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was going, and what meant that packet under my arm. I replied, "that I sought the Cave of the Critic, who, I had been informed, dwelt somewhere near, and that I was desirous of throwing myself, and a certain MS. volume, at his feet." He offered to be my guide; and led me through innumerable thickets and tangled woods, till we came to a deep recess in the valley, which was terminated by a high and bare mountain. I stood looking in vain to discover the summit, but its head seemed to touch the clouds, and was lost in space, which my imperfect vision could not pierce. My courteous guide pointed out to me a flight of steps cut in the rock, which he bade me ascend, and at the top I should find the venerable being I sought. The way was long and toilsome-it wound round the mountain, and I soon attained so great a height, that I could not bear to look down on the earth beneath. I thought of the tower of Babel, while I was thus, as it were, scaling the very walls of Heaven-but I hoped without presumption-and I am afraid if it had been the road to Paradise, I could not have been more joyful.

At length the scene changed, and the top of the mountain expanded into a wide open space, where verdure and vegetation were luxuriant. I saw the entrance of a deep grotto, which I knew to be the Cave of Criticism, and fatigued with my ascent, I threw myself on a fragment of rock to look around me.

"Observe," said my guide," the purity and clearness of the atmosphere in this empyrean region. Here dwells the Renowned Reviewer-placed far above the little vulgar cares of common life, beyond the reach of the fumes of prejudice, and the bigotry of mortals, he devotes himself wholly to the cultivation of that science which is the handmaid of learning." The atmosphere had indeed struck me-its clearness-its sparkling nature-I seemed to breathe in a manner entirely new and all objects appeared to me as through a different medium. My guide pointed to the ivied portal, and asked me what I thought of the tablet. I saw, in beautiful sculpture, a figure of a fine old man, seated at a table laden with books; his right arm stretched out in the attitude of teaching, and before him knelt, on one knee, a youth

of a most ingenuous and lively physiognomy. In this venerable figure I thought I discovered a resemblance to myself, which was heightened by the appearance of a huge rod which lay beside him. My guide informed me, "the bas-relief represented Criticism correcting and instructing Genius, who bent lowly and grateful at his feet.But let us look within." We advánced to the mouth of the grot-" Now let us stay and observe," said my guide; " you see he is occupied." I looked, and beheld indeed the Genius of the Place, seated before a large table, groaning under the weight of countless multitudes of publications; in every corner of the grot were books upon books, so that it had the air of a vast literary pigeon-house.

"Look," said my guide, "at that ponderous volume which he places in those scales. Those are the balances of Criticism, and in those he weighs every literary performance. See, he puts that huge quarto into one scale; and, in the other, he places a single grain of common sense-Look how the quarto instantly kicks the beam, and almost leaps out of the scale. The Critic shakes his head-look how he casts his gleaming eye to Heaven, and dwells in intense thought on the merits of the case. Do you see that vial of bright liquor beside him? With that he tries all the lighter works of fancy. It has the property of that cele brated liquid which detects gold. The coarse alloy of inferior metal vanishes at its touch-thus genius, imagination, harmony of numbers, remain visible on the touchstone, he is thus relieved from the immense trouble of wading through these piles of letterpress, and scanty indeed is frequently the residuum." I gazed in silent wonder-"But come," continued my guide, "it is time to present yourself. This air is too sharp and cutting for one of your age and profession, for I see you are an author," said he, smiling. He then encouraged me to approach the spot where the Critic sat still wrapped in deep meditation. I copied, as nearly as I could, the attitude of Genius in the bas-relief, and laid my volume submissively at his feet. started, and looking benignantly upon me, asked me what brought me there. I was about to reply, when it seemed to me that a person from behind, placed on my head a cap and bells, which

He

rung in my ears with such violence, that I seemed in sleep nearly stunned, and waking suddenly, heard the school bell ringing to evening prayers. The look of the benevolent and enlightened Reviewer still dwelt on my memo

ry; I blessed the happy vision, and resolved to begin immediately upon my work, which being already written, required only the minor exertion of altering, correcting, and transcribing.

CHAPTER V.

