the age of twenty-one, when I left College, took possession of my property, which was soon diminished by improvidence; and at the age of four-and-twenty, having devoted the best part of three years to English composition, I published a volume of poems, which produced me a profit of about one hundred guineas, besides the reputation of being a good versifier.

"I now considered myself a man of genius, indeed, with inexhaustible resources in my own mind. My enthusiasm was exalted still higher by the passion of love, the object of which was Nancy Villiers, a pretty young milliner, who kept a small shop in Micklegate, York. I addressed my idol in amatory strains; prevailed, and accompanied her triumphantly to the altar. For two years our time flew on wings of down, but soon after the birth of our first-born son, my wife's business declined, in consequence of her determination to suckle her own offspring. This offended some of her best customers, who upbraided her with what they termed a vulgar. prejudice, but Nancy continued inexorable; her boy repaid her cares, and grew one of the loveliest and most thriving children in York; and I was too sincere a lover, and too sentimental a husband, to censure the conduct of a woman whose maternal affection I respected.

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My pen, the ready instrument of my will,

L

seers.

Smelt.

recorded some lively effusions of the Muse on this subject; but Apollo himself could not the obduracy of tax-gatherers and parish overOur landlord, too, felt no sympathy for two young persons, whom he considered indolent and flighty; our stock in trade was sold by auction, and with the residue of our money, which amounted to about fifty pounds, we took private lodgings, and enjoyed for some months all the luxury of connubial and parental love in our obscure retirement.

"In this situation, my wife was brought to bed of another son, and the state of our purse, which, like Æsop's basket of bread, daily be, came lighter, alarmed me, and stimulated my invention. I produced a novel, which I banded to a friendly critic for perusal. His encomium was extravagant, but he did not, stop with mere approbation. He soon found a purchaser for my merchandise, a Yorkshireman, with whom he was intimately acquainted, and who is an opulent publisher in London. This bookselling patron offered me thirty guineas for my manuscript, which I gladly accepted. He then gave me an order for two volumes more, of equal quantity, at the same price. This second novel I transmitted to him about twelve months ago. He then proposed to me that I should come to London and superintend a periodical work,

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and during my journey to town, I first had the happiness to become acquainted with you. When you honoured me with a visit in my humble lodging, you had an opportunity of seeing my wife and children." Yes, and of admiring them too," said Edmund, turning aside, and taking Bank of England notes to the value of twenty pounds out of his pocket-book," and I request you to present this gift to your wife, from a friend of maternal and conjugal virtue." With these words, he hastily put the money into the hands of Mr. Buersil, and taking advantage of his surprise, left the Coffee-house before he had time to express his thanks.

Mr. Vere then went to the chambers of his friend Mr. Brownlow, and found him busy among his papers. "I have prepared a few more observations on Society and Manners in London," said the satirist," and amused myself with digesting them in the fanciful form of an elementary treatise on the universal science of satire. They might be published with the utmost safety to the bookseller, notwithstanding the existence of the Blasphemous and Seditious Libel Bill, which has recently become a law. Indeed, the impious audacity of certain impudent and unprincipled scribblers required repression; and however we may regret any restraint on the liberty of the press, we cannot conscientiously

blame the authors of those restrictive measures, which the profaneness and infidelity of a few obscure, but mischievous and needy adventurers provoked, by reiterated attacks on whatever we hold sacred. My production is comparatively innocent, though several of the observations are rather severe on certain public characters, who have obtained temporary celebrity." "I have no doubt but I shall be much amused, if not instructed by your production, Sir,” said Edmund, "and shall avail myself of the present opportunity, to request that you will read it to me." Brownlow assented, and arranging his manuscript, read as follows:

SATIRE MADE EASY; OR, INSTRUCTIONS IN THE ART OF POLITE CENSURE.

Among the useful and ornamental arts which contribute to the gratification of mankind, the art of satire, as it is the most general, is also most popular. Indeed, so universal is the propensity to this delightful recreation, that it can scarcely be termed an art, but seems in a great degree to be the instinctive or natural bias of an active and ingenious mind, capable of perceiving, and prompt to ridicule the errors of others, while it kindly overlooks its own. But however strong the aptitude of the youthful tyro, engaged in the

acquisition of this fashionable accomplishment, may be, much scientific information respecting the principles and practice of refined scandal is obtainable from satirical books, and still more from polite conversation.

The antiquity of satire is unquestionable, insomuch that it claims priority of all the other sciences. If we examine the pages of ancient history, we shall find that all the celebrated philosophers, poets, and orators of Greece and Rome were arrant libellers. What were the animadversions of Socrates, Diogenes, Seneca, and other sages, against existing vices and follies, but the censure of indignant truth? And the more just the application of blame to the delinquent, the more fatal to him the satire, for according to the axiom of one of our English luminaries of jurisprudence," the greater the truth, the greater the libel."

Since the modern and accelerated diffusion of knowledge in all its branches by the instrumentality of a free press, no art seems to be promulgated with such ardour and success as the science of satire. From the nature of things, it must ever be popular, as it is at once so grateful to our vanity, and may be so easily pursued. By its aid we are enabled to depreciate an enemy, and even sometimes to aim a shaft of censure at the bosom of a friend. Our ancestors were not,