Blackwoods Edinburgh Magazine, No. CCCLXXVI | Page 4

in a post so dangerous, and are contempt and
humiliation my only reward? O, mankind, where is your gratitude?
Think, generous reader, on the services I have so often rendered you:
think how often, when you were about to enter upon the stupendous
folio, or the dull and massy quarto, four inches at least in thickness,
think, O think, how often my timely, though unpromising appearance,
has warned you not to encumber your brain with the incalculable load
of lumber! With me, then, let the glorious work of reformation
commence, restore me to the honour and esteem I so justly deserve. I,
for my part, shall still continue to be a spy upon stupidity, and oft shall
you receive the reward of your benevolence from my friendly and
seasonable admonitions."
"Hezekiah Shortcut, O tempora! O mores!"
The poem is in two cantos: the first of which thus opens,--
Long have I viewed the folly and the sin That fill this wicked globe of
ours, call'd earth, And once a secret impulse felt within My bosom, to
convert it into mirth; But then the voice of pity, softly sighing, Hinted
the subject was more fit for crying.
Democritus was once a Grecian sage-- A famous man, as every one
must know-- But rather fond of sneering at the age, And turning into
laughter human wo; Another sage, Heraclitus to wit, Considered it
more wise to weep for it. I can't determine which of them was right,
Nor can I their respective merits see; The subject, disputation may
invite, But that belongs to wiser men than me. It has already been
discuss'd by one, A better judge by far (see Fenelon.)
Verse the twelfth touches upon a topic with which its writer was
destined afterwards, for a short time, to be practically familiar.

How sweet a fee unto the youthful lawyer Never before presented with
a brief, To whose distressing case some kind employer Steps in, and
brings his generous relief; Thus giving him a chance to show that merit
So long kept down by the world's envious spirit.
Here is the little practical moralist's advice to the ladies!--
Ye ladies, list! and to my words attend, They're for your good, as you
shall quickly see. Sit down by the fireside, your stockings mend, And
never mingle spirits with your tea. When you retire at night, put out the
candle, Discard your lap-dogs, leave off talking scandal.
When card-tables are set, you must not play For ought beyond the
value of one shilling: This is my firm decree, although you may, As
ladies mostly are, be very willing. I bid you cease, for into debt 't will
run ye, Do you no good, but spend your husband's money.
Husbands are fools who let their wives do so,-- I scarce can pity when I
see them ruin'd. For when they squander all, they ought to know,
Destruction is a consequence pursuant. When each has turn'd his home
into a sad-house, He then finds out that he deserves a mad-house.
I do denounce, in all the songs you sing, The words, sweet, lovely, dear
angelic charmer, Flames, darts, sighs, wishes, hopes,--they only bring
Thoughts to a lady which perchance may harm her. You therefore must
consider as ironic Every expression which is not Platonic.
The whole poem is written in a droll, satirical strain, and shows a great
familiarity with the topics of ancient and modern literature. The rest of
the volume consists of translations from Anacreon, Horace, and other
Greek and Latin poets, and many original pieces; one of which latter,
entitled "The Prodigal Son," thus gravely and impressively opens,--
Far from his kindred, from his country's soil, By want enfeebled, and
oppress'd by toil, Compelled with slow reluctance to demand The
niggard pity of a stranger's hand, And forced, in silent anguish, to abide
The sneer of malice, the rebuke of pride: A wretch opprest by sorrow's
galling weight, Deplored his ruined peace, his hapless fate. His was

such anguish as the guilty know, For self-reproach was mingled with
his wo. He dared not fortune's cruelty bemoan-- The error, the offence,
was all his own.
There are also scattered over the volume several epigrams, one of
which is headed thus: "On a Lady who married her Brother-in-law."
After so many tedious winters past, The lovely S---- has caught a swain
at last-- A swain who twice has tried the marriage life, And now
resolves again to take a wife. Behold! behold the new-made mother
runs, With ardour to embrace--her nephew-sons!
The second volume commences with a poem of considerable length,
entitled, "Salamis," with a notice that "The foregoing poem was
presented to his father, by John William Smith, January 23d, 1821, the
day on which he completed his twelfth year." The following is "The