ful. I cannot help it. My previous habits of thinking have rendered me no fit associate for the greater part of those in the rank of society to which I am confined; and as I may not be received in any other, my fate is to drag through a lonely, friendless existence, in some respects connected with both, but acknowledged or regarded by neither-a condition not to be envied. That I may not fill this long letter wholly with complaints, I will mention a few of my enjoyments, leaving you to form your own opinion, whether they balance my afflictions. Duty and necessity oblige me to be up every morning almost with the sun; this, however, if you exclude the idea of compulsion, is a positive advantage, as it is beneficial to health, and gives me an opportunity of contemplating the ever - varying, but ever- beautiful splendours of morn, while the east blushes and brightens at the approach of the refulgent lord of day. My daily occupation prevents languor and ennui from seizing upon me; and no one can taste the sweets of rest, but he who has purchased them by lengthened toil. Even the wealthy are compelled to have recourse to labour, though they disguise it under the name of exercise. And when evening comes-mild, sweet, calmly-pensive evening-I cannot describe the gentle delight which it sheds upon my heart. One hour to ramble in some secluded, but lonely scene, listening to the sweet melody of the wild-wood warblers, the soothing murmurs of the "babbling brook," and the light rustling of the leaves, stirred by the evening gale, and gazing upon the glowing hues of the west, changing gradually from the most intense brilliancy to the faint and darkening grey; yes, one such hour easily dispels all the cares and annoyances which had been gathered round the heart. One thing alone is wanting to complete the pleasures of such an hour-unrestrained communion with some human being who might enter into my emotions with kindred sympathy, and think and feel as I thought and felt. This I perhaps never must enjoy; and the thoughts of my fated loneliness dwelling ever in my heart embitters every pleasure, and casts a

darkening cloud over all the transient glimpses of hope, that fitfully brighten my weary path. I thought to have concluded my letter in a more cheerful manner, but I find myself relapsing into my accustomed strain of sadness. Let me endeavour not to tire you with any more of it at present. Though I have no companion of kindred feelings to join me in my wanderings, yet I have the felicity of comparing what my own eyes behold, to the descriptions of evening, morning, nay of Nature, in all her different charins by my favourite authors; thus conversing with our greatest poets, even in the moments of their brightest and strongest inspiration. And what can excel an evening's walk, in company with Thomson, Young, Dryden, Milton, and Shakespeare! When such are my companions, is it to be wondered at that I can find no pleasure in the sports, or rude remarks of the noisy, senseless rabble? Let them laugh at me with my books; my lonely pleasures far transcend their empty, soulless amusements. I long for a companion, but not for such as they. And can I say that I have not a friend? Every pulsation of my heart denies the supposition. Every word of this letter proves that there is one, though distant, to whom I can venture to pour forth every inmost thought with unreserved confidence. My heart is sad and sick for many an hour, yet I know where it may depend upon finding complete sympathy: my feelings may be checked and confined within my own breast, but I am assured of one vent where they may be uttered without restraint. I will therefore repress my complainings, and endeavour to make myself as happy as my condition will allow. Happy! What has my situation to do with happiness? But I mean, endeavour to avoid misery as much as possible. My enjoyments must be but few; my wisest plan will be to bring my mind to be contented with them. The bright hopes which enlivened my youth are darkened; their splendour was that of a dazzling, but fleeting vision, and now I know it. They have enticed my steps into a path which I cannot now retrace-a path encircled at its entrance with all the flowery beauties scat

tered by Fancy's fairy fingers, but suddenly, by the breaking of the spell, changed into a wild and a cheerless wilderness. At times, however, Fancy again resumes her potent wand; and youth, and all its buoyant hopes and beautiful delusions for one bright hour are mine. All that I have delighted to be returns, and all I could wish to be is within my power; could these visionary joys but last, I would wish for nothing more. I own they are unsubstantial, but they are so pure, so exquisite, that I would scarce exchange them for all the hopes which I can venture reasonably to entertain, certainly not for all the pleasures which I in reality enjoy. I am resolved, therefore, to continue, as far as lies in my power, to cultivate my relish for intellectual enjoyments, even though I can scarcely deny that by so doing I am in all probability only rendering myself more obnoxious to the darts of affliction, and preparing a poison for the wounds which I may receive.

