Now would he in his heart really wish kings not to be proud? If the King of Great Britain were not proud, would he not be a most abject creature? Our Master-Tailor misrepresents his Majesty, in saying 'Tis pride, vain-glorious pride, that makes them seek Prostration from their fellows, such that man To man, his equal, never ought to pay." Our gracious Sovereign seeks no such prostration from his fellows" -not he, indeed but at a levee holds out his hand for them to kiss with the most benign air in the world. Had our friend ever been presented at Court, he would have known this, and that there was no need to soil the knees of his dress breeches in the dust. In the East there are, we understand, prostrations; but not peculiarly characteristic of this age surely; and our Tailor is manifestly treating of the West. He ought also to remember, that many a time and oft has he himself been the only perpendicular in a skylight crowded with living beings all squatted with legs across his fellows"-while he kept moving in his pride of place. Will he dare to declare before the world, that an apprentice was ever seen to stand erect in the presence of a Master-Tailor? The supposition is most monstrous; and yet, with that fact staring him in the face, he accuses kings of pride in their intercourse with their subjects. But hear him: "Again their titles: not content with power, And plenitude of vast dominion, pride Why not, good sir? Do not you your- Next to the pride of Kings is the pride of King's Ministers. He says, “Pride governs in the council, pride of place, Deputed power, official arrogance." Never was there a more unjust libel than this on the present Ministry. The Duke is a proud man, and no wonder; but was Huskisson a proud man? Is Peel a proud man? Is that a proud Cabinet that keeps hush, or falls a yelping like a dog-kennel at the step or voice of the whipper-in? To our minds they are choice and select specimens of the poor in spirit. From his Majesty and his Ministers descend to our Magistrates-unpaid and stipendiary-and "Him copies close the Magistrate, too oft A villain, with as hard a heart of stone As had Egyptian Pharoah-and like him, Bloated with pride, and swollen big with power! O, pride of office!" Sir Richard Birnie, who is evidently pointed at in this passage, ought to prosecute, and by so doing he will still more closely resemble his Majesty's Ministers. But we insist on our author being candid, and Is not this veteran abused too on his answering truly this question sternly, on account of the stern jobation Sir Richard gave you one day in his office in Bow-street, for having, without a particle of provocation, but in the cruel elation of a Tailor's soul, let suddenly loose on the public from the finishing stitch to a pair of pantaloons, overset an old woman and her saloop-table? 'Tis very easy for you to exclaim, "O pride of office!-Man with heart im cure; And then the heart might whisper where A plea for Mercy, punishment less hard; Why, what was in this case the utmost rigour of the law? A fine of five pounds, and security for the surgeon's bill, the old woman's leg having been broken in three several places! Why should Sir Richard's eye" have glistened with compassion for your grief and sorrow for the fault?" Did you weep for the old woman? Not you, indeed-Not one single tear. On lugging out the Flimsy, you glared upon her " fierce as ten tailors, ter rible as hell," till the poor mutilated creature, in her delirium, thought she never had beheld such a man all the days of her life. Our satirist goes on to say, "Like him is seen the lordly overseer, Intended primarily as the priest Of mercy, and the Father of the poor, But now become their tyrant and their scourge. 'Tis true, the real evil he performs, The other's far from equals;-but the pride "Of heart, the haughty will is just the same." Here our Tailor lets the cat out of the bag. Overseers are troublesome people to rampant Tailors. But the small illegitimate snip must be provided for the parish must be ensured against him-even before parturition; and to complain of the injustice or insolence of overseers in such cases, is indeed a worse symptom of the Age than any commemorated in this poem. From one select Vestry our poet flies to another, and thus arraigns the House of Commons. "Pride reigns too, in the senate, if that name Can still be given to the motley crowd Who form its ranks,-the half more fit to learn. And yet on earth, 'tis called the choice select, Of all the wisdom, virtue, excellence, And talents of the nation. And in truth 'It may be so; but more's the pity, more The shame that wisdom is so scant, so -rare Is virtue." On what does the indignant Bard and Breeches-makerfoundthis sweeping sentence of reprobation?" On the apostasy that lately carried the Great question?" Not at all. He is a pro-Catholic, and looks with pleasure on the Breaking in of the Constitution of 1688, though the rent be wider than any he ever patched up in the bottom of a pair of corduroys. But he exclaims, "Bear witness, Oh, ye echoing roofs, And you, ye walls, repeat the tart reply, The angry taunt, foul Slander's whisper, oaths The stigma, the reproach from British isles. The wisdom of the nation!