and his school. How neat is that of Walpole to Madame de Damas learning English Though British accents your attention fire, You cannot learn so fast as we admire. For who would teach you but the verb "I love." There are one or two epigrams of the truest ring and metal for which we should be glad to find owners. Who wrote, for instance, this?— 'The diamond and the ruby's blaze Disputes the palm with Beauty's queen. Outshines the diamond's brightest beams, More beauteous than the ruby seems.' Or this still more graceful inscription on twin-sisters?— That here two virgin-sisters lie, In stature, beauty, years and fame, That death mistook them both for one.' Or, again, the epigram on the 'Stage of Life,' beginning 'Our life's a journey in a winter's day,' a garbled and maimed version of which Mr. Booth has given as extracted from a 'Week at the Land's End,' though from the appearance of the original in the 'Festoon,' which was published in 1766, we cannot think that he has done much to trace it to its source. It is, however, in humorous and satirical epigrams that the greatest difference of taste occurs. Here especially those epigrammatists have done best, who have at least kept the Greek model in mind, while those who have implicitly followed Martial have been most apt to substitute ill-nature for wit. What but a gloomy misanthropy could have produced this cynical snarl of La Monnoye— The world of fools has such a store, And who, though he may smile faintly on the first specimen which he hears, does not tire at a repetition, ' usque ad nauseam,' of this sort of epigram ? 6 To wonder now at Balaam's ass is weak. On Michaelmas Day. 'Five thousand geese this day are doom'd to die. In truth, if an association were to be formed for the collection of true and proper epigrams, its first step would be to discard all such as rely for their success on the vulgar but favourite habit of calling names; on assailing personal blemishes and defects; and on causing needless offence to estimable individuals, out of bilious acerbity towards the world at large. Thus would be sent adrift a shoal of ill-bred rudenesses, launched at a man's country or profession, e.g.— or, 'Had Cain been Scot, God would have changed his doom: 'God works a wonder now and then : Here lies a lawyer and an honest man.' Thus, too, should we be spared the disgust of meeting with rhyming insults upon private individuals, levelled at them for some secret grudge. One cannot illustrate this abuse of the epigram more forcibly than by quoting one which Mr. Booth has, with questionable taste, printed in his volume:— To Lady M, on the Death of a Favourite Pig. 'O dry that tear so round and big, Nor waste in sighs your precious wind. Death only takes a single pig. Your lord, and son, remain behind.' Not that we advocate the exclusion of lively and good humoured hits at the characteristic foibles of either sex. There is no reason why we should not have a standard epigram to quote, when a man weds for money : : 'When Loveless married Lady Jenny, "I chose "I chose her," said he, "like old plate, or chapter and verse' for the lady who for gold sells herself to a rich fool: Lucia thinks happiness depends on state, She weds an idiot, but she eats on plate.' Nor is there any call to banish and proscribe harmless commonplaces touching affectation, prudery, or flirtations in the one sex ; or jealousy, selfishness, and love of money in the other. Pleasantries aimed at a man's corporeal bulk (such as that apropos of the gentleman of a pre-Bantingian era, who must have been 'money in pocket' to any body of street-commissioners), are offensive to none, and would provoke as hearty a laugh from their subject, as from indifferent persons :- 'When Tadloe walks the streets, the paviours cry, "God bless you, Sir!" and lay their rammers by.' Indeed, it must be a peculiarly touchy individual who objects to a little harmless raillery, whether in verse or prose, anent his Pickwickian figure, or his beard and moustache. But admitting thus much, we still think it high time that English epigrammatists should explode some of the superstitious axioms, which in time past their fraternity deemed matters of faith. Their predecessors seem to have composed their 'jeux d'esprit' in the firm belief that all men were liars and knaves, and no woman virtuous. Eliminate all these antiquated crotchets, and the epigrams that perpetuate them; retain a score or so of the best epigrams on bad poets and quack-doctors, and send the rest a-packing; make evil-speaking, lying, and slandering, in epigrammatic couplets, penal; and it strikes us that the cream of this kind of poetry, which will remain, may be contained in a moderate sized and pleasant volume. And, as regards future supply, it might be well if none were suffered to epigrammatize, but such as were of ascertained good-digestions, and such as had no need to look to patrons for a dinner. Cynicism and servility would then alike disappear, and we should assimilate more, in these offerings to the Muse, to the sunny light-heartedness of the Greek original. We should unlearn, as a nation, the habit of sharpening our wit on the misfortunes of our fellow-creatures; and, even in this little matter, aim