University of Virginia Library

—Were my friend Scriblerus acquainted with the sort of Ministry Heaven hath blessed us with, he would not think the task of correcting them a vain one. They are of late become so admirably pliant, that the fact is, I begin to look on them as a set of very hopeful gentlemen, They have already abandoned many of their old pranks; and thus by proving themselves men of no principle, afford us some hope that the country may yet be saved. Had they been sincere, we were undone for ever. But now, forsaking their old nests, they come hopping over Conscience to perch upon Interest; and, like the saucy robin, to venture any thing for a crumb of bread. The lex talionis is fair, however; so having sacrificed character to come into power, they come into power to sacrifice character. On this head consult Sir H. P*ph*m, old Edition. If this brave officer did not receive secret orders to make a descent on Buenos Ayres; if,

Then, I certainly will not attempt to palliate so rash an enterprize. But, at all events, nothing can excuse the petulant, predetermined hostility of Ministers towards him.

I wish Polypus to know that he mistakes Ministers grossly. Thank Heaven they were never made of malleable materials; but, on the contrary, are as tough a collection of talents as ever England witnessed. Is it not this quality of toughness which has carried them thro'? Did they not always continue tough to the principles they set out upon, tho' deserted and despised by three-fourths of the nation? Did they ever coincide with a single measure of the old Party—even measures the most beneficial? If this be pliability, I want to know what is toughness?— Scriblerus.

Virgil

—I do not wish to specify this personage too particularly. He will, I dare say, recognise himself.

—Such as a paper called the “Oracle and True Briton,” or some such name. The thing, however, is not worth abusing.

This man had once a sort of asinine sturdiness about him, that used to pass off for honesty, Poor Peter! they talked too of his fine writing. . . But perituræ parcite charto!

—P. P*nd*r dropped his pen while in the act of snatching at a pension. Mr. C*lm*n has, it seems, picked it out of the mud; but, alas! the mud has clung to it ever since. Rarely, and very rarely, it is a limum felicem.

— The Public will better recognise this noble Lord as plain Mr. Gr*y; new titles, new principles, and new places having so totally metamorphosed him, that some of his old friends have actually ceased to know him. I am credibly informed he is growing gay. And yet I remember him a moody, melancholy gentleman, whom you would have thought time nor tide could change.—A positive bit of blood, that always came cantering at the heels of Fox and Sh*r*d*n. Did Fox protest against war?—Gr*y quickly set his face against hostilities. Did Fox declare that the kingdom was ruined? —Gr*y instantly found out that the nation was undone. Skilful in the analogies of the language, he seemed only to forget that Truth and Servility are never synonymous. Servility, however, is not easily got rid of; and Gr*y, while first Lord of the Admiralty, used to trot at St. V*nc*nt's heels just as contentedly as at Fox's.

As to what Lord H*w*ck is, there may possibly be some doubt; as to what he was, there can be no doubt at all. If his name shall survive the injuries his country has suffered from him, he will be remembered as one of those unhappy beings, who, during that long and dreadful struggle for all that Englishmen held dear upon earth, stood aloof with a small, but desperate band, watching the favourable moments for incursion, and involving us in a predatory war at home, while the most terrible of enemies was assailing us from abroad. But since his political promotion we have heard no more of his political principles. Let us then cheerfully submit to the smaller misfortune. The friendship of a reformed libertine is preferable to the enmity of a professed one. After ages will hardly credit the story of our adventures. At least they will wonder at our having escaped out of such hands; while the names of a F---, a Sh*r*d*n and a H*w*ck will be abhorred by the gentle nature and adopted by the severe.

I do not approve of Polypus's comparing my Lord H*w*ck with a beast of burden; and yet I am informed by those who know French, (for I do not), that the following description of a horse is applicable to him. Un esprit pesant, lourd, sans subtilité, ni gentillesse—UN GROS CHEVAL D'ALLEMANDE. I am delighted with the stately grandeur of the words, and guess that they contain a magnificent eulogium.— Scribl.

By the bye, St. V*nc*nt always trod aukwardly enough on terra firma. He is not an amphibious animal, and has more of the shark than the sea-horse in his composition. Some say he has more of the crocodile than of either.

—The Talents have proved the truth of this assertion to a miracle; by adopting, as Ministers, almost every measure, which, as Oppositionists, they had reprobated—melius, pejus, prosit, obsit. I doubt if their new recantation be not more disgusting than their ancient bigotry. But their conduct immediately on coming into power was more than disgusting. It was a tissue of absurdity, indecency, and arrogance, equalled only by the nauseous mummery of Buonaparte's bulletins. One Minister took peculiar pains to convince us that we were on the very verge of ruin, and that nothing but the Talents could save us. Sh*r*d*n, too, seemed to lament our desperate situation with a plausible face enough; and

When, on a sudden, up rose the sun, the mists melted away, and the Talents assured us we were in a more flourishing condition than ever! Now for my life I could never see how they made it out. But taking their words for it, to whom do we stand indebted? Certainly not to the Talents; for they have been failing in every project. Yet this is no proof. The Talents have been failing in every project for these last twenty years, and the country has prospered accordingly.

All that can be said in their favour is, that they spoke of “dilapidated hopes and resources,” when they did not know one atom about the matter; and that they candidly recanted as soon as they began to learn their business.

—The little Corsican could never abide Mr. Pitt, whom he justly considered as the saviour of his country. By the bye, I think ministers would do well to cease boasting of the tender esteem and admiration, which, (they tell us) the first of all ruffians entertained for Mr. Fox. They had better be silent on that statesman altogether, than calumniate his memory by allotting such a friend to him. It is in itself an outrageous satire, and all who wish well to his character ought to contradict it.

—It is a fact well worth attending to, that the industrious and enlightened classes of the nation went almost universally with Mr. Pitt. Exceptions there certainly were, but these exceptions usually betrayed in their conduct thro' life, either hollow hearts or weak understandings.

This last assertion is a sidelong glance at me. I know Polypus thinks I have a weak head. With all my heart. At all events I'll teach him I have a bitter tongue; and he shall rue my resentment in the acerbity of my comments. —Scribl.

