does not pore and pine over an idea (like some poor hypochondriac) till it becomes impracticable, unsociable, incommunicable, absorbed in mysticism, and lost in minuteness: he is not upon oath never to utter any thing but oracles, but rattles away in a fine careless hair-brained dashing manner, hit or miss, and succeeds the better for it. Nor does he prose over the same stale round of politics and the state of the nation (with the coffee-house politician), but launches out with freedom and gaiety into whatever has attraction and interest in it, runs the great circle, and is still at home." He is inquisitive, garrulous, credulous, sanguine, florid,-neither pedantic nor vulgar. Neither is he intolerant, exclusive, bigoted to one set of opinions or one class of individuals. He clothes an abstract theory with illustrations from his own experience and observation, hates what is dry and dull, and throws in an air of high health, buoyant spirits, fortune and splendid connexions to give animation and vividness to what perhaps might otherwise want it. He selects what is palpable without being gross or trivial, lends it colour from the flush of success, and elevation from the distinctions of rank. He runs on and never stops for an answer, rather dictating to others than endeavouring to ascertain their opinions, solving his own questions, improving upon their hints, and bearing down or precluding opposition by a good-natured loquacity or stately dogmatism. All this is perhaps more edifying as a subject of speculation than delightful in itself. Shakspeare somewhere says-" A man's mind is parcel of his fortunes," and I think the inference will be borne out in the present case. I should guess that in the prevailing tone of fashionable society or aristocratic literature would be found all that variety, splendour, facility, and startling effect which corresponds with external wealth, magnificence of appearance, and a command of opportunity; while there would be wanting whatever depends chiefly on intensity of pursuit, on depth of feeling, and on simplicity and independence of mind joined with straitened fortune. Prosperity is a great teacher; adversity is a greater. Possession pampers the mind; privation trains and strengthens it. Accordingly, we find but one really great name (Lord Bacon) in this rank of English society, where superiority is taken for granted, and reflected from outward circumstances. The rest are in the second class ...... Lord Bolingbroke, whom Pope idolized (and it pains that all his idols are not mine) was a boastful empty mouther! I never knew till the other day, that Lord Bolingbroke was the model on which Mr. Pitt formed himself. He was his Magnus Apollo; and no wonder. The late Minister used to lament it as the great desideratum of English literature, that there was no record any where existing of his speeches as they were spoken, and declared that he would give any price for one of them reported as speeches were reported in the newspapers in our time. Being asked which he thought the best of his written productions, he would answer, raising his eyebrows and deepening the tones of his voice to a sonorous bass," Why, undoubtedly, Sir, the Letter to Sir William Wyndham is the most masterly of all his writings, and the first composition for wit and eloquence in the English language;"-and then he would give his reasons at great length and con amore, and say that Junius had formed himself entirely upon it. Lord Bolingbroke had, it seems, a house next-door to one belonging to Lord Chatham at Walham-Green; and

as the gardens joined, they could hear Lord Bolingbroke walking out with the company that came to see him in his retirement, and elaborately declaiming politics to the old lords and statesmen that were with him, and philosophy to the younger ones. Pitt learned this story from

his father when a boy. This account, interesting in itself, was to me the more interesting and extraordinary, as it had always appeared to me that Mr. Pitt was quite an original, sui generis,

"As if a man were author of himself,

And own'd no other kin❞—

that so far from having a model or idol that he looked up to and grounded himself upon, he had neither admiration nor consciousness of any thing existing out of himself, and that he lived solely in the sound of his own voice and revolved in the circle of his own hollow and artificial periods. I have it from the same authority that he thought Cobbett the best writer and Horne Tooke the cleverest man of the day. His hatred of Wyndham was excessive and mutual.-Perhaps it may be said that Lord Chatham was a first-rate man in his way, and I incline to think it; but he was a self-made man, bred in a camp, not in a court, and his rank was owing to his talents.*

TO SHIP.

ALONG, along, thou gallant Ship!-
She walks the ocean well;
Her bowsprit in the flashing foam,
Her bow upon the swell.

Along, along, thou gallant Ship!-
She bravely rides the brine;
Her sails bright as the floating swan
In noon's unclouded shine.

The breezes bear her bravely on
Over the waste of waves,

Art's triumph, to the furthest shore
That father Ocean laves.

The symbol of the great and free,

The blue heaven o'er her head;—

Like the wild wing of Liberty,

Her sails exulting spread.

