To me the allusions in this sonnet are beautiful; it has pathos and sentiment, and seems to confirm the idea of having been last things the great poet penned, as it refers to his age:

That time of year thou may'st in me behold,
When yellow leaves, or none, or few, do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold,
Bare ruin'd choirs, where late the sweet birds sang.
In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the West,
Which by and by black night doth take away,
Death's second-self, that seals up all in rest.
In me thou seest the glowing of such fire,
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the death-bed whereon it must expire,

1

Consumed with that which it was nourish'd by.

among the

This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

I know not how the idea of Shakspeare's unconsciousness of his powers is to be supported on reading this :

Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
Of the wide world dreaming on things to come,
Can yet the lease of my true love control,
Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.
The mortal moon hath her eclipse endured,
And the sad augurs mock their own presage;
Incertainties now crown themselves assured,
And peace proclaims olives of endless age.
Now with the drops of this most balmy time
My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes,
Since spite of him I'll live in this poor rhyme,
While he insults o'er dull and speechless tribes.
And thou in this shalt find thy monument,
When tyrants' crest and tombs of brass are spent.

How delicious is the following! it has lusciousness, beauty, and marvellous ease. The commencement is truly worthy of Shakspeare, and reminds me strongly of his happy descriptions of morning in his plays.

Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain-tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchymy;
Anon permit the basest clouds to ride
With ugly rack on his celestial face,
And from the forlorn world his visage hide,
Stealing unseen to west with this disgrace.
E'en so my sun one early morn did shine,
With all-triumphant splendour on my brow;
But out! alack! he was but one hour mine,
The region-cloud hath mask'd him from me now:

Yet him for this my love no whit disdaineth;

Suns of the world may stain, when heaven's sun staineth.

The sonnets of Shakspeare must, after all, be most valued for their intermixture of rich passages and imagery, and their connexion with their immortal author. One hundred and fifty-four sonnets, all running upon the same theme-all upon love, and yet descriptive of very few of its emotions, half of them turning upon the same idea, though

in

many there is fine colouring and an exuberance of sweetness, cannot place them in any high rank as specimens of sonnet-writing. They are, however, well worthy frequent perusal; and what of Shakspeare's is there that is not?

The "Passionate Pilgrim" has great beauties, and many characteristic defects. Some exquisite passages have often been quoted from it without acknowledgment. "The Lovers Lament" is worthy of being learnt by heart: yet it is rather Spenserian than Shakspearian.

The description of her faithless "maiden-tongued" lover by the disconsolate complainer, has surprising vigour and truth; her detail of the arguments by which her lover overcame her is also very happy. The influence of tears is thus finely alluded to.

O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies
In the small orb of one particular tear!
But with the inundation of the eyes
What rocky heart to water will not wear!

What breast so cold that is not warmed here!
O cleft effect! cold modesty, hot wrath,
Both fire from hence and chill extincture hath!

But I must quote no more.

I have thus glanced at a work in retrospective literature not ranked as it deserves. I must not be lengthy, though I have hardly skimmed the poems, and thereby done them injustice; yet what I have said may induce some discriminating readers to take them down from a dusty shelf and peruse them. They will find themselves repaid for their trouble-they will find much weighty bullion and pure gold, in its rough state, perhaps, but not less rich on that account. Y. J.

ON GIVING ADVICE.

Et c'est une folie, à nulle autre seconde,
De vouloir se mêler de corriger le monde.

Ir was a remark of Horne Tooke's, that in the matter of advice there are two sorts of fools; those who will give, and those who will not take it. Now, as these embrace between them almost every man that breathes, there cannot be a subject quod magis ad nos pertinet. Yet, as every man's business is nobody's business, the theme is fairly going a begging. Like the "roasted pigs which run through the streets with knives and forks in their backs," methinks, it apostrophizes the periodical writer, as he passes along in his literary jog-trot, i. e. currente calamo, and crying "Come touch on me," puts in its claim to be served up pro bono publico. Not that we would insinuate the matter to be untouched; quite the reverse: but it has uniformly been handled in such a dull, tiresome, common-place, lack-a-daisical, sermonizing style, that poppy and mandragoras, and all the drowsy syrups of" all the congregated universities of Europe could not render it more narcotic. Whoever will take the pains-having nothing better to do-to inquire into this matter, and to turn over all that philosophy has produced for its illustration, will rise from his task with much the same sort of knowledge as the Bath mail-coachman has of the West of England, who, by dint of living on the road, is acquainted with the mile-stones, alehouse-signs, and country-seats within sight of his coach-box-but

no more.

