able to accommodate a friend with a day's sport." This is a refuge far exceeding the hackneyed pretence of a jubilee, that father of many lies. Now, sir, this fashion of letting game would also have been reckoned a very shabby thing in my younger days. But it is quite unnecessary to multiply instances of the reigning regard to what is vulgarly called the main chance. Those I have already referred to must be obvious, and familiar to every one; and there is no person whose own experience and reflection will not furnish forth many more.

From this display of economy in such matters, one would almost conclude that the same spirit pervaded the whole menage, and that our country gentlemen were wallowing in wealth, and proud in independence, at least that they were enabled to live with greater comfort at home, and to appear with more splendour abroad, than it was in the power of their progenitors to enjoy and exhibit in my younger days.

I am much afraid, however, that any one venturing on such a conclusion, would find that he had reckoned without his host, and that there is neither so much real comfort within doors, nor so much dignity displayed without, as in the days that have gone by. Then, when one went to visit a friend in the country, although the courses at dinner were not so numerous, yet the fare was equally abundant, and to the full as savoury; and although there was not the same endless, and I must say teazing, variety of shilpit wines produced, a good many more bottles of substantial claret were put upon the table, fully atoning for the absence of their more feckless and fashionable brethren. Then, gentlemen of two thousand a-year drove four good cattle in their carriage, attended by a brace of outriders " ed for war complete ;" but now very few commoners in Scotland drive more than a pair of horses, and the poor animals are so loaded with dickies before, and barouche-seats behind the vehicle, that it looks more like a first rate Newcastle waggon than a gentleman's equipage. I actually saw a baronet of my acquaintance get under way at Cheltenham, for his seat in the north of Scotland, with a cargo of thirteen souls stowed away in, and on, his coach, viz.

arm

2 on the dickie before. Item, 3 in the barouche-seat behind. Item, 7 sitters, or rather squeezers, in the inside.

Item, 1 young gentleman, 4 months old, pendant in slings from the top of the carriage.

13 grand total.

Yet, Mr Editor, these wonderful efforts of, or rather at, economy, seem to answer no proportionate end. In my younger days, country gentlemen, with few exceptions, made a shift to continue in the management of their own affairs during life; but now the prevailing fashion, or rather passion, is to get TRUSTEED with all possible expedition ;—a landlord, whose estate is not at nurse, is as great a show as a live author was in my younger days, previous to our being afflicted with the writing typhus; and a country gentleman selects for the nonce a few of his friends, assisted by the disinterested labours of a city and a country-writer, who underlie all the trouble of managing his affairs at an expense not much exceeding that of a stud of running horses, and a crack pack of fox-hounds. From this arrangement, one evident advantage results, viz. that the trusteed, from employing these legal characters, these aucupii, secures all the pleasure, as well as the profit, arising from the sport, entirely to himself-no mean consideration in this selfish age.

In my humble opinion, six or seven years may be considered a reasonable allowance of time for a man of middling fortune to "outrun the constable;" but a man of very large es tate will probably accomplish the object much sooner, especially if the lady of the mansion be a woman of business, who starts at six o'clock in the morning, and piques herself on being a notable. In that case I have known the object very decently achieved in about half the time.

It invariably happens, that the progress of incumbrance, as observed above, advances with increased rapidity in proportion to the largeness of the estate, a circumstance doubtless arising from the proprietor being sensible of the necessity of using despatch, when so great a mass of business lies before him; and if his pecuniary difficulties happened to be great, previous

to his succession, the greater seems to be the impulse to hasten the return of similar embarrassments,-a prepossession for which I confess myself unable to account satisfactorily, unless by admitting the force of habit, which we all know" is prodigious and unaccountable."

Should you, Mr Editor, consider this sketch worthy of appearing in print, it may, however slight, afford a cud for rumination to some of your readers, and may perhaps induce me, in a future Number, to consider, a little more at large, a subject which I have only touched SKIN DEEP.

ing draught to some patient far gone in the poetical mania, we have not heard. This much is certain, that he has caught the infection, and that thoroughly. For some time we were in hopes, that he might get off with a violent fit or two; but of late the symptoms are terrible. The phrenzy of the "Poems" was bad enough in its way; but it did not alarm us half so seriously as the calm, settled, imperturbable drivelling idiocy of "Endymion." We hope, however, that in so young a person, and with a constitution originally so good, even now the disease is not utterly incurable. Time, firm treatment, and rational restraint, do much for many apparently hopeless invalids; and if Mr Keats should happen, at some interval of reason, to cast his eye upon our pages, he may perhaps be convinced of the existence of his malady, which, in such cases, is

With daring Milton! through the fieldsof air; To regions of his own his genius true Took happy flights. Who shall his fame impair

When thou art dead, and all thy wretched crew?

