e Flood,' 'Greenland,' and 'The Pelican Island,'
with many a sweet lyric of still higher merit, when laboriously
editing the _Sheffield Iris_. The 'Salamandrine' of Mr. Charles
Mackay was written when he was conducting the sub-editorial
department of a daily London paper; nor did he ever write anything
superior to it. And we question whether Mr. Smibert himself, though he
might have produced longer poems, would have written better ones than
some of those contained in the present volume, even had his life
been one of unbroken leisure. It seems natural to literary men, who
fail in realizing their own conceptions of what they had wished and
hoped to perform, to cast the blame upon their circumstances. Johnson
could speak as feelingly, not much later than the middle of the
last century, of the 'dreams of a poet doomed at last to wake a
lexicographer,' as any literary man of the present time, who, while
solicitously desirous to give himself wholly to the muses, is
compelled to labour as a periodicalist for the wants of the day
that is passing over him. But perhaps the best solace for the
dissatisfaction which would thus wreak itself on mere circumstances,
is that which Johnson himself supplies. 'To reach below his own
aim,' says the moralist, 'is incident to every one whose fancy is
active, and whose views are comprehensive; nor is any man satisfied
with himself because he has done much, but because he can conceive
little.' But to labour and be forgotten is the common lot; and why
should a literary man be more disposed to repine because his
productions perish after serving a temporary purpose, than the
gardener or farmer, whose vocation it is to supply the people with
their daily food? If the provisions furnished, whether for mind or
body, be wholesome, and if they serve their purpose, the producers
must learn to be content, even should they serve the purpose only
once, and but for a day. The danger of over-cropping, and of
consequent exhaustion, is, of course, another and more serious matter;
and of this the mind of the periodicalist is at least as much in
danger as either field or garden when unskilfully wrought. But mere
rest, which in course of time restores the exhausted earth, is often
not equally efficient in restoring the exhausted mind; nor does
mere rest, even were it a specific in the case, lie within the reach
of the periodic writer. It is often the luxury for which he pants,
but which he cannot command. One of t