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Then as the gust came whirling round,

It shook from root to pinnacle,
And headlong to the echoing ground,

It hurting, crashing, thundering fell !
Melting away, the fractur'd trunk
To a green moss-mound slowly sunk,

Until the soil crept o'er,
And, by its solemn mystery,
Took to itself the stately tree,

Which once it proudly bore.
Monticello, (N. Y.,) 1838.




SINCE our last number, introducing the 'Rejected Addresses' as a new acquaintance to many, and a rare one to all, who peruse our pages, a considerate friend has furnished us with a choice copy of the eighteenth London edition, elegantly produced, some few years since, from the press of Murray, embellished with spirited portraits of the two Smiths, and other illustrations, and enriched with the latest preface, notes, and revisions. From this edition, we gather various interesting particulars and anecdotes, which we are well pleased to be able to lay before our readers. It should seem, that after the hurried execution of their project, the brothers had the greatest difficulty in procuring a publisher, although they asked nothing for their mss. After some half a dozen amusing rebuffs, from very discriminating bibliopoles, and at a moment when their ' Addresses' were in every sense ‘rejected, they were so fortunate as to betake themselves to John Miller, who at once took upon himself the risk of publication, promising half the profits, should any accrue, to the gifted but inexperienced authors. So rapid and decided was their success, that they were shortly enabled to dispose of their half copy-right to the publisher, for five thousand dollars! What a lesson to stupid book-sellers, as well as young writers, conscious of the gift within!'

After a lapse of twenty years, the successful authors state, much to the credit of the genus irritabile, that none of those whom they had parodied or burlesqued, ever betrayed the least soreness in relation to the satire, or refused to join in the laugh which so widely distended the national mouth. 'I must certainly have written this myself,' said Scott, to one of the authors, pointing to the admirable description of the burning,' although I forget upon what occasion ! Even the very motto* chosen, Sir Walter informed the annotator he had himself pitched upon, as appropriate to his collected works. Lord Byron wrote to Murray from Italy, . Tell him I forgive him, though

"Thus he went on, stringing one extravagance upon another, in the style his books of chivalry had taught him, and imitating, as near as he could, their very phrase.'


he were twenty times our satirist.' Some were led astray by the disguise assumed; and a Leicestershire clergyman is said to have uttered this unique criticism : '1 do n't see why they should have been rejected; I think some of them are very good!' Rogers and Campbell they could not imitate, without giving a servile copy of their manner, or an unrecognizable caricature. They claim to be ranked among the most ardent admirers of Coleridge and Wordsworth, notwithstanding they admit having pounced upon the popular ballads of the latter, and attempted to push their simplicity into puerility and silliness. This, it is added, was at a time when they were less conversant with the higher aspirations of his muse. In the notes, are sundry personal anecdotes of the lampooned subjects. Among others, the loyal Fitzgerald is mentioned, as an inflated actor, at a minor theatre, 'playing Zanga in a wig too small for his head.' He was first met by one of the authors at the table of an old lord, who familiarly called him · Fitz,' but forgot to name him in his will.' It was this worthy of whom Byron spoke :

- Let hoarse Fitzgerald bawl

His creaking couplets in a tavern hall.' An obliging journalist dropped a hint, that we might find much food for fun in . WARRENIANA,' a small volume which the authors of * Rejected Addresses' were induced to put forth, by the great popularity which that work speedily attained. We sought the little booklet with great perseverance and zeal. The libraries had it not. Some persons there were who had had it, but none had it. Straightway we advertised it in the daily prints; and lo! early in the morning, on the fifth day thereafter, comes us the tome ; thin, yellow, and ragged, but not ill-preserved, by one who knew that it had that within which passéd show. Of this Warreniana,' therefore, we propose to treat, in connexion with a farther notice of the 'Rejected Addresses,' than which it is scarcely less rich and matter-full.

