enable me to point out what I think some slight instances of carelessness on the part of the editor.

Marcus Tullius, a young Roman general, had gone to the wars, and had left his new-married wife, Philadelpha, to the care of his friend ArWhile he is in the camp, a letter is brought him by his page. He comes in, with another officer, Marius, and says to the page,

manus.

Page. Yes.

A letter, Janus?

Tull. From whence!

Page. From Rome.

Tull. My Philadelpha? No.

Mar.

Armanus ?

Tull. Neither,

You shall partake it presently.

Mar. Let's leave him.[Exeunt Marius and Page.]

Tull. [Reads] "The king solicits your fair bride to

lust;

Armanus is his cunning instrument,

And Philadelpha makes but weak defence:

If that your bed be pure, 'tis only want
Of opportunity defers the sin."

Within there! ho!

Enter BELLARIO.

Bell. My Lord ?

Tull. Where's he that brought this letter?

Bell. Posted hence;

He said it craved no answer, and we discharged him.

I remark here, that we is given by Mr Weber for you, the reading of the manuscript; but it

would be much better to make Tullius's reply begin with the last words of Bellario's speech, and to read thus,

Bell. He said it craved no answer.

Tull. And you discharged him?

I charge you on your lives make after him,

And bring him back with speed! take swiftest horse!

[Exit Bellario.] Armanus! Philadelpha! Eyes drop forth

And lose your light for ever!

Oh ye gods,

How could you find out such a merciless

And murdering torture for an innocent man?
What deed of mine ever deserved so ill
As this inscription does inflict on me?
Oh, fickle creatures,

Euripus' madding billows do not rush
With half that swiftness on another's necks,
As do your perjuries and infinite sins.
Your love at best is as an April shower:
Your rosy cheeks shaded about with thorns,
That do not prick our fingers but our hearts.
Your pictures far excel you, for they have
All that is good in you, your outward feature,
But your infernal minds they, happy, want.
Beauty, at best, is like a blooming tree,
Fairest in bud, when it bears foulest fruit.
Fool that I am thus to invect against her!
'Protest I had forgot she is a woman.

[Faithful Friends, Act 3, Scene 3.]

This is certainly very beautiful writing, but there is a sentiment towards the close, which, as it stands, is not quite intelligible. What is the

meaning of either beauty, or a tree, in bud, when it bears foulest fruit? doubt the poet wrote:

being fairest I have little

Beauty, at best, is like a blooming trec,
Fairest in bud; when it bears foulest fruit-

The speaker is then proceeding to say, how bad a thing it is; but he interrupts himself with,

Fool that I am thus to invect against her!
'Protest I had forgot she is a woman!

Having now concluded this erudite treatise, which undoubtedly containeth more sound criticism than any that hath appeared in the world since my own" Art of Sinking in Poetry," (if it is less witty than that celebrated performance, thou couldst not expect otherwise, reader, considering the additional weight of an hundred years, which my shoulders now bear: O mihi præteritos referat si Jupiter annos!) I may say with Horace, what, by the way, it required no small portion of brass even in him to say,

Exegi monumentum perennius aere.

I have sometimes indeed thought, that this line of the great Roman lyrist hath been misunderstood, and that in another sense of the word aes, he meant merely to announce to the world a truth

with which we poor authors are but too well acquainted,—that our works, however speedily destined to perish, are yet apt to outlive our money.

This present work alas! hath actually come into existence, solely through the unnatural destruction, of all the little funds which its author hath been able to accumulate, in the course of an antediluvian period of years, spent in exertions of the most laborious erudition. It hath cost me in printing no less a sum than L. 6, 7s. 6d. which I have been tempted to throw away in the cause of literature, and have thus been enabled to supply the world with one hundred copies, of this unrivalled morsel of criticism. It will, in truth, be very severe, if, in the close of my long life, I am destined to submit to the mortification, of seeing, at last, all my pearls cast before swine, without even the gratification to my vanity, of these sluggish creatures taking the trouble to turn round and rend me!

Yet if I am not insensible to the love of fame, "that last infirmity of noble mind," far be it from me to have any hankering after sordid lucre! Let but my little peculium be replaced, and all the profit which may arise from the sale of these my labours, (should it even amount to L. 3, 3s.) shall be religiously employed in the relief of the GERMAN SUFFERERS, whose distresses have awakened in me a threefold sympathy, as I am a man, a patriot, and, above all, a commenta

tor. For the sake, gentle reader, of these poor unfortunates, buy this curious treatise, and then thou mayst apply it to whatever purpose seemeth meet to thee,-for, gentle reader, thou art under no obligation to read it.