Liverpool and the Marquis of Hertford, the latter of whom, as chamberlain, had, it seems, made an offer of the place to Mr. Walter Scott, who had signified his acceptance of it. Some little difficulty naturally arose on the occasion, but it was agreed that the two poets should settle the point of precedence between themselves. A friendly altercation, unlike that of the shepherds in Virgil, now took place between Mr. Scott and Mr. Southey, each waving his own pretensions, and giving the palm of victory to the other. But it was finally determined, that as Mr. Scott, though he would not allow himself to be the greatest, was at least the richest poet of the two, Mr. Southey, who had most need of this post of honour and of profit, should have it. So ends this important affair; and, without any ill-will to Mr. Southey, we should not have been disappointed if it had ended differently. Whatever may be the balance of poetical merit, Mr. Scott, we are quite sure, has always been a much better courtier than Mr. Southey; and we are of opinion that the honours of a Court can no where be so gracefully or deservedly bestowed as on its followers. His acceptance of this mark of court favour would not have broken in upon that uniformity of character, which we think no less beautiful and becoming in life than in a poem. But, perhaps, a passion for new faces extends to the intrigues of politics as well as of love; and a triumph over the scruples of delicacy enhances the value of the conquest in both cases. To have been the poet of the people, may not render Mr. Southey less a court favourite; and one of his old Sonnets to Liberty must give a peculiar zest to his new Birth-day Odes. His flaming patriotism will easily subside into the gentle glow of grateful loyalty; and the most extravagant of his plans of reform end in building castles in Spain ! V MR. SOUTHEY'S NEW-YEAR'S ODE. . Jan. 8, 1814. MR. SOUTHEY's Ode has at length appeared-not as was announced, under the title of "Carmen Annuum," but under that of "CARMEN TRIUMPHALE, for the Commencement of the Year 1814." We see no reason why the author might not have adopted the title of Horace's Ode entire, and have called it Carmen Seculare, which would have been the best account he could give of it. We fear Mr. Southey will not form a splendid exception to the numberless instances which prove that there is something in the air of a court, not favourable to the genius of poetry. He has not deprived himself of the excuse made by one of his predecessors, of versatile memory, in extenuation of the degeneracy of his courtly lays, "That poets succeed best in fiction." The Ode is in the ballad style, peculiar to Mr. Southey and his poetical friends. It has something of the rustic simplicity of a country virgin on her first introduction at Duke's Place, or of Pamela on the day of her marriage with Mr. B. Or rather it resembles a fancy birth-day suit, a fashionable livery worn inside out, a prince's feather with a sprig of the tree of liberty added to it, the academy of compliments turned into quaint Pindarics,—is a sort of methodistical rhapsody, chaunted by a gentleman-usher, and exhibits the irregular vigour of Jacobin enthusiasm suffering strange emasculation under the hands of a finical lord-chamberlain. It is romantic without interest, and tame without elegance. It is exactly such an ode as we expected Mr. Southey to compose on this occasion. We say this from our respect for the talents and character of this eminent writer. He is the last man whom we should expect to see graceful in fetters, or from whom we should look for the soul of freedom within the liberties of a court!—The commencement of the Ode is as follows, and it continues through out much as it begins : "In happy hour doth he receive The Laurel, meed of famous bards of yore, To raise the exultant hymn for victory, Mr. Southey has not exactly followed the suggestion of an ingenious friend, to begin his poem with the appropriate allusion, "Awake, my sack-but!" The following rhymes are the lamest we observed. He says, speaking of the conflict between the Moors and Spaniards, "< Age after age, from sire to son, The hallowed sword was handed down; And sheath that hallowed sword in peace, Until the work was done." Indeed, if Mr. S. can do no better than this, in his drawingroom verses, he should get some contributor to the Lady's Magazine to polish them for him. We have turned over the Ode again, which extends to twenty pages, in the hope of finding some one vigorous or striking passage for selection, but in vain. The following is the most likely to please in a certain quarter : "Open thy gates, O Hanover! display Receive thy old illustrious line once more! Long has it been thy fortune to deplore That line, whose fostering and paternal sway So many an age thy grateful children blest. 4 The yoke is broken now!—a mightier hand The happy bells, from every town and tower, Roll their glad peals upon the joyful wind; And from all hearts and tongues, with one consent, The high thanksgiving strain is sent Glory to God! Deliverance to mankind!" In various stanzas, Bonaparte is called an upstart, a ruffian, &c. We confess, we wish to see Mr. Southey, like Virgil, in his Georgics," scatter his dung with a grace." We do not intend to quarrel with our Laureat's poetical politics, but the conclusion is one which we did not anticipate from the author. We have always understood that the Muses were the daughters of Memory! "And France, restored and shaking off her chain, Shall join the Avengers in the joyful strain— Glory to God! Deliverance for mankind!" The poem has a few notes added to it, the object of which seems to be to criticise the political opinions of the Edinburgh Reviewers with respect to Spain, and to prove that the author is wiser after the event than they were before it, in which he has very nearly succeeded. Mr. Southey announces a new volume of Inscriptions, which must furnish some curious parallelisms. DOTTREL-CATCHING. TO THE EDITOR OF THE MORNING CHRONICLE. Jan. 27, 1814. SIR, THE method of taking this bird is somewhat singular, and is described in an old book in the following terms: "The Dottrel is a foolish bird of the crane species, very tall, awkward, and conceited. The Dottrel-catcher, when he has got : near enough, turns his head round sideways, and makes a leg towards him the bird, seeing this, returns the civility, and makes the same sidelong movement. These advances are repeated with mutual satisfaction, till the man approaches near enough, and then the bird is taken." A poet-laureat or a treasury sophist is often taken much in the same way. Your Opposionist, Sir, was ever a true gull. From the general want of sympathy, he sets more store by it than it is worth; and for the smallest concession, is prevailed upon to give up every principle, and to surrender himself, bound hand and foot, the slave of a party, who get all they want of him, and then -"Spunge, you are dry again!" A striking illustration of the common treatment of political drudges has lately occurred in the instance of a celebrated writer, whose lucubrations are withheld from the public, because he has declared against the project of restoring the Bourbons. As the court and city politicians have spoken out on this subject, permit me, Sir, to say a word in behalf of the country. I have no dislike whatever, private or public, to the Bourbons, except as they may be made the pretext for mischievous and impracticable schemes. At the same time I have not the slightest enthusiasm in their favour. I would not sacrifice the life or limb of a single individual to restore them. I have very nearly the same feelings towards them which Swift has expressed in his account of the ancient and venerable race of the Struldbruggs. It is true, they might in some respects present a direct contrast to Bonaparte. A tortoise placed on the throne of France would do the same thing. The literary sycophants of the day, Sir, are greatly enamoured (from some cause or other) with hereditary imbecility and native want of talent. They are angry, not without reason, that a Corsican upstart has made the princes of Europe look like wax-work figures, and given a shock to the still life of kings. They wish to punish this unpardonable presumption, by establishing an artificial balance of weakness throughout Europe, and by reducing humanity to the level of thrones. We may perhaps in |