-then the wise Are wise in their own foolishness; the world By wisdom knows not God;'—and all through pride." All this is mighty well-but pray, is it more wicked in a member of Parliament to make such appeals during a speech, than it is for a Tailor to do so at the beginning of a poem ? Not a whit. But bad as the pride is of kings, ministers, magistrates, overseers, and members of Parliament, it is not in these classes so bad as in "Mercy's Artists." "Pride too in Mercy's artists oft appears." Sporting reader, a rump and dozen you don't guess -at three trials-who are Mercy's artists?" Why-doctors! That is to say,-physicians, apothecaries, surgeons, odontists, and men-midwives. Hear him But proud as doctors of physic are, they are nothing to " officers in the army." These last are proud-the ninnies-of fighting the battles of their country, and of wearing red or blue coats covered with tinsel, and caps or bonnets floating with horsehair or bird-feathers. Some are proud of being on foot, such as the infantry-some of being on horseback, such as the cavalry-and all are alike proud of woman's smiles, from countess to cook, from her Grace to Girzzy-every petticoat, be they coarser than wool, or finer than gossamer, rustling at the approach of light-bob, grenadier, or dragoon. And for such pride is the British army taken to task by a Tailor! Why, he himself on that day that " comes between a Saturday and Monday," is prouder than the most irresistible of the Duke's aid-de-camps making love to the daughter of a duchess, when smouching" Sally in our alley," in some secret arbour in a suburban teagarden-some secret arbour containing only some half-dozen of benches and as many boards, with a select society of some score of enamoured artizans, each with a blooming Lais at his side-as the shades of night advance, fearful on their homeward way of the new military police, more formidable by far than the exploded Charlies! And this is the Tailor who complains of the pride of the British Army! Himself the while as proud as if he had taken measure of Lucifer. The tradesman credulous ;—the widow's eye Shed tears, the orphan's bosom sobbed And an indignant father oft has cursed, Is honour wisdom?-Wise was Hubert, In the true knowledge,—of the God of Who knew his faith, and loved him for And,-'twas a marvel,-Hubert was beloved By mortals too; they loved him for his His probity, benevolence, good sense, err What is Honour?-our Tailor shall Frequent, though ever grace divine upholds The Christian from deep sinfulness and tell you. hell. "And what is honour? that, I mean, which man, Poor, foolish man, thinks honour? Is it Oh no, he calls the fellow-brute, who does Then, rather than confess the theft, and Forgiveness, vows to heav'n his play was And to th' Omnipotent presumes to appeal ster's called Is honour virtue? Once I saw a man, Whose wanton lust his neighbour's bed had robbed Of all its charm and joy,-his peace of mind, Once sweet, had blighted ;—and his wearied life Ruthless, had taken from him; 'twas a Hubert was warm, and once, in passion, An odium on another's character: His error, and with swiftness sought to What precious nonsense! is a kind of nonsense in which many people of some pretensions daily deal, who, like our Tailor, would fain improve the age. How, pray, came our tailor to be personally acquainted with such a scamp? It could only have been in the way of his profession; and if he was diddled out of his bill, he ought to remember, that each article in it was charged double, at least, what it was worth-and that the loss incurred was made up on honester customers. But not to mind that by whom was such a swindler esteemed a man of honour? Not by those who knew his tricks among tailors-not by those who knew that he was a seducer of honest men's wives -but by that part of the world who were ignorant of his real character. In no sort of society is honour believed to consist in robbery, adultery,and murder. Rank, wealth, genius, great accomplishments, do too often, now as in every other age, shield the criminal, it is true, from the punishment due to his vices, and blunt the edge of moral opinion. It has been so from the beginning, and will be so to the end of time, such is the corruption of human nature; but all such