I LABOURED unremittingly, and in a few weeks, to my great joy, the work was completed. All this time I saw nothing of poor Will Wince; but I was informed that he had left his house the day after I saw him, and it was not known whither he was gone. I was disconcerted at this-for I was afraid of his committing some rash action in the state of mind he was then in; and I also very much wanted his counsel and assistance. Ever since the vision of my interview with the Reviewer, an idea had been floating in my brain, on which I daily and hourly mused, resolved to mature it, and make up my mind seriously and unalterably before I announced it to my niece. This was nothing more or less than a design of seeking out the Great Critical Colossus, and beseeching his guidance and opinion of my work before I ventured to publish it. I doubted if I should repair to the severe Judgment Hall in the capital of Scotland, or seek the Cave of Criticism in the English metropolis. But I was informed that several of the critics, who are supposed to hold their divan at Edinburgh, are, in fact, inhabitants of London; and I was further induced to prefer the longer journey, as I had in London a friend whom I had not seen for thirty years, but with whom I had contracted a great intimacy some time previous to that period-he was a neighbour of mine, who had married a respectable farmer's daughter, and had set up a tea-shop in London, which prospered well ; and, I had been given to understand, was in flourishing circumstances. He never forgot his old acquaintance, and every year I had the pleasure of a letter from him, reminding me where he lived, and telling me of any change of abode, and expressing a great wish to serve me in teas, or any other way. This I took very kindly, and I endeavoured to repay his attentions by the care I bestowed on his two boys, who were left at their grandfather's in the country, and whom I educated in my best manner.

It was to this worthy person that I resolved to go, and through his means to collect every information necessary for the execution of my design. Sometimes (I will confess) I thought of the length of the journey, the perils of the way, and my own inexperience. One fine summer's evening, early in June, I put the last finish to my MS. I shut up the volume, and clasping it to my breast with transport, I folded it in a long embrace. I experienced for the first time all the feelings of a fatherevery fond and parental sentiment was kindling within me and while I held my new-born offspring close pressed to my heart, I felt myself bound by every tie of affection, and by every bond of near relationship, to devote myself to its welfare and prosperity, now about to enter on a wide worldwithout patrons or friends-with only the author of its being to protect it from the difficulties which it would encounter in emerging from obscurity.

I burst out into a rapturous expression of my feelings; I called it the child of my age-my darling Benjamin-who would continue my name to posterity, when the author of its existence had long laid his silent ashes in the dust-and form a bright link in the chain of glory which connects me with my great ancestor whose name I bear, and whose blood, flowing distinct and clear through a multitude of generations, swells with no unworthy current in the veins of his descendant Timothy, who, in an enlightened age, will leave a monument of his attachment to letters, not inferior to the martial deeds which grace the memory of his great progenitor. I was transported-visions of honours and distinctions danced before my eyes-I heard whispers on all sides, of the excellence of my work-of the utility of its design-of the beauty of the performance. I already saw an eloquent panegyric in the Critical Registers, and my heart bounded to think that a luminous spot would mark the place of

my nativity that my residence would be eagerly inquired after that I should be sought and visited by all travellers who passed near my dwelling. I was so intoxicated with all these images, that I felt I should never have a more favourable opportunity of declaring my intention to my niece-as I felt a supernatural strength, which would enable me to contend with all the obstacles her tenderness would raise. Accordingly, after clearing my voice several times, and still folding my MS. to my breast, I began. Niece, it will be necessary that you put my apparel in readiness for a journey.' "A journey, uncle!"-" Yes, Lucy; don't interrupt me-a journey. In a day or two, at farthest, I shall be obliged to set out on a journey of some length."

"Oh, if you mean to Carlisle, uncle, you know you have promised to take me with you these ten years, and we have never been yet."-" Child," said I," you know not what you say. I must prepare for a much longer journey than that you speak of; neither can you accompany me. Business of great importance obliges me to go to London.' The word was out. I wish my readers could have seen my niece's face as I pronounced it. Her astonishment was quite amusing; she had no idea exactly where or how far off London was; but it was the remotest boundary of her geographical conceptions, and she had no notion of any thing beyond it. "Yes, child," said I, again firmly pronouncing the name, to London," (and I felt I gained courage every time I pronounced it,) "to London must I go, and forthwith; my destinies call me there, the good of my family, the honour of my name, nay, the welfare of mankind, is concerned; but I will not tarry longer than the time needful to execute my high emprize; and when I return, Lucy, I hope thou wilt have no cause to blush for thy uncle." Poor Lucy was so overwhelmed with surprise, that my last words failed to comfort her. "And will you go, my dear, dear uncle," at last cried she, "alone, too, on such a journey, and to such a place! and where you are quite a stranger, and will be lost, if not murdered? Oh, oh!" and she burst into a flood of tears. All this I had expected; and though it must be confessed, that, as she enumerated the

