears a fanciful resemblance to a conch shell. The conchois is capable of infinite extension, and presents a striking analogy between the animal and mathematical creation. Every individual of this species containing within itself a series of young conchoids for several generations, in the same manner as the aphides and other insect tribes are observed to do. Ver. 15. Hydrostatics. — -Water has been supposed by several of our philosophers to be capable of the passion of love. Some later experiments appear to favour this idea. Water, when pressed by a moderate degree of heat, has been observed to simper, or simmer, as it is more usually called. The same does not hold true of any other element. Ver. 17. Acoustics. — The doctrine or theory of sound. Ver. 18. Euclid and Algebra. — The loves and nuptials of these two interesting personages, forming a considerable episode in the third canto, are purposely omitted here. Ver. 19. Pzdley. — So called from our Saxon word to pull, signifying to pull or draw. Ver. 23. Fair sylphish forms. — Vide modern prints of nymphs and shepherds dancing to notTiing at all. / r er. 27. Such rich confusion. — Imitated from the following genteel and sprightly lines in the first canto of the " Loves of the Plants " — So bright its folding canopy withdrawn, Glides the gilt landau o'er the velvet lawn, Of beaux and belles displays the glittering throng, And soft airs fan them as they glide along. 24 8 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Mounts the thick dust, the coaches crowd along, Presses round Grosvenor Gate the impatient throng; 30 White-muslined misses and mammas are seen, Linked with gay cockneys, glittering o'er the green : The rising breeze unnumbered charms displays, And the tight ankle strikes the astonished gaze. But chief, thou nurse of the didactic Muse, 35 Divine Nonsensia, all thy sense infuse ; The charms of secants and of tangents tell, How loves and graces in an angle dwell ; How slow progressive points protract the line, As pendant spiders spin the filmy twine ; 40 Ver. 38. Angle. — Gratus puellag risus ab Angulo. — Hor. Ver. 39. How slow progressive points. — The author has reserved the picturesque imagery which the "Theory of Fluxions" naturally suggested for his Algebraic Garden ; where the fluents are described as rolling with an even current between a margin of curves of the higher order, over a pebbly channel, inlaid with differ- ential calculi. In the following six lines he has confined himself to a strict explanation of the theory, according to which lines are supposed to be generated by the motion of points ; planes by the lateral motion of lines ; and solids from planes, by a similar process. Qucere. — Whether a practical application of this theory would not enable us to account for the Genesis, or original formation of space itself, in the same manner in which Dr. Darwin has traced the whole of the organised creation to his six filaments — vide Zoonomia. We may conceive the whole of our present universe to have been originally concentered in a single point. We may conceive this primeval point, or punctutn saliens of the universe, evolving itself by its own energies, to have moved forward in a right line, ad infinitum, till it grew tired ; after which, the right line which it had generated would begin to put itself in motion in a lateral direction, describing an area of infinite extent. This area, as soon as it became conscious of its own existence, would begin to ascend or descend, according as its specific gravity might determine it, forming an immense solid space filled with vacuum, and capable of containing the present existing universe. Space being thus obtained, and presenting a suitable Nidus, or receptacle for the generation of Chaotic Matter, an immense deposit of it would gradually be accu- mulated ; after which, the Filament of Fire being produced in the Chaotic Mass, by an Idiosyncracy, or self-formed habit analogous to fermentation, Explosion would take place ; suns would be shot from the central chaos ; planets from suns, and satellites from planets. In this state of things, the Filament of Organisation would begin to exert itself in those independent masses which, in proportion to their POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 249 How lengthened lines, impetuous sweeping round, Spread the wide plane, and mark its circling bound ; How planes, their substance with their motion grown, Form the huge cube, the cylinder, the cone. Lo ! where the chimney's sooty tube ascends, 45 The fair Trochais from the corner bends ! Her coal-black eyes upturned incessant mark The eddying smoke, quick flame, and volant spark ; Mark with quick ken, where flashing in between, 'Her much loved smoke-jack glimmers through the scene ; 50 'Mark, how his various parts together tend, Point to one purpose, — in one object end : The spiral grooves in smooth meanders flow, Drags the long chain, the polished axles glow, While slowly circumvolves the piece of beef below : 55 The conscious fire with bickering radiance burns, Eyes the rich joint, and roasts it as it turns. bulk, exposed the greatest surface to the action of light and heat. This Filament, after an infinite series of ages, would begin to ramify, and its viviparous offspring would diversify their forms and habits, so as to accommodate themselves to the various incunabula which Nature had prepared for them. Upon this view of things, it seems highly probable that the first effort of Nature terminated in the production of Vegetables, and that these being abandoned' to their own energies, by degrees detached themselves from the surface of the earth, and supplied them- selves with wings or feet, according as their different propensities determined them, in favour of aerial and terrestrial existence. Others by an inherent disposition to society and civilisation, and by a stronger effort of volition, would become Men. These, in time, would restrict themselves to the use of their hind feet ; their tails would gradually rub off, by sitting in their caves or huts, as soon as they arrived at a domesticated state ; they would invent language, and the use of fire, with our present and hitherto imperfect system of society. In the meanwhile, the fuci and alga?, with the corallines and madrepores, would transform themselves into fish, and would gradually populate all the submarine portion of the globe. Ver. 46. Trochais. — The nymph of the wheel, 'supposed to be in love "with smoke- jack. Ver. 56. The conscious fire. — The sylphs and genii of the different elements have a variety of innocent occupations assigned them ; those of fire are supposed to divert themselves with writing Kunkel in phosphorus. — See " Economy of Vegetation. " Or mark, with shining letters, Kunkel's name In the slow phosphor's self-consuming flame." 25o POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. So youthful Horner rolled the roguish eye, Culled the dark plum from out his Christmas pie, And cried, in self-applause — " How good a boy am I." 60 So she, sad victim of domestic spite, Fair Cinderella, past the wintry night In the lone chimney's darksome nook immured, Her form disfigured, and her charms obscured. Sudden her godmother appears in sight, 65 Lifts the charmed rod, and chants the mystic rite. The chanted rite the maid attentive hears, And feels new earrings deck her listening ears; While midst her towering tresses, aptly set, Shines bright, with quivering glance, the smart aigrette; 70 Brocaded silks the splendid dress complete, And the glass slipper grasps her fairy feet. Six cock-tailed mice transport her to the ball, And liveried lizards wait upon her call. Ver. 68. Listening cars. — Listening, and therefore peculiarly suited to a pair of diamond ear-rings. See the description of Nebuchadnezzar, in his transformed state. " Nor flattery's self can pierce his pendent ears." In poetical diction, a person is said to " breathe the blue air," and to " drink the hoarse wave ! " not that the colour of the sky, or the noise of the water, has any reference to drinking or breathing, but because the poet obtains the advantage of thus describing his subject under a double relation, in the same manner in which material objects present themselves to our different senses at the same time. Ver. 73. Cock-tailed mice — coctilibus muris. — Ovid. — There is reason to believe, that the murine, or mouse species, were anciently much more numerous than at the present day. It appear from the sequel of the line, that Semiramis surrounded the city of Babylon with a number of these animals. " Dicitur alt am Coctilibus Muris cinxisse Semiramis urbem." It is not easy at present to form any conjecture with respect to the end, whether of ornament or defence, which they could be supposed to answer. I should be in- clined to believe that in this instance the mice were dead, and that so vast a col- lection of them must have been furnished by way of tribute to free the country from these destructive animals. This superabundance of the murine race must have been owing to their immense fecundity, and to the comparatively tardy reproduc- tion of the feline species. The traces of this disproportion are to be found in the POETRY OF THE A. S IT- JACOBIN. 251 Alas ! that partial Science should approve 75 The sly Rectangle's too licentious love ! For three bright nymphs, &c. &c. (To be continued.) early history of every country. The ancient laws of Wales estimate a cat at the price of as much corn as would be sufficient to cover her if she were suspended by the tail with her forefeet touching the ground.— See Howel Dha. In Germany it is recorded that an army of rats, a larger animal of the mus tribe, were employed as the ministers of divine vengeance against a feudal tyrant; and the commercial legend of our own Whittington might probably be traced to an equally authentic origin. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN No. XXIV. THE LOVES OF THE TRIANGLES. A MATHEMATICAL AND PHILOSOPHICAL POEM. (Continued?) Ellis {C. IV.). Canning (B.). Ellis. From v. 144, Canning (M.).] CANTO I. April 23, 1798. A LAS ! that partial Science should approve 75 ^*- The sly Rectangle's too licentious love ! For three bright nymphs the wily wizard burns ; — Three bright-eyed nymphs requite his flame by turns. Strange force of magic skill ! combined of yore With Plato's science and Menecmus' lore. 80 In Afric's schools, amid those sultry sands, High on its base where Pompey's pillar stands. This learnt the seer ; and learnt, alas ! too well, Each scribbled talisman, and smoky spell : What muttered charms, what soul-subduing arts 85 Fell Zatanai to his sons imparts. I 'cr. 76. Rectangle.—" A figure which has one angle, or more, of ninety degrees." Johnson's Dictionary. It here means a right-angled triangle, which is therefore incapable of having more than one angle of ninety degrees, but which may, ac- cording to our author's Prosopopoeia, be supposed to be in love with three, or any greater number of nymphs. Ver. 80. Plato's and Menecmus lore. — Proclus attributes the discovery of the conic sections to Plato, but obscurely. Eratosthenes seems to adjudge it to Menecmus. " Neque Menecmeos necesse erit in Cono secare ternarios." — Vide Montucla. From Greece they were carried to Alexandria, where (accordinf to our author's beautiful fiction) Rectangle either did or might learn magic. Ver. 86. Zatanai. — Supposed to be the same with Satan. — Vide the "New Arabian Nights," translated by Cazotte, author of " Le Diable Amoreux." POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 253 Gins — black and huge ! who in Dom-Daniel's cave Writhe your scorched limbs on sulphur's azure wave. Or, shivering, yell amidst eternal snows, Where cloud-capped ( !af protrudes his granite toes ; 90 (Bound by his will, Judaea's fabled king, Lord of Aladdin's Lamp and mystic Ring). Gins ! ye remember ! for your toil conveyed Whate'er of drugs the powerful charm could aid ; Air, earth, and sea ye searched, and where below 95 Flame embryo lavas, young volcanoes glow, — Gins ! ye beheld appalled the enchanter's hand Wave in dark air the hypothenusal wand ; Saw him the mystic circle trace, and wheel With head erect, and far extended heel ; 100 Ver. 87. Gins. — -The Eastern name for Genii. — Vide " Tales " of ditto. Ver. 87. Dom-Daniel. — A submarine palace near Tunis, where Zatanai usually held his court. — Vide " New Arabian Nights." Ver. 88. Sulphur. — A substance which, when cold, reflects the yellow rays, and is therefore said to be yellow. When raised to a temperature at which it attracts oxygen (a process usually called burning), it emits a blue flame. This may be beautifully exemplified, and at a moderate expense, by igniting those fasciculi of brimstone matches, frequently sold (so frequently, indeed, as to form one of the London cries) by women of an advanced age, in this metropolis. They will be found to yield an azure or blue light. Ver. 90. Caf. — The Indian Caucasus. — Vide Bailly's " Lettres sur l'Atlantide," in which he proves that this was the native country of Gog and Magog (now resident in Guildhall), as well as of the Peris, or fairies, of the Asiatic romances. Ver. 91. Judcea s fabled king. — Mr. Higgins does not mean to deny that Solo- mon was really King of Juda-a. The epithet fabled applies to that empire over the Genii which the retrospective generosity of the Arabian fabulists has bestowed upon this monarch. Ver. 96. Young volcanoes. — The genesis of burning mountains was never, till lately, well explained. Those with which we are best acquainted are certainly not viviparous; it is therefore probable that there exists in the centre of the earth a considerable reservoir of their eggs, which, during the obstetrical convulsions of general earthquakes, produce new volcanoes. Ver. 100. Far extended heel. — The personification of Rectangle, besides answer- ing a poetical purpose, was necessary to illustrate Air. Higgins's philosophical opinions. The ancient mathematicians conceived that a cone was generated by the revolution of a triangle ; but this, as our author justly observes, would be impossible, without supposing in the triangle that expansive nisus, discovered by Blumenbach, and improved by Darwin, which is peculiar to animated matter, and which alone explains the whole mystery of organisation. Our enchanter sits on 254 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Saw him, with speed that mocked the dazzled eye, Self-whirled, in quick gyrations eddying fly : Till done the potent spell — behold him grown Fair Venus' emblem — the Phoenician cone. Triumphs the Seer, and now secure observes 105 The kindling passions of the rival curves. And first, the fair Parabola behold Her timid arms, with virgin blush, unfold ! Though, on one focus fixed, her eyes betray A heart that glows with love's resistless sway ; no Though, climbing oft, she strive with bolder grace Round his tall neck to clasp her fond embrace, Still ere she reach it, from his polished side Her trembling hands in devious tangents glide. Not thus Hyperbola : — with subtlest art 115 The blue-eyed wanton plays her changeful part ; Quick as her conjugated axes move Through every posture of luxurious love, the ground, with his heels stretched out, his head erect, his wand (or hypothenuse) resting on the extremities of his feet and the tip of his nose (as is finely expressed in the engraving in the original work), and revolves upon his bottom with great velocity. His skin, by magical means, has acquired an indefinite power of expansion, as well as that of assimilating to itself all the azote of the air, which he decomposes by expiration from his lungs — an immense quantity, and which, in our present unimproved and uneconomical mode of breathing, is quite thrown away. By this simple process, the transformation is very naturally accounted for. ' Ver. 104. Phoenician Cone. — It was under this shape that Venus was worshipped in Phoenicia. Mr. Higgins thinks it was the Venus Urania, or Celestial Venus ; in allusion to which, the Phoenician grocers first introduced the practice of pre- serving sugar loaves in blue or sky-coloured paper— he also believes that the conical form of the original grenadiers' caps was typical of the loves of Mars and Venus. Ver. 107. Parabola. — The curve described by projectiles of all sorts, as bombs, shuttlecocks, &c. Ver. 115. Hypci-oola.—yiot figuratively speaking, as in rhetoric, but mathemati- cally ; and therefore blue-eyed. POP/FRY OF TUP ANTI-JACOBIN. 255 Her sportive limbs with easiest grace expand; Her charms unveiled provoke the lover's hand :— 120 Unveiled, except in many a filmy ray Where light Asymptotes o'er her bosom play, Nor touch her glowing skin, nor intercept the day. Yet why, Ellipsis, at thy fate repine ? More lasting bliss, securer joys are thine. 1 25 Though to each fair his treacherous wish may stray. Though each, in turn, may seize a transient sway, 'Tis thine with mild coercion to restrain, Twine round his struggling heart, and bind with endless chain. Thus, happy France ! in thy regenerate land, 130 Where Taste with Rapine saunters hand in hand : Where, nursed in seats of innocence and bliss, Reform greets Terror with fraternal kiss ; Where mild Philosophy first taught to scan The wrongs of Providence, and rights of man ; 135 Where Memory broods o'er Freedom's earlier scene, The lantern bright, and brighter guillotine ; — Three gentle swains evolve their longing arms, And woo the young Republic's virgin charms : And though proud Barras with the fair succeed, t 40 Though not in vain the attorney Rewbell plead, Oft doth the impartial nymph their love forego, To clasp thy crooked shoulders, blessed Lepaux t So, with dark dirge athwart the blasted heath, Three sister witches hailed the appalled Macbeth. 145 Ver. 122. Asymptotes. — "Lines, which though they may approach still nearer together, till they are nearer than the least assignable distance, yet being still pro- duced infinitely, will never meet." — Johnson s Dictionary. Ver. 124. Ellipsis. — A curve, the revolution of which on its axis produces an ellipsoid, or solid, resembling the eggs of birds, particularly those of the gallina- ceous tribe. Ellipsis is the only curve that embraces the cone. 256 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. So, the three Fates, beneath grim Pluto's roof, Strain the dun warp, and weave the murky woof; 'Till deadly Atropos, with fatal shears, Slits the thin promise of the expected years, While 'midst the dungeon's gloom, or battle's din, 150 Ambition's victims Derish, as they spin. Thus, the three Graces on the Idalian green, Bow with deft homage to Cythera's queen ; Her polished arms with pearly bracelets deck, Part her light locks, and bare her ivory neck ; 155 Round her fair form ethereal odours throw, And teach the unconscious zephyrs where to blow ; Floats the thin gauze, and glittering as they play, The bright folds flutter in phlogistic day. So, with his daughters three, the unsceptered Lear 160 Heaved the loud sigh, and poured the glistering tear ; His daughters three, save one alone, conspire (Rich in his gifts) to spurn their generous sire ; Bid the rude storm his hoary tresses drench, Stint the spare meal, the hundred knights retrench ; 165 Mock his mad sorrow, and, with altered mien, Renounce the daughter, and assert the queen. A father's griefs his feeble frame convulse, Rack his white head, and fire his feverous pulse ; Till kind Cordelia soothes his soul to rest, 170 And folds the parent-monarch to her breast. Thus, some fair spinster grieves in wild affright, Vexed with dull megrim, or vertigo light ; Pleased round the fair three dawdling doctors stand, Wave the white wig, and stretch the asking hand, 175 State the grave doubt, — the nauseous draught decree, And all receive, though none deserve, a fee. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 257 So down thy hill, romantic Ash burn, glides The Derby dilly, carrying three insides. One in each corner sits, and lolls at ease, 1 80 With folded arms, propt back, and outstretched knees : While the pressed bodkin, punched and squeezed to death, Sweats in the midmost place, and scolds, and pants lor breath. {'I'o be continued.) R 258 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. No. XXV. BRISSOT'S GHOST.* \Frere (B.). But not claimed by Frere. Author unknown.] April 30, 1798. A Sat the Shakspeare Tavern dining. ■*■ O'er the well-replenished board Patriotic chiefs reclining, Quick and large libations poured ; While, in fancy, great and glorious, 'Midst the democratic storm, Fox's crew, with shout victorious, Drank to radical reform. Sudden up the staircase sounding, Hideous yells and shrieks were heard ; Then, each guest with fear confounding, A grim train of ghosts appeared : Each a head with anguish gasping (Himself a trunk deformed with gore), In his hand, terrific, clasping, Stalked across the wine-stained floor. On them gleamed the lamp's blue lustre, When stern Brissot's grisly shade His sad bands was seen to muster, And his bleeding troops arrayed. * [Parody on Richard Glover's ballad of " Hosier's Ghost." J POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 259 Through the drunken crowd he hied him, Where the chieftain sate enthroned, There, his shadowy trunks beside him, Thus in threatening accents groaned. " Heed, oh heed, our fatal story (I am Brissot's injured ghost), You who hope to purchase glory In that field where I was lost ! Though dread Pitt's expected ruin Now your soul with triumph cheers, When you think on our undoing, You will mix your hopes with fears. " See these helpless headless spectres Wandering through the midnight gloom ; Mark their Jacobinic lectures Echoing from the silent tomb. These thy soul with terror filling, Once were patriots fierce and bold ! " (Each his head with gore distilling Shakes, the whilst his tale is told.) " Some, from that dread engine's carving, In vain contrived their heads to save — See Barbaroux and Petion 1 starving In the Languedocian Cave ! See in a higgler's 2 hamper buckled How Louvet's soaring spirit lay ! How virtuous Roland, :! hapless cuckold, Blew what brains he had away. 1 Such was the end of these worthies. They were found starved to death in a cave in Languedoc. — Vide Barrere's Report. 2 See Louvet's " Recit de mes Perils." 3 The virtuous Roland. This philosophic coxcomb is the idol of those who admire the French Revolution up to a certain point. 260 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. " How beneath the power of Marat Condorcet, blaspheming, fell, Begged some laudanum of Garat, 1 Drank — and slept — to wake in hell ! Oh, that, with worthier souls uniting, I in my country's cause had shone ! Had died my sovereign's battle fighting, Or nobly propt his sinking throne ! — " But hold ! — I scent the gales of morning — Covent-Garden's clock strikes one ! Heed, oh heed my earnest warning, Ere England is, like France, undone ! To Saint Stephen's quick repairing, Your dissembled Mania end ; And your errors past, forswearing, Stand at length your Country's Friend ! " 1 This little anecdote is not generally known. It is strikingly pathetic. Garat has recorded this circumstance in a very eloquent sentence — •" O toi, qui arretas la main avec laquelle tu tracais le progres de l'esprit huniain, pour porter sur tes levres le breuvage mortel, d'autres pensees et d'autres sentimens out incline ta volont6 vers le tombeau, dans ta derniere deliberation." (Garat, it seems, did not choose to poison himself.) " Tu as rendu a la liberty 6ternelle ton ame Repub- licaine par ce poison qui avait e"te partage' entre nous comme le pain entre des freres. " "Oh you, who with that hand which was tracing the progress of the human mind, approached the mortal mixture to your lips, it was by other thoughts and other sentiments that your judgment was at length determined in that last delibe- rated act. You restored your Republican spirit to an eternal freedom by that poison which we had shared together, like a morsel of bread between two brothers." POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 261 No. XXVI. LOVES OF THE TRIANGLES. [Canning, Gifford, and Frere (C). Canning, Ellis, and Frere (F. A/.). Canning ( IV. £.).] May 7, 1798. HP HE frequent solicitations which we have received for a con- tinuation of the " Loves of the Triangles," have induced us to lay before the public (with Mr. Higgins's permission) the con- cluding lines of the canto. The catastrophe of Mr. and Mrs. Gingham, and the episode of Hipponia, contained, in our appre- hension, several reflections of too free a nature. The conspiracy of Parameter and Abscissa against the Ordinate is written in a strain of poetry so very splendid and dazzling as not to suit the more tranquil majesty of diction which our readers admire in Mr. Higgins. We have therefore begun our extract with the loves of the Giant Isosceles, and the picture of the Asses' Bridge, and its several illustrations. CANTO I. EXTRACT. 'Twas thine alone, O youth of giant frame, Isosceles ! ] that rebel heart to tame ! In vain coy Mathesis 2 thy presence flies : Still turn her fond hallucinating :! eyes ; 1 Isosceles.— An equi-crural triangle. It is represented as a giant, because Mr. Higgins says he has observed that procerity is much promoted by the equal length of the legs, more especially when they are long legs. - Mathesis. — The doctrine of Mathematics. Pope calls her mad Mathesis — / 'ide Johnson's Dictionary. 3 Hallucinating. — The disorder with which Mathesis is affected is a disease of 262 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Thrills with galvanic fires 1 each tortuous nerve, Throb her blue veins, and dies her cold reserve. — Yet strives the fair, till in the giant's breast She sees the mutual passion-flame confessed : Where'er he moves, she sees his tall limbs trace Internal angles 2 equal at the base ; Again she doubts him : but, produced at will, She sees the external angles equal still. Say, blessed Isosceles ! what favouring power, Or love, or chance, at night's auspicious hour, While to the Asses' Bridge s entranced you strayed, Led to the Asses' Bridge the enamoured maid ? — The Asses' Bridge, for ages doomed to hear The deafening surge assault his wooden ear, With joy repeats sweet sounds of mutual bliss, The soft susurrant sigh, and gently murmuring kiss. So thy dark arches, London Bridge, bestride Indignant Thames, and part his angry tide ; increased volition, called erotomania, or sentimental love. It is the fourth species of the second genus of the first order and third class ; in consequence of which Mr. Hackman shot Miss Ray in the lobby of the playhouse. — Vide " Zoonomia," vol. ii. pp. 363, 365. 1 Galvanic fires. — Dr. Galvani is a celebrated philosopher at Turin. He has proved that the electric fluid is the proximate cause of nervous sensibility ; and Mr. Higgins is of opinion that by means of this discovery the sphere of our disagree- able sensations maybe in future considerably enlarged. " Since dead frogs (says he) are awakened by this fluid to such a degree of posthumous sensibility as to jump out of the glass in which they are placed, why not men, who are sometimes so much more sensible when alive? And if so, why not employ this new stimulus to deter mankind from dying (which they so pertinaciously continue to do) of various old-fashioned diseases, notwithstanding all the brilliant discoveries of modern philosophy, and the example of Count Cagliostro?" 2 Internal angles, &c. — This is an exact versification of Euclid's 5th theorem. — Vide Euclid in loco. 3 Asses' Bridge — Pons asinorum. — The name usually given to the before-men- tioned theorem, though, as Mr. Higgins thinks, absurdly. He says, that having frequently watched companies of asses during their passage of a bridge, he never discovered in them any symptoms of geometrical instinct upon the occasion. But he thinks that with Spanish asses, which are much larger (vide Townsend's " Travels through Spain "), the case may possibly be different. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 263 Where oft — returning from those green retreats, Where fair Vauxhallia decks her sylvan seats ; — Where each spruce nymph, from city compters free, Sips the frothed syllabub, or fragrant tea ; While with sliced ham, scraped beef, and burnt champagne, Her 'prentice lover soothes his amorous pain ; — There oft, in well- trimmed wherry, glide along Smart beaux and giggling belles, a glittering throng ; Smells the tarred rope — with undulation fine Flaps the loose sail — the silken awnings shine ; " Shoot we the bridge ! " —the venturous boatmen cry — " Shoot we the bridge ! " — the exulting fare l reply. — Down the steep fall the headlong waters go, Curls the white foam, the breakers roar below. — The veering helm the dexterous steersman stops, Shifts the thin oar, the fluttering canvas drops ; Then with closed eyes, clenched hands, and quick-drawn breath. Darts at the central arch, nor heeds the gulf beneath. — Full 'gainst the pier the unsteady timbers knock, The loose planks starting own the impetuous shock ; The shifted oar, dropped sail, and steadied helm, With angry surge the closing waters whelm — ■ Laughs the glad Thames, and clasps each fair one's charms That screams and scrambles in his oozy arms. — Drenched each smart garb, and clogged each struggling limb, Far o'er the stream the cockneys sink or swim : While each badged boatman - clinging to his oar, Bounds o'er the buoyant wave, and climbs the applauding shore. So, towering Alp ! from thy majestic ridge 3 Young freedom gazed on Lodi's blood-stained bridge ; 1 Fare, — A person or a number of persons conveyed in a hired vehicle by land or water. 2 Badged boatman. — Boatmen sometimes wear a badge, to distinguish them, especially those who belong to the Watermen's Company. s Alp or Alps. — A ridge of mountains which separate the Xorth of Italy from the South of Germany. They are evidently primeval and volcanic, consisting of granite, toadstone, and basalt, and several other substances, containing animal :64 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. — Saw, in thick throngs, conflicting armies rush, Ranks close on ranks, and squadrons squadrons crush ; — Burst in bright radiance through the battle's storm, Waved her broad hands, displayed her awful form ; Bade at her feet regenerate nations bow, And twined the wreath round Buonaparte's brow. — Quick with new lights, fresh hopes, and altered zeal, The slaves of despots drop the blunted steel : Exulting victory owned her favourite child, And freed Liguria clapped her hands and smiled. Nor long the time ere Britain's shores shall greet The warrior-sage with gratulation sweet : Eager to grasp the wreath of naval fame, The great republic plans the floating frame ! — O'er the huge plane gigantic terror stalks, And counts, with joy, the close-compacted balks ; Of young-eyed Massacres the cherub crew, Round their grim chief the mimic task pursue ; Turn the stiff screw, 1 apply the strengthening clamp, Drive the long bolt, or fix the stubborn cramp, Lash the reluctant beam, the cable splice, Join the firm dove-tail with adjustment nice, Through yawning fissures urge the willing wedge, Or give the smoothing adze a sharper edge. — Or, grouped in fairy bands, with playful care, The unconscious bullet to the furnace bear ; and vegetable recrements, and affording numberless undoubted proofs of the infinite antiquity of the earth, and of the consequent falsehood of the Mosaic chronology. 1 Turn the stiff scretu, &c. — The harmony and imagery of these lines are imperfectly imitated from the following exquisite passage in the "Economy of Vegetation " : — Gnomes, as you now dissect, with hammers fine, The granite rock, the noduled flint calcine ; Grind with strong arm, the circling chertz betwixt, Your pure ka— o — lins and Pe — tunt — ses mixt. — Canto 2, /. 297. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 265 Or gaily tittering, tip the match with fire, Prime the big mortar, bid the shell aspire ; Applaud, with tiny hands, and laughing eyes, And watch the bright destruction as it flies. Now the fierce forges gleam with angry glare — The windmill ^ waves his woven winLis in air : O Swells the proud sail, the exulting streamers. fly, Their nimble fins unnumbered paddles ply : Ye soft airs breathe, ye gentle billows waft, And, fraught with freedom, bear the expected raft ! Perched on her back, behold the patriot train, Muir. Ashley, Barlow, Tone, O'Connor, Paine ; While Tandy's hand directs the blood-empurpled rein. Ye Imps of Murder, guard her angel form, Check the rude surge, and chase the hovering storm ; Shield from contusive rocks her timber limbs, And guide the sweet Enthusiast 2 as she swims ! — And now, with web-foot oars, she gains the land, And foreign footsteps press the yielding sand : ■ — The Communes spread, the gay Departments smile, Fair Freedom's Plant o'ershades the laughing isle : — Fired with new hopes, the exulting peasant sees The Gallic streamer woo the British breeze ; While, pleased to watch its undulating charms, The smiling infant 3 spreads his little arms. 1 The windmill, Sec. — This line affords a striking instance of the sound conveying an echo to the sense. I would defy the most unfeeling reader to repeat it over, without accompanying it by some corresponding gesture imitative of the action described.— Editor. 