LETTER FROM ALEXANDER SIDNEY TROTT, ESQ. In the devil's name, Christopher, what did you mean by printing that rig-marole of mine? You've nearly ruined me, man. The prosers at the Academies have regularly expelled me, and the Eccentrics themselves look suspicious, but have gone no farther as yet than the threat of a huge dose of salt and water. Nevertheless, I'll on- there's no resisting the parenthesis of" (we hope to hear frequent ly)," especially when accompanied with the hams and other appendages you were so good as to send. Your ham is a true inspirer, a solid sort of Castalian, a whet for the muse as well as the appetite: I always stow in some ballast of the kind previous to setting sail into a new sheet. Some folks are all for a vegetable diet, especially embryo poets, and minor novelists, who swear, one and all, that Byron lived on cauliflowers while he was writing the Corsair. This I'm inclined to doubt, although there is much of the sentimentality of cabbage about his Lordship; and many of his lines smell strongly of sour crout. But every one to his liking, "Suum cuique proprium dat natura mu nus, Ego nunquam potui scribere jejunus." Being duly inspired in my favourite way, I shall commence, mon cher Christophe, by lauding your shrewdness in snapping at me for a correspondent. For we Metropolitans, especially my noble fraternity of the Templars, were growing very indignant at having no place in your consideration. And with reason were we jealous, to see you cram-full of the localities of Blarney, while ours, the first city in the world, was either passed over in total silence, or, what was more insulting, confounded with a set of Cockney drivellers, who really have not the courage to live within our smoke. I assure you, we were proceeding to form very invidious comparisons between Isaac Bickerstaff and you; we called to mind the classical fun of Will Honeycomb and the Templar; and we looked at thy pages, blank to us, not even deigning to mention our stage-lights, our debutants, and all the glorious company of lions. We had resolved on vengeance, but the debate was, whether we should take it in the shape of silent contempt, the feasibility of which was much doubted, or whether we should coalesce with the Cockneys, and literally write you down, when lo! my epistle appeared, and a worthy Templar of great weight, got up in full synod, and declared his resolution of "sticking by Blackwood, since there were some hopes of sharing its pages with the Hirish mauraders"-sic te servavit Apollar. I recommend you, my good Kit, to be cautious in your connection with those said Hirish. We are here very angry with them for having the impudence to entice our King from us, and then shake his hands off almost when he landed. For myself, I don't join in these prejudices. I am greatly amused with the happiness of the Dublinians; they shew great spirit, and are resolved not to be out-done in any thing. You must know they pride and strongest names in the world, and themselves upon having the longest are so jealous of Prince Esterhazy's quantum of syllables, that they've docked him down to plain Mister Hazy. I shudder to think of the consumption of whisky-punch that will or has inevitably taken place in that spungystomached city. But I shudder still more to think of the hornet's nest of bulls, jokes, and puns, with which we shall be inundated. All parties have made up their quarrels, that they may beatleisure to manufacturegood things. Mr Ogreman and Sir Edward Stanley, have been buttoning each other's breeches, and tying each other's stockings with sky-blue garters in token of amity, though I can't see for the life o' me, what sky-blue ribbons have to do with amity. We intend laughing a whole year on the strength of this visit; but all in good part, for our neighbours are the best-humoured honest blundering set of fellows in the • Pray, were you god-father to the unfortunate King of Hayti? world. But your inhabitants of small islands are so apt to be taken at a non plus. His Grace of Gloucester visited the good people of Guernsey one day, and put them in such a fuss, that they have not recovered from it to this hour. First, the militia were to be called to gether, in order to receive him; the bell-man went about the fields for the purpose, and hurried the labourers home, to put on their scarlet coats and white breeches. They were almost in time; his Grace met them in a muck, running like devils to line the quay and street. He was good enough to compliment them on their rosy looks, and rosy they had reason to be, being nearly broken-winded from haste. The honours of reception being over, the next business was the ball; "Who is he to dance with?" was a serious subject of consideration. However, they left that to time, and waited on his Highness's Equerry, Colonel Higgins, to demand the proper dress for gentlemen, consonant to etiquette. The Colonel replied, plain dress would be sufficient, but at any rate to wear small-clothes, shoes, and buckles. Now the bite was, the deuce a buckle was to be had in the whole island;-this was indeed distress. To conclude, they drew up a petition to his Serene Highness, that he would be contented with simple shoe-strings; and, as it is recorded in newspaper phraseology, the Duke graciously complied with the feelings of the good people of Guernsey. For all their wanting shoebuckles, they are a very pleasant social set, and great readers of Blackwood, Sir James Sumries himself being your professed patron. But to