dangers, I felt my courage begin a little to waver, yet I resolved to put a bold face upon it, and at once to check Lucy's importunity, which, if indulged, might shake my confidence.-"Child," said I, "I make no doubt I shall encounter some difficultiesthe path of life is full of them—but, I trust, none of the dangers you anticipate. You know I have a friend in town, under whose hospitable roof I shall be perfectly safe; were it otherwise, I own, I might hesitate about going; but I have an important mission to execute, which admits of no backslidings. Know then, Lucy, that I have an only child, whose welfare depends solely on my exertions. Would you counsel me to leave it to perish alone in the great whirlpool of the metropolis?" Lucy looked aghast. "See," said I, hastily unfolding my MS., (fearful lest my declaration should lead her to surmises disadvantageous to my character,)" see this tender babe; and know further, Lucy, that I am about to conduct this valuable work to that great city, the Mistress of the World for arts and sciences, for arms and heroes, for all the glories of war, and all the delights of peace; but for nothing more illustrious than for her literary renown. She fosters in her arms her laborious sons, who love to spread the sails of her commerce on distant oceans; but she folds to her maternal breast her darling children, who still add stone upon stone on the pyramid of her literary greatness. Yes, she, amid the general corruption and slavery of nations, she alone has remained free from the contamination of arbitrary power, that glorious bulwark of literary and personal liberty, the freedom of the press! Marvellous metropolis, which beckoneth to thy walls the favoured sons of Britain! I long to hail thy gates, thy towers, thy palaces; for there, and there only, shall I see literature flourish in perfection. I am impatient to lay my offering humbly at the foot of your luminous throne to enrol my name in the honourable list of those who have contributed to raise the glory of their country.-Yes, child, I am resolved to depart; and if I perish in the attempt, so have many martyrs before me. Go, and obey my voice. I feel an irresistible impulse to this enterprize, which you will vainly combat. The day after to-morrow, at

break of dawn, shall I be seen, my loins girded, my sandals on my feet, departing from my threshold, and setting out on my pilgrimage." Lucy still looked petrified with amazement throughout my speech, and gathering from the conclusion that my purpose was irrevocable, she gave herself up to tears.

My own eloquence had worked me up to such a pitch of enthusiasm, that I saw her emotion unmoved. Indeed I gloried in such a testimony of the dangers I was about to encounter ; and Lucy's tears now only animated me to an heroic contempt of such considerations. "Be comforted, my child," said I; "I will return as speedily as the nature of my mission will permit. Ten days or a fortnight will, I trust, restore me to my beloved home and darling niece; therefore, use your reason, of which you have enough for a woman. You must submit to what is irrevocable, and in this case it is a sin even to repine; for it is not more my will than the will of Providence, that I should take this journey. My work is dedicated to the service of religion and virtue; in these evil days, piety has more enemies than friends. I shall render an important service to the cause, by giving to the world a work (I may say thus much without vanity) eminently calculated to revive true piety. No hasty catch-penny production, but the result of a long and contemplative life, written in the vigour of my mind, chastened and corrected in the maturity of my judgment -a work replete with pure morality, the very essence of true religious fervour, Christian charity, eloquent or thodoxy, forcible argument, and ele gant language; but I will not, my dear, anticipate the Critical Journals; you will there see the subject better handled-it does not become an author to praise himself. The intention of my journey was what I purposed explaining to you. Well, I go to town, then, to further the publication of my work; but the primary and grand object of my great undertaking, is to request a previous interview with the great pillars of criticism, the Review

ers.

Armed with their approbation, and my work benefited, perhaps, by their strictures, I shall step, without fear or risk, on the theatre of the public-I shall see my name lifted on the