—I would not insult Mr. Pitt's memory by comparing him with Lord H*w*ck. Besides, in such a case, the noble Lord himself would have far more reason to complain. Happy may he esteem himself, if the future historian shall disdain to record either his character or his life.

—To enlarge on the character of this immortal Statesman would probably vex the Talents, and of course do them no service. But I will exbibit a portrait of an opposite nature, with the hope that ministers may avoid a bad example, tho' they may not imitate a good one.

Let me then imagine a man prodigally gifted with every blessing under the sun—birth, fortune, wit, wisdom, eloquence. With a soul that can pierce into the brightest recesses of fancy, and a tongue that can embody the visions she beholds. Let me suppose him marking his entrance into the service of his country by a breach of her constitution; while distorting the best of passions to the worst of purposes, he calls treason patriotism, and covers desperate doctrines with a decorous indecency of words. Laughing at subjection, yet himself a slave to party, he lords it over a rancorous faction; while boys disconcert the cabals of his manhood, and striplings repress the excesses of his age. In persecuting his country he is uniform and sincere; his principles alone are versatile and treacherous. The revolutionary mob, and the sanguinary despot, are alternate objects of his admiration. At length he tramples down the barriers of decorum, and allows not even an appeal from his heart to his head; from inherent atrocity to adventitious error. Thinking men are alarmed and desert him; fools adhere to his cause and are undone. Once found dangerous, he soon becomes flagitious; and his last act exhibits him vanquished by his own arts, and a dupe to the basest of mankind.

Let this portrait be as a beacon to all ministers. Wise men will read it and say nothing.—It is for the fool to assert its justice by uniting it with a name.

—I cannot contemplate this period of Mr. Pitt's life without the highest emotions of admiration. I had thought the days of Roman magnanimity gone for ever, and in these times scarcely expected to see another Cincinnatus.—Te sulco, Serrane, serentem.

—Let none now be so rash as to talk of Mr. Pitt's inordinate ambition, or assert that he preferred his own elevation to his country's welfare. If the words of the dying are accounted sincere, who will deny that patriotism was the ruling passion of this incomparable character? Pope says,

Pitt realized what Pope only supposed.

—Often, I dare say, (were I to judge by their after-conduct) did the jaded Oppositionists exclaim, during Mr. Pitt's illness,

Οιωνος αριστος, say I, however; and I believe three-fourths of the nation say so too. After the death of that Minister they did not behave with common decency. The greediness with which they seized upon all places of profit,—even those which pride, and those which delicacy should have deterred them from appropriating—was odious in the extreme. I can almost fancy I see them, like a set of vultures,hovering,over the Minister's dying moments, and with gross black wing brushing across his radiant spirit as it mounts into the skies.

Ovid.

—Mr. Fox asserted, that success should be the criterion of talent, on the night when he so resolutely set his face against some honours which were proposed to his rival's memory. I do not adopt his criterion, I only apply it to himself; and is it not fair to convict a man on his own argument?

By no means. Such a mode of procedure, if generally practised, would ruin the country. For were men always to be convicted on their own arguments, they would always take care to talk sense. And if men were always to talk sense, there would be no difference of opinion. But without difference of opinion there would be no conversation; without conversation no society; without society no government; and without a government all would be warfare, anarchy, and no poet. Did I not promise you, Mr. Polypus, that I would be severe? —Scribl.

—I have not the least desire to disturb Mr. Fox's repose. Not because I feel that in enlarging on his character I should overleap any bounds of propriety; but because little advantage could now arise out of it. I leave the full developement of his aims to the historian. In another century there will be but one opinion upon the subject.

—It is allowed on all hands that the Foxites are falling into disrepute: and the reason is as evident as the fact is notorious. The Foxites are in power. No longer champions in the mighty cause of nonsense, they have now degenerated into the mere men of business. The fiery war-horse is lopped of his flowing mane, and ends his honours under a waggon. However paradoxical the thing may seem, it cannot be denied, that the Talents have forfeited importance by coming into power, and that in proportion to their rise in the world, they have managed to fall in its estimation.

DESPREAUX

—One hardly knows in what terms to speak of this little monster. The character is perhaps, unparalleled in the annals of human nature. It is beyond a Caliban; and he who would attempt to describe it must unite attributes which nature had always held asunder; exhibiting at once the most terrible and the most contemptible animal upon earth. Meanness and magnanimity must go hand in hand; and the conqueror of mankind must be coupled with the private assassin. He must shew him possessed of the highest folly in attempting desperate enterprises, and of the highest wisdom in accomplishing them.—Calm in conducting a mighty battle, and petulant in affairs of little import.—Never candid but on a principle of treachery, and adhering to truth only when he promises misfortune. Capricious in small matters, yet constant to ruling principles; and capable of reconciling the most headstrong stubbornness with the most artful pliability.

Celerity is the great architect of his fortune:

And, like woman, he will be lost when he hesitates.

As to peace with England, he will never make it, except in the hope of effecting her final destruction. Delenda est Carthago, is his professed motto, and he will never alter it.

However, on taking a survey of all the possible chances, I feel convinced he will never succeed, so long as we retain the sovereignty of the seas. England indeed may be made a bankrupt, but Europe must be beggared before her. As to conquering these countries vi et armis (even supposing a French army transported to our shores), the thing is impossible, and Buonaparte knows it. No.—he must deprive us of our East Indies, before he can ever effect our downfal; and to this end, must march an army across the Asiatic continent; after having conquered Russia, and so totally subjugated all Europe, as to be secure of its tranquillity during his absence. He will never do it.

Boileau.

—Europe as yet has only begun to move her extremities. The body still remains inactive; but I think it will soon make a struggle, and the first attempt, if strenuous, will restore it. Tacitus has supplied us with an exact picture of European politics at present:

Rarus duabus tribusque civitatibus ad propulsandum commune periculum conventus. Ita, dum singuli pugnant, universi vincuntur. —Jul. Agric.