return to the Royal visit to Ireland, the number of congratulatory odes are inconceivable. My friend Banim (erst Bannon) has had one in leash here this some time, ready to let slip at his Majesty the moment he touched land. Have you seen this gentleman's "Damon and Pythias," which the Cockneys have so befouled ? Mr Hazlitt pretends to praise it, and quotes, with extravagant commendation, two of the very worst lines in it, “The blessings, and the bounties of the gods Be with you, over you, and all about you." VOL. X. Did you ever hear such an Irishism, except "Arrah, Paddy, my jewel, how is every bit o' you?" What arrant malevolence, or utter stupidity there must have been in the Cockney critic's quoting this as the sample of a young poet's powers; for there are really some beautiful passages in the tragedy. But let me not name other poets or poetry while I have before me the great chef d'œuvre of the age. I know, Mr North, how much you will sympathize with the Whigs, and congratulate them on the appearance of "The Glorious Revolution, an Historical Tragedy, by the Baron, alias, the Reverend Francis Lee; Warren, London." I had some thoughts of inditing a learned review thereon; but, alas! am not well enough acquainted with political economy, for a poetical critic. Since the appearance of the article on Chandos Leigh, in the Edinburgh, which talks so much of the 66 raw material," and "manufactured stuff" of poesy, I've given up the trade of criticising young poets, till I can become a little more familiar with the terms of Adam Smith. Nevertheless, we must have some talk with this learned Theban.* The play opens in the House of Commons, and "Mr Coke (Whig M. P. for Derby)" gets up and speaks: "These Tory plots will be the nation's ruin; Laws are dispensed with. All the whole some tests Of true allegiance to qualify for office; And needful acts of Britain's constitution Just at caprice; new systems have destroy'd Baron Middleton a Tory member, Secret'ry of State." Do you understand this? But thus it is set down, and punctuated. My business, however, is not with the sublimities of the tragedy, but the notes, of which anon. At present take part of the prologue as a sample: Ex pede Herculem. "Mid Turks our constitution's seen: Things of 16 And 88; detail'd 18 Hundred 19. Cull'd from Fox, Rapin,Smollett, Hume, Not his own dreams. *The same author has translated the Theban Pindar. 2 N This man in Greece." I believe you've heard enough of "this man in grease." There is a note, however, which bears strongly on the point at issue between Mr Hogg and the Edinburgh Reviewer, who prides himself so much on a knowledge of etiquette. It is as follows, from page 53 of the Tragedy: "The monument dedicated to the three last (postremis) of the Royal Stuart Family, which Canova Marquis d'Ischia shewed the author, while that great sculptor was executing it in his studio at Rome, to be placed in St Peter's Cathedral, at the expence of the Prince Regent, now his Britannic Majesty King George the Fourth; bears the following inscription: "Jacobo III. Jacobo II. Magnæ Brit. Regis filio. Et Henrico, Decano Patrum Cardinalium Regiæ Stirpis Stuardiæ Postremis Anno MDCCCXIX." Now, if Jacobo tertio be the etiquette for George the Fourth, to express on a public monument, what has the Reviewer to say for his cavils on Mr Hogg? Besides, did not Louis the Fourteenth recognize and allow the title of King of France and England to Charles and James, his pensioners and prisoners? But this is not the only passage in which Baron Lee glances at the great Northern Review. In page 61 he relates, 22d of January, Mr Jeffrey, looking out of a window, at a Wapping porter-house, in a seaman's cap, for a collier, by which he might escape, was discovered by a clerk of Chancery, and taken before the Lord Mayor, (Mr Thorpe,) who committed him to the Tower, where he since died." Can this be true? I had some sus picions of the kind before, from seeing the decay of that once dashing work. But really that such a big man should depart, and be talked of no more than Buonaparte, is wonderful. Pray let me know in your next, is he absolutely dead; or is Mr Lee's report but a fabrication? That noble and reverend abuse Lord Eldon, and talks most luauthor proceeds in the same note to minously of "Angelica Catalani," "Golden Fleece,' and "Pluto's Cheek." But I am mystified with Adieu. If the bell rings true, Christopher, it behoves you to bestir yourself.They're reprinting the New Monthly in Kamtschatka; and the two Londons have united their forces, and, as Colman says, become "Two single Gentlemen roll'd into one." Mr Joyce Gold has sold the proprietorship of his Magazine, and contributes to prop its falling namesake.— And let me tell you, Mr Gold's contributors are not to be sneezed at.