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I do not know which of all my topics of consolation was most effectual; but I was glad to see something like resignation dawn in Lucy's countenance. She began to dry her tears; but she now assailed me on another quarter, urging upon me the necessity of her personal attendance and assistance in such an enterprize; and throwing her arms round me, she besought me to take her along with me. I found occasion for all my fortitude here; but I exerted it, and came off victorious. "Child," said I, gently repressing her, "you know not what you ask. London, which, though I have never seen, I know very well, (for I have read much, child,)—London, I say, is a very unfit place for a young woman; so unaccustomed as you are to the fatigues of travelling, you would impede my progress. No, Lucy, a woman should be a home-keeper, no busy-body, &c. and if you want further instruction on that head, I desire you would, in my absence, learn the 5th chapter of St Paul's Epistle to my namesake Timothy, which will give you clear notions of your duty. You, in conjunction with my faithful domestic, will look to the ways of the house, and will abide in safety my return. Go, child, and prepare me changes of raiment sufficient for the emergency. I must give my mind to more important cares." Lucy shed a few more tears; but accustomed to obey, she soon dried them, and, with tolerable cheerfulness, went to execute her share in my preparations, for an event still grievous to her. Activity is the soul of cheerfulness; and soon busily immersed in the engrossing concerns of darning and hemming, it would have been difficult for a spectator to have discovered that the result of her operations was to be so painful to her; but I perceived a tear now and then start into her eye, as she vainly endeavoured to thread her needle; but I carefully abstained from noticing it, and she proceeded diligently with her work.

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CHAPTER VI.

Lucy's exertions were so indefatigable, that the next day she announced to me the readiness of my wardrobe. I resolved to encumber myself with as few trifling concerns as was possible, and to devote my whole mind to that one object in which all my anxiety centred. I had fortunately a best suit of clothes still very good. Once in five years I had a complete new change of raiment; and as the present was now only a little past the middle period of its existence, I deemed them sufficiently respectable for the first appearance of the Author of Pious Pieces before the Tribunal of Criticism. Lucy also stored my baggage with whatever she thought could contribute to my comfort if I was ill, and to my enjoyment if I was well; which last, however, was a state she could not anticipate for me absent from home. My great solicitude was how to dispose of my MS. Lucy suggested the bottom of the portmanteau, as the post of greatest security. "True," said I, "Piety is a good foundation for every thing." I mused upon this, but presently suggested that I might lose the portmanteau. Lucy shuddered at the idea. I saw that the linen held at least an equal place in her consideration, but I suppressed my disdain of such a mark of ignorance. We were both at a loss. "If," said I, "I lose my portmanteau, I lose my all."-" Linen and all," said Lucy. "Manuscript and all," said I, "is gone for ever. If I carry it about my person, and any accident befall me, my MS. would then be lost to the world; whereas, if I myself perish, it might be preserved by being in the portmanteau."-"Heaven forbid," cried Lucy, sighing deeply, "that any accident should befall you." We both sat down, gazing alternately on the portmanteau and the MS.

"I

am of opinion," said I, at length, "that it will be better for me to carry it about my person-so secured, as to be in no danger of dropping it. Should any thing befall me, you, child, will hear of it; and you will take care, when you receive my poor remains, to search for, and secure the immortal part of me-viz. this MS., which, I trust, will live to be admired by distant posterity. But be not cast down; VOL. XII.

I will hope the best even for my corporeal existence-In what part of my dress shall I conceal my treasure?""In this large pocket, I think, uncle, it would lie safely."-"Ah! Lucy, you little reck of the danger of wearing in your pockets things of such inestimable value in the town of London. Do you remember Farmer Ashley's story of the Pickpocket?" Lucy was alarmed. "What, then, should you think of my sewing it within the skirt of your coat, or between the doubles of your waistcoat, uncle, in front?"-"Ay, Lucy," said I, charmed with the idea, "let it be so, and on the left side-let it be next my heart-it shall be to me a talisman, which shall refresh me in fatigue, strengthen me in the hour of danger, and bear me on through every difficulty to the fruition of my hopes." This being determined, I took a last affectionate look at my MS. previous to its imprisonment; from whence, however, I trusted it would emerge in glory that would compensate its present obscuration. The ingenious Lucy stitched it within the ample lapell with a multitude of stitches. When the work was completed, I put on the waistcoat to try the effect. Lucy feared the weight would be unpleasant to me, but I felt not the inconvenience-I gloried in the burden. "And thus," exclaimed I, in a fervour of delight, "should every man wear his Piety at his heart!" Having thus finished my most important preparation, I began to put my worldly affairs in order-these lay in a small compass-the vacation had just commenced-my accounts closed-my toils overpast. I lined my purse with a sum that I calculated would be necessary for my expenditure; and I trusted that would not be much, as I was to be lodged at the house of my friend Hyson. I resolved to set off at break of dawn next day, and hired a boy to carry my portmanteau to Carlisle, whither I was determined to walk myself also, and take my place in the first stage that was setting out for London. All being thus arranged, I gave myself up to the contemplation of the new and extraordinary career I was about to run. When night came, the agitation of my spirits was

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