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E admit the following communication of original po

etry, into our Magazine, with very considerable reluctance; because it treats with, by far, too much severity, a little book, which is a very great favourite of ours; and which, we do not, for a single moment, hesitate to say, abounds in wit, humour, finely pointed ridicule, elegant irony, gentlemanly, forcible satire, such as would do honour to the pen of Addison, or of Swift.

The hudibrastic poem, however, we cannot, well refuse to insert, because the writer thereof, as he himself confesses, holds too distinguished a station in the republic of letters, for us to presume to withstand, or to contradict him, with any hope of success, or any probability of escaping censure.

We, therefore, admit the communication of this terrible poet, without farther excuse, notice, preface, commentary, introduce tion, remark, surmise, conjecture, thought, circumlocution, apology, or reflection.

The poem is accompanied with the following note: To the Editors of the Monthly Register, Magazine and Re

view, of the United States. GENTLEMEN, The following jeu d'esprit of mine you will please to insert in your periodical publication for March, 1807.-As, very probably, the little, foolish book, lashed in my poem, may be thought by you to be very clever, I wish you to remember, that, as yet you are but young writers, and.not sufficiently, established to set up your opinion against mine; for I have long been well known, as the most powerful, and the most severe writer in the United States. You may receive it, as an indisputable fact, upon my own bare assertion, that I have within the last six months, caused three women to miscarry; thrown four children into fits; compelled old alderman to throw his wig into the fire, and, with his wig, all his sen

ses ;--and made Ding-dong cry, and roar, and weep, and bellow, and blubber, and stamp, and curse, and swear, and, otherwise, incommode himself, for full two hours.-All which, to say truth, is wondrous pitiful, and pity 'tis 'tis true.

My design, in the following poem, is to establish just three ideas :-first, that the author of Salmagundi is a block-headsecondly, that hudibrastic poetry, and doggrel, are two different things; and thirdly, that the custom of reading aloud in Sargeant's reading-room is not to be borne ;--this is practised by a great many people, who think themselves very fine readers; whereas, they are only like drums, empty, and hollow, and sound the louder the more they are beaten :-this custom is, certainly, better honoured in the breach than in the observance; it is a nuisance, which must be abated.

To conclude, if you are not sufficiently' acquainted with my character, just look at all the best European Reviews, and you will find, that they all acknowledge me to possess a large quantity of genius, wit, learning, depth, sublimity, humour, satire, argumentation, reasoning, invective, ridicule, abuse, cogitation, abstraction, fire, fury, fancy, fun, and lamentation. Yet, with all their sagacity, these gentlemen reviewers, with their little monthly blue-books, cannot discover to what country I belong ;-some say, that I am a Scotsman, --some, a Russian,--some, a Dane,-some, a German, some, a Turk,—some, an Irishman,--some, an Englishman ; most, that I am a Dutchman ;-but none of them give the least guess, that I am an American,—which, however, I really am, let the world think, as it will, about the matter:

If your Magazine continue to please me, I shall, occasionally, send you a poem, like the following ;--if not, I shall, immediately, attack it, and write it and you down, without any remorse, or compunction.

I am your's truly,

DIGGORY DOGGREL. We beg leave to remark, that, notwitstanding, the threat, contained in Mr. Diggory Doggrel's letter, we entirely subscribe to the opinion of that celebrated critic, Dr. Bentley,-namely,--that no man, ever was, or ever can be written down, except by himself. Our chief care, then, shall, always, be, to


endeavour not to write ourselves down ;-and, if we succeed in that effort, we shall not entertain the smallest fear or anxiety that we can ever be written down by Mr. Diggory Doggrel, or any, or all, of Mr. Diggory Doggrel's friends.

But, now, for this same marvellous poem :--
A hudibrastic poem, chastising a book called Salmagundi,

by Diggory DOGGREL, Esq. A. S. S.
One day, last week, I think, on Monday,
Came forth a book, called Salmagundi ;
A little book, with yellow cover,
In size, not quite three inches over ;
Whose Author,--s some folks will tell-ee,
Has got no brains but in his belly ;
Orı-as some other people fear,
His brains are all lodg'd in his rear.

