grand-children (if you have any), that you have seen this mighty miracle, you are advised not to neglect this opportunity; since it is plainly evident that of all the shows or wonders that are usually seen in holiday-time, this must bear the bell; and there it is published in all news, that the country may come in; the like never performed before. It is likewise believed that gingerbread, oranges, and all such goods exposed to public sale in wheelbarrows will doubtless get trade there, at this vast concourse: therefore, for the benefit of poor people, I give them timely notice, since it is a bad wind blows none no profit. But, besides this admirable wonder of this strange and particular manner of his resurrection, he is to preach a sermon; and lest it should not be printed you are invited to be ear-witnesses thereof, as well as eye-witnesses to see his lips go, in the pronunciation thereof: all which will be matter of great moment, filling you all with exceeding amazement and great astonishment; his voice will be loud and audible that all may hear him, and his doctrine full of knowledge; undoubt edly you will return home taught with profound understanding. Which miracle, if you chance to see or hear, you will not forget; and so by consequence, for the future, be endowed with sound judgment, and most excellent wisdom, most eloquent expressions, and what not.

Then neglect not this great and most beneficial opportunity, but for that time set all your affairs aside. And take this advice from Mr. Lacy, and the inspired prophets, together with Mrs. Mary, of Turnmill-street, a she-prophetess, and the young woman who sells penny-pies, who, in hopes of obtaining all your company, remains yours; not questioning but to give you all content with this rare show.

Such is the proclamation. Now, I think, if Prince Hohenlohe were to get up a "raree-show" of this description in England, and herald it by such a promising manifesto, it would do much more towards converting bad Protestants into good Catholics,* than all the miracles he has hitherto performed, in holes and corners, on the fair sex, to whom his services are chiefly devoted. Suppose, for instance, he were to convene an assembly of the English and Irish bishops, and in their presence raise from the dead some celebrated character lately defunct, such as the Emperor Napoleon, or Billy Waters; or if the worms have made away with too much of these cotemporary meteors, the Irish Surgeon-General would probably have no objection to die for a few minutes, especially as by his own theory he would only have to imagine himself alive again, and be so. For my own part, I have been so far convinced by Dr. B'st reasoning, that although I am but a sorry kind of a heretic, if I could only see a trifling miracle of the above sort performed, it would go near to make me shave my head, put on a hair-shirt, and, like Simon Stylites, betake myself to the top of London column, where I might live out the rest of my days in penitence and obscurity. Until that be done, however, I think it better to stick to my old sect, and support the Antipope (his Grace the Archbishop of Canterbury).

I should particularly advise Prince Hohenlohe, in case he adopts my notion of raising the dead, that whether it be the Emperor Napoleon, Billy Waters, or the Irish SurgeonGeneral, the resurgend should be previously enjoined to preach a sermon (in conformity with the above procla mation) before he quits the ground,in his grave clothes too, as the most solemn and suitable to such an occasion.

tertainment; there are many who can read only such works, and some who can write none other. Yet perhaps it is unjust to say so: there are probably few readers who would not willingly imbibe the lessons of wisdom if they were sufficiently few and concise, if they were agreeably displayed and happily illustrated; there are probably few writers who could not impart such lessons, if they took half the pains to deserve their own approbation that they do to merit the applause of others.

To instruct by delighting is a power seldom enjoyed by man, and still seldomer exercised. It is in this respect that Homer may be called the second of men, and Shakspeare the first. The wisdom of the Greek was not so universal as that of the Briton, nor his genius so omnipotent in setting it forth attractively. From the several works of the latter, a single work might be compiled little less worthy of divine sanction than any other extant, and by the beauty of its nature, far more secure of human attention. But Shakspeare I has done so much in this way, so nearly all that is sufficient,-he has made the laws of the decalogue and all their corollaries so familiar, he has exhibited the passions and propensities, the feelings and emotions, incident to humanity, so freely, and as I might say, graphically, that another such artist would be superfluous. Nature might create a second Shakspeare, but it would be bad economy. What the first has left undone, may be completed by a much less expense of Promethean fire than would go to the creation of a second. We are therefore not to look for a similar being, at least until we acquire new attributes, or are under a new moral dispensation. Spirits of an inferior order, a Milton, a Pope, or a Cowper, are potent enough to disseminate the remaining or minor truths of natural morality amongst the people, or rather to repeat, illustrate, and impress them on our hearts and memories. Writers of this class whom we may call the lay ministers of the Deity, to teach from the press instead of the pulpit, in the closet instead of the church, we may expect; and with them should we be satisfied. Though we cannot reasonably hope for another

high prophet of profane inspiration to re-communicate to us the lessons of divine wisdom which are already to be found in Shakspeare, it is no presumption to hope that the spirit of illumination will descend upon humbler poets, and make them our secular guides in morality. This is the office which should be sought by every writer, and for which he ought to prepare himself, as the will to become is (independent of genius) one and the same with the power to be. In this case it is not God who chooses what priests shall serve him, but the priests who choose whether they will serve him or not.

