rable "mute, inglorious Miltons" who suffer equally, but never succeed, yet, perhaps, equally deserve success? for the race is not always to the swift, and accident has as much influence over the destinies of Authors as of other mortals. When was genius ever recognised on its first appearance? What did the Critics say of the first productions of Byron, of Shelley, of Crabbe, of Keats? The "Rejected Addresses," the most successful burlesque ever written, could not find a publisher ! And, to take a more modern instance, what shall we say of the taste and feeling of the reviewers who, not content with cutting up the works of Charlotte Bronté, cast the vilest insinuations on the personal character of the unknown authoress ?

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Or in soft, sentimental, rhyming prose,
Proclaim the beauties of his mistress's nose.

This is not a case of " one verse for the other's sake." I consider the nose of beauty a most ill-used and unjustly-snubbed feature. Enamoured Poets give us the most glowing descriptions of their mistresses' "lofty brows," sparkling eyes,' ," "coral lips," and "pearly teeth," but seldom condescend to notice their noses! Yet the nose is rather an important feature of the face, especially in profile.

PART II.

Puff Principal.

O Plant divine, absurdly called a weed,

My blessing on thee, leaf, and flower, and seed! Rich and prolific be thy fragrant crop,

Sweet as the grape, and genial as the hop!

Long mayst thou flourish, 'spite of envy blind,
The universal solace of mankind;

And thanks to fiscal regulations wise,

Long mayst thou swell the sum of the excise!
O plant divine, as yet by bards unsung,
Is it beyond the power of mortal tongue,
In strains of fitting grandeur to declare
The catalogue of all thy virtues rare?
Whose worship is more widely spread than thine?

Art thou less potent than much-vaunted wine?

Shall vulgar beer incite to vulgar lays,

And not an Ode be written in thy praise?
No! here to thee I dedicate my lyre,

Accept my homage, and my verse inspire!
If slight my skill, profound my veneration,
My Pipe my daily source of inspiration :
Much prized, and often proved its magic power,
To soothe a sad, or pass a weary hour.
The equal luxury of rich and poor,
Impartial friend of noble and of boor-

Sweet comfort, ever ready to assuage

The woes of giddy youth and fretful

age;

Well may all prize thee, for thou art indeed

That rare phenomenon, a friend in need!

Thee can no frowns of adverse fortune frighten, Ever at hand, our miseries to lighten ;

For thy fidelity, no test can try it,

Except the inability to buy it,

That sad catastrophe which quickly sends

Unto the right-about our fastest friends;

And when we writhe in evil Fate's stern gripe,
Our surest consolation is our pipe.

Thrice wretched he, who knows not the relief

That thou canst minister in time of grief!

Thou bringest calm to the distracted breast,
Lullest Despair's wild agonies to rest,

Soothest the pains that rack our corp'ral frame,
Even the pangs of hunger thou canst tame.
In ev'ry scene and circumstance of fate,
Bowed down with sorrow, or with joy elate,
By the snug hearth, or in the savage glen,
Thou always art all things unto all men.

The man of wealth, reclined in cushioned

ease,

Through amber tube inhales the perfumed breeze; The hardy labʼrer, Nature's common clay, Dhudeen in mouth, goes plodding on his way;

The wanderer beneath high Heaven's dome,

Sees in his pipe the image of his home;