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ULTRA-CREPIDARIUS, &c.* This is a very pretty little preco- his own acknowledged innbecility and cious performance, and proves young impotence is incapable of inflicting. Master Hunt to be a promising plant The sight is not a pleasant one-we of the Cockney nursery - ground. had nearly said it is disgusting, for al“ Heigh Johnny Nonny,” as his papa though filial piety is always interestcalled him in short metre some four ing, not so such paternal solicitude. or five years ago, cannot, we think, Had Leigh Hunt, the Papa, boldly have done much more than finished advanced on any great emergency, at his digits. Now, such a copy of verses the peril of his life and crown, to as this is most creditable to a boy of snatch the legitimate issue of his own ten years, and this sinall smart smat- loins from the shrivelled hands of tering satirist of an air-haparent, as some blear-eyed beldam, into whose he is pronounced in Cockaigne, really small cabbage-garden Maximilian had seems to smack of his sire, almost as headed a forlorn hope, good and racily as that michievous urchin the well, and beautiful; but not so, when Duke of Reichstadt does of Napoleon a stalwart and cankered carle like Mr the Great.

Gifford, with his quarter-staff, belaJoking apart, this is one of the bours the shoulders of his Majesty, and cleverest puerile productions that have sire shoves son between himself and been published of late years by fond the Pounder, retreating into the inand doting fathers. The author writes most recesses of his own palace. This, like a scholar and a schoolboy, and we say, is not only to the widest exat whatever academy he may be re- tent unfatherly, but, which is much ceiving his education, we suspect it worse, unkingly,--such pusillanimity

, would puzzle the Pedant who for involves forfeiture of the Crown, and years has whipped his posteriors, to from this hour we declare Leigh depen such a capital and crack copy throned, and the boy-bard of Ultraof long jinglers. Master Hunt, no Crepidarius King of Cockaigne. doubt, apes his daddy, and the Cock- Master Hunt being in Tooke's Panney-chick crows so like the old cock, theon, has called in the Heathen Mythat, but for a certain ludicrous tenui. thology to the aid of his father and ty in the stutter of his unformed king, and the following passage is scraigh, we could at times have be- equal, we think, to anything in “ Ri

t lieved that we absolutely heard the mini.” old bantam. His comb and wattles, too, are distinctly visible ; the germ of

«« I wonder,' said Mercury,-putting

his head a spur is noticeable upon either feathered leggikin ; he drops a wing, too,

One rosy-faced morning from Venus's :

bed,with a swaling and graceful amor, ousness-quite “ with such an air”

• I wonder, my dear Cytherea,—don't when any smooth pullet picks up a

you ? worm near his turned-out toes; and

What can have become of that rogue of a

shoe. if you only so much as hold out your

I've search'd every corner to make myself foraging-cap at him, why the fierce

certain, little fumbling fellow attacks it tooth

And lifted, I'm sure, every possible curtain, and nail, as jealous as an Othello, and

And how I'm to manage, by Jove, I don't , then goes vapouring off in sidelong

know, triumph, cackling as at an ovation.

For manage I must, and to earth I must Now, although the talent of Mas

go, ter Hunt be considerable, we think

'Tis now a whole week since I lost it; few parents will approve of the direc- and here, tion which his father has given it,

Like a dove whom your urchin has cripand that little sympathy will be felt pled, my dear, for that man who employs his son-a Have I loiter'd, and flutter'd, and look'd mere lad-a boy-child-infant indeed, alınost it may be said—to wreak While Juno keeps venting her crabbed that vengeance on his enemies, which surprise ;

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in those eyes,

By Leigh Hunt. London.

* Ultra-Crepidarius; a Satire on William Gifford. John Hunt. 1823.

+ See Dr Jamieson,

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And the widow in question flew smack round his foot,

And up he was getting to end his pursuit, When Venus said softly (so softly that he Turned about on his elbow)-" What! go without me?"