2 Sweet enthusiast, &c. — A term usually applied in allegoric or technical poetry, to any person or object to which no other qualifications can be assigned. — Chambers's Dictionary, 3 The smiling infant. — Infancy is particularly interested in the diffusion of the new principles. See the " Bloody Buoy;" see also the following description and prediction : — " Here Time's huge fingers grasp his giant mace, And dash proud Superstition from her base ; 266 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Ye sylphs of death, on demon pinions flit, ■\Yhere the tall guillotine is raised for Pitt : To the poised plank tie fast the monster's back, 1 Close the nice slider, ope the expectant sack ; Then twitch, with fairy hands, the frolic pin — Down falls the impatient axe with deafening din ; The liberated head rolls off below, - And simpering Freedom hails the happy blow ! Rend her strong towers and gorgeous fanes, &c. &c. &c. rre, Gifford, Ellis, Canning (C). Frere (£.).] June it, 1798. T T 7E have received, in the course of the last week, several long, * * and, to say the truth, dull letters from unknown hands, reflecting, in very severe terms, on Mr. Higgins, for having, as it is affirmed, attempted to pass upon the world, as a faithful sample of the production of the German theatre, a performance no way resembling any of those pieces which have of late excited and which bid fair to engross the admiration of the British public. As we cannot but consider ourselves as the guardians of Mr. Higgins's literary reputation, in respect to every work of his which is conveyed to the world through the medium of our paper (though, what we think of the danger of his principles, we have already sufficiently explained for ourselves, and have, we trust, succeeded in putting our readers upon their guard against them) we hold ourselves bound not only to justify the fidelity of the imitation, but (contrary to our original intention) to give a further specimen of it in our present number, in order to bring the question more fairly to issue between our author and his calumniators. In the first place, we are to observe that Mr. Higgins pro- fesses to have taken his notion of German plays wholly from the translations which have appeared in our language. If they are totally dissimilar from the originals, Mr. H. may undoubtedly have been led into error ; but the fault is in the translators, not in him. That he does not differ widely from the models which he proposed to himself, we have it in our power to prove satis- POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 297 factorily, and might have done so in our last number, by sub- joining to each particular passage of his play the scene in some one or other of the German plays, which he had in view when he wrote it. These parallel passages were faithfully pointed out to us by Mr. H. with that candour which marks his character, and if they were suppressed by us (as in truth they were) on our heads be the blame, whatever it may be. Little, indeed, did we think of the imputation which the omission would bring upon Mr. H., as, in fact, our principal reason for it was the apprehen- sion that from the extreme closeness of the imitation, in most instances, he would lose in praise for invention more than he would gain in credit for fidelity. The meeting between Matilda and Cecilia, for example, in the first act of the " Rovers,"' and their sudden intimacy, has been censured as unnatural. Be it so. It is taken almost word for word from "Stella," a German (or professedly a German) piece now much in vogue, from which, also, the catastrophe of Mr. Higgins's play is in part borrowed, so far as relates to the agree- ment to which the ladies come, as the reader will see by and by, to share Casimere between them. The dinner scene is copied partly from the published trans- lation of the "Stranger," and partly from the first scene of "Stella." The song of Rogero, with which the first act con- cludes, is admitted on all hands to be in the very first taste, and if no German original is to be found for it, so much the worse for the credit of German literature. An objection has been made by one anonymous letter-writer to the names of Puddingfield and Beefington, as little likely to have been assigned to English characters by any author of taste or discernment. In answer to this objection, we have, in the first place, to admit that a small, and we hope not an unwarrantable, alteration has been made by us since the M.S. has been in our hands. These names stood originally Puddincrantz and Beefin- stern, which sounded to our ears as being liable, especially the latter, to a ridiculous inflection — a difficulty that could only be removed by furnishing them with English terminations. With 298 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. regard to the more substantial syllables of the names, our author proceeded in all probability on the authority of Goldoni, who, though not a German, is an Italian writer of considerable repu- tation ; and Avho, having heard that the English were distinguished for their love of liberty and beef, has judiciously compounded the two words Runnymede and beef, and thereby produced an English nobleman, whom he styles Lord Runnybeef. To dwell no longer on particular passages, the best way perhaps of explaining the whole scope and view of Mr. H.'s imitation, will be to transcribe the short sketch of the plot, which that gentleman transmitted to us, together with his drama ; and which it is perhaps the more necessary to give at length, as the limits of our paper not allowing of the publication of the whole piece, some general knowledge of its main design may be acceptable to our readers, in order to enable them to judge of the several extracts which we lav before them. PLOT. Rogero, son of the late minister of the Count of Snxe Weimar, having, while he was at college, fallen desperately in love with Matilda Pottingen, daughter of his tutor, Doctor Engelbertus Pottingen, Professor of Civil Law ; and Matilda evidently returning his passion, the doctor, to prevent ill consequences, sends his daughter on a visit to her aunt in Wetteravia, where she becomes acquainted with Casimere, a Polish officer who happens to be quartered near her aunt's, and has several children by him. Roderic, Count of Saxe Weimar, a prince of tyrannical and licentious disposition, has for his prime minister and favourite, Caspar, a crafty villain, who had risen to his post by first ruining, and then putting to death, Rogero's father. Gaspar, apprehensive of the power and popularity which the young Rogero may enjoy at his return to court, seizes the occasion of his intrigue with Matilda (of which he is apprised officially by Doctor Pottingen) to procure from his master an order for the recall of Rogero from college, and for committing him to the care of the Prior of the Abbey of Quedlinburgh, a priest rapacious, savage, and sensual, and devoted to Gaspar's interests, sending at the same time private orders to the prior to confine him in a dungeon. Here Rogero languishes many years. His daily sustenance is administered to him through a grated opening at the top of a cavern, by the landlady of the Golden Eagle at Weimar, with whom Gaspar contracts, in the prince's name, for his sup- port ; intending, and more than once endeavouring, to corrupt the waiter to mingle poison with the food, in order that he may get rid of Rogero for ever. In the meantime Casimere, having been called away from the neighbourhood of Matilda's residence to other quarters, becomes enamoured of, and marries Cecilia, POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 299 bvwhom he 1ms a family ; and whom he likewise deserts after a few years' co-1 tation, on pretence of business which calls him to Kamtschatka. Doctor Pottingen, now grown old and infirm, and feeling the want of his daughter's society, sends young Pottingen in search of her, with strict injunctions not to return without her ; and to bring with her either her present lover Casin or, should that not be possible, Rogero himself, if he can find him ; the doctor having set his heart upon seeing his children comfortably settled before his death. Matilda, about the same period, quits her aunt's in search of Casimere ; and Cecilia having been advertised (by an anonymous letter) of the falsehood of his Kamtschatka journey, sets out in the post-waggon on a similar pursuit. It is at this point of time the play opens, with the accidental meeting of Cecilia and Matilda at the inn at Weimar. Casimere arrives there soon after, and falls in first with Matilda, and then with Cecilia. Successive iclaircissements take place, and an arrangement is finally made, by which the two ladies are to live jointly with Casimere. Young Pottingen, wearied with a few weeks' search, during which he has not been able to find cither of the objects of it, resolves to stop at Weimar, and wait events there. It so happens that he takes up his lodging in the same house with Puddincrantz and Beefinstern, two English noblemen, whom the tyranny of King John has obliged to fly from their country ; and who, after wandering about the Continent for some time, have fixed their residence at Weimar. The news of the signature of Magna Charta arriving, determines Puddincrantz and Beefinstern to return to England. Young Pottingen opens his case to them, and entreats them to stay to assist him in the object of his search. Tins they refuse ; but coming to the inn where they are to set off for Hamburgh, they meet Casimere, from whom they had both received many civilities in Poland. Casimere, by this time tired of his "double arrangement," and having learned from the waiter that Rogero is confined in the vaults of the neighbouring abbey for love, resolves to attempt his rescue, and to make over Matilda to him as the price of his deliverance. He communicates his scheme to Puddingfield and Beefington, who agree to assist him ; as also does young Pottingen. The waiter of the inn proving to be a Knight Templar in disguise, is appointed leader of the expedition. A band of troubadours, who happen to be returning from the Crusades, and a company of Austrian and Prussian grenadiers returning from the Seven Years' War, are engaged as troops. The attack on the abbey is made with success. The Count of Weimar and Caspar, who are feasting with the prior, are seized and beheaded in the Refectory. The prior is thrown into the dungeon, from which Rogero is rescued. Matilda and Cecilia rush in. The former recognises Rogero, and agrees to live with him. The children are produced on all sides, and young Pottingen is commissioned to write to his father, the doctor, to detail the joyful events which have taken place, and to invite him to Weimar, to partake of the general felicity. 3 oo POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. THE ROVERS; OK, THE DOUBLE ARRANGEMENT. ACT II. [Canning (M. F.).] Scene — A room in an ordinary lodging-house at Weimar. — Puddingfield and Beefington discovered, sitting at a small deal table, and playing at All-Fours. — YounCT Pottingen, at another table in the corner of the room, with a pipe in his mouth, and a Saxon mug of a singular shape beside him, which he repeatedly applies to his lips, turning back his head and casting his eyes towards the firmament, at the last trial he holds the mug for some moments in a directly inverted position ; then replaces it on the table, with an air of dejection, and gradually sinks into a profound slumber. — The pipe falls from his hand, and is broken. Beef. I beg. Pudd. [deals three cards to Beefington\. Are you satisfied ? Beef. Enough. What have you ? Pudd. High — Low — and the game. Bief Damnation ! 'tis my deal [deals — turns up a knave]. One for his heels ! [Triumphantly. Pudd. Is king highest ? Beef No. [sternly]. The game is mine. The knave gives it me. Pudd. Are knaves so prosperous ? Ay, marry are they in this world. They have the game in their hands. Your kings are but noddles 1 to them. Pudd. Ha ! ha ! ha ! Still the same proud spirit, Beefington, which procured thee thine exile from England. 1 This is an excellent joke in German ; the point and spirit of which is but ill- rendered in a translation. A noddy, the reader will observe, has two significa- tions—the one a knave at all-fours ; the other a fool or booby. See the translation by Mr. Render of "Count Renyowsky, or the Conspiracy of Kamtschatka," a German Tragi-Comi-Comi-Tragedy ; where the play opens with a scene of a game at chess (from which the whole of this scene is copied), and a joke of the same point and merriment about pawns, i.e. , boors, being a match for kings. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 301 Beef. England ! my native land ! — when shall I revisit thee? [During this time Puddingfield deals, and begins to arrange his hand. Beef, [continues]. Phoo — Hang all-fours ; what are they to a mind ill at ease ? Can they cure the heart-ache ? Can they soothe banishment ? Can they lighten ignominy ? Can all-fours do this? O ! my Puddingfield, thy limber and lightsome spirit bounds up against affliction — with the elasticity of a well-bent bow; but mine — 0! mine — [Falls into an agony, and sinks back in his chair. Young Pottingen awakened by the noise, rises, and advances with a grave demeanour towards Beefington and Puddingfield. The former begins to recover. Y. Pot. What is the matter, comrades? 1 you seem agitated. Have you lost or won ? Beef Lost. I have lost my country. Y. Pot. And I my sister. I came hither in search of her. Beef. O England ! Y. Pot. O Matilda ! Beef. Exiled by the tyranny of an usurper, I seek the means of revenge, and of restoration to my country. ) '. Pot. Oppressed by the tyranny of an abbot, persecuted by the jealousy of a count, the betrothed husband of my sister languishes in a loathsome captivity — her lover is fled no one knows whither— and I, her brother, am torn from my paternal roof, and from my studies in chirurgery, to seek him and her, I know not where — to rescue Rogero, I know not how. Comrades, your counsel — my search fruitless — my money gone — my baggage stolen ! What am I to do ? In yonder abbey — in these dark, dank vaults, there, my friends — there lies Rogero — there Matilda's heart ! 1 This word in the original is strictly fellow- lodgers — " Co-occupants of the sank- room, in a house let out at a small rent by the week." There is no single word in English which expresses so complicated a relation, except, perhaps, the cant term of chum, formerly in use at our universities. 3 o2 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Scene II. iFrete (A/. F.)A Enter Waiter. Waiter. Sir, here is a person who desires to speak with you. Beef, [goes to the door, and returns with a letter, which he opens — on perusing it his couutenauee becomes illuminated, and expands prodigiously]. Hah, my friends, what joy ! [Turning to Puddingfield. Pudd. What? tell me — let your Puddingfield partake it. Beef. See here — ■ [Produces a printed paper. Pudd. What? — [With impatience. Beef, [in a significant tone]. A newspaper ! Pudd. Hah, what say'st thou ! — A newspaper ! Beef Yes, Puddingfield, and see here [shows it partially], from England. Pudd. [with extreme earnestness]. Its name ? Beef. The Daily Advertiser — ■ Pudd. Oh ecstasy ! Beef, [ivith, a dignified severity]. Puddingfield, calm yourself — repress those transports — remember that you are a man. Pudd. [after a pause, with suppressed emotion]. Well, I will be — -I am calm — yet tell me, Beefington, does it contain any news ? Beef. Glorious news, my dear Puddingfield — the Barons are victorious — King John has been defeated — Magna Charta, that venerable, immemorial inheritance of Britons, was signed last Friday was three weeks, the third of July Old Style. Pudd. I can scarce believe my ears — but let me satisfy my eyes — show me the paragraph. Beef. Here it is, just above the advertisements. Pudd. [reads], "The great demand for Packwood's razor strops " — POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 303 Beef. Pshaw ! what, ever blundering — you drive me from my patience — see here, at the head of the column. Pudd. [reads]. " A hireling print, devoted to the Court, Has dared to question our veracity Respecting the events of yesterday ; But by to-day's accounts, our information Appears to have been perfectly correct. The charter of our liberties received The Royal signature at five o'clock, When messengers were instantly dispatched To Cardinal Pandulfo ; and their Majesties, After partaking of a cold collation, Returned to Windsor. " — 1 am satisfied. Beef. Yet here again — there are some further particulars [turns to another part of the paper]. "Extract of a letter from Egham — ■ My dear friend, we are all here in high spirits — the interesting event which took place this morning at Runnymede,, in the neighbourhood of this town " — Pudd. Hah ! Runnymede- — enough — no more — my doubts are vanished. Then are we free indeed ! Beef I have besides a letter in my pocket from our friend, the immortal Bacon, who has been appointed Chancellor. Our out- lawry is reversed ! What says my friend — shall we return by the next packet ? Pudd. Instantly, instantly ! Both. Liberty ! — Adelaide ! — revenge ! [Pxeuut, Young Pottingen following, and waving his hat, but obviously without much conscioustiess of the meaning of what has passed. 304 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Scene changes to the outside of the Abbey. A summer evening— moonlight. Companies of Austrian and Prussian grenadiers march across the stage con- fusedly, as if returning from the Seven Years' War. Shouts and martial music. The Abbey gates are opened. The monks are seen passing in pro- cession, with the prior at their head. The choir is heard chanting vespers. After which a pause. Then a bell is heard as if ringing for supper. Soon after, a noise of singing and jollity. 5 [Canning (M. K).} Enter from the Abbey, pushed out of the gates by the porter, a trou- badour, with a bundle under his cloak, and a lady under his arm. Troubadour seems mush in liquor, but caresses the female minstrel. Fern. Min. Trust me, Gieronymo, thou seemest melancholy. What hast thou got under thy cloak ? Trou. Pshaw, women will be inquiring. Melancholy ! not I. I will sing thee a song, and the subject of it shall be thy question — " What have I got under my cloak ? " It is a riddle, Margaret. I learnt it of an almanac-maker at Gotha ; if thou guessest it after the first stanza thou shalt have never a drop for thy pains. Hear me — and, d'ye mark ! twirl thy thingumbob while I sing. Fern. Min. 'Tis a pretty tune, and hums dolefully. [Flays on the balalaika. 1 Troubadour sings. I bear a secret comfort here, [Putting his hand on the bundle, but without showing it]. A joy I'll ne'er impart : It is not wine, it is not beer, But it consoles my heart. Fern. Min. [interrupting him]. I'll be hanged if you don't mean the bottle of cherry-brandy that you stole out of the vaults in the abbey cellar. 1 The balalaika is a Russian instrument, resembling the guitar. See the play of " Count Benyowsky," rendered into English. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. O u 3 Trou. I mean? Peace, wench, thou disturbest the current of my feelings. [Female Minstrel attempts to lay hold of the bottle. Troubadour pushes her aside, and continues singing without interruption. This cherry-bounce, this loved noyau, My drink for ever be ; But, sweet my love, thy wish forego, I'll give no drop to thee ! [Both together.'] Trou. ( This ) , , ( this ) , , , ... _ • cherry-bounce, » )■ lov d noyau, Fern. Mm. \ That j \ that j 3 , ,. < ™, ;■ drink for ever be ; Fan. Mm. \ Thy j Trou. ( r, . . , ( Thy wish foresro, J But, sweet my love, < y & ' Fern. Mm. \ ( One drop bestow, l r0U ' „,- \ I \ keep it all for i me ! Fern. Mm. \ Nor j ( thee! [Exeunt struggling for the bottle, but without anger or ani- mosity, the Female Minstrel appearing by degrees to obtain a superiority in the contest. end of act II. ACT III. Contains the eclaircissements and final arrangement between Casimere, Matilda, and Cecilia, which so nearly resemble the concluding act of " Stella " that we forbear to lay it before our readers. ACT IV. [Frere (M. F.).] Scene — The inn door — diligence drawn up. Casimere appears superintending the package of his portmanteaus, and giving directions to the porters. Enter Beefington and Puddingfield. Pudd. Well, coachey, have you got two inside places ? Coach. Yes, your honour. u J 06 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Fudd. [seems to be struck with Casimere's appearance. He sur- reys him earnestly, without paying any attention to the coachman, then doubtingly pronounces] Casimere ! Cas. [turning round rapidlv, recognises Puddingfield, and embraces him]. My Puddingfield ! Fudd. My Casimere ! Cas. What, Beefington too ! [discovering him]. Then is my joy complete. Beef. Our fellow-traveller, as it seems. Cas. Yes, Beefington. But wherefore to Hamburgh ? Beef. Oh, Casimere 1 — to fly — to fly — to return — England — our country — Magna Charta — it is liberated — a new era — House of Commons — Crown and Anchor — Opposition — Cas. What a contrast ! you are flying to liberty and your home — I, driven from my home by tyranny — am exposed to domestic slavery in a foreign country. Beef. How domestic slavery ? Cas. Too true — two wives [slowly and with a dejected air — then after a pause] — you knew my Cecilia? Pudd. Yes, five years ago. Cas. Soon after that period I went upon a visit to a lady in Wetteravia. My Matilda was under her protection. Alighting at a peasant's cabin, I saw her on a charitable visit, spreading bread and butter for the children, in a light blue riding-habit. The simplicity of her appearance, the fineness of the weather, all conspired to interest me. My heart moved to hers as if by a magnetic sympathy — we wept, embraced, and went home together — she became the mother of my Pantalowsky. But five years of enjoyment have not stifled the reproaches of my conscience — her Rogero is languishing in captivity — if I could restore her to him ! 1 See " Count Benyowsky ; or, the Conspiracy of Kamschatka," where Crustiew, an old gentleman of much sagacity, talks the following nonsense :— " Crustiew [with youth pu I energy , and an c.ir of sccresy and corfidence]. To fly, to fly, to the Isles of Marian — the Island of Tinian — a terrestrial paradise, Fre? — f ree — a m ild climate — a new created sun — wholesome fruits — narnlsss inhabi- tants — and liberty— tranquillity." POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. .-,", Beef. Let us rescue him. Cas. Will without power 1 is like children playing at soldiers. Beef. Courage without power 2 is like a consumptive running footman. Cas. Courage without power is a contradiction. 3 Ten brave men might set all Quedlinburgh at defiance. Beef Ten brave men — but where are they to be found ? Cas. I will tell you — marked you the waiter? Beef. The waiter. \Doubtingly. Cas. [in a confidential tone\ No waiter, but a knight templar. Returning from the Crusade, he found his order dissolved, and his person proscribed. He dissembled his rank, and embraced the profession of a waiter. I have made sure of him already. There are, besides, an Austrian and a Prussian grenadier. I have made them abjure their national enmity, and they have sworn to fight henceforth in the cause of freedom. These, with young Pottingen, the waiter, and ourselves, make seven — the troubadour, with his two attendant minstrels, will complete the ten. Beef. Now then for the execution. [With enthusiasm. Pudd. Yes, my boys — for the execution. [ Clapping them on tlie back. Waiter. But hist ! we are observed. Tron. Let us by a song conceal our purposes. RECITATIVE ACCOMPANIED. 4 [Ellis (M.). The Act is by Frere, and there is no note in Frere's works that ascribes this song to Ft/is.} Cas. Hist ! hist ! nor let the airs that blow From night's cold lungs our purpose know ! 1 See "Count Benyowsky," as before. 2 See "Count Benyosvsky." 3 See "Count Benyowsky" again; from which play this and the preceding references are taken word for word. We acquit the Germans of such reprobate silly stuff. It must be the translator's. 4 We believe this song to be copied, with a small variation in metre and mean- ing, from a song in "Count Benyowsky; or, the Conspiracy of Kamtschatka," where the conspirators join in a chorus for fear of being overheard. 3o8 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Pudd. Let silence, mother of the dumb, Beef. Press on each lip her palsied thumb ! Wait. Let privacy, allied to sin, That loves to haunt the tranquil inn — Gren. \ And conscience start when she shall view, Trou. i The mighty deed we mean to do ! GENERAL CHORUS — Cotl Spirito. Then friendship swear, ye faithful bands, Swear to save a shackled hero ! See where yon abbey frowning stands ! Rescue, rescue, brave Rogero ! Cas. Thralled in a monkish tyrant's fetters, Shall great Rogero hopeless lie ? Pot. In my pocket I have letters, Saying, " Help me, or I die ! " Allegro Allegretto. Cas. Beef. Pudd. Gren. Trou. } Let us fly, let us fly, Waiter, and Pot. with enthusiasm, j Let us help ere he die ! [Exeunt omnes, waving their hats. \Frere (A/.).] Scene — the Abbey gate, with ditches, drawbridges, and spikes. Time — about an hour before sunrise. The conspirators appear as if in ambuscade, whispering and consulting together in expectation of the signal for attack. The Waiter is habited as a Knight Templar in the dress of his order, with the cross on his breast and the scallop on his shoulder ; Puddingfield and Beefington armed with blunderbusses and pocket pistols ; the Grenadiers in their proper uni- forms. The Troubadour with his attendant minstrels bring up the rear — martial music — the conspirators come forward and present themselves before the gate of the Abbey. — Alarum — firing of pistols — the Convent appear in arms upon the walls — the drawbridge is let down — a body of choristers and lay-brothers attempt a sally, but are beaten back, and the verger killed. The besieged attempt to raise the drawbridge — Puddingfield and Beefington press forward with alacrity, throw themselves upon the drawbridge, and by the exertion of their weight preserve it in a state of depression — the other besiegers join them, and attempt to force the entrance, but without effect. Puddingfield makes the signal for the battering ram. Enter Quintus Curtius and Marcus Curius Dentatus, in their proper military habits, preceded by the POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 309 Roman Eagle — the rest of their legion are employed in bringing forward a battering ram, which plays for a few minutes to slow time till tb trance is forced. After a short resistance, the besiegers rush in with shouts of victory. Scene changes to the interior of the Abbey. The inhabitants of the convent are seen flying in all directions. The Count of Weimar and Prior, who had been feasting in the Refectory, are brought in manacled. The Count appears transported with rage, and gnaws his chains. The Prior remains insensible, as if stupefied with grief. Beefing- ton takes the keys of the dungeon, which are hanging at the Prior's girdle, and makes a sign for them both to be led away into confinement. — Exeunt Prior and Count properly guarded. The rest of the conspirators disperse in search of the dungeon where Rogero is confined. END OF ACT IV. 310 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. No. XXXII. June iS, 1798. "\\JYj are indebted for the following Imitation of Catullus to a * * literary correspondent. Whether it will remove the doubts we formerly expressed of Citizen Muskein's acquaintance with the classics from the minds of our readers we cannot pretend to say. It is given to us as a faithful translation from the French. As such we present it to our readers, premising only that though the Citizen Imitator seems to have sans-cullottised the original in two or three places, yet he everywhere expresses himself with a naivete and truth in his verse that we seek for in vain in many of his countrymen, who have recorded their victories and defeats in very vulgar prose. AN AFFECTIONATE EFFUSION OF CITIZEN MUSKEIN TO HAVRE-DE-GRACE. [Lord Morpeth (/>'.).] Fairest of cities, 1 which the Seine Surveys 'twixt Paris and the main, Sweet Havre ! sweetest Havre, hail ' How gladly, with my tattered sail, 2 Yet trembling from this wild adventure, Do I thy friendly harbour enter ! 1 AD SIRMIONEM PENINSULAM. Peninsularutn, Sirmio, Insularumque, Ocelle ! quascunque in liquentibus stagnis, Marique vasto fert uterque Neptunus ; 2 Quam te libenter, quamque laetus inviso ! Vix mi ipse credens Thyniam atque Bithynos Liquiase campos, POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Well — now I've leisure, let me see What boats are left me ; one, two, three — Bravo ! the better half remain ; And all my heroes are not slain. And, if my senses don't deceive, I too am safe, 1 — yes, I believe, AYithout a wound I reach thy shore; (For I have felt myself all o'er) I've all my limbs, and be it spoken With honest triumph, no bone broken — How pleasing is the sweet transition "-' From this vile gunboat expedition ; From winds and waves, and wounds and scars, From British soldiers, British tars, To his own house, where, free from danger, Muskein may live at rack and manger; May stretch his limbs in his own cot/ Thankful he has not gone to pot ; Nor for the bubble glory strive, But bless himself that he's alive ! Havre, 4 sweet Havre ! hail again, O ! bid thy sons (a frolic train, 5 Who under Chenier welcomed in With dance and song, the guillotine), In long procession seek the strand ; For Muskein now prepares to land, 'Scaped, heaven knows how, from that cursed crew That haunt the rocks of Saint Marcou. 1 et videre te in tuto. 2 O quid solutis est beatius cuds, Quoin mens onus reponit, ac peregrino Lahore fessi venimus larem ad nostrum, 3 Desideratoque acquiescimus lecto. 4 Salve ! O venusta Sirmio ! atque hero gaude ; Gaudete, vosque Lydise lacus undse ! Ridete 5 quicquid est domi cachinnorum ! 3 i2 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. No. XXXIII. [Gifford, Ellis, Canning, Frerc {C '.). Canning (B.). Introduction, Canning [M. ).] June 25, 1798. A FTER the splendid account of Buonaparte's successes in the ^"*- East, which our readers will find in another part of this paper, and which they will peruse with equal wonder and appre- hension, it is some consolation to us to have to state, not only from authority, but in verse, that our government has not been behindhand with that of France ; but that, aware of the wise and enterprising spirit of the enemy, and of the danger which might arise to our distant possessions from the export of learning and learned men being entirely in their hands, ministers have long ago determined on an expedition of a similar nature, and have actually embarked at Portsmouth, on board one of the East India Company's ships, taken up for the purpose (the ship Capricorn, Mr. Thomas Truman, commander), several tons of savans, the growth of this country. The whole was conducted with the utmost secrecy and despatch, and it was not till we were favoured with the following copy of a letter (obligingly communi- cated us by the Tunisian gentleman to whom it is addressed) that we had any suspicion of the extent and nature of the design, or, indeed, of any such design being in contemplation. The several great names which are combined to render this expedition the most surprising and splendid ever undertaken, could not indeed have been spared from the country to which they are an ornament, for any other purpose than one the most obviously connected with the interests of the empire, and the most widely beneficial to mankind. The secrecy with which they have been withdrawn from the POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. j 1 j British public, without being so much as missed or inquired after, reflects the highest honour on the planners of the enter- prise. Even the celebrity of Doctor Parr has not led to any discovery, or investigation : the silent admirers of that great man have never once thought of asking what was become of him; — till it is now all at once come to light, that he has been for weeks past on shipboard, the brightest star in the bright constellation of talents which stud the quarter-deck of the Capricorn, Mr. T. Truman (as before mentioned), commander. The resignation of the late worthy president of a certain Agri- cultural Board, might indeed have taught mankind to look for some extraordinary event in the world of science and adventure ; and those who had the good fortune to see the deportation from his house, of the several wonderful anomalies which had for years formed its most distinguished inmates, — the stuffed ram, the dried boar, the cow with three horns, and other fanciful productions of a like nature, could not but speculate, with some degree of seriousness, on the purpose of their removal, and on the place of their destination. It now appears, that there was in truth no light object in view. They were destined, with the rest of the savans on whom this country prides itself (and long may it have reason to indulge the honest exultation), to undertake a voyage of no less grandeur than peril ; to counteract the designs of the Directory, and to frustrate or forestall the conquests of Buonaparte. The young gentleman who writes the following letter to his friend in London, is, as may be seen, interpreter to the expedi- tion. We have understood further, that he is nearly connected with the young man who writes for the Morning Chronicle, and conducts the critical, argumentative, and geographical depart- ments. Some say it is the young man himself, who has assumed a feigned name, and, under the disguise of a Turkish dress and circumcision, is gone, at the express instigation of his employers, to improve himself in geographical knowledge. We have our doubts upon this subject, as we think we recognise the style of this deplorable young man, in an article of last week's Morning 314 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Chronicle which we have had occasion to answer in a preceding column of our present paper. Be that as it may, the information contained in the following letter may be depended upon. We cannot take leave of the subject without remarking what a fine contrast and companion the vessel and cargo, described in the following poem, affords to the " Navis Stultifera," the " Shippe of Fooles " of the celebrated Barclay ; and we cannot forbear hoping, that the Argenis of an author of the same name may furnish a hint for an account of this stupendous expedition in a learned language, from the only pen which in modern days is capable of writing Latin with a purity and elegance worthy of so exalted a theme ; and that the author of a classical preface may become the writer of a no less celebrated voyage. TRANSLATION OF A LETTER, IN ORIENTAL CHARACTERS. FROM BA WBA-DARA-ADUL-PHOOLA. DRAGOMAN TO THE EXPEDITION, TO XEEK-AWL-ARETCHID-KOOEZ, SECRETARY To THE TUNISIAN EMBASSY. [Canning, Ellis, and Frere (/*".).] Dear Neek-Awl, You'll rejoice, that at length I am able To date these few lines from the captain's own table. Mr. Truman himself, of his proper suggestion, Has, in favour of science, decided the question ; So we walk the main-deck, and are messed with the captain ; I leave you to judge of the joy we are wrapt in. At Spithead they embarked us ; how precious a cargo ! And we sailed before day, to escape the embargo. There was Shuckborough, the wonderful mathematician : And Darwin, the poet, the sage, and physician ; POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIS. There was Beddoes, and Bruin, and Godwin, whose trust is, He may part with his work on Political Justice To some Iman or Bonze, or Judaical Rabbin ; So with huge quarto volumes he piles up the cabin. There was great Doctor Parr, whom we style Bellendenus ; The doctor and I have a hammock between us. 5 Tis a little unpleasant thus crowding together, On account of the motion, and heat of the weather ; Two souls in one berth they oblige us to cram, And Sir John will insist on a place for his ram. Though the doctor, I find, is determined to think 'Tis the animal's hide that occasions the stink, In spite of the experienced opinion of Truman, Who contends that the scent is exclusively human. But Beddoes and Darwin engage to repair This slight inconvenience with oxygene air. Whither bound? (you will ask) 'tis a question, my friend, On which I long doubted ; my doubt's at an end. To Arabia the stony, Sabaea the gummy, To the land where each man that you meet is a mummy ; To the mouths of the Nile, to the banks of Araxes, To the Red, and the Yellow, the White, and the Black sea-. With telescopes, globes, and a quadrant, and sextant, And the works of all authors, whose writings are extant ; With surveys and plans, topographical maps, Theodolites, watches, spring-guns, and steel-traps, Phials, crucibles, air-pumps, electric machinery, And pencils for painting the natives and scenery. In short, we are sent to oppose all we know, To the knowledge and mischievous arts of the foe ; Who, though placing in arms a well-grounded reliance, Go to war with a flying artillery of science. The French savans, it seems, recommended this measure. With a view to replenish the national treasure. j»j 3 i6 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. First, the true " Rights of Man " they will preach in all places, But chief (when 'tis found) in the Egyptian oasis : And this doctrine, 'tis hoped, in a very few weeks Will persuade the wild Arabs to murder their cheiks ; And, to aid the great nation's beneficent plans, Plunder pyramids, catacombs, towns, caravans, Then enlist under Arcole's gallant commander, Who will conquer the world like his model Iskander. His army each day growing bolder and finer, With the Turcoman tribes he subdues Asia Minor Beats Paul and his Scythians, his journey pursues Cross the Indus with tribes of Armenians and Jews, And Bucharians, and Affghans, and Persians, and Tartars, — Chokes the wretched Mogul in his grandmother's garters, And will hang him to dry in the Luxemburg hall, 'Midst the plunder of Carthage and spoils of Bengal. Such, we hear, was the plan : but I trust, if we meet 'em, That, savant to savant, our cargo will beat 'em. Our plan of proceeding I'll presently tell — But soft — I am called — I must bid you farewell. To attend on our savans my pen I resign — For it seems that they duck them on crossing the Line. We deeply regret this interruption of our Oriental poet, and the more so, as the prose letters which we have received from a less learned correspondent do not enable us to explain the tactics of our belligerent philosophers so distinctly as we could have wished. It appears, in general, that the learned doctor who has the honour of sharing the hammock of the amiable Oriental, trusted principally to his superior knowledge in the Greek lan- guage, by means of which he hoped to entangle his antagonists in inextricable confusion. Dr. Darwin proposed (as might be ex- pected) his celebrated experiment of the ice-island, which, being towed on the coast of Africa, could not fail of spoiling the climate, and immediately terrifying and embarrassing the sailors of Buona- POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 317 parte's fleet, accustomed to the mild temperature and gentle gales of the Mediterranean, and therefore ill qualified to struggle with this new importation of tempests. Dr. Beddoes was satisfied with the project of communicating to Buonaparte a consumption of the same nature with that which he formerly tried on himself, but superior in virulence, and therefore calculated to make the most rapid and fatal ravages in the hectic constitution of the (lallic hero. The rest of the plan is quite unintelligible, excepting a hint about Sir J. S.'s intention of proceeding with his ram to the celebrated oasis, and of bringing away, for the convenience of the Bank, the treasures contained in the temple of Jupiter Amnion. 