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very merry and sat drinking away at toddy till near twelve, and you koow we could do no business then, so I looked in upon him this morning to settle matters.

Smith.— Well, and how did you come on ? Jenkins.- I took his bill again for the balance. Suith.The devil you did !

Jenkins.— Yes—having sat so long yesterday with my legs under bis mahogany, the deuce take me if I could refuse bim.

Smith. — Well

Jenkins.-Well, I have been to Unca Dreek, and he wanted me to take sheep's head kail with him too; but no, I says, I had sheep's head kail yesterday, and I did not find myself much the better of it this morning, but if you'll settle our bill just now I shall be very glad if you dine with me at my Inn ; this he declined, and asked me to walk to the back shop, and what, do you think, he proposed ?

Smith. - I can't say, indeed.

Jenkins.—His bill, as I told you before, is one hundred pounds; well, he had the impudence to ask me to draw on him for one bundred and twenty pounds, and give him the odd twenty, and he would meet the whole when due.

Smith.– Which you was sheepish enough to do.

Jenkins.- Nay, Master Smith, I had declined his sheephead kail, else I don't know what I might have done—but this I did, I blew him up sky high, and told him I would arrest bim in half an hour.

Smith.— Pooh! pooh, man! your Lawyer will tell you better than that_but now for Dreeker and Dreeker.

Jenkins.—Ah! now for Dreeker and Dreeker, (buttoning up his coat to the chin). I bave not been to him yet, and I was just taking this extra pint to screw me up to my pitch ; it is now out and I am off, and if he don't come up to the scratch and fork out the blunt like a man, d- me, if I don't give it bim hot and heavy; so good bye, Master Smith.

Smith.- Good bye, Master Jenkins-good luck to ye, my boy, but take care of the sheepshead kail.

Jenkins.-O let me alone for that; I won't be sheepsheaded any more.

[Exit Jenkins. ]


hension of its return, since it has been long proved, beyond all doubt, that the disorder is not CONTAGIOUS, and every additional care proves more and more the truth of the assertion.

What a saving of lives, and what a benefit to business, would the earlier knowledge of this fact have been to the world? There were two cases here lately which were of a frightful nature, and, after all hope had been abandoned, twenty-five drops of the cajeput oil were given, and caused an almost instantaneous relief from pain. The colour soon returned, and both were completely restored to bealth. This was told me by the physician who administered the remedy. Our physician bad daily at least fifty-four, and frequently more patients to attend to, and out of all his cases he only lost one !

This letter should pour comfort into the bosoms of all who are alarmed for the malady that rages at Gateshead ; since it appears plain that, with care and immediate attention to the disease, its destructive power is easily checked. If it be true, also, what our correspondent seems to think undeniable, that the malady is not contagious, those who may be attacked have the prospect of obtaining greater and more unwearied attention from their attendants, while the folly of quarantines and lazarettos will be imme. diately abandoned. The Modern Athenians are in horror at the prospect of the approach of the malady. We trust the citizens of Glasgow bave better sense than follow their example, and will bravely look tbe monster in the face. We verily believe that the disease wbich now threaten us, is, when once understood, not half so terrible as the typhus fever which is now raging among us.



The Sigh of Love, that silent steals

From young hearts, warm and true, Is sweet as when the Spring reveals

Her roses, wet with dew.
The Tear of Love, at parting hour,

Is sad ;-but, oh! how sweet
When young Affection owns its power

At eve, when lovers meet. The Smile of Love-so tond, so dear,

Pure as the night-star shines; Bright as the new-born gem appears

In India's rarest mines ! The Hope of Love!-oh! be it blest!

For Love of Hope was born ; Hope is the dawn of passion chaste, Aud Love the risen morn,



