in the nineteenth century, translating works from the northern lan guages, which, in the sixteenth, our better-informed ancestors would have been ashamed to have seen written in English. Whether these horror-hunters will incorporate themselves into a society for the sublime rapture of terrifying one another, or to consult in what manner they may still more effectually terrify their readers, we cannot say: if they should, we have no hesitation in affirming that the author of Tales of Wonder will be complimented nem. con. with the president's chair.

Tartareum ILLE manu custodem in vincla petivit,
Ipsius a solio regis traxitque trementem.

VIRGIL.

To quote from the volume before us is a task which we cannot impose upon ourselves. When Mr. Lewis sent his Monk into the world, we extracted from it a beautiful elegy* without a goblin ; in the present performance we are denied the power; there is nothing but fiends and ghosts-all is hideous-all is disgusting. We will not therefore transcribe one couplet; but a note is at the service of our readers and if the superstition, the filth and obscenity, contained in it, do not curdle their blood, they will fare better than we have done. It will show to what a depth the human mind may be voluntarily degraded.

I once read in some Grecian author, whose name I have forgotten, the story which suggested to me the outline of the foregoing ballad. It was as follows:-A young man arriving at the house of a friend to whose daughter he was betrothed, was informed that some weeks had passed since death had deprived him of his intended bride. Never having seen her, he soon reconciled himself to her loss, especially as, during his stay at his friend's house, a young lady was kind enough to visit him every night in his chamber, whence she retired at day-break, always carrying with her some valuable present from her lover. This intercourse continued till accident showed the young man the picture of his deceased bride, and he recognised with horror the features of his nocturnal visitor. The young lady's tomb being opened, he found in it the various presents which his liberality had bestowed on his unknown inamorata.' P. IIO.

ART.43.-Tales of Terror; with an introductory Dialogue. 8vo. 75.6d. Boards. Bell. 1801.

We hardly know what opinion to form of the author of these poems. Some of them are composed with so serious an air, thatwe almost suspect them to be the progeny of the same muse who sang, or rather screamed, the Tales of Wonder; whilst others are certainly written en badinant. Be the poet who he may, his church-yard tale is a most admirable burlesque of Mr. Lewis's Cloud King. If we had room we would insert it at length; but to quarter it is to spoil it. We will however give our readers one of the shortest in the volume, and that is rather too long for our limits: it is a parody on Mallet's William and Margaret.

*See our 19th Vol, New Arr. p. 198.

• The SCULLION-SPRITE; or, The GARRET-GOBLIN. 'A ST. GILES'S TALE.

"Ah! who can see, and seeing not admire,
Whene'er she sets the pot upon the fire!
Her hands outshine the fire, and redder things;
Her eyes are blacker than the pot she brings.'

''Twas at the hour when sober cits
Their eyes in slumber close;

In bounced Bett Scullion's greasy ghost,
And pinch'd Tom Ostler's toes!

• Her flesh was like a roasting pig's,
So deadly to the view;

And coal-black was her smutty hand
That held her apron blue.

So shall the reddest chops appear,
When life's last coal expires;
Such is the garb that cooks must wear,
When death has quench'd their fires.

Her face was like a raw beef-steak,
Just ready to be fried;

Carrots had budded on her cheek,
And beet-root's crimson pride.

But love had, like the fly-blow's power,
Despoil'd her buxom hue;

The fading carrot left her cheek,

She died at twenty-two!

SHENSTONE.

"Awake!" she cried, "Bet Scullion bawls!

Come from her garret high;

Now hear the maid, for whom you scorn'd

A wedding-ring to buy.

"This is the hour when scullion ghosts

Their dish-clouts black resume,

And goblin cooks ascend the loft
To haunt the faithless groom!

"Bethink thee of thy tester broke,
Thy disregarded oath,

And give me back my mutton pies,

And give me back my broth.

"How could you swear my sops were nice,

And yet those sops forsake?

How could you steal my earthen dish,

And dare that dish to break?

CRIT. REV. Vol. 34. Jan. 1902.

"How could you promise lace to me,
And give it all to Nan?

How could you swear my goods were safe,
Yet lose my dripping paa?

"How could you say my pouting Ip,
With purl and Hollands vies?
And why did I, sad silly fool,
Believe your cursed lies?

"Those sops, alas! no more are nice!
Those lips no longer pout!

And dark and cold's the kitchen grate!
And every spark is out!

"The hungry worm my master is,
His cook I now remain ;

Cold lasts our night, till that last morn
Shall raise my crust again!

"The kitchen clock has warn'd me hence,
I've other fish to fry;

Low in her grave, thou sneaking cur,
Behold Bett Bouncer lic!"—

The morning smiled, the stable boys
Their greasy night-caps doff'd ;
Tom Ostler scratch'd his aching head,
And swearing left the loft.

He hied him to the kitchen-grate,
But, ah! no Bett was there!

He stretch'd him on the hearth, where erst
Poor Betty plied her care!

( And thrice he sobb'd Bett Bouncer's name,
And blew his nose quite sore;

Then laid his cheek on the cold hob,

And horse rubb'd never more!'