3 iS POETRY OF THE AKTI-JACOBIS. No. XXXIV. ODE TO A JACOBIN. FROM SUCKLING'S ODE TO A LOVER. [Author unknown.] July 2. 1798. T TNCHRISTIAN Jacobin whoever, ^ If of thy Gocl thou cherish ever One wavering thought ; if e'er His Word Has from one crime thy soul deterred : Know this, Thou think'st amiss ; And to think true, Thou must renounce Him all, and think anew. If startled at the guillotine Trembling thou touch the dread machine ; If, leading sainted Louis to it, Thy steps drew back, thy heart did rue it : Know this, Thou think'st amiss ; And to think true, Must rise 'bove weak remorse, and think anew. If, callous, thou dost not mistake, And murder for mild mercy's sake ; And think thou followest pity's call 'W "hen slaughtered thousands round thee fall : POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 3,9 Know tli is, Thou think'st amiss ; And to think true, Must conquer prejudice, and think anew. If when good men are to be slain, Thou hear'st them plead, nor plead in vain. Or, when thou answerest, if it be With one jot of humanity : Know this, Thou think'st amiss ; And to think true, Must pardon leave to fools, and think anew. If when all kings, priests, nobles hated, Lie headless, thy revenge is sated, Nor thirsts to load the reeking block With heads from thine own murderous flock : Know this, Thou think'st amiss ; And to think true, Thou must go on in blood, and think anew. If, thus, by love of executions, Thou prov'st thee fit for revolutions ; Yet one achieved, to that art true, Nor would'st begin to change anew : Know this, Thou think'st amiss ; Deem, to think true, All constitutions bad but those bran new. 3 20 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. No. XXXV. July 9, 179S. HP HE following popular song is said to be in great vogue among -*- the loyal troops in the North of Ireland. The air and the turn of the composition are highly original. It is attributed (as our correspondent informs us) to a fifer in the Drumballyroney Volunteers. BALLYNAHINCH. A NEW SONG. [Canning (C. 71/.).] I. A certain great statesman, whom all of us know, In a certain assembly, no long while ago, Declared from this maxim he never would flinch, " That no town was so loyal as Ballynahinch." 11. The great statesman, it seems, had perused all their faces, And being mightily struck with their loyal grimaces ; "While each townsman had sung, like a throstle or finch, " We are all of us loyal at Ballynahinch." in. The great statesman returned to his speeches and readings ; And the Ballynahinchers resumed their proceedings ; They had most of them sworn "We'll be true to the Frinch," T So loyal a town was this Ballynahinch ! 1 Hibernici pi-o French. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 321 IV. Determined their landlord's fine words to make good, They hid pikes in his haggard, cut staves in his wood ; And attacked the king's troops — the assertion to clinch, That no town is so loyal as Ballynahinch. v. Oh, had we but trusted the rebels' professions, Met their cannon with smiles, and their pikes with concessions : Though they still took an ell, when we gave them an inch, They would all have been loyal — like Ballynahinch. DE NAVALI LAUDE BRIT ANNLE. [Canning (B.).] Successu si freta brevi, fatisque secundis, Europae sub pace vetet requiescere gentes, Inque dies ruat ulterius furialibus armis Gallia, tota instans a sedibus eruere imis Fundamenta, quibus cultae commercia vitae Firmant se subnixa ; — tuisne, Britannia, regnis Ecquid ab hoste times ; dum te alba, unde Albion audis, Saxa tuentur adhuc, magnoque Tridente potiris, Dum pelagus circumfusis te fluctibus ambit ? Tu medio stabilita mari, atque ingentibus undis Cincta sedes ; nee tu angusto, Vulcania tanquam Trinacris, interclusa sinu ; nee faucibus arctis Septa freti brevis, impositisque coercita claustris. Liberiora tibi spatia, et porrecta sine ullo Limite regna patent (quanto neque maxima quondam Carthago, aut Phuenissa Tyros, ditissima tellus Foruit imperio) confiniaque ultima mundi. Ergone formidabis adhuc, ne se inferat olim, Et campis impune tuis superingruat hostis ? Usque adebne parum est, quod late litora cernas x POETRY OP THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Prseruptis turrita jugis, protentaque longo Circuitu, et tutos passim prasbentia portus ? Praesertim australes ad aquas, Damnoniaque arva, Aut ubi Vecta viret, secessusque insula fidos Efficit objectu laterum ; saxosave Dubris Velivolum late pelagus, camposque liquentes Aeria, adversasque aspectat desuper oras. Nee levibus sane auguriis, aut omine nullo Auguror hinc fore perpetuum per secula nomen : Dum nautis tam firma tuis, tarn prodiga vitoe Pectora, inexpleta. succensa cupidine fama?, Nee turpi flectenda metu ; dum maxima quercus, Majestate excelsa sua, atque ingentibus umbris, Erigitur, vasto nodosa atque aspera trunco ; Silvarum regina. Haec formidabilis olim Noctem inter mediam nimborum, hyemesque sonantes, Ardua se attolit super requora ; quam neque fluctus Spumosi attenuat furor, aut violentia venti Frangere, et in medio potis est disrumpere ponto. Viribus his innixa, saloque accincta frementi, Tu media inter bella sedes ; ignara malorum, Qure tolerant obsessae urbes, cum jam hostica clausas Fulminat ad portas acies, vallataque circum Castra locat, sasvisque aditus circumsidet armis. Talia sunt tibi perpetuse fundamina famae, Ante alias diis cara, Britannia ! Praelia cerno Inclyta, perpetuos testes quid maxima victrix, Quid possis prseclara tuo, maris arbitra, ponto. Haec inter, sanctas seterna laude calendas Servandas recolo, quibus ilia, immane minata Gentibus excidium, et totum grassata per orbem, Ilia odiis lymphata, et libertate recenti Gallia, disjectam ferali funere elassem Indoluit devicta, et non reparabile vulnus. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Tempore quo instructas vidit longo ordine puppes Pvostrata certare acie, et concurrere ad anna, .Etheraque impulsu tremere, Uxantisque per undas Lugubre lumen agi, atque rubentem fulgure fumum. Cerno triumphatas acies, quo tempore Iberum Disjectos fastus, lacerisque aplustria velis Horruit Oceanus : — quali formidine Cades Intremere, ut fracta classem se mole moventem Hospitium petere, et portus videre relictos ! Quid referam, nobis qua^ nuper adorea risit, Te rursus superante, die quo decolor ibat Sanguine Belgarum Rhenus, fluctusque minores Volvebat, frustra indignans polluta cruore Ostia, et Angliaco tremefactas fulmine rupes. Cerno pias aedes procul, et regalia quondam Atria, creruleis qua? preterlabitur undis Velivolus Thamesis ; materno ubi denique nautas Excipis amplexu, virtus quoscumque virilis Per pelagi impulerit discrimina, quselibet ausos Pro Patria. Hie rude donantur, dulcique senescunt Hospitio emeriti, placidaque quiete potiti Vulnera prosteritos jactant testantia casus. Macte ideb decus Oceani ! macte orane per asvum Victrix, a^quoreo stabilita Britannia regno ! Litoribusque tuis ne propugnacula tantum Presidio fore, nee saxi munimina credas, Nee tantum quae mille acies in utrumque parantur, Aut patriam tutari, aut non superesse cadenti ; Invictas quantum metuenda tonitrua Classis, Angliacse Classis ; — qua; majestate verenda Ultrix, inconcussa, diii dominabitur orbi, Hostibus invidiosa tuis, et ssepe triumphis Nobilitata novis, pelagi P.egina subacti. Etonensis. J-J 3 24 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. No. XXXVI. NEW MORALITY. [Canning, Frere, Gifford, Ellis (C). Canning (B.). Special note of the authorship of parts is given before the sections to which they refer. .] [Canning, Frere (M.). Canning's part not marked by (F.).] July 9, 1798. T^ROM mental mists to purge a nation's eyes : To animate the weak, unite the wise ; To trace the deep infection that pervades The crowded town and taints the rural shades ; To mark how wide extends the mighty waste O'er the fair realms of science, learning, taste ; To drive and scatter all the brood of lies, And chase the varying falsehood as it flies ; The long arrears of ridicule to pay, To drag reluctant dulness back to day ; 10 Much yet remains. To you these themes belong, Ye favoured sons of virtue and of song ! Say, is the field too narrow ? are the times Barren of folly, and devoid of crimes ? [Frere (M. F.).] Yet venial vices, in a milder age, Could rouse the warmth of Pope's satiric rage : The doating miser and the lavish heir, The follies and the foibles of the fair, Sir Job, Sir Baalam, and old Euclio's thrift, And Sappho's diamonds with her dirty shift, 20 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 325 Blunt, Charteris, Hopkins,- — meaner subjects fired The keen-eyed poet ; while the Muse inspired Her ardent child,- -entwining, as he sate, His laurelled chaplet with the thorns of hate. But say, — indignant does the Muse retire, Her shrine deserted and extinct its fire ? No pious hand to feed the sacred flame, No raptured soul a poet's charge to claim ? Bethink thee, Gifford ; when some future age Shall trace the promise of thy playful page ;— 30 1 "The hand which brushed a swarm of fools away, Should rouse to grasp a more reluctant prey ! "— Think then, will pleaded indolence excuse The tame secession of thy languid muse ? Ah ! where is now that promise ? why so long Sleep the keen shafts of satire and of song ? Oh ! come, with taste and virtue at thy side, With ardent zeal inflamed, and patriot pride ; With keen poetic glance direct the blow, And empty all thy quiver on the foe : 40 No pause — no rest — till weltering on the ground The poisonous hydra lies, and pierced with many a wound. Thou too ! — the nameless bard 2 — whose honest zeal For law, for morals, for the public weal, Pours down impetuous on thy country's foes The stream of verse, and many-languaged prose ; Thou too ! — though oft thy ill-advised dislike The guiltless head with random censure strike — 1 See the motto prefixed to " The Baviad," a satirical poem, by W. Gifford, Esq., unquestionably the best of its kind since the days of Pope. " Nunc in ovilia, Mox in reluctantes dracones." 2 The author of the " Pursuits of Literature" F Thomas James Mathias]. 326 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. o Though quaint allusions, vague and undefined, Play faintly round the ear, but mock the mind ; — 50 Through the mixed mass yet truth and learning shine, And manly vigour stamps the nervous line ; And patriot warmth the generous rage inspires, And wakes and points the desultory fires ! Yet more remain unknown : — for who can tell What bashful genius, in some rural cell, As year to year, and day succeeds to day, In joyless leisure wastes his life away ? In him the flame of early fancy shone ; His genuine worth his old companions own ; 60 In childhood and in youth their chief confessed, His master's pride, his pattern to the rest. Now, far aloof retiring from the strife Of busy talents, and of active life, As, from the loop-holes of retreat, he views Our stage, verse, pamphlets, politics, and news, He loathes the world — or, with reflection sad, Concludes it irrecoverably mad ; Of taste, of learning, morals, all bereft, No hope, no prospect to redeem it left. 70 [Canning, Frere(M.). Canning (F.).] Awake ! for shame ! or e'er thy nobler sense Sink in the oblivious pool of indolence ! Must wit be found alone on falsehood's side, Unknown to truth, to virtue unallied ? Arise ! nor scorn thy country's just alarms ; Wield in her cause thy long-neglected arms : Of lofty satire pour the indignant strain, Leagued with her friend, and ardent to maintain 'Gainst learning's, virtue's, truth's, religion's foes, A kingdom's safety, and the world's repose. 80 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 327 [Canning {M. F.).] If Vice appal thee, — if thou view with awe Insults that brave and crimes that 'scape the law ; — Yet may the spacious bastard brood, which claim A spurious homage under Virtue's name, Sprung from that parent of ten thousand crimes, The new philosophy of modern times, — Yet, these may rouse thee ! — With unsparing hand, Oh, lash the vile impostures from the land ! First, stern Philanthropy : — not she, who dries The orphan's tears, and wipes the widow's eyes ; 90 Not she, who, sainted Charity her guide, Of British bounty pours the annual tide : — But French philanthropy ;. — whose boundless mind Glows with the general love of all mankind ; — Philanthropy, — beneath whose baneful sway Each patriot passion sinks, and dies away. Taught in her school to imbibe thy mawkish strain, Condorcet, filtered through the dregs of Paine, Each pert adept disowns a Briton's part, And plucks the name of England from his heart. 100 What ! shall a name, a word, a sound control The aspiring thought, and cramp the expansive soul ? Shall one half-peopled island's rocky round A love that glows for all creation bound ? And social charities contract the plan Framed for thy freedom, universal man ? — No — through the extended globe his feelings run As broad and general as the unbounded sun ! No narrow bigot he; — his reasoned view Thy interests, England, ranks with thine, Peru ! 1 10 528 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. France at our doors, he sees no danger nigh, But heaves for Turkey's woes the impartial sigh ; A steady patriot of the world alone, The friend of every country but his own. Next comes a gentler virtue. — Ah, beware Lest the harsh verse her shrinking softness scare. Visit her not too roughly ; the warm sigh Breathes on her lips ; — the tear-drop gems her eye. Sweet Sensibility, who dwells enshrined In the fine foldings of the feeling mind ;• — 120 With delicate Mimosa's sense endued, Who shrinks, instinctive, from a hand too rude ; Or, like the anagallis, prescient flower, Shuts her soft petals at the approaching shower. Sweet child of sickly fancy ! — her of yore From her loved France Rousseau to exile bore ; And, while 'midst lakes and mountains wild he ran. Full of himself, and shunned the haunts of man, Taught her o'er each lone vale and Alpine steep To lisp the story of his wrongs, and weep ; 1 30 Taught her to cherish still in either eye, Of tender tears a plentiful supply, And pour them in the brooks that babbled by ; — -Taught by nice scale to mete her feelings strong, False by degrees, and exquisitely wrong ; — For the crushed beetle first, — the widowed dove, And all the warbled sorrows of the grove ; — Next for poor suffering guilt ; — and last of all, For parents, friends, a king, and country's fall. Mark her fair votaries, prodigal of grief, 140 With cureless pangs, and woes that mock relief, Droop in soft sorrow o'er a faded flower ; O'er a dead jackass pour the pearly shower ; POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 329 But hear, unmoved, of Loire's ensanguined flood Choked up with slain ;— of Lyons drenched in blood ; Of crimes that blot the age, the world with shame, Foul crimes, but sicklied o'er with Freedom's name ; Altars and thrones subverted, social life Trampled to earth, — the husband from the wife, Parent from child, with ruthless fury torn,— 150 Of talents, honour, virtue, wit, forlorn, In friendless exile, — of the wise and good, Staining the daily scaffold with their blood, — Of savage cruelties, that scare the mind, The rage of madness with hell's lusts combined — Of hearts torn reeking from the mangled breast,— They hear — and hope, that all is for the best. [Frere (Af.). In Frerc's works these lines are not discriminated as Freris insertion of ten lines in Cannings part of the poem. \ Fond hope ! — but justice sanctifies the prayer — Justice ! — here, Satire, strike ! 'twere sin to spare ! Not she in British courts that takes her stand, 160 The dawdling balance dangling in her hand, Adjusting punishments to frauds and vice, With scrupulous quirks, and disquisition nice : — But firm, erect, with keen reverted glance, The avenging angel of regenerate France, Who visits ancient sins on modern times, And punishes the Pope for Caisar's crimes. 1 1 The Manes of Vercengetorix are supposed to have been very much gratified by the invasion of Italy and the plunder of the Roman territory. The defeat of the Rurgundians is to be revenged on the modern inhabitants of Switzerland. But the Swiss were a free people, defending their liberties against a tyrant. Moreover, they happened to be in alliance with France at the time. No matter, Burgundy is since become a province of France, and the French have acquired a property in all the injuries and defeats which the people of that country may have sustained, together with a title to revenge and retaliation to be exercised in the present, or any future centuries, as may be found most glorious and convenient. 33 o POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. [Canning.] Such is the liberal Justice which presides In these our days, and modern patriots guides ; — Justice, whose blood-stained book one sole decree, 170 One statute fills— "the People shall be free." Free by what means ?— by folly, madness, guilt. By boundless rapines, blood in oceans spilt ; By confiscation, in whose sweeping toils The poor man's pittance with the rich man's spoils, Mixed in one common mass, are swept away To glut the short-lived tyrant of the day ; — By laws, religion, morals, all o'erthrown : — Rouse then, ye sovereign people, claim your own : — The license that enthrals, the truth that blinds, 1 80 The wealth that starves you, and the power that grinds, — So Justice bids. — 'Twas her enlightened doom, Louis, thy holy head devoted to the tomb ! 'Twas Justice claimed, in that accursed hour, The fatal forfeit of too lenient power. — Mourn for the man we may ; — but for the King, — Freedom, oh ! freedom's such a charming thing ! " Much may be said on both sides." — Hark ! I hear A well-known voice that murmurs in my ear,— The voice of Candour.— Hail ! most solemn sage, 19° Thou drivelling virtue of this moral age, Candour, which softens party's headlong rage. Candour,— which spares its foes ; nor e'er descends With bigot zeal to combat for its friends. Candour,— which loves in see- saw strain to tell Of acting foolishly, but meaning well ; Too nice to praise by wholesale, or to blame, Convinced that all men's motives are the same ; — And finds, with keen discriminating sight, Black's not so black ; — nor white so very white. 200 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 331 " Fox, to be sure, was vehement and wrong : — But then Pitt's words, you'll own, were rather strong. Both must be blamed, both pardoned ; — 'twas just so With Fox and Pitt full forty years ago ; So Walpole, Pulteney ; — factions in all times, Have had their follies, ministers their crimes." Give me the avowed, the erect, the manly foe, Bold I can meet — perhaps may turn his blow ; But of all plagues, good heaven, thy wrath can send, Save, save, oh ! save me from the candid friend ! 210 " Barras loves plunder,- — Merlin takes a bribe, — What then ? — shall Candour these good men proscribe ? No ! ere we join the loud-accusing throng, Prove, — not the facts, — but, that they thought them wrong. " Why hang O'Quigley ? — he, misguided man. In sober thought his country's weal might plan. And, while his deep-wrought treason sapped the throne, Might act from taste in morals, all his own." Peace to such reasoners !— let them have their way ; Shut their dull eyes against the blaze of day. — 1120 Priestley's a saint, and Stone a patriot still ; And La Fayette a hero, if they will. I love the bold uncompromising mind, Whose principles are fixed, whose views defined : Who scouts and scorns, in canting Candour's spite, All taste in morals, innate sense of right, And Nature's impulse all unchecked by art, And feelings fine that float about the heart : Content for good men's guidance, bad men's awe, On moral truth to rest, and Gospel law. 230 Who owns, when traitors feel the avenging rod, Just retribution, and the hand of God; POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Who hears the groans through Olmutz' roofs that ring, Of him who mocked, misled, betrayed his king — Hears unappalled : — though Faction's zealots preach— Unmoved, unsoftened by Fitzpatrick's speech. — 1 That speech on which the melting Commons hung, " While truths divine came mended from his tongue "■ How loving husband clings to duteous wife, — How pure religion soothes the ills of life, — 240 How Popish ladies trust their pious fears And naughty actions in their chaplain's ears. — Half novel and half sermon on it flowed ; With pious zeal the Opposition glowed ; And as o'er each the soft infection crept, Sighed as he whined, and as he whimpered wept ; — E'en Cuwen dropped a sentimental tear, And stout St. Andrew yelped a softer " Hear ! " [Canning, Frere, Ellis (M.). In Frere's rcoris to line 301 there is no mark- ing from the rest of the passage — which is Cannings — of lines or phrases occa- sionally contributed by Frerc and Ellis. These notes are found only in {Af.).] Oh, nurse of crimes and fashions which in vain Our colder servile spirits would attain, 250 How do we ape thee, France ! but blundering still Disgrace the pattern by our want of skill. 1 The speech of General Fitzpatrick, on his motion for an address of the House of Commons to the Emperor of Germany, to demand the deliverance of M. La Fayette from the prison of Olmutz, was one of the most dainty pieces of oratory that ever drew tears from a crowded gallery, and the clerks at the table. It was really quite moving to hear the General talk of religion, conjugal fidelity, and "such branches of learning." There were a few who laughed indeed, but that was thought hard-hearted, and immoral, and irreligious, and God knows what. Crying was the order of the day. Why will not the Opposition try these topics again ? La Fayette indeed (the more's the pity) is out. But why not a motion for a general gaol-delivery of all State prisoners throughout Europe ? POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. jjj The borrowed step our awkward gait reveals (As clumsy Courtenay l mars the verse he steals) : How do we ape thee, France ! — nor claim alone Thy arts, thy tastes, thy morals for our own, But to thy worthies render homage due, Their 2 "hair-breadth 'scapes" with anxious interest view ; Statesmen and heroines whom this age adores, Though plainer times would call them rogues and whores. [ Canning ( M.), ( /. ). J See Louvet, patriot, pamphleteer, and sage, 261 Tempering, with amorous fire, his virtuous rage. Formed for all tasks, his various talents see — The luscious novel, the severe decree. Then mark him weltering in his nasty sty, Bare his lewd transports to the public eye. Not his the love in silent groves that strays, Quits the rude world, and shuns the vulgar gaze ; In Lodoiska's full possession blessed, One craving void still aches within his breast : 270 Plunged in the filth and fondness of her arms, Not to himself alone he stints her charms ; Clasped in each other's foul embrace they lie, But know no joy unless the world stand by. The fool of vanity, for her alone He lives, loves, writes, and dies but to be known. His widowed mourner flies to poison's aid. Eager to join her Louvet's parted shade 1 See p. 198, in the note, for a theft more shameless, and an application of the thing stolen more stupid, than any of those recorded of Irish story-tellers by Joe Miller. 2 See " R^cit de mes Perils," by Louvet ; " Memoires d'un Detenu," by Riouffe, &c. The avidity with which these productions were read might, we should hope, be accounted for upon principles of mere curiosity (as we read the Newgate Calendar and the history of the Buccaneers), not from any interest in favour of a set of wretches infinitely more detestable than all the robbers and pirates that ever existed. 334 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. In those bright realms where sainted lovers stray — But harsh emetics tear that hope away. 1 280 — Yet hapless Louvet ! where thy bones are laid, The easy nymphs shall consecrate the shade. 2 There, in the laughing morn of genial spring, Unwedded pairs shall tender couplets sing ; Eringoes o'er the hallowed spot shall bloom. And flies of Spain buzz softly round the tomb. 3 [Canning, Frere {M.)l\ But hold, severer virtue claims the Muse — Roland the just, with ribands in his shoes 4 — And Roland's spouse who paints with chaste delight The doubtful conflict of her nuptial night ; — 290 Her virgin charms what fierce attacks assailed, And how the rigid minister 5 prevailed. [Canning, Frere, Ellis (M.).~\ And ah ! what verse can grace thy stately mien, Guide of the world, preferment's golden queen, Neckar's fair daughter, — Stael the Epicene ! Bright o'er whose flaming cheek and pumple 6 nose. The bloom of young desire unceasing glows ! Fain would the Muse — but ah ! she dares no more, A mournful voice from lone Guyana's shore, 7 1 Every lover of modern French literature and admirer of modern French char- acters must remember the rout which was made about Louvet's death and Lodoiska's poison. The attempt at self-slaughter, and the process of the recovery, the arsenic, and the castor oil, were served up in daily messes from the French papers till the public absolutely sickened. 2 Faciles Napecs. 3 See Anthologia, pxissim. 4 Such was the strictness of this minister's principles, that he positively refused to go to court in shoe-buckles. — See " Dumourier's Memoirs." 5 See "Madame Roland's Memoirs." — " Rigide Mi?iistre," Brissot a ses Com- metans. 6 The "pumple" nosed attorney of Furnival's Inn. — Congreve's "Way of the World." 7 These lines contain the secret history of Quatremer's deportation. He pre- POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 335 Sad Quatremer — the bold presumption chucks, 300 Forbid to question thy ambiguous sex. {Frere{M. F.).] To thee, proud Barras bows : - thy charms control Rewbell's brute rage, and Merlin's subtle soul ; Raised by thy hands, and fashioned to thy will, Thy power, thy guiding influence, governs still, Where at the blood-stained board expert he plies. The lame artificer of fraud and lies ; [Canning, Frere, Ellis (-'/•).] He with the mitred head and cloven heel, — Doomed the coarse edge of Rewbell's jests to feel ; ' To stand the playful buffet, and to hear 3 1 o The frequent inkstand whizzing past his ear ; While all the five Directors laugh to see "The limping priest so deft at his new ministry.'' Last of the anointed five behold, and least, The directorial lama, sovereign priest, — Lepaux : — whom atheists worship ; — at whose nod Bow their meek heads the men without a God. ;) sumed in the Council of Five Hundred to arraign Madame de Stael's conduct, and even to hint a doubt of her sex. He was sent to Guyana. The transaction natu- rally brings to one's mind the dialogue between Falstaff and Hostess Quickly in Shakspeare's Henry IV. Fal. Thou art neither fish nor flesh — a man cannot tell where to have thee. Quick. Thou art an unjust man for saying so — thou or any man knows where to have me. 1 For instance, in the course of a political discussion, Rewbell observed to the ex-bishop — " that his understanding was as crooked as his legs" — " I'il Emigre, In nas pas le sens plus droit que les pieds" — and therewithal threw an inkstand at him. It whizzed along, as we have been informed, like the fragment of a rock from the hand of one of Ossian's heroes : — but the wily apostate shrunk beneath the table, and the weapon passed over him, innocuous and guiltless of his blood or brains. 2 See Homer's description of Vulcan, first Iliad. Inextinguibilis vero exoriebatur risus beatis numinibus Ut viderunt Vulcanum per domos ministrantem. 8 The men without a God — one of the new sects. Their religion is intended to 336 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. Ellis (A/.), not marked as other than Frere's in Freris works until line 345.] Ere long, perhaps, to this astonished isle, Fresh from the shores of subjugated Nile, Shall Buonaparte's victor fleet protect 320 The genuine Theo-Philanthropic sect, — The sect of Marat, Mirabeau, Voltaire, — Led by their Pontiff, good La Reveillere, —Rejoiced our clubs shall greet him, and install The holy hunchback in thy dome, St. Paul ! While countless votaries thronging in his train Wave their red caps, and hymn this jocund strain : [Canning, Frere (.'/.).] " Couriers and Stars, Sedition's evening host, Thou Morning Chronicle and Morning Post, Whether ye make the Rights of Man your theme, 330 Your country libel, and your God blaspheme, Or dirt on private worth and virtue throw, Still blasphemous or blackguard, praise Lepaux. " And ye five other wandering bards, that move In sweet accord of harmony and love, Coleridge and Southey, Lloyd, and Lamb and Co. Tune all your mystic harps to praise Lepaux ! " Priestley and Whitfield, humble, holy men, Give praises to his name with tongue and pen ! " Thelwall, and ye that lecture as ye go, 340 And for your pains get pelted, praise Lepaux ! " Praise him each Jacobin, or fool, or knave, And your cropped heads in sign of worship wave ! consist in the adoration of a Great Book, in which all the virtuous actions of the society are to be entered and registered. " In times of civil commotion they are to come forward to exhort the citizens to unanimity, and to read them a chapter out of the Great Book. When oppressed or proscribed, they are to retire to a burying-ground, to wrap themselves up in their great-coats, and wait the approach of death," &c. J J/ POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. "All creeping creatures, venomous and low, Paine, Williams, Godwin, Holcroft, praise Lepaux ! " and , with joined, 1 And every other beast after his kind. [Canning (F).] " And thou - Leviathan ! on ocean's brim Hugest of living things that sleep and swim ; Thou in whose nose, by Burke's gigantic hand, 350 The hook was fixed to drag thee to the land, With Erskine, Grey, and Courtenay in thy train, And Whitbread wallowing in the yeasty main — :i Still as ye snort, and puff, and spout, and blow, In puffing, and in spouting, praise Lepaux ! " [Canning (M. F.).] Britain, beware; nor let the insidious foe, Of force despairing, aim a deadlier blow. Thy peace, thy strength, with devilish wiles assail, And when her arms are vain, by arts prevail. True, thou art rich, art powerful !