-frey was a more gentlemanly Whip than Mr Broughamthat Sydney Smith grinned more good-humouredly than Sir James Mackintosh, and so forth but all these were satirists, and, strange to say, they ALL then rejoiced in the name. Indeed, take away the merit of clever satire from most of them, and they shrink to pretty moderate dimensions. Is Mr Jeffrey a Samuel Johnson? Is Mr Brougham an Edmund Burke? Is Mr Smith a South? Is Sir James Mackintosh a Gibbon? These men were all satirists, it is true; but their fame does not rest altogether on satire. Q. E. D.

Let anybody read our work over, and survey the genreral complexion of all we have written. Jokes and satire he will find; but will he find anything of that unfairness towards real genius, of which our enemies so bitterly accuse us? Show us the one truly great man, mentioned by us, of whom we have not spoken reverently, and our mouth is closed for ever. Shew us the one unaffected generous aspirant, whose youthful hopes our satire has blasted, and we are dumb. Shew us the one man, great or small, good/or bad, whose works we have abused, 'not because we despised the works, but because we had a grudge against the individual, and this Number is our last. The fact is, that no such charges can in fairness be brought against us,-and our enemies well know, that no such charges can be substantiated against us, else had they not confined themselves to the loose and vulgar tirades and jeremiades with which alone we have as yet been, so far as we are aware, assailed. On the contrary, we have, we speak it boldly, been as critics. chiefly to blame for our excess of gentleness Our praise has flowed not only more liberally than that of any other critics of the day, but more liberally, in many instances, than it ought to have done. And, accordingly, there is no question, that, laying Scotland for a moment out of view, Four general critical character is one of extreme benignity, candour, and generosity. Poll the authors whose works we have criticized, and if we do not carry this point hollow, we never stand again. There is no Wordsworth to com

plain of us for wilful scoffing against power, whichy scoffing, we in our secret souls revered. There is no Byron to reproach us with trampling into the mud the first budding tblossoms of a noble genius. There is no Dermody to rise, and say, " You called me DRUNKARD."→→→ I

Nay, never shake thy gory locks at ME! Jean med T14:1 a Thou can'st not say I did it al gol m What is our offence? It can be told in three words, WE ARE TORIES. "Ubi lapsus, quid feci ?" Ask the WHIGS! We have attacked them, there lies our fault. We have beat them, there lies our glory. They abuse us; that we despise. The Tories, at least the good, the wise, the generous, and the just among them, approve us. In that we triumph. ed; but in ed. We have, however, let it be observed, been using both the word Whig, and the word Tory, just now in a limited sense and acceptation. We should indeed be very much ashamed of ourselves, if we believed ourselves to have merited or moved the spleen of the true old English ToWhigs. Not at all. We have among them many fast friends, nay, many admirable and valuable contributors; and these are every day increasing. Does anybody suppose, that because we advocate, in general, the cause of the present administration, we are their paid, servile, slavish tools? Or that we doubt, or that we do not hoonour, the uprightness of many who regard them with eyes different from ours? This is nonsense; our contempt is for a small, and, thank God, now an inconsiderable faction, of speaking and writing, haranguing and libelling, -base, hypocritical, unchristian, unpatriotic creatures, who beary (and who disgrace, the name of Whigs Buterwe are in no more danger of confounding the great party that passes under the same name with THESE, than we ware of wishing ourselves to be looked upon as partakers in the same cleaving sins of dulness, ignorance, cowardice, 97utter/prostration of sense and intellect, and manhood, wwhich we, (at least as well as any Whig among them all,) -can detect and despise in too many who share with us,

"

ILV

ody meds of mislame as in them lies, the name of Toryand disgrace, as far

We stand by ourselves, and for ourselves. "We are cons 69 20 word scious of integrity and of candour. Who is of Candour. Who is he who can

say less without a blush? Who is he that can she tcan say more So we be see and rot rod bas bedeilduq toy 25 men and ofti.timmos lliw od jedt tud ad 19 This

Really all this humbug has gone on too long.

Journal is acknowledged by every body to be one of the fairest that ever the world saw; and we are sick of hearel produced

thered fre

friends of the distinguished combatants. We appoint for ourselves Neat and the Rev. William Lisle Bowlesand we suggest to Mr Moore, in the true spirit of British courage, Gas and Mr Montgomery, the "Author of the World before the Flood."

Lord Byron, too, has written something about us-but whether a satire or an eulogy seems doubtful. The Noble Lord-great wits having short memories, and sometimes not very long judgments-has told the public and Mr Murray that he has forgotten whether his letter is on or to the Editor of Blackwood's Magazine. From this we fear his Lordship was in a state of civilation when he penned it; and if ever he publishes it, as we scorn to take advantage of any man, we now give his Lordship and the public a solemn pledge, to drink one glass of Sherry, three of Champagne, two of Hock, ditto of Madeira, six of Old Port, and four-and-twenty of Claret, before we put pen to paper in reply. At the same time, Lord Byron should recollect that we are now an old man-just as Jeremy Bentham is now an old woman; and that he, who has youth on his side, ought not to throw up his hat in the ring, and challenge us for a bellyful. We think we can fit him with the gloves, and that is pretty light play for one at our time of life. But we have still a blow or two left in us; and if a turn-up with the naked mauleys there must be, a hit on the jugular may peradventure do his Lordship's business. Should his Lordship be dished in the ring-like Curtis or O'Leary-let the Reviewer who tries us remember that we wished to decline the contest.

Some people will say, "here is a pretty Preface." "Oh! what for a Preface ?" quoth Feldborg the Dane. No matter, worthy Readers. If we should prose for a twelvemonth, we could not put you more completely in possession of the facts of the case-just at present. When Mr Francis Jeffrey, editor of the Edinburgh Review, has given you his opinion of us, as he will do one of these days, we promise you one thing, in which you run no risk of dis

appointment Our opinion of HIM. C. N.

June 20th, 1822.