of self-denial not much in unison with his "promise," five lines
afterwards, that "for every twenty-four lines quoted by Mr.
Gilchrist, or his friend, to greet him with as many from the
'Gilchrisiad';" but so much the better. Mr. Bowles has no reason to
"succumb" but to Mr. Bowles. As a poet, the author of "The
Missionary" may compete with the foremost of his cotemporaries. Let
it be recollected, that all my previous opinions of Mr. Bowles's
poetry were _written_ long before the publication of his last and
best poem; and that a poet's _last_ poem should be his best, is his
highest praise. But, however, he may duly and honourably rank with
his living rivals. There never was so complete a proof of the
superiority of Pope, as in the lines with which Mr. Bowles closes his
"_to be concluded in our next_."

Mr. Bowles is avowedly the champion and the poet of nature. Art and
the arts are dragged, some before, and others behind his chariot.
Pope, where he deals with passion, and with the nature of the
naturals of the day, is allowed even by themselves to be sublime; but
they complain that too soon--

"He stoop'd to truth and moralised his song,"

and _there_ even _they_ allow him to be unrivalled. He has succeeded,
and even surpassed them, when he chose, in their own _pretended_
province. Let us see what their Coryphaeus effects in Pope's. But it
is too pitiable, it is too melancholy, to see Mr. Bowles "_sinning_"
not "_up_" but "_down_" as a poet to his lowest depth as an editor.
By the way, Mr. Bowles is always quoting Pope. I grant that there is
no poet--not Shakspeare himself--who can be so often quoted, with
reference to life;--but his editor is so like the devil quoting
Scripture, that I could wish Mr. Bowles in his proper place, quoting
in the pulpit.

And now for his lines. But it is painful--painful--to see such a
suicide, though at the shrine of Pope. I can't copy them all:--

"Shall the rank, loathsome miscreant of the age
Sit, like a night-mare, grinning o'er a page."

"Whose pye-bald character so aptly suit
The two extremes of Bantam and of Brute,
Compound grotesque of sullenness and show,
The chattering magpie, and the croaking crow."

"Whose heart contends with thy Saturnian head,
A root of hemlock, and a lump of lead.
Gilchrist proceed," &c. &c.

"And thus stand forth, spite of thy venom'd foam,
To give thee _bite for bite_, or lash thee limping home."

With regard to the la