In the introduction, by the assumed editor, Mr. GIFFORD, whose characteristic style is well preserved throughout, a history of the origin of Warreniana' is given, with the usual prolonged brevity' of that writer. After stating, that while languishing away six years of his life, as an apprentice to a shoe-maker, he had diverted ennui, by occasional correspondence with his early friend and school-mate, ROBERT WARREN, he adds, that when afterward himself was a student at Oxford, and his friend was pursuing his slow but certain career of blacking manufacturer, under the fostering patronage of the metropolis, their attachment remained unabated ; so much so, indeed, that whenever be meditated a few days' retirement from the fatigue of literary pursuits, his inclination had always a reference to the Strand. “It was during one of these later visits,' continues Mr. Gifford, ' in the autumn of 18 —, when both (shall I be excused the expression ?) had acquired some little celebrity, that my friend proposed to me the editorship of the present volume. He was pleased to add, that the circumstance of my previous apprenticeship to a shoe-maker, peculiarly fitted me for the task, and that he would diminish what remained of difficulty, by his own immediate cooperation. It appeared, when I catechized him on the subject, that in




order to increase his connection, he had been for years in the habit of retaining the services of eminent literary characters. This, joined to his own poetical abilities, which displayed themselves in perpetual advertisements, had considerably enhanced the value of his profession. Still, a something seemed wanting ; one complete edition of

Warreniana,' to which the public might refer, as certificates of bis merit. With this view, he had lately engaged all the intellect of England in his behalf; each author furnishing a modicum of praise, in the style to which he was best adapted, and receiving in return a recompense proportioned to its worth. The erudite editor goes on to detail the difficulties which he encountered in sifting the various manuscripts, and ascertaining their authenticity; in the hieroglyphic confusion of characters, obscurity of the text, and of local allusions ; and in the flimsy and apocryphal testimony on which many of the facts were set forth. All these verbal and local difficulties, however, are nullified by voluminous critical and explanatory notes at the end of the work; and they constitute not the least laughable portions of the volume. In conclusion, Mr. Gifford takes great credit to himself for not having excluded contributors of a different political faith from his own; and tenders his thanks for the generous assistance he has received in his labors, especially to D'ISRAELI, for the valuable light he had enabled him to throw upon the nature and origin of • lollipop,' mentioned in Leigh Hunt's 'Nursery Ode;' to the reporter of the • Times,' for the zeal with which he proffered the parliamentary debate upon Warren, and to his memorable coadjutor, the Coryphæus of blacking manufacturers, himself. The whole is dedicated to the

King's Most Excellent Majesty,' by a devout admirer of church and state, who presumes to lay the succeeding pages, with characteristic propriety, at his feet ;' and who adds, in relation to his subject : • That as yet this mighty manufacturer has lived comparatively unnoticed, he casts no reflection on your Majesty. He resigns that office to his blacking.' A delicate hint, that his Majesty might see his face in his own boots, if it were his good fortune to patronize Warren !

We now proceed to our extracts ; simply premising, that as well for variety as convenience, we shall draw from each work alternately. We

e promised some passages from · The Baby's Début,' by WORDSWORTH ; and therefore annex a few stanzas, in which the mawkish affectation of childish simplicity and nursery stammering of 'Alice Fell' is well preserved. The Address is spoken in the character of

Nancy Lake,' a girl of eight years, who is drawn upon the stage in a child's chaise, by Samuel Hughes, her uncle's porter:

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"My brother Jack was nine in May,
And I was eigbt on new-year's day;

So in Kale Wilson's shop,
Papa, (he's my papa and Jack's,)
Bought me, last week, a doll of wax,

And brother Jack a top.

'Quite cross, a bit of string I beg,
And tie it to his peg top's peg,

And bang, with might and main,
Its head against the parlor door :
Off Bies the head, and hits the floor,

And breaks a window pane.

"Jack 's in the pouts, and this it is,
He thinks mine came to more than his,

So to my drawer he goes,
Takes out the doll, and, oh, my stars!
He pokes her head between the bars,

And melts off' half her nose !

'This made him cry with rage and spite:
Well, let him cry, it serves him right!

A pretty thing, forsooth!
If he's to melt, all scalding hot,
Half my doll's nose, and I am not

To draw his peg.tup's noth!

'Aunt Hannah heard the window break, The chaise in which poor brother Bill And cried, 'O naughty Nancy Lake! Used to be drawn to Pentonville, Thus to distress your aunt:

Stood in the lumber-room : No Drury Lane for you to-day!'

I wiped the dust from off the top, And while papa said, 'Pooh, she may!' While Molly mopp'd it with a mop, Mamma said, 'No, she shant !

And brush'd it with a broom.

"Well, after many a sad reproach,
They got into a hackney coach,

And trotted down the street.
I saw them yo: one horse was blind,
The tails of both hung down behind,

Their shoes were on their feet.

My uncle's porter, Samuel Hughes,
Came in at six to black the shoes,

(I always talk to Sam :)
So what does he, but lakes and drags
Me in the chaise along the flags,

And leaves me where I am!'

This is very good, yet inferior, we think, to the Old Cumberland Pedlar,' in Warreniana,' which is really the perfection of parody. We annex a passage or two.

