it be very like Mr. Fitzgerald or not, however, it must be allowed that the vulgarity, servility, and gross absurdity of the newspaper scribblers is well rendered in the following lines:


"Gallia's stern despot shall in vain advance
From Paris, the metropolis of France;
By this day month the monster shall not gain
A foot of land in Portugal or Spain.
See Wellington in Salamanca's field
Forces his favourite General to yield,
Breaks through his lines, and leaves his boasted
Expiring on the plain without an arm on:
Madrid he enters at the cannon's mouth,
And then the villages still further south!
Base Bonaparte, filled with deadly ire,
Sets one by one our playhouses on fire:
Some years ago he pounced with deadly glee on
The Opera House-then burnt down the Pantheon:
Nay, still unsated, in a coat of flames,

Next at Millbank he cross'd the river Thames.
Who makes the quartern loaf and Luddites rise?
Who fills the butchers' shops with large blue flies?
Who thought in flames St. James's court to pinch?
Who burnt the wardrobe of poor Lady Finch?
Why he, who, forging for this Isle a yoke,
Reminds me of a line I lately spoke,

The tree of Freedom is the British oak.'"'

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The next, in the name of Mr. W. Wordsworth, is entitled "The Baby's Début ;" and is characteristically announced as intended to have been "spoken in the character of Nancy Lake, a girl eight years of age, who is drawn upon the stage in a child's chaise, by Samuel Hughes, her uncle's porter." The author does not, in this instance, attempt to copy any of the higher attributes of Mr. Wordsworth's poetry: But has succeeded perfectly in the imitation of his mawkish affectations of childish simplicity and nursery stammering. We hope it will make him ashamed of his Alice Fell, and the greater part of his last volumes -of which it is by no means a parody, but a very fair, and indeed we think a flattering imitation. We give a stanza or two as a specimen :

"My brother Jack was nine in May,
And I was eight on New Year's Day;
So in Kate Wilson's shop
Papa (he's my papa and Jack's)
Bought me last week a doll of wax,
And brother Jack a top.

"Jack's in the pouts-and this it is,
He thinks mine came to more than his,
So to my drawer he goes,
Takes out the doll, and, oh, my stars!
He pokes her head between the bags,

And melts off half her nose!"-pp. 5, 6. Mr. Moore's Address is entitled "The Living Lustres," and appears to us a very fair imitation of the fantastic verses which that ingenious person indites when he is merely gallant; and, resisting the lures of voluptuousness, is not enough in earnest to be tender. It begins :

The main drift of the piece, however, as well as its title, is explained in the following stanzas:—

"O why should our dull retrospective addresses Fall damp as wet blankets on Drury Lane fire? Away with blue devils, away with distresses,

And give the gay spirit to sparkling desire! Let artists decide on the beauties of Drury,

"How well would our artists attend to their duties,
Our house save in oil, and our authors in wit,
In lieu of yon lamps if a row of young beauties
Glanc'd light from their eyes between us and
the pit.
(is on
Attun'd to the scene, when the pale yellow moon
Tower and tree, they'd look sober and sage;
And when they all wink'd their dear peepers in

Night, pitchy night would envelope the stage. Ah! could I some girl from yon box for her youth pick,

I'd love her as long as she blossom'd in youth! Oh! white is the ivory case of the toothpick, But when beauty smiles how much whiter the tooth!" pp. 26, 27. The next, entitled "The Rebuilding,” is in name of Mr. Southey; and is one of the best in the collection. It is in the style of the Kehama of that multifarious author; and is supposed to be spoken in the character of one of his Glendoveers. The imitation of the diction and measure, we think, is nearly per fect; and the descriptions quite as good as the original. It opens with an account of the burning of the old theatre, formed upon the pattern of the Funeral of Arvalan.

