SECRET MEMORANDUMS. 155 



calliper paces, like a melancholy gowk, through Hyde-park ; as de- 

 lineated in our present sketch, which may be depended upon as a 

 fac-simile. He has the entre of what he.considers very good society, 

 and is thought by his friends and relations (particularly Messrs. 

 Molasses and Lattitat) to be possessed of a fiery genius, by which the 

 ancient Thames is much endangered. But we seriously, and in the 

 most friendly manner, recommend them, and him, to give up all such 

 vain and preposterous anticipations ; for he never will be able to pro- 

 duce anything that can possibly raise the Wimbles from their obscu- 

 rity ; as we think the present criticism has sufficiently proved." 



I had scarcely completed my tirade for the Brassrazor, when I re- 

 ceived the following note from the editor of the Dog and Gun Maga- 

 zine : - 



" My dear fellow: What fresh game is this just started, about 

 which the critics and other mongrels are making such a yap yapping ? 

 Who is this blade Wimble? do you know any thing about him, or 

 his book ? If so, tip me a notice in a brace of shakes ; if not, get the 

 poem, or whatever it is, and knock off something or other for the 

 Dog and Gun nobody can handle the thing better, so look sharp. 

 What the h 1 do you do with yourself all day ? I hav'n't seen your 

 phiz these five weeks and more. Yours, &c." 



My notice in the Dog and Gun, commenced thus : 



" The RISE OF LIBERTY, a Poem. 



" Who would not rise with the lark to read Wimble's Rise of Li- 

 berty ? It is not every man whose stomach is strong enough to read 

 poetry in the raw of the morning, as the feather-bed creatures call it ; 

 but we are of more sterling materials, and with our gun or fishing- 

 rod in one hand, and the ' Rise of Liberty' in the other, we could sally 

 forth into the fresh air, and brush off the dew from its pages with 

 the same glad feeling as the ' glorious bird* when rising from his 

 sweet-scented clover bed. Mr. Wimble's Pegasus is a thorough-bred 

 stallion; sometimes he flies like the ' high-mettled racer j' at others, 

 bounds with all the daring energy of Bay-Bob the hunter. He is of 

 course, at times, unequal in his speed and the height of his leaps ; 

 but it is only that he may renew his efforts with greater effect at the 

 critical moment. He is always equal to what he undertakes ; none 

 of your poor, spavined, wind-galled, trussel-trotting roadsters is 

 Wimble ! Why, half our modern poets are touched in the bellows, 

 and break down a dozen times when there's life and death, and even 

 thousands at stake !" &c. 



No sooner had I sent off the above to the Dog and Gun Office, 

 than I sat down and wrote a review for the New Twaddler, who had 

 not yet given any notice of the book. 



" The RISE OF LIBERTY, a Poem. By W. F. Wimble, Esq. 

 8vo. pp. 142. Wiggins. 



" A volume of poems has been given to the world by William F. 

 Wimble, Esq., which, if not a valuable acquisition to our literature, 

 is at least an addition. There are many beautiful passages in the 

 course of these hundred and forty-two pages, though not unfrequently 

 deformed by inaccuracies of style, and an over-heaping of inappro- 

 priate imagery. It cannot always be called inappropriate, but some- 