As the Cholera marches onward towards our city, there have been increased preparations made for its reception. Like wise men, the folks here have not been quarrelling about, whether the coming disease be the same that carried off its thousands in India, and its thousands in Russia and Germany. They know that a disease exists which is carrying off people in the course of a few hours, and against such a frightful instrument of death they are arming themselves as well as poor mortals can. There are two consolations connected, however, with this distemper: First, that it passes over certain towns altogether, and Glasgow may be one of these ; and the other is, that, although it should come among us, that its sojourn will not exceed a few weeks. Already, it is disappearing from Sunderland, and, by a letter which we have from Vienna this morning, we are happy to find that the fatal malady has there ceased its ravages. The following is an extract from our letter, and being from the very best source of information, is well worthy of the attention of our Medical Board and the community :-“ You will be happy to learn that we have all providentially escaped the desolating influence of the Cholera. It was a sad and melancholy period the first month after its arrival among us. The vast number of poor victims to this cruel malady which hourly were carried past our house was indeed sufficient to appal the stoutest heart. I verily believe the greater number of those fell a sacrifice to fear and agitation; for, in the confusion of the first attack, no one seemed to know what to do, and what remedies to apply. When the physicians recovered themselves, however, and came to understand more perfectly the treatment of the cases, the victims to the disease became daily fewer. Emetics, camphor drops, and tea, were generally used with much success. This horrid plague is now, God be praised, completely out of this city. It is still, however, in the suburbs; but there is now po appre

NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS. Hearing that a petition is to be sent up in favour of Stirret, we have withheld, for a few days, a paper, which is in types, upon that important case, and which was to have appeared to-day. We have no desire to prejudge any question.

The letter of “ Philanthropus" has been received, for which we return our best thanks. It is difficult to hit at once on the most judicious course to reach the end which we have in view, but he may rest assured that no pains will be spared to make our Journal instructive as well as amusing. The idea of pursuing the Christian course of the Spectator, in devoting our Saturday's Paper to the more important concerns of this transitory life, was among the first resolutions the “ Council of Ten” unanimously passed.

We are obliged to Demophilefor the enclosure he sends us. The “ Lectures" will be examined, and, if we can make any use of them, we shall do so.

Nice Pickingswill have a place as soon as we have room.

If “N- N.” could give us any papers connected with the subjects to which he alludes, we would willingly find them a place. Anecdotes of some of the celebrated citizens of Glasgow would be in v aluble.

In order to insure this Publication being on the Breakfast Table every morning, it is requested that intending Subscribers will leave their names and addresses at the Publisher's.



INTELLIGENCE. The long-talked of Opera of Robert le Diable, by MEYERBEER, has been produced at Paris with a success equal to that which attended La Dame Blanche and Guillaume Tell.

Mr. Sincluir and Miss Hughes are amongst the English vocalists now exhibiting their talents in America.

A Mr. Canderbeck is at present producing such effects with his fiddle on the good people of New York, as to have acquired the title of the New York Paganini.

The fact which Mr. David LAURIE has promulgated, concerning the perilous condition of all the London Bridges, owing to the removal of the weir, or dam, at the Old London Bridge, has set the whole wiseacres of our city adreaming about the probable consequences of removing the weir at the Jamaica Street Bridge. One talks of the fate of the Old Bridge being sealed, if the present absurd proposition be carried into effect; another talks of the pestiTential mud that will be thrown up, and which, during every reflux of the tide, will be exposed to the sun's rays in front of the most beautiful portion of Glasgow-Carlton Place, and Clyde Street; a third talks of the terrible loss that will fall upon the proprietors of all houses in the neighbourhood of the Bridge during its build. ing, perhaps a term of seven years! a fourth, of the absolute folly of pulling down one of the most substantial and elegant structures that was ever erected, and which was calculated to stand for centuries; while a fifth, is throwing out bints about some hidden job connected with the Trust. In good sooth, this is no subject upon which men who have the welfare of the city ought to come instantly to a conclusion. Take patience, Gentlemen, weigh the matter well, and perhaps it might be no bad method to arrive at a just opinion to take the sense of a meeting of the citizens. We can assure you they have a deeper interest in the question than you seem to imagine.

There is at present a serious dispute raging among certain matrons, at the west end of this city, whether it be a proof of gentility that the name of the householder be or be not afised to the street door. Gentility, certainly, may be inferred as belonging to the proprietor of a mansion, from beholding a well-known aristocratical cognomen upon a brass plate, whereas the patronymics of Muc Treddles or MacRump could only suggest ideas of vulgarity. We would therefore counsel the ļadies of the Novi Homines always to stick to the number, especially to No. 1 if possible.

FOREIGN LITERARY INTELLIGENCE. An interssting Report by M. QUINET, was lately presented to the Minister of Public Works in France for the purpose of procuring the assistance of government in publishing many Epic Poems of thy Twelfth Century, in the French language! The MSS. are in the Bibliotique du Roi, and in that of the Arsenal, where they have hitherto remained unknown. These poems consist of many thousand verses, and would fill 50 folio volumes. M. Quinet con, siders them as the popular reflection of the ancient Celtic tradi. tions, in regard to the religious and historical monuments of the Celtic provinces.