—I think I may say, (but meekly let me say it, and with awful reverence) that Providence watches over this empire with an eye of peculiar regard. England seems to be solemnly selected and delegated to interpose a barrier between partial subversion and universal anarchy: to punish the punishers of nations; to heal the wounds of agonizing europe, and to sit like a wakeful nurse, watching at her side, and administering to her lips the medicine of salvation. We stand on a noble, but a dreadful elevation; responsible in ourselves for the future happiness of the human race. We have a spirit, a constitution, and a religion: unrivalled, unparalleled, unprecedented. From these sources I draw my politics, and these tell me, we shall triumph. Persevere then, Britons, in the mighty task before you. To recede from it were ruin. Be firm and you triumph —fear, and you fall.

I do not know what Polypus means by his Papal Extirpation. I see no signs of any such matter. I grant that the catholic countries of Europe are daily dropping into degeneracy, and that the Pope is discovered to be neither infallible nor supreme. But then if we look to Ireland, we shall still see the spirit of that religion flourishing in full luxuriance under the invigorating auspices of Gr*tt*n and Co. And yet I fear these worthies are employing much pains to little purpose. Absolutely all hope is at an end, and Catholic Emancipation now goes begging from door to door, like a decayed gentlewoman. But if Gr*tt*n and Co. wish to give full scope to their talents, and serve these kingdoms effectually, by making converts elsewhere,—I would humbly advise them to take a trip to the black empire of Hayti, for instance: or visit the Aborigines of America. To be sure Ireland would weep at losing them, but then tears always bring relief. And even supposing the natives of Hayti or America so stupid as to suspend them upon a tree—still they might thank heaven such an accident never happened to them before. Besides, I dare say there is a pleasure in being hanged for the good of one's country, which many sufferers may have felt indeed, but from the physical nature of the case have never been able to describe.

—I speak of Ireland as a nation only; and as a nation she has not done her duty. As individuals, I think the Irish merit much esteem. The profligate and idle, in general, come over to this country; and we seem to judge of the number by the more unworthy few. Literature is erecting her head in the capital; and some productions of much merit have appeared there of late. In particular, a satire on the players, entitled Familiar Epistles; which, in point of wit, elegance, and apt delineation, is not inferior to many productions in our language. It is said to be written by Mr. Cr*k*r, a young barrister of considerable talent.

—And yet there is just as much chance of peace at this moment, as at the time of the late glorious negotiation—as the Talents would have us believe it. The Talents however were dreadfully duped in that affair—Credulity on the one side, and duplicity on the other, leaving us little else to admire than a series of polished sentences, and some logical small-sword. However, Talleyrand effected many purposes by protracting the farce; and amongst others, the neglect of Buenos Ayres. No pretext upon earth should have prevented Ministers from reinforcing that settlement at least two months before they thought proper to do so.

The Talents, indeed, triumphantly tell us, that it was retaken before succours could have arrived. But these succours were sent to hinder its being retaken; and therefore the Talents must have conjectured that it would not be retaken till after the arrival of these succours—that is to say, till January. Now the place was retaken in August. So here, at all events, the Talents were grossly erroneous; and it follows, that the earliness of the recapture (the plea upon which they excuse themselves) is the very circumstance which condemns them most! Tho' we lost the place before reinforcements could have arrived, yet reinforcements could have arrived before we might have lost it. The place might have been retaken on the first of November The reinforcements could have arrived on the last of October. But if we must always determine the merits of a cause by consequences, not probabilities, why then B*r*s*f*rd and P*ph*m acted perfectly right in having taken Buenos Ayres—because the event justified them; and began to act wrong in having taken it, only from the moment they surrendered. This is the precious conclusion All the Talents would bring us to! The fact is, however, that the Talents were too busy about themselves all the summer to remember an American town, taken by a Pittite. I am sure I can make every reasonable allowance for a new-fangled, merry set of poor devils, tumbling heels over head into places and pensions. I can pardon the ludicrous delirium attending a new title; the gambols of mutual congratulation—here a wink and there a squeeze: all the Talents exerted in purchasing coats, hats, hatbands, and services of plate; and I can even hear of the long laborious eating at cabinet-dinners, with the pity of a man who has felt hunger himfelf. Yet still, amidst gambols and hatbands, services of plate and haunches of venison, a map of poor Buenos Ayres might have lain on the table.

—I cannot coincide with my friend Scriblerus. As yet the new-born Ministry have only begun to crawl. But I suppose he judges of the future butterfly by the present worm; and sees in its extreme ugliness the promise of much beauty hereafter. I think, however, the transmutation has more to do with metals than animals; and am able only to perceive, that men who were Brass in a bad cause, are become Lead in a good one. A few rockets let off at Boulogne,—a fresh-water armament,—a mock negotiation,—late succours,—premature bulletins,—a Parliament new-modelled for a very good reason, and an army new-modelled for no reason at all;—this is what All the Talents have accomplished for us! This is the blaze which hath emanated from the Galaxy of political Geniuses! Yet it is but fair to confess that their speeches are sometimes very pretty; and at present abound with admirable squibs let off at poor P*ph*m. Indeed it is highly proper that those who begin with sky-rockets should end with squibs.

I could offer a hundred sharp things in refutation of Polypus, but am so angry that somehow I cannot collect my ideas.Silence, they say, is often expressive; and I think it cannot now do better than express all my arguments. —Scribl.

—The learned Scriblerus is pleased to place All the Talents on the summit of a wave raised by a tempest. Perhaps in nature he could not have chosen a more hazardous and untenable elevation for these charming men.

I do not think the present Ministry will hold long. They have private as well as public politics—a motion round their own axis as well as round that of the state; and its obliquity must be the cause of many political changes.

—The present Lord Lieutenant of Ireland. The last Lord Lieutenant of Ireland carried with him the hearts of that nation.

—This nobleman is disappointed of the blue ribbon.—It was well observed of him, that he is fitter for the blue apron!

