Now would he in his heart really wish kings not to be proud? If the King of Great Britain were not proud, would he not be a most abject creature? Our Master-Tailor misrepresents his Majesty, in saying "'Tis pride, vain-glorious pride, that makes them seek Prostration from their fellows, such that man To man, his equal, never ought to pay." Our gracious Sovereign seeks no such prostration from his fellows" —not he, indeed-but at a levee holds out his hand for them to kiss with the most benign air in the world. Had our friend ever been presented at Court, he would have known this, and that there was no need to soil the knees of his dress breeches in the dust. In the East there are, we understand, prostrations; but not peculiarly characteristic of this age surely; and our Tailor is manifestly treating of the West. He ought also to remember, that many a time and oft has he himself been the only perpendicular in a skylight crowded with living beings all squatted with legs across-" his fellows"-while he kept moving in his pride of place. Will he dare to declare before the world, that an apprentice was ever seen to stand erect in the presence of a Master-Tailor? The supposition is most monstrous; and yet, with that fact staring him in the face, he accuses kings of pride in their intercourse with their subjects. But hear him: "Again their titles: not content with power, And plenitude of vast dominion, pride Arrogates lofty words to swell its state.", Why not, good sir? Do not you yourself append to your name, in large letters of gold, "BREECHES-MAKER TO HIS MAJESTY ?" Next to the pride of Kings is the pride of King's Ministers. He says, “Pride governs in the council, pride of place, Deputed power, official arrogance." Never was there a more unjust libel than this on the present Ministry. The Duke is a proud man, and no wonder; but was Huskisson a proud man? Is Peel a proud man? Is that a proud Cabinet that keeps hush, or falls a yelping like a dog-kennel at the step or voice of the whipper-in? To our minds they are choice and select specimens of the poor in spirit. From his Majesty and his Ministers descend to our Magistrates-unpaid and stipendiary-and "Him copies close the Magistrate, too oft A villain, with as hard a heart of stone As had Egyptian Pharoah-and like him, Bloated with pride, and swollen big with power! O, pride of office!" Sir Richard Birnie, who is evidently pointed at in this passage, ought to prosecute, and by so doing he will still more closely resemble his Majesty's Ministers. But we insist on our author being candid, and on his answering truly this question -Is not this veteran abused too sternly, on account of the stern jobation Sir Richard gave you one day in his office in Bow-street, for having, without a particle of provocation, but in the cruel elation of a Tailor's soul, let suddenly loose on the public from the finishing stitch to a pair of pantaloons, overset an old woman and her saloop-table? 'Tis very easy for you to exclaim, "O pride of office!-Man with heart imbued With human feelings, humble would be come, Not haughty at the sight of so much sin, And not austere, but mild to sufferers. The duties of the office, justice stern, Must be fulfilled, 'tis true ;-but Oh! the voice Might softened be, as easily as proud, And arrogant, and pompous;-and the eye Might glisten with compassion for the grief, And sorrow for the fault, as well as stare With haughty boldness, consciously se cure; And then the heart might whisper where it could, A plea for Mercy, punishment less hard; And not feel pleasure in awarding doom The utmost of the rigours of the law." Why, what was in this case the utmost rigour of the law? A fine of five pounds, and security for the surgeon's bill, the old woman's leg having been broken in three several places! Why should Sir Richard's eye" have glistened with compassion for your grief and sorrow for the fault?" Did you weep for the old woman? Not you, indeed-Not one single tear. On lugging out the Flimsy, you glared upon her" fierce as ten tailors, ter poem. By wisdom knows not God;'-and all through pride." All this is mighty well-but pray, is it more wicked in a member of Parliament to make such appeals during a speech, than it is for a Tailor to do so at the beginning of a poem ? Not a whit. But bad as the pride is of kings, ministers, magistrates, overseers, and members of Parliament, it is not in these classes so bad as in "Mercy's Artists." "Pride too in Mercy's artists oft appears." Sporting reader, a rump and dozen you don't guess -at three trials-who are "Mercy's artists ?" Why-doctors! That is to say,-physicians, apothecaries, surgeons, odontists, and men-mid wives. Hear him "I watch'd a sick man's bed From one select Vestry our poet flies to another, and thus arraigns With other friends attentive ;—'twas the the House of Commons. On what does the indignant Bard andBreeches-makerfoundthis sweeping sentence of reprobation?" On the apostasy that lately carried the Great question ?" Not at all. He is a pro-Catholic, and looks with pleasure on the Breaking in of the Constitution of 1688, though the rent be wider than any he ever patched up in the bottom of a pair of corduroys. But he exclaims, "Bear witness, Oh, ye echoing roofs, And you, ye walls, repeat the tart reply, The angry