We had just scored the above for quotation, when who should come clanking and clattering into our study but ODoherty. Clutching the pamphlet into his sinewy and hairy fist, he exclaimed, "By the powers, is not he a jewel of an ould one?" We stared, as the adjutant informed us, that Ultra-Crepidarius" was not written by Leigh Hunt's son, but by his grandfather! an extremely old man, indeed-a most unconscionable annuitant, who had carried longevity to the most scurvy excess-a paralytic of ninety-six-the Methuselah on the list of decayed authors, who had been absolutely twice married, before Mr Fitzgerald, of all those literary societies, was born. What a change came over the spirit of our dream! The very passage which we had admired as the production of a brisk boy, became odious as the drivelling of a toothless dotard. We certainly disapproved of so much knowingness in the love verses of "Johnny Nonny;" but look at them, fair and gentle reader, and tell us by return of post, what you think of the gloating and glowering of the superannuated Zachariah Hunt. What a gross, vulgar, leering old dog it is! Was ever the couch of the celestials

so profaned before! One thinks of some aged cur, with mangy back, glazed eye-balls dropping rheum, and with most disconsolate mazzard muzzling among the fleas of his abominable loins, by some accident lying upon the bed where Love and Beauty are embracing, and embraced.

The Adjutant is a good trotter, and credulity. Why, what do you think, we, good easy man, the very soul of when we tell you, after all, that this confounded Ultra-Crepidarius" is written neither by King Leigh's son, as we conjectured, nor yet by his grandfather, (the theory of the Ensign,) but, by all that is vernacular and idiomatic,-by HIMSELF.

Now this is a quite different guess sort of a matter, so let us follow the royal bard. Venus, he tells us, had been reading the new Eloisa, (in bed with Mercury,) to the manifest danger of setting fire to the dimity curtains; and "having prodigiously felt and admired it," sent down one of Mercury's shoes to the village of Ashburton, to order such another pair to be made for herself by a famous cobbler there, with which she proposed forthwith to pay a visit to Rousseau. What a natural, graceful, and beautiful fancy! Pope and Belinda, hide your dishonoured heads! Hark to the song of the nightingale ! "She had sent down to earth this same shoe with an errand,

To get a new pair at Ashburton for her, and

Not think of returning without what it went for,

Unless by its master especially sent for. The shoe made a scrape, and concluding

that this

Had been settled 'twixt her and her master, took wing,

And never ceased beating through sunshine and rain,

Now clasp'd in a cloud, and now loosen'd again,

Till it came to Ashburton, where something so odd

Seem'd to strike it, it could not help saying, My God!"

There's poetry for you, you infidel. Will you dare after such a strain to laugh at Leigh Hunt? What a finished gentleman he is! Why, he breathes the very air of courts and camps! O dangerous deceiver! what woman could be chaste in thy presence! Is there a Wurgin from Cockaigne to

Cochin-China, who would not hasten, The last time we ever saw a picture to use your own subduing words, of such a couple, a cull and a trull, “ To take due steps for expressing was about a fortnight ago. We were Her sense of such very well-worded sitting in a snug little sylvan palace, caressing ?”

up to the door of which winded a serIs there a widow in all the land of pentine gravel walk, shaded with lauLud who would not fling her loath- rels, and other ever-greens. This litsome weeds away at sight of your pro- tle sylvan palace was but an adjunct portions,

to a very commodious dwelling-house, And having prodigiously felt and ad- in which resided a large family. Thimired it,

ther, ever and anon, would one or other Could not but say so to him who inspic of the inmates repair for meditation ; red it?"

and on the humble wall opposite to But let us go on with the thread of where we sat, was the picture, batterthis fairy satire. Mercury and Venus ed on with batter, which so strongly are still in bed, for our fair readers resembled the passage now before us. will please look back to our introduc

It represented Roger and Dolly coming tion, and they will see that “ the down a ladder from the top of a haygod put a leg out of bed,” but had stack; and their air and attitude, as not been seen to put on his inexpres- they descended together from heaven sibles. What godlike and goddess- to earth, are so shadowed forth in the like love—whispering !

above description, that, but for his “ I know not precisely how much of absence in a foreign land, we could this matter

have sworn that Mr Hunt had sat on Was mention’d, when Mercury sparkled that seat during the hour of inspiraround at her ;

tion, and that the poet had painted But Venus proposed, that as one shoe

from that very print.--But the thing was fled,

is impossible. Her good easy virtue should help lim in

Well, well,—be it so; but Venus stead. "You know, love,' said she, “ 'tis as light and there a shoe, yes, a shoe, nearly

and Mercury arrive at Ashburton, as a feather : And so I'll be guide, and we'll go down

trips the goddess--but not Mercury's

sandal, which is nowhere to be found. together.' We have all read of Iris arching her

