cants on the inhumanity of the Jamaica planter! The philanthropist pours his lamentations over the prison treatment of rogues and vagabonds, and in the self-same breath, destroys the reputation and peace of the innocent and worthy! Out upon the bungling mockery-the impious cheat! It is a disgrace to the English character."

"Bitter words, but true ones," exclaimed Mr Littlesight, triumphantly.

"This hypocritical philanthropy," continued Mr Ailoften, with increased vehemence, "is not confined to sect and party. Look at your Reviews -your newspapers-your poetry and novels-your Parliamentary speeches -they teem with it in sickening profusion. From what you read and hear, -you would believe that there could not possibly be a suffering man in the nation. Yet why are the Irish peasantry starved? Where were the advocates of the English labourers, when they could not find employment? Who will assist the ruined tradesman ? Where shall the destitute man of genius find a patron? Alas! alas! when the test is applied, we only discover that the benefactors of desert perished, when the philanthropists sprung into being."

Mr Slenderstave put his handkerchief into his pocket-reared himself up on his seat-looked excessively fierce and made divers formidable contortions of mouth, but no sound escaped him.

"Your condemnation," said Dr Manydraught, whose visage and tone displayed anything but good humour, "is neither liberal nor just. It is levelled against the brightest characteristic of the age. I have the honour to be the warm friend of those whom you censure."

"You perhaps call yourself a philanthropist ?" said Mr Ailoften, drily. "If I do, what then?" said Dr Manydraught, reddening.

Mr Ailoften was in the exact temper for scourging and torturing, regardless of consequences. He heard with a sarcastic smile the confession. "Yes," said he, " you sign petitions for the amelioration of the criminal laws, the abolition of slavery, and I know not what ;-you shudder over West Indian cruelty, and bewail the miseries of the inhabitants of prisons. The VOL. XV.

other day you horse-whipped your boy for a trifling piece of negligence, a month since, you turned a poor labourer into the streets, because he could not pay you the rent of his cottagesix months ago you ruined a tradesman, by arresting him for a sum of money which you had lent him—an unfortunate grocer lately implored you in vain, to assist him in recommencing business-this was philanthropy, unadulterated philanthropy !"

66

Flesh and blood could not endure this; the doctor started up in a towering passion, but he could only exclaim, By God! sir," before his arm was seized by Mr Smallglebe. "Hear me," cried the worthy pastor, "this is the most unfortunate, of all unfortunate evenings," the parlour-door softly opened, and Samuel Suckdeep, the honest landlord, made his appearance. To proceed farther with the quarrel in such ignoble presence, was not to be thought of, and therefore the gentlemen composed themselves, and directed him to expound his busi

ness.

"I beg pardon, gemmen," said Sammy, with a bow of devout humility, with which his confident eye but poorly harmonized, "I beg pardon, gemmen, two poor, miserable creatures have just entered my house, a father and his daughter, who are all rags, and have not a farthing to help themselves with. The night is bad, and fast spending. I will gladly give them supper and lodging, and as the vicar there is so kind to the poor, I thought he might perhaps give them a small matter for the morrow. They are real objects-no tramps-distressed gentlefolks." Sammy muttered something more, which was not distinctly audible.

Sammy Suckdeep was in many points a worthy fellow, but he was by no means gifted with philanthropy. He had no intention of giving the wanderers anything-not a crust-but he thought if he could beg them anything of the gentlemen, it could scarcely fail of coming round into his own pocket. He made his appeal at a luckless moment, yet Mr Smallglebe's heart was always open. "Let us see them," said he, "let us inquire into their situation; if we find them deserving, they shall not leave Kiddywinkle pennyless." His friends gave a cold assent to the proposal, more to get rid of

3 N

their contention, than from feelings of benevolence.

Sammy vanished, and the wanderers speedily made their appearance. The man, on being interrogated, told in a few words his history. He had been well educated-had possessed a good fortune-had owned a flourish ing business-had given his children, his daughter at his side, a boardingschool education-had been ruined was forsaken by friends-could not find employment-had left his wife and younger children behind him, without bread to eat-and was wandering to seek work he knew not whither. His appearance fully confirmed his story. His air and address were those of the gentleman, and formed a fine specimen of modest self-possession. His cheek was hollow and wasted, and his eye sunk and faded. His coat, threadbare and full of holes and slits in all parts, still shewed that it had been cut out of superfine by fashionable hands; and his hat, bereft of down, crushed and broke, had evidently been an expensive beaver. The daughter seemed to be about eighteen; her dress was ragged, but composed wholly of worn-out finery; and her air bespoke ease and good breeding. Her eye was black and brilliant-her features were fine, and graced by an expression of sweetness which seemed ready to melt into a smile from the least encouragement. She was beautifully formed; and all could see, that if she were not lovely in her rags, her rags alone prevented her being so. She seemed to be more confident more at ease than her parent, but it was evidently the confidence of light spirits and cheerful innocence.