— Deacon is a cleverish fellow; and, to prove it to you, I'll give you a song of his from Gold's London, No. XV. put into the mouth of one of his present coadjutors. "Oh! I'm the gallant lecturer, as all of you do know, Who with pen and paper, word and deed, make such a raree-show; I write and write, from spleen and spite, and when my wit is vain, I change the language of the joke, and write it down again, With my flocci, nauci, nihili, pili, &c. "My head, like petty bankers, (I speak it not in fun ;) But, like the Bank whose firm is gone, there's nobody at home. "When first my youthful intellects were running all to waste, As I knew the world loved prodigies, I wrote upon myself. "But, alas! the reading public have neither sense nor taste, With my flocci, nauci, &c. "Then I march'd up to my publisher in Paternoster-Row, As Goldsmith says, remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow ;' With my flocci, nauci, &c. "In a rage, then, from the public I demanded restitution, And humbugg'd them most nobly at the Surrey Institution; I talk'd of poems, tales, and plays, for one delicious season, But my lectures, like the Cockney Odes, had neither rhyme nor reason. "My next book turn'd on politics, so constant and so true, deeper, deeper still,' "Then loud the laugh against me turn'd, and A kind of winged animal-a genus of the goose. With my flocci, nauci, &c. "But I lash'd him for his impudence and gross vituperation, "Then curse, for aye, the Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviews, "But now, with Mr ******** leave, I'll end my comic song, "It reminds me of that image which no modern can surpass, To be sure, these Cockneys are incorrigible fellows; they owe the little life they have left to the incredibility of their impudence. As no one reads coloured fruit among the grass. On approaching to the house, we saw Mr Gilmourton himself, going in at his barn-door, carrying a sheaf of barley under each arm, for he was getting in a small crop from a neighbouring field, and some other of his people followed bearing as many sheaves as they could, each in the manner that he found easiest for his sinews. Mr Gilmourton, though in an old suit of clothes, was dressed clerically to a certain extent, that is to say, he was in a black coat, a black waistcoat, and black breeches, but from these there was a harsh transition to white worsted stockings. He was not long in depositing his sheaves, and coming to meet us, shewing that he was glad to see either strangers or friends. His wife and he lived on their glebe in great ease, for they had no children. As Mr Gilmourton was deficient in talents for the pulpit, and rather dilatory in making up his sermons, he rejoiced when any young clergyman came to visit him on a Saturday, and staid to preach next day. And he told us there was one, at that time, up stairs with his wife. "On Wednesday last," said Mr Gilmourton, "she entered her sixtieth year, and she is as stout and hale as ever; and I'm not at all ailing my self. Its a lang while, Mr Snapflint, since I hae gotten fou; but I hae seen the day" Here his wife cried out from an upper window, "Toot, ye hae seen the day, and ye bae seen the dayWouldna it be better, instead of standing clavering there, to bring up the twa gentlemen to get something after their walk? How are you, Mr Snapflint? You're welcome here. A sight o' you is gude for sair een." Accordingly, having been led up to the parlour, we found Mrs Gilmourton sitting on one side of the fire-place, and on the other the clergyman, a serious youth, with a large greasy round face, by name Mr Glebersmouth. He was examining some pieces of petrified moss, which he took from the chimney-piece; but he did not seem likely to take a bite of them, for his lips had a buttery softness that was evidently waiting for dinner-time. In the meantime, we got some currant wine, as being the fittest thing for the forenoon. Looking round the minister's dwelling, I found it was a snug and comfortable place, though the ornaments were few. A stuffed black cock and a snipe stood on a side table; and a wasp's byke was hung at one of the windows. There were also some curious pease, a potatoe of a wonderful shape, and an uncommonly long stalk of corn. Over the fire-place, Mr Gilmourton had fixed a print, representing a sederunt of the fifteen Lords of Session, in their places, on the bench, all portraits. This was an object of great interest to him, who lived far from Edinburgh, and who, at the same time, wished to know what was going on in the courts of law, and every change that occurred there. When he heard of the death of any of the Lords, he was very curious to ascertain who should come into his place; and, to assist his memory, he generally marked off the portrait of the deceased judge with a stroke of a lead pencil. He then mentioned a butcher, one of the inhabitants of a neighbouring town, who had been unfortunate, and who had gone to Edinburgh to get a general discharge of his debts, after surrendering all his property. "It was as well for me," said Mr Gilmourton," that he did not buy the twelve rows of potatoes which he bid for at my roup last harvest." Mr Glebersmouth asked, "What would you have got for them?"" Deʼil a stiver!" replied Mr Gilmourton, sweeping his hand along a table.-" De'il a stiver!" repeated Mrs Gilmourton; "What's the man saying? We shouldna hear that frae you.' She was always cutting her husband short, not from ill nature, but from a desire to keep him right in his sayings; and this last observation of her's raised a loud laugh from the jocular Mr Snapflint and me, at the minister's expence. As our hostess began to question Mr Snapflint minutely about his wife and children, I took that opportunity of walking out alone, to observe the situation of the place. I went down into Glenlonely-trout, which was a small valley, with some natural wood in it; but the rivulet in the middle was often shewn quite uncovered. The sun shone straight through its pellucid waters upon the gravelly bottom, so that, if any trouts had been stirring, they might have been seen at a considerable distance. The rocks here and there sent forth clumps of hazel; the bramble also spreading out its thorny |