NUGIGERULUS. No. III.

Hope constancy in wind, or corn in chaff,
Believe a woman, or an epitaph,

Or any other thing that's false, before

You trust in critics who themselves are sore.

THE author having observed, that in most dedications and complimentary discourses, all notice of the above praiseworthy body of men is avoided; or if mentioned, that they are only pointed out to the trespassers on the grounds of literature as scarecrows and hidden pitfalls; and perceiving, too, that the majority of writers stand in unreasonable awe of them, undertakes to write in their behalf, asking only in recompense that he shall receive the like good turn from them. He ventures to recommend them to the public as deserving the same treatment which storks find in Holland-who are held sacred by the intelligent and grateful natives, for cleansing their streets of carrion and offal, which they cannot better get rid of than by exposure in public places; a plan to which the authors of the present day have much recourse. And as the owner of every house would be deemed ungrateful, sacrilegious, and accurst, did he not set apart a portion of his roof for their convenience and comfort; so it seems that every book should be delivered over to the secular arm of disapprobation which does not reserve a benignant reception and open range for the movements of a critic. He, too, should be deemed impertinent and bold who should dare to make allusion to their unengaging appearance, and morbid attachment to what is corrupt, rather than commend them for being the preservers of the moral health of a great city. Now, since the field of panegyric, though considerably trodden, is still full of ugly obstacles, which meet one at every step and turn, to the imminent jeopardy of limb or reputation, it will be necessary to lay hold of something which may keep us upright, and enable us to preserve our footing. After much thought and laborious exercise of invention, the author has endeavoured to set before his readers a few of the many characteristics which that eminent class of men possesses. There are, indeed, some of a humorous vein, who that in every trade men serve a time of apprenticeship,

will say,

of

but that the professor of criticism is self-taught, self-appointed, and receives his diploma from himself. But such a strain would be discordant in an eulogy like the present; we will, therefore, pass it by, and explain that a great portion of this standing army critics have been themselves authors, and are consequently entitled to the privileges, as they have the advantages, of deserters; and are well qualified to judge, from personal experience and intercourse, of the power, numbers, errors, and failures of their opponents. Since they are intimately acquainted with the whole system of literary tactics, they can counteract the movements of the enemy; and their valour is greatly increased by the knowledge that were they overcome, they could expect no mercy at the hands of their conquerors. Their adversaries, the authors, are a body in the pay of the public; they are generally promoted according to the external bravery of their decorations and accoutrements, and, like other warriors, they continually complain of being badly paid by their masters. Both parties pretend to be in the service of the public, following the received and laudable custom of two nations at war, who always assert that they serve Justice. But our present object is to carry the reader, if he be willing to go, into the opposite camp, and make him note their array. The deserters occupy a considerable portion of it, and always claim the honour of leading the van in the day of battle. They are principally armed with heavily-loaded weapons, called Objections, Refutations, and Reviews; with which they lay fiercely and indiscriminately about them. The rest of the army is composed of warriors less solidly furnished with darts and javelins, known by the name of Pamphlets, Pleas, Few Remarks, &c., and of some light troops, who harass the enemy with offensive missiles, called sarcasm and satire the object of these latter is principally to terrify their antagonists by feigned attacks and loud shouts. They adopt no shields or defensive armour, which would indeed be useless against a foe in such heavy mail that he is unable to turn himself. It is their custom to engage, if possible, hand to hand, so as to prevent to their foes the use of their huge and unwieldy weapons; and, though they are active and alert, they rarely make much impression on the thick covering of the authors. Both sides use trumpeters, with long titles, to go forth with their faces towards the spectator-public, and proclaim their defiance, with the cause of the combat: they generally appear in a curiously worked garment, covered with variegated and complex hieroglyphics: they are called in the world, Title-pages, and are always attended by two or

more squires, called Prefaces, and Dedications. The same variety of disposition may be observed in these gentry as in mankind: a modest herald wears a plain, unembroidered garment, proclaims his employer's title quietly, and praises the world who is standing by a pompous herald gives his master's titles at full length, and is attended by a gigantic squire; he does not praise the public much, but appeals to the authority of Mr. So-and-so's opinion, of whose words and approbation he generally carries a copy in his hand.