— through thine Isle 360 Industrious skill, contented labour, smile; Far seas are studded with thy countless sails ; What wind but wafts them, and what shore but hails ! True, thou art brave ; — o'er all the busy land In patriot ranks embattled myriads stand : Thy foes behold with impotent amaze, And drop the lifted weapon as they gaze ! 1 The reader is at liberty to fill up the blanks according to his own opinion, and after the chances and changes of the times. It would be highly unfair to hand down to posterity as followers of Leviathan, the names of men who may, and pro- bably will soon, grow ashamed of their leader. 2 Duke of Bedford. '■* " Though the yeasty sea Consume and swallow navigation up." — Macbeth. V 338 POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. But what avails to guard each outward part, If subtlest poison, circling at thy heart, Spite of thy courage, of thy power, and wealth, 370 Mine the sound fabric of thy vital health ? So thine own oak, by some fair streamlet's side Waves its broad arms, and spreads its leafy pride, Towers from the earth, and rearing to the skies Its conscious strength, the tempest's wrath defies : Its ample branches shield the fowls of air, To its cool shade the panting herds repair. — The treacherous current works its noiseless way, — The fibres loosen, and the roots decay ; Prostrate the beauteous ruin lies ; and all 380 That shared its shelter, perish in its fall. O thou, — lamented sage, — whose prescient scan Pierced through foul anarchy's gigantic plan. Prompt to incredulous hearers to disclose The guilt of France, and Europe's world of woes ; Thou on whose name each distant age shall gaze, The mighty sea-mark of these troubled days ! O large of soul, of genius unconfined, Born to delight, instruct, and mend mankind ! — - Burke ! in whose breast a Roman ardour glowed; 390 Whose copious tongue with Grecian richness flowed ; Well hast thou found — if such thy country's doom — A timely refuge in the sheltering tomb ! As, far in realms, where Eastern kings are laid. In pomp of death, beneath the cypress shade, The perfumed lamp, with unextinguished light Flames through the vault, and cheers the gloom of night — So, mighty Burke, in thy sepulchral urn, To fancy's view the lamp of truth shall burn. Thither late times shall turn their reverent eyes, 400 Led by thy light, and by thy wisdom wise. POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. 339 There are to whom — their taste such pleasures cloy — No light thy wisdom yields, thy wit no joy. Peace to their heavy heads and callous hearts. Peace — such as sloth, as ignorance imparts ! Pleased may they live to plan their country's good, And crop, with calm content, their flowery food ! What though thy venturous spirit loved to urge The labouring theme to reason's utmost verge, Kindling and mounting from the enraptured sight ;— 410 Still anxious wonder watched thy daring flight ! While vulgar minds, with mean, malignant stare, Gazed up, the triumph of thy fall to share ! Poor triumph ! price of that extorted praise, Which still to daring genius envy pays. Oh, for thy playful smile — thy potent frown — To abash bold vice, and laugh pert folly down ! So should the Muse in humour's happiest vein, With verse that flowed in metaphoric strain, And apt allusions to the rural trade, 420 Tell of what wood young Jacobins are made ; How the skilled gardener grafts with nicest rule The slip of coxcomb on the stock of fool ; — Forth in bright blossom bursts the tender sprig, A thing to wonder at, 1 perhaps a Whig. Should tell, how wise each half-fledged pedant prates Of weightiest matters, grave distinctions states — — That rules of policy and public good, In Saxon times were rightly understood ; — That kings are proper, may be useful things, 430 But then some gentlemen object to kings ; 1 I.e., perhaps a member of the Whig Club — a society that has presumed to monopolise to itself a title to which it never had any claim but from the character of those who have now withdrawn themselves from it. "Perhaps" signifies that even the Whig Club sometimes rejects a candidate whose principles {risum Uneatt • | it affects to disapprove. 34Q POETRY OF THE ANTI-JACOBIN. — That in all times the minister's to blame : — That British liberty's an empty name, Till each fair burgh, numerically free, Shall choose its members by the Rule of Three. So should the Muse, with verse in thunder clothed, Proclaim the crimes by God and nature loathed. Which — when fell poison revels in the veins — That poison fell, which frantic Gallia drains From the crude fruit of freedom's blasted tree — 440 Blots the fair records of humanity. To feebler nations let proud France afford Her damning choice, — the chalice or the sword, — To drink or die ; oh fraud ! oh specious lie ! Delusive choice ! for if they drink, they die. The sword we dread not : — of ourselves secure, Firm were our strength, our peace and freedom sure. Let all the world confederate all its powers, " Be they not backed by those that should be ours," High on his rock shall Britain's Genius stand, 450 Scatter the crowded hosts, and vindicate the land. Guard we but our own hearts ; with constant view To ancient morals, ancient manners true, True to the manlier virtues, such as nerved Our fathers' breasts, and this proud Isle preserved For many a rugged age : — and scorn the while Each philosophic atheist's specious guile. — The soft seductions, the refinements nice, Of gay morality, and easy vice : — So shall we brave the storm ; — our stablished power Thy refuge, Europe, in some happier hour. — 461 But, French in heart — though victory crown our brow, Low at our feet though prostrate nations bow, "Wealth gild our cities, commerce crowd our shore, — London may shine, but England is no more. PARODIES AND BURLESQUES. CANNING, ELLIS. AND FRERE. GEORGE ELLIS. (~* EORGE ELLIS, while the " Poetry of the Anti-Jacobin " was ^^ being read in the handsome quarto into which it was col- lected, married, in the year 1800, a daughter of Admiral Sir Peter Parker. In the same year there was a second edition of a selection of Fabliaux from the collection of Legrand d'Aussy, translated by Gregory Lewis Way, which had first appeared in 1796. with preface, notes, and appendix by George Ellis. Ellis's friendship with Walter Scott dated from the year 1801. His work to extend the knowledge and enjoyment of old poetry, begun in 1790 with his "Specimens of the Early English Poets" — a work which he enlarged in 1S01 — was closed in 1805 with three volumes of "Specimens of Early English Metrical Romances," to which he prefixed an historical introduction. This is a very delightful book. The stories of many of the most famous of the old romances are told again in prose with grace and good humour, and the specimens are set in their proper places in each narrative. An edition of this book was published in 1848 by Mr. J. O. Halliwell-Phillipps as a cheap volume in one of Bonn's libraries. It cannot be re-issued in a better or a cheaper form, and whoever cares enough for good literature to buy the book is glad in the possession of it. There is an analysis of Peter Alphonsus, and of Marie's Lays; there are romances of Arthur and of Merlin ; Guy 342 GEORGE ELLIS. of Warwick ; Bevis of Hampton ; Cceur de Lion ; Charlemagne romances ; Sir Otuel ; Sir Ferumbras ; the Seven Wise Masters ; Florice and Blanchefleur, and nearly a dozen more. Scott came to know Ellis first by correspondence upon old romances ; then, says Lockhart, "the correspondence between Ellis and Scott soon came to be constant. They met personally, before many letters had been exchanged, conceived for each other a cordial respect and affec- tion, and continued on a footing of almost brotherly intimacy ever after. To this alliance Scott owed, among other advantages, his early and ready admission to the acquaintance and familiarity of Ellis's bosom friend, his coadjutor in the Anti-Jacobin, and the confidant of all his literary schemes, Mr. Canning." The following criticism from Ellis to Scott, written two months after the publication of his " Marmion''' in 1808, will give us one more touch from his hand. George Ellis to Walter Scott upon Iris " Marmion." " All the world are agreed that you are like the elephant men- tioned in the Spectator, who was the greatest elephant in the world except himself, and consequently that the only question at issue is, whether the 'Lay' or 'Marmion' shall be reputed the most pleasing poem in our language — save and except one or two of Dryden's Fables. But, with respect to the two rivals, I think the 'Lay' is, on the whole, the greatest favourite. It is admitted that the fable of ' Marmion ' is greatly superior — that it contains a greater diversity of character — that it inspires more interest — and that it is by no means inferior in point of poetical expression ; but it is contended that the incident of Deloraine's journey to Melrose surpasses anything in ' Marmion,' and that the personal appearance of the Minstrel, who, though the last, is by far the most charming of all minstrels, is by no means com- pensated by the idea of an author shorn of his picturesque beard, deprived of his harp, and writing letters to his intimate friends. These introductory epistles, indeed " [it will be remembered that one was addressed to Ellis himself], "though excellent in them- GEORGE ELLIS. selves, are, in fact, only interruptions to the fable; and, accord- ingly, nine out of ten have perused them separately, either after or before the poem — and it is obvious that they cannot have produced, in either case, the effect which was proposed — viz., of relieving the reader's attention, and giving variety to the whole. Perhaps, continue these critics, it would be fair to say that 'Marmion' delights us in spite of its introductory epistles- while the ' Lay ' owes its principal charm to the venerable old minstrel : the two poems may be considered as equally respect- able to the talents of the author; but the first, being a mure perfect whole, will be more constantly preferred. Now all this may be true — but it is no less true that everybody has already read ' Marmion ' more Hum once — that it is the subject of general conversation — that it delights all ages and tastes, and that it is universally allowed to improve upon a second reading. My own opinion is, that both the productions are equally good in their different ways : yet, upon the whole, I had rather be the author of ' Marmion ' than of the ' Lay,' because I think its species of excellence of much more difficult attainment. What degree of bulk may be essentially necessary to the corporeal part of an epic poem I know not ; but sure I am that the story of Marmion might have furnished twelve books as easily as six — that the masterly character of Constance would not have been less be- witching had it been much more minutely painted — and that De Wilton might have been dilated with great ease, and even to considerable advantage ; — in short, that had it been your inten- tion merely to exhibit a spirited romantic story, instead of making that story subservient to the delineation of the manners which prevailed at a certain period of our history, the number and variety of your characters would have suited any scale of painting. Marmion is to Deloraine what Tom Jones is to Joseph Andrew.- ; — the varnish of high-breeding nowhere diminishes the promi- nence of the features — and the minion of a king is as light and sinewy a cavalier as the borderer — rather less ferocious, more wicked, less fit for the hero of a ballad, and far more for the hero of a regular poem. On the whole, I can sincerely assure you, 344 GEORGE CANNING. sans phrase, that had I seen ' Marmion ' without knowing the author, I should have ranked it with ' Theodore and Honoria ' — that is to say, on the very top shelf of English poetry."' "Theodore and Honoria" — on a story from Boccaccio — is that one of Dryden's Fables which Ellis especially considered to be the most pleasing poem in our language. Scott said of his friend Ellis that he was " the first converser I ever knew ; his patience and good-breeding made me often ashamed of myself going off at score upon some favourite topic." George Ellis was preparing an edition of the Diary of his friend William Windham when he died, in April 1815. And now, in the old phrase of the Northern saga tellers, George Ellis goes out of the story. GEQRGE CANNING. George Canning, like George Ellis, married in the year 1800, but Ellis was in that year a bridegroom of forty-seven, Canning a bridegroom of thirty. Canning married the daughter of Major- General John Scott. She brought him a hundred thousand pounds, and made him free to devote himself entirely to the service of his country. He went out of office with Pitt, and came back into office with him in 1804, as Treasurer of the Navy. After Pitt's death in 1806, Canning did not serve under Lord Grenville, but in the spring of 1807, at the age of thirty-seven, became Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs in the ministry of the Duke of Port- land, whose wife and Canning's wife were sisters. Canning did not serve in the Cabinet formed after the resignation of the Duke of Portland in October 1809. I n l8l2 > Canning was returned for Liverpool, and said that his political allegiance was buried in the grave of Pitt. He could not act with Lord Castlereagh ; the relations between them had, indeed, in 1809, led to a duel upon Putney Heath. He would not in 1812 return to the Foreign Office when invited to do so by Lord Liverpool, with the unwelcome condition that Castlereagh should be the leader of the GEORGE CANNING. 345 House of Commons. He went to Lisbon in 1814 for the health of his eldest son, when Lord Liverpool appointed him Ambassador Extraordinary ; and next year he was in the south of France. In the summer of 18 16 he returned to England, and became Presi- dent of the Board of Control. His son died in April 1S20. He went abroad in the autumn, and was abroad during the trial of Queen Caroline. When he returned he resigned, unwilling to take part in action unfriendly to the Queen. Queen Caroline died in August 182 1, but the King then would not receive Canning as a minister. He was appointed Governor- General of India in 1822, but in that year Castlereagh, who had returned to office as Foreign Secretary, died by suicide. The Duke of Wellington told the King that none but Canning could succeed him, and Canning re- turned to the Foreign Office. Canning's health was breaking when the course of events made him in April 1S27 head of a ministry formed by coalition with the Whigs. Canning was Chancellor of the Exchequer, Lord Lansdowne was Home Secretary, and Lord Lyndhurst, Chancellor. Canning was friendly to the claims of the Roman Catholics and to free trade as leader of a liberal section of the Tories, trained in the school of Pitt. In March 1827 Canning and Huskisson introduced a bill for the admission of foreign wheat, under conditions of a sliding scale, that lessened the evil of protection. It passed the Commons, but was thrown out in the Lords upon an amendment moved by the Duke of Wellington. Canning died on the 8th of August 1827. In the next year his second son, a captain in the navy, was drowned. Canning's widow was after his death created a Viscountess. His third son, born in 181 2, left Eton in the year of his father's death. A year later he went on to Oxford, succeeded to the peerage, on his mother's death, as Viscount Canning, and lived to become, in 1856, Governor-General of India. When the govern- ment of India was transferred from the East India Company to the Crown, Lord Canning was, in 1858, the first Viceroy of India, and in 1859 he was raised to an earldom. His wife, loved throughout India, died in 1861, and he died himself in the next year, leaving no successor to the title. 346 JOHN HOOKHAM FRERE. JOHN HOOKHAM FRERE. After Canning's death, his friend Frere said, " I think twenty years ago Canning's death would have caused mine ; as it is, the time seems so short I do not feel it as I otherwise should." He survived Canning nearly twenty years, and died in January 1846, having lived to the age of seventy-seven, and twice refused a peerage. After the Anti-Jacobin days, Frere, in April 1799, succeeded Canning as Under-Secretary of State in the Foreign Office From 1800 to 1804 he was abroad as Envoy Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary, first at Lisbon and then at Madrid. On his return, grant was made to him of a pension of ^1700 a year, and he was sworn a member of the Privy Council. In October 1808 he went out to Spain as Minister Plenipotentiary to the Central Junta He was replaced in 1809 by Lord Wellesley, and the Central Junta, when he left, created him a Marquis. This was the end of Frere's political life. His father's death in 1807 had made him master of Roydon Hall. He married in 18 12 the Dowager Countess of Errol, and published in 18 17 the first two cantos, and in 18 18 the other two cantos, of his burlesque poem, first produced as " Prospectus and Specimen of an in- tended National Work, by William and Robert Whistlecraft, of Stow Market, in Suffolk, Harness and Collar Makers. Intended to comprise the most interesting particulars relating to King Arthur and his Round Table." It delighted Byron, who wrote to Murray, "Mr. Whistlecraft has no greater admirer than my- self. I have written a poem of eighty- four octave stanzas, humorous, in or after the excellent manner of Whistlecraft (whom I take to be Frere)." In March 1S18 Byron wrote — " The style is not English, it is Italian ; Berni is the original of all ; W r histlecraft was my immediate model." Two years later he said of Pulci's " Morgante Maggiore," " It is the parent not only of Whistlecraft, but of all jocose Italian poetry." When the two separate parts, each of two cantos, were published together 'JOHN HOOKHAM FRBRB. 347 in 181S, the title of the little volume was "The Monks and the Giants." Southey wrote of it in 1S20 to Landor — '* A fashion of poetry has been imported which has had a great run, and is in a fair way of being worn out. It is of Italian growth, an adaptation of the manner of Pulci, Berni, and Ariosto in his sportive mood. Frere began it. What he produced was too good in itself, and too inoffensive to become popular ; for it attacked nothing and nobody; and it had the fault of its Italian models, that the transi- tion from what is serious to what is burlesque was capricious. Lord Byron immediately followed, first with his ' Beppo/ which implied the profligacy of the writer, and lastly with his ' Don Juan.' . . . The manner has had a host of imitators." With this last piece of burlesque playfulness — fresher and more good-humoured than ' Beppo ' — we pass from Frere, only adding that in 1S1S his wife's health caused him to settle at Malta, where he made those admirable versions from Aristophanes of the Acharnians, The Knights, and the Birds, which I have re- printed in " the Universal Library " from the original edition printed at Malta in 1S39. "The Monks and the Giants" have, indeed, been reprinted in another volume of the same library, " A Miscellany," but as the work cannot be left out of the present collection, here it is again. I may just add that there is a detailed criticism of it, by Ugo Foscolo, in the twenty-first volume of the Quarterly Revieiv. THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. PROSPECTUS AND SPECIMEN OF AN INTENDED NATIONAL WORK, BY WILLIAM AND ROBERT WHISTLECRAFT, OP STOW MARKET, IN SUFFOLK, HARNESS AND COLLAR MAKERS. INTENDED TO COMPRISE THE MOST INTERESTING PARTICULARS RELATING TO KING ARTHUR AND HIS ROUND TABLE. The following stanzas being for the most part the production of my late brother, William Whistlecraft, as composed by him in the year 1S13, I have judged (by the advice of my friends) that it would be more suitable to publish them without alteration in any respect, and to which I have adhered strictly, as may be seen by a reference to the thirteenth stanza. This I thought it due to have stated, in consideration of our having proposed the Two Boards for Verse and Prose, which in the present crisis might be stigmatised ; but it is well known that the public opinion was more consonant to magnificence and useful encouragement at that time than it has been for the last twelve months, or is likely to be the case again, unless the funds should experience a fur- ther advance, together with an improvement in the branches of Customs and Excise. The occasion of their remaining unpub- lished was in compliance with the advice of friends, though at present, in conformity with the pressure of the times, they have thought it advisable that the following publication should take place, which, if an indulgent public should espouse it, it is intended that it should be followed in due course with a suitable continuation. THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. i. T 'VE often wished that I could write a book, ■*- Such as all English people might peruse; I never should regret the pains it took, That's just the sort of fame that I should choose To sail about the world like Captain Cook, I'd sling a cot up lor my favourite Muse, And we'd take verses out to Demarara, To New South Wales, and up to Niagara. ii. Poets consume exciseable commodities, They raise the nation's spirit when victorious. They drive an export trade in whims and oddities, Making our commerce and revenue glorious ; As an industrious and painstaking body 'tis That poets should be reckoned meritorious : And therefore I submissively propose To erect one Board for Verse and one for Prose. in. Princes protecting Sciences and Art I've often seen, in copper-plate and print ; I never saw them elsewhere for my part, And therefore I conclude there's nothing in't : But everybody knows the Regent's heart ; I trust he won't reject a well-meant hint ; Each Board to have twelve members, with a seat To bring them in per ann. five hundred neat : — 3Si 352 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. IV. From princes I descend to the nobility : In former times all persons of high stations, Lords, baronets, and persons of gentility, Paid twenty guineas for the dedications : This practice was attended with utility ; The patrons lived to future generations, The poets lived by their industrious earning, — So men alive and dead could live by learning. v. Then, twenty guineas was a little fortune ; Now, we must starve unless the times should mend Our poets now-a-days are deemed importune If their addresses are diffusely penned ; Most fashionable authors make a short one To their own wife, or child, or private friend, To show their independence, I suppose ; And that may do for gentlemen like those. VI. Lastly, the common people I beseech — Dear people ! if you think my verses clever, Preserve with care your noble Parts of Speech, And take it as a maxim to endeavour To talk as your good mothers used to teach, And then these lines of mine may last for ever ; And don't confound the language of the nation With long-tailed words in osity and ation. VII. I think that poets (whether Whig or Tory) (Whether they go to meeting or to church) Should study to promote their country's glory With patriotic, diligent research ; That children yet unborn may learn the story, With grammars, dictionaries, canes, and birch : It stands to reason — this was Homer's plan, And we must do — like him — the best we can. THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. \ in. Madoc and Marmion, and many more, Arc out in print, and most of them have sold ; Perhaps together they may make a score ; Richard the First has had his story told, But there were lords and princes long before, That had behaved themselves like warriors bold ; Among the rest there was the great King Arthur, What hero's fame was ever carried farther ? IX. King Arthur, and the Knights of his Round Tabic, Were reckoned the best king, and bravest IokK Of all that flourished since the Tower of Babel, At least of all that history records ; Therefore I shall endeavour, if I'm able, To paint their famous actions by my words : Heroes exert themselves in hopes of fame, And having such a strong decisive claim, x. It grieves me much, that names that were respected In former ages, persons of such mark. And countrymen of ours, should lie neglected, Just like old portraits lumbering in the dark : An error such as this should be corrected. And if my Muse can strike a single spark, Why then (as poets say) I'll string my lyre ; And then I'll light a great poetic fire, XI. I'll air them all, and rub down the Round Tabic, And wash the canvas clean, and scour the frames, And put a coat of varnish on the fable, And try to puzzle out the dates and names; Then (as I said before) I'll heave my cable, And take a pilot, and drop down the Thames— — These first eleven stanzas make a proem. And now I must sit down and write my poem. z J3J 354 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. CANTO I. Beginning (as my bookseller desires) Like an old minstrel with his gown and beard, " Fair ladies, gallant knights, and gentle squires, Now the last service from the board is cleared, And if this noble company requires, And if amidst your mirth I may be heard, Of sundry strange adventures I could tell, That oft were told before, but never told so well." II. The great King Arthur made a sumptuous feast, And held his royal Christmas at Carlisle, And thither came the vassals, most and least, From every corner of this British Isle ; And all were entertained, both man and beast According to their rank, in proper style ; The steeds were fed and littered in the stable, The ladies and the knights sat down to table. in. The bill of fare (as you may well suppose) Was suited to those plentiful old times, Before our modern luxuries arose, With truffles and ragouts, and various crimes ; And therefore, from the original in prose I shall arrange the catalogue in rhymes : They served up salmon, venison, and wild boars By hundreds, and by dozens, and by scores. THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. IV. Hogsheads of honey, kilderkins of mustard, Muttons, and fatted beeves, and bacon swine; Herons and bitterns, peacock, swan and bustard, Teal, mallard, pigeons, widgeons, and in fine Plum-puddings, pancakes, apple-pies and custard: And therewithal they drank good Gascon wine, With mead, and ale, and cyder of our own ; For porter, punch, and negus were not known. v. The noise and uproar of the scullery tribe, All pilfering and scrambling in their calling, Was past all powers of language to describe — The din of manful oaths and female squalling : The sturdy porter, huddling up his bribe, And then at random breaking heads and bawling, Outcries, and cries of order, and contusions, Made a confusion beyond all confusions ; VI. Beggars and vagabonds, blind, lame, and sturdy, Minstrels and singers with their various airs, The pipe, the tabor, and the hurdy-gurdy, Jugglers and mountebanks with apes and bears, Continued from the first day to the third day, An uproar like ten thousand Smithfield fairs : There were wild beasts and foreign birds and creatures, And Jews and foreigners with foreign features. VII. All sorts of people there were seen together, All sorts of characters, all sorts of dresses ; The fool with fox's tail and peacock's feather, Pilgrims and penitents and grave burgesses ; The country people with their coats of leather, Vintners and victuallers with cans and messes ; Grooms, archers, varlets, falconers and yeomen, Damsels and waiting-maids, and waiting-women. 353 356 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. VIII. But the profane, indelicate amours, The vulgar, unenlightened conversation Of minstrels, menials, courtesans, and boors (Although appropriate to their meaner station), Would certainly revolt a taste like yours ; Therefore I shall omit the calculation Of all the curses, oaths, and cuts and stabs, Occasioned by their dice, and drink, and drabs. IX. We must take care in our poetic cruise, And never hold a single tack too long ; Therefore my versatile ingenious muse Takes leave of this illiterate, low-bred throng, Intending to present superior views, Which to genteeler company belong, And show the higher orders of society Behaving with politeness and propriety. x. And certainly they say, for fine behaving King Arthur's court has never had its match ; True point of honour, without pride or braving, Strict etiquette for ever on the watch : Their manners were refined and perfect — saving Some modern graces, which they could not catch, As spitting through the teeth, and driving stages, Accomplishments reserved for distant ages. XI. They looked a manly, generous generation ; Beards, shoulders, eyebrows, broad, and square, and thick, Their accents firm and loud in conversation, Their eyes and gestures eager, sharp, and quick, Showed them prepared, on proper provocation, To give the lie, pull noses, stab and kick ; And for that very reason, it is said, They were so very courteous and well-bred. THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. 357 XII. The ladies looked of an heroic race — At first a general likeness struck your eye, Tall figures, open features, oval face, Large eyes, with ample eyebrows arched and high ; Their manners had an odd, peculiar grace, Neither repulsive, affable, nor shy, Majestical, reserved, and somewhat sullen ; Their dresses partly silk, and partly woollen. XIII. In form and figure far above the rest, Sir Launcelot was chief of all the train, In Arthur's court an ever welcome guest ; Britain will never see his like again. Of all the knights she ever had the best, Except, perhaps, Lord Wellington in Spain : I never saw his picture nor his print ; From Morgan's Chronicle I take my hint. xiv. For Morgan says (at least as I have heard, And as a learned friend of mine assures), Beside him all that lordly train appeared Like courtly minions, or like common boors, As if unfit for knightly deeds, and reared To rustic labours or to loose amours ; He moved amidst his peers without compare, So lofty was his stature, look, and air. xv. Yet oftentimes his courteous cheer forsook His countenance, and then returned again, As if some secret recollection shook His inward heart with unacknowledged pain ; And something haggard in his eyes and look (More than his years or hardships could explain) Made him appear, in person and in mind, Less perfect than what nature had designed. 358 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. XVI. Of noble presence, but of different mien, Alert and lively, voluble and gay, Sir Tristram at Carlisle was rarely seen, But ever was regretted while away ; With easy mirth, an enemy to spleen, His ready converse charmed the wintry day ; No tales he told of sieges or of fights, Or foreign marvels, like the foolish knights, XVII. But with a playful imitative tone (That merely seemed a voucher for the truth) Recounted strange adventures of his own, The chances of his childhood and his youth, Of churlish giants he had seen and known, Their rustic phrase and courtesies uncouth, The dwellings, and the diet, and the lives Of savage monarchs and their monstrous wives : xvm. Songs, music, languages, and many a lay Asturian or Armoric, Irish, Basque, His ready memory seized and bore away ; And ever when the ladies chose to ask, Sir Tristram was prepared to sing and play, Not like a minstrel earnest at his task, But with a sportive, careless, easy style, As if he seemed to mock himself the while. XIX. His ready wit and rambling education, With the congenial influence of his stars, Had taught him all the arts of conversation, All games of skill and stratagems of wars ; His birth, it seems, by Merlin's calculation, Was under Venus, Mercury, and Mars ; His mind with all their attributes was mixed, 1 And, like those planets, wandering and unfixed : [>-£ / /i THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. xx. From realm to realm he ran — and never stayed ; Kingdoms and crowns he won — and gave away : It seemed as if his labours were repaid By the mere noise and movement of the fray : No conquests nor acquirements had he made : His chief delight was on some festive day To ride triumphant, prodigal, and proud, And shower his wealth amidst the shouting crowd : XXI. His schemes of war were sudden, unforeseen, Inexplicable both to friend and foe ; It seemed as if some momentary spleen Inspired the project and impelled the blow ; And most his fortune and success were seen With means the most inadequate and low ; Most master of himself, and least encumbered, "When overmatched, entangled, and outnumbered. XXII. Strange instruments and engines he contrived For sieges, and constructions for defence, Inventions some of them that have survived, Others were deemed too cumbrous and immense : Minstrels he loved, and cherished while he lived. And patronised them both with praise and pence Somewhat more learned than became a knight, It was reported he could read and write. XXIII. Sir Gawain may be painted in a word — He was a perfect loyal cavalier ; His courteous manners stand upon record, A stranger to the very thought of fear. The proverb says, As brave as his own sword ; And like his weapon was that worthy peer, Of admirable temper, clear and bright, Polished yet keen, though pliant yet upright. 