Who has art to make virtue most brilliantly shine, And array falsest themes in a vestment divine.

Of this dame I must add, though an angel had

taught her,

Some demon dictated her Mother and Daughter.

George Brewer (h) our crew now with confidence

hails,

And for prog straight produces his Siamese Tales: While Essays, in style of a Goldsmith, succeed, Where pathos and humour show Oliver's creed.

future; though I must add, that while contemplating this subject, I cannot refrain from saying with the Latinist, that

Mulier qua sola cogitat, malé cogitat.

A woman, when thinking by herself, is always thinking of mischief.

(h) Mr. G. Brewer, who has been previously mentioned among the dramatists, is also the author of two works, entitled The Siamese Tales, and Essays in the Manner of Goldsmith; in both of which publications are to be found many traits of sterling humour, accompanied by language at once flowing and unaffected.

Behind him a Dallas pedantic moves on, (i)
With theme dame Stupidity clapp'd seal upon;
While last, arm'd with rancour, approaches a Surr,(j)
Whose pen prov'd of dastardly venom the spur,

(i) Aubrey, from the pen of this gentleman, is a studied composition, which, when perused, will never leave any sterling impression upon the mind.

(j) Unprovoked virulence was never rendered more conspicuous than in the production of the above-mentioned novel; the rapid sale of which verifies the following sentence from Cicero:

Nihil est tam voluere quam maledictum; nihil facilius emittitur, nihil citius excipitur, nihil latius dissipatatur.

Cicero.

Nothing in its progress is so rapid as calumny; nothing is more readily received, and nothing can be more widely spread abroad.

Had the most flagrant injury been committed against Mr. Surr by the heroine of his tale, surely the consideration of her being a woman should have wrested the pen from his vindictive

Since nothing malicious by him was left undone, While sland'ring a duchess thro' Winter in London. Suppose she had faults; why was candour quite mute, Could'st thou scarf all her virtues which none cou'd

refute?

Learn, reptile! an angel of light she will soar,
When thou art condemn'd dismal shades to explore;

grasp; but where there was no apparent cause whatsoever for such an attack, the circumstance becomes totally inexplicable. Surely the thought of lucre could never have prompted a man to strike so deep, and that too at the peace of an individual, whose greatest crime was the possessing a heart “ open as day to melting charity." It is not hearsay that dictates the present note, as the writer, if necessary, could incontestably prove his assertion from a knowledge beyond what casual information could validate. Were I convinced that the author of the Winter in London was capable of cherishing a compunctious yearning, I could tell that which might wring a heart of adamant; but, under the impression that a being composing such a work would perhaps glut his vindictiveness, rather than feel a contrary sentiment, I shall scrupulously refrain from affording him the diabolical gratification.

Since the pow'r that impell'd thee was Erebus bred, And the dun gloom of chaos usurp'd heart and head. Avaunt, son of rancour! go proffer thy pen

To foes of weak woman in Cruelty's den;

The schemes of a D-gl-s thy talents wou'd grace,

A foe to the fair cannot fail to be base;

With plaudit the minions of evil all hail thee,
While spirits of good viva voce assail thee:
So to end, may retributive justice be thine;
Void of splendour, O may'st thou in misery pine.
Thus three-decker novelist's anchor now weigh'd,
Her cruize of adventure must not be delay'd;
The ocean she steers for of widest dominion,
The turbulent billows of public opinion;

So grant those on board who deserve not a qualm,
In port safely moor'd, may taste joys of a calm. (k)

(k) The reader must be well aware, that the novelists thus chronicled are but as a single grain in the bushel, when compared with the phalanx actually existing; but among the number, how few, let me ask, deserving even a name, are left unrecorded? To such, however, the writer most humbly offers his apology;

but for the multitude certainly, to use a common adage, “the least said is the soonest mended," since nothing interesting to the public, or in the least gratifying to such scribblers, could be conveyed through the medium of my annotations: under this assurance I shall for the present relinquish the pen, trusting that my reasons may appear valid in the eyes of the public.

ANONYMOUS NOVELISTS.

Among anonymous effusions of the novel class, I cannot refrain from quoting a work, entitled Thinks I to myself, the sale of which has been commensurate with the merits of the production, the volumes in question having passed through no less than nine editions. As the writer wishes to remain unknown, I shall not here insert his name, though he has no cause to seek concealment when considered in the light of an author. For the benefit of the reader, however, I beg to remark, that the individual to whom we are indebted for this production is very intimate with a Justice of the Peace in the vicinity of Covent Garden, and that he claims some relationship to a conspicuous family in the neighbourhood of Woodstock.