lace, and I believe old Sir Thomas Brown were before him, is it for these mighty crimes, or such as these, that the independent-the original Byron is denounced as a plagiarist? Swift, I conclude, is your beau ideal, -He never borrowed an idea from mortal."

Johnson was amused, and Boswell laughed outright,—I was exceedingly irritated.

"I vow to heaven, gentlemen, this is too much. This is the second time to-night that I have been obliged to hear the sneers of unsubstantial critics as well as to defend myself from their more serious attacks. To combat with flesh and blood I am willing,

But if from heaven, celestial, ye descend;
Know, with immortals I may not contend.

The roar of merriment that followed, raised my indignation to the highest pitch, and I felt almost inclined, like Tydides, to fall foul of the exalted beings that were opposed to me-Minerva, however, in my case, was dissuasive, and I merely said

"No more of ancients and moderns, I beseech you, gentlemen. My mind is so completely made up on this subject, that opposition only irritates without convincing me."

“Well, Sir," said Boswell, (for Johnson still continued to chuckle) "you have modern productions of this nature that will bear inspection. The authors of them have nearly the merit of original composers."

"As nearly," muttered Johnson, "as the grinder of a barrel-organ through the street has to the performer on the instrument at Haarlem."

“I should be inclined to give them a greater share of praise," said Boswell, submissively. "The fact is," he continued to me, "till the German mania, tribus antijacobinibus insanabilis, put every translator upon far-fetched compounds, and strange idiomatical forms of expression, I really believe that the English language was improving, and consequently that facilities were in progress for the classical translator, and the poet generally."†

"I fear," said I, doggedly, "that we shall never agree."

Johnson turned suddenly round full upon me, and thundered Are you a Whig ?"

I drew back a step, and replied in the negative. He seemed appeased.

"Then, Sir, you are better than I thought. We are almost all Tories in the lunar world. Byron would have given his laurels to have been in the minority in the Lords on the Reform Bill. We see things as they are above

no distorting medium any longer exists, and, therefore, we are Tories. I am glad, Sir, to meet an Irish Tory, I must send down some of our club to have conversation with you. I believe an Irish Tory is a rara avis.”

66

By no means, Sir, I assure you.” Well, from an elevation he is indiscernible amongst the throng. You Tory writers are few, I know. If you had such men as Southey, and Wilson here, you might do much.

"Would to God, Sir, that we had." "Your fault, as writers, is the endeavour to keep up nationality of language as well as feeling. The incorporation of the two countries, however it may have influenced the latter, has had a complete effect upon the former. No Irishman can write well, except as far as he has a pure English style. Thus it is with Americans also. Irving and Cooper have shaken off transatlantic peculiarity, and by consequence are good writers; but Irishmen find it difficult or irksome to get rid of theirs, and hence they do not find readers across the channel."

"There, once again, I differ from you widely. I flatter myself we are read in both England and Scotland." I spoke with emphasis.

"By the bye," exclaimed Boswell, without heeding Johnson's renewed laugh at my pertinacity, "you have lately opened a battery of two periodicals upon them. I suppose you mean to make up for lost time."

Johnson interrupted him.

"I saw one of them, I believe, Sir, this evening; a monthly one

I stood breathless, my manner, and. I believe, my colour altered, as I waited in breathless silence for the awful judgment of the Critic upon our Magazine, and I had just caught the beginning of

a sentence, when-death to my hopes! an unlucky cock crew. The two forms gradually sunk away from my sight, and in a few moments I found myself alone in the shop.

Never did Micyllus bestow a more hearty execration upon poor Chanticleer's ill-timed note, than escaped my lips when I found the cup, as it were, snatched away, when my thirst was at its height, and the draught prepared. To be tantalized with such honour (for I felt satisfied we should be praised) from such a fountain, and to be thus disappointed was, in the present state of my nerves, almost intolerable. I darted forth into the first struggle of dawn, and strode home to my house in street, where I threw myself upon my bed without the power of one collected thought upon the events that had occurred. I fell into a disturbed and broken sleep, and when the morning sun awoke me, it was some time before I could persuade myself that the whole affair had not been a dream. The moment I felt convinced of its reality, I set out with fasting impatience to the scene of my last night's adventure. There I paced up and down, poking in every where, in my anxiety to recognize the little black counter and the ricketty shelves that were so vividly impressed on my memory. It was in vain. I enquired from mopping maids and unshuttering apprentices, but without success. The shop was not to be found. I addressed myself to one of the second-hand Magliabechis of the region, who was burnishing the last remains of legibility from the plate on his own door, and put as many questions to him with respect to the existence of a place such as I described, in the neighbourhood, or of the visits of old gentlemen of strange manner and garb, as were consistent with exemption from ridicule or suspicion. All to no purpose. I returned home to swallow my breakfast, sit alone, and muse on these things.