From clime to clime, from line to pole,
Far sweeps her reinless prow;

A trackless thought, her course she steers
O'er plumbless gulphs below.

Along, along, thou gallant Ship!-
Still fresh the breezes be

With which thou glid'st along the foam,

A spirit of the sea!

* There are few things more contemptible than the conversation of mere men of the town. It is made up of the technicalities and cant of all professions, without the spirit or knowledge of any. It is flashy and vapid, or is like the rinsings of different liquors at a night-cellar instead of a bottle of fine old port. It is without body or clearness, and a heap of affectation. In fact, I am very much of the opinion of that old Scotch gentleman who owned that "he preferred the dullest book he had ever read to the most brilliant conversation it had ever fallen to his lot to hear!"

PICCADILLY JOURNALS.

To the Editor of the New Monthly Magazine.

MY DEAR SIR,-To begin with my birth and parentage (not my education, for that has nothing to do with the present matter), I am the second son of an Earl, whose London residence is No. -, Piccadilly. Though my father is a Tory, and of the strictest, I rather flatter myself on the liberal tone of my notions in general. This quality I did not take par descent, as the lawyers say; and therefore the pride which I feel in it, does not savour much of my aristocratical extraction. I am not, as my fellow-sprigs of quality usually are, an exclusionist in matters of society; and have therefore, ever since I became my own master, sought the company of the agreeable and the good in every respectable class of society. In pursuing this fancy, I have speculated not a little on men and manners, and amongst other things have remarked the extreme ignorance in one class of what passes in the next -different hours, different pursuits, and different customs of all sorts make them, as it were, different worlds. The set to which I by rights belong,—I mean that the laws of which are administered by Dukes and Duchesses, and other beaux and belles of distinction-strives to throw a veil of profound mystery over its principles of legislation, and screens them from the gaze of the profane vulgar, with a sedulousness to me truly ridiculous and provoking.

After all, its system appears so artificial, and so full of absurdities, that it ought to be exposed to the view of the world at large, and subjected to the speculations of ladies and gentlemen, of good sense and good taste, of all classes. To effect this, I have hit upon an expedient which I think ingenious enough; and you, my dear Sir, will, I hope, further my attempt as you best can.

You must know that my grandfather, of venerable memory (he was 87 when he died), had a vast notion of the importance and utility of keeping a Journal. He inherited this feeling from his grandfatherthe Chancellor, and the founder of the fortunes of our house (you see we are no chickens in respect of pedigree), and had expanded the idea prodigiously in his own view of it. Accordingly, on his death-bed, addressing himself more particularly to my father, (but at the same time looking round upon us all, so as to include us all in the advice he was going to give,) he began-" Ever, while you live, keep a Journal." He could say no more; but these few words sunk into the hearts of all who heard him, and from that hour every soul in the house set about making a diary. It was not confined to ourselves ;-not a servant in the establishment but fell into the practice, and at this moment I have no doubt that the groom of the chambers keeps his Journal as regularly as my father himself. I alone have fallen off. For a year or two my daily record was diligently made out, my book looked as well and was kept as neatly as any body's; but by degrees I grew first to dislike and then to despise the practice, and have long since given it up altogether. I found that I was only registering silly and trifling details, of which the puerility was now and then relieved by a grave remark, not sufficiently candid to be of much use to myself, and not profound enough to be of any benefit to others.

Having reformed myself, I began to condemn others; and in this spirit I persuaded myself that I should be guilty of no great impropriety in constituting myself Inspector General of the Family Journals.

Accordingly, in the month of May last year I began my examination. I had no great difficulty in getting at them; for, except my sister, none of the family were exact about locking up their diaries. By a little manoeuvre I got possession of her's as well as the rest. On comparing them, I found they offered the very thing I wanted to make -a complete picture of aristocratical life; and it strikes me that I cannot do better than give a specimen of them to the world, that all men may know how we in the West live.

out

The first Journal in the order in which I give them, is the Governor's, (as Danby calls him.) I think it contains strong internal evidence of his being a Tory-an Anti-Catholic-a farmer-and a whist-player: perhaps there is no great harm in any of these; and if there were, it would be more than redeemed by his being a faithful husband, a kind father, and the best of landlords. He does not much like any thing new, but he would be no Tory if he did.

Then comes my brother Danby's. You will see that he is a gay gentleman enough, and as sharp as his neighbours--a great man at the Market (though, as my father says, he won't hurt himself there)- a great man for the ladies, and no enemy to good living in general. I must hope that some day or another he will feel that there is more to be done and thought of than all this.

