As for myself, I leave the voice divine Of popular opinion to define That voice infallible, which can't be wrong To which of the two classes I belong; And like a criminal by jury tried, Their verdict must my future fate decide; And settle, if in choosing my vocation, I have but nursed a wild hallucination, As strong as that which turned the valiant noddle Of poor Cervantes' mock chivalric model, Or felt a real call; if this be so, The World must judge, and Time alone will show. Meantime I wait, and placidly prepare, With undisturbed serenity, to bear Those pleasant proofs of amiable feeling, I know full well, that you will find with ease Good grounds enough for just blame if you please ; But if in these, my modest lines, appear In honest love of truth, and hate of wrong, As in a mine, deep burrowed under ground, Cleanse the bright metal from the worthless soil, The ore from dross in this my mental mine; NOTES TO PART I. Page 10, line 15. - the luscious fruit all turned to dust. Page 13, line 10. and dreaming, knows he dreams. The subject of dreams is, I think, one of the most puzzling to human ingenuity; and all attempts to account for their marvellous phenomena are utterly vain. We have, indeed, read of persons who seemed to be able to exercise a certain amount of control over their imagination, even in sleep, and force themselves to dream of certain subjects; but such cases, if any have ever been well authenticated, are rare, and quite exceptional. When one particular object engrosses our waking thoughts, it is sometimes reproduced in our nightly dreams, in a distorted and fantastic shape; but generally the visions of the night have no more connection with the realities of the day than the absurdities of a pantomime with the heavy tragedy which preceded it. But as everybody dreams more or less, I suppose most people have experienced the sensation I have endeavoured to describe-that of being actually fast asleep and dreaming, and yet having a dim perception and uneasy feeling that we are in a dream, and shall presently awake. Page 16, line 7. 'Tis difficult indeed to tell whence spring, &c. Who can account for the variations of his humour? Are we not all sometimes joyous, sometimes sad, without any assignable cause? At one time we can bear a real misfortune with calmness; at another, a trifling inconvenience altogether upsets our equanimity-and why? Page 18, line 12. the caustic spirit of Archilochus. Archilochus, the satiric Poet, had been promised in marriage Neobule, the daughter of Lycambes, who afterwards gave her to another person of higher rank than the Poet. This so incensed Archilochus that, to revenge himself, he wrote a satire so bitter that both father and daughter hanged themselves in despair. Page 19, line 13. Like Anteros and Eros, they seem both Born of one womb, and growing with one growth. Venus complained to Themis that her son Cupid, or Eros, always remained a child, and was told that if he had a brother, he would grow up with him. As soon as Anteros was born, Cupid's strength increased, and he began to grow; but whenever he was separated from his brother, he became a child again. Page 21, line 11. It is a dreary, dismal tale, &c. We learn, indeed, in later times, the struggles and sufferings of those who eventually compel a recognition of their genius ;-the fate of Butler, Otway, Savage, Chatterton, and their brothers in talent and misfortune, is as familiar to us as their names;-but who ever hears of the innume |