In order to fill the remainder of this sheet, since my letter has extended to more than one, I think I cannot do better than transcribe another of Mr D-'s ballads. I am sorry that it is not complete; but he tells me that he never heard it entire, though he once could have repeated several more verses. I make choice of it at present, chiefly because it is but short, as I could not have got room for one of any great length.

Ellen of Egremont".

"WHERE came ye from, old inan, so late?

Or where have ye wandering been? And what was the newest tale ye heard, Or the newest sight ye have seen ?"

"I came from the shore where the rent cliff's hang

O'er the toiling waves below;
And I heard a tale, and I saw a sight,
That wrung my heart with woe.

"Swift rush'd the hurrying, broken clouds

Across the threatening sky; And the slumbering seas awoke in wrath As the howling winds swept by.

"When bounding along on the tossing

waves

A gallant bark drew near,
And many a bold man stood aghast

At the sight, and shook with fear. "A shriek and a shivering crash was heard,

As she burst on the rocky shore :— That stately bark, and her gallant crew, Shall brave the storm no more.

"One struggling youth awhile was seen,
But the waters o'er him past;
And far on the beach, by the rolling wave,
His mangled form was cast.

"From the tangling weed, with tender

care,

The stamp of death was upon his brow,

They rais'd his drooping head;

But life was scarcely fled.

"One groan his shatter'd bosom heav'd, With faint and gasping breath; Oh! tell my Mary,' low he sigh'd, 'My heart was true in death!'

""Twas he!' she cried, with a dying

scream;

Then wildly to the skies Toss'd her fair hands, and to the ground Sunk, never more to rise.

"When the skies wax dark, and the wild winds rave,

And the gathering tempests wail, The timid maids, with pitying heart, Oft tell this mournful tale."

Forgive me, if you please, for this melancholy letter, and believe me it has already lightened my heart, and done me much good; for while I have been writing my unrestrained feelings to you, I have felt once more within the sympathy of my fellowmortals. Let me hope that you will not delay in sending me a large packet, the larger and the sooner the more agreeable. Be so good as

remember me to

WHOEVER is ambitious of literary distinction may, in the present age, arrive at the attainment of his object by numerous ways unknown to his predecessors. He can be furnished with a key to open every door that bars the entrance to the abodes of knowledge; or he may scale the lofty walls by means of an intellectual ladder, and, when fairly over, may thread the most intricate windings under the sure conduct of a Practical Guide. It is highly commendable for men of genius thus to abridge the labour and increase the power of the learner; and no successful attempt of this description should be allowed to pass away without receiving its meed of public approbation.

Horace somewhere remarks, that many a hero and heroine had sunk irrecoverably in the waters of oblivion, for want of a poet to rescue them from the jaws of that devouring element; and it may, with equal justice, be affirmed, that many a precious tome, which its author fondly hoped would one day enlighten the world, and diffuse its splendour around himself, has been subjected to the same dismal fate, from the inability of critics to discover its intrinsic merits, or, from their indolence, to recommend them to the notice of the public. It shall, therefore, be the object of the following remarks, to prevent the invaluable literary performance of Mr Smith from being condemned to the humiliating service of the grocer or tobacconist. But if, notwithstanding all our efforts, it should slumber on the shelf," to dumb forgetfulness a prey," or be devoted, leaf by leaf, to the most degrading of all operations, the learned author will take the will for the deed, and regard us with feelings of gratitude for our very sincere attempt to immortalize his name.