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"Yamen beheld, and wither'd at the sight;
Long had he aim'd the sun-beam to control,
For light was hateful to his soul:
Go on, cried the hellish one, yellow with spite;
Go on, cried the hellish one, yellow with spleen;
Thy toils of the morning, like Ithaca's queen,
I'll toil to undo every night.

The lawyers are met at the Crown and Anchor,

And Yamen's visage grows blanker and blanker.
The lawyers are met at the Anchor and Crown,
And Yamen's cheek is a russety brown.
Veeshnoo, now thy work proceeds!

The solicitor reads,
And, merit of merit!

Red wax and green ferret

The richest to me is when woman is there; The question of Houses I leave to the jury;

Are fix'd at the foot of the deeds!" pp. 35, 36. "Drury's Dirge," by Laura Matilda, is not

The fairest to me is the house of the fair."-p. 25. of the first quality. The verses, to be sure,

are very smooth, and very nonsensical-as | venturously assumed by the describer. After was intended: But they are not so good as the roof falls in, there is silence and great conSwift's celebrated Song by a Person of Qua- sternation:lity; and are so exactly in the same measure, and on the same plan, that it is impossible to avoid making the comparison. The reader may take these three stanzas as a sample:

"Lurid smoke and frank suspicion,
Hand in hand reluctant dance;
While the god fulfils his mission,
Chivalry resigns his lance.

"Hark! the engines blandly thunder,
Fleecy clouds dishevell❜d lie;
And the firemen, mute with wonder,
On the son of Saturn cry.

"See the bird of Ammon sailing,

Perches on the engine's peak,
And the Eagle fireman hailing,

Soothes them with its bickering beak."

"A Tale of Drury," by Walter Scott, is, upon the whole, admirably executed; though the introduction is rather tame. The burning is described with the mighty Minstrel's characteristic love of localities:

"Then London's sons in nightcap woke!
In bedgown woke her dames;

For shouts were heard 'mid fire and smoke,
And twice ten hundred voices spoke,
The Playhouse is in flames!'
And lo! where Catherine Street extends,
A fiery tail its lustre lends

To every window pane :
Blushes each spout in Martlet Court,
And Barbican, moth-eaten fort,
And Covent Garden kennels sport,
A bright ensanguin'd drain;
Meux's new brewhouse shows the light,
Rowland Hill's chapel, and the height

Where patent shot they sell:
The Tennis Court, so fair and tall,
Partakes the ray with Surgeons' Hall,
The ticket porters' house of call,
Old Bedlam, close by London wall,
Wright's shrimp and oyster shop withal,

And Richardson's Hotel."-pp. 46, 47.

The mustering of the firemen is not less meritorious :

"The summon'd firemen woke at call

And hied them to their stations all.
Starting from short and broken snoose,
Each sought his pond'rous hobnail'd shoes;
But first his worsted hosen plied,
Plush breeches next in crimson dyed,
His nether bulk embrac'd;
Then jacket thick, of red or blue,
Whose massy shoulder gave to view
The badge of each respective crew,
In tin or copper traced.

The engines thunder'd thro' the street,
Fire-hook, pipe, bucket, all complete,
And torches glared, and clattering feet

Along the pavement paced."-p. 48.

"When lo! amid the wreck uprear'd
Gradual a moving head appear'd,
And Eagle firemen knew
'Twas Joseph Muggins, name rever'd,
The foreman of their crew.
Loud shouted all in sign of woe,
'A Muggins to the rescue, ho!'
And pour'd the hissing tide:
Meanwhile the Muggins fought amain,
And strove and struggl'd all in vain,
For rallying but to fall again,

He tottor'd, sunk, and died!
Did none attempt, before he fell,
To succour one they lov'd so well?
Yes, Higginbottom did aspire,
(His fireman's soul was all on fire)

His brother chief to save;

But ah! his reckless generous ire
Serv'd but to share his grave!
Mid blazing beams and scalding streams,
Thro' fire and smoke he dauntless broke,
Where Muggins broke before.
But sulphury stench and boiling drench,
Destroying sight, o'erwhelm'd him quite;
He sunk to rise no more!