Not to keep the reader any longer in vivid flight, in one glorious sweep,

suspense, this shoe is—Mr Gifford, from heaven to earth,—we have all

Editor of the Quarterly Review-Merseen her do this, with the black rain

cury proves to be no less a personage cloud at her back, and fronting her

than Mr Leigh Hunt, Editor of the beauty at the enamoured Sun. But

Examiner Newspaper; and Venus, what is she, a solitary phenomenon, in

that identical char-woman, who washcomparison with the Venus of Leigh ed, for so many years, the foul linen Hunt, and her Joe, the two-winged, of the Knights of the Round Table, one-shoed Mercury ?

and who only ceased to do so

Rowland brave, and Oliver, and every I leave you to fancy how little he

Paladin and Peer,” proposed striking check'd her: They chalk'd out their journey, got up,

off a penny on every pair of dirty took their nectar;

drawers, twopence on every dozen of And then, with his arm round her waist, sweaty socks, and would allow not a and his eyes

single stiver for stains on the celebraLooking thanks upon hers, came away

ted yellow breeches. from the skies.

There is nothing that Mr Hunt is I cannot, I own, say he came much the

so fond of as being a heathen god. faster,

More than once he has sported JupiHow earnest soever he look'd and em

ter Tonans, but his Thunder was braced her;

wretched, and his lightning very poor. But never before, though a God of much His Appollar was not much better, but grace,

it was summat. He was shooting Had he come with such fine overlooking (with bow and arrow) at an old signof face :

board, once the property of Mother And as she travell’d seldom herself in Red-cap; and once, during the course this style,

of a forenoon, he sent his missile With a lover beside her, and clasp'd all through the left sparkler of the old the while."

landlady ; on which achievement !

6 when

looked as majestically and triumphantly indignant, as Professor Milman's or Professor Wilson's Sir Roger Newdigate's Prize Apollo, when he has settled the hash of the Python. But these are harmless sports, compared with his Mercurial tricks in Ultra-Crepidarius. Fye, fye, Mr Hunt-kiss and tell?

"I wonder,' said Mercury, putting his head

One rosy-faced morning from Venus's bed

But now let us rush into the heart of the satire; for this is a satire, however unlike one it appears. There is no trusting to appearances in this wicked world; so our readers may depend upon it, that this is a satire, and that Mercury is no other heathen than that most powerful satyr, Leigh Hunt.

"But now the God, anger'd, shot into that leather

A terrible sense of who stood there together,


And while it slunk, shaking, half into itself, Denounced it in words, that shall die on no shelf:"

Look at these four lines. THE GOD! why we only called him a king. The deification of the Colonel of the Hampstead Heavy Dragoons! Leigh Hunt DIVUS ! "A terrible sense of who stood there together!"-a Cockney and a Quean-a Radical and a Red-raga Scribbler and a Scold-two people, who, instead of looking as if they had descended from heaven, were evidently trampers, who had got a lift on the top of a strongly garrisoned Cheapand-Nasty, and who, on being forced to dismount for smutty jokes, too unequivocal for such refined society, vented their abuse, their obscenity, and their blackguardism, on the first welldressed and respectable person whom they chanced to meet sauntering from his native village.

Leigh Hunt, the god, encouraged by the drab whom he " keeps company with," the Venus whom, in words wholly unintelligible to us, he calls "the kind goddess, one of whose charmingest qualities, Is at a small thing to wonder how small it is!" This affords us a specimen of "celestial colloquy divine."


"As soon as I finish my words, thou shalt be,

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Not a man, for thou canst not, but hu


man to see:

Thy appearance at least shall be taken for human, However perplexing to painter or wo


And again,

"All things, in short, petty and fit, say, and do,

Becoming a man with the soul of a shoe." And again,

"Be these the Court-critics, and vamp a Review;

And by a poor figure, and therefore a true, For it suits with thy nature, both shoelike and slaughterly,

Be it's hue leathern, and title the Quarterly."

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And again,

"Like a rogue from a regiment bedrummer'd and fifer'd,


It slunk out of doors, and men call'd the thing GIFFORD." "Here Venus entreated, and fain would have gone,

But the god only clasp'd her the more, and went on."

