THE intent of this address is neither to pay you a compliment, nor to court your favour. The one you would despise, and of the other the writer has no need. But though praise may be beneath your notice, and personal motives are out of the question; this inscription conveys an eulogium of substantial value, since it is a

call

upon you for the application of great talents, and the employment of powerful means, in a cause worthy of your best exertions. Having already contributed, perhaps

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more than any man in this generation, to preserve our poetry from contamination, and our public morals from injury, your duties appear to multiply in proportion to the services you have performed. So long as there are enemies in the field, the privilege of superannuation cannot be allowed to him who has hitherto shown no decay of his faculties. The presence of Nestor in the camp of the Greeks, strengthened their councils and animated their commanders; but the fate of Ilium was of trivial import when compared with the morality of literature, in which are involved the interests of religion, and the welfare of society. At the head of the court of criticism, you have done so much for these great concerns, as to make us adopt the wish "that age may be the lot of any chief but thee." All virtue, however, is mixed; and it is to be regretted that the best men too often seek excuses for the neglect of what they are conscious ought to have been diligently

discharged. Complicated cares and increasing infirmities, the fear of giving offence, and the tenderness of friendship, are all ready apologies for sluggish indifference and want of zeal, when honour calls upon every man to buckle on his armour in the defence of truth.

To what cause may be attributed the forbearance hitherto manifested towards the most popular, and at the same time the most profane, poet of the present day, it would be useless to enquire. But it is a lamentable fact; and the friends of social order see with indignation, that the author of "Don Juan" and "Cain" has been suffered to ascend in the climax of prostituted genius, without meeting with that exposure and castigation in his progress, which might have restrained his rashness, if it did not reform his principles or correct his man

ners.

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You, Mr. Gifford, have had the honour, such as it is, of being praised uniformly by the noble lord; and in that distinction, it seems, you stand proudly pre-eminent; for there is hardly any other living writer to whom he has not dealt out nearly as much abuse as adulation.

The voice of the public had long before this fixed you upon an immovable basis; so that the eulogies of Lord Byron, however strongly perfumed they might be, were of no value; but on the contrary had a suspicious character, and carried with them more of the appearance of fear than respect; like those offerings which the pagans presented to certain of their divinities, to propitiate their favour and prevent them from doing mischief.

Since then, the right honourable poet has rendered you, or himself, a marvellous piece of kindness in stating that his last performance