POSTSCRIPT.

Inveni portum

Nil mihi vobiscum

Anon.

Nil mihi vobiscum. The dearest friends must sometimes part,— and here, kind Readers, one and all, I press your hands. Yet, woman as I am in not a fewrespects, I find some words, still left unsaid, to keep me at the door. Not that I would apologize for any insufficiency; for what an impudent ass he is, that will thrust his presence into company for which he thinks it is unfit! but because there are. in the pages you have just finished reading, certain peculiarities that call for explanation.

"Discite, 6 miseri, et causas cognoscite rerum."

In the first place, you have noticed a singular difference in the style of the early part of the work from the rest. It seems as though the writer had set out on a certain plan, and then, disliking his own road, had strayed more and more from the track, till he abandoned it altogether. I allude to such interruptions in the narrative as occur, for instance, on page 28 of vol. i., where the Reader is made to take a part in the scene, for the sole purpose of introducing a remark about as witty as it is novel. Such passages are, indeed, but" few, and far between;" yet I heartily wish they were reposing on the sheets of some boarding-school miss's common-place book — any where, but where they are.— To account for the appearance of these puerilities, when I affirm them to be so foreign from my own taste, circumstances forbid me at present. The reader may however believe

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that I can account for it, and in a manner which I hope he will have an opportunity of acknowledging satisfactory.

In the next place, from the satirical chapter imitative of the style of one of the most popular novels of the day, (I mean the 22d chap, of Bk. ii,) it would appear that the work was meant for an earlier date than figures on the title page; for now, that so long a time has elapsed since that novel made its first appearance from the press, the ridicule will prove almost pointless. The present work, indeed, is nearly eighteen months behind its time, having been intended for publication in the Spring of 1830. The causes of a procrastination so • prejudicial to its interests it shall be my pride, at some future day, to make known.—that is to say, if you, sweet Readers, give the opportunity.

Remarking the above leads me to speak of my motives in writing the chapter there named. It may be asked, what can be my object in seeking to depreciate an author who stands so high in the public estimation as he of " The D******* "? Is it to gratify the pique, which a writer that has no popularity seems to feel as naturally, against him that has, as a girl that cannot meet with suitors does against her more fortunate sister, whose charms are in greater demand in the marriage market? Or, is it merely to gratify that appetite for ridicule, which little recks what animal it murders as long as it can get the meat "it loves to feed on "? Neither the one nor the other. For the first, thank God, I am too proud; and for the second, as I do not exactly wear petticoats, I trust I have too nice a moral feeling. My attack is directed merely against the author's style, as likely to exercise, nay, as actually exercising, a most injurious influence on the literature of the day,—which is corrupt enough already*;—for tastes m literature follow one another as in most things else. Thus an

* Perhaps the Reader would like to have the opinion of DryDen—(for the impassioned writers flourished in his day as luxuriant as they do in ours, as luxuriant as they will in the days of our great-grandchildren,—) taken from one of his prefaces, which, tumid as they are, would furnish figures fol*' twenty writers of this figurative age. "But," he says, "when I had taken up what I supposed a fallen star, I found I had been cozened with a jelly, nothing but a cold, dull mass which glittered no longer than it was shooting; 'a dwarfish thought dressed up in gigantick words, repetition in abundance, looseness of expression, and gross hyperboles; the sense of one line expanded prodigiously into ten; and, to sum up all, uncorrect English, and a hideous mingle of false poetry and true nonsense; or, at best, a scantling wit which lay gasping for

Vol. II. - - 34

idle fellow gazes on the sky, fancying the speck he sees an eagle, and a multitude straightway turn their noses heavenward; and there is a propensity of dogs', which I will not mention.

Why, it may be asked, have I chosen this author in particular for the subject of my satire? The answer is easy ;—He is the most extolled of his class, and therefore the more likely to have the injurious influence I speak of. Were he obscure, or already censured as he should be, I should hardly have touched him: I am not so odd a huntsman as to level at the vulgar herd when I can single out their antlered leaders *, nor so much a crow as to prey on carcases. (The same remarks apply to the "Lines" on page 216 of the 1st vol.)

What influence the writings of the author I have twice mentioned have already had upon the general taste, the Reader should himself be able to say, since he cannot take up a paragraph headed Accident, or the descrip

life, and groaning beneath a heap of rubbish." Epist. Dedicat. of Spanish Fryar.

Were the poet to rise from the dead, to give his opinion of the present state of literature, he could not do it with more exactness than he has done it in the above fine passage, applied to the corruptions prevalent in the writings of his own time. I was strongly tempted to put the whole in Italics — such being the fashionable mode of attracting attention to what is particularly good. Thank Heaven! we have the names of Scott, and the pure and elegant author of " The Sketch Book," and a few others, to redeem the literary character of this generation. * Ductoresque ipsos * , capita alta ferentis Cornibus arboreis

tion of a building, in an ordinary magazine or newspaper, without finding it inflated with the Nitrous Oxide of impassioned sentiment. Take, for example, the following sublime apostrophe to the steeple of the Cathedral at Antwerp, copied from the London Mirror:— "Model of splendour!" from morn 'till dewy eve" how must thy elegant form be engraven on the hearts of the natives of the city thou overlookest!" Whisper! O delicate and fairy sound! An apostrophe to a churchsteeple! At this rate we shall shortly have the advertisements, not only of perfumers and barbers, but even of sober merchants rivalling any thing that China could produce; as thus:—

Delicious offspring of mother Earth! from star-lit night e'en "till the dappled morn arise,"— in the streets where sound "the hum, the shock of men"—or mid the cushioned seats that fill the low parterre * in front of Thespis' fane,— how must thy twin kernels, wrapped in their ruddy sheets within the pod-like cradle, be cantered up and down the gastric regions of those that feast upon thee!

Landing this day, from brig Nux, 20 hogsheads pea-nuts, in prime order — and for sale by

Nuce, Nucibus, & Co.

I do not pretend to say, that in a city of infection I myself am walking free of all disease, because I am not

* None but vulgar people s&ypit. Glorious will be the day, when all such indecencies shall be expunged from the language, and a man of taste shall be as much ashamed of talking of his eyes, his ears, his nose, instead of his yeux, his oreilles, his nez, as of saying whiskers instead of "favorit "!