The absurdity of the thought in this sonnet is, however, if possible, surpassed in another, "addressed to Haydon" the painter, that clever, but most affected artist, who as little resembles Raphael in genius as he does in person, notwithstanding the foppery of having his hair curled over his shoulders in the old Italian fashion. In this exquisite piece it will be observed, that Mr Keats classes together WORDSWORTH, HUNT, and HAYDON, as the three greatest spirits of the age, and that he alludes to himself, and some others of the rising brood of Cockneys, as likely to attain hereafter an equally honourable elevation. Wordsworth and Hunt! what a juxta-position! The purest, the loftiest, and, we do not fear to say it, the most classical of living English poets, joined together in the same compliment with the meanest, the filthiest, and the most vulgar of Cockney poetasters. No wonder that he who could be guilty of this should class Haydon with Raphael, and himself with Spencer. "Great spirits now on earth are sojourning; He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake, Who on Helvellyn's summit, wide awake, Catches his freshness from Archangel's wing: He of the rose, the violet, the spring,

The social smile, the chain for Freedom's sake:

And lo!-whose stedfastness would never take

A meaner sound than Raphael's whispering. And other spirits there are standing apart

Upon the forehead of the age to come; These, these will give the world another heart, And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum Of mighty workings ?

Listen awhile ye nations, and be dumb. The nations are to listen and be dumb! and why, good Johnny Keats? be cause Leigh Hunt is editor of the Examiner, and Haydon has painted the judgment of Solomon, and you and Cornelius Webb, and a few more city sparks, are pleased to look upon yourselves as so many future Shakspeares and Miltons! The world has really some reason to look to its foundations! Here is a tempestas in matulâ with a vengeance. At the period when these sonnets were published, Mr Keats had no hesitation in saying, that he looked on himself as "not yet

a glorious denizen of the wide heaven of poetry," but he had many fine soothing visions of coming greatness, and many rare plans of study to prepare him for it. The following we think is very pretty raving.

Why so sad a moan? Life is the rose's hope while yet unblown; The reading of an ever-changing tale; The light uplifting of a maiden's veil; A pigeon tumbling in clear summer air; A laughing school-boy, without grief or care, Riding the springing branches of an elm. "O for ten years, that I may overwhelm Myself in poesy; so I may do the deed That my own soul has to itself decreed. Then will I pass the countries that I see In long perspective, and continually Taste their pure fountains. First the reahn Of Flora, and old Pan: sleep in the grass, I'll pass Feed upon apples red, and strawberries, And choose each pleasure that my fancy sees. Catch the white-handed nymphs in shady places,

To woo sweet kisses from averted faces,Play with their fingers, touch their shoul

ders white

Into a pretty shrinking with a bite
As hard as lips can make it: till agreed,
And one will teach a tame dove how it best
A lovely tale of human life we'll read.
May fan the cool air gently o'er my rest;

Another, bending o'er her nimble tread,
Will set a green robe floating round her head,
And still will dance with ever varied ease,
Smiling upon the flowers and the trees:
Another will entice me on, and on

rough almond blossoms and rich cinna-
inon;

Till in the bosom of a leafy world
We rest in silence, like two gems upcurl'd
In the recesses of a pearly shell."

Having cooled a little from this "fine passion," our youthful poet passes very naturally into a long strain of foaming abuse against a certain class of English Poets, whom, with Pope at their head, it is much the fashion with the ignorant unsettled pretenders of the present time to unde value, Begging these gentlemens' pardon, although Pope was not a poet of the same high order with some who are now living, yet, to deny his genius, is just about as absurd as to dispute that of Wordsworth, or to believe in that of Hunt. Above all things, it is most pitiably ridiculous to hear men, whom their country will always have reason to be proud, reviled by uneducated and flimsy striplings, who are not capable of understanding either their merits,` or those of any other mea of power

fanciful dreaming tea-drinkers, who, without logic enough to analyse a single idea, or imagination enough to form one original image, or learning enough to distinguish between the written language of Englishmen and the spoken jargon of Cockneys, presume to talk with contempt of some of the most exquisite spirits the world ever produced, merely because they did not happen to exert their faculties in laborious affected descriptions of flowers seen in window-pots, or cascades heard at Vauxhall; in short, because they chose to be wits, philosophers, patriots, and poets, rather than to found the Cockney school of versification, morality, and politics, a century before its time. After blaspheming himself into a fury against Boileau, &c. Mr Keats comforts himself and his readers with a view of the present more promising aspect of affairs; above all, with the ripened glories of the poet of Rimini. Addressing the manes of the departed chiefs of English poetry, he informs them, in the following clear and touching manner, of the existence of "him of the Rose," &c.

"From a thick brake, Nested and quiet in a valley mild, Bubbles a pipe; fine sounds are floating wild About the earth. Happy are ye and glad." From this he diverges into a view of "things in general.' We smile when we think to ourselves how little most of our readers will understand of what follows.

"Yet I rejoice: a myrtle fairer than
E'er grew in Paphos, from the bitter weeds
Lifts its sweet head into the air, and feeds
A silent space with ever sprouting green.
All tenderest birds there find a pleasant

screen,

Will not some say that I presumptuously: Have spoken? that from hastening disgrace Twere better far to hide my foolish face? That whining boyhood should with reve

rence bow

Ere the dread thunderbolt could reach?
How!