From these opinions both I differ,
Caring not for each a whiff—sir;
And, therefore, whisper in your ear,
That half his brains are in his rear ;
And t'other half cramm'd in his belly,
Like pumpkin pye, or vermicelli,
Or cabbagc-squash, or calf's-foot-jelly

So this same book, called Salmagundi,
Which was be-published on Monday,
Whose author's brains, as you may find,
Are, one half, pent up him behind;
And t'other half in his abdomen,
Which must be thought an evil omen,
Has treated me with no decorum,
But calls me Assz--and Doctor Bore-um,
And dogsrei-rhymer;--but I'll score him,
Although he may be of the quorum,
Lawyer, alderman, or doctor,
Parson, bailiff, pimp, or pructor,
Postillion, merchant, thief, or pedlar,
Bachelor, married man, or fidler.

He says, that I've discharg'd, of late,
Much doggrel from my addled pate,
And given my billingsgate its point
In filthy rhymes, quite out of joint ;
And calls me costive, but friend Town


Says, that's a pill will not go down ;
For he will either say, or swear,
That I and he more clever are
Than that same yellow Salmagundi.
Which we will prove before we're one day
Older.-For, as I am witty,
On men of genius I take pity,
And never, once, was known to cross-em,
But cherish well each bud and blossom;
And patronize them all I can,
Be they woman, boy, or man.-

But, as this Salmagundi's phiz
Not learned, but most absurd is :
I will not patronize it more,
As I've done, always, heretofore ;
But will withdraw my great protection,
And, also, give it smart correction ;
That I and Town may, once again,
Be thought two most prodigious men;
And still continue to improve
The publics-and ourselves to move
In honour, day by day, more high,
Till New-York owns, that Town and I
Are the two only men of merit,
Who write with such uncommon spirit,
That we deserve to be exalted,
I say not where-for, here, Town halted,
And bawl'd aloud, with much emotion;
That prospect of such great promotion
Filled his head with dismal fears,
And so,-says he-I'll save my ears,
Whatever you do with your own,
Which to yourself must best be known.

But bating that, we'll go together,
Through rain, and dirt, and wind and weather,
Tied up, and bound by the same tether,
And jogging on, though we lose leather,
And differing not in weight a feather
But being both par nobile fratrum,
And just cut out to guide aratrum.

For reasons two I write this Latin, First, that I may shew I'm pat in


The Roman tongue, and well discerning
In scholar-ship, and other learning.
And, secondly, that all, who blunder
In English only, may much wonder,
That I'm in language so profound;
Which all that know me must astound;
As I could never, when but young,
Learn aught but my own mother tongue ;
And that same tongue not over-well,
For long words, even now, I spell ;
Yet I am grown so wise, of late,
That none can tell—what's in my pate.

Wherefore, I'll lay a half a dollar,
That I'm no gentleman, nor scholar,
If I don't prove, that Hudįbrastic,
Which is to me as good as a stick,
Is not the same as doggrel-verse.
My proofs for which I will rehearse;
That you may see as plain's a poker,
That, in this case, I am no joker,
But a hudibrastic poet,
Though some men


that they don't know it.
Doggrel is doggrel.-I maintain,
Whoe'er denies it, is a vain
Block-head, coxcomb, rascal, liar,
And should be thrown into the fire;
Or duck'd in tub of dirty water,
For daring falsehood thus to scatter.
What's hudibrastic, now, 1

But hudibrastic, Sirs, I pray?
If hudibrastic, then, be itself,
And doggrel, eke, also, be itself;
How can they both be only one,
When they are two,—that's more than one ?

Then, who says doggrel's hudibrastic,
Deserves a thump with fist or a stick;
And who says hudibrastic's doggrel,
Ought not to fill his paunch with grog well;
But be condemn'd to hear Puff read in
Sargeant's book-store, every eenin,
The whole of two great long news-papers,

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