All "this sort of thing" is very well for your authors in

66

folio, who, virtute officii, are bound to tell the reader, in return for his good and lawful money of Great Britain," whatever is not, in order to make a decent bulk for their book, before they come (in an appendix) to the few pages of what is; and who would ill discharge their functions, if they omitted to recount any one of the errors the world has committed respecting the matter in hand; telling the public, as if the public had never heard it before, how Cicero said this, how Plato talked like a madman concerning that, how Herodotus tells a story no one believes concerning the other; interlarding the whole with a due quantity of twice-two-are-four aphorisms, and with perpetual beggings of questions, after the most approved old fashion.

But we, who are "pent up" in the Utica of a single half-sheet (writers in fructu), and who are obliged to aim at being readablepray Heaven we succeed!-we, indeed, are compelled to go a little into the interior of the country, to leave the high-roads of literature, and pry into every hole and corner in search of novelty, leaving no stone unturned in order to "elevate and surprise." A tavern-keeper might as well hope to trade in musty victuals and sour wine, as a periodical hope for success in the common path. Nature and sense are nothing; we must be fantastical, and finical, and outlandish: and (novelty not being always attainable) if we take up with an old theme, we must have the art of a Monmouth-street clothier, and make our wares look as good as new," and shew no sign of their having been worn before. But to begin:

66

The disposition, impulse, instinct, propensity, or what you will, towards giving advice, is so universal among men, that, with the sole exception of those who sell it, no class in the community is exempt from the failing. They, indeed, who live by the trade, are cautious enough how they scatter their pearls to swine. The doctor, who, to the travelling question of "what would you advise me to take,” answered, "Take advice" is the type and model of the whole tribe. Law and physic are equally sententious and oracular; and they both hem in their assertions with such phalanxes of "ifs" and "buts," as seldom fail to leave the consultor in greater doubt than before. Yet, strange to say, this bought advice is almost the only species that is implicitly followed. So much, indeed, does the virtue of all counsel lie in the fee, that the best opinion is held to be useless, if gratuitously imparted no man esteeming that worth having, which another does not hesitate to part withal. In this, therefore, the clergy are guilty of an egregious error, that they do not retail their opinions by the piece, but accept of a yearly stipend, and, doling out their weekly lucubrations gratis, "vex the dull ear of the drowsy hearer," by not first fixing his attention through an application to his pocket. Without this key, it would be difficult to understand the little use which is made of all the good advice which church and state procure to be administered to his Majesty's lieges, but which possesses so strikingly the singular property of "going in at one ear and out of the other." This is a fact that we press the more earnestly, as the matter of clerical remuneration is at present "before the public:"--but a word to the wise.

The same reason likewise explains the trifling benefit derived from those paternal admonitions which another of the government servants dispenses to the subject towards the close of our sessions and assizes, and which are proverbially inefficacious. Were the quantum meruit

upon these great occasions left in the breast of the by-standers, by admitting the public only on the purchase of tickets, it is inconceivable how anxious men would become "to get the worth of their money," and how careful they would be to carry away something quod mox depromere possunt: whereas at present this merit is confined only to the select few, who make such opportunities the occasion of "labouring in their vocation, Hal," and with whom "depromere" means to pawn.

The secret here disclosed for the benefit of the public is invaluable; but it is more especially recommended to the consideration of our Tract Societies, who are so ready in giving good advice, that the people imagine it, like the priest's blessing, not worth the taking. Nay, it is to be feared, that even the Bible itself may come to be estimated merely at its selling price with "my Uncle," if its distribution continues to be effected at the present accelerating velocity. A still greater error of the "good ladies," is that of purchasing an auditory, and bribing the poor to "stand their jobations" by a weekly largesse of soup and potatoes, or an occasional donative of petticoats and blankets. In this case the most wholesome advice is esteemed "flocci nauci nihili," except as it is accompanied by wholesome porridge; and the naked truth is rejected, unless for the sake of the decent cloathing with which it is accompanied.

This consideration likewise throws considerable light upon the nature of that never-sufficiently-to-be-deprecated influence of the press, which so mischievously interferes between the autocrat apostles of "social order," and their amiable and anti-selfish projects.

