1826. ] [yus7 4 : 
é THE “Last BOOK: ~— 
“ 
WITH A DISSERTATION ON LAST THINGS IN GENERAL. 
«' Books, dreams, are both a world.” — Wordsworth. 
Most men of letters—that is to say, most men who are in the habit 
of writing apologies and i a have experienced, at least 
once in their epistolary lives, the unseasonable misfortune of breaking” 
down on one of the smoothest roads of phraseology, at the very outset 
_of a gracious communication. The “ Dear Sir” that stands in elevated 
loneliness at the edge of one’s paper, looking on the white expanse, is 
retouched and beautified three several times—the dot is put to the 2, 
and perhaps some little termina embellishment to the 7, before the 
extreme regret or very ardent pleasure is turned to shape, and provided 
with a local habitation. Although not perpetrating a direct epistle to 
« My Dear Public” (to borrow the beautiful and affectionate language 
! of the theatre), I find myself, on the threshold of my intention, ina 
situation similar to that above adverted to. I am embarrassed, like a 
new Lord Mayor, about the perpetuity of my title—that is, of my 
Last Book ; for authors, as well as aldermen, are sometimes destined to 
forego their titles at the end of a season, and mutually surrender their 
pages to the rapacity of the.next in advance. To say the truth, I 
anticipate a supplementary extinguisher to the light of this Last Book, 
asort of post-obit, an after-dated appendix. The word “last,” it is to 
be lamented, is not sufficiently final to preclude the emulative subse- 
quency of all we leave behind: we cannot close the doors of language 
on the thousand little beginnings that tread on the heels of the safest 
conclusion. A term should be invented comprehensive enough to 
include those superlatively late comers that usually follow the last—the 
second edition of company expected to have arrived before, and the 
host of extraordinaries that have been detained by events. But, as 
words are at present, last things (so to speak) are generally the last 
things in the world that are last. Witness the thousand and one last 
imes of the auctioneer, together with the several last appearances of 
s. Siddons and others, and all the last representations of puff-needing 
es and comedies. We will not stay to enumerate the many last 
ms, and last poems for some years, written by Byron; nor will we 
it into Sp cataiosue the Jast words of the celebrated Mr. Baxter, 
nor last speeches of any kind, nor the “ Last of the Mohicans,” nor 
the last lottery. The inadequacy of the word to include contingencies 
___ and possibilities must be sufficiently evident. An inquiry concerning 
the “ Lay of the Last Minstrel” would probably produce an account of 
some just published “rhymes,” written in very blank verse, accompanied 
by an anatomical description of a boarding-school Pegasus. Again, 
should we be unexplanatory enough to ask for a certain production by 
the equivocal title of «The. Last Man,” we might be called upon to 
answer the anomalous interrogatory—which of the Last Men—Mr. 
Campbell’s prior oe candidate, or Mrs. Shelley’s subsequent 
and sybilline one? In short, there is no getting at the last of our 
never-ending, still-beginning language ; and however we individualize 
them, each of the above-mentioned last persons may pertinaciously 
insist, with the little philosopher of a certain lyrical ballad, “ nay, we 
_ are seven.” Nor will the “ positively last,” even ‘when put in italics, 
set us forward (or backward rather) a single step: it is only opening 
M.M. New Series —Vou.II.No.8. TT - 
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