own mind that luxury has wrought very considerable changes in country mirth and manners, and set the gentry and the peasantry at distance from each other, to the detriment of both. There is a lovely cast of social affection, kindness and benevolence; of local feelings and local attachments, in the description of Goldsmith's Auburn, which I fear we should now look for in vain in most of our country villages *. But Gold

* This passage, in my former Edition, seems to have been misunderstood, by a writer in the Literary Register, for June, 1823. He is pleased to say, that he hopes I meant to speak ironically rather than seriously, "For," he adds, "I should be sorry to see a writer of such genius entangled in the metaphysical cobwebs of our modern economists." I thank this gentleman both for his compliment and his hint, and in respect to the latter, am ready to declare, that I should not attempt to repeat the passage, if I did not feel that it admitted of a satisfactory explanation. I have, I should hope, quite as wary an apprehension of the "metaphysical cobwebs of our modern economists," as the writer himself, if I may pretend to know any thing at all of that very curious science, political economy: a science, which though at present almost in its infancy, may, I think, ultimately, by the aid of statistics, political observation and experience, and a more general attention to the multifarious objects dependent on it, than has hitherto taken place, be reduced in a great abundance of cases, if not in all, to certain principles; but until this actually takes place, many mistakes must be made. Goldsmith's mistake did not, I apprehend, consist in over-rating any depopulation of the country, as arising out of the progress of luxury and increase of towns, which must have the effect of lowering the average of the agricultural population generally. In this he might have been right,

smith is a very modern writer upon these subjects; such changes as those to which I am ad

but even then he should have known, that such a course of things is the allowed and regular mark of the progress of society in an improving country. Goldsmith, I conceive, was wrong, in too hastily concluding, as he seems to have done, that

"Where wealth accumulates, men must decay."

It is the union of the agricultural and commercial systems, says Mr. Malthus, and not either of them taken separately, that is calculated to produce the greatest national prosperity; what then are we to think of the following lines?

But times are alter'd; Trade's unfeeling train

Usurp the land, and dispossess the Swain.”

The poet certainly appears to have considered the progress of wealth as necessarily operating to the disadvantage and depression of the poor. With this, however, I have, in fact, nothing to do; my own remarks were intended to be confined, merely to the unfortunate, though perhaps unavoidable consequences, of that improvement and refinement of manners, which has tended to set the Gentry of the land, at a wider distance from the tenantry and peasantry than was formerly the case; and by attracting the former to our cities, towns, and watering places, much increased the evils arising from non-residence (more or less) on their estates, to the interruption of that "rural mirth," and change of those “rural manners," which the poet has so beautifully delineated.

But, the writer to whom I am alluding, is careful also to remind me, that Goldsmith was the poet of nature and the poor, and his Auburn an IRISH village; "it was not therefore for him to praise the pastimes of fox-hunting 'Squires, or of rack-rent landholders." I cannot help thinking that this very remark makes my case the

verting may be traced as far back at least as the times of Elizabeth and James. The celebrated

stronger; for what country upon earth suffers more than Ireland at this present moment, from absenteeship (if I may use such an expression), the very cause perhaps of rack-rents, and other oppressions? And are not things getting worse every day from the want of that social intercourse and harmony between the different classes, the interruption of which I so much deplore? Had not the Gentry, and tenantry, and peasantry of that distracted country, better be killing foxes together, in the way of joint amusement, than cutting each other's throats? Where is there any room for “ rural mirth,” under such a dreadful depravation of "rural manners," as appears to have taken place in that unhappy country?

I know not to whom I may stand indebted for some help in this argument; but the following passage, from a late number of the St. James's Chronicle, seems almost to have been written for my particular purpose. Speaking of the present wretched state of Ireland, the writer observes, "Until lately, the Gentry and Yeomanry of Ireland did exercise an authority over the peasantry, which though not consistent with our English notion of liberty, was highly advantageous to the peasants themselves; and, as painful experience has proved, was absolutely necessary to the safety of their superiors. Civilization advanced under its gentle control; ease and plenty abounded; and the BARD of AUBURN sketched the most delightful picture of rustic happiness that ever gratified the fancy, or calmed the passions, amid these same scenes, which are now made hideous with noon-day murders, or blaze with midnight conflagrations." Now, it appears to me, that the only difference upon the subject between this writer and myself is, that I do not recognize in Goldsmith's poem, any proper notice of the Gentry. The moment the Gentry are made to appear, the poor are ruined: the village school, the revered Clergyman, even the public-house, seem all to vanish on

Song of the old and young Courtier of their days, is little different from what might be said of the old and young 'Squire, of later times. The Song itself I must confess is almost too old to introduce into so modern a work as my own, yet as many of my readers may be young, and less acquainted with these things than myself and my contemporaries, (whom heaven preserve!) I shall venture to transcribe it, as extremely illustrative of the subject before us. If only

the approach of Gentry, and nothing to be left to the surviving rustics but emigration; not to the metropolis, or any trading or manufacturing towns, but to the wilds of America;

"Where at each step the stranger fears to wake

The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake;
Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey,

And savage men more murd'rous still than they;" &c. &c.

Can we possibly allow this to pass for a fair description of the influence and operation of wealth in country places? Goldsmith contended, that he described only what he had seen; and Auburn perhaps (though I know not how) may have become a "deserted village,” in the very way he describes; but I cannot help thinking, that it would not have so fallen out if it had contained but one old, original, fox-hunting and resident 'Squire of large domain, who might have kept his rustic neighbours together, and repelled all intruders. If Goldsmith, as poet of the poor, meant to deprecate in general the influence of wealth, as decidedly inimical to the interests of the lower classes, he was unquestionably wrong and his poem has certainly too much of this tendency.

one of my readers should not have met with it before, he may as well read it here, as elsewhere; and if of those who have known it long, any one should dislike to see it again, I shall pity his taste.

The old Courtier.

I.

An old song made by an aged old pate,

Of an old worshipful Gentleman that had a great estate,

That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate,

And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate,
Like an old Courtier of the Queen's,

And the Queen's old Courtier.

II.

With an old lady whose anger one word assuages,

They every quarter paid their old servants their wages,
And never knew what belong'd to coachmen, footmen, or pages,
But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and badges,
Like an old Courtier of the Queen's,

And the Queen's old Courtier.

III.

With an old study fill'd full of learned old books,

With an old rev'rend Chaplain, you might know him by his looks,

With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks,

And an old kitchen that maintain'd half a dozen old cooks,

Like an old Courtier of the Queen's,

And the Queen's old Courtier.

IV.

With an old hall hung about with pikes, guns, and bows,

With old swords and bucklers, that had borne many shrewd blows,