HOCUS. There's Lady — I forget her name-who wrote Glenarvon—
POCUS. (That book held its antidote. Though 'twas a tender tale, yet 'twas so wild, Where was the brain that could be so beguiled?)
HOCUS. And many more, Godwin and Byron both Deal out excitement with a hand not loth.
JOCUS. First of the former: there in Godwin's works Is something to draw feeling out of Turks; Their tendency, alas! I cannot praise, 'Tis to teach man to curse his lengthen'd days.* Byron demands a longer notice—
* Godwin is a complete veteran in literary annals. His Caleb Williams appears like an old friend, and recalls a thousand thoughts to the imagination; and his St. Leon — who can read it unmoved? His last production of the novel species, Mandeville, is an able description of the disorder of a diseased mind. But who is there that does not regret that powers of such first-rate order should be devoted to such worse than unprofitable subjects?
