To eulogise a poet's strain Who boasts no power to praise again,- I have but imped the wings of time * Why does not the "Literary Union," which seems to be a sort of "Common Hall" of literature, devise some plan of reform in the world of letters. It is very certain that a species of boroughmongering has grown up therein, which places the critical influence of the press almost entirely in the hands of some half-dozen individuals; and whether the power they possess be applied in a spirit of venality or good-nature, the effects of the system are the same. Thus the accredited contributor to one or two popular periodicals is all but secure of the favourable suffrages of most contemporary journals, if the editors happen to be, as is usually the case, authors themselves. I scarcely ever remember to have seen a really critical examination of any of the voluminous writings of Mr. Allan Cunningham, and it may fairly be inferred that he is not altogether infallible. What is the probable reason? Why, truly, he writes in the "Literary Gazette," "Athenæum," "Fraser," "New Monthly," "Metropolitan," "Englishman," and a dozen other periodicals; and whoever should have the temerity to indulge in unpleasant strictures upon a volume from his pen, would stand a chance to receive a dozen points in his target for his presumption; whereas on the other hand, if he were a " canny critic," and did his "spiriting gently," it would be more than probable that some work of his own would, ere long, come under the notice of so universal a reviewer, and be treated with grateful respect in return! And if I've dipped my pen in gall, Nor e'er till now have penned a strain, Will turn upon my heels and bite; , What Andrews, gratis, did for Blucher*) (Potent in name if not in wit,) To rate me in his Monthly hash, An allusion to the benevolent politeness of a great London bookseller to the venerable barbarian Blucher, at the fête at Carlton Palace, in 1815, at which he, (the bibliopole,) officiated as a waiter. There is, I am told, an illustrious obscure of the name of Churchill (with two qualities, at least, in common with his great namesake), who is one of the second-hand wits of the mock-Blackwood. I can only refer his enmity to me, to the circumstance of my refusing to admit his contributions into the If such a crew at length provoke Arrow for arrow-stroke for stroke; 'Tis more for others' sakes than mine; Their's be the guilt and chastisement ! A. A. W. "Literary Souvenir;" for which, with all his affected contempt for Annuals, he would have been but too happy to have been allowed to write! The favourite joke of this blockhead and his associates is to dub me Alaric Attila Watts; a jest, (if the mere calling names can be entitled to be so characterised) borrowed from the quiver of Mr. Lockhart, the editor of the Quarterly Review! So delighted does the Editor of the Atlas appear to be with this unanswerable stroke of wit, that in one of his notices of the Literary Souvenir, of half a column in length, he prints the words" Mr. Alaric Attila Watts" no less than twelve times!!! "OH! PROMISE ME TO SING." BY G. M. FITZGERALD, ESQ. OH! promise me to sing, love, When the quiet eve shall bring, love, When the busy world is still, love, When a few dear friends are nigh, When the moon is on the hill, love, When the hearts where I would dwell, love, With silent tears may fill: When the few who ne'er forget, love, Will fondly name my name, I care not for the praise, love, The critic, or his sneer: For the plaudit wealth can buy, love, Or the wreath that fame can bring, |