359 J 6o THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. XXIV. On every point, in earnest or in jest, His judgment, and his prudence, and his wit, Were deemed the very touchstone and the test Of what was proper, graceful, just, and fit ; A word from him set everything at rest, His short decisions never failed to hit ; His silence, his reserve, his inattention, Were felt as the severest reprehension : xxv. His memory was the magazine and hoard, Where claims and grievances, from year to year, And confidences and complaints were stored, From dame and knight, from damsel, boor, and peer Loved by his friends, and trusted by his lord, A generous courtier, secret and sincere, Adviser-general to the whole community, He served his friend, but watched his opportunity. XXVI. One riddle I could never understand — But his success in war was strangely various ; In executing schemes that others planned, He seemed a very Caesar or a Marius ; Take his own plans, and place him in command. Your prospect of success became precarious : His plans were good, but Launcelot succeeded And realised them better far than he did. XXVII. His discipline was steadfast and austere, Unalterably fixed, but calm and kind ; Founded on admiration, more than fear, It seemed an emanation from his mind ; The coarsest natures that approached him near Grew courteous for the moment and refined ; Beneath his eye the poorest, weakest wight Felt full of point of honour like a knight. THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. *6i XXVIII. In battle he was fearless to a fault, The foremost in the thickest of the field; His eager valour knew no pause nor halt, And the red rampant lion in his shield Scaled towns and towers, the foremost in assault, With ready succour where the battle reeled : At random like a thunderbolt he ran, And bore down shields, and pikes, and horse, and man. CANTO II. I've finished now three hundred lines and more, And therefore I begin Canto the Second, Just like those wandering ancient bards of yore ; They never laid a plan, nor ever reckoned What turning they should take the day before ; They followed where the lovely Muses beckoned The Muses led them up to Mount Parnassus, And that's the reason that they all surpass us. ii. The Muses served those heathens well enough- Bold Britons take a tankard, or a bottle, And when the bottle's out, a pinch of snuff, And so proceed in spite of Aristotle— Those Rules of his are dry, dogmatic stuff, All life and fire they suffocate and throttle — And therefore I adopt the mode I mention, Trusting to native judgment and invention. 362 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. ill. This method will, I hope, appear defensible— I shall begin by mentioning the giants, A race of mortals, brutal and insensible, (Postponing the details of the defiance, Which came in terms so very reprehensible From that barbarian sovereign King Ryence), Displaying simpler manners, forms, and passions, Unmixed by transitory modes and fashions. IV. Before the feast was ended, a report Filled every soul with horror and dismay ; Some ladies, on their journey to the court, Had been surprised, and were conveyed away By the aboriginal giants to their fort — An unknown fort — for government, they say, Had ascertained its actual existence, But knew not its direction, nor its distance. v. A waiting damsel, crooked and mis-shaped, Herself the witness of a woeful scene, From which, by miracle, she had escaped, Appeared before the ladies and the queen ; Her figure was funereal, veiled and craped, Her voice convulsed with sobs and sighs between, That with the sad recital and the sight, Revenge and rage inflamed each worthy knight. VI. Sir Gawain rose without delay or dallying, " Excuse us, madam, — we've no time to waste — " And at the palace-gate you saw him sallying, With other knights, equipped and armed in haste : And there was Tristram making jests, and rallying The poor mis-shapen damsel, whom he placed Behind him on a pillion, pad, or pannel ; He took, besides, his falcon and his spaniel. THE MONKS AND Till- GIANTS. 363 VII. But what with horror, and fatigue, and fright, Poor soul, she could not recollect the way. They reached the mountains on the second night. And wandered up and down till break of day, When they discovered, by the dawning light, A lonely glen where heaps of embers lay ; They found unleavened fragments, scorched and toasted, And the remains of mules and horses roasted. VIII. Sir Tristram understood the giants' courses — He felt the embers, but the heat was out- He stood contemplating the roasted horses, And all at once, without suspense or doubt, His own decided judgment thus enforces — " The giants must be somewhere here about ! " Demonstrating the carcasses, he shows That they remained untouched by kites or crows ; IX. " You see no traces of their sleeping here, No heap of leaves or heath, no giant's nest — Their usual habitation must be near — ■ They feed at sunset, and retire to rest — A moment's search will set the matter clear." The fact turned out precisely as he guessed ; And shortly after, scrambling through a gully, He verified his own conjecture fully. x. He found a valley, closed on every side, Resembling that which Rasselas 1 describes : Six miles in length, and half as many wide, Where the descendants of the giant tribes Lived in their ancient fortress undescried (Invaders tread upon each other's kibes) : First came the Britons, afterwards the Roman, Our patrimonial lands belong to no man : 1 Prince of Abyssinia. See his life, written by himself. 364 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. XI. So Horace said — and so the giants found, Expelled by fresh invaders in succession ; But they maintained tenaciously the ground Of ancient, indefeasible possession, And robbed and ransacked all the country round ; And ventured on this horrible transgression, Claiming a right reserved to waste and spoil, As lords and lawful owners of the soil. XII. Huge mountains of immeasurable height Encompassed all the level valley round, With mighty slabs of rock, that sloped upright, An insurmountable, enormous mound ; The very river vanished out of sight, Absorbed in secret channels under ground : That vale was so sequestered and secluded, All search for ages past it had eluded. XIII. High overhead was many a cave and den, That with its strange construction seemed to mock All thought of how they were contrived, or when — — Hewn inward in the huge suspended rock, The tombs and monuments of mighty men : Such were the patriarchs of this ancient stock. Alas ! what pity that the present race Should be so barbarous, and depraved, and base ! xiv. For they subsisted (as I said) by pillage, And the wild beasts which they pursued and chased Nor house, nor herdsman's hut, nor farm, nor village, Within the lonely valley could be traced, Nor roads, nor bounded fields, nor rural tillage, But all was lonely, desolate, and waste. The castle which commanded the domain Was suited to so rude and wild a reign : THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. 365 xv. A rock was in the centre, like a cone, Abruptly rising from a miry pool, Where they beheld a pile of massy stone, Which masons of the rude primaeval school Had reared by help of giant hands alone, With rocky fragments unreduced by rule, Irregular, like Nature more than Art, Huge, rugged, and compact in every part. XVI. But on the other side a river went, And there the craggy rock and ancient wall Had crumbled down with shelving deep descent ; Time and the wearing stream had worked its fali : The modern giants had repaired the rent, But poor, reduced, and ignorant withal, They patched it up, contriving as they could, With stones, and earth, and palisades of wood : xvn. Sir Gawain tried a parley, but in vain — A true-bred giant never trusts a knight — He sent a herald, who returned again All torn to rags and perishing with fright ; A trumpeter was sent, but he was slain — To trumpeters they bear a mortal spite : When all conciliatory measures failed, The castle and the fortress were assailed. XVIII. But when the giants saw them fairly under, They shovelled down a cataract of stones, A hideous volley like a peal of thunder, Bouncing and bounding down, and breaking bones, Rending the earth, and riving rocks asunder : Sir Gawain inwardly laments and groans, Retiring last, and standing most exposed ; — Success seemed hopeless, and the combat closed. 5 66 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. XIX. A council then was called, and all agreed To call in succour from the country round ; By regular approaches to proceed, Intrenching, fortifying, breaking ground. That morning Tristram happened to secede : It seems his falcon was not to be found ; He went in search of her, but some suspected He went lest his advice should be neglected. xx. At Gawain's summons all the country came ; At Gawain's summons all the people aided ; They called upon each other in his name, And bid their neighbours work as hard as they did. So well beloved was he, for very shame They dug, they delved, entrenched and palisaded, Till all the fort was thoroughly blockaded, And every ford where giants might have waded. XXI. Sir Tristram found his falcon, bruised and lame, After a tedious search, as he averred, And was returning back the way he came, When in the neighbouring thicket something stirred, And flashed across the path as bright as flame : Sir Tristram followed it, and found a bird Much like a pheasant, only crimson red, With a fine tuft of feathers on his head. XXII. Sir Tristram's mind — invention — powers of thought, Were occupied, abstracted, and engaged, Devising ways and means to have it caught Alive — entire — to see it safely caged : The giants and their siege he set at nought Compared with this new warfare that he waged. He gained his object after three days wandering, And three nights watching, meditating, pondering, THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. 367 XXIII. And to the Camp in triumph he returned : He makes them all admire the creature's crest, And praise and magnify the prize he earned. Sir Gawain rarely ventured on a jest, But here his heart with indignation burned : " Good cousin, yonder stands an eagle's nest ! — A prize for fowlers such as you and me."-~ Sir Tristram answered mildly, " We shall see." XXIV. Good humour was Sir Tristram's leading quality, And in the present case he proved it such ; If he forbore, it was that in reality His conscience smote him with a secret touch, For having shocked his worthy friend's formality- He thought Sir Gawain had not said too much ; He walks apart with him — and he discourses About their preparation and their forces — XXV. Approving everything that had been done — " It serves to put the giants off their guard — Less hazard and less danger will be run — I doubt not we shall find them unprepared — The castle will more easily be won, And many valuable lives be spared ; The ladies else, while we blockade and threaten, Will most infallibly be killed and eaten." XXVI. Sir Tristram talked incomparably well ; His reasons were irrefragably strong. As Tristram spoke Sir Gawain's spirits fell, For he discovered clearly before long (What Tristram never would presume to tell), That his whole system was entirely wrong ; In fact, his confidence had much diminished Since all the preparations had been finished. 368 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. XXVII. " Indeed ! " Sir Tristram said, "for aught we know — For aught that we can tell — this very night The valley's entrance may be closed with snow, And we may starve and perish here outright — 'Tis better risking a decided blow — I own this weather puts me in a fright." In fine, this tedious conference to shorten, Sir Gawain trusted to Sir Tristram's fortune. XXVIII. 'Twas twilight, ere the wint'ry dawn had kist With cold salute the mountain's chilly brow ; The level lawns were dark, a lake of mist Inundated the vales and depths below. When valiant Tristram, with a chosen list Of bold and hardy men, prepared to go, Ascending through the vapours dim and hoar, A secret track, which he descried before. XXIX. If ever you attempted, when a boy, To walk across the playground or the yard Blindfolded, for an apple or a toy, Which, when you reached the spot, was your reward, You may conceive the difficult employ Sir Tristram had, and that he found it hard, 1 )eprived of landmarks and the power of sight, To steer their dark and doubtful course aright. xxx. They climbed an hour or more with hand and knee (The distance of a fathom or a rood Was farther than the keenest eye could see) ; At last the very ground on which they stood, The broken turf, and many a battered tree — The crushed and shattered shrubs and underwood — Apprised them that they were arrived once more Where they were overwhelmed the time before. THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. 369 XXXI. Sir Tristram saw the people in a fluster ; He took them to a sheltered hollow place : They crowded round like chickens in a cluster, And Tristram, with an unembarrassed face, Proceeded quietly to take a muster, To take a muster, and to state the case — " It was," he said, " an unexpected error, Enough to strike inferior minds with terror ; XXXII. " But since they were assembled and collected " (All were assembled except nine or ten), " He thought that their design might be effected ; All things were easy to determined men. If they would take the track which he directed, And try their old adventure once again." He slapped his breast, and swore within an hour That they should have the castle in their power. XXXIII. This mountain was like others I have seen ; There was a stratum or a ridge of stone Projecting high beyond the sloping green, From top to bottom, like a spinal bone, Or flight of steps, with gaps and breaks between— A copper-plate would make my meaning known Better than words, and therefore, with permission, I'll give a print of it the next edition. XXXIV. Thither Sir Tristram with his comrades went, For now the misty cloud was cleared away, And they must risk the perilous ascent, Right in the giants' front, in open day : They ran to reach the shelter which it lent, Before the battery should begin to play. Their manner of ascending up that ridge Was much like climbing by a broken bridge ; 2 A 37o THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. xxxv. For there you scramble on from pier to pier, Always afraid to lose your hold half way ; And as they clambered each successive tier Of rugged upright rocks, I date to say, It was not altogether without fear — Just fear enough to make brave people gay : According to the words of Mr. Gray, '• They wound with toilsome march their long array." xxxvi. The more alert and active upward sprung, And let down ropes to drag their comrades after • Those ropes were their own shirts together strung, Stript off and twisted with such mirth and laughter, That with their jokes the rocky echoes rung : Like countrymen that on a beam or rafter Attempt to pass a raging wint'ry flood, Such was the situation where they stood : XXXVII. A wild tumultuous torrent raged around, Of fragments tumbling from the mountain's height : The whirling clouds of dust, the deafening sound, The hurried motion that amazed the sight, The constant quaking of the solid ground, Environed them with phantoms of affright ; Yet with heroic hearts they held right on, Till the last point of their ascent was won. XXXVIII. The giants saw them on the topmost crown Of the last rock, and threatened and defied — "Down with the mangy dwarfs there ! — Dash them down ! Down with the dirty pismires ! " — Thus they cried. Sir Tristram with a sharp sarcastic frown, In their own giant jargon thus replied, " Mullinger ! — Cacamole ! — and Mangonell ! You cursed cannibals — I know you well — THE MONKS AND THE Gl I NTS. 371 XXX] "I'll see that pate of yours upon a post, And your left-handed squinting brother's too — By heaven and earth, within an hour at most, I'll give the crows a meal of him and you — The wolves shall have you either raw or roast — I'll make an end of all your cursed crew." These words he partly said, and partly sang, As usual with the giants, in their slang. XL. He darted forward to the mountain's brow — The giants ran away — they knew not why- Sir Tristram gained the point — he knew not how — He could account for it no more than I. Such strange effects we witness often now ; Such strange experiments true Britons try In sieges, and in skirmishes afloat, In storming heights, and boarding from a boat. XLI. True courage bears about a charm or spell — It looks, I think, like an instinctive law By which superior natures daunt and quell Frenchmen and foreigners with fear and awe. I wonder if philosophers can tell — Can they explain the thing with all their jaw ? I can't explain it — but the fact is so, A fact which every midshipman must know. XLII. Then instantly the signal was held out, To show Sir Gawain that the coast was clear : They heard his camp re-echo with a shout — In half-an-hour Sir ( '.awain will be here. But still Sir Tristram was perplexed with doubt — The crisis of the ladies' fate drew near- He dreaded what those poor defenceless creatures Might suffer from such fierce and desperate natures. 372 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. XLIII. The giants, with their brutal want of sense, In hurling stones to crush them with the fall, And in their hurry taking them from thence, Had half dismantled all the new-built wall. They left it here and there, a naked fence Of stakes and palisades, upright and tall. Sir Tristram formed a sudden resolution, And recommended it for execution. XLIV. " My lads," he cried, "an effort must be made To keep those monsters half an-hour in play. While Gawain is advancing to our aid, Or else the ladies will be made away. By mounting close within the palisade, You'll parry their two-handed, dangerous sway— Their clubs and maces : recollect my words, And use your daggers rather than your swords." XLV. That service was most gallantly performed : The giants still endeavoured to repel And drive them from the breach that they had stormed The foremost of the crew was Mangonell. At sight of him Sir Tristram's spirit warmed ; With aim unerring Tristram's falchion fell, Lopt off his club and fingers at the knuckle, And thus disabled that stupendous chuckle. XLVI. The giant ran, outrageous with the wound, Roaring and bleeding, to the palisade ; Sir Tristram swerved aside, and reaching round, Probed all his entrails with his poniard's blade : His giant limbs fall thundering on the ground, His goggling eyes eternal slumbers shade ; Then by the head or heels, I know not which, They dragged him forth, and tossed him in the ditch, THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. $72, XLVII. Sir Tristram, in the warfare that he waged, Strove to attract the giants' whole attention : To keep it undivided and engaged, He racked his fiery brain and his invention : And taunted and reviled, and stormed, and raged, In terms far worse, and more than I can mention. In the meanwhile, in a more sober manner, Sir Gawain was advancing with his banner. XLVIII. But first I must commemorate in rhyme Sir Tristram's dexterous swordmanship and might (This incident appears to me sublime), He struck a giant's head off in the fight '. The head fell down, of course, but for some time The stupid, headless trunk remained upright : For more than twenty seconds there it stood. But ultimately fell from loss of blood. XLIX. Behold Sir Gawain with his valiant band ; He enters on the work with warmth and haste, And slays a brace of giants out of hand, Sliced downward from the shoulder to the waist. But our ichnography must now be planned, The keep or inner castle must be traced. I wish myself at the concluding distich, Although I think the thing characteristic. L. Facing your entrance, just three yards behind, There was a mass of stone of moderate height, It stood before you like a screen or blind : And there — on either hand to left and right — Were sloping parapets or planes inclined. On which two massy stones were placed upright. Secured by staples and by leathern ropes, Which hindered them from sliding down the slopes. 374 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. LI. " — Cousin, those dogs have some device or gin ! — — I'll run the gauntlet — and I'll stand a knock — ■ " He dashed into the gate through thick and thin — ■ He hewed away the bands which held the block — It rushed along the slope with rumbling din. And closed the entrance with a thundering shock ( Just like those famous old Symplegades Discovered by the classics in their seas). LII. This was Sir Tristram — (as you may suppose) He found some giants wounded, others dead — He shortly equalises these with those ; But one poor devil there was sick in bed, In whose behalf the ladies interpose ; Sir Tristram spared his life, because they said That he was more humane, and mild, and clever, And all the time had had an ague-fever. Liii. The ladies ? — They were tolerably well, At least as well as could have been expected : Many details I must forbear to tell, Their toilet had been very much neglected ; But by supreme good luck it so befell That when the castle's capture was effected, When those vile cannibals were overpowered, Only two fat duennas were devoured. LIV. Sir Tristram having thus secured the fort, And seen all safe, was climbing to the wall (Meaning to leap into the outer court) ; But when he came, he saved himself the fall, Sir Gawain had been spoiling all the sport, The giants were demolished one and all : He pulled them up the wall — they climb and enter — Such was the winding up of this adventure. THE MONKS AND THE (U.I.MS. LV. The only real sufferer in the fight Was a poor neighbouring squire of little fame. That came and joined the party over-night ; He hobbled home, disabled with a maim Which he received in tumbling from a height : The knights from court had never heard his name, Nor recollected seeing him before — Two leopards' faces were the arms he bore. I. VI. Thus Tristram, without loss of life or limb, Conquered the giants' castle in a day; But whether it were accident or whim That kept him in the woods so long away. In any other mortal except him I should not feel a doubt of what to say ; But he was wholly guided by his humour, Indifferent to report and public rumour. LVII. It was besides imagined and suspected That he had missed his course by deep design. To take the track which Gawain had neglected— I speak of others' notions, not of mine : I question even if he recollected — He might have felt a moment's wish to shine : I only know that he made nothing of it, Either for reputation or for profit. LVIII. The ladies, by Sir Gawain's kind direction. Proceeded instantaneously to court, To thank their Majesties for their protection. Sir Gawain followed with a grand escort, And was received with favour and affection. Sir Tristram remained loitering in the fort ; He thought the building and the scenery striking, And that poor captive giant took his liking. 376 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. LIX. And now the thread of our romance unravels, Presenting new performers on the stage ; A giant's education and his travels Will occupy the next succeeding page : But I begin to tremble at the cavils Of this fastidious, supercilious age ; Reviews, and paragraphs in morning papers — The prospect of them gives my Muse the vapours. LX. " My dear," says she, " I think it will be well To ascertain our losses or our gains : If this first sample should succeed and sell, We can renew the same melodious strains." Poor soul ! she's had, I think, a tedious spell, And ought to be considered for her pains. And keeping of my company so long — A moderate compliment would not be wrong. CANTO III. " I've a proposal here from Mr. Murray, He offers handsomely — the money down ; My dear, you might recover from your flurry In a nice airy lodging out of town. At Croydon, Epsom, anywhere in Surrey ; If every stanza brings us in a crown, I think that I might venture to bespeak A bedroom and front parlour for next week. THE MONKS AND THE GLINTS. 377 [I. " Tell me, my dear Thalia, what you think ; Your nerves have undergone a sudden shock ; Your poor dear spirits have begun to sink ; On Banstead Downs you'd muster a new stock. And I'd be sure to keep away from drink, And always go to bed by twelve o'clock. We'll travel down there in the morning stages ; Our verses shall go down to distant ages. 111. " And here in town we'll breakfast on hot rolls. And you shall have a better shawl to wear ; These pantaloons of mine are chafed in holes ; By Monday next I'll compass a new pair : Come, now, fling up the cinders, fetch the coals, And take away the things you hung to air, Set out the tea things, and bid Phcebe bring The kettle up." — Anns and the Monks I sing. IV. Some ten miles off, an ancient abbey stood, Amidst the mountains, near a noble stream : A level eminence, enshrined with wood, Sloped to the river's bank and southern beam ; Within were fifty friars fat and good, Of goodly persons, and of good esteem, That passed an easy, exemplary life, Remote from want and care, and worldly strife. v. Between the monks and giants there subsisted, In the first abbot's lifetime, much respect ; The giants let them settle where they listed ; The slants were a tolerating sect. A poor lame giant once the monks assisted, Old and abandoned, dying with neglect, The Prior found him, cured his broken bone, And very kindly cut him for the stone. j 7 8 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. VI. This seemed a glorious golden opportunity, To civilise the whole gigantic race ; To draw them, to pay tithes, and dwell in unity ; The giants' valley was a fertile place, And might have much enriched the whole community, Had the old giant lived a longer space ; But he relapsed, and though all means were tried, They could but just baptize him — when he died. VII. And, I believe, the giants never knew Of the kind treatment that befell their mate ; He broke down all at once, and all the crew Had taken leave, and left him to his fate ; And though the monks exposed him full in view, Propped on his crutches, at the garden gate, To prove their cure, and show that all was right, It happened that no giants came in sight : VIII. They never found another case to cure, But their demeanour calm and reverential, Their gesture and their vesture grave and pure, Their conduct sober, cautious, and prudential, Engaged respect, sufficient to secure Their properties and interests most essential ; They kept a distant, courteous intercourse ; Salutes and gestures were their sole discourse. IX. Music will civilise, the poets say, In time it might have civilised the giants ; The Jesuits found its use in Paraguay ; Orpheus was famous for harmonic science, And civilised the Thracians in that way ; My judgment coincides with Mr. Bryant's ; He thinks that Orpheus meant a race of cloisterers, Obnoxious to the Bacchanalian roisterers. THE MONKS AND Till': GIANTS. 379 x. Deoyphering the symbols of mythology, He finds them monks, expert in their vocation : Teachers of music, med'cine, and theology, The missionaries of the barbarous Thracian ; The poet's fable was a wild apology For an inhuman bloody reformation, Which left those tribes uncivilised and rude, Naked and fierce, and painted and tattooed. XI. It was a glorious Jacobinic job To pull down convents, to condemn for treason Poor peeping Pentheus — to carouse and rob. With naked raving goddesses of reason, The festivals and orgies of the mob That every twentieth century come in season. Enough of Orpheus — the succeeding page Relates to monks of a more recent age : XII. And oft that wild untutored race would draw, Led by the solemn sound and sacred light Beyond the bank, beneath a lonely shaw, To listen all the livelong summer night, Till deep, serene, and reverential awe Environed them with silent calm delight, Contemplating the minster's midnight gleam, Reflected from the clear and glassy stream ; XIII. But chiefly, when the shadowy moon had shed O'er woods and waters her mysterious hue, Their passive hearts and vacant fancies fed With thoughts and aspirations strange and new, Till their brute souls with inward working bred Dark hints that in the depth of instinct grew Subjective — not from Locke's associations, Nor David Hartley's doctrine of vibrations. 3 8o THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. XIV. Each was ashamed to mention to the others One half of all the feelings that he felt, Yet thus far each could venture — " Listen, brothers, It seems as if one heard heaven's thunder melt In music !— all at once it soothes, it smothers — It overpowers one — Pillicock, don't pelt ! It seems a kind of shame, a kind of sin, To vex those harmless worthy souls within." xv. In castles and in courts Ambition dwells, But not in castles or in courts alone ; She breathed a wish, throughout those sacred cells, For bells of larger size, and louder tone ; Giants abominate the sound of bells, And soon the fierce antipathy was shown, The tinkling and the jingling, and the clangour, Roused their irrational gigantic anger. XVI. Unhappy mortals ! ever blind to fate ! Unhappy monks ! you see no danger nigh ; Exulting in their sound and size and weight, From morn till noon the merry peal you ply : The belfry rocks, your bosoms are elate, Your spirits with the ropes and pulleys fly ; Tired, but transported, panting, pulling, hauling, Ramping and stamping, overjoyed and bawling. XVII. Meanwhile the solemn mountains that surrounded The silent valley where the convent lay, With tintinnabular uproar were astounded, When the first peal burst forth at break of day : Feeling their granite ears severely wounded, They scarce knew what to think, or what to say ; And (though large mountains commonly conceal Their sentiments, dissembling what they feel, THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. 381 XVIII. Yet) Cader-Gibbrish from his cloudy throne To huge Loblommon gave an intimation Of this strange rumour, with an awful tone, Thundering his deep surprise and indignation : The lesser hills, in language of their own, Discussed the topic by reverberation ; Discoursing with their echoes all day long, Their only conversation was "ding-dong." xix. Those giant-mountains inwardly were moved, But never made an outward change of place : Not so the mountain-giant — (as behoved A more alert and locomotive race), Hearing a clatter which they disapproved, They ran straight forward to besiege the place With a discordant universal yell, Like house-dogs howling at a dinner-bell. xx. Historians are extremely to be pitied, Obliged to persevere in the narration Of wrongs and horrid outrages committed, Oppression, sacrilege, assassination : The following scenes I wished to have omitted, But truth is an imperious obligation. So — "my heart sickens, and I drop my pen," And am obliged to pick it up again. XXI. And, dipping it afresh, I must transcribe An ancient monkish record, which displays The savage acts of that gigantic tribe ; I hope that, from the diction of those days, This noble, national poem will imbibe A something (in the old reviewing phrase), ' Of an original flavour, and a raciness ; " I should not else transcribe it, out of laziness. 382 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. XXII. The writer first relates a dream, or vision, Observed by Luke and Lawrence in their cells, And a nocturnal hideous apparition Of fiends and devils dancing round the bells : This last event is stated with precision : Their persons he describes, their names he tells, Klaproth, Tantallan, Barbanel, Belphegor, Long-tailed, long-taloned, hairy, black, and meagre. XXIII. He then rehearses sundry marvels more, Damping the mind with horror by degrees, Of a prodigious birth a heifer bore, Of mermaids seen in the surrounding seas, Of a sea-monster that was cast ashore ; Earthquakes and thunder-stones, events like these, Which served to show the times were out of joint, And then proceeds directly to the point. XXIV. Erant rumoies et timores varii ; Dies horroris et confusionis Evenit in callendis Januarii ; Gigantes, semen maledictionis Nostri potentes impii adversarii, Irascebantur campanarum sonis, Hora secunda centum tres gigantes Venerunt ante januam ululantes. xxv. At fratres pleni desolationis, Stabant ad necessarium presidium, Perterriti pro vitis et pro bonis, Et perduravit hoc crudele obsidium, Nostri claustralis pauperis Sionis, Ad primum diem proximorum Idium : Tunc in triumpho fracto tintinnabulo. Gigantes ibant alibi pro pabulo. THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. 383 XXVI. Seel frater Isidorus decumbebat In lecto per tres menses brachio fracto, Nam lapides Mangonellus jaciebat, Et fregit tintinnabulum lapide jacto; Et omne vicinagium destruebat, Et nihil relinquebat de intacto, Ardens molinos, casas, messuagia, Et alia multa damna atque outragia. XXVII. Those monks were poor proficients in divinity. And scarce knew more of Latin than myself ; Compared with theirs they say that true Latinity Appears like porcelain compared with delf ; As for the damage done in the vicinity, Those that have laid their Latin on the shelf May like to read the subsequent narration Done into metre from a friend's translation. XXVIII. Squire Humphry Bamberham, of Boozley Hall (Whose name I mention with deserved respect), On market-days was often pleased to call, And to suggest improvements, or correct ; I own the obligation once for all, Lest critics should imagine they detect Traces of learning and superior reading, Beyond, as they suppose, my birth and breeding. XXIX. Papers besides, and transcripts most material, He gave me when I went to him to dine ; A trunk full, one coach-seat, and an imperial, One band-box — But the work is wholly mine ; The tone, the form, the colouring ethereal, " The vision and the faculty divine," The scenery, characters, and triple-rhymes, I'll swear it — like old Waller of the Times. 384 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. XXX. Long, long before, upon a point of weight, Such as a ring of bells complete and new, Chapters were summoned, frequent, full, and late The point was viewed in every point of view, Till, after fierce discussion and debate, The wiser monks, the wise are always few, That from the first opposed the plan in toto, Were over-borne, canonicali voto. XXXI. A prudent monk, their reader and librarian, Observed a faction, angry, strong, and warm (Himself an anti-tintinnabularian), He saw, or thought he saw, a party form To scout him as an alien and sectarian. There was an undefined impending storm ! The opponents were united, bold, and hot ; They might degrade, imprison him — what not ? XXXII. Now faction in a city, camp, or cloister, While it is yet a tender raw beginner, Is nourished by superfluous warmth and moisture. Namely, by warmth and moisture after dinner : And therefore, till the temper and the posture Of things should alter — till a secret inner Instinctive voice should whisper, all is right — He deemed it safest to keep least in sight. XXXIII. He felt as if his neck were in a noose, And evermore retired betimes from table, For fear of altercation and abuse, But made the best excuse that he was able ; He never rose without a good excuse (Like Master Stork invited in the fable To Mr. Fox's dinner) ; there he sat, Impatient to retire and take his hat. THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. 