her favoured lovers are the Poets. Prosers tell her to her face, that she is waxing old—that her charms-O fie!-are stale; and for their pains get instantly kicked out of her presence by a foot whose dexterity would do credit to a youthful Newhaven fishwife. Yet to the old all things seem old; and blockheads are aged at thirty, as you may perceive from the exaggerated drivel and dotage of their drawling speech. But Genius is ever young, like the star of Jove, "so beautiful and large;" and therefore this earth-this world-shall never want her worshippers. The Deluge-though not perhaps in point of fact-certainly in point of feeling happened last autumn-the Creation of the world last spring. At least, Mr Bowles writes of the Deluge as if he thought and felt so; and therefore doth that passage of his poem rise and subside like the flood he describes,-'tis green in its beauty as the re-appearing hills. What heart could see again that dove without blessing her, and loving the olive more and more for her sake?" Songs of the Ark!"—wherefore are the lips mute that essayed to sing the hymns re-echoed from Mount Ararat ?Our poet now bids farewell to Banwell Cave, and Banwell Hill, and Banwell Church

-

That grace her village glens, or solemn fanes

In cities, calm above the stir and smoke, And list'ning to deep harmonies that swell From all her temples!

So may she adorn

(Her robe as graceful, as her Creed is pure)

This happy land, till Time shall be no more!

And whilst her grey cathedrals rise in air,

Solemn, august, and beautiful, and touch'd By time to shew a grace, but no decay, Like that fair pile, which, from hoar Mendip's brow,

The traveller beholds, crowning the vale Of Avalon, with all its tow'rs in light ;So, England, may thy grey cathedrals lift Their front in heav'n's pure light, and ever boast

Such Prelate Lords-bland, but yet dignified

Pious, paternal, and belov'd, as he Who prompted, and forgives, this Severn song!

And thou, oh Lord and Saviour, on whose rock

That Church is founded, tho' the storm without

May howl around its battlements, preserve Its spirit, and still pour into the hearts Of all, who there confess thy holy name, Peace, that through evil or through

good report,

They may hold on their blameless way."

We pretend not to be prophets; but we predict a storm-a hurricane -about erelong to break upon the Church of England. Many of her dignitaries have lately disgraced themselves beyond redemption in this life; but she has still a thousand champions, in her own holy order, whose cheeks will not blench, nor knees succumb, in any tempest. To them she must trust when the trial comes; and in the van they will be seen, in the Battle of the Standard, while the cowardly apostates will be cowering in the rear, and perhaps plundering the baggage - waggons. Virtue, Genius, Learning, and Piety, will all be on her side; and therefore the issue of the battle cannot be doubtful; but better far to terrify the enemy into flight before he has dared to advance against her Holy Altars.

WHEN the learned, amiable, and lively writer of these volumes was exploring the bibliographical treasures of the library of St Genevieve at Paris, he informs us, that "frequently, during the progress of his examinations, he looked out of window upon the square or area below, which was covered at times by numerous little parties of youths, (from the College of Henry IV.,) who were partaking of all manner of amusements characteristic of their ages and habits. With and without coats, walking, sitting, or running-there they were! All gay, all occupied, all happy!-unconscious of the alternate miseries and luxuries of the Bibliomania!-unknowing in the nice distinctions of type from the presses of George Laver, Schurener de Bopardia, and Adam Rot-uninitiated in the agonising mysteries of rough edges, large margins, and original bindings! But

'Where ignorance is bliss,
'Tis folly to be wise.""

