just; and that is the only thing he has to do; because if he once makes up his mind that it is not, there is not one word in this book which is not as false as Euclid would be, if a triangle were the same thing with a circleand if he makes up his mind that it is, why then the path of his duty lies very clear before him. If he believes this book to be founded in truth, and is not ready to enter heart and hand into the work of an English revolution, a total and radical revolutiona war of total demolition, exterminating fury, revenge, blood, fire and fury, TO-MORROW-there cannot by possibility be any reason for this shrinking, but a hempen one. The ground which they take is no doubt high, and the attitude imposing. Perhaps, notwithstanding, a little more condescension to the babes and sucklings of the world might have been consistent with wisdom. Ferhaps, for example, it might have been well to give a few specimens of actual injustice done to us Englishmen by our English judges and juries, before calling upon us to give the whole of the present system its coup-de-grace, and boldly instal old Jeremy Bentham as our Solon. Perhaps it might have been not amiss to point out one law, the object of which is, evidently to please 200 families, and to injure all the rest of this nation. The residence of a clergyman in a parish is, they tell us, of necessity an evil; perhaps, in the present imperfect state of the human mind, it might have been adviseable to give, instead of only promising, a demonstration of this fact. I might, if it were worth while, run up a tolerably lengthy catalogue of trivial little objections of this cut-but I shall be contented with only one more proof of my esprit horné. It is this; I and the other simple ones would have liked to see it explained, why it is laid down as a thing not disputable, that England ought to be revolutionized immediately, because the immense majority of the nation want a revolution-while it is also laid down as a self-evident truth, that the late Spanish Constitution ought to have been maintained, because it was hated by the immense majority of the Spaniards. But I confess, I am almost ashamed of myself. If it be true, as these gentlemen benevolently inform us, that" no POET an REASON"-in other words, that those faculties which are not absolutely necessary for enabling us to see that two and two make four, are an unhappy impertinence and clog upon us, and that Joseph Hume is a greater man than Milton, Shakespeare, and Plato put together:-if it be true, that he who invents a new spinning-jenny is, of necessity, a wiser and a better man than he who makes a new Iliad:-if it be true that Mr Carlile is a noble martyr, at this hour suffering in the cause of English INTELLECT:-if all these things be true, it certainly must be true also, that we ought to lay aside many things with which we at present absurdly and childishly amuse ourselves. York Minster should undoubtedly be made into a cotton-mill, absque morâ: Instead of taking advantage of the passions and aspirations of humanity, by an imposing and venerable array of ancient, dignified, and awful institutions, we should, no doubt at all of the thing, build a neat congress room, and see if nobody will do now, what Tom Paine used to be so generous as to say he would do, that is, discharge the whole duties of king and executive among us for a matter of L.300 per annum. In other words, if whatever is now, or ever has been, in England-be wrong, whatever is written in the Westminster Review is right. The system wants only one thing to be complete, and, perhaps, it may soon acquire even that too, I mean Turnipology. I consider this Book, then, as not only likely to be the ruin of literary Whiggery, and the Edinburgh Review in particular, but as likely to operate as a reductio ad absurdum upon the whole doctrine and discipline of the Radicals themselves. The more talent the affair is conducted with the better, since they have fairly set out in this honest and open tone; and most heartily do I hope that the good men of the land will be too wise to throw any stumbling-block in the path of their most promising career. On let them goand the faster the better, since they not only feel, but confess, that it is the devil who drives them. The politics of this Book are, as yet, the only thing noticeable about it. In general, it is written well, with distinctness and vigour almost throughout, and occasionally with very considerable power and eloquence. The threshold is Cockney, but that stain is not visible through far the greater part of the affair. There is something pleasantly waggish in having a print of Westminster Hall and Westminster Abbey in the title page of such a book. I give them credit for that archness. The article on Vocal Music, Dr Kitchener, &c. contains a great deal of excellent sense, and that on Moore's Fables for the Holy Alliance is quite equal to any piece of sarcasm that either you or Brougham ever manufactured in the days of your glory. As for the small print at the end, that department has either been given up bodily to some inferior hand, or been done for the present with a shameful carelessness and slovenliness. I was pleased, however, on the whole, with the notice of "The Stranger's Grave," though, no doubt, the author of that work must have been taught long ere now, that talents such as his were not meant for such themes. The character of this work, as a review of literature, properly so called, remains as yet to be made-perhaps it never will have any existence. Your work has long ceased to have any existence of that kind, that is worth speaking of. The Quarterly is almost in the same predicament, in so far as the literature of our age is concerned. Long ago you were a pretty hand at that sort of thing yourself.