—I have a high respect for the virtues and abilities of this nobleman, and wish to see them exerted in a more decisive manner. He is connected with men who require controul, and who will not (if possible) allow him to remain on his present eminence. He must make many vigorous sallies, or they will undermine him.

—In other words, the sovereignty of the people. A sort of technical term among the Whigs; perfectly harmless, I fancy, and signifying social life, as observable among wolves, savages, and other animals. Some, however, assert that it is a pet name for the guillotine. —Scribl.

—Many say that radical reform (quasiradix et forma) signifies digging up an old tree, and making snuffboxes out of its roots; and adduce Shakspeare's mulberry-tree as an instance. Others again derive it from rado, to shave, and formico, to rise in pimples; and say that it refers to Packwood's razor-strops, not Shakspeare's mulberry-tree. What far-fetched derivations are here! To me 'tis clear as the sun, that radical reform merely means change of administration. —Scriblerus.

—The lady to whom I allude owes less to the efforts of her friends than of her enemies. Her former popularity has increased tenfold since the late impotent attempt to diminish it.

Ω γυναι, ουκαν τις σε βροτων επ' απειρονα γαιαν,
Νεικεοι
Odyss.

It is said that the commission for investigating into her Highness's conduct was not countersigned by the king. Of course, the commission was self-nominated, and the entire proceeding illegal. But formalities are only made for fools, and administering oaths or taking evidence unlawfully are mere trifles to men of talent. Thus then, this calumny lived and died in the true faith of its original church. The mysterious motives which gave it birth were admirably supported by the illegality which examined it, and by the cruel delicacy which suffered it to die unexposed.

—I own I pity Mr. Sh*r*d*n, because he really does possess some good qualities; and because I know that his way of life often costs him a bitter pang. Yet it is to be feared he will never amend it. Perhaps there is not in human nature an object more deplorable than the man of genius sacrificing the choicest gift of his God to indolence and dissipation.

Nature intended Mr. Sh*r*d*n for a mere writer of farces. As to political opinions, I believe him absolutely incapable of forming any. The man never had a rule of conduct in his life. A perfect Epicurean in politics, he looks not beyond the deed of to-day; and all I am astonished at is, that in his hasty decisions he should never do right by a blunder. Yet I must acquit him of premeditated error. He never begins to reflect till urged by some sudden impulse of ambition, or vanity, or interest. No cold reason for Mr. Sh*r*d*n. Lull but his passions, and the little babe that sobs itself silent is not more harmless than he. Thus his entire character consists in reconciling extremes. We pity his impotence when we do not despise his temerity; and we see with surprise that his judgment must be blinded by the passions before it can act with effect.

—They tell a comical story of Mr. Sh*r*d*n, which I do not assert as a fact, only because I did not see the circumstance. Mr.Sh*r*d*n happened to buy a horse, but did not happen to pay for it. One day, lately, as he was riding his new purchase along Park-lane, he met his creditor on a pretty poney. The poor man, anxious to touch the Treasurer on the tender point of payment, and yet wishing to manage the matter handsomely, began by hoping his Honour liked the horse, and said he could also recommend the nag he was then riding. “Let me see,” says Sh*r*d*n. “Upon my honour, a nice little animal enough; and, I dare swear, an excellent trotter. Pray let me see his paces up the street.” By all means, your Honour. Accordingly, up the street trots the simple Jockey, and down the street trots the right honourable Minister, excessively well satisfied, it seems, with the pretty little poney's performance!

—The following epigram conveys a just idea of the way Mr. S. will probably take to liquidate all his debts.

—He used to tell us that the French republic deserved success; and endeavoured to palliate, as generous ebullitions of liberty, the charming murders and amiable atrocities of the Revolution.

—Scriblerus alludes to the memorable declaration of the Whig-Club, in which it advises the organization of political meetings throughout the whole kingdom; “for the exercise,” (I take the words “themselves) for the exercise of that just authority which the “popular opinion must ever possess over the proceedings of “the legislature.” Or, in plain English, for the purpose of making the Whig-Club another national convention, and investing it with an absolute controul over King, Lords, and Commons!!! The French rulers, when they read the declaration, exclaimed, “England is following our example, and will soon become a republic.” But as soon as the reptile of innovation put forth its feelers, the timid nation took alarm, and many thousand Whig adherents, with a reverse of sentiment almost instantaneous, ignobly seceded to honesty and common sense; execrating those principles which they now saw must tend to overthrow every political and moral institution.

Quere.—Why do not All the Talents establish these political meetings now?

Simply because Pitt is dead—because republics are not in fashion—because Whigs are in power, and because 1796 is not 1807. —Scrlbl.

—The mutiny of the Nore. This was Mr. Sh---n's political unique.

—I do not deny Mr. W*nd*m's talents, but I deny that he has talents suitable to his station. I believe ministry begin to think so too; and, were the truth acknowledged, already find him a most troublesome and dangerous colleague. He will consult nobody, and yet he knows nothing. Of course his party must either weaken themselves by opposing his measures, or injure the country by supporting them. Yet it seems his party do not hesitate. The alternative is perplexing, but the choice is plain. For my own part, I have not the magnanimity of an Indian widow; and were I so wretched as to unite with a fool, I would not be so weak as to suffer for him.

—Mr. W*ndh*m has already heaped a few responsibilities on his own shoulders, which he will be lucky if ever he rids himself of. At present I shall merely mention the notorious instance of one Colonel Cr*f*rd, whom he has lately sent out at the head of an expedition. This redoubtable champion, whom nobody knows, (but who, for aught I can tell, might have heard a few discharges of musquetry in India), having got disgusted with the service, wrote to his friends to sell out for him. On coming to England, however, his martial spirit revived surprisingly—for Mr. W*ndh*m was in office. The Colonel burned for promotion, and the Secretary glowed with friendship. All this was an excellent farce, I must own; but pray heaven it may not end in a tragedy. For Mr. W*ndh*m, with the amiable ardour of a tender attachment, has appointed his charming friend, (who was one of the last Colonels on the list) to the entire command of an army! I can easily conceive the confidence with which the troops will follow him into battle, and how feelingly they will cry, (while he is asking his officers' names)—“Wonderful is our beloved Secretary, he hath charmed “this curiosity from the moon!” Mr. W*ndh*m, for heaven's sake, begin to think seriously at last. You are rendering your party odious, Mr. W*ndh*m. You are alienating the affections of the army, Mr. W*ndh*m. Even the volunteers, Mr. W*nd*h*m, are already disgusted; and as to your grand military system, the whole service (saving a few Cr*f*ds) absolutely laugh it to scorn. Cast away Vanity, then, and consult Conscience. The poor old lady is an invalid, and you will be certain of finding her home.