In a somewhat similar state of blissful ignorance we profess ourselves to be, so far as relates to Bibliomanical miseries, agonies, and luxuries. We have not, certainly, arrived at that degree of sensibility in these matters, that our nerves would thrill with responsive delight to the sound of a crackling copy" of Virgil, printed by Sweynheym and Pannartz, or our blood run cold at the sight of a lovely Wynkyn de Worde," cruelly cropped," by some bibliopegistical barbarian; neither should we faint, at discovering that our PSALTERIUM Latine, printed by Fust and Schoiffer, 1457, (if we had one,) measured only thirteen inches, five-eighths, by nine and three-eighths; while that in the Royal Library at Paris, measured exactly fourteen inches by nine and a half. We have no pretensions, we freely admit, to these refined susceptibilities of either rapture or misery; and therefore we shall give ourselves no bibliomaniacal airs; but, at the same

time, we mean strenuously to assert our capabilities for becoming a genuine RoXBURGHER, a true BIBLIOPHILE, and an ardent devotee of FIFTEENERS. We know what it is, to enter a goodly room, filled with books, and to luxuriate in the aromatic bliss of their bindings-or to gloat upon the outward charms of well-stored shelves, with an antepast of their inward treasures. We cannot look unmoved upon a FIRST EDITION, or feel no kindling emotions in our bosoms at the sight of black-letter and time-honoured pages. We love to gaze upon the autographs of the illustrious dead-and our hearts would pant almost to suffocation, if we could hold in our hands an undoubted MS. of Shakspeare; we can examine with pensive delight the words and letters traced by fingers that once recorded the noble thoughts of a noble mind; and we have stood many an hour, equally regardless of an August sun, or a December wind, rummaging over the dusky heaps of book-stalls in courts, alleys, and narrow lanes. With these propensities, which we thus freely acknowledge, not even the Vice-President of the Roxburghe Club himself should convince us we were not intended by nature for bibliomaniacs, though circumstances may have prevented us from becoming so; in the same way that " village Hampdens" and "mute inglorious Miltons" have been doomed, by fortune, to remain ploughmen and farmers all their lives.

We have thought it necessary, at the risk of having more egotism laid to our charge than we deserve, to set forth these our qualifications, before we proceeded to notice a work, which can be properly noticed only by a critic so qualified; though we are willing to confess, our author writes with so much bibliomaniacal onction, when describing bibliogra phical gems and rarities-editiones principes-UPON VELLUM, &c. that he inspires the reader with his own feelings, and communicates a portion of his own enthusiasm to those who

are not so deeply initiated in the mysteries of bibliomania as himself. We doubt, indeed, if there can be found a duplicate Dibdin; another copy, equally tall, uncut, uncropped, rough-edged, large margined, and crackling. No! Among the rarities of the Bibl. Spenceriana must unquestionably be ranked our bibliographer himself, of whose labours we shall now discourse.

In the outset, we have to say, that we heartily rejoice at meeting with these labours in their present form. Our readers need hardly be told, that the first edition of this work appeared some eight or nine years ago, with a splendour of graphic embellishment, and a beauty of typographical execution, which necessarily fixed such a price upon it, that it was accessible only to the more opulent purchasers of books. Upon this subject, Mr Dibdin "tells a tale," in a note at p. 34 of vol. i., which we have read with regret. "The expense," says he, " attending the graphic embellishments alone, of the previous edition of this work, somewhat exceeded the sum of FOUR THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED POUNDS. The risk was entirely my own. The result was the loss of about L.200, exclusively of the expenses incurred in travelling about 2000 miles. The copperplates (notwithstanding every temptation, and many entreaties, to multiply impressions of several of the subjects engraved) were DESTROYED. There may be something more than a mere negative consolalation, in finding that the work is RISING in price, although its author has long ceased to partake of any benefit resulting from it." Another of these negative consolations is dwelt upon with some complacency, in a note at p. 41 of the Preface. "It is more than a negative consolation to me," he observes, "to have lived to see the day, that, although comparatively impoverished, others have been enriched by my labours. When I noticed a complete set of my lucubrations, on LARGE PAPER, valued at L.250, in a bookseller's catalogue, (Mr Pickering's,) and afterwards learned that this set had found a PURCHASER, I had reason to think that I had deserved well of the literature of my country; and I resolved to have mihi carior' in con

sequence."" If my reward has not been in wealth," he exclaims, in the text to which the above note is appended," it has been in the hearty commendations of the enlightened and the good-mea me virtute involvo.'" We could have been well pleased, and so we doubt not could Mr Dibdin, had he gathered "golden opinions," as well as laurels ; had he enriched his pocket, while he adorned his brows; but sure we are, judging of him by his own words, had the alternative been offered him, his choice would have coincided with his actual position.