-Perhaps, now that you see your political career quite done up, you may take back to it again. I wish you would-I should hate to hear of you being a mere nonentity. Meantime, be not overmuch cast down. I am five-and-twenty years your senior, and yet see how cheerily I carry things still. This is but a poor world after all, to fret one's self much about. My way is to take matters easy. Nothing like dividing our time properly. I devote two hours before breakfast to my oriental books. I eat two eggs every morning. I still have my cup of chocolate at two. I never ride less than eight miles, dine on more than one dish, drink less than a bottle, touch a potatoe, or read a newspaper by candle-light. I play a tune on my fiddle every night ere I go to my bed-five good Tories (sometimes fewer, never more,) dine with me every Saturday. We often remember you kindly, overlook all your foibles, and drink your health in a bumper. Your speech about America t'other day was really a clever thing; it does you credit. Don't be down in the mouth over much, my dear :-If any of these Radicals treat you uncivilly, come to me at once, and I will do for them. Yours always, TIMOTHY TICKLER. SOUTHSIDE, Feb. 10. How you, or the reviewer of Hajji Baba in your last Number, whoever he may be, who has bestowed such just commendations upon Anastasius, could for a moment suppose the author of that work to be the same with the author of Hajji Baba, I do not understand. All I know, and which I beg to assure you of, as a positive fact, is this, that Mr Hope never wrote a single line of Hajji Baba, and that I was present when the book first came into his hands. I beg, moreover, to inform you, that the author of that work is generally supposed to be Mr James Morier, who has written "Travels through Persia," or a work bearing a title somewhat similar. I am, Sir, Your obedient humble servant, A FRIEND TO THE AUTHOR OF ANASTASIUS. LONDON, Feb. 7, 1824. ANSWER. Did you not see that we were quizzing you both? C. N. HIS LANDLADY. From an unpublished Novel, by the late Walter Torrens, Esq. * When at college himself he had been a little gay, and remembering the consequences of his own follies, was anxious that I should pay some attention to Edmund. "I know your habits," said he; "but what I mean by attention is not that sort of hospitable kindness, which is apt to bring on the very evil I wish to guard against; in a word, I entreat for him the attention of an observant eye-the eye of a censor-as well as the occasional advice of a friend." Heaven knows how ill qualified I am by nature for any office of severity, especially towards the aberrations of young men. Among the pleasantest recollections of my youth, are many things that old age now tells me were very naughty, while it makes me sigh that I shall never perform them again. But how could I refuse such a request?—I had not heard of Lumley for more than forty years, and to be so affectionately reminded of the follies we had committed together-Follies!-what vile translations are made by old age-and these same follies, the very things which, by the alchymy of old companionship, had enriched me with virtues, that made him anxious I should superintend the educationrather let me say, the follies! of his only son. Accordingly next morning, immediately after breakfast, I went to Mrs Lesley's lodgings. She lived in a fourth flat in George's Street, but I was so buoyant with the hope of seeing a renewed, and, as I was led to believe, an improved version of Lumley, that I felt neither gout nor age in ascending. On reaching the door, however, I was rather startled to observe, not that it was newly painted, one of the common lures of the season, but that the brass-plate with the name was new, and seemingly fresh from the engraver. I halted on the stairhead, and looking at the plate before ringing the bell, said to myself, "I do not like this a new comer-inexperienced short commons, garnished with tales of better days, won't do-" and with a slight degree of fervency, the natural excitement of the ideas which the brass had conjured up, I somewhat testily touched the bell. It was too long I thought of being answered; and I caught myself saying" slatternly wench," as I again laid my finger on the spring. While the bell was sounding the second summons, the door was opened, not as I expected, by a