Tho' the military system may have failed, yet it is not the fault of Mr. W*ndh *m; inasmuch as he has spared neither pains nor money upon it. Nay, most unquestionably he pays eight hundred thousand pounds per annum, extra, in order to fail as a Secretary should fail, and to shew the people how œconomical Ministers are —Ay, œconomical, I repeat it. For œconomy consists in saving small sums; and Ministers declare they will think no sum too trivial to look after. That is, according to the common adage, they will take care of the pence; and as to the eight hundred thousand pounds, extra; why—the pounds will, of course, take care of themselves. Besides, by the same inverted rule that we are to pay piles of money for failing, our successes, very probably, will not cost us a single doit. —Scribl.

—A General equally fond of warfare and old women's stories.

—I fancy that our Brewer will not entirely coincide with me, as no man is more gifted with the blessed advantages of vanity than our brewer. He has the singular satisfaction of esteeming himself what the world vulgarly calls a devilish clever fellow. Now tho' the world may differ with him point-blank on that occasion, yet his merely thinking so argues, at least, much animal confidence, and an unlimited strength of imagination. Mr. Wh*t*br---d and the toad are equally devoid of several virtues ascribed to them. The mouth of a toad contains no venom, and its head no jewel. In like manner, Mr. Wh*tbr---d has neither harm in his eloquence, nor riches in his brain. After all, he can make a set speech pass off very prettily —if he be let alone. He can show some ingenuity in pressing similies of dissimilitude out of the Shop and the Pantheon; but then come upon his flank with the cross-fire of a query, and he instantly falls into irrecoverable confusion.

As to the comparative wit, vigour, weight and talents of the present Ministry, perhaps I could not display them more plainly than in the following letter from Newmarket.

Occupet extremum Scabies!

Lately was decided here a most comical race. The Gentlemen of the turf having offered a large plate to the best Ass, in a five mile heat, (each riding his own ass), the following Noblemen and Gentlemen started as candidates:

• Th. Sh*r*d*n, Esq. who rode Jolly Bacchus.
• Lord H*w*ck who rode Sullen.
• Lord E---e who rode Merry Andrew.
• Mr.W*ndh*m who rode High Flyer.
• Lord H. P*tty who rode Miss Hornpipe Teazle
• Mr. Wh*tbr---d who rode Brazen-face.
• Mr. T*rn*y who rode Bully-Hector

Lord Gr*nv*lle led an animal to the ground, which, it seems, was not an ass, but a racer, somewhat resembling Mr. Pitt's Eclipse. At first starting Mr. Sh---n's Jolly Bacchus had the lead; but her rider having neither whip, spur, or bridle, she was left entirely to her own discretion. And yet they say Mr. Sh---n is an admirable jockey. Lord H*w*ck's Sullen came next; a tough-mouthed obstinate hack as ever we saw, but with excellent bottom. Her rider was blinded in the very beginning by a couple of mud patches, and came in, a sad spectacle, groaning, and blasting his eyes. Then followed Mr. W*ndh*m's Highflyer— proximus, sed longo intervallo. Mr. W---m was dressed as a Harlequin, and retarded her progress extremely by his tricks—such as standing on his head— holding the ass's ears—and, latterly, riding like the Tailor to Brentford. Every one wondered how he contrived to keep his seat. Lord E---'s Merry Andrew succeeded, with new trappings, martingales, and surcingles; tail cropped and ears cut—yet still it was evidently an ass. Lord Henry's Miss Hornpipe Teazle, a little two year old, at first promised to do wonders, but lagged latterly, tho' her rider kept plying his heels the whole race. Mr.Wh*tbr---d's Brazen-face took sulk, and shewed symptoms of bolting, being a thorough-bred ass; and as to Mr. T*rn*y's Bully-hector, it broke down entirely; when both man and beast were so bedaubed with gutter, that the people mistook the poor ass for Mr. T*rn*y, and asked it if it felt injured by the accident? The asses kept kicking at each other during the whole race, which was won with some difficulty by Mr. Sh---n's Jolly Bacchus, and the knowing ones were all taken in.

Mr. W. shewed symptoms of bolting in the debate on the glorious negotiation. Is he not an odd character? His very virtues speaks against him in the obliquity of their origin. He is consistent because he is stubborn. Stupidity renders him harmless—resentment makes him honest.

Κυνος ομματ' εχων

—I once thought Mr. K*mble classical, I now find him pedantic. In the name of common sense and the end of language, (which is I suppose, to speak intelligibly) what can Mr.K*mble mean by calling Aches, Aitches? Does Aitches mend the meaning? No. Does Aitches perform any one act either useful or ornamental? No. Aitches then, it seems, is an old dead gentleman conjured from the grave, to terrify a worthy sentence 'till it loses its wits and talks what nobody can comprehend. I do not see why Mr. K. should puzzle an entire audience in order to shew that he once read an old edition of Shakspeare. And let me add, that his obstinacy in adhering to this absurd pronunciation, after the nightly hisses it experiences, betrays an ignorance of decorum and a want of humility, that always accompany much vanity and little learning.

—Poor Wh*tb---d, (so sadly did his party dupe him), thought himself sure of success on that occasion, and also thought himself sure of a high place among the new ministry. All the Talents, however, appear to care very little about him or his hopes, and have, at last, compromised his very great feelings with a very small employment.

