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 The world was all forgot—the struggle o'er Desperate the joy.—That day they read no more."

Mr Hunt has indeed taken mighty pains to render Rimini a story not of incest, but of love. The original betrothing of Francesca to Paolo he has changed into her being espoused by him as the proxy of his brother. The harshness and ferocity of Lanciotto's character, and the hideous deformity of his person, have both been removed, as if the poet were anxious to render it impossible for us to have the least sympathy, or compassion, or pardon, for the frailty of his heroine. In the true story of Rimini, both Paolo and Francesca were sacrificed by the murderous hand of the detecting and cruel Lanciotto. But here the dagger and the axe are laid aside, and we have, in their room, the point of honour and the thrusting of rapiers. Paolo dies not by the secret revenge of his brother, but by rushing voluntarily on the sword, wielded fairly against him; and the poet is at the pains to borrow a beautiful eulogy from Ellis's Specimens, which he makes the survivor utter over the body of the slain. The personages are all amiable, the sins all voluntary, and the sufferings sentimental. Many a one reads Rimini as a pleasant romance, and closes it without having the least suspicion that he has been perusing a tale pregnant with all the horrors of most unpardonable guilt. John Ford is the only English poet who has treated of incest with the same openness and detail as Leigh Hunt, but how infinitely above that gentleman's reach are his ideas of its punishment.

The story of Rimini can indeed do no harm to any noble spirit. We never yet saw a lady lift it up, who did not immediately throw it down again in disgust. But the lofty spirits of the earth are not the only ones; and we confess, that we think that poet deserving of chastisement, who prostitutes his talents in a manner that is likely to corrupt milliners and apprentice-boys, no less than him who flies at noble game, and spreads his corruption among princes.

common with most of your readers, I read with considerable pleasure the greater part of a paper in your last Number, entitled, "Vindication of Mr Wordsworth's Letter to Mr Gray." The writer of that paper (who chooses to lie concealed under the signature of N.) has displayed much kindliness of disposition, both in regard to the memory of Burns and the living name of Mr Wordsworth; and he has expressed the opinions which he holds with a natural and flowing eloquence, which has not, I think, been often surpassed by any modern authors of our country. But I hope I may be permitted to say without offence, in the pages of your Magazine, that, so far as Mr Wordsworth is concerned, all the kindness of feeling, and all the very masterly rhetoric of N. have, on the present occasion, been most egregiously misapplied. On looking back to the Third Number of Blackwood's Magazine, I own I was astonished to find, that although N. has written seven pages, under the name of "A Vindication of Mr Wordsworth," he has nevertheless, by some strange oversight (whether intentional or otherwise it is not for me to determine), left the character of that gentleman