But to leave metaphors, in which the author is not at home, and return to the panegyric, which we had dropped, criticism is the purifying principle which cleanses away the accumulated filth of human ideas. Critics are the besoms which sweep down the dusty cobwebs spun from modern brains; they are the self-acting pruning-knives, which cut away the excrescences and ramifications of modern exuberance. What would mankind do without them? They alone are willing to stem the dirty tide and influx of corrupted sentiment; they alone will wallow in the mud of grossness, to investigate its nature and proclaim its danger; and they alone, cased in their own impenetrability, will venture a collision against the hard rocks of stupidity. Do not men who sacrifice so many sensitive feelings to the welfare of their fellows deserve their admiration and this panegyric? And let those who complain of their splenetic and virulent nature, remember, that those who are engaged in mud and dirt must wear a dress suitable to their employment.

ODE TO BEAUTY.

BRIGHT essence, co-eternal with the spring
Of all existence, who from every work,
The first, if first had been,

Of the Eternal shin'st in glory forth,

Nature's fair bride!—Now, poised on trembling wing,
My muse would soar,

Thee, soul-enthralling vanquisher, to sing,

To thy mysterious shrine, with zealous warmth, to bring
One tribute more!

Where shall I seek thee?—In the busy crowd
Of human intercourse and human forms,
In man's degraded passion-storms,
Eternal, dwellest thou ?—

Ay, even there!

In every soul once hast thou raised a throne,
But man is proud,

Contracted hearts contain one governant alone,
Furies cast down thy seat, each to erect his own.

But round its ruins thou dost linger,

Nature asks, and thou dost bring her,
Bound by some unbroken tie,

Still each man a votary.

Thou art not fled by this we know,
When the repentant tear-drops flow,
Then, in each refreshing stream,
Bright once more, thy glories beam;

Thou art there!

Thou dwell'st in man :-the widow's son,
Whose arm her sinking age supports,
Whose love her broken voice delights to tell,
Thou dwell'st in him!-

The faithful husband, careful sire,

Whom works of love nor cloy nor tire,

He who gaily can outrun

Care with mirth, and peace hath won,

In these, and more than these, joy-bearer, dost thou dwell.

Thou dwell'st in form of womankind,
There to be honoured most;

But in her mind, her spotless mind,

Thy sweetest graces are entwined.

Goddess, that trophy be thy proudest boast!

There, if no idle vanity obscure

The hidden charmer's simple lure,

Still let me worship thee, there, there whence once I stole

Thy picture for the chamber of my soul.

Nor in life and love alone,

Goddess, is thy presence known :—
See the lap of earth abounding

With the Autumn's brilliant store,
Hear the streamlet's song resounding
By its rough and pebbly shore;
And the tinted landscape varied

With alternate hill and dale ;

Thine, thine is all we see, thy breath is on the gale.

Crag upon crag is heaped on high

In wild confusion,

Forth from their sable den the sheeted lightnings fly,

From rock to rock the peal reverberates;

The foaming cataract, with rival roar,

Dashes from cliff to crag into the dell,

Urging the nascent stream o'er bounds it shunn'd before ;

There, too, in majesty, there dost thou dwell;

To thee, whom Heaven bestowed,

Whence aye our pleasure flowed,

And, flowing, still shall flow, in current without end!

Praised be the gen'rous hand that raised for thee
A home on ev'ry spot, that all may see

The shadow of their god, beneath its pow'r may bend.

HAL.

FLOWERS ON A MAIDEN'S BIER.

(From the German of Jean Paul Richter.)

STREW over her flowers, ye blooming friends of her youth! Brought ye not flowers to deck her cradle? Bring them, then, now, for the bier is the cradle of heaven!