Have you watered the rum? says a puritanical grocer to his apprentice. Yes. Have you wetted the tobacco? Yes. Have you sanded the sugar? Yes. Then come in to prayers.

Have you impeached Lord M*lv*lle? says a jacobinical party to its apprentice. Yes. Have you prejudged justice? Yes. Have you resolved not to rescind the resolutions? Yes. Then come into power.

—I wonder what this nobleman is about? No negotiations, I hope. I used to admire the cool contempt with which he invariably regarded Wh*tb*d during his petulant harangues; thereby annoying that doughty champion not a little, and auguring prosperously of the event. There was also another omen observable during the trial. The passage terminating near Mr. W---d's feet, was by some fatality or other, made precisely in the shape of a gallows!!! Was this an architectural witticism of Mr. W---tt? However, I confess I was so forcibly struck with it, that I now never see Mr. Wh*tb---d without instantly having a gallows in my head.

— Hor.

—Ovid.

For in the first place,

—Virg.

Then,

—Tac.

And lastly—Το ψηφισμα τον τοτε περισταντα κινδυνον παρελθειν εποιησεν ωσπερ νεφος. —Long.

—I am willing to handle this obscure person as softly as possible. When silence is a presumptive token of grace, 'tis charity to encourage it by not interrupting its repose. Alas! let us put a charitable construction on the case of this unhappy penitent; let us quietly allow him to “patch up his old soul for heaven,”and to make this mournful lamentation:

—A set of “robustuous periwig-pated fellows.” who used to meet together at the Crown and Anchor, to settle the nation's affairs, and drink its wines. However they happened to give offence to almost all the kingdom; not indeed by broaching hogsheads, but by broaching opinions. —Stupid people not easily discerning between licentiousness and badinage; that saying much is meaning little; that we may start new sentiments to pull down old ministers; and that to be known, we must often be notorious. Of late years, however, all its enthusiasm has died away, owing to disappointed aims and the contempt it universally excited. Besides, at present its members meet at St. James's as well as at the Crown and Anchor, are no longer called demagogues but ministers, and live by taxes instead of contributions.

N.B. His grace of N*rf*lk's coyness in giving the Sovereignty of the People at the last anniversary meeting was rather ludicrous. It spoke volumes.

—Virg.

It may not be generally known that Caieta is the modern Gaita, whose little garrison lately made so gallant a resistance against the legions of Bonaparte. And here I must beg leave to disclaim the slightest intention of insulting that loyal little garrison by having compared it with the Whig Club.

—Now, however, the Whig drinks more classically, and we may say without a synecdoche,

—Virg.

—I have heard H*w*ck attempt to trifle and be playful; but it was always magno conatu nugas—A Hercules at the distaff.

—This facetious punster is now to be seen for nothing at Westminster-Hall. Verily, verily, he deporteth himself with a most miraculous solemnity of demeanour.

Αυταρ εγω γελοω και τερπομαι αφρανι θυμω.

—Dissimiles hic viret et ille puer, however. Lord Henry labours hard to be a great man, but he has not the necessary ingredients. The old Talents thought it expedient to astonish the nation with a young little Talent of their own begetting, so cried up poor P*tty to the skies. But alas! we find that they called him clever, just as people say a hare has wings—for convenience' sake.

—I know not whether B*tty or P*tty, P*tty or B*tty have fallen the more in public estimation.

Yet times may change, and I do not despair of seeing Master B*tty in Parliament, and Master P*tty on the stage. At present, the Player gets by heart other men's tragedies; the Minister repeats farces of his own composing, and this is all the difference between them.

Voluisti, in suo genere, unumcunque nostrum quasi quendam esse Roscium. —Cicero.

—Gentle reader, I present thee with the following pretty little stanzas on the Dancing Chancellor: “I can make speeches in the Senate too, Nacky.”—Otway. Και παλιν θελω χορενειν. —Anac. Saltare elegantiùs quam necesse est probæ. —Sall.

—The first of heroes and the best of Christians. I do not think all history can furnish us with a character so ardently —I had almost said, so romantically heroic—but his was a discreet enthusiasm. The circumstances of his death too, are unexampled in splendour and magnanimity. Just such a death was his desire. He loved life, but he loved glory and his country better.

Cari sunt parentes, cari liberi, propinqui, familiares: sed omnes omnium caritates patria una complexa est; pro quâ quis bonus dubitet mortem appetere? — Cic.

—This said impeachment is a sorry business. I think Mr.P*ll would do well to drop it. Mr P*ll is notorious enough already, and we do not desire a second edition of Mr. Wh*tb---d.

—The Doctor has given over practice, and, according to the continental phrase, has retired to his estates.

D'Oubril, Haugwitz, &c. have also retired to their estates and become ploughmen. I think all the Ex-Ministers of Europe; D'Oubril, Haugwitz, S*dm---th, &c. might meet together in Crusoe's Island, and form a most comfortable and condoling society.

—I see Polypus is bent on abusing every body. So because Mr. Add*ngt*n became a lord, and had not duplicity to refuse a good offer, Polypus chooses to put him into leading-strings. I wish Polypus was put into the pillory. Now Lord S*dm---th's acceptance of a proffered title strikes me, on the contrary, as an instance of strict integrity and candour. Why should he tell a lie, I ask? Why should he say, Thank you, Sir, I had rather not; while his conscience was for saying, With all my soul, and with all my strength, Sir? Morality must be considered, even tho' a man should lose by it. For my part, I like morality extremely—I think it an appendage of the gentleman—A sort of rarity, rather becoming than otherwise; and tho' Lord S. has pinned a title upon his morality, yet, I dare say, they do not interfere with each other at all. I beg leave to remark that there are several sorts of morality. There is a morality which feels, and a morality which reasons. There is also a morality which does neither the one nor the other, but acts only upon instinct. This last I take to be Lord S*dm---th's morality. — Scrib.

—Much, however, as I admire the virtues of this Nobleman, I am not unacquainted with his foibles. He possesses, in common with other courtiers, a certain tenderness of soul, that cannot bear the pain of refusing. The consequence is obvious—The blossom must be more abundant than the fruit. But ubi plura nitent, &c.