Mr Smallglebe was delighted with the worth of the appellants to his charity; Dr Manydraught was little less so; Mr Slenderstave was in heroics; Mr Littlesight had already got his hand into his pocket, and even the heart of Mr Ailoften was touched.

Mr Smallglebe, Dr Manydraught, and the two last-named gentlemen, got the man in the midst of them, and asked him ten thousand questions. While they were doing this, the poet sat behind, and cast his eyes upon the fair maiden. She returned the gaze with a smile that thrilled to the heart of Mr Slenderstave. He smiled again, and she smiled in return still more bewitchingly. He was enchanted. Step

by step, she approached him during the interchange of smiles, until at last she stood at his side. He gasped out a tender inquiry-she answered in a voice of music-and he was absolutely in a delirium. Her hand hung against his arm, and seemed to invite the touch. He seized it-pressed itput it to his heart-remembered himself, and released it. The tenderness of her tone, and the sweetness of her smiles, were now overpowering. "I will retouch the heroine in my novel," thought Mr Slenderstave. He again seized her hand, pressed, and released it. In the midst of their whispers, he felt it voluntarily moving up and down his side. "She seeks my heart," thought Mr Slenderstave-" She is smit-she loves me already ;" and he sighed heavily. The eyes of the company were now turned upon them, and they separated. "Happy are they who know not misfortune and want !" sighed Mr Smallglebe, as he secretly put his halfcrown in the hands of the man. Dr Manydraught held out a shilling, Mr Slenderstave another; Mr Littlesight offered two, and Mr Ailoften gave five, with an air which shewed that he was ashamed of his past harshness, and wished now to atone for it by liberality. The man seemed affected to tears, and expressed his thanks in a manner which delighted the hearts of all. The maiden shewed her gratitude in a way not less moving, and they departed.

There were at that moment twenty worthy families in Kiddywinkle, in a state of starvation, to any one of which these shillings would have been of unspeakable benefit; but then, they were not composed of strangers, of whom nothing was known.

This exercise of benevolence dispelled all remains of ill humour. The load which had sat upon the spirits vanished, and Mr Ailoften was now the very pink of kindness and pleasantry. The guests sat two hours later than usual, and thought they had never known an evening of more exquisite enjoyment.

Mr Suckdeep was at length summoned to give an account of the costs. He entered with a face of unusual solemnity. "Where are the poor sufferers?" said Mr Smallglebe. "Gone," answered Sammy, in a tone of deep vexation. "Gone at this unseasonable hour?" exclaimed the worthy vicar. "They just," said the landlord, "swal

all the composition, would have given both truth and beauty to each separate picture. Accordingly, the colloquies of these literary men and statesmen are often heavy and prolix. One speaker harangues until he is tired, and another takes up the discourse. Not a few of the "Conversations" are, in fact, soliloquies or monologues; and little or no dramatic power is anywhere exhibited. But it is obvious that Mr Landor has seldom attempted to do otherwise; and if he has shewn great powers in another direction, we, who are candid critics, and willing to take one good thing when we cannot get another, have perused both volumes with singular delight, and warmly recommend them to the biographical, or critical, or historical, or philosophical department, of any gentleman's library. Their miscellaneous character is such, that they cannot be altogether misplaced; not even among the divinity; although we fear Mr Walter Savage Landor, admirer as he is of Dr Southey, is not quite orthodox. This most certainly is not the Book of the Church.

The first volume is inscribed to Major-General Stopford, AdjutantGeneral in the Army of Columbia, and the second to General Mina. In the first dedication, Mr Landor tells us that there never was a period when public spirit was so feeble in England, or political abilities so rare. Sordid selfishness, and frivolous amusement, if not the characteristics of our country, place it upon a dead level with others. But fortunately for the Ad

jutant-General, "rising far above and passing far away from them," he has aided in establishing one of those great republics which sprang into existence at the voice of Bolivar, and enjoys for his exertions the highest distinction any mortal can enjoy, his esteem and confidence." Mr Landor then tells General Stopford that he has admitted into his Imaginary Conversations, "a few little men, such as emperors and ministers of modern cut, to shew better the proportions of the great; as a painter would place a beggar under a triumphal arch, or a camel against a pyramid." The dedication to the Second Volume, to Mina, is in the same key, but powerfully and elegantly written. That an absurd spirit of exaggeration runs throughout it, may be understood from a single sentence. "Of all the generals who have appeared in our age, you have displayed the greatest genius!" Mr Landor afterwards draws the character of Napoleon, who, in his opinion, was, on the whole, a very moderate sort of a person indeed, and in genius by no means a Mina! In a preface he sneers at Mr Pitt; and as far as we can gather, is a decided enemy to the foreign and domestic policy of England, since the French Revolution. We leave Mr Landor, therefore, as a politician, to Mr Southey, and the Quarterly Review. It is with his literary merits we have now to do; and we cannot better inform the public what these are, than by quoting two of the shortest of the dialogues.*

HARDCASTLE.

