THAT laborious and learned commentator, Fabritius Flatbottombergius, in the 2479th page of his Hypercritical Treatise on the Diet of Wild Asses, printed at Amsterdam, in fifteen volumes folio, proveth, in a most concise and perspicuous manner, that every great and momentous work (such as an epic poem of this species certainly is), should, as to its origin and tendency, be made as intelligible to every faculty as circumstances will admit; and that the author is unavoidably bounden by every rule of right reason to elucidate its subject, or theme, as far as in him lieth. At this epoch of ignorance, when all her children may exclaim, "Redeunt Saturnia Regna!" that is "The leaden reign returns," indeed it is much to the poet's own interest, especially in any more grave or lofty composition, to explain such sublime (or, as the vulgar call them, obscure) passages as may occasionally present a stumblingblock to the less vivid imagination. With this view we have diligently perused the diurnal chronicles, a trial of no small endurance, VOL. IIA

B

and in the following not unnecessary extract hand down one of those ephemeral prints to latest posterity; for (without vanity a vice we abominate), the "Exegi Opus" might be aspired to without any imputation of egotism, except from the ill-judging and ill-natured.

"A rencontre took place on Monday, in the shop of Mr. Wright, the bookseller, in Piccadilly, between the celebrated Peter Pindar and Mr. Giffard, auther of the Baviad. We need not inform our literary readers (i. e. readers of letters) that in reply to the many sarcasms thrown out by Peter Pindar against the author of the Baviad and other poems, Mr. Giffard lately published a severe and keen satire against Peter. In a second edition an allusion is made of a kind too gross for decency to record. This literary combat on Monday produced blows (a very bad production). Dr. Walcot going into the shop of Mr. Wright, where Mr. Giffard was seated reading a newspaper (perhaps one of these we so highly honour), he asked him if his name was not Giffard? He replied in the affirmative. Upon which the Doctor aimed a blow at his brother poet with a cane (here we have availed ourselves of the licentia poetica in our work), which Mr. Giffard dexterously warded off (admirable dexterity!) and in an instant (amazing celerity !!) broke the head of his assailant (inhuman severity!!!) with his own stick. Mr. Peltier (supposed to be the Pantagruelian Frenchman), and another gentleman, interfered, and Peter, with a bloody sconce (quis temperet a lachrymis ?) was thrust into the street, where a mob collected, to whom he made his appeal. He had lost his hat in the affray, (non bene relictâ parmulâ), which was thrown out to him, but the author of the Baviad (non missura cutem, nisi plena cruoris Hirudo), kept possession of the cane as a trophy of his triumph!—" MORNING ADVERTISER, cum notis variorum.

Such is the narratory outline, and, metaphorically to speak, simple basis of our aspiring structure, which we have with so much intel

lectual cost embellished, and which it is to be devoutly wished may, in time, arouse the sleeping energies of universal emulation; for, pleasurably as we contemplate our own mental achievements, we wish not, with supercilious arrogance, to annihilate the humble effort of another, this being ever in memory, that we are the original, the principium et fons of heroical composition. We had nearly omitted to mention what is confidentially whispered, that our ingenious contemporary and cousin Mons. Von. Kotzebue is assiduously employed in dramatizing so memorable a transaction, and from his former very extraordinary evidences, we are emboldened to predict indubitable success.

A friend, whose scruples seem rather too formal, we shall not call them conscientious, inveigheth bitterly against our making Peter Pindar the most prominent figure on the canvass, and accuseth us of following the example of that republican reprobate, John Milton, who hath, in an out-of-date book of his, chosen for his hero no other than the arch-devil himself: whereas we scorn to tread in the same path with any man, much less condescend to copy such a master, so little studied by persons of taste, and so much unknown to the fashionable world, whose opinion on literary desert we venerate almost to idolatry. But, even allowing our apostacy to such vile imitation, is it possible that John Milton, a precise puritan, who hath written a long apologetic oration, proving his innocency of frequenting brothels, a recreation which, in our days, demandeth not even an excuse en cavalier? Is it, we repeat again, possible for him to mislead or contaminate, or pervert a pupil of modern philosophy, which is founded on infidelity alone, and a fervent renunciation of all belief; insomuch, that the existence of diabolism is no more credited, except by old wives and young children, than the renowned legend of Tom Thumb?

We now come to a point which requireth some degree of deliberation, and which is no other than our apparently hyperbolical en

comium of Mr. Thomas Dutton, a gentleman whom we have no ticed with more than ordinary complacence. Though personally unacquainted, and never as yet favoured by the extension of his censoral castigation, yet, in the liberality of his benevolent soul, so solemnly attached to "bold and independent principles," having rather too lavishly complimented the sportive effusion of a very dear ánd discerning friend, we have taken the first and fairest opportunity of offering up a slight tribute of literary remuneration. Nor hath this been our sole motive, a motive individual and confined; but much more stimulative hath been our inexpressible astonishment at his profound learning, and unequalled emanations of humour, especially in that famous compilation wherein he so generously extendeth his assistance to Peter Pindar!

Then was the dwarf in giant armour drest,

Then chirp'd the wren upon the eagle's crest!

But, to return to his learning:-In the name of all that is miraculous and magical, by the dæmon of Socrates, and the familiar of Cornelius Agrippa, we conjure thee, Thomas Dutton, who mightest be unvauntingly styled "The divine Doctor," as was formerly thy namesake, Thomas Aquinas, to disclose unto us, by what copious inspiration thou hast attained this sapient superiority of intellect? Doth no invisible agent supply thee with a Florilegium of select latin sentences; no ghost of departed pedagogue lumber thee with scholastic phrases?-Which studiest thou most intently, the critical lucubrations of Aristotle, or Zoilus; Longinus, or Chærilus; Horace, or Tigellius; Quintilian, or Tom Brown?-Hast thou any secret predilection for Bysche's Dictionary of Rhymes, Durfey's Lyrics, Collier's Theatrical Polemics, or Blackmore's Essays?-And, lastly, dost thou suppose seriously that any mortal of sensitive, or risible faculties, can desperately wade through the insipidity, nay offensive nuisance, of thy brain,-inter scabiem tantam et contagia-with

out either turning up the nose, or adopting the merry tenet of that jovial philosopher, who was ever on the broad grin, and a very proper personification of " laughter holding both his sides?"

Perpetuo riso pulmonem agitare solebat. JUVENAL.

With mirth eternal, at a flea or f—,

Chuckling, he rais'd the cockles of his heart.

Mr. T. Dutton, however, will perceive, that in reverence of his so laudable method of translating his numerous mottoes, pro bono publico, and with a conscientious view of edifying the rising generation, we have annexed to the two quotations in our title-page a free, (or as others term it, flying) version of each; thereby saving much abstruse rumination to the tribe of university beaux and coffee-room connoisseurs.

The next personage whom we introduce is Anthony Pasquin, Esquire, a most religious votary of the muse, though in an unknown language; his few ideas being always, and not injudiciously, couched in a strange extravagant diction, totally unintelligible to the ordi nary race of mortals; that is to say, in

"A Babylonish dialect,

Which learned pedants much affect:"

he will not be sorry to find himself in the same respectable situation with the redoubted champion of his talents, and the " dear companion of his tuneful art."

This truly original author, whose leaves are perfectly sybilistic, and whose oracular effusions are much more mysterious than those which issued from the Dodonean block, deserveth every encouragement for his ceaseless exertions towards constructing a new language, the hint of which, we presume, he hath borrowed from that wonderful Formosan, George Psalmanazar.