It has been said that the essence of genius is condensation. Now, where can we find so notable an instance of this quality as in the volume before us? Here is grammar for the ungrammatical-criticism for the critical-and practical logic for those who

can understand it, and put it in practice. Here the Scots may drink deep in the streams of unadulterated English, and cooks may learn the metaphysical distinction between gravy and sauce. Here are to be seen instructions for addressing every lord and lady in the land-hosts of abbreviations stretched out at their full length-and many a Latin idea stript of its outlandish dress, and presented to the view in an English costume. Every thing upon the subject, from the simplicity of the alphabet, to the perplexing intricacies of logic, has been brought together into one massy heap; general principles, formerly unknown, or almost forgotten, have been inserted; rules, dark as Erebus, have been made as bright as Elysium; and even nonsense itself has been explained and illustrated, till it has been metamorphosed into sense, and rendered as convincing as a mathematical axiom, and as plain as that PS. stand equally for postscript or Peter Smith.

All these directions and auxiliaries for composition are richly diversified and enlivened with delicate touches of the most refined, yet poignant satire; with numerous extracts, both in prose and verse, from our most celebrated writers; and last, though not least, with one accidental, masterly, beautiful, and simple specimen of the author's own powers in poetical composition. To this may be added, that the reader is sometimes regaled with short dramatic sketches in the Scottish dialect, in which a conspicuous place is held by a little varlet, called Jack, a ravenous devourer of plum-pudding, but who was nearly compelled to eat it without sauce, for having accidentally fallen into the mud.

Now, all these copious materials, and all these wonderful effects, have been, by some means or other, compressed into the narrow compass of a small foolscap octavo; and the rich and overflowing effusions of Mr Smith's prolific genius may thus be purchased for the very paltry sum of one half guinea.

To convince our readers that the praises we have bestowed are not exaggerated, we need only produce one instance out of many in which the author has given the most decisive proofs of originality of genius. It is a new rule of syntax, the discovery of which forms a grand era in the science of grammar; and the manner in which its truth is established displays one of the boldest efforts of human reason. An interrogative pronoun, we are told, is always nominative to the verb employed in asking a question, either in the singular or plural number; as, "What are you doing?" This is a doctrine for which we were not prepared; and if Mr Smith had not assured us of the contrary, we would have thought that this illustration decidedly proves that there is at least one exception to his rule; but the cool confidence with which he states his opinion has passed, with all the energy of conviction, from his judgment to our own. We shall, however, give the author's own words, to show that we have not changed our opinion without a sufficient reason. "What," he remarks, with the sagacity of a Socrates, "is nominative to the verb are, in the second person singular, if the question is asked at one person, or in the second person plural, if it is asked at two or more. After this satisfactory example of Mr Smith's extraordinary powers in illuminating the obscure, it would be unnecessary to produce any more passages of a similar kind. If the reader is not convinced by what he has seen, we have only to say, that we pity the unusual dulness of his apprehension, and would send him to the work itself, to study practical logic, and to brighten his brains.

times conjectured that they were inserted by the malicious waggery of the printer's devil; but as this is only a conjecture, we must act upon the supposition, that the passages in question are the genuine production of the author whose name they bear. Adopting, therefore, this view of the subject, we shall endeavour, to the best of our ability, to account for this melancholy abbreviation of human intellect.

There are three things which frequently produce a temporary derangement in our mental faculties, viz. wine, love, and poetry; but to which of these causes to ascribe the phenomenon in question would puzzle the ingenuity of an Edipus with certainty to decide. Considering, however, the character of the author, as a teacher of youth, we would shudder to suppose that the nonsense he has written was produced under the influence of Bacchus. It would be more philosophical to trace it to the rogueries of Cupid, especially as the work itself bears ample testimony to the truth of this supposition. When, for example, the author is enumer ating the causes of human prejudice, he quaintly designates them with the appellation of "idols;" a term so far-fetched and uncommon*, that it never would have occurred to him, had he not been thinking, at the same time, of the idol of his affections. Besides, were he not more than usually susceptible of the tender emotions, he could not have depicted, with so much truth and pathos, the situation of one who was pining away, in silent sorrow, "with a green and yellow melancholy." A description at once so just and accurate evidently shows that the writer has tasted all the sweet bitters and the bitter sweets of love, that he has watered, with many a silent tear, a secret attachment for some fair dulcinea,-and written sonnets on her killing eyes, which had so cruelly slain his peace.

