souls! thought, that as they professed writing a poem, the principal part of it ought, at least, to be in verse of some kind or other. So, too, actuated by the same erroneous idea, and unacquainted with the real art of poetry, they supposed that the characters who figured in their works, ought to be persons, either altogether imaginary, or, if traditional or historical, persons of respectable character, and not highwaymen, freebooters and pickpockets, who would be likely to plunder the reader in the first page. But the school to which our author belongs, and which may be called the school of modern chivalry, with a singular species of invention, which, though allied to poetic genius, is not quite genuine, has found out an entire new system, that bids fair, we think, to supersede every other. It is neither more nor less than choosing a subject from out of the lumber of forgotten provincial antiquity, and for their actors your alias follows with half a dozen names. Notorious freebooters, who, if their fame had not been preserved in the traditionary Newgate calendar of the times, would have descended to Hades, without any memorial but the mouldering remains of some moss-grown castle, ruined by their nightly depredations. The advantages arising from this new system are so obvious that we should be surprised it had not been adopted long since, did we not know that the greatest discoveries in science and in art appear so simple after their discovery, that every body believes he could have made them with perfect ease. By this simple improvement in the epic art, the reader is introduced into the society of an entire set of new acquaintance, who, though, perhaps, not of the most reputable characters, cannot fail to delight him by their novel stories of conflagrations, robberies, ravishments, and other brilliant exploits of modern chivalry. The poet also has thus the great advantage of acting as master of ceremonies, performing the polite modern manœuvre of introduction with due grace, and giving what character he chooses to each individual, whose fortunate obscurity enables him to indulge in the greatest latitude of excursive genius. This introduction is madeby notes, which answer the double purpose of making us much better acquainted with our company, than would easily be done in verse, and at the same time increasing the size of the book; which last is a great matter with the bookseller, who pays according to bulk. We would, however, venture to suggest an improvement in this plan, which is, that as these notes are intended for the purpose of introducing those distinguished characters, they ought, in conscience, as well as propriety, to precede the poem, as the trumpeter does the army, and the herald did the knight of yore. By this happy arrangement we should become acquainted with the hero before we entered on his exploits, and accompany him in his maraudings with an additional degree of interest. Thus, also, we should be enabled to recognise every actor in his heroic dress, which, when put on by one of our modern poetical men-milliners, so alters his appearance, that none but an old acquaintance can possibly recognise him. Great trouble is also saved in delineating characters in verse, which is a task none but a pains-taking genius, like old Homer, would think of doing now a days. The reader will gather from the foregoing remarks, that with regard to fable and character the modern epic is decidedly superior to the ancient in novelty, which, after all, is undoubtedly the prin cipal source of all genuine pleasure. How much superior in point of novelty and interest, are the sublime and obscure heroes of the great modern school, whom none but some plodding provincial antiquary ever before heard of, to the hackneyed names of Greece and Rome; nations whose fame is so provokingly illustrious, that it is scarcely possible to extract any thing new from their tradition or history? Another reason for preferring this new epic school to every other, is the great superiority observable in the characters of its heroes. How far more picturesque and poetical is their courage and enterprise; and how much they exceed those of Homer, Virgil, Tasso, or even Milton's Devils. Homer has indeed given to the actors of his immortal poem many characteristics of the simplicity of their æra, making them rather boasting and abusive, as well as wanting in that chivalric deference to the fair sex which is a sure indication of refinement. But though we find that they cooked their own dinners, it does not appear they were in the habit of stealing them, except in one instance, where the pious the cross of his sword, awaiting, with heroic resignation, the approach of that death which he received in defence of his sove reign? Having endeavoured as far as our leisure and limits would permit, to establish the superiority, in poetical effect, of the modern school of chivalry, it naturally follows that we go on to inquire into the influence which the