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pp. 50-52.

The rebuilding is recorded in strains as characteristic, and as aptly applied :

Didst mark, how toil'd the busy train
From morn to eve, till Drury Lane
Leap'd like a roebuck from the plain ?
Ropes rose and sunk, and rose again,
And nimble workmen trod.
To realize hold Wyatt's plan
Rush'd many a howling Irishman,
Loud clatter'd many a porter can,
And many a ragamuffin clan,

With trowel and with hod."-pp. 52, 53. "The Beautiful Incendiary," by the Honourable W. Spencer, is also an imitation of great merit. The flashy, fashionable, artificial style of this writer, with his confident and extravagant compliments, can scarcely be said to be parodied in such lines as the following:

"Sobriety cease to be sober,

Cease labour to dig and to delve!
All hail to this tenth of October,

One thousand eight hundred and twelve!
Hah! whom do my peepers remark?
'Tis Hebe with Jupiter's jug!
Oh, no! 'tis the pride of the Park,
Fair Lady Elizabeth Mugg!
But ah! why awaken the blaze

Those bright burning-glasses contain,
Whose lens, with concentrated rays,
Proved fatal to old Drury Lane!
'Twas all accidental, they cry:
Away with the flimsy humbug!
'Twas fir'd by a flash from the eye
Of Lady Elizabeth Mugg!

The procession of the engines, with the badges of their different companies, and the horrible names of their leaders, is also admirable-but we cannot make room for it. The account of the death of Muggins and Higginbottom, however, must find a place. These "Fire and Ale," by M. G. Lewis, is not are the two principal firemen who suffered on less fortunate; and exhibits not only a faiththis occasion; and the catastrophe is describ-ful copy of the spirited, loose, and flowing ed with a spirit, not unworthy of the name so versification of that singular author, but a very

just representation of that mixture of extravagance and jocularity which has impressed most of his writings with the character of a sort of farcical horror. For example :—

"The fire king one day rather amorous felt;
He mounted his hot copper filly;

His breeches and boots were of tin; and the belt
Was made of cast iron, for fear it should melt
With the heat of the copper colt's belly.
Sure never was skin half so scalding as his!
When an infant, 'twas equally horrid,
For the water when he was baptiz'd gave a fizz,
And bubbl'd and simmer'd and started off, whizz!
As soon as it sprinkl'd his forehead.
Oh then there was glitter and fire in each eye,
For two living coals were the symbols;

His teeth were calcin'd, and his tongue was so dry
It rattled against them as though you should try

To play the piano in thimbles."—pp. 68, 69. The drift of the story is, that this formidable personage falls in love with Miss Drury the elder, who is consumed in his ardent embrace! when Mr. Whitbread, in the character of the Ale King, fairly bullies him from a similar attempt on her younger sister, who has just come out under his protection.

We have next "Playhouse Musings," by Mr. Coleridge-a piece which is unquestionably Lakish-though we cannot say that we recognise in it any of the peculiar traits of that powerful and misdirected genius whose name it has borrowed. We rather think, however, that the tuneful Brotherhood will consider it as a respectable eclogue. This is the introduction:


My pensive Public! wherefore look you sad? I had a grandmother; she kept a donkey To carry to the mart her crockery ware, And when that donkey look'd me in the face, His face was sad! and you are sad, my Public! Joy should be yours: this tenth day of October Again assembles us in Drury Lane. Long wept my eye to see the timber planks That hid our ruins: many a day I cried Ah me! I fear they never will rebuild it! Till on one eve, one joyful Monday eve, As along Charles Street I prepar'd to walk, Just at the corner, by the pastry cook's, I heard a trowel tick against a brick! I look'd me up, and strait a parapet Uprose, at least seven inches o'er the planks. Joy to thee, Drury! to myself I said, He of Blackfriars Road who hymn'd thy downfal In loud Hosannahs, and who prophesied That flames like those from prostrate Solyma Would scorch the hand that ventur'd to rebuild thee, Has prov'd a lying prophet. From that hour, As leisure offer'd, close to Mr. Spring's Box-office door, I've stood and eyed the builders." pp. 73, 74.