The preceding exaltation of the poetic character into something of a sacred nature, the designating poets, as it were, a temporal order of moral teachers,-may astonish those who have been accustomed to degrade poetry into a mere collection of sounding words and glittering images. But a great poet is always a philosopher and a moralist; such also, in some degree, is every poet who is worthy of that name. The moral state of a nation may be judged of by its poetry, and it is its poetry which chiefly influences its morals. For one man on whom a moral lesson is impressed by a sermon, there are at least an hundred on whom it is much more deeply impressed by a poem. No one who ever read can forget

I dare do all that may become a man,
Who dares do more is none.

But we hear every Sabbath many more maxims than we care to remember. A nation's poetry is then its immediate Scripture, and the digest of its practical wisdom and morality. A nation's poets are the best moral teachers of its people. In ancient times, when the priesthood was not so separate an order as at present, the task of instructing the people devolved almost wholly on the poets; especially on the dramatic writers. And hence we find the Greek and Roman dramas so replete with maxims, precepts, pious exhortations, and moral sentiments.

But to combine the poet and the philosopher is not given to every one. To instruct and delight at the same time is, as I before observed, not within the power of every author;

at least, in this respect, there is a great difference in different authors. In the single province of amusing they are more on a level both with each other, and with the professors of many less intellectual arts, -the painter, the musician, the actor, and the buffoon. But he who can, at once, improve our hearts, expand our minds, and entertain our fancy, is a far superior genius to him who can do but one of these. It is in this general faculty that I think Washington Irving excels his cotemporaries. This is the age of "deep feeling," but of little else. Few authors endeavour to merit the reputation of being as wise as they are passionate. The author of Waverley is certainly a more powerful writer than the author of the Sketch Book; that is, his subjects are more lofty, his imagery is more daring, and his language is, if I may so express myself, much louder and more vehement. But though a more powerful, he is not a more effective writer. He agitates the heart more, but he does not more forcibly persuade it towards his object. And he would as soon think of putting on band and cassock as of addressing the reason instead of the fancy of his readers. I say not this to disparage the author of Waverley; by no means. His line of writing may not admit of such a proceeding. His talents may lie in another direction, and, powerful as they are, they may not be universal. I merely wish to point out in what I conceive Washington Irving's superiority to consist. He is certainly the only author I can now recollect, who, in the present day, largely intermingles moral reflection with the poetry of composition. This is the consummation devoutly to be wished by readers, and devotedly to be sought after by writers. The author of the Sketch Book is, in my opinion, a model for that class of writers to whose works the multitude chiefly resorts for its mental recreation, apprehensible by almost every age, sex, and condition, yet not beneath any. He unites much of the solid with more of the splendid; a certain degree of reflection with a greater degree of imagination; considerable power and will to instruct, still more considerable power and will to delight. But such unions are rare;

unions by which Nature sometimes endeavours to make compensation for the myriads of fools whom she brings every day into the world.

How beautifully, for instance, does the story of "The Widow and her Son," in the Sketch Book, intervene between "The Country Church" and "The Boar's Head Tavern!" How much sweet and unobtrusive wisdom is inculcated by the sketch of "Westminster Abbey" and several others in these volumes! How frequently does the author lead us unwarily into a train of reflection! and in the midst of his liveliest stories how often do we meet with sentences and passages of gentle admonition or instructive remark, a maxim or a moral, tending to make us better. or wiser, disclosing a new truth, or impressing an old one!-But of this beautiful and most praiseworthy introduction of moral reflection into works of entertainment, "Rural Funerals' is the happiest example, The subject is interesting to the most insensible reader; the language is some of the sweetest I have ever met with; and the sentiments are of that deeply impressive moral kind, pregnant with feeling, simple, yet full of thought,-composing a master-piece of its kind, which it is almost vain for me to recommend to imitation; for it can scarcely be imitated with success, perhaps by the author himself. The last page or two where he speaks of " the sorrows for the dead are worthy of perpetual study and eternal remembrance. They are at once beautiful and sublime; instructive and delightful. To them I would chiefly point my reader's attention, as exhibiting that degree of reflection, and that measure of instruction, which I am anxious to see all our general authors impart to some portions of their writings. I am not an admirer of didactic composition; but I confess it is not without some compunction that I sacrifice my time to the perusal of works where the imagination alone is pampered, and the reason altogether starved. Idle meditation would be a more profitable employment than such reading.

With these pre-dispositions in Mr. Irving's favour, and with these expectations from his forthcoming work, you may judge, my dear sir,