At Milan, two new Historical Romances, after the manner of the famous Promissi Sposi of Mazoni, have lately made their appearance. The one by the author of Sibella Odaleta, is entitled Folchetto Malespina Romanzo Storico del Secolo, XII. iu 3 vols. The other is Uberto Visconti, Romanzo Storico risguardante Milano a' tempi di Barnabo e Gian-Galcazzo Visconti, in one vol. by G. Campiglio.

The popular and prolific German novelist, Augustus La Fontaine, whose productions have been translated into nearly all the languages of Europe, and were even admitted into the Imperial Library at St. Cloud, died at Halle, on the 26th of April.


EVENING DRESS. A dress of Oiseau crape over satin to correspond, the crape is figured in green, the corsage is crossed drapery before and behind;

is cut very low, anu bordered by blond lace, which stands up round the bust. The sleeve is a single bouffant disposed in falling plaits. The skirt is triinmed round the border with a twisted rouleau of satin to correspond with the dress.

The hat is composed of blue velvet, trimmed on the inside of the brim next the face with gaze ribbons to correspond. A schako of white cock's feathers, and knot of ribbon adorn the crown.


From our London Correspondent.

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The Large and Minor Theatres are going on merrily with their Iloliday Harlequinades. I think I alluded in one of my former letters to Mr. CHARLES KEmble's bad health. Within these few days the accounts are more favourable. He is recovering, but pecessarily slowly. It is to be hoped that no other relapse shall

The last return of his disorder was occasioned by an injudicious desire on his part, and indeed on the part of those around bim, that he should be restored to his profession as soon as possible. Owing to his indisposition Lord F. LEVESON Gower has been kept in suspense regarding his tragedy of “ Catherine of Cleves.” In the mean time Mr. Surte has a tragic drama in preparation at Drury Lane, as a counterpoise to that of Lord Gower's. Talking of Lord Francis—do you know that one of our most popular translating dramatists is about to open a public-house, in order, as he says, that his wife may bave employment as well as himself! His ambition as a man and as an author thus seem to be upon a par; and it is therefore hardly to be regretted that he does not find the business of adaptation more profitable. Capt. Polhill, though anticipated by the lessee of the King's Theatre, it is said has not abandoned the idea of bringing out a piece founded on the story of Robert the Devil.

You are perhaps not aware that this fable was adapted to the stage in England as long ago as the reign of Henry the Seventh, when it was played at Chester, and it was revived again in 1529. The only things at present I remember worth communicating, in the theatrical line, as the bagmen say, are that, Martin's menagerie has embarked for Dublin, and the intrepid “ Coeur-de-Liongoes afterwards to Ducrow at Liverpool and Manchester; that Mrs. Love (Emma's dutiful mama) has departed this life; and that a Miss Chambers, the daugh. ter of Mr. Chambers, banker, bas made a most successful debut at the Brighton Theatre.

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which we now approached, was a modern building of large dimensions; and its white walls shone fair

through the honeysuckle and vines, which had been She looked on many a face with vacant eye, On many a token without knowirg wliat;

trained along its front. As Montague had some time She saw them watch her without asking why, And reck'd not who around her pillow sat.

before written to announce our intended visit, we found Not speechless though she spoke not; not a sigh Relieved her thoughts.

the vicar at the porch, awaiting our arrival. We entered the parlour, where I was immediately intro

duced to his lady and two lovely girls, and I watched I HAVE often felt, whilst contemplating beautiful works eagerly to ascertain which of them was Maria. I of art, that the enjoyment they afforded, principally arose soon perceived however, that neither bore that name, from their sympathizing with the state of my feelings and I looked with some anxiety to my friend, when at the time I beheld them, and that whenever this at length he enquired, “ where is Maria ?” The girls sympathy did not exist, whatever might be the merits seemed unconscious of any peculiarity in the question, of the artist, to me they were value-less, since they did but the vicar and his wife turned at the same moment not touch my heart.