Of "Architectural Atoms," translated by Dr. Busby, we can say very little more than that they appear to us to be far more capable of combining into good poetry than the few lines we were able to read of the learned Doctor's genuine address in the newspapers. They might pass, indeed, for a very tolerable imitation of Darwin;-as for instance :

"I sing how casual bricks, in airy climb Encounter'd casual horse hair, casual lime; How rafters borne through wond'ring clouds elate, Kiss'd in their slope blue elemental slate! Clasp'd solid beams, in chance-directed fury, And gave to birth our renovated Drury." pp. 82, 83.

And again

"Thus with the flames that from old Drury
Its elements primæval sought the skies,
There pendulous to wait the happy hour,
When new attractions should restore their power
Here embryo sounds in æther lie conceal'd
Like words in northern atmosphere congeald.
Here many an embryo laugh, and half encore,
Clings to the roof, or creeps along the floor.
By puffs concipient some in æther flit,
And soar in bravos from the thund'ring pit;
While some this mortal life abortive miss,
Crush'd by a groan, or murder'd by a hiss."-p. 87.

"The Theatre," by the Rev. G. Crabbe we rather think is the best piece in the coimitation, not only of the peculiar style, bc: lection. It is an exquisite and most mastery of the taste, temper, and manner of descrip tion of that most original author; and can hardly be said to be in any respect a caricature of that style or manner-except in the excessive profusion of puns and verbal jingles -which, though undoubtedly to be ranked among his characteristics, are never so thicksown in his original works as in this admirable imitation. It does not aim, of course, at

but seems to us to be a singularly faithfcl shadow of his pathos or moral sublimity: copy of his passages of mere description. It begins as follows:

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The lottery cormorant, the auction shark,
The full-price master, and the half-price clerk ;
Boys who long linger at the gallery door,
With pence twice five,-they want but twopence
Till some Samaritan the twopence spares, [more,
And sends them jumping up the gallery stairs.
Critics we boast who ne'er their malice baulk,
But talk their minds, we wish they'd mind their
Big-worded bullies, who by quarrels live,
Who give the lie, and tell the lie they give;
And bucks with pockets empty as their pate,
Lax in their gaiters, laxer in their gait."


pp. 118, 119.

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We shall conclude with the episode on the loss and recovery of Pat Jennings' hat-which, if Mr. Crabbe had thought at all of describing, we are persuaded he would have described precisely as follows:

Pat Jennings in the upper gallery sat, But, leaning forward, Jennings lost his hat; Down from the gallery the beaver flew, And spurn'd the one to settle in the two, How shall he act? Pay at the gallery door Two shillings for what cost when new but four? Now, while his fears anticipate a thief, John Mullins whispers, take my handkerchief. Thank you, cries Pat, but one won't make a line; Take mine, cried Wilson, and cried Stokes take A motley cable soon Pat Jennings ties, [mine. Where Spitalfields with real India vies; Like Iris' bow, down darts the painted hue Starr'd, strip'd, and spotted, yellow, red, and blue. Old calico, torn silk, and muslin new. George Greene below, with palpitating hand, Loops the last kerchief to the beaver's band: Upsoars the prize; the youth with joy unfeign'd, Regain'd the felt, and felt what he regain'd; While to the applauding galleries grateful Pat Made a low bow, and touch'd the ransom'd hat."