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Now, Master Mercury and Mistress Venus, are you not a pretty pair of vagabonds, and have you no fear of the tread-mill? Will the parish officers suffer such doings, that will be bringing a burden upon the poor'srates? To be sure, you have no settlement, but there is expense in passing paupers. So, mark down, relieved at the Vagrant Office," 44, and on your peril shew your mugs again at Ashburton.



We have written so much for this Number (that Article on Ireland cost us two days' hard driving, and is itself a work) that our fingers are weary; so we conclude with one single observation, which we hope will be taken in good part-You, Leigh Hunt, are, without exception, the weakest and wishy-washiest satirist whose pen ever dribbled. You are like a jack-ass that comes braying out of a pound in which he has been enclosed from Monday till Saturday, precisely the same in sorrow as in anger-sulkily disposed to kick -but oh! weak, weak in the hams is the poor Vicar of Bray! Why, you poor devil, you talk of kicking! you M

shine. **

cannot kick, neither can you strike. Cockney, "Well ! soul of a shoe-ry You quote from the Liberal two verses, vont you speak,” alluding to your intended exposure

of “ But despair of those nobler ascents, yourself, which say,

which thou'lt see

Stretching far overhead with the Del“ Have I, these five years, spared the dog phian tree,a stick,

Holy ground, to climb up to whose least Cut for his special use, and reasonably laurell'd shelf thick ?"

Thou wouldst have to change natures, and you add in prose, (for you call

and put off thyself. that verse,)“ the following jeu-d'esprit

Stop, and strain at the base ; yet, to ease is the stick which is mentioned in the

thy despair, third Number of the Liberal,as having

Do thy best to obstruct all the feet that been cut for Mr Gifford's special use.

come there, Instead of a stick, why, it is only a

Especially younger ones, winged like mine, strip of peeled willow-bark, held in a

Till bright, up above thee, they soar and they palsied hand. A tailor might as well threaten to murder a man with a yard

There he goes soaring, and swaling,

and straddling up the sky, like Daof remnant. If, instead of good-humoured jocu- fast, Leigh, by the gabbler's gullet, or

niel O'Rourke on goose-back ! Hold larity, we were to treat our satirist “ with a fine serious air," we should you will fall into the Bay of Genoa, or present him with a parallel between The goose is galloping-why don't

the New River. Toes in if you please. himself and Mr Gifford, after the manner of Plutarch. We should draw the

you stand in the stirrups ? There character of Mr Gifford as an honest

that's riding. Why, you are another

Buckle. Don't poke your nose so over man, an accomplished scholar, a sound writer ; often the eloquent, always the

your horse's ears—I beg pardon, the judicious, defender of religion, mora

goose. Mercy on us! he rides that fu

rious animal in a snaffle. Alas! Pegality, and social order ; a man with an

sus smells his native marshes; instead English heart

We should draw Leigh Hunt as a

of making for Olympus, he is off in a

but we tremble to think of it: perhaps he

wallop to the fens of Lincolnshire,

Bellerophon has lost his seat—now he will

clings desperately by the tail-a single “ Denounce us in words that shall die on

feather holds him from eternity. Alno shelf.”

though strong as the quills one sees in So let us part good friends after all; and public offices, it gives way from the that you may hop off with flying colours socket ; too late he finds that it is all from this “Ayting,” here, you god you, a mistake about his having winged with the organ of self-esteem as large feet; and poor Leigh is picked up, as a haddock, swallow

sitting on his rump, in a green field, scription of yourself, and then, pulling dead as the Liberal, and consequently up your yellow breeches, grin in Mr speechless as a Scotch member in the Gifford's face, and cry out, in choicest Lower House of Parliament.

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your own de

See the articles in the Quarterly on Mr Keats, Mr Shelley, and others.


To C. North, Esq. &c.


Mr THEODORE HOOK. DEAR N. This Quarterly is a very we tear the fellow's heart out, leaving decent Number: full of good sense, him a sort of automatic machine for good learning, good feeling, good po- the rest of his apparent vitality. This litics, good geography, and good ba- review of poor Johnny, on the con

, laam. Johnny Russell's Don Carlos trary, merely scrapes the skin off him, is disposed of in a quiet and gentleman- exposing him to the cold weather quite likeway, quite edifying to read. Some- raw, but still suffering him to exist, how or other, when we demolish a man, and, if he pleases

, to go into company

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