we could by mere prosaic admiration-and if we cannot become poets ourselves, we at least shall have collected the elements of a Jacobin Art of Poetry, for the use of those whose genius may be more capable of turning them to advantage.

It might not be unamusing to trace the springs and principles of this species of poetry, which are to be found, some in the exaggeration, and others in the direct inversion of the sentiments and passions, which have in all ages animated the breast of the favourite of the Muses, and distinguished him from the "vulgar throng."

The poet in all ages has despised riches and grandeur. The Jacobin poet improves this sentiment into a hatred of the rich and the great.

The poet of other times has been an enthusiast in the love of his native soil.

The Jacobin poet rejects all restriction in his feelings. His love is enlarged and expanded so as to comprehend all human kind. The love of all human kind is without doubt a noble passion: it can hardly be necessary to mention, that its operation extends to Freemen, and them only, all over the world.

The old poet was a warrior, at least in imagination; and sung the actions of the heroes of his country, in strains which made Ambition Virtue," and which overwhelmed the horrors of war in its glory.

The Jacobin poet would have no objection to sing battles too-but he would take a distinction. The prowess of Buonaparte, indeed, he might chant in his loftiest strain of exultation. There we should find nothing but trophies and triumphs, and branches of laurel and olive, phalanxes of Republicans shouting victory, satellites of despotism biting the ground, and geniusses of Liberty planting standards on mountain-tops.

But let his own country triumph, or her Allies obtain an advantage; straightway the "beauteous face of war"

is changed; the "pride, pomp, and circumstance" of victory are kept carefully out of sight-and we are presented with nothing but contusions and amputations, plundered peasants, and deserted looms. Our poet points the thunder of his blank verse at the head of the recruiting serjeant, or roars in dithyrambics against the lieutenants of pressgangs.

But it would be endless to chase the coy Muse of Jacobinism through all her characters. Mille habet ornatus. The Mille decenter habet is, perhaps, more questionable. For in whatever disguise she appears, whether of mirth or of melancholy, of piety or of tenderness, under all disguises, like Sir John Brute* in woman's clothes, she is betrayed by her drunken swagger and ruffian tone.

In the poem which we have selected for the edification of our Readers, and our own imitation, this day, the principles which are meant to be inculcated speak so plainly for themselves, that they need no previous introduction. CANNING.

INSCRIPTION

For the Apartment in Chepstow Castle, where Henry Marten, the Regicide, was imprisoned thirty years.

For thirty years secluded from mankind
Here MARTEN lingered. Often have these walls
Echoed his footsteps, as with even tread
He paced around his prison; not to him
Did Nature's fair varieties exist;

He never saw the sun's delightful beams

Save when through yon high bars he pour'd a sad
And broken splendour. Dost thou ask his crime?
He had REBELL'D AGAINST THE KING, AND SAT
IN JUDGMENT ON HIM; for his ardent mind

[* A character in Sir John Vanbrugh's The Provok'd Wife.]

Shaped goodliest plans of happiness on earth,
And peace and liberty. Wild dreams! but such
As Plato loved; such as with holy zeal

Our Milton worshipp'd. Blessed hopes! a while
From man withheld, even to the latter days
When Christ shall come, and all things be fulfill'd!

[SOUTHEY.]

IMITATION.

INSCRIPTION

For the door of the cell in Newgate, where Mrs. Brownrigg, the Prentice-cide, was confined previous to her Execution.

For one long term, or e're her trial came,
Here BROWNRIGG linger'd. Often have these cells
Echoed her blasphemies, as with shrill voice
She scream'd for fresh Geneva. Not to her
Did the blithe fields of Tothill, or thy street,
St. Giles, its fair varieties expand;

For her mind

Till at the last, in slow-drawn cart, she went
To execution. Dost thou ask her crime?
SHE WHIPP'D TWO FEMALE PRENTICES TO DEATH,
AND HID THEM IN THE COAL-HOLE.
Shaped strictest plans of discipline.
Such as Lycurgus taught, when at the shrine
Of the Orthyan goddess he bade flog
The little Spartans; such as erst chastised
Our Milton, when at college. For this act

Sage schemes!

Did Brownrigg swing. Harsh laws! but time shall come,
When France shall reign, and laws be all repeal'd!

CANNING
FREREC C. F.

and ELLIS M.

No. II.

Nov. 27.

In the specimen of JACOBIN POETRY which we gave in our last Number, was developed a principle, perhaps one of the most universally recognized in the Jacobin Creed; namely, "that the animadversion of human laws upon human actions "is for the most part nothing but gross oppression; and that, in all cases of the administration of criminal justice, "the truly benevolent mind will consider only the severity of the punishment, without any reference to the malignity of the crime." This principle has of late years been laboured with extraordinary industry, and brought forward in a variety of shapes, for the edification of the public. It has been inculcated in bulky quartos, and illustrated in popular novels. It remained only to fit it with a poetical dress, which had been attempted in the Inscription for Chepstow Castle, and which (we flatter ourselves) was accomplished in that for Mrs. Brownrigg's cell.

Another principle no less devoutly entertained, and no less sedulously disseminated, is the natural and eternal warfare of the POOR and the RICH. In those orders and gradations of society, which are the natural result of the original difference of talents and of industry among'mankind, the Jacobin sees nothing but a graduated scale of violence and cruelty. He considers every rich man as an oppressor, and every person in a lower situation as the victim of avarice and the slave of aristocratical insolence and contempt. These truths he declares loudly, not to excite compassion, or to soften the consciousness of superiority in the higher, but for the purpose of aggravating discontent in the inferior orders.

A human being, in the lowest state of penury and distress, is a treasure to a reasoner of this cast. He contemplates, he examines, he turns him in every possible light, with a view of extracting from the variety of his wretchedness

new topics of invective against the pride of property. He indeed (if he is a true Jacobin), refrains from relieving the object of his compassionate contemplation; as well knowing, that every diminution from the general mass of human misery, must proportionably diminish the force of his argument.

This principle is treated at large by many authors. It is versified in sonnets and elegies without end. We trace it particularly in a poem by the same author from whom we borrowed our former illustration of the Jacobin doctrine of crimes and punishments. In this poem the pathos of the matter is not a little relieved by the absurdity of the metre. We shall not think it necessary to transcribe the whole of it, as our imitation does not pretend to be so literal as in the last instance, but merely aspires to convey some idea of the manner and sentiment of the original. One stanza, however, we must give, lest we should be suspected of painting from fancy, and not from life.

The learned reader will perceive that the metre is Sapphic, and affords a fine opportunity for his scanning and proving, if he has not forgotten them.

Cōld was the night wind: drifting fast the snows fell, Wide wĕre thē dōwns,—and shelterless and nākĕd:

When ǎ poōr wānd'rēr struggled on her journey

Weary and way-sōre.*

This is enough: unless the reader should wish to be informed how

Fast o'er the bleak heath rattling drōve à chāriōt; or how, not long after,

Loud blew the wind, unheard was her complaining— ōn went the hōrseman. We proceed to give our imitation, which is of the Amabæan or Collocutory kind.

[* "The Widow," by Southey.]