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and entertaining a book on the Satirists is pretty sure to be by the author of "Singleton Fontenoy," "Biscuits and Grog," "Sand and Shells," &c. He is himself blessed or cursed with satirical tendencies, which evidently, and to his signal credit, he keeps under bit and bridle. Mr. Hannay could, obviously, put a good deal of gall into his ink if he liked, and make his penmanship very black indeed. There is gall in his ink, but that not much: rather he is careful to counteract it by an infusion of the milk of human kindness—an item not much in request for the satirist's ordinary mixture. Let not those gentle souls, therefore, whose kind nature shrinks instinctively, and on principle, from the perusal of books by or concerning satire and satirists,—let them not reject Mr. Hannay's little volume, the pervading spirit of which they will find in harmony, despite a discord here and there, with their own charity and good -will towards men.

Mr. Hannay can write so well, and is in command of a style so much to the purpose, that—be this enforced imprimis, and so "done with"—it were highly desirable he were less of an imitator. It is all very well, for us petty scribblers, who have nothing a month to say, and who say it,—who are dependent upon some opulent author's alms-basket of words—it is all very well for us to copy the style of another in order to attract a hearing for ourselves: but why should the author of "Singleton Fontenoy," who can afford to act out his independence, and is rich enough to keep a style of his own, be found essaying, again and again, a hit, a very palpable hit, of direct imitation? He might, indeed, have chosen a worse model than Mr. Thackeray; nay, considering the scope and subject of his discourse, it might have been hard for him to fix on a better. But why not be self-sufficing in this matter? Admirer as he is of Mr. Thackeray, he is no undiscriminating one; witness his dissent from that distinguished writer's portraiture of Swift. But how closely he affects the Pendennis mannerism, let an excerpt or two from the present volume bear pretty explicit evidence.

Of Erasmus, for instance, he says: "I am not going to set up Erasmus as a very lofty kind of man before you . He is not one whom you feel any disposition to worship. I make my bow to him, and do him honour; but I do not stand uncovered, or impressed with any reverential awe before him. Only we must appreciate and love him too. We must remember that he was luminous, genial, generous, brotherly. Let us begin, then, by pitying him, in so far as he deserves our pity," &c.

Well said, be it allowed, both as to matter and manner; but whose is the manner? The lecturer is laudably and healthily addicted to simplicity of style; but may he'not, does he not, affect a certain order of it, until we almost forget the simplicity in the affectation? One man's