VOL. XVI.

We are not, however, completely satisfied with this mode of removing the difficulty, but think that the true solution is to be found in a different quarter. The Muses must cut the inextricable knot. We cannot but

H

suspect that the author is sometimes violently attacked with a poetical diarrhoea; and that, in such cases, the pure Castalian lymph flows from him in copious streams, without his perceiving it. What gives probability to this conjecture is, that his ideas roll spontaneously into poetic numbers, as soon as they escape from his fluent quill. His very notes are poetical; and yet he himself is ignorant of this their excellence. We shall quote a genuine anapaestic, which has every appearance of having been the effect of chance. It is unfinished, and written in the form of prose; yet it is easy to perceive the limbs of the poet even in this embryo state. We shall take the liberty of completing the stanza, and of giving it the artificial arrangement into lines which the metre requires :

"If a person be drown'd,
And his body not found,

He then may be said to be lost."
If a person fall down,

And thus crack his crown,

He'd as well in a blanket be tost.

This is true nature-genuine inspiration-the quintessence of simplicity. Should the second edition be more liberally sprinkled with such effusions, they will be read with unbounded pleasure by a tasteful and discerning public.

At one time, we intended to be somewhat more copious in our quotations; but mature reflection has convinced us that silence, in this respect, will be much more advantageous to the author. We are fully aware that many passages lose much of their beauty when detached from their kindred mass, and have therefore only in two instances particularly directed the attention of the reader to the excellency of the present work. But if we have been sparing in producing examples of its beauties, we have been still more so in pointing out its defects. Excellencies and defects should go hand in hand; as, by this means, what is good will neutralize the impression produced by what is bad. We may now rest assured, that the learned author will see the propriety of our conduct in not marshalling before him a whole host of errata; and we might have here concluded our re

marks, had we not thought it necessary, previously, to make a few observations of a desultory nature.

In the first place, then, we must express our surprise to find, by our perusal of the chapter on Scotticisms, that our high opinion respecting the civilization of Edinburgh has been completely without foundation. We had thought that the genteel part of its inhabitants were far more zealous in the acquisition of English than the English themselves,-that the simple suavities of their native tongue had long since ceased to be relished,and that every youth who had any pretensions to the refinements of taste regarded it as much more fashionable to embellish his conversation with the elegancies of the dandy slang, than to pollute his lips with the genuine Doric of the North. We find, however, that we have been mistaken. The Scotticisms in the work before us are evidently intended for the young ladies and gentlemen of the northern metropolis; and we cannot suppose that an author of so much discernment as Mr Smith would ever have published them, if they had not been absolutely necessary. We must, however, applaud his intrepidity in declaring war against so powerful a prejudice, as an attachment to one's native tongue. We wish him every success in banishing from genteel society what, to our English ears, is so horridly vulgar. But should he fail in the attempt, we hope that the disappointment will not break hisspirits. Let him remember the elegant maxim of Horace: "Levius fit patientiâ quicquid corrigere nefas;" which is still more elegant in his own poetical translation,

What cannot be cured
Must be endured.

We must now request Mr Smith, that, as there are some parts in his invaluable performance which, to our limited capacity, are somewhat obscure, he would, in a future edition, condescend to illuminate them with the radiations of his genius. We verily believe, that, like many a hard nut, they contain something very delicious; but we have laboured so ineffectually to crack the shell, that we shall probably give up