sooty besmeared drab, with dishevelled locks, and a hearth brush in her hand, looking from behind the door, as if she expected a thief, but by a little girl of some six or seven years old-the loveliest creature I have ever seen, dressed with the most perfect simplicity, and her ringlets clustering all over her head, in curls as small, pretty, and natural, as the wool buds of the fleece of the lamb. "Is Mr Edmund Lumley at home, my dear?" said I, patting her instinctively on the head with, I know not wherefore, a sentiment of pity, as my eye accidentally fell again on the ugly new brass-plate with her mother's name. "I don't know, but please to walk into the parlour, and I will inquire," was the answer, delivered with an engaging, modest self-possession, and with an English accent, that seemed, if I may say so, appropriately in unison with the beauty and gentleness of the lovely fairy's air and appearance. I accordingly followed her into the parlour, which I saw was newly furnished. The carpet was new-the chairs were new, but the tables were evidently second-hand, so was the grate and its appurtenances, even to the hearth-rug. Everything was perfectly suitable to the style of the room, except a few ornaments on the mantlepiece, consisting of neat toys, made of paper, ingeniously painted. They had more the character of ornaments for the mosaic tables of a boudoir, than for the chimney-shelf of a boardinghouse parlour; an old squat spoutless china tea-pot, with a cup or two, odiously reminding one of senna, would have been more appropriate; but I thought of the pretty creature that had gone to inquire for young Lumley, and I said to myself, thinking no more of his comforts, but only of the family, "They are beginners, and will learn before the winter is over to dispense with these gewgaws." At that moment a cold fit came upon me; I thought of the blooming child, and I looked again at those tasteful ornaments. "I hope in God," said I," that she has no sister capable of making and painting such things-This house will never do, if Edmund has much of his father in him." perly at home here. But what can a friendless woman do? without fortune, and with children that--" She could say no more the tears rushed into her eyes and emotion stifled what she would have added. After a brief pause, I mustered confidence enough to address her again. "I entreat your pardon, madam, and I hope you will not think me impertinent for saying, that your appearance, and the business in which you have embarked, are so sadly at variance, that I should account myself wanting in the performance of a grave duty, if I did not ask for some explanation." While I was thus relapsing into the peevish humour in which I had first touched the bell, the parlour door was opened by a tall and elegant gentlewoman, in the weeds of a widow. It was Mrs Lesley; she was about five-and-thirty, probably not so old; but no one, see ing her, for the first time, would ever have thought of her age, there was so much of an ever-green spirit in the liveliness of her look, and the beautiful" intelligence of her eye-what she said about Edmund I do not recollect, nor do I believe that I heard it, so much was I entranced by the appearance of such a lady in a condition so humble. I imagine that she saw my embarrassment, for she requested me to be seated, and again said something about her boarder, adding, with an apparent equanimity that was exceedingly touching, "He has gone to bring a friend here, who arrived from Westmoreland last night; for as yet I have got but himself." "Is it possible?" said I, not well knowing what I said. "I am sorry it is true," replied she with a smile; but there was a despondency in the tone that ill accorded with the gaiety of the look, and she added seriously," I must, however, try a little longer. If Mr Lumley brings his friend, perhaps his friend may bring another. It is in that way I expect to succeed, for I have no friends to recommend me." "Good Heavens ! madam," exclaimed I, no longer able to suppress the emotion with which I was affected, "how is it that you are in this condition?-how have you come here, and without friends?-Who are you?what are you?" The latter questions were impertinent certainly, but the feeling which dictated them, lent, I presume, so fitting an accent to their earnestness, that they neither gave offence, nor implied anything derogatory to the elegant and unfortunate widow to whom they were addressed. "I am not surprised at your wonder," said she, for I do sometimes think myself that I am not very pro "It is natural you should," said she, wiping the tear from her cheek; and two words will satisfy you'pride and poverty.' Pride has brought me to Edinburgh, because I am here unknown, and poverty has induced me to try this mode of"-her voice struggled, but she soon subdued the emotion, and added, "for my children. I have four-two boys older, and one girl younger, than my little housemaid." "House-maid!" said I, almost with the alarm of consternation. She smiled again, but it was such a smile that tears were