I AM curious, my lord bishop, to know somewhat about the flight and escape of my namesake and great-uncle Sir Humphrey Hardcastle, who was a free-spoken man, witty, choleric, and hospitable, and who cannot have been altogether an alien from the researches of your lordship into the history of the two late reigns.

BURNET.

Why, Mr Hardcastle, I do well remember the story of that knight, albeit his manners and morals were such as did entertain me little in his favour. For he hunted, and drank, and fornicated, and (some do aver) swore, which, however, mark me, I do not deliver from my own knowledge, nor from any written and grave document. I the more wonder at him, as he had lived among the Roundheads, as they were contemptuously called, and the minister of his parish was Ezechiel Stedman, a puritan of no ill repute. Howbeit he was ensnared by his worldly-mindedness, and fell into evil courses. The Lord, who permitted him a long while to wallow in this mire, caught him by the heel, so to say, as he was coming out, and threw him into great peril in another way. For although he had mended his life, and had espoused your great-aunt Margaret Pouncey, whose mother was a Touchet, two staid women, yet did he truly, in a boozing-bout, such as some country-gentlemen I could mention do hold after dinner, say of the Duke,

James, a murrain on him, is a papist.

Now, among the others of his servants was one Will Taunton, a sallow shiningfaced knave, sweaty with impudence. I do remember to have seen the said Taunton in the pillory, for some prominent part he had enacted under the Doctor Titus Oates; and a country wench, as I suppose her to have been from her apparel and speech, said unto me, plucking my sleeve, Look, parson, Will's forehead is like a rank mushroom in a rainy morning; and yet, I warrant you, they shew it forsooth as the cleanest and honestest part about him.

To continue: Will went straightway, and communicated the words of his master to Nicolas Shottery, the Duke's valet. Nick gave unto him a shilling, having first spatten thereon, as he, according to his superstition, said, for luck. The Duke ordered to be counted out unto him eight shillings more together with a rosary, the which, as he was afraid of wearing it (for he had not lost all grace,)

he sold at Richmond for two groats. He was missed in the family, and his roguery was scented. On which, nothing was foolisher, improperer, or unreasonabler, than the desperate push and strain Charles made, put upon it by his brother James, to catch your uncle Hum Hardcastle. Hum had his eye upon him, slipped the noose, and was over into the Low-Countries.

Abraham Cowley, one of your Pindarique Lyrists, a great stickler for the measures of the first Charles, was posted after him. But he played the said Abraham a scurvy trick, seizing him by his fine flowering curls, on which he prided himself mightily, like another Absalom; cuffing him, and, some do say, kicking him in such dishonest wise as I care not to mention, to his, the said Abraham's, great incommodity and confusion. It is agreed on all hands that he handled him very roughly, sending him back to his master with a flea in his ear, who gave him but little comfort, and told him it would be an ill compliment to ask him to be seated.

"Phil White," added he, " may serve you, Cowley. You need not look back, man, nor spread your fingers like a figleaf on the place. Phil does not carry a bottle of peppered brine in his pocket: he is a clever, apposite, upright little prig: I have often had him under my eye close enough, and I promise he may safely be trusted on the blind side of you."

Then, after these aggravating and childish words, turning to the Duke, as Abraham was leaving the presence, he is reported to have said, I hope untruly

"But, damn it, brother! the jest would have been heightened if we could have hanged the knave." Meaning not indeed his messenger, but the above-cited Hum Hardcastle. And on James shaking his head, sighing, and muttering his doubt of the King's sincerity, and his vexation at so bitter a disappointment

"Oddsfish! Jim," said his Majesty, "the motion was Hum's own: I gave him no jog, upon my credit. His own choler did it, a rogue! and he would not have waited to be invested with the order, if I had pressed him ever so civilly. I will oblige you another time in anything, but we can hang only those we can get at."

It would appear that there was a sore and rankling grudge between them, of long standing, and that there had been divers flings and flouts backwards and forwards, on this side the water, on the