Before we notice some portions of the new matter contained in this second edition, we feel it will be doing an acceptable service both to the author, and to the general reader, to describe what are the leading features which distinguish it from its predecessor. And this we cannot do in fewer words than are employed by Mr Dibdin himself.

"It will be evident," he observes, "at first glance, that it is greatly 'shorn of its beams,' in regard to graphic decorations and typographical splendour. Yet its garb, if less costly, is not made of coarse materials; for it has been the wish and aim of the publishers that this impression should rank among books worthy of the distinguished press from which it issues, (the Shakspeare press of W. Nicol.) Nor is it unadorned by the sister art of engraving; for, although on a reduced scale, some of the repeated plates may even dispute the palm of superiority with their predecessors. Several of the groupes, executed on copper in the preceding edition, have been executed on wood in the present; and it is for the learned in these matters to decide upon their relative merits. To have attempted portraits on wood, would have inevitably led to failure. There are, however, a few new plates, which cannot fail to elicit the purchaser's This edition has particular attention. also another attraction rather popular in the present day, which may add to its recommendation even with those possessed of its precursor. It contains fac-similes of the autographs of several distinguished literati and artists upon the Continent.". "So much respecting the decorative department of this new edition of the Tour. I have now to request the reader's attention to a few points more immediately connected with what may be considered its intrinsic worth. In the first place, it may be considered to be an edition both

abridged and enlarged; abridged, as regards the lengthiness of description of many of the MSS. and printed books, and enlarged, as respects the addition of many notes; partly of a controversial, and partly of an obituary description. The antiquarian and picturesque' portions remain nearly as heretofore; and upon the whole, I doubt whether the amputation of matter has extended beyond an eighth of what appeared in the previous edition. It had long ago been suggested to me, from a quarter too high and respectable to doubt the wis

dom of its decision, that the contents of

this Tour should be made known to the public through a less costly medium; that the objects described in it were in a measure new and interesting; but that the high price of the purchase rendered it, to the majority of readers, an inaccessible publication. I hope that these objections are fully met, and successfully set aside by the work in its present form. To have produced it wholly divested of ornament, would have been as foreign to my habits as repugnant to my feelings. I have, therefore, as I would willingly conclude, hit upon the happy medium, between sterility and excess of decoration."

In a preceding page, Mr Dibdin

observes,

"I may confidently affirm, from experience, that two-thirds of the expense incurred (in getting up the first edition) would

have secured the same sale at the same price. However, the die is cast; and the voice of lamentation is fruitless."

Such are the pretensions with which these volumes are now presented to the world; and while we repeat, that we heartily rejoice at seeing them in their present form, we feel ourselves justified in adding, that their reduced graphic embellishments, and typographical elegance, correspond with all that the author has claimed for them.

In the "Preface to the Second Edition," Mr Dibdin enters the lists with two or three French critics, (MM. Licquet and Crapelet, the latter a Parisian printer, the former chief librarian of the public library at Rouen, and a person named Lesné, a bookbinder at Paris,) who had animadverted upon some portions of his Tour; and this warfare is continued in those controversial notes, of which he speaks above. We are decidedly of opinion, that, with a very few exceptions, he would have acted more judiciously by abstaining from the controversy alto

gether. We do not mean by this to say, that he has the worst of the argument. On the contrary, as far as we can judge from the insulated portions of his adversaries' attacks, which he selects for reply, (and he seems to have selected them fairly, for many are sharp and stinging enough towards himself,) we think he comes off triumphantly; while he never once suffers their acrimony and occasional coarseness, to move

him from the vantage ground of perfect courtesy and good breeding. But the truth is, nine-tenths of the matters in dispute between him and his critics, relate to things about which the reader cares not one straw, and about which Mr Dibdin himself ought not to care so much as he evidently shews he does. The very facility with which he confutes his opponents should have reminded him, that such opponents were not worthy of confutation. Where they proved him wrong, he did right in adopting their corrections, and acknowledging the source. This was fair, and dignified, and manly. But there he should have stopped, and left them to rail and cavil unnoticed.

