have occasion to consider those who value themselves principally on their total abhorrence of that dreadful and undefined being, to be more uselessly and finically pedantic than any scholiast who ever thundered forth his anathemas against an inadmissible note of interrogation, or execrated the stupidity of a commentator for eradicating a favoured particle, whether it be dɛ, yɛ, or Tε. It is true, indeed, that the most common and received opinion is, that a pedant must of necessity be a scholar, which those who seek excuses for their ignorance have conveniently interpreted (by the aid of a certain figure which, if I were one of the proscribed class, I should call metathesis), that a scholar must of necessity be a pedant. But before we grant even the first proposition, let us consider what constitutes pedantry; is it the knowledge, or the absurd display of that knowledge for the gratification of your vanity, in the sense of your superior acquirements? Most decidedly, the display ; and why, then, should the imputation of pedantry be confined to the display of classical knowledge? why is not my friend Francis Jermyn a pedant, when, in answer to the agonized inquiry of some novice (who has been unwisely induced to risk his last half-crown) whether the horse which he has backed is a good one, receives in answer, the pedigree up to king Herod, and the consoling assurance that he is well bred; who interrupts a discussion on the Catholic question with an account of the entry for the St. Leger, and answers the breathless inquiry of his brother politicians upon the fate of a bill with, "Oh, it was carried in a canter-none of the opposition made any play;" who drowns the

conversation on the death of the emperor Alexander with the performances of Smolensko, and ruins a debate on the Slave-trade with the triumphs of Mulatto. This is pe dantry of another sort, equally foolish, and more dangerous; there is the same vanity in displaying his know ledge of the "Racing Calendar," the same "boast of heraldry," though it be but the heraldry of horses, as in the man who is proudly conscious of having rectified the punctuation of a Greek chorus, and of knowing every coat of arms which was used under the walls of Thebes. What, then, can be said for the politician who would tell you the name of every member who voted in the majority or minority of any question that was ever brought before the House, from the emancipation of the Catholics to the formation of a road, or the establishment of a turnpike; who numbers in his library more political pamphlets than his brother pedant does sporting magazines, and discusses the trivial questions which may arise, with all the ceremony, and nearly all the eloquence, of Parliament. Does not this arise from the same feeling as would have produced, if directed that way, an elaborate treatise on the metres of Eschylus, and unanswerable arguments about the Cretic foot?

Is not the man who can talk upon pictures, lights, shadows, back-grounds, &c. for hours, and yet, when forced to abandon this fertile subject, must remain as silent as a statue-is not he a pedant, and a pedant fit for nothing but to sell catalogues under the windows of the British Gallery? is not the soldier who never opens his mouth but to talk of battles; the sailor who can speak of nothing but his own ship-are not these pedants

in their line as great, or greater, than any man who ever quoted Greek? Why, then, is the person who is obliged to listen to these, and such as these, till his head turns round, and the answering monosyllables flow out without order or direction, why is the suffering person denied the gratification of branding him with the mark of pedantry in return, as well as the poor man whom destiny or inclination has unfortunately directed to the acquisition of the Classics?

Is it still thus? And have you still no shame,

O Trebius, in the poor-fed voter's name?
Will you still barter rights that make you free,
For an Election dinner and a fee?

Have you no qualms of conscience when you toast,
In meagre wine, your empty-headed host?
Does not the fish-bone rankle in your throat,
As you recall your prostituted vote?
And tho' strong beer awhile can stifle thought,
Yet not the less, O Trebius, you are bought.
Fain would I try to think a ten-pound note
Is worth a true-born Briton's honest vote;
Or that a smile from him, the great bashaw,
Outweighs the charter of our English law.
He calls you friend, nor doubt his friendship true,
In seven years' time he'll call you friend anew.

See where those diplomatic smiles encase
One humble candidate's obsequious face;

While the hand, press'd upon his grateful heart,
Performs alike its ever ready part.

Himself the while in broken words declares
Your voices load him with unwelcome cares;
And begging his refusal may be heard,
Trembles lest you should take him at his word.
Thus to the public eyes he seems a man,
Such as men were when first the world began ':
A man who scorns to cringe and condescend;
A man in pow'r, yet still his country's friend.
O vain to think in these degen'rate days,
When sordid int'rest ev'ry bosom sways,
When Honesty would hide her head for shame,
But that not one acknowledges the name;
And patriotic sentiments are lent

To rogues, who want a seat in parliament :

O little wise, to deem there might be found

A truly honest man on British ground :

When twice five pounds can silence patriot tongues, And a bad dinner quell the stoutest lungs.

But lest the age, perchance, should think I write

With bitter envy, or concealed spite,

And doubt my gen'ral censure to be true,

I'll pause, and give the devil all his due.

Oft have I seen a burgess's sound mind,

Fraught with his schemes of good to all mankind,
Determin'd that the man who has his vote,
At least shall have his apophthegms by rote;
Be true to his constituents, who all
Expect, at least, those dinners and a ball.
But have you seen this man of sentiment,
Though humble, honest, and though poor, content?
Have you seen him, the bold reformer, stand,
As one who pitied, and would save the land?
Have you seen him, firm, confident, and true,
Pocket his virtue and a ten-pound too?
Grant that the Catholics, at least, may share
That which the member tells him is but fair

And stifle in his neckcloth sundry gibes,

Which come not well from one who pockets bribes.
If this be honesty, ye Gods, I'll eat my pen,

And grant that truckling rogues are independent men.
Suppose then, Trebius, that the day is won,
The hubbub silenc'd, and the polling done;
Sit we invited at the member's board,
And for once dine and revel with a Lord :
For Horace rightly sings that wine alone,
Can alter e'en the smooth dissembler's tone;
In short, that after dinner ev'ry speech
Comes from the heart, which only wine can reach
And that the well-coin'd lie, and polish'd tale,
Fly from the gen'rous grape, and mighty ale.
Listen then, Trebius, whilst the worthy man,
Of public good details his sapient plan:-
"My friends, I rise-mine is no easy part-
"Your independence-and my grateful heart-
"I reverence your worth-I love this town—

“And drink the mayor's good health "—and so sits down. Gesticulation, and this eloquence,

Atone full well for want of common sense.

Wild with delight, the list'ning crowd applaud,
And with the clatter shakes the festive board;
Whilst the dull burgesses admire their guest,
Robb'd of the little sense they once possess'd.
More wine is drunk; each stands, or tries to stand,
Each would deliver the enslaved land,
And compliments, and toasts, and songs abound,
And some few fall to sleep upon the ground.

Now mark the dancing eyes, the tripping tongue, i
The glasses ring, and all the bells are rung;
The candles give a triple light, the mayor
Is multiplied, and now and then a chair
Remov'd whilst some one saw'd the empty air,
Beneath the table brings his portly weight,
And the wide wig deserts his toppling pate!
Enough of this; the member, far too wise
To hazard the detection of his lies,
Has slipt unnotic'd from the chairman's seat,
And sought his safety in a sure retreat :