telligible the words, the better is the effect produced. A professor of this style will never say, Pray snuff the candle;" but "Vouchsafe to decapitate the supererogatory elevation of the luminary:" instead of "Brush my coat," he would say, "Administer purification to the pulverulent superficies of my habiliments :" in short, he will stretch his jaws, and our language, to the greatest possible extent, and think more of himself for discovering a high-sounding word, than if he had Squared the Circle, or invented the Perpetual Motion.

Class VII.-The Pompholugopaphlasmatic, or Noisynonsensical style.

To this style the old proverb applies, "More Sound than Sense." It is chiefly used by Hectors, bravos, bullies, and those dandies whose stays are unfashionably loose enough, to admit of its being used with effect. It consists chiefly of oaths, to render which expressive, requires great power and skill. With ordinary performers they degenerate into unmeaning expletives; but with firstrate swearers they cannot fail to convince all those, who have not their ears stopped by good sense, or their minds depraved by that vulgar quality understanding.

Having thus completed my classes, I beg leave to announce to the world, my intention of publishing by subscription, a series of cards, containing every requisite to the above styles. The cards on class the first, will contain all the arguments of coffee-house politicians, on both sides of every question, arranged according to the Socratic method; by means of which those who wish

to display the versatility of their genius may change sides at their pleasure.

The Second Series will contain a vast variety of original stories, jeux d'esprit with suitable introductions: also two general speeches of thanks, adapted to any person, toast, or dinner.

The Third will contain new and original Raptures, warranted to captivate.

The Fourth will be found abundant in criticisms on the last new Quadrilles; with remarks on all descriptions of faces, blonde, brunette, Madonna, &c. &c. drawn from nature expressly for this work. Also an Essay on Lemonade, and an extract from Jarrin's "Italian Confectioner," on the subject of Ices.

The Fifth will contain every requisite of an accomplished scandal-monger; also an history of the Tea-plant, for a botanical coterie. Fictitious stories and false scandal will also be inserted; equal to true.

The Sixth will contain, "The Difficulties of Johnson," selected chiefly from his dictionary; also a supply of Greek words, of the best quality and loudest sound, neatly anglicised, warranted to contain more letters than any yet published.

The Seventh will contain a collection of challenges, and as many apologies; directions for talking big, with a copious assortment of lies, oaths, and gasconades.

If you will be so kind, Mr. Bouverie, as to insert this Scheme in the next number of your Miscellany, you may be assured that I will find a tongue to praise you; in the mean time believe me Your devoted Servant,

TOBIAS TACITURN.

H

THE LAST OF THE CAMBRIANS.

Hark! on the breezes borne along,
Loudly sounds the warriors' song:
Swift it passes o'er the waves,
Resounding from the mountain caves ;
While Snowdon's high and rocky shore
Reverberates the battle's roar.

Now all is hush'd, as silent night,
Save where the impetuous tide,
Gushing from the craggy height,

Thunders down the mountain's side :
Save where the rocks repeat the cry,
"We go to conquer or to die."

Now all is still; now hush'd that strain,
Never more to sound again;

While, beneath the mountain's gloom,
Young Edward proudly shakes his plume;

He bids his squadrons from afar

Mingle in the din of war.

Each felt, amid the mortal strife,

A momentary dread;

But ere another instant pass'd

Those craven thoughts were fled.
Lo, on the mountain's craggy side,
Glowing with his native pride,
Pride of his race, Llewellyn stands,
And urges on his patriot bands.

"Sons of Liberty, awake,

The English despots power to shake.
And shall the offspring of the brave
To foreign tyrants be a slave?
No-your battle blades unsheath-
Be to your country true :

That freedom to your sons bequeath,
Your sires bequeath'd to you :
And he who fears to meet the grave,
Let him live and die a slave.

"On Plinlimmon, from afar,

I saw the Genius of the war :
He bids us think of days of old,
Of those who in the grave are cold:
He couches now his purpled spear,
Lo, down the craggy height
Haggard death and giant fear
Ride onward to the fight:
Revengeful Hate and pale Despair
And Rout and Anguish follow there.

"Rush on, ye brave, at Glory's name;
Kindle again your fathers' flame :
And let the English plunderers know
Our breasts with patriot valour glow.
But now the hour of fight is near,
The moon is waning fast ;
And, if the tyrant foe prevail,
Let this day be your last.

With them, upon yon bloody plain,
We'll sing the praises of the slain.

"Lo, what visions of the night
Burst upon the victor's sight;
His glaring eye and startled ear
Shrink aghast with thrilling fear :
The phantoms rising from the tomb
Stalk across the dreary gloom,
Denouncing vengeance on his race,
The vengeance of a foe ;

He hears in the gale the shriek of death,
He hears the shriek of woe.

"Yonder rock is red with blood
Reflected in the foaming flood,
Yet redder still shall be that stream,
Redder still that rock shall gleam;
Ere to morrow's sun be low,

That sun itself with blood shall glow.
Many on that fatal field

Shall meet to meet no more;
Few among those foes shall live
To see their native shore.

Each hero in his war-cloak laid,
Shall grasp in death his broken blade.

"There, beneath that foaming deep,
Bound in adamantine sleep,

Ye'll moulder in your country's clay,
Nor shrink beneath the tyrant's sway;
Ye'll ne'er behold your country's fame
O'ershadow'd by eternal shame.

Rush on-rush on-the foe to meet,
Nor tremble at your doom;

The wave shall be your winding sheet,
The ocean's cave your tomb :

Beneath the surge of yonder sea

Your spirits will again be free."

WINANDERMERE.