inadequate to express the sadness of heart which it betokened." It is even so," said she, "for, until I obtain another boarder, I cannot venture to engage a regular servant. The little money which I raised by the sale of my trinkets is all I have, and the purchase of these few necessaries, (glancing her eye round the room,) has made, I assure you, no small inroad on it." "Heavens! madam,—and if you do not get boarders, and it run out, what is to become of you?" was my silly exclamation, being by this time quite beside myself. She loooked at me for some time. She evidently struggled with a terrible feeling; but she conquered it, and said, with a common, easy, conversational tone, which her eye, however, made sublimely awful, "You should not ask such a question at one in my circumstances." The bell, at this juncture, was rung, and in a minute or so afterwards young Lumley entered, with disappointment and grief so visible in his countenance, that I felt as if my own heart was absolutely perishing away. LETTERS (POSTHUMOUS) OF CHARLES EDWARDS, ESQ. • Lisbon, 1809. No. I. I LANDED on Wednesday. After a passage-hurricane all the way-of only four days from the Land's End. Blowing weather does not trouble me, but I shall never make a sailor. I have two senses in dreadful perfection, smell and taste,-which every man should leave behind him when he passes the gate even of a sea-port town. The cook-room of a ship, Robert!— the very recollection of it! The combination of coal smoke,-close packed, to a curiosity-with the steam of "not the newest" boiling hot salt pork or beef!" All the perfumes of Arabia" will not sweeten my mind from the remembrance. And mine was a mere "Troop ship," too-a very "pouncet box" of a vessel.-The" Horse ships!" -You can scarcely imagine anything offensive in the smell of cattle-particularly of horses?-but the fact! The atmosphere-in spite of all ventilation, or antiseptic precaution,-of the hold of a Horse ship!-I know of but one thing at all equal to it; and that is a thing which (now) you can never make trial of-the lee-side of a slave vessel, arriving (with a full cargo) in the West Indies. But come out, the very instant you can ;-and I am out of my wits that you are not here now. There are some pleasures which one cannot enjoy, unless in the company of a creature who enjoys them too!-Come out! and see what it is-to see, on every side of you that which you have never seen before!" There's a touch of sublime Milton," as Farquhar has it, I think,-eh ?-But, positively, I could give the world, that you were now here by my side. Here in Lisbon !-(in the Largo do St Paulo!)-looking out of a two pair of stairs' window("second floors," in Lisbon, are patrician !) at No.-(I don't exactly know what the number is!) But with "laughter for a week," "entertainment for a month," and recollections for the rest of your life, within every ten yards y u cast your eye upon ! You can hardly conceive the strange sensation which a man feels, when he first comes ashore here, at hearing everybody about him living in a language which he does not understand! And almost as difficult is it to convince yourself-at least, I protest it is so with me-when you talk English aloud in a large assembly, that nobody comprehends you. To me I hear it abused-but, to me, this place seems a paradise!-Will you call it affectation, if I speak about climate? I don't care if you do.-In defiance of all the nonsense that ever was written about "Italian skies," there is a difference, and an essential one-ask your own feelings, on the first spring day you get in England?-There is a difference in the level of a man's spirits-of his courage of his heart,-when he has a warm sunny sky over his head, without a cloud to be seen in it for a month together; and when he imbibes nothing, week after week, but a haze as white as good milk and water; and fancies every morning, when he gets out of bed, that it must be general "washing-day" all over the world! Do you only, my dear friend, come (as I have done) out of a vile, damp, smoky brig! Away from the sea-sickness, and from what is still worse, the ship sickness! Out of the sight and thought of canvass, and pitch, and paint, and coal-tar, and cordage! And away from the fumes of tobacco and brandy, or the still more suffocating exhalations of the "provision room”. (always carefully placed so as to lie just under the cabin)-Savagely penetrating particles!-the compound deadly effluvia, arising from soap, sugar, cheese, coffee, candles, raisins, train oil, and green tea, not to speak of the brown paper and string with which the several poisons are tied up! The whole (united) being more mortal to the sense than the propinquity of an "eating-house," or a sequence of six-and-twenty chandlers' shops! Putting your nose in mind every instant (though you do all you can not to smell) of the worst streets in Wapping, or of the best streets in Bristol !-Oh! come away from such a place as Portsmouth-of all garrisons and sea-ports the most insufferable! From “confusion's masterpiece" at "the Point," |