If I do hide myself, it sure shall be
In the very fane, the light of poesy."

From some verses addressed to various amiable individuals of the other sex, it appears, notwithstanding all this gossamer-work, that Johnny's affections are not entirely confined to objects purely etherial. Take, by way of specimen, the following prurient and vulgar lines, evidently meant for some young lady east of Temple-bar. "Add too, the sweetness

Of thy honied voice; the neatness
of thine ankle lightly turn'd:
With those beauties, scarce discern'd,
Kept with such sweet privacy,
That they seldom meet the eye
Of the little loves that fly
Round about with eager pry.
Saving when, with freshening lave,
Thou dipp'st them in the taintless wave;
Like twin water lilies, born
In the coolness of the morn.
O, if thou hadst breathed then,
Now the Muses had been ten.
Couldst thou wish for lineage higher
Than twin sister of Thalia?
At last for ever, evermore,
Will I call the Graces four."

Who will dispute that our poet, to
use his own phrase (and rhyme),
"Can mingle music fit for the soft ear
Of Lady Cytherea."

So much for the opening bud; now for the expanded flower. It is time to pass from the juvenile "Poems," to the mature and elaborate "Endymion, a Poetic Romance." The old story of the moon falling in love with a shepherd, so prettily told by a Roman Classic, and so exquisitely enlarged and adorned by one of the most elegant of German poets, has been seized upon by Mr John Keats, to be done with as might seem good unto the sickly fancy of one who never read a single line either of Ovid or of Wieland. If the quantity, not the quality, of the verses dedicated to the story is to be taken into account, there can be no doubt that Mr John Keats may now claim Endymion entirely to himself. To say the truth, we do not suppose either the Latin or the German poet would be very anxious to dispute about the property of the hero of the "Poetic Romance." Mr Keats has thoroughly

appropriated the character, if not the name. His Endymion is not a Greek shepherd, loved by a Grecian goddess; he is merely a young Cockney rhymester, dreaming a phantastic dream at the full of the moon. Costume, were it worth while to notice such a trifle, is violated in every page of this goodly octavo. From his prototype Hunt, John Keats has acquired a sort of vague idea, that the Greeks were a most tasteful people, and that no mythology can be so finely adapted for the purposes of poetry as theirs. It is amusing to see what a hand the two Cockneys make of this mythology; the one confesses that he never read the Greek Tragedians, and the other knows Homer only from Chapman; and both of them write about Apollo, Pan, Nymphs, Muses, and Mysteries, as might be expected from persons of their education. We shall not, however, enlarge at present upon this subject, as we mean to dedicate an entire paper to the classical attainments and attempts of the Cockney poets. As for Mr Keats' " Endymion," it has just as much to do with Greece as it has with "old Tartary the fierce;" no man, whose mind has ever been imbued with the smallest knowledge or feeling of classical poetry or classical history, could have stooped to profane and vulgarise every association in the manner which has been adopted by this

66

To

son of promise." Before giving any extracts, we must inform our readers, that this romance is meant to be written in English heroic rhyme. those who have read any of Hunt's poems, this hint might indeed be needless. Mr Keats has adopted the loose, nerveless versification, and Cockney rhymes of the poet of Rimini; but in fairness to that gentleman, we must add, that the defects of the system are tenfold more conspicuous in his disciple's work than in his own.

Mr

Hunt is a small poet, but he is a clever man. Mr Keats is a still smaller poet, and he is only a boy of pretty abilities, which he has done every thing in

his

power to spoil.

The poem sets out with the following exposition of the reasons which induced Mr Keats to compose it. "A thing of beauty is a joy for ever: Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness; but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
We have imagined for the mighty dead;
All lovely tales that we have heard or read;
An endless fountain of immortal drink,
Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
"Nor do we merely feel these essences
For one short hour; no, even as the trees
That whisper round a temple become soon
Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
Haunt us till they become a cheering light
The passion poesy, glories infinite,

Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast,
That, whether there be shine, or gloom

o'ercast,

They alway must be with us, or we die. Will trace the story of Endymion! ! !" "Therefore 'tis with full happiness that I

After introducing his hero to us in a procession, and preparing us, by a few mystical lines, for believing that his destiny has in it some strange peculiarity, Mr Keats represents the beloved of the Moon as being conveyed by his sister Peona into an island in a larmed by the appearance of the broriver. This young lady has been ather, and questioned him thus:

"Brother, 'tis vain to hide That thou dost know of things mysterious, Immortal, starry; such alone could thus Weigh down thy nature. Hast thou sinn'd Offensive to the heavenly powers? Caught in aught A Paphian dove upon a message sent? Thy deathful bow against some deer-herd

bent,

Sacred to Dian? Haply, thou hast seen
Her naked limbs among the alders green;
And that, alas! is death. No, I can trace
Something more high perplexing in thy
face!""

Endymion replies in a long speech, wherein he describes his first meeting with the Moon. We annot mak