"Heu, heu, nos miseros, quam totus homuncio nil est!" The very means we take to carry our ends become the very instruments for consummating our ruin! The stamp duty, that ingenious contrivance for giving public opinion the spring halt, must (if there be any truth in these premises) add weight and value to all the ill-advice that flows from the malignity of journalists; and, by increasing the price of the article, make it more worth attending to. Do we not, in fact, find that the dearer all sorts of books are, the more eagerly they are bought; and that there are many works, having no earthly value but the prices they bear in "marked catalogues," which are esteemed as alone conferring literary distinction on their possessors ?

Notwithstanding all that has been said, we find the mania of giving advice "free, gratis, for nothing at all," attaches só closely to every cast and character, every age, sex, and temperament, that man might be defined an advising animal; a definition much the more appropriate than even the far-famed " cooking animal," because man only cooks his victuals when he wants to eat, whereas he is at all times, "in season and out of season," ready to "give his cardict," and will preach to you, for the hour together, by all the clocks between this and Shrewsbury, and at any hour you please of the whole four-and-twenty. Accordingly, we find that this function is not attributed to any insulated and particular boss, bump, protuberance, or accidentality of the human brain, susceptible of the poco meno and poco più, but is a common property of the whole cerebral mass, inherent in each separate fibre, and operating in all; being proprium quarto modo to the principle of sensibility. Some may be inclined to attribute the universality of ad

vising to its facility: for certainly nothing is easier than for a lookeron, who proverbially sees most of the game, to pick holes in its playing; and for those who are out of a scrape, and feel none of its embarrassments, to say, "if I were you," or "in your case," or "how can you be so silly!" And the proof is in the number of those who 'are for ever prone to teach their grannies to suck eggs."

It seems, however, not altogether improbable, that the eagerness for giving advice may arise in no inconsiderable degree from a fixed conviction that it will never be taken; for it is never so earnestly pressed as when the giver is "certain sure" that it is absolutely impracticable. For this hypothesis many good reasons might be assigned; but we will confine ourselves to this one: that the rejection of advice is the best pretext for abandoning a friend in his adversity; and that there is no better answer to that most impertinent and provoking "Lend me an hundred pounds," than, "No, Sir, if you had taken my advice," or "It's all your own affair," or "You know you would have your own way," ," "As you brew, so you may bake;" which are all unanswerable formulæ,-intrenched passes, through which the enemy can never penetrate to your pocket.

That a reluctance to take advice is a sufficient motive for offering it, may be concluded, likewise, from that odd phenomenon of men continuing to give counsel as fathers, which they have rejected as sons, regularly, de père en fils, from generation to generation, from the days of Adam to this infant 1823. Were it not for the pleasure of the sport, they might as well "whistle to milestones."

As giving advice is one of the greatest pleasures of life, so the exercise is one of our greatest franchises; and the Abbé Gagliani has not unjustly placed public liberty in this very point. In the most despotic government, he observes (see Grimm), each individual shut up in the bosom of his family, and avoiding contact with the tyrant, enjoys an apparent security and tranquillity; but he cannot influence the conduct of others, or remark on public affairs; whereas, in a free state, every thing is within our cognizance. All this is perfectly true; and there is nothing in the whole round of tyranny, domestic or politic, more provoking than the necessity of speaking only when you are spoken to, and keeping to yourself every rising animadversion on" what does not concern you." Clever despots have accordingly permitted their slaves this privilege of talking, to a certain extent, well assured that a vaudeville or a squib is a safety-valve which prevents many a fatal explosion. His Majesty's ministers have not a more formidable enemy than a cross-grained, jealous attorney-general; nor is the state ever in greater danger than when men's tongues are forced to lie idle.

It is not surprising that a principle so inherent in our nature should assume many forms, and shew itself under a truly Protean variety of aspects. Besides the members of the learned professions "doctores à docendo" (that is, doctors because they give advice,) and the hereditary, elective, and nominated counsellors of the crown, we have journalists, reviewers, pamphleteers, lecturers, didactic and satirical poets, religious novelists, comedians, coffee-house orators, writers of anonymous letters, advertisers, old maids, duellists, soldiers (the readers of great moral lessons, and learned scholiasts of modern international law), political economists (paper and gold), Mesmerites, Mis