taunt, foul Slander's whisper, oaths Half-spoken, curses muttered, and,—Oh, worse Thanall,-repeat it not,—the name of God, The three-times holy name of God, abused By light appeals, and heartless reverence. Gather it up, ye winds, and waft away hour For the physician's visit, and he came; But to our anxious queries, deign'd reply By talking of his merits, and relating His past adventures, not uninterspers'd With language fitter for a drunkard's board Than Death's stern presence.When I interposed With indignation roused, he sagely rubb'd His head, and told me that he came to teach And practise, not to learn. the case, At length, He said, was desperate;-but when advice, Of others was proposed, he flounced about In high disorder, saying, 'where was placed No confidence, assistance was in vain.' He left, another came,my friend was dead." But proud as doctors of physic are, they are nothing to " officers in the army." These last are proud-the ninnies-of fighting the battles of their country, and of wearing red or blue coats covered with tinsel, and caps or bonnets floating with horsehair or bird-feathers. Some are proud of being on foot, such as the infantry-some of being on horseback, such as the cavalry-and all are alike proud of woman's smiles, from countess to cook, from her Grace to Girzzy-every petticoat, be they coarser than wool, or finer than gossamer, rustling at the approach of light-bob, grenadier, or dragoon. And for such pride is the British army taken to task by a Tailor! Why, he himself on that day that " comes between a Saturday and Monday," is prouder than the most irresistible of the Duke's aid-de-camps making love to the daughter of a duchess, when smouching "Sally in our alley," in some secret arbour in a suburban teagarden-some secret arbour containing only some half-dozen of benches and as many boards, with a select society of some score of enamoured artizans, each with a blooming Lais at his side-as the shades of night advance, fearful on their homeward way of the new military police, more formidable by far than the exploded Charlies! And this is the Tailor who complains of the pride of the British Army! Himself the while as proud as if he had taken measure of Lucifer. What is Honour?-our Tailor shall tell you. "And what is honour? that, I mean, which man, Poor, foolish man, thinks honour? Is it truth? Oh no, he calls the fellow-brute, who does His utmost to secure his death, his friend,And calls himself a man, a gentleman. Truth? when his friend he cheated with the dice, Then, rather than confess the theft, and seek Forgiveness, vows to heav'n his play was fair, And to th' Omnipotent presumes to appeal The very soul of honour,' which elates His heart, that whispers, ''tis a noble pride.' Is honour virtue? Once I saw a man, Whose wanton lust his neighbour's bed had robbed Of all its charm and joy,-his peace of mind, Once sweet, had blighted;—and his wearied life Ruthless, had taken from him; 'twas a man Whose being all deplored; for he had used Unpaid, the poor man's time,-and, smiling, duped The tradesman credulous ;-the widow's eye Shed tears, the orphan's bosom sobbed through him; And an indignant father oft has cursed, Ay, cursed him as his ruin, and the cause Of all his misery :-and yet this man, This villain, devil rather, was declared Of brightest honour, spotless, taintless, pure. Is honour wisdom?-Wise was Hubert, wise In the true knowledge,-of the God of Love, Who knew his faith, and loved him for its proofs. And, 'twas a marvel,-Hubert was beloved By mortals too; they loved him for his worth, His probity, benevolence, good sense, And wondered at his learning; for a heart, Knowledge divine imparted, may possess All human learning and be Christian still. All men are weak, and prone to step and err Frequent, though ever grace divine upholds The Christian from deep sinfulness and hell. Hubert was warm, and once, in passion, cast An odium on another's character: But he was just,-and, passion cool'd, perceived His error, and with swiftness sought to cure The wound, and suck the poison out. But he, The injured, was not thus to pardon won. His vengeful ire could naught remove but death, His own or Hubert's, and a challenge quick was sent. The man of God was troubled, sore dis tress'd By doubts, perplexities, and cruel fears; At length he sought his God with fervent pray'r, Took courage, burn'd the challenge, and return'd A firm refusal; for he could not do man Void of all honour, courage, dignity,His enemy was lauded to the skies.". What precious nonsense! Yet it is a kind of nonsense in which many people of some pretensions daily deal, who, like our Tailor, would fain improve the age. How, pray, came our tailor to be personally acquainted with such a scamp? It could only have been in the way of his profession; and if he was diddled out of his bill, he ought to remember, that each article in it was charged double, at least, what it was worth-and that the loss incurred was made up on honester customers. But not to mind that by whom was such a swindler esteemed a man of honour? Not by those who knew his tricks among tailors-not by those who knew that he was a seducer of honest men's wives —but by that part of the world who were ignorant of his real character. In no sort of society is honour believed to