Terence supplies me with his general character in these lines:

—Mr. M---re's lines, like Seneca's, abundant dulcibus vitiis. They are too full of puerile conceits, sparkling epithets. and obscure allusions. Mr.M---re is a young poet, and may yet correct this false refinement, which proceeds from a rage for novelty, and must eventually corrupt the national taste. As to the lessons his poetry inculcates, I fear that to comment on them would be useless. His last volume shews his hearty resolution not to reform. It is however melancholy to see the only poet in the nation whose morals are her safeguard, so truly negligent of a poet's and a nation's interest.

—All I shall say of Mr. P. Kn*ght's new production on the principles of taste, is, that the former half of it is employed in reprobating criticism—the latter half is spent in criticising.

—Mr. Sc*tt's Lay of the last Minstrel is a poem eminent for the force of its descriptions, and the consistency of its characters. But here ends its merit. The plot is absurd, and the antique costume of the language is disgusting, because it is unnatural. Why write in the style which prevailed before our language had attained its utmost purity? Why use the worse weapon when the better may be had? Is it because such language was spoken in those times? I deny that such language was spoken at any time. Were a Scotch minstrel to rise from his grave, he could not understand half of it. The Gothic and Corinthian mixture would make him smile. But supposing the language a true antique, and not a modern coin artificially rusted over, still it is absurd to make use of it—For, by the same rule, Gray's Bard should have spoken in the idiom of King Edward's time, and Norval should now tragedy it away in broad Scotch. If Mr. S. Will condescend to write in the present purity of our language, tho' he may no longer decoy readers by what is novel, yet he may win them by what is natural. Philips's Pastorals, and Chatterton's Rowley are reposing in the charnels of obscurity. Yet there was a time when they were just as much read and just as much admired as Mr. Sc*tt's minstrel.

—I flatter myself that Sir Fr*nc*s will feel highly gratified by my mention of him. Publicity, publicity for Sir Fr*nc*s; honourable if he can, but at all events publicity. Yet there is a sort of talent about the young man, and they say he possesses a thousand amiable qualities. I hope so. And perhaps as he grows in years he may increase in sense too, and lay aside those ridiculous chimæras which at present possess him. John Horne T---ke will tell him I am a blockhead. For John Horne T---ke like Prince Talleyrand, is still plotting behind the curtain, unseen, indeed; but heard, and felt, and understood. Yet I think “the Parson” might now begin to ponder things more suitable. There is a time when even enthusiasm ceases to attract, and when folly becomes disgusting. Rectitude may rise into fame: error may end in obscurity. In a word, Mr.T---ke; repentance has ever an open ear; and when we call is instantly present from the uttermost ends of the earth.

—I speak of the late election.

Virg.

—A gentleman of electioneering, duelling, and impeaching mischance. Ministers dreaded his garrulity, so opposed his election; read the papers, so prevented his duel; got into power, so forsook his impeachment. Thus we pity his first failure, laugh at his second, and despise him in his third—Tears, laughs, and hisses. Poor Mr. P---ll!

—Sylla nescivit literas, non potuit dictare. I shall, however, trouble Mr. P---ll with a single question, anxious as I am to afford him an opportunity of vindicating his literary character. Which of the following figures in Rhetoric is the most elegant for an orator;

I shall expect an instant answer in the daily prints, and no looking into dictionaries. Silence will, of course, be considered as a confession of ignorance.

Rhetoric is the art of speaking or writing with elegance.

—Mr. P---ll evinced his own origin by adverting to Mr. Sh*r*d*n's. No man of birth would descend to such indecency. Indeed the speeches of both candidates at the Westminster election were fitter for mountebanks, or furious field orators, than for enlightened statesmen. I shall give the following summary of them, as a rhetorical curiosity.

Hesiod.

Precisely at four o'clock Mr. Sh*r*d*n appeared on the hustings; a fine ruddy blaze emanating from the disk of his countenance. He drank some hot wine, which an old woman, fond of a joke, or hired perhaps by his opponents, offered to him. Decidedly, however, he was not inebriated. As soon as he began to speak, the people began to laugh; whereupon he bade them laugh still more; “because,” says he, “laughing supposes good humour, and good humour implies the returning of a proper member to Parliament.” From speaking of a proper member for Parliament, Mr. Sh*r*d*n, some how or other, contrived to shift the subject to himself, of whom he gave a very pleasing account indeed. He told us, in general terms, that he had done surprising things for the country; but was tender of descending to particulars; probably because the law does not oblige a criminal to convict himself. He then spoke impressively of liberty, England, the pretty girls, and the old woman, who gave him the hot wine. “I am resolved to continue in good humour,” says he, in a bitter passion; “and I don't care,” (elevating his voice prodigiously) whether the noisy rabble listen to me or not.”

Speaking of Mr. P---ll, he solemnly asserted that he (Mr. S.) had once met him (Mr. P.) in gentlemen's company! The people might stare, and be astonished; but so the fact stood— he had met him in gentlemen's company—He was ready to turn King's evidence, and make oath of it. And, moreover, he was sure that this son of a tailor would make him an abject apology. He concluded his harangue with this elegant exhortation. Now my friends, let us have a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether! Τον δ'απαμειβομενος προσεφη—Mr James P---ll.

Who made a neat, ill-tempered speech enough. He said he should blush (now Lord forbid Mr. P---ll should do such a thing!)—He should blush, he said, to be such a braggart as Mr. Sh---n. For himself, he would tell God's truth, and candidly confess, that he was a mere honest man, who had risen into estimation by dint of his own talents and deserts. He then pleaded guilty as to the fact of having been caught in gentlemen's company, but adduced Mr. S---n's being there as an expiation of the offence, “Yesterday,” says Mr. P---ll, “I was in a majority, which I then thought a triumph. To-day I am in a minority, which I take to be a greater triumph still; and if I lose the election, (which, by the bye, I am resolved not to do), I shall consider it as the greatest triumph of all. For,” says he, somewhat ingeniously, my “being in a minority proves that my opponents are in a majority; which, being caused by foul play, is a shame for them, and therefore a triumph to me.” He next spoke of the distresses of the people, which he attributed, in a great degree, to Mr. Sh---'s having a house at the end of St. Catherine-street. As to his being a son of a tailor, his answer was to this effect, namely,—that if he was a son of a tailor, Mr. Sh---n was—shall I repeat it?—a son of a vagabond! Yes, my dear reader, by all that's solemn, he called the right honourable Treasurer of the Navy a son of a vagabond. Mercy upon me!—a son of a vagabond. Let the earth perish, and the moon fall in pieces!