I was afraid to make a single confidant, for I knew how readily a story of

the kind would be attributed to an excess, the bare imputation of which I have ever avoided with the greatest care. Silence was my only alternative, but my mind dwelt incessantly upon the conversation, and when I next met my old-school friend, he at once remarked how much my tone was altered. In fact, my sentiments had undergone a change. I considered that I had taken too forward a part in a controversy with one, whose dicta had every right to be oracular, and that probably my haste and petulance had prevented me from gathering many a grain of "gold dust” that might otherwise have been obtained. I fancied at times that I saw his shade re-enter, like that of Sterne's Monk, and upbraid me for my presumption. I reflected upon the surprising temper with which he-the most overbearing and irritable of men

had received my arrogant opposition, and how little grateful I had shewn myself for it. In short, the more I called his arguments and apothegms to mind, the more weight did they carry with them. I felt that he must be unprejudiced; I knew that he was competent to judge, and I blamed myself for not having acknowledged a condescension, which took pains to remove prejudice and implant taste.

After much cogitation, feeling as incapable of retaining my secret as the Old Maid in Mr. Banim's story, I have come to the determination of submitting it to you, in the hope of your inserting the whole story in your Magazine, so that I may be able to feel the public pulse on the subject, without exposing myself personally to the sneers or obloquy of my friends, and trusting to the obscurity of a fictitious name for misinterpreting the cause of my blushes, when I hear ADVENA laughed at as a dreaming enthusiast, who should nail down the windows of his bed-room, and take care of his digestive organs. I remain, &c. &c. ADVENA.

MY DEAR AUNT,

that with the luxurious enjoyments of

People now rail who never railed before,

And those who always railed now rail the more,

London does, at this present writing, shine forth in all the beauty and grandeur and fashion of the "full season." They say that on the average of the year, about three thousand strangers come into London every day, and a number considerably less in the aggregate, but only a very little less in each day's account, leaves it. At this season, however, the influx must be prodigious, for nine-tenths of the regular visitors of London who come for pleasure merely, come here I think in the month of May, when the opera has its best singers and dancers; and concerts abound, morning and evening, and all the shops have their most splendid "spring assortments," and the carriages of the nobility and gentry block up Bond-street on the week days, and the straight road called "The Ring," in Hyde-park, on Sunday afternoons when every thing that enormous wealth and luxurious habits, unceasing toil, unrivalled skill, and the matured spring and delicious sunny weather, can afford to delight those who have the means of enjoying them, are brought together and poured forth abundantly.

It is a common-place saying-" how can people think of going to London just when the country becomes so delightful-they ought rather to think of leaving London for the country." No such thing, my dear Aunt, I assure you. I have lived in this great metropolis at all seasons, and I must aver upon my own experience, that so far at all events as a "West end" residence is concerned, this is the "properest" time of all the year for enjoying London. It is true that the god of the London world is WEALTH, to which even rank and fashion, and amusing talent, are but subordinate deities; and it is very true,

merated, he who hath not good store of money in his purse, can expect to have but little to do, except (if he lack experience and wisdom,) to envy their possession by others—

"For to the world no bugbear is so great As want of figure, and a small estate."

Even beauty (alas! that I should say it,) turns away its smile,

"Scared at the spectre of pale poverty."

For

And as for consideration in any other quarter, political, literary, scientific, or philanthropic, he who has not wealth of his own, or the means of getting it from or for others, must be very inexperienced, or an idiot, who expects it. But, notwithstanding all this, a man with a sound mind in a sound body, with enough to eat and drink, though turtle and champaigne be strangers to his palate, and with some leisure to move about, and see, and hear, and enjoy, what may be seen, heard, and enjoyed for nothing, would still do well to visit London at this very season, which, although it be summer by the almanacs, is in our metropolitan vocabulary denominated "spring." now, instead of scowling skies, and dirty streets, through which the poor pedestrian wends his way with draggled great coat clashing about his legs, and wearisome umbrella held overhead, every now and then encountering another, and getting smack into his face a little shower from the concussion-instead of this, he may go forth even as he sits at home, save the addition of hat and gloves, with a clear sky above him, and clean dry footing underneath, and though he will find the watering carts manufacturing gutter where they were intended only to lay the dust, yet he will console himself with the sight of the gushing water which is generally clear before it falls, and with the