"Poor race of men

Dearly ye pay for your primal fall,
Some flow'rets of Eden ye still inherit,

But the trail of the serpent is over them all."

The rose, however, still looks lovely in the midst of a garden of weeds, whose contiguity is contaminating.

Love is the very essence of poetry in general, and the keystone of interest on which the chef d'œuvres of Melpomene and Thalia are chiefly constructed. Yet the office of the poet is quite distinct from those of the two former I have mentioned. His business is not to attempt the developement of original principles, but to pourtray their consequences in all the vivid colours of the imagination. I am aware that some men of gigantic intellect, like Wordsworth, have succeeded in uniting "for better or worse," metaphysics and poetry. But I am now speaking of Love Poetry, in a simple sense, as describing the effects of the passion, or principle, or impulse, or whatever it may be, and contenting itself with leaving that passion, or principle, or impulse, without a definition, or even pronouncing it undefinable. When the subject has undergone the process which an inspired imagination performs upon it, it issues forth in a shape intelligible to the humblest, and yet by no means on that account rendered contemptible to the highest capacity; for human nature is the same throughout all its empire, from the palace to the cottage. It is true that the productions of an ardent fancy are apt to transgress the limits of the ordinary occurrences of life; but still there are bounds of probable reality, that cannot be passed without destroying the very illusion which it is the great art of Poetry to create and support in the minds of its audience; and this check is our sure warrant against extravagance. "Love" has now become personified, though under the most contradictory apIt assumes, as circumstances bear sway, the

pearances.

gentleness of the dove, the crafty wiliness of the serpent, and the ferocity of the tiger. There is no delusion here; the practical doctrines which are offered for our belief are readily, I had almost said instinctively, accepted by our understanding, confirmed by our experience, and sanctioned by our reason. They are spoken home to us, and we feel them. We enjoy the evening fragrance of the summer zephyr, we behold and tremble at the consequences of the tempest's wrath: but we cannot say whence come they-the zephyr or the tempest. And such is Love: we may understand and describe the pangs of jealousy, and the silent despair of the broken heart, or the consummate bliss of a mutual and felicitous attachment; we know that these all proceed from one and the same source, but this is the utmost of our knowledge.

I cannot close my dissertation on this theme better than by requesting the attention of my readers to a quotation. from the late work of an author, whose reputation is by no means of small magnitude in the bright galaxy of the talents of the present day. The sentiments of the extract coincide perfectly with those of mine, which have dictated the above remarks, and will in some respects, perhaps, serve to elucidate any obscurities I may have been guilty of:

"Beauty, what art thou, that thy slightest gaze

Can make the spirit from its centre roll
Its whole long course, a sad and shadowy maze ?
Thou midnight, or thou noontide of the soul;
One glorious vision, lighting up the whole
Of the wide world, or one deep wild desire,
By day and night consuming, sad and sole;
Till hope, pride, genius, nay, till Love's own fire
Desert the weary heart, a cold and mouldering pyre.

Enchanted sleep, yet full of deadly dreams;
Companionship divine, stern solitude;

Thou serpent, colour'd with the brightest gleams,
That e'er hid poison, making hearts thy food;

Woe to the heart that lets thee once intrude,
Victim of visions, that life's purpose steal,

Till the whole struggling nature lies subdued,
Bleeding with wounds the grave alone must heal."

A. B. L.

of

LETTER FROM A FRIEND IN WALES, INCLOSING
AN ARTICLE.

MY DEAR COURTENAY,-If the inclosed Tale can be any service to you, you are at liberty to dock it or dress it in any way you please. One of its principal demerits is the want of a regular moral. Do get Sterling to wind it up with a few reflections on falsehood and deceit, or a few remarks upon the old adage, that "deeds of night must come to light."

Thank you for N° III. It has kept me alive through this last fortnight. I suppose you are aware that I have been for some time deprived of the power of locomotion by a complication of disorders, which give me full leisure to think of you, my dear Courtenay, and of your literary bantling. By-the-by, I hear from Montgomery that you are at last disgusted with the toil you have voluntarily undertaken, and have resolved upon relinquishing the burthen. Positively, after having put yourself into the harness, as Musgrave would say, upon public motives, you must not overturn the vehicle upon private ones, however your withers may be galled. So much are your friends alarmed by the report, that even I, equally incapable with the dullest, although equally zealous with the brightest, of your well-wishers, have

* Somnia Montgomeriana!-P. C.

assumed the panoply of pen and paper in your support, in the fullest confidence that you will excuse the weakness of the attempt, in consideration of the motive by which it is dictated.

Here, then, you have the first effort of your new contributor. If I meet with encouragement from you, I purpose to get up for you some "Sketches from Wales;" which will comprise various Essays on Farming and Fashion, Drinking and Dandyism, Belles and Belles Lettres, as I see them in their every-day dress around me:-but of this more anon.

Your three first Numbers have been handed about

In

here with great success. It has amused me not a little to hear the various remarks which have been made upon them by readers who know no more of the "King of Clubs" than they do of the King of Ashantee. despite of my repeated asseverations, no one will believe but that the Members of your Club are all fictitious personages. Methinks their preconceived opinions will be not a little startled when they see my own real name affixed to this communication, in Mr. Knight's best small capitals.

Once more to my tale-for you must allow me, as an author hitherto untried, to be somewhat anxious that I may put on my first suit of black and white under all possible advantages. It is founded on an anecdote told at considerable length in a manuscript history of the "Chiefs of the House of d'Arennes," which I found, with many other curiosities of the like nature, in the library of my very venerable friend, Owen Llangdry, our much respected curate, who is a great collector of these reliques of antiquity. He is a man of much information, and is very ready to communicate it. He is, withal, the possessor of three things, which make his acquaintance very desirable: a beautiful house; a more beautiful garden;

and (entre nous) a surpassingly beautiful daughter. Tell Gerard that I am almost out of my senses; and, in the course of a week, shall probably begin writing Sonnets. Here I must break off. My only object was to introduce myself to you in my novel capacity of Legendary Scribbler; and, having effected this, I will lay down my pen, trusting that all the indulgence which a new author may justly claim will be extended to

Your sincere friend,

Maentwrog, Jan. 2, 1821.

MORRIS GOWAN.

P. S. In spite of the comfortable assurances of Peter Pinlithgow, my Pharmacopole, I am afraid that my various complaints, of which I will send you a catalogue, if you want a "Medical Article," will detain me some weeks from Eton. Upon my return I shall begin my' canvass for admission into the Club.

THE KNIGHT AND THE KNAVE;

AN OLD ENGLISH TALE.

"REGINALD!" said the old Baron.-It is striking, and fashionable, and classical, to hurry my reader thus" in medias res, " else it had been my duty to have informed him that the dramatis persona whom he finds upon the scene are the son and grandson of the redoubted Hugh d'Arennes, who did good service by the Conqueror's side at the field of Hastings. In common with the distinguished chiefs of William's army, he had received large grants of land, which his enterprizing spirit, and his in