MR EDITOR, An unmetrical letter from Talleyrand to Lord Grenville has already appeared, and from an authority too high to be questioned otherwise I could adduce some arguments for the exclusive authenticity of the following metrical epistle. The very epithet which the wise ancients used, aurea carmina,' might have been supposed likely to have deter

6

mined the choice of the French minister in favour

of verse; and the rather when we recollect that this phrase of 'golden verses' is applied emphatically to the works of that philosopher who imposed silence on all with whom he had to deal. Besides is it not somewhat improbable that Talleyrand should have preferred prose to rhyme, when the latter alone has got the chink? Is it not likewise curious that in our official answer no

notice whatever is taken of the Chief Consul, Bonaparte, as if there had been no such person existing; notwithstanding that his existence is pretty generally admitted, nay that some have been so rash as to believe that he has created as

great a sensation in the world as Lord Grenville, or even the Duke of Portland? But the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Talleyrand, is acknowledged, which, in our opinion, could not have happened had he written only that insignificant proseletter, which seems to precede Bonaparte's, as in old romances a dwarf always ran before to proclaim the advent or arrival of knight or giant. That Talleyrand's character and practices more resemble those of some regular Governments than Bonaparte's I admit; but this of itself does not appear a satisfactory explanation. However, let the letter speak for itself. The second line is supererogative in syllables, whether from the oscitancy of the transcriber, or from the trepidation which might have overpowered the modest Frenchman, on finding himself in the act of writing to so great a man, I shall not dare to determine. A few Notes are added by Your servant,

Cannot prejudice you or your Cousin against me:

I'm Ex bishop. What then? Burke himself would agree

need fear

Church that left me.

30

1 The word Initiations is borrowed from the new Constitution, and can only mean, in plain

English, introductory matter. If the manuscript

would bear us out, we should propose to read the line thus-'What a plentiful Verbage, what Initiations! inasmuch as Vintage must necessarily refer to wine, really or figuratively; and we cannot guess what species Lord Grenville's eloquence may be supposed to resemble, unless, indeed, it be Cowslip wine. A slashing critic to whom we read the manuscript, proposed to read, 'What a plenty of Flowers-what initiations !' and supposes it may allude indiscriminately to Poppy Flowers, or Flour of Brimstone. The most modest emendation, perhaps, would be this -for Vintage read Ventage.

2 We cannot sufficiently admire the accuracy of this simile. For as Lord Grenville, though short, is certainly not the shortest man in the House, even so is it with the days in November.

blunder

Of some of our Journalists caused us some wonder:

1 An evident plagiarism of the Ex-Bishop's from Dr. Johnson :—

'Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign, And panting Time toil'd after him in vain : His pow'rful strokes presiding Truth confess'd, And unresisting Passion storm'd the breast.'

2 This line and the following are involved in an almost Lycophrontic tenebricosity. On repeating them, however, to an Illuminant, whose

confidence I possess, he informed me (and he ought to know, for he is a Tallow-chandler by trade) that certain candles go by the name of sixteens. This explains the whole, the Scotch Peers are destined to burn out-and so are candles! The English are perpetual, and are therefore styled Fixed Stars! The word Geminies is, we confess, still obscure to us; though we venture to suggest that it may perhaps be a metaphor (daringly sublime) for the two eyes which noble Lords do in general possess. It is certainly used by the poet Fletcher in this sense, in the 31st stanza of his Purple Island:'What! shall I then need seek a patron out,

Or beg a favour from a mistress' eyes, To fence my song against the vulgar rout, And shine upon me with her geminies?'

THE tedded hay, the first fruits of the soil,

The tedded hay and corn-sheaves in one field,

Show summer gone, ere come. The foxglove tall

Sheds its loose purple bells, or in the gust,

to mention

What we both of us think-'twas a

cursed invention,

ing lark,

Or mountain-finch alighting. And the

rose

prouder

Stands, like some boasted beauty of past

Hope's gentle gem, the sweet Forget me

not! 1

So will not fade the flowers which Emmeline

With delicate fingers on the snow white silk

Nor yet the entrancement of that maiden kiss

With which she promised, that when spring returned,

She would resign one half of that dear name,

knew I loved),

And, more beloved than they, her auburn

hair.

In the cool morning twilight, early waked

By her full bosom's joyous restlessness, Softly she rose, and lightly stole along, Down the slope coppice to the woodbine bower,

Whose rich flowers, swinging in the morning breeze,

Over their dim fast-moving shadows hung,

Making a quiet image of disquiet In the smooth, scarcely moving river. pool.

There, in that bower where first she owned her love,

And let me kiss my own warm tear of joy From off her glowing cheek, she sate and

stretched