P. III.

ART. 44.-Tales of the Devil, from the original Gibberish of Professor Lumpwitz, S. U. S. and C. A. C. in the University of Snoringberg. 4to. 4. 6d. sewed. Egerton. 1801.

Of the sentiments of this author we can judge more decidedly than of the foregoing-but let him speak for himself.

Should the rage for phantoms (and all that is diabolically, and agreeably frightful) have entirely subsided in this country, I know not how I shall be remunerated for the heavy expense I have been at, in purchasing the original of these Tales from the rider of a Bohemian cheesemonger. If this, however, does not prove the case, (as I trust it will not) I shall be horridly disappointed if the TALLS or THE DEVIL do not prove terribly entertaining to my readers.

PRELUDIO.

"Now stay thee, sir Pilgrim, and hear my tale,

I crave by thy holy shells!

Sad to hear, I know, is a tale of woe,

And sad too to him that tells."

"Now sad, very like, may a tale of woe
Be to him that or hears or tells,
No pilgrim am I, but a Fishmong-er,
And these only oyster shells."
"No matter if but my tale of woe
To hear out thou art willing;

And can'st open keep thine ears and thine eyes,
Do but stop-I'll give thee a shilling."
"Kind sir, not an oyster I've sold to-day,
And so sore by want I'm accurst,
Your longest tale for a shilling I'd hear,
And for two I'd hear your worst."
"Good luck to thee, brave Fishmong-er,
In sale of thine oysters and ling:

None ever would hear a tale of mine out,
But I gave him five shil-ling:

6

"Now down on thy breech, brave Fishmong-er;
Perhaps thou'st had a long walk?"

The Fishmonger did as he was bid,

And the stranger began to talk!' P. 3.

The ridicule in this prelude is admirable, and the burlesque tales which follow are excellently imagined: if the pandemonium of terror-mongers can bear, without wincing, a few such floggings as this volume contains, we shall give them up as incorrigible.

DRAMA.

ART. 45.-Mutius Scavola; or, the Roman Patriot. An Historical Drama. By IV. H. Ireland. 8vo. 2s. 6d. Badcock. 1801. The expulsion of the Tarquins from Rome by Lucius Junius Brutus, for the violation of Lucretia by Sextus, is a story well known to all our readers. On an event immediately following that transaction the author has founded the drama before us.

Tarquin applied for assistance to Porsenna, king of Clusium, to reinstate him in the possession of his crown. We must here notice a small mistake of Mr. Ireland, who calls Porsenna by the general name of king of Etruria, instead of defining him to be king of the Clusini, one of the twelve nations of Etruria. In the second consulate of Poplicola, Rome was invested by Porsenna, and so furious an attack made, that the Etrurians had nearly entered the city, the two consuls being wounded and carried out of the battle.

In the third consulate of Poplicola, Titus Lucretius, the brother of Lucretia, being his collegue, the Romans were defeated and

five thousand men slain; at this period Mutius Scævola formed the bold resolution of relieving Rome, by entering the camp of the Clusini and killing Porsenna: in the execution of this design, however, he failed; for, instead of the king, he stabbed his secretary. The magnanimity exercised both by Porsenna and Scævola, on the discovery, led to happy consequences; for they were struck with admiration of each other's virtue, and the two nations concluded a peace.

We do not think Mr. Ireland's performance entitled to much commendation. An old story thrown into blank verse will not be very entertaining, unless the sentiments be strong, the diction spirited, and the incidents bold and unexpected. This is not the case in the present drama the author is always languid, frequently obscure. From a number of instances of the latter defect, we will select one. Clelia asserts,

Mutius, I seal my faith upon my heart."

The best excuse we can make for these ' nugæ canora,' is, that Mr. Ireland did not take time to consider what he was writing. We certainly do not understand them.

ART. 46.-Elisha; or, the Woman of Shunem. A new sacred Oratorio. Written by Thomas Hull, of the Theatre-Royal Covent-Garden. Set to Music by Dr. Arnold. 8vo. IS. Cawthorn. 1801.

It will not do to bring works of this nature to the test of criticism. They are generally a mixture of a small portion of Scripture, with a great deal of rhodomontade of the author's own; but, as they are only vehicles for music, we must even so let them pass.

NOVELS,

ART. 47.-The Welshman, a Romance. By William Earle, jun. 4 Vols. 12mo. 16s. served. Earle and Hemet.

1801.

This romance is a most perfect jumble of absurdities, a hodge-podge of unmixable ingredients. We have a convent of nuns presented to us the day after we had parted from a Druid, and such a Druid too-one who was acquainted with the Catholic doctrine of purgatory. It is a pity that William Earle, jun. had not perused the History of England used by schoolmistresses and governesses, before he ventured to write on the subject himself. He would there have found that Suetonius Paulinus extirpated the Druids, by roasting them in their own fires, more than a thousand years before the birth of either Edward I. or prince Llewellin. We cannot offer a better excuse for him than the apology which he puts into the mouth of one of his characters.

I wish I could entertain you better in unfolding my ideas;-I am but an uninformed youth, without the power of rhetoric; and crowding my thoughts, rapid as they cross me, without studying what I am going to say.' Vol. ii. P. 121.