characters are scouted, scorned, and abhorred notwithstanding, by the spirits of this age as of every other; and no such code of honour exists anywhere, out of gambling-houses and hells, as that on which our terrified Tailor vents his indignation, hot and hissing as his own goose. As to such a duel as he here whines about, none such need ever have been fought, and, indeed, none such ever could have been fought, unless Hubert's friend were as consummate an ass as Hubert's self; for, having grossly insulted the gentleman, and being willing to sign a humble or abject apology, which, after his prayers, Hubert was, of course, most anxious to do, there was no possibility of pistolsand an end of the affair. His antagonist could only demand an apology; an apology was due; and if withheld, and no other satisfaction given, then Hubert, in spite of all his praying, was no Christian. The law of honour must not be expounded by a Tailor. But there is no pride like that of the press of critics and publishers. "The critic's eye, Snail-like, withdrawn, by all the world Blots out whole chapters, or with petty splee, Dwells on one hapless word eternally." Come, now, Snip, are you not yourself rather too proud of your Did not your own own poem, in eight books-the Age? "snail-like eye, alternately" withdrawn," and "far protruded" "glisten bright in selfcomplacency" at the close of every paragraph? No pride like that of a blank-verse monger-for it is without either rhyme or reason. As to publishers-why, there are your own— do you mean to accuse that respectable firm of pride? Shocking ingratitude! The following is a base libel on Mr Blackwood. "Him too, the monied publisher, the man Jingling his gold, whose haughty, scornful glance Appears to petrify the shiv'ring scribe That stands before him, waiting long and The merchant of his credit, and his vast Plantations, while the banker who can stretch No farther, seems to be ashamed of all, Of money ignorant, in loss and profit Unskill'd, and wishing to be come a lord. While others boast of contracts formed, of loans To foreign Powers, purchases so rare, And bargains so uncommon, that the ear Of man ne'er heard the like, 'tis his delight, Infernal blasphemy, that seems to beg Heav'n's thunders to descend and crush the wretch! And name each article of foppery After themselves,-that all may know them fools." Mr Shears then makes a double-and falls again, tooth and nail, upon the pride of wealth, in a diatribe against Rothchild, which convinces us that Snip is a bankrupt. Hitherto our Tailor has been trampling the laity, but after a nap, he arouses himself like a giant refreshed with swipes, and pounds the parsons: "Vice in the clergy!—rank, apostate pride, Their chief corruption, whence all else proceed! Ambition, covetousness, love of ease, Of luxury and pomp,-and bigotry And persecution, in the heart of him Who holds himself devoted by his God To teach in meekness, to forbear in love! * * * * tions contribute more than all the rest of the enemies of mankind put together, to the virulence of the disease which thus preys upon the vitals of the age. The infection was first communicated to the people of this country in-dress. It lurks now in each individual pair of breeches that issues from his shop. We defy any man to be proud, under three pair per annum; yet here is Satan crying against sin with a vengeance. Kilts are just as bad-nay, worse-that is tartan kilts-for corduroy kilts are favourable, if not to modesty, yet to meekness, except indeed when worn with top-boots, in which case, we know not why, they too generate the epidemic. Therefore-let all tailors dungs and flints-strike-now and for ever; and henceforth all his sons will be as free from pride as Father Adam. "Quistulerit Gracchos de seditione querentes?" The remedy is in your own hands-away with the shears for ever-and the naked truth, to the eternal extinction of pride, will be revealed all over the world. Having thus expatiated on the Pride of the Age, our breeches-making bard attacks its Pleasures. He is at a loss where to begin, so immense is their multitude. "Innumerable are they, and I leave The recapitulation of them all; Observing only those, which on the Age Produce most sensible effects, and have The greatest tendency to form the mind, Its habits and pursuits-to moralize Or to demoralize the human soul." After looking about for some minutes' space, like an owl in moonlight, he pounces upon the Theatre. "Among them, the most prominent ap pears, And is, perhaps, productive of the most Stop, Snip. Do you mean that, you tythe, for a description of our Edinburgh Theatre? If you do, down with your trowsers, and take a taste of the knout. Look at the pit, you vulgar fraction. A more decent set of |