relation of such actions as we have alluded to, is likely to have on the taste and manners of the present age; in other words, what will be their moral tendency. If books have any influence in this respect, as some very wise men doubt, the moral tendency of a work of fancy ought to be one test of its excellence. But this subject would lead us into too great a field of discussion. Leaving it therefore to some future occasion, we will now uncage the terrible Wild-Irishman, according to our promise, the fulfilment of which doubtless is anxiouly expected by the reader, who has been accustomed to consider an Irishman as fera nature whom any man may hunt down without a license. Those who are in the least enlightened, that is to say, those who are in the habit of reading the English newspapers, will long since have discovered that all Irishmen are wild, except a few who have become tame by a residence in England, and those who submit without murmuring to that mild, gentle, and considerate system of government under which they have the happiness to live. These Wild-Irishmen are principally catholics, the ancient possessors of that land, which, under the auspices of Queen Elizabeth, became the property of certain disinterested English, who came over to civilize them. Ever since this change of property, the ancient Irish have cherished a most unreasonable antipathy to these pious missionaries of civilization; and are in their turn heartily abominated by the English ministry, who, while they are most zealously upholding the catholic religion in Spain, are as zealously treading it under foot in Ireland. That the unlucky poet whom we have turned out for the chase is a Wild-Irishman is evident, because, in the first place, he praises his country, loves his countrymen, and believes Ossian to have been born in Ireland. Nay, in one of his notes, he goes even farther than Sir Callaghan O'Brallagan himself, maintaining stoutly, that Ireland was anciently called Scotia, and that the wily Scots, who we all know are not a whit too good for such things, not only cheated their country out of Ossian, but out of its name. Whether Ossian was an Irishman, a Scot, or nobody, as many learned men believe, is left to the decision of those who take an interest in the subject. The author acknowledges that he wrote the present poem under the influence of irritated feelings, on perceiving that illiberal prejudice which exists in England, not only against the Irish, but nost other nations, except the Indians and Algerines. That it should, therefore, exhibit a warmth of commendation which occasionally approaches to extravagance is scarcely to be wondered at. If ever boasting is allowable, it is when the person is called upon to repel unmerited aspersion. But we have already indulged in a great latitude of general remark, and will, therefore, proceed to cite some particular passages, accompanied by suck observations as occur to our minds. The opening of the poem is an animated address to Ireland, which exhibits a warmth of feeling that cannot fail of pleasing those whose want of experience has prevented them from learning the important secret, that all poets are expected to praise the country in which they were born, and in which they have enjoyed the luxuries of starvation. "Erin, dear by every tie, That binds us to our infancy; By weeping memory's fondest claims, Think on what thou once hast been, Which graced thy hills and valleys green; Look on Brian's verdant grave; Brian, the glory and grace of our age, Brian, the shield of the Emerald Isle, The lion incens'd was a lamb to his rage, The dove was an eagle, compar'd to his smile." As a sober traveller mounted on what he supposes to be a steady-paced nag, finds, ere he reaches the first milestone, that the hostler has imposed upon him a whimsical bedevilled animal, that one moment ambles gently along, the next breaks into a villanous hobbling canter, and anon, without the least preliminary "resolution of the intervening discords," bounces off in a long trot-straight the honest rider begins to feel himself exceedingly uneasy in the saddle, becomes tired of the soul-worrying caprices of his Rosinante, and wishes him fairly in a horse-pond— even so, gentle reader, it fared with us. Gently and smoothly ambling down the passage we have just quoted, where no discord grates upon the ear, and scarce an intruding thought occurs to ripple the smooth surface of the printless mirror, we were suddenly, and without the least notice, almost unhorsed by the change of pace in which the poet's Pegasus indulges himself in the four lines beginning with "Brian, the glory and grace of our age." Before, however, we had time to accommodate ourselves to this new gait, this whimsical Wild-Irishman scampered off in a most appalling long trot. "The sun has grown old since Clontarf's bloody wave There is something singularly odd in the antithesis contained i these four lines. That the sun should "grow old," while th |