SECRET MEMORANDUMS. 153 



and stretching back his ugly neck, utters with gaping bill his un- 

 meaning, craw-cracked, Veluti-like squeal; all the stalwart men 

 within hearing lay down their tools, and wonder at the strange dis- 

 sonance of imbecility ! But no sooner do they recover from their sur- 

 prise, than a broad-shouldered fellow, with a pile of forehead, ad- 

 vances from among them ; sets his heel upon the noisy impertinence, 

 and with one good squelch, its body and soul are settled in a twinkling ! 

 ' ' With exactly the same feelings, and exactly the same purpose, do 

 we now advance upon William Fisher Wimble, Esq., author of the 

 prostrate volume of weak muck now spread out before us. Whether 

 the fool-hardy, sweating scribbler, is a radical cobbler, a tinker, or 

 the chief operative in some ' cheap and nasty' shaving-shop, were not 

 so easy to determine ; but that his proper post is in one or all of 

 those important departments in Cockaigne, no one in his right senses 

 can doubt for a single moment, &c. &c. &c. 



" But let us carve out an extract. Here is one Mr. Fish Wimble 

 speak for yourself: 



" e The lark ambitious, from his clover bud, 



Soon as the morning star hath waned away 

 Before Aurora's cheek of lambent red, 



Towers/ &c. 



" Can any Christian critic make head or tail of this lark ? An 

 ambitious thing in feathers, towering from a clover bud as soon as 

 Lucifer (the ambitious devil) has waned away before the goddess of 

 morn, instead of advancing like a true gallant, to seize upon the red 

 chops of Aurora ! Mr. Thimble you have the soul of a tailor ! 

 " What comes next ? 



" ( To salute the fresh-created day, 

 And strive to piece the crystal dome afar, 

 E'en to the altitude of that gone star !' 



" Why, the man's daft ; or else the most atrocious of blaspheming 

 cockneys ! Piece or patch the crystal dome ; he must be a tailor ! 

 Or could it be possible he meant to carry out the figure of ' saluta- 

 tion ?' He deserves a strait-waistcoat in either case." 



The rest of the critique was written in the same style, and I re- 

 ceived a very complimentary note from the Editor, saying it was 

 done " after his ain heart" and that he " could not ha' finished it off 

 muckle better himsel' !" 



After the above critique the reader will not wonder at my appre- 

 hensions respecting purgatory, or worse, hereafter. But I hastened 

 to apply the antidote ; and I think I shall not " howl." Just as I 

 was sitting down to compose a counter-article for the " High Scotch 

 Republican," I received this note from its editor : 



" Dear Sir, You have no doubt seen the rascally abuse of Wim- 

 ble's fine poem, in Brazenface. I want a proper notice of the e Rise 

 of Liberty' in my next mag., and it cannot be entrusted to better 

 hands than yours," &c. 



This, I modestly believe, was no more than the truth it could 



not. Where could he find a man who knew his subject better ? I 



had read it three times already, sitting down with a " fresh eye" for 



each perusal. But of course the editor did not know that the <( ras- 



M.M. No 104. X 



