Such live, but how, men neither know nor care, And die, men ask not when, and mark not where.

But while they may, in short-lived monthly page, They fret and fume their hour upon the stage; Through thick and thin they slash and criticize, E'en from the Theban Bard they tear the prize; More nice than wise, their blind resentment wreak On Fox's English, or on Pindar's* Greek. Their insect-eye each trifling blemish sees, But grasps not Demosthenic Deinotes.

There are, who deaf, a ticking time-piece near, But nought sublime, nor grand, nor distant, hear; So these, while syllables their minds engage, Mark not the mighty thunder of the page! These captious cavillers, as Stoics cool By taste and feeling judge not, but by rule; A pliant leaden rule, that every hour Can bend to party, prejudice, or power.

They read the Bards, their Masters, but to start Teachers of those from whom they learnt their art.

* Some Reviewers lately fell foul on an unfortunate passage of Greek. After proving, to their own great satisfaction, and as they supposed, to the chagrin of Mr. P. Knight, that his Greek was a barbarous modern jargon, Mr. K—thus replies; -"Gentlemen, if you will turn to such a page, and such a verse, you will find the passage you have made yourselves so merry withal, to be verbatim a quotation from Pindar; if Pindar's Greek is not good enough for you, I am very sor ry for it."

But Avon's Swan! their cumbrous chains defies,
Splendid Transgressor of dull Unities;

On towering wing he soars, that prize to gain
That lies beyond the Critics' scant domain.

Each monument of taste these Goths deface; To build their own vile hovel in its place; With savage joy the ruined pile survey, And hunt amid the marble, for the clay; Thus Cossacks, when the Turk their fury fled, Destroyed each Mosque and Palace for its lead.

'Tis well their wants these hireling pens divide,
And make them fight, like Swiss, on either side;
Else might these mercenaries, kept in pay
By Booksellers, in night blot out the day;
Thus a third "Deluge learning might o'errun,"
And Critics end what Goths and Monks begun!
For in the Tenants of the Row, we view
The Lords of Authors, and of Critics too;
The Row! that goodly Paradise of Fools,
Where, o'er the Tree of folly, Dulness rules:
Here Dedicators that can white-wash jet,
And Editors of Epitaphs to let;

Puffers and Newsmen, Authors, Auctioneers,
Conductors of Reviews, and Pamphleteers,

ers.

A witty, but anonymous writer thus addresses the Review. "Herein lies the grand secret of your art to hit the vol

With all the black Militia of the Trade,
At Lintot's Levee punctually parade.

Here Reputations much the worse for wear
Are cured, that seemed to need a Change of air;
Here stolen Ideas vamped and gilt, receive
New shapes their lawful owners to deceive;
Here reams of fulsome flatteries appear,
The squalid resurrection † of Rag-fair!

Still sheltering Vermin, though to rank restored, The shreds that clothed a Beggar, screen a Lord.

nerable heel of each literary Achilles; no work of genius can unite opposite characters of excellence; massive grandeur is without the grace of lightness; and what is beautiful and airy, attains not the sublime. All the merits of the first writers, may be compressed in one impressive sentence; the Qualities adverse to their genius will afford pages! Here then we have discovered an inexhaustible fountain of criticism, from whence the "waters of bitterness" can never cease to flow. If a Work be solid and instructive, abuse it for not exhilirating its readers with pleasantry and wit; or if it be seasoned with wit and pleasantry, damn it for not being solid and instructive. In a labour of painful erudition, exclaim, how heavily it moves! If it displays the charms of composition, lament over those su perficial graces! Throw into your articles an artful prodigality of the pour and the contre; thus at the expense of one author, you will tickle a Thousand Readers!What odds in your favour my lads!!!

* A term which the fraternity of Booksellers have appropriated to themselves. "Miraturque novas frondes.” It is not improbable that a noble Peer, as for instance Lord

Bards leave these precincts rich, that sought them

poor,

For a Mæcænas stands at every door;

up

North, (in whose wicker-work plans we discover the cradle of the French Revolution,) may have had a dish of flattery served to him, on the tattered remains of his own chemise. If in this shape, we trace the genealogy of a Panegyric, we may exclaim, "Patronymica hæc sunt," his Lordship-his Gentleman-his Gentleman's Gentleman -a Beggar-a Jew-Rag fair-the Row: from thence "gratior et pulchro veniens in corpore," it expands its white wings, and revisits its first titled Proprietor, in the form of a defence! or a dedication!

* Mr. Gibbon had invited a few friends to dine with him; just as they were taking their seats at table, they were all astonished by a thundering rap at the front door. A Patron of Literature from the purlieus of the Row, had chosen this particular moment to wait on Mr. Gibbon. "Tell the Gentleman I am particularly engaged."-"I have Sir, but he begged I would inform you his business is of a literary nature, and of the greatest importance.""Well, Well, show him into the Library." When they met in the Library, the Patron of Genius thus addressed the Historian; "You must know, Sir, that I am a Rewarder of merit, and that I have now in the Press a History of England conducted by several hands: as I have heard that you have a kind of a knack at THEM there things, I should be happy to give you every reasonable encouragement, in case a sample or two from your pen met my approbation.” Gibbon ran to the bell, and ringing it most violently, exclaimed, "Sir, the only chance you have to escape being kicked down stairs, is to be at the bottom of them, before my Servant can get to the top;" this strong hint was no sooner given, thap D

From whose swol'n port we learn, and lofty look,
How better far to sell than write a book,
They boast a capital would purchase clean
All Tempe, Helicon! and Hippocrene!
With All, who pots upon Parnassus boil,
Freeholders, or Rack-renters ;-Homer-Hoyle.
Well might their own Sir Richard * feel afraid
T'attack such purse-proud Masters of his trade.
With them, by far the worst thing can be said
Of any book is, that it is not read;

But hold, I crave their pardon, 'tis a thought
Disturbs them little-so the Book be bought,

taken. This tenant of the Row seems to have formed about as high a notion of a modern Historian, as the late Lord Monboddo, the eccentric and learned contemporary! of Robertson! Hume! and Gibbon! The Passage is curious, here it is, "Of some late writers of History in Britain I shall say nothing; I read not to find fault, but to admire and be pleased. And when I cannot be entertained in that way, I chuse not to read at all. Now to criticise such works it is necessary to read them (not always my Lord) and that is a task I cannot submit to. Leaving therefore, such Authors to be praised, or dispraised, by the Reviewers, as they are paid or not paid, I will conclude this subject of History."

* This great Prince of Booksellers, and ci devant generalissi mo of Reviews, has unwarily in one of his recent publications, suffered the arcanum magnum of his trade to escape him. This secret is valuable, coming from one who was so long the Custos Custodum, and grand manager of the mysteries of Book-making;"Quæque ipse miserrima vidit,