—Since C*bb*tt's deplorable secession he has sunk into such insignificance, that it is almost unnecessary to notice him. He is now famous only for opposing an æs triplex of countenance to the sneer of contempt which every where assails him. The style of his letters, too, has altered with his change of policy. Impurity has succeeded to elegance, and scurrility has taken place of wit. This is the natural consequence of Ministers' not choosing to write against themselves.

There are, at present, three principal clowns performing in the political pantomime, all admirably aukward, and far more amusing than even the facetious Grimaldi. These are Messrs. B*rd*tt, P---ll, and C*bb*tt. And truly a precious triumvirate. B*rd*tt, P---ll, and C*bb*tt!—A cock, a bull, and a roasted soldier! Peter F*n*rty, too, must not be omitted. That man has points about him that would do honour to a Hottentot.

—The Morning Chronicle—The Moniteur of England. A sort of political barometer, which, on the late change of atmosphere, suddenly, but aukwardly, rose to settled fair.

—The Edinburgh Review. A critical work of some merit and erudition. It is sometimes just, often erroneous, always insolent; and owes most of its popularity to this perfection, which it always exerts far too freely, unless the book be written by a fellow-countryman, or a Lord. Indeed bowing before a Lord was always an attribute of plebeian insolence. The best literary joke I recollect, is its attempting to prove some of the Grecian Pindar rank nonsense; supposing it to have been written by Mr. P. Kn*ght. Afterwards, indeed, it wrote Greek verses itself; and, after some consideration, I grant that this is even a better joke than the other. I do not always admire its principles; and it has had the vanity to declare that it possesses ALL the literary TALENTS of the country. Happy is that country in having scribblers who call themselves wise! Happy, too, in having Ministers who keep the scribblers in countenance! And why should not I also assure my readers that this little performance contains “All the Talents” of all the Poets? I do beseech them to have no doubt of it. And, moreover, I most earnestly exhort all corporations, whether of merchants or butchers, of aldermen, or tailors, to follow my laudable example. I would have the mechanic cram all the talents of mankind into his own especial occupation. I would have Dr. Solomon cashier his old puffs, and set up all the talents instead. Patients should swallow a lump of talents in Bolton's asthmatic lozenges; while anti-bile, anti-hydrophobia, anti-head-ache—in short, the whole very numerous family of Antis should possess the most unbounded abilities. Were I Bish and Co. I would draw forth all the talents in one capital prize.—Were I Tattersall, I would set them up to auction in the shape of my best blood.—Were I Hoby, I would actually stitch them in the sole of a boot. All patents should contain them; the real Japan blacking should shine a first-rate genius; and I would not hesitate to discover talents even under a fashionable wig. Yes, my friends—let us make common cause. Let all the talents belong to us all. Let empirics and Secretaries at War—let puppet-shews and Exchequer-Chancellors, all equally and uniformly glare with “wit and wisdom, and vigour and talent!” Believe me, vanity is the wisest of passions, because it is the only one not liable to alter with external circumstances. He who is pleased with himself is truly independent, and to be truly independent is the privilege of a Briton.

—The Pursuits of Literature. A work unequalled in manliness of sentiment, extensive learning, and elegant composition. It is generally attributed to Mr. M*th*s. Yet I think its general style closely resembles the language of Mr. M*tf*rd's Grecian History. The beginning of the satire tells us that the author had retired from camps, and courts, and crowds, and senates. Might not these have been Grecian? Is it not extraordinary, too, that the Pursuits of Literature never mentioned Mr. M*tf*rd's Greece amongst all the publications of the day; nor his brother, Lord R*d*s*e, amongst all the public characters? The author, whoever he be, may perceive I do not dread the anathemas he has thundered against over-curious people. As for myself, every body who pleases may try to unkennel me. Every body has a right. But I shall also beg leave to exercise my right on the occasion, and

Hor.

Before I conclude, I would say a few serious words to Ministers. They possess neither my regard nor my animosity. I look on them as mere machines moving the national concern; and examine if each part answers its intent, just as an exact mechanic would scrutinize his levers and his wheels. I repeat, I am neither a disappointed senator nor his hireling; but I am a lover of my country and will not tamely see her injured. Gentlemen, do not discredit me. There are men who can talk fine things and feel them too—pardon me when I add, there are men who can talk and feel the direct reverse. At least, then, beware how you will act; if, indeed, you will act at all. England has long been agape to behold the first-born wonder of her United Talents; but her United Talents appear to be plunged in a stupor of modesty, joy and apprehension. Collect yourselves and take courage. We have heard your voices and are anxious to see your deeds. Banish from your minds the narrow notions they so fatally cherish, and at length embrace the broad interests of humanity. Enough has been allotted to the vanities of triumph.—it is now time to sacrifice a little to expediency. Believe me, the prosperity of nations is an object not to be slighted, even amidst the mirth of a banquet, or the solemnity of a levee. The nation is angry that your exploits, which are puerile, bear no proportion to your gigantic professions. To vaunt is the privilege of an opposing party; but it is pitiful and disgusting in the party that must act. There is an assured humility, which is the real virtue. Arrogance is ever erroneous and unwise. Like the mariner distempered by a vertical sun, she can see green fields amid the waste of waters, and hear the lowing of cattle in the dashing of the waves.

These hints are not my own. They were suggested by a friend, to whose talents and learning I am deeply indebted in matters of far more importance.