385 XXXIV. For only once or twice that he remained To change this constant formal course, he found His brethren awkward, sullen, and constrained, — He caught the conversation at a bound, And, with a hurried agitation, strained His wits to keep it up, and drive it round. — It saved him — but he felt the risk and danger, Behaved-to like a pleasant utter stranger. XXXV. Wise people sometimes will pretend to sleep, And watch and listen while they droop and snore — He felt himself a kind of a black sheep, But studied to be neither less nor more Obliging than became him — but to keep His temper, style, and manner as before ; It seemed the best, the safest, only plan, Never to seem to feel as a marked man. XXXVI. Wise curs, when canisterecl, refuse to run ; They merely crawl and creep about, and whine, And disappoint the boys, and spoil the fun — That picture is too mean — this monk of mine Ennobled it, as others since have done, With grace and ease, and grandeur of design ; He neither ran nor howled, nor crept nor turned. But wore it as he walked, quite unconcerned. XXXVII. To manifest the slightest want of nerve Was evidently perfect utter ruin, Therefore the seeming to recant or swerve, By meddling any way with what was doing, He felt within himself would only serve To bring down all the mischief that was brewing ; " No duty binds me, no constraint compels To bow before the Dagon of the Bells, 2 B 3 86 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. XXXVIII. " To flatter this new foolery, to betray My vote, my conscience, and my better sense, By bustling in the belfry day by day ; But in the grange, the cellar, or the spence (While all are otherwise employed), I may Deserve their thanks, at least avoid offence ; For (while this vile anticipated clatter Fills all their hearts and senses), every matter xxxix. "Behoveful for our maintenance and needs Is wholly disregarded, and the course Of our conventual management proceeds At random, day by day, from bad to worse ; The larder dwindles and the cellar bleeds ! Besides, — besides the bells, we must disburse For masonry, for frame-work, wheels and fliers ; Next winter we must fast like genuine friars." XL. As bees, that when the skies are calm and fair, In June, or the beginning of July, Launch forth colonial settlers in the air, Round, round, and roundabout, they whiz, they fly, With eager worry whirling here and there, They know not whence, nor whither, where, nor why, In utter hurry-scurry, going, coming, Maddening the summer air with ceaseless humming ; XLI. Till the strong frying-pan's energic jangle With thrilling thrum their feebler hum doth drown, Then passive and appeased, they droop and dangle, Clinging together close, and clust'ring down, Linked in a multitudinous living tangle Like an old tassel of a dingy brown ; The joyful farmer sees, and spreads his hay, And reckons on a settled sultry day. THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. 387 XLII. Even so the monks, as wild as sparks of fire (Or swarms unpacified by pan or kettle), Ran restless round the cloisters and the choir, Till those huge masses of sonorous metal Attracted them toward the tower and spire ; There you might see them cluster, crowd, and settle, Thronged in the hollow tintinnabular hive ; The belfry swarmed with monks ; it seemed alive. XI, III. Then, while the cloisters, courts, and yards were still, Silent and empty, like a long vacation ; The friar prowled about, intent to fill Details of delegated occupation, Which, with a ready frankness and good will, He undertook ; he said, " the obligation Was nothing — nothing — he could serve their turn "While they were busy with this new concern." XLIV. Combining prudence with a scholar's pride, Poor Tully, like a toad beneath a harrow, Twitched, jerked, and hauled, and mauled on every side, Tried to identify himself with Varro ; This course our cautious friar might have tried, But his poor convent was a field too narrow ; There was not, from the prior to the cook, A single soul that cared about a book : XLV. Yet, sitting with his books, he felt unclogged, Unlettered ; and for hours together tasted The calm delight of being neither dogged, Nor watched, nor worried ; he transcribed, he pasted, Repaired old bindings, indexed, catalogued, Illuminated, mended clasps, and wasted An hour or two sometimes in actual reading ; Meanwhile the belfry business was proceeding ; 5 85 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. XLVI. And the first opening peal, the grand display, In prospect ever present to his mind, Was fast approaching, pregnant with dismay, With loathing and with horror undefined, Like the expectation of an ague-day ; The day before he neither supped nor dined, And felt beforehand, for a fortnight near, A kind of deafness in his fancy's ear : XLVII. But most he feared his ill-digested spleen, Inflamed by gibes, might lead him on to wrangle, Or discompose, at least, his looks and mien ; So, with the belfry's first prelusive jangle, He sallied from the garden gate unseen, With his worst hat, his boots, his line and angle, Meaning to pass away the time, and bring Some fish for supper, as a civil thing. XLVIII. The prospect of their after-supper talk Employed his thoughts, forecasting many a scoff, Which he with quick reply must damp and balk, Parrying at once, without a hem or cough, " Had not the bells annoyed him in his walk ? — No, faith ! he liked them best when farthest off." Thus he prepared and practised many a sentence, Expressing ease, good-humour, independence. XLIX. His ground-bait had been laid the night before, Most fortunately ! — for he used to say, "That more than once the belfry's bothering roar Almost induced him to remove away ; " Had he so done, — the gigantean corps Had sacked the convent on that very day, But providentially the perch and dace Bit freely, which detained him at the place. THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. 3S9 L. And here let us detain ourselves awhile, My dear Thalia ! Party's angry frown And petty malice in that monkish pile (The warfare of the cowl and of the gown), Had almost dried my wits and drained my style ; Here, with our legs, then, idly dangling down, We'll rest upon the bank, and dip our toes In the poetic current as it flows. LI. Or in the narrow sunny plashes near, Observe the puny piscatory swarm, That with their tiny squadrons tack and veer, Cruising amidst the shelves and shallows warm, Chasing, or in retreat, with hope or fear Of petty plunder or minute alarm ; With clannish instinct how they wheel and face, Inherited arts inherent in the race ; LII. Or mark the jetty, glossy tribes that glance Upon the water's firm unruffled breast, Tracing their ancient labyrinthic dance In mute mysterious cadence unexpressed ; Alas ! that fresh disaster and mischance Again must drive us from our place of rest ! Grim Mangonel, with his outrageous crew, Will scare us hence within an hour or two. li 1 1. Poets are privileged to run away — Alcaeus and Archilochus could fling Their shields behind them in a doubtful fray ; And still sweet Horace may be heard to sing His filthy fright upon Philippi's day ; ( — You can retire, too — for the Muse's wing Is swift as Cupid's pinion when he flies, Alarmed at periwigs and human ties). THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. LIV. This practice was approved in times of yore, Though later bards behaved like gentlemen, And Garcilasso, Camoens, many more, Disclaimed the privilege of book and pen ; And bold Aneurin, all bedripped with gore, Bursting by force from the beleaguered glen, Arrogant, haughty, fierce, of fiery mood, Not meek and mean, as Gray misunderstood. LV. But we, that write a mere campaigning tour, May choose a station for our point of view That's picturesque and perfectly secure ; Come, now we'll sketch the friar — That will do — " Designs and etchings by an amateur ; " " A frontispiece, and a vignette or two : " But much I fear that aquatint and etching Will scarce keep pace with true poetic sketching. LVI. Dogs that inhabit near the banks of Nile (As ancient authors or old proverbs say), Dreading the cruel critic crocodile, Drink as they run, a mouthful and away ; 'Tis a true model for descriptive style ; " Keep moving " (as the man says in the play), The power of motion is the poet's forte — Therefore, again, "keep moving ! that's your sort ! " LVI I. For, otherwise, while you persist and paint, With your portfolio pinioned to a spot, Half of your picture grows effaced and faint, Imperfectly remembered, or forgot ; Make sketch, then, upon sketch ; and if they a'n't Complete, it does not signify a jot ; Leave graphic illustrations of your work To be devised by Westall or by Smirke. THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. 391 LVIII. I'll speak my mind at once, in spite of raillery ; I've thought and thought again a thousand times, What a magnificent poetic gallery- Alight be designed from my Stowmarket rhymes ; I look for no reward, nor fee, nor salary, I look for England's fame in foreign climes And future ages — Honos a lit Artes, And such a plan would reconcile all parties. LIX. I'm strongly for the present state of things ; I look for no reform, nor innovation, Because our present parliaments and kings Are competent to improve and rule the nation, Provided projects that true genius brings Are held in due respect and estimation. I've said enough — and now you must be wishing To see the landscape, and the friar fishing. CANTO IV. 1. A mighty current, unconfined and free, Ran wheeling round beneath the mountain's shade, Battering its wave-worn base ; but you might see On the near margin many a wat'ry glade, Becalmed beneath some little island's lee All tranquil, and transparent, close embayed ; Reflecting in the deep serene and even Each flower and herb, and every cloud of heaven ; 392 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. II. The painted kingfisher, the branch above her, Stand in the steadfast mirror fixed and true ; Anon the fitful breezes brood and hover, Fresh'ning the surface with a rougher hue ; Spreading, withdrawing, pausing, passing over, Again returning to retire anew : So rest and motion, in a narrow range, Feasted the sight with joyous interchange. ill. The monk with handy jerk, and petty baits, Stands twitching out apace the perch and roach ; His mightier tackle, pitched apart, awaits The grovelling barbel's unobserved approach : And soon his motley meal of homely cates Is spread, the leather bottle is a-broach ; Eggs, bacon, ale, a napkin, cheese and knife, Forming a charming picture of still-life. IV. The friar fishing — a design for Cuyp, A cabinet jewel — " Pray remark the boot ; And, leading from the light, that shady stripe, With the dark bulrush-heads how well they suit ; And then, that mellow tint so warm and ripe, That falls upon the cassock, and surtout : " If it were fairly painted, puffed and sold, My gallery would be worth its weight in gold. v. But hark ! — the busy chimes fall fast and strong, Clattering and pealing in their full career ; Closely the thickening sounds together throng, No longer painful to the friar's ear, They bind his fancy with illusion strong ; While his rapt spirit hears, or seems to hear, " Turn, turn again — gen — gen, thou noble friar, Eleele — leek — leek — lected prior. " THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. 393 VI. Thus the mild monk, as he unhooked a gudgeon, Stood musing — when far other sounds arise, Sounds of despite and ire, and direful dudgeon ; And soon across the river he espies, In wrathful act, a hideous huge curmudgeon Calling his comrades on with shouts and cries, " There ! — there it is ! — I told them so before ; " He left his line and hook, and said no more ; VII. But ran right forward (pelted all the way), And bolted breathless at the convent-gate, The messenger and herald of dismay ; But soon with conscious worth, and words of weight, Gives orders which the ready monks obey : Doors, windows, wickets, are blockaded straight ; He reinspires the convent's drooping sons, Is here and there, and everywhere at once. VIII. " Friends ! fellow-monks ! " he cried, " (for well you know- That mightiest giants must in vain essay Across yon river's foaming gulf to go) : The mountainous, obscure, and winding way, That guides their footsteps to the ford below, Affords a respite of desired delay- Seize then the passing hour ! " the monk kept bawling, In terms to this effect, though not so drawling. IX. His words were these, " Before the ford is crost, We've a good hour — at least three quarters good — Bestir yourselves, my lads, or all is lost — Drive down this staunchion, bring those spars of wood : This bench will serve — here, wedge it to the post ; Come, Peter, quick ! strip off your gown and hood- Take up the mallet, man, and bang away ! Tighten these ropes — now lash them, and belay. 394 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. X. " Finish the job while I return — I fear Yon postern gate will prove the convent's ruin ; You, brother John, my namesake ! stay you here, And give an eye to what these monks are doing ; Bring out the scalding sweetwort and the beer, Keep up the stoke-hole fire, where we were brewing And pull the gutters up and melt the lead — (Before a dozen Aves can be said) XI. " I shall be back amongst you." — Forth he went, Secured the postern, and returned again, Disposing all with high arbitrement, With earnest air, and visage on the main Concern of public safety fixed and bent ; For now the giants, stretching o'er the plain, Are seen, presenting in the dim horizon Tall awful forms, horrific and surprising — xi r. I'd willingly walk barefoot fifty mile, To find a scholar, or divine, or squire, That could assist me to devise a style Fit to describe the conduct of the friar ; I've tried three different ones within a while, The grave, the vulgar, and the grand high-flyer ; All are I think improper, more or less, I'll take my chance amongst 'em — you shall guess. XIII. Intrepid, eager, ever prompt to fly Where danger and the convent's safety call ; Where doubtful points demand a judging eye, Where on the massy gates huge maces fall ; Where missile vollied rocks are whirled on high, Pre-eminent upon the embattled wall, In gesture, and in voice, he stands confest ; Exhorting all the monks to do their best. THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. 395 XIV. We redescend to phrase of low degree — For there's a point which you must wish to know, The real ruling abbot — where was he? For (since we make so classical a show, Our convent's mighty structure, as you see, Like Thebes or Troy beleaguered by the foe : Our friar scuffling like a kind of Codes), You'll figure him perhaps like Eteocles xv. In ^Eschylus, with sentries, guards and watches, Ready for all contingencies arising, Pitting his chosen chiefs in equal matches Against the foe — anon soliloquising ; Then occupied anew with fresh despatches ■ Nothing like this ! — but something more surprising— Was he like Priam then — that's stranger far — That in the ninth year of his Trojan war, XVI. Knew not the names or persons of his foes, Put merely points them out as stout or tall, While (as no Trojan knew them, I suppose), Helen attends her father to the wall, To tell him long details of these and those ? 'Twas not like this, but strange and odd withal ; " Nobody knows it — nothing need be said, Our poor dear Abbot is this instant dead. XVII. " They wheeled him out, you know, to take the air — It must have been an apoplectic fit — He tumbled forward from his garden-chair — He seemed completely gone, but warm as yet : I wonder how they came to leave him there ; Poor soul ! he wanted courage, heart, and wit For times like these — the shock and the surprise ! 'Twas very natural the gout should rise. 396 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. XVIII. " But such a sudden end was scarce expected ; Our parties will be puzzled to proceed , The belfry set divided and dejected : The crisis is a strange one, strange indeed ; I'll bet yon fighting friar is elected ; It often happens in the hour of need, From popular ideas of utility, People are pitched upon for mere ability. XIX. " I'll hint the subject, and communicate The sad event — He's standing there apart ; Our offer, to be sure, comes somewhat late, But then, we never thought he meant to start, And if he gains his end, at any rate, He has an understanding and a heart ; He'll serve or he'll protect his friends, at least, With better spirit than the poor deceased ; xx. " The convent was all going to the devil While he, poor creature, thought himself beloved For saying handsome things, and being civil, Wheeling about as he was pulled and shoved, By way of leaving things to find their level." The funeral sermon ended, both approved, And went to Friar John, who merely doubted The fact, and wished them to inquire about it ; xx r. Then left them, and returned to the attack : They found their abbot in his former place ; They took him up and turned him on his back ; At first (you know) he tumbled on his face : They found him fairly stiff, and cold, and black ; They then unloosed each ligature and lace, His neckcloth and his girdle, hose and garters, And took him up, and lodged him in his quarters. THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. 397 XXII. Bees served me for a simile before, And bees again — " Bees that have lost their king," Would seem a repetition and a bore ; Besides, in fact, I never saw the thing ; And though those phrases from the good old store Of " feebler hummings and a nagging wing," Perhaps may be descriptive and exact ; I doubt it ; I confine myself to fact. xxm. Thus much is certain, that a mighty pother Arises ; that the frame and the condition Of things is altered, they combine and bother, And every winged insect politician Is warm and eager till they choose another. In our monastic hive the same ambition Was active and alert ; but angry fortune Constrained them to contract the long, importune, XXIV. Tedious, obscure, inexplicable train, Qualification, form, and oath and test, Ballots on ballots, balloted again ; Accessits, scrutinies, and all the rest ; Theirs was the good old method, short and plain • Per acdamationem they invest Their fighting Friar John with robes and ring, Crozier and mitre, seals, and everything. XXV. With a new warlike active chief elected, Almost at once, it scarce can be conceived What a new spirit, real or affected, Prevailed throughout ; the monks complained and grieved That nothing was attempted or projected ; While quiristers and novices believed That their new fighting abbot, Friar John, Would sally forth at once, and lead them on. 398 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. XXVI. I pass such gossip, and devote my cares By diligent inquiry to detect The genuine state and posture of affairs : Unmannered, uninformed, and incorrect, Falsehood and malice hold alternate chairs, And lecture and preside in Envy's sect; The fortunate and great she never spares, Sowing the soil of history with tares. XXVII. Thus, jealous of the truth, and feeling loth That Sir Nathaniel henceforth should accuse Our noble monk of cowardice and sloth, I'll print the affidavit of the Muse, And state the facts as ascertained on oath, Corroborated by surveys and views, When good King Arthur granted them a brief, And ninety groats were raised for their relief. XXVIII. Their arbours, walks, and alleys were defaced, Riven and uprooted, and with ruin strown, And the fair dial in their garden placed Battered by barbarous hands, and overthrown ; The deer with wild pursuit dispersed and chased, The dove-house ransacked, and the pigeons flown ; The cows all killed in one promiscuous slaughter, The sheep all drowned, and floating in the water. XXIX. The mill was burned down to the water wheels ; The giants broke away the dam and sluice, Dragged up and emptied all the fishing-reels ; Drained and destroyed the reservoir and stews, Wading about, and groping carp and eels ; In short, no single earthly thing of use Remained untouched beyond the convent's wall : The friars from their windows viewed it all. THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. XXX. But the bare hope of personal defence, The church, the convent's, and their own protection, Absorbed their thoughts, and silenced every sense Of present loss, till Friar John's election ; Then other schemes arose, I know not whence, Whether from flattery, zeal, or disaffection, But the brave monk, like Fabius with Hannibal, Against internal faction, and the cannibal XXXI. Inhuman foe, that threatened from without, Stood firmly, with a self-sufficing mind, Impregnable to rumour, fear, or doubt, Determined that the casual, idle, blind Event of battle with that barbarous rout, Flushed with success and garbage, should not bind Their future destinies, or fix the seal Of ruin on the claustral common-weal. XXXII. He checked the rash, the boisterous, and the proud, By speech and action, manly but discreet ; During the siege he never once allowed Of chapters, or convoked the monks to meet, Dreading the consultations of a crowd. Historic parallels we sometimes meet — I think I could contrive one — if you please, I shall compare our monk to Pericles. XXXIII. In former times, amongst the Athenians bold, This Pericles was placed in high command, Heading their troops (as statesmen used of old), In all their wars and fights by sea and land ; Besides, in Langhorne's Plutarch we are told How many fine ingenious things he planned ; For Phidias was an architect and builder, J eweller and engraver, carver, gilder ; 4 oo THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. xxxiv. But altogether quite expert and clever ; Pericles took him up and stood his friend, Persuading these Athenians to endeavour To raise a work to last to the world's end, By means of which their fame should last for ever ; Likewise an image (which, you comprehend, They meant to pray to, for the country's good) : They had before an old one made of wood, xxxv. But being partly rotten and decayed, They wished to have a new one spick and span, So Pericles advised it should be made According to this Phidias's plan, Of ivory, with gold all overlaid, Of the height of twenty cubits and a span, Making eleven yards of English measure, All to be paid for from the public treasure. xxxvi. So Phidias's talents were requited With talents that were spent upon the work, And everybody busied and delighted, Building a temple — this was their next quirk — Lest it should think itself ill-used and slighted. This temple now belongs to the Grand Turk, The finest in the world allowed to be, That people go five hundred miles to see. XXXVII. Its ancient carvings are safe here at home, Brought round by shipping from as far as Greece, Finer, they say, than all the things at Rome ; But here you need not pay a penny-piece ; But curious people, if they like to come, May look at them as often as they please — I've left my subject, but I was not sorry To mention things that raise the country's glory. THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. 401 XXXVIII. Well, Pericles made everything complete, Their town, their arbour, and their city wall ; When their allies rebelled, he made them treat And pay for peace, and taxed and fined them all, By which means Pericles maintained a fleet, And kept three hundred gallies at his call ; Pericles was a man for everything ; Pericles was a kind of petty king. XXXIX. It happened Sparta was another state ; They thought themselves as good ; they could not bear To see the Athenians grown so proud and great. Ruling and domineering everywhere, And so resolved, before it grew too late, To fight it out and settle the affair ; Then, being quite determined to proceed, They mustered an amazing force indeed ; XL. And (after praying to their idol Mars) Marched on, with all the allies that chose to join, As was the practice in old heathen wars, Destroying all the fruit trees, every vine, And smashing and demolishing the jars In which those classic ancients kept their wine ; The Athenians ran within the city wall To save themselves, their children, wives, and all. XLI. Then Pericles (whom they compared to Jove, As being apt to storm and play the deuce), Kept quiet, and forbade the troops to move, Because a battle was no kind of use ; The more they mutinied, the more he strove To keep them safe in spite of their abuse, For while the farms were ransacked round the town, This was the people's language up and down : 2 c 4 o2 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. XLII. " 'Tis better to die once than live to see Such an abomination, such a waste ; " " No ! no ! " says Pericles, " that must not be. You're too much in a hurry, too much haste — Learned Athenians, leave the thing to me ; You think of being bullied and disgraced ; Don't think of that, nor answer their defiance ; We'll gain the day by our superior science." XLIII. Pericles led the people as he pleased, But in most cases something is forgot : What with the crowd and heat they grew diseased, And died in heaps like wethers with the rot ; And, at the last, the same distemper seized Poor Pericles himself— he went to pot. It answered badly ; — therefore I admire So much the more the conduct of the friar. XLIV. For in the garrison where he presided, Neither distress, nor famine, nor disease Were felt, nor accident nor harm betided The happy monks ; but plenteous, and with ease, All needful monkish viands were provided ; Bacon and pickled herring, pork and peas ; And when the table-beer began to fail, They found resources in the bottled ale. XLV. Dinner and supper kept their usual hours ; Breakfast and luncheon never were delayed ; While to the sentries on the walls and towers, Between two plates hot messes were conveyed. At the departure of the invading powers, It was a boast the noble abbot made, None of his monks were weaker, paler, thinner, Or, during all the siege, had lost a dinner. THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. 403 XL VI. This was the common course of their hostility : The giant forces being foiled at first, Had felt the manifest impossibility Of carrying things before them at a burst, But still, without a prospect of utility, At stated hours they pelted, howled, and cursed ; And sometimes, at the peril of their pates, Would bang with clubs and maces at the gates ; XLVII. Them the brave monkish legions, unappalled, With stones that served before to pave the court (Heaped and prepared at hand), repelled and mauled, Without an effort, smiling as in sport, With many a broken head, and many a scald From stones and molten lead and boiling wort ; Thus little Pillicock was left for dead, And old Loblolly forced to keep his bed. XLVIII. The giant troops invariably withdrew (Like mobs in Naples, Portugal and Spain), To dine at twelve o'clock, and sleep till two, And afterwards (except in case of rain), Returned to clamour, hoot, and pelt anew. The scene was every day the same again ; Thus the blockade grew tedious : I intended A week ago, myself, to raise and end it. XLIX. One morn the drowsy sentry rubbed his eyes, Foiled by the scanty, baffling early light ; It seemed a figure of inferior size Was traversing the giants' camp outright ; And soon a monkish form they recognise — And now their brother Martin stands in sight, That on that morning of alarm and fear Had rambled out to see the salmon-teir ; 4 o4 THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. L. Passing the ford, the giants' first attack Left brother Martin's station in their rear, And thus prevented him from falling back ; But during all the siege he watched them near, Saw them returning by their former track The night before, and found the camp was clear; And so returned in safety with delight And rapture, and a ravenous appetite. LI. " Well ! welcome, — welcome, brother ! — brother Martin ! Why, Martin ! — we could scarce believe our eyes : Ah, brother ! strange events here since our parting." And Martin dined (dispensing brief replies To all the questions that the monks were starting, Betwixt his mouthfuls), while each friar vies In filling, helping, carving, questioning ; So Martin dined in public like a king. LII. And now the gates are opened, and the throng Forth issuing, the deserted camp survey ; " Here Murdomack, and Mangonel the strong, And Gorboduc were lodged," and " here," they say, " This pigstye to Poldavy did belong ; Here Brindleback, and here Phagander lay." They view the deep indentures, broad and round, Which mark their posture squatting on the ground. LIU. Then to the traces of gigantic feet, Huge, wide apart, with half-a-dozen toes ; They track them on, till they converge and meet (An earnest and assurance of repose) Close at the ford ; the cause of this retreat They all conjecture, but no creature knows ; It was ascribed to causes multifarious, To saints, as Jerom, George and Januarius, THE MONKS AND THE GIANTS. 405 1. IV. To their own pious founder's intercession, To Ave- .Maries, and our Lady's Psalter; To news that Friar John was in possession, To new wax candles placed upon the altar, To their own prudence, valour, and discretion : To reliques, rosaries, and holy water ; To beads and psalms, and feats of arms — in short, There was no end of their accounting for't. LV. But though they could not, you, perhaps, may guess ; They went, in short, upon their last adventure : After the ladies — neither more nor less — Our story now revolves upon its centre, And I'm rejoiced myself, I must confess, To find it tally like an old indenture ; They drove off mules and horses half a score, The same that you saw roasted heretofore. LVI. Our giants' memoirs still remain on hand, For all my notions, being genuine gold, Beat out beneath the hammer and expand,- And multiply themselves a thousandfold Beyond the first idea that I planned ; Besides — this present copy must be sold : Besides — I promised Murray t'other day, To let him have it by the tenth of May. APPENDIX. - GOETHE'S STELLA AS TRANSLATED IN I 798. The translation of Goethe's "Stella," published in 1798, which immediately suggested the burlesque play in the Anti-Jacobin by Canning, Ellis, and Frere, is here appended. Knowledge of the original will heighten enjoyment of some touches in the cari- cature. Goethe wrote "Stella" in 1774, at the age of twenty-five. Though he was famous already as the author of " Werther," its value in a publisher's eyes was twenty dollars. Even in Germany the close was condemned, and as the play now stands in Goethe's works it has been altered. The hero does blow out his brains. The false sentiment is brought out very strongly by the comic literalness, which in this English translation blots out the redeem- ing grace of style in the original STELLA, TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF M. GOETHE. PREFACE. As many beautiful, but eccentric poems of the Germans have lately become fashionable in this country, and as we have even begun to make some acquaintance with their theatre, this trans- lation of one of the most admired plays of a celebrated writer may not be unacceptable to the public. The manners of a people are perhaps more strikingly seen in their dramatic works than in any other. For this reason, and in order to preserve the character of the German stage, and what the French call the " gout du terroir" it has been thought advis- able to translate the play as literally as possible, and from the original rather than the French, as, in passing through that elegant language, it might have lost more in nature and simplicity than it would have gained by art. The story which serves to extricate our author's characters from the very difficult situation into which he has brought them, is not an invention, but a well-attested fact, and it has indeed been said that the whole of the fable (like that of Werther) was founded upon a more recent event in private life. The peripetia and catas- trophe are nevertheless liable to great objections, and an English audience might be inclined to wish that Count Ferdinand had been left to pursue his purpose. It would, however, be an absurd presumption to offer anything which looked like an apology for such an author as Goethe, writing to his countrymen : but if the beauties of passion and sentiment in this drama should not (to use an expression of Mr. Gray) " strike the reader blind" to its defects, the translator will stand in need of the most humiliating apology for himself. STELLA. Count Ferdinand. Walter, the Bailiff. Stella. Cecilia, under the hami of Mrs. Summers. DRAMATIS PERSON.^. Lucy, her Daughter. The Mistress of the Inn. Ann, her Daughter. Waiter. Servants, &c. ACT I. Scene — A post-house. The post-horn blows. Land. Charles ! Charles ! Charles ! [Enter Waiter. Char. What do you want? Zana 7 . Where have you been all this time ? Run, run, the post waggon is coming ; show the passengers in, take their luggage — run, make haste when I speak to you. Quick, quick [calling after him], waiters should never walk. [Exit Waiter.] It is too much for a woman to manage such a house. There should be a master. That alone would make me marry again. Scene II. Enter Charles, Mrs. Summers, and Lucy in a travelling dress. Lucy. Give this to me [taking a parcel from Charles], it is not very heavy ; but carry those things for my mother, and attend upon her. Land. Your servant, ladies. You're come betimes this morn- ing. The post waggon never used to come so early. Lucy. We had an excellent coachman, we were but two in the carriage, and had not much luggage. Land. If you intend to dine, ladies, you will be so good to wait a little ; for I have nothing quite ready. 