The Ghost of Samuel Johnson is not very good as a whole: though some passages are singularly happy. The measure and solemnity of his sentences, in all the limited variety of their structure, is imitated with skill; but the diction is caricatured in a vulgar and unpleasing degree. To make Johnson call a door "a ligneous barricado," and its knocker and bell its "frappant and tintinabulant appendages," is neither just nor humorous; and we are surprised that a writer who has given such extraordinary proofs of his talent for finer ridicule and fairer imitation, should have stooped to a vein of pleasantry so low, and so long ago exhausted; especially as, in other passages of the same piece, he has shown how well qualified he was both to catch and to render the true characteristics of his original. The beginning, for example, we think excellent:


"That which was organised by the moral ability of one, has heen executed by the physical effort of many; and DRURY LANE THEATRE is now complete. Of that part behind the curtain, which has not yet been destined to glow beneath the brush of the varnisher, or vibrate to the hammer of the carpenter, little is thought by the public, and little need be said by the committee. Truth, however, is not to be sacrificed for the accommodation of either; and he who should pronounce that our edi. fice has received its final embellishment, would be disseminating falsehood without incurring favour, and risking the disgrace of detection without participating the advantage of success.

"Let it not, however, be conjectured, that because we are unassuming, we are imbecile; that forbearance is any indication of despondency, or humility of demerit. He that is the most assured of success will make the fewest appeals to favour; aud where nothing is claimed that is undue, nothing that is due will be withheld. A swelling opening is too often succeeded by an insignificant conclusion. Parturient mountains have ere now produced muscipular abortions; and the auditor who compares incipient grandeur with final vulgarity, is reminded of the pious hawkers of Constantinople, who solemnly perambulate her streets, exclaiming, 'In the name of the prophet-figs!'"-pp. 54, 55.

We are very much indebted to Madame Necker Saussure for this copious, elegant, and affectionate account of her friend and cousin.


It ends with a solemn eulogium on Mr. Whitbread, which is thus wound up :

"To his never-slumbering talents you are indebted for whatever. pleasure this haunt of the Muses is calculated to afford. If, in defiance of chaotic malevolence, the destroyer of the temple of Diana yet survives in the name of Herostratus, surely we may confidently predict, that the rebuilder of the temple of Apollo will stand recorded to distant posterity, in that of-SAMUEL WHITBREAD." pp. 59, 60.

Our readers will now have a pretty good idea of the contents of this amusing little volume. We have no conjectures to offer as to its anonymous author. He who is such a master of disguises, may easily be supposed to have been successful in concealing himself;-and with the power of assuming so many styles, is not likely to be detected by his own. We should guess, however, that he had not written a great deal in his own character-that his natural style was neither very lofty nor very grave-and that he rather indulges a partiality for puns and verbal pleasantries. We marvel why he has shut out Campbell and Rogers from his theatre of living poets;-and confidently expect to have our curiosity in this and in all other particulars very speedily gratified, when the applause of the country shall induce him to take off his mask.

(December, 1828.)

Euvres Inédites de Madame la Baronne de Staël, publiées par son Fils; précédées d'une Notice sur le Caractère et les Ecrits de M. de Staël. Par Madame NECKER SAUSSURE. Trois tomes. 8vo. London, Treuttel and Wurtz: 1820.

It is, to be sure, rather in the nature of a Panegyric than of an impartial biography-and, with the sagacity, morality, and skill in com

3M 2

position which seem to be endemic in the Society of Geneva, has also perhaps something of the formality, mannerism, and didactic ambition of that very intellectual society. For a personal memoir of one so much distinguished in society, it is not sufficiently individual or familiar-and a great deal too little feminine, for a woman's account of a woman, who never forgot her sex, or allowed it to be forgotten. The only things that indicate a female author in the work before us, are the decorous purity of her morality-the feebleness of her political speculations and her never telling the age of her friend.

here as in other instances; and rather think the worthy financier must be contented to be known to posterity chiefly as the father of Madame de Staël.

