Unlike the first series, all these are in verse. Like the first series, they are roistering, ghosty, mock-heroic, mock-antiquarian pieces that give off an unmistakable Cruikshankish air, the humour grotesque and very broadly moral, with just deserts and come-uppances vying with devilish exertions for the highest entertainment. Not a lot else to say, other than that there is in this one an occasional racist (mainly against Jewishness) stereotype and associated assumptions, which mar it. Still prefer his prose fictions, Baldwin and Some Account of My Cousin Nicholas.
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