4 i2 STELLA. Mrs. S. I will only beg a little broth in my own room. Lucy. I am in no hurry for dinner ; in the meantime pray take care of my mother. Land. That I will, madam. Lucy. And let the broth be good. Land. It shall be excellent. [Exit Landlady. Mrs. S. I wish you would leave off giving orders ! You might have gained some experience already, even in this journey. Though we have had very little, we have spent more than we ought to have done ; and have paid too much for everything all the way — and in our situation Lucy. We have not wanted hitherto Mrs. S. But we very soon should have wanted. [Coachman comes in. Lucy. Well, coachman, what say you ? You must have some- thing to drink, must not you ? Coach. I made good haste with you, ladies. Lucy. So you did, coachman, and therefore you should have something extraordinary — there. Coach. Thank you, madam. Are you going further ? Lucy. No ; for the present we shall remain here. Coach. Ladies, your servant. [Exit Coachman. Mrs. S. I see by his looks that you have given him more than was necessary. Lucy. We ought not to send him away dissatisfied ; he was so good-humoured and careful during the whole journey. You say that I am self-willed, mamma, but you must allow that I am not selfish. Mrs. S. Don't misunderstand me, Lucy. I like your frankness, as well as your spirit and generosity ; but they are virtues only in certain situations. Lucy. This little village really pleases me, mamma. And I see from hence, I believe, the house of the lady with whom I am to live. Mrs. S. Yes, that is her house, and I shall be very happy if you should like the place that is destined for you. Lucy. I perceive already that it is not a very cheerful habita- STELLA. 413 tion, there is not a creature to be seen ; but there is a beautiful garden, the lady is amiable, and we shall do wry well together. Why do you look around you so, mamma? Mrs. S. Leave me, Lucy. Happy girl ! You have no painful recollections. Once it was otherw ise. Now, alas ! nothing is more irksome to me than going to an inn. Lticy. Where do you not find something to give you pain ? Mrs. S. And where do I not find sufficient cause for pain? Oh, my dear girl, how different was it formerly, when your father travelled with me in the first years of our marriage, that happiest part of my life ! The world, at that time, had all the charms of novelty — and as the various objects passed before me, his society and his love made every place amusing, and every trifle interesting ! Lzicy. Certainly nothing is so pleasant as travelling. Mrs. S. And after a hot day in summer, or bad roads in winter, when we came into many much worse inns than this, and felt the simple pleasure of repose ; seated on a wooden bench together, and partaking of a homely meal — oh ! it was then very different ! Lucy. But it is now time that you should forget him. Mrs. S. You know not what you say. Forget him ! My dear child, you have had no losses yet — no irreparable losses ! The moment I became certain that he had forsaken me, all joy fled from my heart — despair seized me — I abandoned myself — Heaven abandoned me — I can hardly call back to my memory the state of my mind at that time. Lucy. I can recollect nothing but that I sat by your bedside, and cried because you cried. It was in the green room, by the little stove. Leaving that room was what grieved me most when we quitted the house. Mrs. S. You were but seven years old, and could not know what you had lost. [Luter Ann with the soup, Landlady, and Charles. Ann. Here is the broth that you ordered, madam. Mrs. S. Thank you, my good child. Is that your daughter, landlady ? Ljind. She is my daughter-in-law, madam ; but she is a good girl, and I could not love her better if T were her own mother. 414 STELLA. Mrs. S. You are in deep mourning. Zand. Yes, madam, for my husband ; he has been dead about three months ; we had not been married more than three years. Mrs. S. You seem to have recovered the loss of him. Land. Aye, madam, one has no time here either to weep or to pray. It's all the same at an inn. Sundays and working days are all alike. Charles, a couple of napkins directly, and spread one here. Lucy. Whose house is that upon the side of the hill ? Land. It belongs to our Baroness, one of the best of women. Mrs. S. I am glad to hear you, who are her neighbour, confirm what we have been already told of her. My daughter is going into the family to be her companion. Land. This young lady ! Lucy. Yes, I. Land. I heard that she expected a young woman, but can you resolve upon going into service ? Lucy. If she is a worthy woman, and agreeable to me, why not ? But I could not live with a person I did not like. Land. It would be very strange indeed if you should not like her. Had my girl been old enough, the place would not have been given to a stranger. It is impossible to see my lady and not to love her. Ann. Oh, yes, when once you see her ; she is so kind and so good. She is impatient for your arrival ; if you choose to go, I will conduct you. I am one of her favourites. Lucy. I will first dress myself; and I must eat some dinner, too, before I go. Attn. May I run, mother, and tell my lady that the young woman is come. Land. Yes, do. Mrs. S. And tell her we will wait upon her immediately after dinner. [Exit Ann. Land. My girl loves her beyond measure, madam. To be sure she is the most charming woman in the world, and one of her greatest amusements is to have children with her ; she teaches them to do various little works, and to sing, and she lets them wait upon her till they become handy, and then finds some good STELLA. 415 service for them. And in this manner she has spent all her time since her husband has been absent. It is wonderful how she can be so unhappy, and yet preserve so much sweetness and benevolence. Mrs. S. Is she not a widow ? Zand. God knows ! Her husband went from home three years ago, and since that time we have neither heard nor seen anything of him ; and she loved him to distraction. My good man could hardly leave off when he had began to talk of them. Every year, upon the day she last saw him, she shuts herself up, and lets no creature come near her ; and whenever she speaks of him, it goes to one's heart. I really think myself that there is not such another woman in the world ! Mrs. S. Unfortunate being ! Land. It makes people talk, to be sure. Mrs. S. Why, what do they say ? Land. One hardly cares to repeat such things. Mrs. S. Pray tell me. Land. If you would promise not to betray me, I would trust you with it. It is now about eight years since they came hither. They bought that estate — nobody knew them — we called them the good gentleman and the good lady, and imagined that he was an officer who had made money in foreign service, and now- wished to retire. She was at that time very young, not more than sixteen, and as beautiful as an angel. Lucy. Then she is not more than four-and-twenty now. Land. No ! and she has experienced a great deal of misfortune for her age. She had a child, and that died very early. In the garden is its grave, covered only with sods ; and since her hus- band has been gone, she has built a hermitage over it, and has ordered her own grave to be made by its side. My husband was an old man, and not apt to be affected ; but he could not talk of them, and of the happiness they enjoyed together, without emo- tion. It made him quite a different man, he would say, only to see how they loved each other. Mrs. S. My heart yearns towards her ! Land. But so the story goes. They say the husband had strange principles ; at least he never came to church ; and those 4 i6 STELLA. who are not governed by religion, are under no government. All at once we heard that he was gone, and so it proved ; he was gone and never came back again. Mrs. S. [aside]. An image of all my own misfortunes ! Land. Everybody was talking of it at the time when I first came here, a young married woman ; next Michaelmas it will be three years. And in short, after a variety of odd reports, at last it began to be whispered that they were not married — but I beg you won't betray me — that he was a nobleman, and that she had run away with him ; to be sure, when a young woman has taken such a step as that, she can look forward to nothing all the rest of her life but repentance. Enter Ann. Ann. My lady desires you will come to her immediately. She only wishes to see you, and will not detain you a moment. Lucy. Will it be proper to go in my travelling dress ? Land. Yes ! yes ! I promise you she will not even observe it. Lucy. Well, little girl, will you go with me ? Aim. That I will, with all my heart. Mrs. S. One word, Lucy [the Landlady retires to a distance] ; mind that you betray nothing, either of our condition or our misfortunes, and behave yourself respectfully. Lucy [aside to her mother]. Leave it to me ; I know my story. My father was a merchant, went to America, is dead, and that is the cause of our present distress ; leave it to me, I have repeated the tale often enough. [Aloud.] I wish you would lie down a little. I am sure you have need of rest. Our landlady will show you a bedchamber. Land. Yes, I have a pretty, quiet little room, which looks into the garden. I hope the Baroness will be agreeable to you, young lady. [Exit Lucy and Ann. Mrs. S. My daughter has a little pride. Land. So have most young people ; but it does not last long. Mrs. S. So much the worse, I think. Land. When you please, madam, I will wait upon you to your room. STELLA. 417 A post-horn blows. Enter 1'krdinand, in an officer's uniform, and a SERVANT. Ser. Must I order fresh horses directly, and leave your trunks upon the carriage ? Fer. No! no!— bring them in — bring them in, I tell you, we shall not go any farther. Ser. No further, sir? 1 thought you said Fer. No! let them show you an apartment, and bring in all my things immediately. [Exit Servant. Fer. {going to the window]. And do I see thee again ! Heavenly sight! do I see thee again! Scene of all my happiness ! He m still the whole house is ! Not a window open ! The gallery how deserted, where we so often have sat together. What a cloister- like appearance ! How it flatters my hope ! And does Ferdi- nand make the employment of her thoughts in this solitude ? And has he deserved it of her? Oh, it is like waking again into life, from a long, cold, joyless, death-like sleep ! Everything appears to me so new, so animated, so interesting. The trees, the springs, all, all remain the same ! So glided the water over the reeds when I, oh how many thousand times, have silently looked at it with her from that window, whilst, lost in thought, our eyes followed the stream. Its murmuring is melody — sweet melody that recalls past pleasure ! And Stella ! oh, she will still be what she was ! No, Stella ! you are not changed, so my heart tells me. How it bursts with impatience ! — but I cannot, dare not yet ! — I must first recover myself ! I must first be convinced that I am really here, that I am not deceived by dreams, such as have so often brought me hither from far countries. Stella ! Stella ! I come, in thy arms to forget everything ! And if thou hoverest round me, dear shadow of my unfortunate wife ! forgive me. Thou art gone, let me forget thee — forget all in that angel's arms — forget my misfortunes, losses, errors, and repentance. To be so near to her, and yet still so distant ! in a moment — but I cannot, dare not yet — I must suppress the violence of these sensations, or I shall expire at her feet ! The Landlady comes in. Land. Are you ready for dinner, sir ? 2 D 4 i 8 STELLA. L'er. Is it dinner time already ? Land. Yes, sir, we only wait for a young woman, who is with my lady yonder at the great house. Fer. How does my lady do ? Land. Are you acquainted with her, sir ? Fer. Some years ago I was often at the house. How does the marquis ? Land. God knows- — he is in the wide world. Fer. Gone from home ? Land. Yes, indeed. He went away and left the dear lady — ■ God forgive him ! Fer. She was, I presume, very soon comforted ? Land. If you think so, you can know but little of her. No, she has lived like a nun ever since I have been here. She re- ceives no strangers, and visits very few people in the neighbour- hood. No, she stays at home, and has all the poor children of the village about her. And notwithstanding her inward grief, she is always gentle, always kind. Fer. I intend to wait upon her. Land. So do. She has sometimes invited us — the bailiff's wife, the clergyman's sister, and myself, and talked with us upon various subjects. We were, of course, always careful not to re- mind her of her husband ; but once it happened, Heaven knows how it came about, that he was mentioned. She spoke with warmth in his praise, and burst into tears. Sir, we all cried like children, and could with difficulty compose ourselves. Fer. [aside]. Have I deserved this of her? [Aloud.] Is my servant shown to a room ? Land. Yes, sir — No. 2, upon the first floor. Charles, show the gentleman his room. [Exit Ferdinand and Charles. Lucy and Ann come in. Land. Well ! what do you think of my lady ? Lucy. Oh, she is a delightful woman — you did not say at all too much of her. She was unwilling to part with me, and I was obliged to promise that I would return with my mother as soon as dinner was over, and bring my clothes. Land. I thought so. Now it will be agreeable to you to dine ? STELLA. 419 A tall handsome officer is just arrived. If you have no ob- jection Lucy. Not the least. Is my mother asleep ? Land. I don't know. Lucy. Then I must go and see how she does. Laud. Charles, see here. The salt is forgotten again. Do you call that rinsing? look at these glasses! [Ferdinand enters.'] Sir, the young woman is returned, and will come to dinner im- mediately. Fer. Who is she? Land. I don't know her. She seems to be a person who has been well brought up, but not now in affluence. She is going into the service of our good lady here. Fer. Is she young ? Land. Very young. Her mother is here with her. \_Enter Lucy. Lucy. Your servant, sir. Fer. I am very glad to find such agreeable company. [Lucy draws near the table. Land. Here, madam — if you please to be seated. Sir, there is a chair Fer. We are not then to have the pleasure of your company, Landlady ? Land. No ! If I stand still — all stands still. [Exit Landlady. Fer. Is it true, madam, that you are going into service ? Lucy. My situation makes it necessary. I shall be companion to my lady. Fer. Methinks you could not fail to find a companion who would take more care of you than the Baroness. Lucy. You, sir, I find are like other men. Fer. How do you mean ? Lucy. In two words, then, very presuming. Men think them- selves absolutely necessary ; and, I don't know how it was, but I was brought up very well without them. Fer. You have lost your father ! Lucy. I can hardly remember that I had one. I was very young when he left us to make a voyage to the coast of America, and his ship, as we heard, foundered at sea. 420 STELLA. Fer. You appear to be very indifferent about him ! Lucy. It cannot well be otherwise. He had done very little to gain my affections, and knowing that men prize nothing so much as liberty, I could easily forgive him for leaving us ; but my poor mother is dying with grief for his loss. Fer. You are then without any protection ? Lucy. That does not signify. If our means are diminished, I am now grown up, and I do not fear but I shall be able to sup- port my mother. Fer. Your spirit is surprising. Lucy. Those who have often risen again when they had expected to sink learn courage. Fer. Cannot you impart some of it to your mother ? Lucy. Alas ! she has the loss, not I. I am thankful for the life he gave me. I am cheerful and happy. But for her — she had passed with him the bloom of her youth, and then to be deprived of him — suddenly deprived of him ! What can equal the distress of such a situation ? I have not yet experienced any loss. I can form no idea of it. You appear thoughtful, sir ! Fer. Yes, my dear. Life is full of cares, and also of happiness. [Rising up.~\ And so heaven support your spirits. [He takes her hand.'] You suddenly struck me, my dear child — in the world how often, and how far, have I been removed from all my hope, my happiness ! But yet always Lucy. What mean you, sir ? Fer. All that is kind, my dear. You have my best, my warmest wishes for your welfare. \Kisses her hand. Exit. Lucy. There is something extraordinary in this man, but he seems to have a good heart ACT II. Enter Stella and a Servant. Stel. Go to her — go directly, and say that I am waiting for her. Ser. She promised to come immediately, madam. Stel. But you find that she does not. I like her much. Go, and let her mother come with her. [Exit Servant.] I can STELLA. 421 hardly have patience to wait. It is something to wish, to hope. I am quite a child ! Yet, why should I not seek objects of affection ? It requires much to fill this heart ! Much, poor Stella, much ! Whilst he yet loved me, whilst I pressed him to my bosom, one look of his filled my whole soul ! And, O Heaven ! Thy decrees are unsearchable ! How often from his embraces have I lifted up my eyes to Thee, my heart glowing with his love, my lips seeming to imbibe his exalted soul, and with tears of tenderness have cried, Father of Mercies ! oh continue to us this happiness, Thou, who hast made us so happy ! It was not Thy will. [She is thoughtful a few moments, then suddenly gets up, and strikes her hand upon her heart.] No, Ferdinand, no ! that was not a reproach. Mrs. Summers and Lucy enter. Stel. Here they are. My dear girl, you are now mine. Madam, I thank you for the confidence with which you deliver this treasure into my hands. She is a capricious little creature ; but she has a good and generous heart. Yes, Lucy ; you see I have found you out already. Mrs. S. You feel what I bring to you, and trust to your pro- tection. Stel. [after a pause, in which she looks at Mrs. Summers]. Pardon me ! I am informed of your story. I know that I have before me persons of good family ; but your appearance awes me. You inspired me with respect and confidence the first moment that I saw you. Mrs. S. My lady, your goodness Stel. Oh ! nothing of that. It is a pleasure to me to express what my heart feels. How are you ? I hear you have not been well. Pray sit down. Mrs. S. I have not been in good health for some time, my dear madam ; but travelling in this beautiful season, with the change of scene, and the pure, delightful morning air (which has so often given fresh vigour to my exhausted spirits), have had so favour- able an effect upon me that even the recollection of past happi- ness becomes a pleasure to me. I see a fleeting image of my golden days when love first dawned upon my soul. 422 STELLA. Stel Yes, the days, the early days of love ! No ! thou art not gone back to heaven, golden time ! thou art present to each heart when the blossom of love is unfolded. Mrs. S. [pressing her hand']. Enchanting visions ! Stel. Your countenance is illuminated like that of an angel. Your cheeks glow Mrs. S. Alas ! and my heart too. It beats for you. Sympa- thises with you. Stel. Then you also have loved ! Thank heaven I find a being that can understand me, that can pity me, that will not coldly look upon my sorrows ! What have I not done ? What have I not tried ? but all in vain. No, the world and all that it contains can be of no avail. No, what we love is everything, and all is for the object beloved. Mrs. S. All heaven is in her heart ! [Aside. Stel. When I am least aware of it, his image suddenly appears before me. Sometimes as I have seen him come into company, when his eyes were wandering in search of mc, or as he bounded over the fields to throw himself into my arms at the garden gate, and sometimes at a distance, as I have seen him going from me. Alas ! then it was to return — it was to return to me again. If I recall to my thoughts the hurrying scenes of the world, he is equally there. When I was at the theatre, I was sure, whether I saw him or not, that he stood where he could observe and admire every attitude of mine. I knew that the waving of my plumes attracted him more than all the beauties round him, and that the music was but an accompaniment to the eternal chorus of his heart — Stella ! Stella ! how dear thou art to me ! Lucy. How is it possible to feel so much love ? Stel. Do you ask, child? I cannot answer you. But with what do I entertain you ? — trifles ! — important trifles. We are but great children ; and perhaps it is well for us that we are so. What passions rend the soul when we are offended and resolve to leave a beloved object ; but if armed with all our pride and firm- ness, we again behold him- — how all subsides with one look, with one pressure of the hand. Mrs. S. Your pure nature still preserves all its innocence — that, at least, remains to you. STELLA. 423 Sfel. Oh ! a thousand years of weeping and sorrow would not be a price too great to give for the delights of young love — the stolen looks, the faltering voice, the agitation, the divine oblivion, the meetings, partings, the first passionate kiss hastily snatched, the first calm embrace. My dear madam, you seem oppressed. Are you well ? Mrs. S. Oh men ! men ! Stel. They are the cause of joy and sorrow. With what ideas of felicity they fill our minds ; what new affections possess us when first their tumultuous passions are communicated to our souls. How often has my whole frame shook, when in floods of tears he has poured a world of sorrows into my bosom. I begged him for heaven's sake to spare himself — me. In vain ; till in my inmost soul he kindled the flame with which he was consumed. And so the poor girl became all love, all tenderness. And where is now the nsthereal climate in which such a being can live and breathe. Mrs. S. We trust men. In the moments of passion they de- ceive themselves ; how should we avoid being deceived by them. Stel. A sudden thought strikes me, madam. Let us be to one another what these men ought to have been to us ; let us remain together ; give me your hand, we will not part. Lucy. That cannot be. Stel. Why not, Lucy? Mrs. S. My daughter is sensible, madam. Stel. It is not a favour which I offer. Are you not aware that you will confer a great obligation on me by staying ? My good friend, I dare not be alone. I have tried everything — my farm, my garden, music, books. I teach the little children of the village to read and spin, merely not to be alone ; merely to see something about me that lives and prospers. Sometimes, when my good angel seems to have removed the weight of sorrow from ray heart— when I awake calmly on a warm spring morning and the loved sun shines on the opening leaves and I can begin the business of the day with cheerfulness and activity, then it is well with me — then I walk about for a time and direct un- people and set them to work. And, for the short respite, I give thanks aloud to heaven. 424 STELLA. Mrs. S. Yes, I have experienced it myself; activity and bene- volence are the best gifts of heaven — a compensation for un- fortunate love. Stel. Compensation ! A little relief perhaps. Something in the place of what we have lost, but not the lost thing itself. Lost love ! oh where is there an equivalent for thee ? When, as I oftentimes ramble from thought to thought, a friendly dream brings past time before me, and I look forward with hope to the future, then I calmly wander up and down my garden by the glimmering light of the moon. Till all at once the thought seizes me — it seizes me that I am alone. In vain to the four winds I stretch out my arms ; in vain call upon the phantom of love with a fulness of heart, a violence that I think would almost draw down the moon from her sphere. I am alone ; no voice answers me from the wood, the stars look cold upon my distress, and then the grave of my child appears suddenly at my feet. Mrs. S. You had a child ? Stel. Yes, my good friend. O Heaven, you gave me that happiness also only to taste, and prepared a bitter cup for my whole life. When one of the village children, as I am walking, runs up to me barefooted, and, with little innocent eyes, kisses its hand to me, it pierces my soul. So tall, I think, my Fanny would have been. With melancholy tenderness I take it up and kiss it a hundred times as if it were my child. My heart is rent, the tears start from my eyes, and I break away. Lucy. But you were also saved a great care ? [Stella smiles and pats her check. Stel. How is it that I yet exist ? How did I survive the dread- ful moment ? It lay before me, its bloom flown ! and I stood over it, my heart turned to stone, without feeling, without sense. The nurse took it up, and suddenly called out, It is alive ! I fell upon her neck, cried passionately over the child, threw myself at her feet. Alas ! she was deceived. There it lay dead, and I by its side, in all the agony of despair. [Stella throws herself into a chair. Mrs. S. Turn your thoughts from the melancholy scene. Stel. No ! it is good, very good for me that my heart should open — that I should relieve my mind from this oppression ! Oh ! STELLA. 425 were I once to begin talking of him who was all to me ! Who — but you shall see his picture. Lucy. Oh, how I shall like to see it . Stel. [opens a door and points to it\. There, my dear friends, there it is. Mrs. S. Heavens ! Stel. That — that is his picture ! yet not a thousandth part of what he is. That forehead, those black eyes are his ; the dark hair, and the earnest look. But, oh ! the love, the friendship with which his soul overflowed, which animated his countenance, that no painter could express ! — that his Stella alone can feel. Lucy. I am all amazement, madam ! Stel. Yes, it is the picture of such a man. Lucy. I must tell you that I dined to-day with an officer at the post-house who resembles this gentleman. Oh, it was himself; I will lay my life it was himself. Stel. To-day ! Oh, you deceive yourself! You deceive me ! Lucy. Yes, madam, to-day. But he was burnt rather browner with the sun. It was himself; I am sure it was. Stel. I am all tumult, Lucy. I will go thither directly. [Rings the bell hard. Lucy. It will not be proper for you to go. Stel. Proper! Oh ! proper! [Servant comes in. Stel. Run ! William — at the post-house— run ! there is an officer that should — that is — Speak, Lucy ! — tell him ! — he is to come hither ! — Desire him to come hither ! Lucy. Do you know the Baron ? Scr. Yes, perfectly well, madam. Lucy. Well, go to the post-house ; there is an officer there who resembles him extremely. I think it must be himself. See whether I am mistaken. Stel. Tell him that he must come — must come immediately. Could I but hold him ! [opening wide her arms\. But I am deceiving myself! It is impossible! Leave me, my friends. Leave me to myself. [She retires with precipitation. Lucy. My dear mother ! What is the matter ? How pale you are ! Mrs. S. This will be the last day of my life ! This my heart cannot bear ! All — all at once ! 426 STELLA. Lucy. For heaven's sake, what mean you ? Mrs. S. This husband — this beloved ! — this much-desired ! He is my husband ! He is your father ! Lucy. My mother, my dearest mother ! Mrs. S. And he is here — will sink into her arms in a few moments. And we — Lucy, we — must be gone ! Lucy. When should you wish to go ? Mrs. S. Immediately — instantly ! Lucy. Go into the garden, my dear mother, and let me run to the post-house. If the post-waggon is not gone, we can go quietly back in it without taking leave — whilst intoxicated with happiness Mrs. S. In raptures of joy she will embrace him — himself! — and I, in the same moment that I find him, must for ever — for ever lose him ! Enter Ferdinand and a Servant. Ser. This way, sir; here, don't you recollect the room. My lady is almost distracted with joy. I am very happy to see you here again. [Ferdinand crosses t/ie stage without obse7Ting Lucy or Mrs. Summers; they see him from behind. Mrs. S. It is he ! It is himself ! I am undone ! ACT III. Stella enters full of joy with Ferdinand. Stel. [turning to the walls of the room, and advancing forwards a little statue of Venus]. Here he is ! Do you behold him ! Here he is ! How often have I lamented, and wept, and walked up and down in despair, within these walls ! He is here again ! I cannot believe my senses ! dearest, dearest Ferdinand ! You were long away. But you are returned to me [falling upon his neck\ You are returned. I will hear nothing, think of nothing, know nothing, but that you are here again. Fer. My Stella ! my dear Stella ! [embracing her~\. O Heaven, you have repaid me for all my sufferings ! Stel. Thou only one. STELLA. 427 Fer. Stella, let me again drink thy dear breath ! thy breath, in comparison of which the air of paradise would be joyless and insipid. Stel. Dearest Ferdinand ! Fer. Pour into this disturbed, tempestuous bosom, new love, new delight, from the fulness of thy own heart. [He hangs upon her. Stel. My beloved Ferdinand ! Fer. Oh transport, ecstasy ! Here, where you breathe, every object floats before me in the charm of life and youth. Love and eternal truth would here fix the wildest wanderer. Stel. Thou dear enthusiast ! Fer. Do you not know that your bosom is like the dew of heaven to the parched traveller who returns to you from the barren deserts of the world. Stel. And what delight to the poor Stella, to press her Ferdinand, her wandering, her lost, her only Ferdinand, again to her bosom. Fer. [falling at her feet]. My Stella ! Stel. Rise, my dear Ferdinand, I cannot see you kneel. Fer. Yes, let me ! let me kneel before you ! Does not my heart incessantly adore you? — everlasting goodness and love. Stel. I have you again ! I do not know myself ! — I do not know what I say or do ; — and what matters it ? Fer. To me it is again as the first moments of our happiness. I hold you in my arms — -I imbibe from your lips the certainty of your love ! I tremble, and ask myself whether I am awake or in a dream. Stel. But, Ferdinand, as I perceive, you are not grown better. Fer. Yes, surely I am — these moments of delight in your arms must make me good. I could pray, Stella, and then surely I should be happy. Stel. God forgive thee, that thou art so good for nothing, and so good ! So versatile, and yet so constant ! As soon as I hear thy voice I say to myself, " That is Ferdinand, who loves nothing in the world but me." Fer. And when I look at your sweet blue eyes, till I lose myself in them — I think, that during the whole time of my absence, no image has dwelt in them but mine. Stel. And you are not mistaken ! 4 28 STELLA. Fer. Indeed? St el. No, or I would confess it to you ! Did I not in the first months of my entire love for you, unfold all the inmost recesses of my heart ? And did you not love me the better for it ? Fer. Thou angel ! Stel. Why do you look at me so ? You think I am altered. Sorrow has faded my cheek. Is it not so ? Fer. Roses ! sweetest bloom ! Stella, why do you shake your head. Stel. To think that I so love you, that I cannot accuse you for the sorrows you have brought upon me ! Fer. What, is your hair grey, Stella ? Fortunately it was always light ! You have not, however, lost any of it, I perceive. \_He takes out the comb, and her long hair falls doivn. Stel. \with a fond smile\. Foolery ! Fer. \jurapping her hair round his arm\ Rinaldo again in his former chains ! Servant enters. Ser. Madam ! Stel. What is the matter ? "Why do you come with a distressed countenance? It is death to me, when I am so happy. Ser. But, madam, the two ladies are going. Stel. Going ? Oh no ! Ser. Yes, madam. I saw the daughter go to the inn, and then return again to consult with her mother. I inquired at the house, and heard that they had hired horses, as the post-waggon was already gone. I went to them — the mother, all in tears, desired me to carry back her clothes privately, and wishing you all possible happiness, said she could not stay. Fer. Is it the woman who came to-day with her daughter ? Stel. Yes, I wished to take the daughter into my service, and the mother had agreed to it. That they should give me this disturbance just at this time, Ferdinand ! Fer. What can they mean ? Stel. Heaven knows ! I cannot tell ; and I do not wish now to inquire. I would not willingly lose her. If you were not with me, Ferdinand, it would give me pain. Pray speak to them, Ferdinand. You, William, must do what they desire of you — STELLA. 429 they must be left at liberty to do as they please. Ferdinand, I will wait for you in the arbour. You will soon follow me. Come soon. Ye nightingales, ye will again welcome him ! Fer. My dearest love. Stel. [hanging upon him]. You will come soon. Fer. In a few moments — immediately. [Exit Stella. Fer. [alone]. Angel of Heaven ! in your presence all is serenity and peace. Ferdinand, dost thou know thyself again? All that oppressed this bosom is removed — every care, every painful re- collection of what is past, all apprehension of what is to come. What is to come ! Fell thoughts, do you again assail me ! That before her they should all vanish— 'tis inconceivable ! Yes, when I look at you, Stella, when I hold your hand Bailiff enters. Bail. [lie kneels to Ferdinand]. Are you indeed here again ? Fer. Yes — stand up — I am returned Bail. Let me, my dear sir, let me Fer. Well, how is it with you ? I hope you are happy. Bail. I cannot be otherwise than happy. My wife is in good health, I have two children, and you are come back. Fer. And how have you managed ? Bail. So well, that I could immediately lay the accounts before you. You will be surprised to find how much we have improved the estate. May I inquire after your wife, your daughter ? Fer. Peace ! Must I [tell you all ? You deserve it as the companion of my follies. Bail. I may thank Heaven that you did not make yourself chief of some horde. I should have begun to sack and plunder with you at the first word. Fer. You shall hear all. Bail. But I hope you mean to stay at home now. It is time to leave off all this rambling. Since I have had a wife and children, I find myself very well contented in this confined corner of the world, and the whole of it was too narrow for me before. But you Fer. No retrospect. Bail. I only mean to say that our dear lady may hope again Fer. Oh, my child ! My child ! 