Mr. Bowles calls the pamphlet a “mud-cart,” and the writer a “scavenger.”  Afterward he asks, “Shall he fling dirt and receive rose-water?” This metaphor, by the way, is taken from Marmontel’s Memoirs; who, lamenting to Chamfort the shedding of blood during the French revolution, was answered, “Do you think that revolutions are to be made with rose-water?”

For my own part, I presume that “rose-water” would be infinitely more graceful in the hands of Mr. Bowles than the substance which he has substituted for that delicate liquid.  It would also more confound his adversary, supposing him a “scavenger.”  I remember, (and do you remember, reader, that it was in my earliest youth, “Consule Planco,")—­on the morning of the great battle, (the second)—­between Gulley and Gregson,—­Cribb, who was matched against Horton for the second fight, on the same memorable day, awaking me (a lodger at the inn in the next room) by a loud remonstrance to the waiter against the abomination of his towels, which had been laid in lavender.  Cribb was a coal-heaver—­and was much more discomfited by this odoriferous effeminacy of fine linen, than by his adversary Horton, whom, he “finished in style,” though with some reluctance; for I recollect that he said, “he disliked hurting him, he looked so pretty,”—­Horton being a very fine fresh-coloured young man.

To return to “rose-water”—­that is, to gentle means of rebuke.  Does Mr. Bowles know how to revenge himself upon a hackney-coachman, when he has overcharged his fare?  In case he should not, I will tell him.  It is of little use to call him “a rascal, a scoundrel, a thief, an impostor, a blackguard, a villain, a raggamuffin, a—­what you please;” all that he is used to—­it is his mother-tongue, and probably his mother’s.  But look him steadily and quietly in the face, and say—­“Upon my word, I think you are the ugliest fellow I ever saw in my life,” and he will instantly roll forth the brazen thunders of the charioteer Salmoneus as follows:—­“Hugly! what the h—­ll are you? You a gentleman!  Why ——!” So much easier it is to provoke—­and therefore to vindicate—­(for passion punishes him who feels it more than those whom the passionate would excruciate)—­by a few quiet words the aggressor, than by retorting violently.  The “coals of fire” of the Scripture are benefits;—­but they are not the less “coals of fire.”

I pass over a page of quotation and reprobation—­“Sin up to my song”—­“Oh let my little bark”—­“Arcades ambo”—­“Writer in the Quarterly Review and himself”—­“In-door avocations, indeed”—­“King of Brentford”—­“One nosegay”—­“Perennial nosegay”—­“Oh Juvenes,”—­and the like.