The next is my honoured Mother's. If any should suspect that when I produce her Journal to the world, I am wanting in filial respect, they mistake me egregiously. I feel that I do not disclose any thing that ought to lower her in the estimation of any one. If her projects do sometimes smack of worldly ambition, her head, and not her heart, is in fault. The happiness of her children has ever been her first object.

The last, (my Sister's) is perhaps a little unfair it makes public what she most assuredly did not intend ever should be so; but the story that is told is all in her favour :-it shows her, as she really is, full of kind and generous affections, overflowing with sensibility, and yet, as I am sure she always will be, under the complete control of the purest principle. Her friend George is an excellent fellow, and I am sure will never rest till he accomplishes his marriage with her.

I feel that I cannot take a better opportunity than the present for bringing these documents to light; for all the family (except Danby) are at this moment abroad, and will remain there for some months longer; at all events, the very name of the "New Monthly" will insure my Father's never looking into it. Relying upon your kindness in managing this for me, ever, dear Sir, your's faithfully,

AUGUSTUS CRAWFORD.

FROM LORD MERTOWN'S DIARY.

Monday, May 1825.-Head rather uneasy on getting up this morning-think the new claret at Boodle's not so good as we used to have-(Mem.-not to forget to put up young Collier's name there-sure he might easily be pressed into the service-a weak head and very vain-property in the North immense-perhaps would like to buy one of my boroughs-should have no difficulty in managing his vote)-tried my old remedy, a dish of Chamomile tea before breakfast-it always succeeds

with me. The bread not very capital this morning, but Lady M. would try this new baker-don't think him half so good as the old one; -No letter from Colson this morning-expected to hear of his having sent up the second lot of my fat beasts to Smithfield ;-wish Danby would take to farming a little, but he takes no delight in country matters-all for Newmarket (won't hurt himself there though)-perhaps it will come by and by--though I dare say he will give up the good old short-horns, and take to the Devons, or some such newfangled sort. My turn to go and hear appeals-Lord Gifford sitting-Lord Prestonfract, the Bishop of Chr, and myself-counsel very long-staid there three hours-took a longish nap-felt very chilly afterwards-think there must be some draught in that part of the House of Lords where I sat some new-fashioned plan for ventilating, I suppose. Home by half-past four-found the horses at the door, and Frederica waiting for me to ride with her-went in to get a crust of bread and a glass of Sherry, when Lord Dartford called to bother me about Macadamizing Piccadilly-it never can answer, I am sure-those new plans always bad. Went with Frederica into the Park-the girl rides well enough now-God bless her! to be sure I have taken some pains with her— can't bear her new riding-habit-those full sleeves very ridiculous— rode along the Serpentine up to the Gardens;-not many beaux for Frederica-only young Mordaunt, as usual, hanging about her-don't like to believe that she cares for him, for she should never have my consent to marry him-his uncle's estate in Shropshire never a large one (I know it well, know every acre of it, and very ill-farmed it is too--all upon the new system) now dreadfully encumbered; besides they are all Reformers-downright Radicals! no daughter of mine shall marry into a family professing such principles-have no patience with people always hankering after something new; why can't they be contented to let things go on in the good old course?-far the best. When I got home, found Lord L-p-l's answer to my application for a Commissionership of Customs for Augustus-very kind, as he always is-promises to do it as soon as he can hope the silly boy won't be such a goose as to refuse it--don't know how else I can provide for him-but he has wild notions about the purity of a country life, as if people were not just as wicked in the country as in town!

Dinner not ready till ten minutes before eight, though I particularly desired it might be on the table at half-past seven-nobody but Lady M—, Frederica, Mr. Crosby, and myself-don't think the new cook's soups good-does not put enough sugar in his Julienne-some of my prize-beef-nobody ate any but myself-all quite wrong there, for it was excellent. Good sort of man, Mr. Crosby, and very fit to be a clergyman-has good firm conscientious notions about the Catholicsbrought me his pamphlet against them. Lady M- and Frederica went up at ten to dress for Lady Guernsey's-I took up Mr. Crosby's pamphlet after he was gone-read a few pages-seemed very strong and good; but I felt myself rather tired, and took a nap till they were ready to go out-set them down at Lady Guernsey's, and took the carriage on to Boodle's-found them waiting for me to begin whist-the General and I played together-the General one of the good old school, and certainly plays well, but does not consider his partner enough-lost three rubbers.