consist in robbery, adultery,and murder. Rank, wealth, genius, great accomplishments, do too often, now as in every other age, shield the criminal, it is true, from the punishment due to his vices, and blunt the edge of moral opinion. It has been so from the beginning, and will be so to the end of time, such is the corruption of human nature; but all such characters are scouted, scorned, and abhorred notwithstanding, by the spirits of this age as of every other; and no such code of honour exists anywhere, out of gambling-houses and hells, as that on which our terrified Tailor vents his indignation, hot and hissing as his own goose. As to such a duel as he here whines about, none such need ever have been fought, and, indeed, none such ever could have been fought, unless Hubert's friend were as consummate an ass as Hubert's self; for, having grossly insulted the gentleman, and being willing to sign a humble or abject apology, which, after his prayers, Hubert was, of course, most anxious to do, there was no possibility of pistolsand an end of the affair. His antagonist could only demand an apology; an apology was due; and if withheld, and no other satisfaction given, then Hubert, in spite of all his praying, was no Christian. The law of honour must not be expounded by a Tailor. But there is no pride like that of the press-of critics and publishers. "The critic's eye, Snail-like, withdrawn, by all the world unseen, The fated pages scanning, glistens bright Blots out whole chapters, or with petty splee, Dwells on one hapless word eternally." yourself rather too proud of your Come, now, Snip, are you not Did not your own own poem, in eight books-the Age? alternately "withdrawn," and "far "snail-like eye," protruded" "glisten bright in selfcomplacency" at the close of every paragraph? No pride like that of a blank-verse monger-for it is without lishers-why, there are your owneither rhyme or reason. As to pubdo you mean to accuse that respectable firm of pride? Shocking ingratitude! The following is a base libel on Mr Blackwood. "Him too, the monied publisher, the man Jingling his gold, whose haughty, scornful glance Appears to petrify the shiv'ring scribe That stands before him, waiting long and chilled And anxiously the great man's pleasure,— Him hath not passed over in its course.' pride But let our worthy publisher despise "Trade, commerce, swim in pride; and Of all the numbers who pursue this path who deals In thousands, to the wretch that keeps a The latter, in his wishes to appear And shillings taken; and the little shop town, Of hundreds, and the wholesale trader hints Of exportations, imports, Lloyd's and stock, The merchant of his credit, and his vast No farther, seems to be ashamed of all, To foreign Powers, purchases so rare, light, His fond ambition to be thought the friend Of all the great and noble :-such is man.' tions contribute more than all the rest of the enemies of mankind put Snip then scampers off in a smart together, to the virulence of the dislyrical transition. "Some make a boast of horses, dogs, and guns, And horrible! of harlots!-Some delight They say, in Christianizing all their dress, Infernal blasphemy, that seems to beg Heav'n's thunders to descend and crush the wretch! And name each article of foppery After themselves,that all may know them fools." Mr Shears then makes a double-and falls again, tooth and nail, upon the pride of wealth, in a diatribe against Rothchild, which convinces us that Snip is a bankrupt. Hitherto our Tailor has been trampling the laity, but after a nap, he arouses himself like a giant refreshed with swipes, and pounds the parsons: "Pride in the clergy! tell them they are proud, And a loud cry responsive, from each shore That owns subjection to the Christian yoke, Is rolled by the old Ocean's foaming waves, With noise as of ten thousand thunders loud, ease which thus preys upon the vitals of the age. The infection was first communicated to the people of this country in-dress. It lurks now in each individual pair of breeches that issues from his shop. We defy any man to be proud, under three pair per annum; yet here is Satan crying against sin with a vengeance. Kilts are just as bad-nay, worse-that is tartan kilts for corduroy kilts are favourable, if not to modesty, yet to meekness, except indeed when worn with top-boots, in which case, we know not why, they too generate the epidemic. Therefore-let all tailors -dungs and flints-strike-now and for ever; and henceforth all his sons will be as free from pride as Father Adam. Quis tulerit Gracchos de seditione querentes?" The remedy is in your own hands-away with the shears for ever-and the naked truth, to the eternal extinction of pride, will be revealed all over the world. Having thus expatiated on the Pride of the Age, our breeches-making bard attacks its Pleasures. He is at a loss where to begin, so immense is their multitude. "Innumerable are they, and I leave The Church in danger! danger in the light, he pounces upon the Theatre. Church!"" 66 Among them, the most prominent ap- And is, perhaps, productive of the most Stop, Snip. Do you mean that, you tythe, for a description of our Edinburgh Theatre? If you do, down with your trowsers, and take a taste of the knout. Look at the pit, you vulgar fraction. A more decent set of |