But however that may be, the education of their only child does not seem to have been gone about very prudently, by these sage personages; and if Mad. de Stael had not been a very extraordinary creature, both as to talent and temper, from the very beginning, she could scarcely have escaped being pretty well spoiled between them. Her mother had a notion, that the best thing that could be done for a child was to cram it with all kinds of knowledge, without caring very much whe ther it understood or digested any part of it:

and so the poor little girl was overtasked and overeducated, in a very pitiless way, for several years; till her health became seriously impaired, and they were obliged to let her run idle in the woods for some years longer-where she composed pastorals and tragedies, and became exceedingly romantic. She was then taken up again; and set to her studies with greater moderation. All this time, too, her father was counteracting the lessons of patient application inculcated by her mother, by the half-playful disputations in which he loved to engage her, and the display which he could not resist making of her lively talents in society. Fortunately, this last species of training fell most in with her disposition; and she escaped being solemn and pedantic, at some little risk of becoming forward and petulant. Still more fortunately, the strength of her understanding was such as to exempt her almost entirely from this smaller disadvantage.

The world probably knows as much already of M. and Madame Necker as it will care ever to know: Yet we are by no means of opinion that too much is said of them here. They were both very good people-neither of the most perfect bon ton, nor of the very highest rank of understanding, but far above the vulgar level certainly, in relation to either. The likenesses of them with which we are here presented are undoubtedly very favourable, and even flattering; but still, we have no doubt that they are likenesses, and even very cleverly executed. We hear a great deal about the strong understanding and lofty principles of Madame Necker, and of the air of purity that reigned in her physiognomy: But we are candidly told also, that, with her tall and stiff figure, and formal manners, "il y avoit de la gêne en elle, et auprès d'elle;" and are also permitted to learn, that after having acquired various branches of knowledge by profound study, she unluckily became persuaded that all virtues and accomplishments might be learned in the same manner; and accordingly set herself, with might and main, "to study the arts of conversation and of housekeeping-together with the characters of individuals, and the management of society-to reduce all these things to system, and to deduce from this system precise rules for the regulation of her conduct." Of M. Necker, again, it is recorded, in very emphatic and affectionate terms, that he was extraordinarily eloquent and observing, and equally full of benevolence and practical wisdom: But it is candidly admit-ing-room, she took her place on a little stool ted that his eloquence was more sonorous beside her mother's chair, where she was than substantial, and consisted rather of well- forced to sit very upright, and to look as derounded periods than impressive thoughts; mure as possible: But by and by, two or that he was reserved and silent in general three wise-looking oldish gentlemen, with society, took pleasure in thwarting his wife round wigs, came up to her, and entered into in the education of their daughter, and actu- animated and sensible conversation with her, ally treated the studious propensity of his as with a wi of full age; and those were ingenious consort with so little respect, as to Raynal, Marmontel, Thomas, and Grimm. At prohibit her from devoting any time to com- table she listened with delighted attention to position, and even from having a table to all that fell from those distinguished guests; write at!-for no better reason than that he and learned incredibly soon to discuss all submight not be annoyed with the fear of dis- jects with them, without embarrassment or turbing her when he came into her apart- affectation. Her biographer says, indeed, that ment! He was a great joker, too, in an inno- she was "always young, and never a child :” cent paternal way, in his own family; but we but it does seem to us a trait of mere childcannot find that his witticisms ever had much ishness, though here cited as a proof of her success in other places. The worship of M. filial devotion, that, in order to insure for her Necker, in short, is a part of the established parents the gratification of Mr. Gibbon's soreligion, we perceive, at Geneva; but we ciety, she proposed, about the same time, that -suspect that the Priest has made the God, she should marry him! and combated, with

Nothing, however, could exempt her from the danger and disadvantage of being a youthful Prodigy; and there never perhaps was an instance of one so early celebrated, whose celebrity went on increasing to the last period of her existence. We have a very lively picture of her, at eleven years of age, in the work before us; where she is represented as then a stout brown girl, with fine eyes, and an open and affectionate manner, full of eager curiosity, kindness, and vivacity. In the draw

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