“John Gilpin, at his horse's side, Fast seized the flowing mane." And that afterwards, "Then over all, that he might be Equipped from top to toe, His long red cloak, well brushed and neat, He manfully did throw.” Lord Byron is more minute in his description; and from it we suspect that, on the whole, Mazeppa was better mounted than John Gilpin. "Bring forth the horse-the horse was brought In truth he was a noble steed, A Tartar of the Ukraine breed.” John Gilpin's horse was, we have reason to know, an Irishman—his friend the Callender having imported him from the county of Tipperary.* On the other hand, though better mounted, Mazeppa was worse dressed, for he was "In nature's nakedness." This being the case, he was probably in the long run no better off than John Gilpin, of whom it is written that "The snorting beast began to trot, Which galled him in his seat." Hitherto the similarity between the Hetman and the Linendraper has been sufficiently apparent; but it is much more striking after they have fairly started. "So, fair and softly, John he cried, But John he cried in vain, That trot became a gallop soon, In spite of curb or rein. "So stooping down, as needs he must, Who cannot sit upright, He grasped the mane with both his hands, And eke with all his might. "His horse, who never in that sort Had handled been before, What thing upon his back had got, *He was bred by that year.-M. OD. Blennerhasset, Esq.-See Sporting Magazine for Nothing can be finer and more headlong than this, except what follows::- In one very remarkable particular, John Gilpin is distinguish ed from Mazeppa. "So stooping down, ns needs he must, Who cannot sit upright, He grasped the mane with both his hands, On the contrary, Mazeppa says, "With sudden wrath I wrenched my hand, And snapped the cord, which to the mane It would appear, therefore, that on first starting, Mazeppa (it will, no doubt, be said involuntarily) had his arms round his horse's neck, but afterwards held them more like a gentleman who had taken lessons in riding, whereas John Gilpin, first of all, probably attempted to elevate his bridle-hand, but afterwards. conceived it more salutary to embrace the neck of his Bucepha lus. This, however, is a circumstance scarcely worth mentioning. Lord Byron then goes on to say, "Away, away, my steed and I, Upon the pinions of the wind!" And Cowper in like manner writes, "Away went Gilpin neck or nought, Away went hat and wig," Which last line does, we confess, convey to our mind a more lively idea of the rapidity of motion, than any single image in Mazeppa. It is impossible, however, to admire sufficiently the skill with which Lord Byron has contrasted the general features of Mazeppa's ride with those of John Gilpin's. John's steed gallops along the king's highway, and Mazeppa's through the desert. Yet, if danger or terror be one source of the sublime, we humbly hold that there is a sublimity in the situation of the London cit, far beyond that of the Polish gentleman. For, in the first place, Mazeppa being securely bound to his horse, need entertain no apprehensions of a severe fall, whereas John's adhesion to his nag seems to the reader almost in the light of a continued miracle, little accustomed as he must have been to that sort of exercise. Secondly, would not any person whatever prefer gallopping along turf, sand, or dust, to a causeway leading from the metropolis of a great empire? Nothing surprises us so much in the poem of John Gilpin, as that the Callender's horse does not come down, which would almost force us to suspect that John was a better horseman than the world in general give him credit for. Indeed, though not much of a metaphysician ourselves, having read little on that subject, save some of the works of the celebrated Macvey Napier, Esq., we think that we may venture to assert, that a considerable portion of the delight with which we peruse or rather pursue John Gilpin, arises from our admiration of his skill in horsemanship. This admiration of the rider is also blended with affection for the man. • We lose him for the dangers he is pussit g, And this leads us, in the third place, to remark that those dangers are of the most formidable kind. We may safely assert that before he reached Edmonton, he had brushed by af least 200 carriages, coming and going, of all sorts, from the broad-wheeled waggon to the shandrydan. Yet it does not appear that he drove any of them into pieces, or in any one instance transfixed his friend's galloway on the pole of a carriage coming up to town. He seems to us to be a man under the protection of Providence. And then, what majestic calmness and composure are his! Why, not two men in eight millions, that is to say, no other man but John Gilpin, in the whole then popu lation of England, would have exhibited such heroism.-Mazeppa, too, no doubt, had his difficulties to contend with-but they were not of so formidable a description. His feelings must have been very uncomfortable as he "neared the wild wood," "studded with old sturdy trees," and he probably laid his account with many a bang on the shins;-but Lord Byron ought not to have told us that the trees "were few and far between;" for, in that case, the forest must have been very pretty riding. "He rustled through the leaves like wind, Left shrubs, and trees, and wolves behind." It would almost seem from these lines, as if Mazeppa were under such alarm, as to imagine the shrubs and trees to be chasing him, as well as the wolves. This is a touch of poetry beyond any thing to be found in John Gilpin. His dangers were of another sort. "The dogs did bark, the children screamed, Up flew the windows all" The extreme folly of thus suddenly throwing open their windows (an ugly trick by which many an honest man has come to an untimely end,) is almost redeemed by the deep interest which these worthy but thoughtless people take in the fortunes of the flying Cockney. "And every one cried out — - well done! As loud as he could bawl." We never read this agonising poem (for the interest is so intensely kept up as to be indeed agonising) without blessing ourselves for the fortunate delusion of the various turnpikemen by which John Gilpin was saved the necessity of taking many dangerous leaps, one or other of which would, in all human probability, have proved fatal. "He carries weight- he rides a race." This exclamation, borne before him, and just before him, on the wings of the wind, gives one a truly awful idea of velocity, and well might Cowper exclaim, ""Twas wonderful to view How in a trice the turnpikemen Their gates wide open flew." No sooner did the public mind take up the belief" he rides a race," than by a wonderful process of thought, it discovers the amount of the wager he had laid, ""Tis for a thousand pound." an immense sum at that time, when horse-racing had not nearly reached its meridian splendour, and when only a very few numbers, if any, of the Sporting Magazine had been published. In all this, Cowper has manifestly the advantage over Byron. Compared with the fine passages now quoted from Gilpin, how tame are the following words of Mazeppa. "Untired, untamed, and worse than wild, All furious as a favoured child Balked of its wish or fiercer still, A woman piqued, who has her will.” Here Mazeppa's gallantry altogether forsakes him, nor can we imagine a more inelegant compliment to the mistress whom he was then leaving, than to compare her, or indeed any of her sex, to a wild Tartar horse, on whom he was then tied “in nature's nakedness." It does not appear that Gilpin lost his senses or his presence of mind during any portion of the Excursion, a Poem. Mazeppa, on the other hand, was completely done up, and absolutely fainted. "He who dies, Can die no more than then I died, O'er-tortured by that ghastly ride." Presence of mind is a quality indispensable in the character of a true hero. We pity Mazeppa, but we admire Gilpin. Mazeppa complains frequently of hunger during his ridebut no such weakness degrades Gilpin, who seems almost raised above all the ordinary wants of nature. "Stop! stop! John Gilpin - here's the house, They all at once did cry The dinner waits, and we are tired; Not a single word of regret does he utter for the want of that dinner which has so long waited for him, but which, from the impatient appetites of Mrs. Gilpin and the children, he well knows is then trembling on the brink of destruction. One solitary exclamation is all that proceeds from his lips, as he hurries by below the balcony, "So am I!" An ordinary writer would have filled his mouth with many needless words. Lord Byron has evidently very closely copied this sublime passage in an early part of Mazeppa's career. "Writhing half my form about, Howl'd back my curse; but 'midst the tread, |