43 o STELLA . Bail. Well, well, God will bless you with another, and it will live, and you will stay with us and become a good husbandman ; and after all, what is the use of this restless rambling ? Fer. I find you have not left off giving your opinion. Bail. Honoured sir, why should I not honestly speak what I think ? I well remember, after you had been married two or three years to the good, the amiable Cecilia, how you tormented your- self. How discontented you were with everything. How you felt yourself imprisoned, fettered. How you sighed after liberty. Fer. How you talk. Bail. Is it not the truth? Fer. Well! Bail. When you opened your heart to me, and in a fit of exces- sive despondency said — " I must go, Frank. I was a fool to let myself be shackled. This situation confines all my powers, takes away the vigour of my soul. It presses upon me. The qualities I have in me should have space to unfold themselves " Fer. Very well ! Bail. I did not then comprehend what you would have, now I understand it. We went into the wide world, and wandered up and down, and, with all our freedom, knew not what we would be at, till at last we had no alternative but to return to our chains or hang ourselves. Fer. Nonsense ! Bail. Then all your powers had free scope. Fer. Blockhead ! Bail. Then your faculties had room to display themselves. Fer. Do you know what you are prating about ? Bail. About what you so often talked of and never did, about what you wished for and could not attain, and often even did not seek after. Fer. Enough, enough ! Bail. Well, stay with us now — do but stay, and all will be right. Servant enters. Ser. Mrs. Summers, sir. Fer. Show her in. [Exit Servant. Fer. [alone]. This woman perplexes me. Nothing is pure, STELLA. 431 nothing is perfect ! The gaiety of the daughter affected me ; what will her sorrow do ! Mrs. Summers enters. Fer. [aside]. O Heaven ! and must her figure too remind me of my crime ! Strange contradiction ! If it is our nature so to think, and so to act, why cannot we forgive ourselves ? [Aloud.] Madam ! Mrs. S. What are your commands, sir ? Fer. I wish that you would give Stella and me your company. Pray sit down. [Gives her a chair. Mrs. S. The presence of the unfortunate is irksome to the happy ! and, alas ! the presence of the happy is still more irksome to the unfortunate. Fer. I do not understand you. Can you have mistaken Stella ? She that is all kindness, all divine goodness. Mrs. S. Sir, I wish to go silently away ; permit me to do so. I must be gone. Believe that I have urgent reasons, and let me entreat that you will give me leave to go. Fer. [aside]. Her voice ! [Aloud.] Madam [he turns round]. — [Aside.] Gods ! it is my wife. [Aloud.] Excuse me. [He retires suddenly. Mrs. S. [alone]. He knows me ! I thank Heaven for having given me much strength at such a moment. Am I indeed the same poor, broken-hearted being that in so trying a situation can be so calm, so strong ? Providence ! Eternal Goodness ! if some- times we lose the vigour of our mind, you restore it to us when we have the greatest need of it. Fer. [comes back]. [Aside.] Does she know me? [Aloud.] I pray you, madam, I entreat you, speak to me without reserve. Mrs. S. Must I then relate to you my misfortunes ? How can you attend to sorrow and mourning upon a day which gives to you all the joys of life, and restores them also to the most excellent of women ? No, sir ; excuse me. Give me leave to go. Fer. Let me prevail on you, madam. Mrs. S. Willingly would I spare myself and you. The remem- brance of my early years revives in me a deadly grief. 432 STELLA. Fer. You were not then always unfortunate ! Airs. S. No ! or I should not have been so sensible of mis- fortune. [After a pause, and in a softer tone.] The days of my youth were cheerful and happy. I know not what there was in me that attracted men ; but a great number wished to make themselves agreeable to me. I felt complacency and friendship for a few ; but there were none with whom I could have wished to unite my fate. And so passed the day, strewed with roses, when each fair hour led to another as happy ; and yet something was wanting. When I looked farther into life, and considered all the joys and sorrows that await mankind, then I wished for a companion, whose hand might lead me in my progress through the world ; who for the love which my young heart should dedi- cate to him, would be my friend in age, my protector, who might supply the loss of the parents I should have given up for his sake. Fer. And afterwards ■ Mrs. S. Alas, I found this man ! I saw him. upon whom, in the first days of our acquaintance, I placed all my hopes. The vivacity of his temper appeared to me to be accompanied with such generosity and truth, that I soon opened my heart to him. He gained my friendship ; and oh ! how soon after — my love. O Heaven, when his head rested on my bosom, how grateful did he appear for the place which had been prepared for him in my arms ! how he flew to me again, after he had been engaged in the whirl of business and dissipation ! And how I leant upon him. as my support and consolation, in every distress or difficulty. Fer. What could disturb this tender friendship ? Mrs. S. Nothing is lasting. Alas ! he loved me — as certainly loved me, as I loved him ! There was a time when he could attend to nothing but me ; think of nothing but my happiness. Oh, he conducted me through pleasant paths, and then left me in a desert. Fer. [/us distress still increasing]. But how could his heart, his sentiments Mrs. S. How can we know what passes in the heart of men? I did not observe that by degrees he became — what shall I call it ? — not indifferent — that I must not say ; he ever, ever loved me ; but he required more than my love. I had his affections to shr % STELLA. 433 perhaps, with a rival. I did not conceal my suspicions — and at last Fer. And could he Mrs. S. He left me ! The wretchedness I felt has no name ! All my hopes fell that moment to the ground, at the very time when I expected to reap the fruit for which I had sacrificed my bloom. To be forsaken, abandoned ! To lose all that can sup- port and gratify the mind. Love, confidence, honour, rank, pros- perity — all overturned at once — and I, and the unhappy pledge of our love ! A dead melancholy succeeded to the rage of grief, and when that was swept away, my exhausted spirits sunk into apathy. All the disasters to which the fortune of a poor deserted being is liable, I neither foresaw nor regarded, till at length Fer. Oh, how guilty Mrs. S. [interrupting him, with suppressed grief]. No, he is not ! I pity the men who are enslaved by love. Fer. Madam ! Mrs. S. \_smiling to conceal her distress]. No, certainly ! I see them as slaves in fetters, and as such they are, indeed, always considered. They deceive themselves for a time, and woe to us when their eyes are opened ! I could be nothing to him at last but a good housewife. I certainly attended upon him with the utmost endeavours to be agreeable to him and careful of him. I dedicated all my time to my family and my children, and without doubt, being occupied with so many trifles, my heart and head were often barren, and I was not a very entertaining companion to a man of his lively imagination and brilliant talents. He neces- sarily found my society insipid ; he was not in fault ! Fer. {falling at her feet]. Oh yes, I am ! I am ! Mrs. S. [in a flood of tears, falling on his neck]. My Fer. My Cecilia ! My wife ! Cec. [drawing back]. Not mine! [Again falling on his neck.] My heart betrays me ! Ferdinand, whatever you are, let the tears of an unhappy woman flow upon your bosom; bear with her these few moments, and then abandon her for ever. Think her not thy wife ! Spurn her not from thee ! Fer. Heaven ! O Cecilia ! Your tears upon my cheek ! — yor ' "heart throbbing against mine ! Spare me ! spare me ! 2 E 434 STELLA. Cec. I ask nothing, Ferdinand ! nothing but these few moments ! Grant but this relief to my heart, and it will become firm, disen- gaged. Ferdinand, you shall be released from me. Fer. Rather may my life be taken away ! I will not part with you ! Cec. I shall see you again, but not upon this earth ! You belong to another. I cannot rob her of you ! Open ! open to me, world of spirits ! Let me look into that happy futurity, into that eternal dwelling. That, that alone can give me consolation in these dreadful moments. Fer. [taking both her hands, and looking at her and embracing her]. Nothing — nothing in the world shall take me from you. I have found you again. Cec. Found what you did not seek ! Fer. Do not say so. Yes, indeed, I have sought you, my for- saken, my dear wife. Even in the arms of this angel, I have scarcely known a moment of real happiness. Everything re- minded me of you and of your daughter. Of my Lucy ! Good heaven ! to think that that charming girl is my daughter ! I have sought you everywhere. Three years I have been seeking you. In the place 'where we resided I found that our habitation was in other hands, and heard the sad story of your losses. Your re- treat rent my heart. I could discover no traces of you. And tired of my life and of myself, I put on this uniform, and went into foreign service, and in my despair helped to support the dying freedom of the Corsicans. And now you see me, after a long and strange wandering, again returned to you, my kind and faithful wife. Lucy enters. Fer. Oh, my daughter ! Lucy. My dearest father ! — if indeed you will be to me a father. Cec. And Stella ! Fer. Here, we must be quick. Unfortunate Stella ! Why, Lucy, why could we not this morning discover one another ? you know with how much emotion I left you. Oh ! why, why ? we had then been saved all this. Stella ! we had spared you this sorrow. But we will be gone. I will tell her that you are resolved to go ; that you will not interrupt her by taking leave ; but that STELLA. 435 you cannot be prevailed upon to stay. And you, Lucy, go directly to the post-house and order a chaise to be got ready immediately for three. The servant will put up my things with yours. Cecilia in the meantime will stay here, and when all is ready, you will come back, Lucy, and both of you wait for me in the garden room. I will disengage myself from Stella — say that I purpose to accom- pany you to the inn, to pay the post for you, and take care that you meet with no difficulties. Poor girl ! we make use of your goodness to deceive you. We will go. Cec. Go ! One reasonable word with you. Fer. No ! We will go ; say no more. We will be gone. [Exit Cecilia and Lucy. Fer. [alone]. Gone ! Oh where, where ! A dagger might open the way through all these difficulties, and turn me to cold insen- sibility, for which I would now gladly exchange this being. And is it even thus ? In my fortunate days, what were my thoughts of those to whom life was a burthen, and who cast it from them ? And now ! Oh ! how unfeeling are the happy ! This discovery one hour sooner, how much would have been spared ! I had not seen her — she had not seen me. I could have persuaded myself that she had forgotten me — that she had got the better of her sorrow. But now, how shall I appear before her ? What say to her ? O my crimes ! my crimes ! how bitter they are to me at this moment. I left them both, both were lost to me, and now that I find them again I am lost to myself. O grief ! O torment ! ACT IV. Scene — The Hermitage in Stella's garden. Stel. [alone, looking at her flower s\. You bloom beautifully, more beautifully than ever, dear, dear spot of eternal sacred repose, but you attract me no longer. Now I shudder before you. Cool, soft earth, I tremble at the sight of you ! Alas ! how often in the hour of fancy have I been wrapped in the mantle of death, and hid my sorrows under thy living green. Then have I called on corruption to dissolve this anxious bosom, and release my spirit in a friendly dream. But now, light of heaven, you shine upon 436 STELLA. me in all your brightness. He is returned, and the whole creation smiles, my heart swims in pleasure, I breathe new life, and from his lips I shall inhale a newer, brighter, more glowing existence — shall live with him, for him, in continual delight ! Ferdinand ! he comes. Hark ! no, not yet. Here he shall find me, here, by this altar of roses, under these branches full of flowers. These buds I will gather for him. Here, here ! and then I will lead him to this little bower. Small as it is, I did well, however, to make it large enough for two. Here I used to lay my books ; here stood my writing-desk. Away with you, I want nothing now, now I have Ferdinand. But is he indeed returned ? Is he again here? Perhaps [Ferdinand enters.'] Where stayed you, my best love ? Where have you been ? I have been long, long alone. [Anxiously^] Are you well ? Fer. [aside]. These women have distracted me. [Aloud.] The mother is a very worthy woman, but she will not stay ; she will not assign her reasons, but she is determined to go. You must allow her to do so, Stella. Stel. If she is not willing to stay, I will not certainly persuade her against her inclination ; and, Ferdinand, I want nothing now ! [falling on his neck] — -now I have you ! Fer. Compose yourself. Stel. Let me weep ; I would the day were over. My whole frame still trembles — joy so unexpected, so sudden. My dear Ferdinand, I can hardly — I shall sink under it. Fer. [aside]. How shall I go from her ? [Aloud.] Leave me, Stella ! Stel. It is thy voice, thy fond voice — Stella / Stella ! You know how I love to hear you pronounce that name — Stella ? Nobody speaks it like you ; the whole soul of love is in the sound. How delightful to me is the memory of those days when I first heard you speak it. When all my happiness began in you. Fer. Your happiness ? Stel. You look as if you would begin to reckon the days of sorrow you have brought upon me. No more of that, Ferdinand ! no more of that ! I count only those of joy. Oh ! from the time I first saw you, how was my whole soul changed. Do you remember the afternoon in the garden with my uncle? When STELLA. 437 you came to us we were sitting under the great chestnut trees, behind the summer-house. Fer. [aside]. She will rend my heart. [Aloud.'] I remember it well, my Stella. Stel. When you came, I don't know whether you observed that from the first moment you had fixed my attention ; but I, however, soon remarked that your eyes sought mine, and when my uncle proposed music and you took up a violin, whilst you were playing I looked earnestly at your countenance— I traced every line in it. On a sudden pause you turned your eyes towards me and they met mine ; how I coloured and looked down. You perceived it, Ferdinand. From that instant I was sensible that you were often looking over the book at me, and were so out of time that my uncle lost all patience. Each false note was to me soft flattery that touched my heart ; it was the sweetest confusion I had ever felt in my life. For the whole world I could not have met your eyes again ; I left the company. Fer. Oh! every minute circumstance! [Aside.] Cruel recollection. Stel. I am often surprised that, loving you as I do to entire forgetfulness of myself when I am with you, these scenes should still be as vivid and fresh in my memory as if they had passed but yesterday. How often, Ferdinand, have I thought of the evening when you went through the wood with my friend to look for me. You both called Stella, Stella ! The instant you spoke, I knew your voice, and when you came up to me and took my hand, which was most confused of the two? My good Sarah said to me the same afternoon, "I see your fate is decided." And what happiness in your arms. If Sarah could but be a witness of it. She was a good creature, and wept over me when I was sick and dying for love. I would willingly have taken her with me when I forsook everything for you. Fer. Forsook everything ! Stel. Does that strike you so much ? Is it not true ? Or can you, in Stella's mouth, mistake it for a reproach. Oh, for love of you, I have not done near enough ! Fer. No ! your uncle, who loved you as a father, who idolised you, who had no will but yours — that was nothing. Your fortune, the estate which would have been yours — that was nothing. The 438 STELLA. place where you had passed your childhood, the scene of your innocent amusements, your companions Stel. And what are all these without you, Ferdinand ? They were indeed something to me before I knew you ; but when love and you took possession of my soul, it was then I first began to live. I must indeed confess that I have many times in a solitary hour said to myself, "Why could I not have enjoyed all these things with him ? Why was it necessary to run away ? Would my uncle have refused him my hand ? Certainly not ; then why run away ? " But I found excuses enough for you — they never failed. " If it was a caprice," said I — for you have a multitude of caprices, Ferdinand — " If it was a caprice to carry off the maiden as a prize ! and if it was his pride to take her without her fortune ! " You may imagine that I was every way interested to put the best construction upon it, and so you were always justified. Fer. My heart sinks within me ! A NX enters. Ann. Your pardon, my lady. Why do you stay so long, captain ? everything is ready, and they only wait for you. The young lady has hurried us almost out of our senses, and now you make them wait. Stel. Go, Ferdinand ; go with them to the inn and pay the post for them ; but come back again soon. Ann. Do not you go with them then ? The young lady bespoke a chaise for three, and your servant has packed up your things. Stel. It is a mistake, Ferdinand. Fer. What does the child mean ? Ann. What do I mean ? Why, truly, it is rather extraordinary that you should leave this lady to go with her maid, whom you only became acquainted with at the ordinary to-day. But I observed a tender parting, to be sure, when you kissed her hand after dinner. Stel. \with surprise], Ferdinand ! Fer. She is a child, she don't know what she says. Ann. Don't believe him, dear lady ! everything is packed up, and the gentleman is certainly to go with them. Fer. Go where ? — where ? STELLA. 439 Stel. Leave us, Ann. [Exit Ann.] Relieve me from this dreadful distress. I know 'tis nothing, and yet the child's non- sense pains me. Ferdinand, I am thy Stella ! Fer. [turning to her and taking her by the hand]. Thou art my Stella ! Stel. You terrify me, Ferdinand ! You look wildly ! Fer. Stella, I am a wretch and a coward ! I lose all my powers when I am with you. I have not the resolution to strike the dagger into your heart, and yet secretly meditate slow poison. O Stella ! Stella ! Stel. For heaven's sake ! Fer. [with bitterness and passion]. And only not to see your sorrow ! not to hear your despair ! — to fly ! Stel. [in a faint voice]. I can support myself no longer. [She is sinking, but holds by him. Fer. Stella ! whom I hold iri my arm ! Stella ! thou who art all to me ! Stella ! [Coldly.] I leave thee ! Stel. [staring confusedly and smiling]. Me ? Fer. [gnashing his teeth]. Yes, thee ! with the woman whom thou hast seen ! with the girl ! Stel. It grows dark ! Fer. That woman is my wife — [Stella looks earnestly at him, and falls into his arms] — and the girl is my daughter ! Stella ! [He observes that she has fainted.] Stella! [He carries her to a chair.] Stella ! Oh, help ! help ! Cecilia and Lucy enter. Fer. Look ! look at this angel ! She is gone. See ! Oh, help ! help ! [Cecilia and Lucy are both busied about her. Lucy. She is beginning to recover. [He looks at them for some time without speaking. Fer. And by your aid ! by your aid ! [Exit. Stel. Who? Where? [Standing up.] Where is he? [She sinks back, and looks round her at Cecilia and Lucy, who are still employed about her.] Thank you ! thank you ! Who are you ? Cec. Compose yourself ! We are Stel. You ? Are you not gone ? You are ? — Heaven, who told 440 STELLA. it me ? Who are you ? Are you ? — {taking Cecilia by the hand] — No ; I lose myself again. Cec. Dearest, best of women, let me press you to my bosom. Stel. It lies deep in my soul. Tell me, are you Cec. I am — I am his wife. Stel. [starting back and putting her hand before her eyes]. And I ! [She walks wildly backwards and forwards. Cec. Let me conduct you to your apartment. Stel. What do you remind me of? Oh horror ! horror ! And is this the end of all ? Cast off, abandoned — lost, for ever lost .' Ferdinand, Ferdinand ! Cec. Go, Lucy, call your father. Stel. No ! For heaven's sake, hold, stay ! Let him not come. No, father, husband ! Go, go ! Cec. My dear Stella ! Stel. And do you love me ? Do you press me to your bosom ? No, leave me. Put me from you. Yet one moment [falling on her neck], it will be the last, I shall soon be no more. My heart ! Lucy. You must compose yourself. Stel. I cannot support your presence. I poisoned all your peace, robbed you of your all. You were in sorrow, and I, what happiness did I enjoy ! [Falls on her knees.] Can you forgive me ? Cec. [Cecilia and Lucv hasten to raise her]. Oh rise, rise ! Stel. No ; here I will kneel, lament, pray to heaven and to you to forgive me. Pardon, pardon! [She starts up.] Pardon! I am not in fault. Thou gavest him to me, great God of heaven ! 1 held him as Thy dearest gift ; leave me, my heart is rent ! Cec. Touching innocence ! Stel. [taking Cecilia in her arms]. I see the goodness of heaven in your eyes. I sink ! Oh raise me up ! She forgives me ! She feels my misery ! Cec. My dear Stella, my friend, my sister, be calm ; exert all your powers. Believe that He who created us with these passions can support us under them and give us relief and comfort. Stel. Let me stay and die in your arms. Cec. [after a long pause, in which Stella walks distractedly up and down, she exclaims with violence]. Come ! Stel. No ! leave me, leave me ! Disorder, confusion, horror, STELLA. 441 despair, overwhelm me. It cannot be, it is impossible ; so sud- denly, it cannot be comprehended, it cannot be borne. [She stands thoughtful for a time, with her eyes fixed on the ground. At length raising them up, she sees them both, screams, and runs away.] Cec. Follow her, Lucy ; watch her ! [Exit Lucy. Cec. [alone]. Oh look down in mercy upon Thy children ; upon their distresses, their sorrows. I, alas ! have been taught to suffer ; strengthen me, and if the knot can be loosened, great God of heaven ! let it not be rent ! ACT V. Scene — Stella's apartment by moonlight. Stel. [alone — holds the picture of Ferdinand, and is preparing to take it out of the frame]. Deep shades of night surround me ! Conduct me ! Lead me ! I know not where I step ! I must go ; ah, where ! where ! And am I banished from this place of my own creation? Must I no longer wander where the sacred moon illumines the top of my tall trees ? whose deep shade shelters the grave of my sweet child ; from the place destined for my own grave, which I have so often and so devoutly washed with my tears ; where my free spirit hoped again to hover after death, and recall past pleasure. From you must I be driven, banished ! But I am grown callous, heaven be praised ; I begin to lose all sensation ! My mind is confused. Banished ! I can- not comprehend the idea. I shall lose myself again. Now ! my eyes are dim ! Farewell ! farewell ! Never to see you more ! Cold death is in the thought ! You must be gone, Stella ! [She seizes the portrait .] But you ! should I leave you behind ! [She begins to take out the nails.] Oh ! that I could pour out my life in tears, and sleep a sleep of death ! I am — I ever must be miserable ! [She turns the picture to the light of the moon. ] O Ferdinand ! when you first approached me, how my heart sprang towards you. Were you not touched with my unsuspecting con- fidence in your faith and virtue ? When I received you into my heart, did you not feel what a sanctuary was opened to you ? and 442 STELLA. you did not start from me — fly me ! How was it that you could in cruel sport root up my life, my innocence, my happiness, and throw them so carelessly, so thoughtlessly away ? Oh honour ! generosity ! My youth ! my golden days ! And you hid such deep deceit in your soul. Your wife ! Your daughter ! My heart was open and pure as the fairest morning of spring. Everything smiled around me. "Where am I ! [Contemplating the picture."] So noble ! so seducing ! That look it was which ruined me ! I hate thee ! Away, away from me ! So attracting ! so enchanting ! No ! no destroyer ! Me! Me ! You ! Me ! [She makes a point at the picture with the knife as if she would cut it.] Ferdinand ! [She turns away, lets fall the knife, and bursts into a flood of tear s.] Oh ! my dear, dear, dear Ferdinand ! It is in vain ! in vain ! Enter Servant. Ser. My lady, according to your orders, the horses are brought to the back gate of the garden. Your trunks are packed up. You won't forget to take money Stel. Take that picture ! [The Servant takes up the knife, cuts t lie picture out of the frame, and rolls it up.] Here is money. Ser. But why ? Stel. [after standing a few moments and looking round her]. Come ! [Exit. Scene changes to the Hall. Fer. [alone]. Peace, peace ! This conflict is agony — despair and horror seize me again ! Cold and deadly lies all the pros- pect before me, as if the world were now nothing, as if I had been guilty of nothing. And they ? Oh ! am I not more wretched than they are ? What is to be done ? Here ! there ! whichever way I look, the scene is more cruel ! more and more horrible ! [Striking his forehead.] To what am I reduced ? No man can give me aid or counsel. The past and the future equally perplex me ! And these women, these three lovely and incomparable beings, made miserable by my means, wretched without me ! Still more wretched with me ! If I could pour out my heart in tears and lamentations, could implore forgiveness, throw myself at their feet, and by partaking of their sorrows, again feel a ray of comfort 1 But where are they ? Stella, prostrate on the earth, STELLA. 443 turns her dying eyes to heaven, and exclaims — " Of what had I, an opening flower, been guilty, that in Thy wrath thou shouldcst cut me off? unfortunate as I am, of what had I been guilty that Thou shouldest bring this monster to me ? " And Cecilia ! my wife ! horror, endless horror ! What blessings are assembled round me, only to make me wretched. Husband ! father ! lover ! The noblest, tenderest, best of women thine ! Canst thou com- prehend this ineffable happiness ? but 'tis this which rends thy soul, each demands an undivided heart, and I — but it is un- fathomable. They will be wretched ! Stella ! Stella ! all thy hopes are blasted. Oh ! what have I robbed thee of? Thy peaceful days ! the bloom of thy youth ! And am I so cold, so calm! [He snatches a pistol and instantly loads it.] Ay! this is well ! here it must end ! Cecilia enters. Cec. My dear — Ha ! [starting witli alarm at the sight of the pistols ; then recovering herself, she says with composure]. Are those for your journey? [He lays down the pistols. ~\ My dear friend, you seem more calm ; may I say one word to you ? Fer. What do you wish, Cecilia ? What do you wish, my dear wife ? Cec. Call me not so till I have done speaking. We are now grievously involved. Can nothing be done by which we may be extricated? I have suffered much, and my misfortunes have taught me to take strong measures. Do you understand me, Ferdinand ? Fer. I hear. Cec. Consider well what I say. I am but a wife, a troublesome, complaining wife ; but firm resolution is in my soul, Ferdinand. It is my purpose, my determined purpose, to leave you ! Fer. [ironically]. You are brief, Cecilia ! Cec. Do you think it impossible to quit those we love with deliberation ? Fer. Cecilia ! Cec. I do not reproach you ; and think not that I make too great a sacrifice. In your absence I was absorbed by grief. I was lost in vain lamentations. I find you again, and your presence inspires me with new strength. Ferdinand, my love for 444 STELLA. you is not selfish. 'Tis not the passion of a mistress ; it is the affection of a wife who can resign her own happiness for yours. Fer. Never ! never ! Cec. Are you angry ? Fer. You distress me ! Cec. I wish you to be happy. I have my daughter, and in you I have a friend. We will part without being disunited ; I will live at a distance from you, but I shall know that you are happy. I will be a confidential friend ; you shall impart to me your joys and sorrows. Your letters will be all my existence, and mine will be to you as friendly visitors. You need not, therefore, retire with Stella to a remote corner of the world. We shall love one another, take an interest in each other, and so, Ferdinand, give me your hand upon it. Fer. As raillery this is too much, as serious it is inconceivable. Be it as it will, my best friend, cold reasoning will not extricate us. What you say is generous and noble, but you deceive your- self. The heart accepts not these imaginary consolations. No, Cecilia — my wife — no, no ! You are mine, I am yours. Why should I say more ? I am yours, or Cec. But Stella ! [Ferdinand starts up and walks wildly back- wards and forzuards.] Which of us is deceived? Which of us, from cold reasoning, endeavours to find a momentary consolation ? Yes, yes, men know themselves ! Fer. Depend not too much upon your calmness ! — the unhappy Stella will weep and linger out her life far from me and you. Think not of her, think not of me ! Cec. Yes, I am convinced that in her solitude the thought of our reunion would be a solace to her angelic mind. Cruel reproaches now embitter her moments. And she would suppose me far more unhappy than I should be were I to leave you, for she would judge by herself. She would not live in peace, the angel would not live at all if she thought her happiness were a robbery. It were better for her Fer. Let her retire to a cloister. Cec. But why should she be immured ? Of what has she been guilty, that in her most blooming years, with all her rising hopes before her, she should be sent to waste her days in loneliness and STELLA. 445 despair? Separated from every object that is dear to her, from the man she so passionately loves, from the man who so Is it not true, Ferdinand, you love her? Fer. [starts back~\. Ha! what mean you? Are you an evil spirit in the form of my wife? Why do you seek to turn me thus at pleasure ? Why do you rend what is already torn ? Am I not distracted enough ? Leave me, consign me to my fate ! And heaven have pity on you ! [He throws himself into a chair. Cec. [goes to him and takes his hand]. There was once a count [Ferdinand would spring from her, she holds him], a German count, who from a sense of religious duty, left his wife and country to go to the Holy Land. He travelled through many kingdoms, and was at length taken captive. His slavery excited the compassion of his master's daughter, she loosened his chains, they escaped together; she accompanied him through all the perils of war as his page. Crowned with victory he returned to his noble wife. But the dear girl (for he thought humanely) he did not desert. His high-born consort hastened to meet him, and thought all her faith and love rewarded by folding him again in her arms. And when the knight proudly threw himself from his horse upon his native soil, and the spoils were laid at her feet— " My wife," said he, " the greatest prize is still behind." A gentle damsel appeared veiled amidst the crowd ; he took her by the hand and presented her to his wife, saying, " Here is my deliverer, she freed me from captivity, she made the winds propitious, she attended upon me, fought by me, nursed me. What do I not owe her? Here she is, do you reward her." The generous wife embraced her, wept on her neck, and cried, " Take all that I can give. Let him be yours ; he of right belongs to you, he of right, too, belongs to me ; let us not part, let us all remain together." Then falling into her husband's arms, " We are yours," she exclaimed. "We are both yours," they cried with one voice ; " we are yours for ever ! " And heaven smiled propitious on their love, the holy vicar pronounced his benediction over them, and they had but one dwelling, and one grave. 1 1 These facts are attested by Moreri and Bayle. The following is a translation of the article in Moreri :— " Gleichen being made prisoner by the Turks, and em ployed to work in the royal gardens, was noticed by the daughter of the king, his master, and by degrees so far obtained her favour that she offered to contrive his 446 STELLA. Fer. Great God ! Thou who sendest angels to us in our ex- tremities, grant us strength to support their presence ! Oh my wife ! [He sinks with his face on the table. Cec. [opens a door and calls\ Stella ! [Stella enters, looks wildly at the pistols, at Cecilia and Ferdinand. Then clasping Cecilia in her arms — Stcl. Father of mercies ! what is this ? [Ferdinand starts up, and is running distractedly from them ; Cecilia holds him. Cec. Divide with me that heart, Stella, the whole of which belongs to you. You have saved my husband — saved him from himself, and you restore him to me again. Fer. [approaches Stella]. My Stella ! Stel. I comprehend it not. Cec. You will know all— even now your heart explains it ! Stel. [falling on Ferdinand's neck]. And may I trust that heart ! Cec. Do you thank me for arresting the fugitive ? Stel. [taking Cecilia in her arms]. O Cecilia ! Fer. [embracing bot/i]. Mine ! mine ! Stel. [taking hold of his ha fids and hanging upon hini]. I am thine ! Cec. We are both thine ! escape, and to accompany him in his flight, on condition that he would marry her. He told her that he was already married ; she replied that such a circumstance need not prove an obstacle to their union, since, by the Turkish law, a man is allowed to have more than one wife. The Count submitted to her arguments and gave her his promise. They left Turkey together and landed in Italy. The Count went immediately to the Pope, to whom he related his adventures, and obtained his permission to retain both wives. The Countess very kindly received the Turkish lady. The legitimate wife had many children, to whom the Turkish lady (who brought forth none) was very tenderly attached. A monument of this history still exists at Erfort." Houdorff's words are: — " Hujus ei monimentum Erphordiae etiamnum extat in quo ex utroque latere comiti uxores adstant, regina marmoreA corona ornata, comitissa sculpta est nuda, et infanta ad pedes reptantes." Under the article Gleichen, Bayle gives the same account of this adventure as Moreri, whom he seems to have copied. Du Val mentions it in his description of Germany. By Arnaud it has been amplified into a novel, and by Le Noble in his Zulima. PRINTED BV RALT.ANTVNK, HANSON AND CO. ED1NHUKGH AND LONDON, MORLEY'S UNIVERSAL LIBRARY. Complete in Sixty-Three Volumes, ONE SHILLING each, cloth, cut edges i orVs,. 6d. Parchment Back, uncut edges. i. SHERIDAN'S PLAYS. 2. PLAYS FROM MOLIERE. By English Dramatists. 3. MARLOWE'S FAUSTUS AND GOETHE'S FAUST. 4. CHRONICLE OF THE CID. 5. 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