There is, by the by, an amusing typographical error in a note at p. xvi of the Preface, where Mr Dibdin has quoted a passage from the remarks of one of these opponents, M. Crapelet, the printer. The quotation ends with these words" la vivacité de son esprit l'egare presque toujours."-"A careful perusal of the notes in THIS edition," adds Mr Dibdin, "will shew that my veracity has not almost always led me astray.” We more than suspect, also, a strange mistake at p. xxxi. Another of our author's critics, M. Licquet, (the Rouen librarian,) accuses him " of an insidious intrusion into domestic circles, a violation of confidence, and a systematic derision of persons and things." This accusation is grossly overcharged, and in the most offensive manner; and Mr Dibdin repels it with becoming spirit, as well as with strong argument; though he will forgive us when we say, that we have ourselves sometimes thought -only on one or two occasionsthat he has exercised a very doubtful privilege, in describing individuals and conversations, where the parties at the time could hardly have

anticipated they were to be thus transferred to his pages. "M. Licquet," continues Mr Dibdin, says, that I'create scenes; arrange a drama; trace characters; imagine a dialogue, frequently in French,-and in what French,-Gracious God! in assigning to postilions a ridiculous language, and to men of the world, the language of postilions.'-These be sharp words; but what does the reader imagine may be the probable 'result' of the English traveller's inadvertencies? A result (gracious heaven!) very little anticipated by the author. Let him ponder well upon the awful language which ensues. What,' says M. Licquet, 'will quickly be the result, with us, of such indiscretions as those of which M.

Dibdin is guilty? The necessity of SHUTTING OUR FORTS, or, at least, of placing a GUARD UPON OUR LIPS!"" We have not the original before us --but the context-the obvious meaning of the writer, every thing seems to assure us, that M. Licquet must have written" shutting our DOORS" --and not a closing of the French PORTS against travellers of all nations.

Before we quit this preface, however, we beg leave to introduce to the notice of our readers a personage of the name of Lesné, a bookbinderWe beg his pardon!-a Parisian bibliopegist!-or what we still call a bookbinder. He, following the example of M. Crapelet, printer, and of M. Licquet, librarian, entered the arena of controversy, and published a letter to Mr Dibdin, to which was prefixed the following metrical in

troduction:

"Lesné, Relieur Français, à Mons. T. F. Dibdin, Ministre de Religion, &c. "Avec un ris moqueur, je crois vous voir d'ici,

Dédaigneusement dire: Eh, que veut celui-ci ?

Qu'ai-je donc de commun avec un vil artiste?

Un ouvrier français, un Bibliopegiste? Ose-t-on ravaler un Ministre à ce point? Que me veut ce Lesné? Je ne le connais point.

After these heroics, M. Lesné begins in plain prose to empty the vials of his wrath upon our author's head. His first accusation is, that Mr Dib

din is sadly deficient in delicacy, refinement, and so forth. The consolatory argument, by the help of which he accounts for this defect, is deliciously French. "MAIS VOUS ETES ANGLAIS!"-and therefore, continues our bibliopegist, "released from that politeness which so happily distinguishes OUR nation from YOURS, and which the greatest part of your countrymen acquire, only after a long residence in France!!" Is not this a very Chesterfield of a bookbinder?

Mr Dibdin had thrown out, by way of pleasantry, a gratuitous supposition that Mr Charles Lewis " was going over to Paris to establish there a modern school of bookbinding." It was no pleasantry to Monsieur Lesné. He is indignant at the presumption he should persist in "making his of Mr Lewis-predicts his failure if descent," and, after asking, you think, or does Charles Lewis think, that there exists no longer a national spirit in France?" exclaims, "Allez, le sang Français coule encore dans nos veines;

"do

Nous pourrons éprouver des malheurs et des peines,

Que nous devons peut-être à vous autres Anglais,

Mais nous voulons rester, nous resterons, Français !"

The concluding passages in this letter, as quoted by Mr Dibdin, are