received a hint from the last of the thirty-five napoleons, which had constituted my whole travelling stock on leaving London.

"However, I was not entirely daunted by the failure of my second venture. The ceremony of the Coronation was now about to take place, and it struck me that it would afford an excellent groundwork for an historical and descriptive poem, in the stanza of Spenser. Full of this new, and, as it appeared to me, feasible plan, I set about arranging the topics; and in the meantime, knowing no other person; I ventured to write once more to Lord Exmouth, then in town, to request that he would procure me a ticket of admission to Westminster Abbey, for the purpose of witnessing the ceremony. On this, however, as on the former occasion, he maintained the same dignified and contumelious indifference, declining all manner of reply. That his lordship should not have been found among the patrons of literature, will excite no great surprise in those who know any thing of his origin, and the limited opportunities which have been afforded him of cultivating a literary taste; but every one must regret to find him thus deficient in the politeness, I might add humanity, we look for in an English gentleman. Here then was an end to my coronation scheme. I subsequently made several attempts to procure some permanent employment connected with the periodical press, but was unsuccessful in all. Had I been so fortunate as to have been acquainted with you then, this might not have been the case. Circumstances will speedily break the spirit down to the level of expedients, from which the philosophy of prosperous life would shrink with a feeling almost of horror. At this crisis, painful beyond all my powers of description even were I disposed to harrow up your feelings by the recital, an anonymous recommendation to the Editor of the Literary Gazette, raised a diversion in my favour, which led ultimately to the publication of my 'Lays on Land.' I had experienced enough of the vicissitudes and vexations of literary adventure to be prepared for further disappointment. My constitution had suffered severely; and I was compelled, finally, to leave London in 1821, for the restoration of my health, after a poetical campaign which had ended in defeat, if not in disgrace; my expectations from authorship blown vagabond and prostrate.' Thus, my dear Sir, you have all that can interest you of my little history."

6

1 lament to add, that whatever profits might have accrued from the sale of Mr. Macken's "Lays on Land," none ever reached the author. Mr. Warren, the bookseller, failed a very short time after its publication, and Mr. M. repaired to his friends at Enniskillen, where he died, in little more than two months from the date of his letter.

Whatever may have been the griefs to which his extremely sensitive temperament may have subjected him, he could not have been, as has been currently affirmed, in any pecuniary distress; for he had at the time of his decease a considerable sum of money in the hands of his friends, which would have been forwarded to him instantly, had he expressed a wish to receive it. Equally fallacious was the supposition, that he was a common sailor. On the contrary, he had received the advantage of a classical education at Trinity College, Dublin, and possessed all the refinement consequent upon high poetical talent and extensive scholastic attainments. He assumed the sobriquet of Ismael Fitzadam merely to conceal his identity from the public; but the correctness and propriety of his nautical allusions, and the fidelity of his account of the battle, would lead to the inference that he must have been present at the scenes he describes. The work to which he refers in his letter, was the Huntingdon Peerage, published with the name of Mr. Henry Nugent Bell, of title-finding notoriety. For the arrangement of this volume he was promised five hundred pounds, but had great difficulty in getting fifty.

3.-Page 34.

The Virgin Mary's Bank.

The production of a young Irish poet, Mr. J. Callanan, formerly a student of Trinity College, Dublin, and now a resident of Cork. Mr. C. is also the author of some spirited translations from the Irish, in Blackwood's Magazine for February, 1823.

4.-Page 42.

Lines on the Temple of Jupiter Olympius, at Athens.

Extracted from the letter-press to Mr. Williams' charming Views in Greece; decidedly the most interesting of the class of publications to which it belongs.

5.-Page 49.

Serenade from the Spanish.

These lines, and the exquisite ballad of Zara's Ear-rings (page 109), were first published in Blackwood's Magazine, but have since been included in a collection of Spanish Ballads (in 4to.), by the same author. It is to be regretted, that this volume, which contains some of the noblest specimens of the heroic ballad, has not been published in a cheaper and more popular form.

6.-Page 50.

Irregular Ode on the Death of Lord Byron.

Originally published in Paris, where the author has resided some years. It was afterwards reprinted in the Friendship's Offering, with an additional stanza, furnished to the Editor of that work by Mr. Colton.

7.-Page 59.
Song.

The author of this exquisitely beautiful poem has lately entered the church, and should accordingly have been designated the Rev. John Moultrie.

8.-Page 61.

The Shadow.

Since the greater part of this volume was printed, Mr. Malcolm has collected several of his fugitive poems, and published them under the title of "Scenes of War, and other Poems." Mr. M. is also the author of a very pleasing little volume of poems, under the title of "The Buccaneer, and other Poems."

9.-Page 63.

To the River Rhone.

From a small volume of the Annual class, entitled, Hommage aux Dames," projected and edited by the late Mr. Henry Neele, and published by Mr. Letts, of Cornhill.

10.-Page 67.

To the Picture of a Dead Girl, on first seeing it.

This charming poem, with several others from the same pen, which have appeared in the Literary Souvenir and Friendship's Offering, have just been collected into a volume, entitled, "The Poetical SketchBook."

11.-Page 71.

I think of Thee.

These lines have appeared in the late editions of a collection of juvenile poems, by their author, entitled, "Poetical Sketches." A principal reason for introducing them in this work, is, that they have been printed in several similar collections so incorrectly as to be almost unintelligible.

12.-Page 75.

Behave yoursel' before Folk.

The author of this very beautiful song, Alexander Rodgers, is a poor weaver of Glasgow, who has recently published a volume of very striking poems, entitled, "Peter Cornclips, and other Poems."

13.-Page 107.

The Holiday.

This touching composition is from the pen of the tasteful author of Dartmoor," "The Banks of the Tamar," and other beautiful poems;

a man of modest worth, and of exalted talent, who, for want of a little of the patronage so lavishly bestowed upon many less deserving objects, is wearing away the last remnants of a feeble and flickering existence, in the toilsome occupation of a country schoolmaster. Sincerely do I agree with the amiable and intelligent editor of the Eclectic Review, "that the schoolmaster of Plymouth-dock, retiring after the worse than manual labour of the day, to solace himself with his books and his pen, is, to the full, as poetical a personage as the teacher of Gandercleugh. It is such men, after all, that are actuated by the genuine literary passion, the true spirit of authorship; and not our town poets, and well-dressed literati, who are making the most money and the most noise." The parallel, however, does not altogether hold good; for as Mr. Carrington, in a spirit of despondence which must touch every heart that is alive to the gentler impulses of our nature, himself observes, "The teacher of Gandercleugh possessed advantages which never fell to the lot of the writer of these pages. Engaged, like that far-famed personage, in the education of youth, his labours have seldom been relinquished until the close of our longest summer evenings; when, instead of retiring to the banks of a beautiful stream, he has almost uniformly been driven by business connected with his arduous profession, or by literary cares, to his solitary studies at home. There, depressed by the previous fatigues of the day, he has occasionally indulged in composition, and hence this volume, the production of many a pensive and abstracted hour."

Such is the fate of the real poet, unassisted by any of those adventitious expedients which the town pretender has so often recourse to. Thus languishes the man of modest worth and genius, whilst the metropolitan impostor, with his nineteen mock editions, and his impudent assumption of the name of some more deserving writer, contrives to secure for himself notoriety and impunity in the disposal of his spurious commodity.

14.-Page 111.

The Mill.

A few copies of this poem were printed, for private circulation, about two years ago.