at nearer conformity to our perfect Pattern. If the law of love is to pervade the heart, the pen and tongue must not lend themselves to spleen and annoyance. To this end it is desirable that that, which was not a primary or essential element in the epigram, its sting, should be remitted 6 remitted to its original insignificance. Point,' honey,' 'brevity,' should be insisted on, as immutable requisites. Wit, however lively and impatient of restraint, should be accommodated to the Greek, rather than to the Latin pattern. Thus constructed, the epigram might become the favourite resource of refinement as well as wit; the toy of learned leisure, and not the shaft of busy and stinted satire. Thus, in fine, would it keep clear of the ban, under which one of our greatest poets justly places all verse, that is not in the interest of general kindliness and benevolence. 'Cursed be the verse, how well soe'er it flow, ART. IX.-1. Letter from Mr. Cobden to Mr. Scovell. August, 1862. 2. Letter from Mr. Bright to Mr. Horace Greeley. October, 1864. 3. The Confederate Secession. By the Marquis of Lothian. London, 1864. T cannot be denied that there has been recently a perceptible relaxation of the interest with which our countrymen at first watched the vicissitudes of the American war. The change must seem heartless to the actors in it, whose fate is staked upon the issue; but it is not difficult to explain. The conflict burst upon the world so suddenly, and in spite of many premonitory symptoms it was so little expected, that it was at first an absorbing topic even to those who were not interested in it by any selfish considerations. The collapse of the great experiment of democracy, the sudden transition from unbroken peace to ferocious war on the part of a people whose devotion to mere gain was thought to be engrossing, the gigantic scale of the operations, and the splendid heroism for which, on one side at least, they gave the opportunity, all combined to exercise a fascination over the minds of Englishmen, never probably exercised before by any events in which they were not nationally engaged. English feeling naturally takes the weaker side; and where the weaker side is adorned by characters of the grandeur of 'Stonewall' Jackson and Lee, the sympathy which follows its course warms into enthusiasm. Something too of indignation at the transparent hollowness of the pretences put forth by the North, mixed itself with the admiration that was aroused by by the gallantry of their opponents. There was something revolting in the sudden horror of rebellion developed in a nation which was itself born of that which it denounced, and which still retained and reverenced some of the actors in the successful revolution to which its origin was due. They had so stoutly asserted the right of all men to choose their own form of government, both in their own formal public documents and in the speeches of their public men, they had always been so prompt to recognise successful revolts in other countries, that the phenomenon of a legitimist democracy, prepared to fight for the divine right of mobs to govern wrong, excited at once the anger and the derision of the nation that in a former generation had suffered from the prevalence of exactly the opposite principles among them. All these causes combined to make the American war a subject of absorbing interest during the first three campaigns. Then feelings of a more selfish kind operated in the same direction. At first it was exceedingly doubtful whether we ourselves should not become principals in the war. The notorious invalidity of the blockade, and the arrogant tone in which the Federals seemed inclined to interpret the rights of belligerents, threatened at one time to involve us in it whether we would or no. It was at that period a matter of some controversy whether the absolute inaction that we have in the sequel observed would be the wisest policy to follow. There were many political considerations of some weight to sanction the course suggested by sympathy for Southern bravery, and horror at the interminable butchery that was being undertaken by the Federals. The sufferings of our own operatives in Lancashire, the disturbance of commerce that was threatened by a war so costly and so desolating, the advantages that might be anticipated from a close alliance with the South, and the probability that the mere prospect of European interference would suffice to compel a peace, all pleaded for some bolder course than mere neutrality. The personal opinions, however, of some statesmen who were prominent in both the great parties in parliament inclined the balance against any active measures. At that time English feelings were so strongly moved, that if a Minister had resolved on interference he would probably have been supported; and the consciousness that the stream of events, so capricious in its course, might at any moment draw England into the struggle, heightened the intense anxiety with which each successive military movement was followed. Now many of these causes have disappeared, or act with diminished power. The startling novelty of the war has worn off. The hopes of its early termination, under the influence of frequent |