The first is a description given by • Old Solitary,' of an · Excursion' which he once took among the passes of Helvellyn, where he saw Warren's name engraved upon the rocks :

'It chanced one summer morn I passed the clefts
Of Silver-How, and turning to the left,
Fast hy the blacksmith's shop, iwo doors beyond
Old Stubb's, the tart-woman's, approached a glen
Secluded as a coy nun from the world.
Beauteous it was, but lonesome ; and while I
Leaped up for joy to think that earth was good
And lusty in her boyhood, I beheld
Graven on the tawny rock these magic words,

"Then in thought I said,
My stars, how we improve! Amid these scenes
Where hermit nature, jealous of the world,
Guards from profane approach her solitude;
E'en here, despite each fence, adventurous art
Thrusts her intrusive pufls; as though the rocks
And waterfalls were mortals, and wore shoes.

* That morn I lost my breakfast, but returning
Home through the New Cut, by Charles Flemirig's field,
Westward of Rydal Common, and below
The horse-pond, where our sturdy villagers
Duck all detected vagrants, I espied
A solitary stranger; like a snail
He wound along his narrow course with slow
But certain step, and lightly as he paced,
Drew from the deep Charybdis of his coat,
What seemed to my dim eyes a handkerchief,
And forth with blew his nose: the adjacent rocks,
Like something starting from a hurried sleep,
Took up the snuffling iwang and blew again.
That ancient woman seated on Helm-crag
Was ready with her cavern; Hammar-scar,
And the tall steep of Silver-How sent back
Their nasal contributions; Loughrigg heard,
And Fairfield answered with a mountain tone.'

For this closing catalogue of mountains, vide Wordsworth's Johanna.' The Solitary goes on to say, that he is an agent for Warren’s blacking, and that he is travelling for the purpose of engraving the manufacturer's name upon picturesque rocks, to the end that a * tide of wealth may roll into the sea of Number Thirty, Strand.'

The episode of the gnal-bite, which succeeds to the old man's story, is too characteristic to be omitted :

"When Peter ended, I proposed a walk
To Rydal, for the day was fresh with youth,
And thousand burnished insects on the wing,
The bee, the butterfly, and humming gnat,
Flew swist as years of childhood o'er our heads.
Touching these gnats, I could not choose but feel,
When I had walked, perhaps, some minutes' space,
The venomous superficies of a pimple,
On the left side my nose : 't was streaked with hues
Of varied richness, like a summer eve;
And edged, as is the thunder-cloud, with tints
Albescent, and alarming 10 the eye.
It was a gnal-bite!! On the previous eve,
When, rapt in thought by lone Helvellyn's side,
My fancy slept ; this unrelenting insect
Marking his hour, had borne me company,
And I weaked a memorandum on my nose.

The picture of Peter Bell's external aspect, has its recorded counterpart, as the reader will at once discover:

He was clad
In thick buff waistcoat, cotton pantaloons
l' the autumn of their life, and wore beside
A drab great coat, on whose pearl buttons beamed
The beauty of the morning; as we strolled,
I could not choose but ask his age, assured
That he was seventy-five at least, and though
He did not own it, I'm convinced he was.'

WASHINGTON IRVING, 'trailing the flowery vines of poetry along the formal walks of prose,' is well imitated in the following extract, which succeeds a florid description of the enthusiasm with which the writer first wandered about London, ferreting out 'those sweet but unobtrusive nestling-places, which are consecrated by the recollection of living or departed genius. Roscoe, in the 'Sketch-Book,' appears to have been the personal model. The author is here worshipping at the shrine of the manufacturer and minstrel of the Strand:

* As, for this reverential purpose, I was once buying a pot of blacking, at Number 30 Strand, my attention was attracted to a person who was seated, in a state of deep abstraction, behind the counter. He was advanced in life, tall, and of a form that might once have been commanding, but it was a little bowed by care, perhaps by business. He had a noble Roman style of countenance, a head that would have pleased a painter; and though some slight furrows on either side his nose showed that snuff and sorrow had been busy there, yet his eye still beamed with the fire of a poetic soul. There was something in his whole appearance, that indicated a being of a different order, from the bustling shop-boys around him.

'I inquired his name, and was informed that it was Warren. I drew back with an involuntary feeling of veneration. This, then, was an artist of celebrity; this was one of those imaginative spirits, whose newspaper advertisements had gone forth to the ends of the earth, and with whose blacking I had polished my shoes, even in

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