towards us, and with a look which I shall never forFatigued with the turmoil, and pursuits of active get, a look that did not say “we blame you for the life, with what enjoyment bave I retreated to my question,” but rather “ we implore you, spare our feelpictures, to enhale peace and serenity, while luxuriating ings." My friend's inquiry was thus sadly, but effecover the beauties of my favourite sunset by Claude, tually answered. or when cheered by prosperity and the kindness of I attempted to relieve the embarrassment of the friends, how often have i rejoiced with the happy company, by expatiating on the beauty of the surroundgroupes of Ostade and of Teniers !

ing scenery, and each one of the party appeared to Historical compositions, whilst they are made ele- think it a duty to fill up every pause in tlie converrated in character, ought also more peculiarly to affect sation with alacrity ; but the question which had been the feelings. It is not for the mere gazer, that the put never seemed to be forgotten--and the night closed sculptor studies, or the artist paints. It is for him heavily and painfully over us—the string of sorrow had who can imbibe the sentiment of a pictoral production, been touched, and all the other chords vibrated to it who can transfer himself to the pictured scene, who for

alone. The ladies at their usual hour retired. I was a time can become one of the artist's creations, that soon after conducted to my chamber, having left the genius puts forth her design, and talent enriches the vicar and my friend in the summer parlour, after having canvass. Alas! how limited is the number of those, who agreed, to depart at an early hour in the morning. bave power to enter into the spirit of such works,—and Nothing occurred to interrupt my slumbers until midhow apt are mankind to condemn, when they cannot niglit, when, suddenly, I heard a female voice singing comprehend! An unhappy contrast—an incorrect line delightfully a melody with which I was familiar; bui, -an inexpressive detail, are anxiously pointed to, whilst so soon as the song had proceeded a few bars, the the general design and object of creative genius, is melody was changed for another-and again for a altogether forgotten. Yet pictures will be eloquent. third, leaving me to speculate on a circumstance, at Yes, and at times too they will find hearts that can once peculiar and incomprehensible. I now sunk respond to them.

into repose; nor did I awake, until it was announced More years have passed away than I would willing- to me, in the morning, that my friend waited for me. ly number, since, one fine summer evening, my friend I found him already mounted, and slowly and silently Montague and I rode towards the Vicarage of F- we commenced our journey. His appearance was in Devonshire. During the day, we had both been most melancholy. We proceeded for sometime, each delighted with the varied prospects, which abound in occupied with his own painful reflections, until at that rich and fertile portion of England. A country, length, unable to bear the suspense which the mystewealthy by her natural productions—the golden barvest rious circumstances attending our visit had occasioned, waving luxuriantly—the fruit on every side assuming I asked him, What of Maria? “ Maria,” said my friend its rosy or russet hue, and occasionally the modest with a firm voice, “ Maria is insane."--I could have river Ex peeping over her green banks, after hiding wept for him! Now, his every hope was blighted; herself for miles amid the foliage that adorn them, and the affection of years dimmed, absorbed, and lost all, all was loveliness it was a day of splendour and in the sorrows of that morning. No longer bad we of glory.

enjoyment from the fair face of nature-all seemed We had proceeded in silence for some time, proud gloomy and sunless; and we agreed to separate immeof England, and rejoicing orer her fertility and happi- diately, and to return each to his respective home, as ness, when my companion, who had spent his earlier the most suitable arrangement in the present state of years in this neighbourhood, directed my attention to our perturbed feelings. a group of trees, gently agitated by the evening breeze, and situated at a short distance before us. “ If,” said he, “ Maria be as lovely, as when last she and I parted Eight years had passed away, and poor Maria's beneath these elms, I think, Sir, you shall soon see the fate was a subject that frequently occupied my thoughts fairest girl in Devonshire." To a young man of only during the long interval. At length the death of a twenty years, this was rather an interesting announce- rich relation, induced me to visit London, and, during ment, and, as I knew my friend had been long an in- my stay, I entertained myself with the varied novelmate of the vicar's mansion, I could not for a moment ties, which, especially to the eye of a stranger, the doubt the correctness of his description. The vicarage, 1 metropolis of the world presents, in such a variety


my tour

WILLIAM Cecil, first Lord Burleigh, is no great favourite with a certain class of Scotchmen, for to bis influence has been, not unjustly, attributed the sufferings and the death of the lovely and unfortunate Mary, Queen of Scots. His early biographers, bowever, characterize him as “ the oldest, the gravest, and the greatest Statesman in Christendom;" and from the elaborate Memoir which has just appeared, from the pen of the Rev. Dr. Nares, wc are inclined to think that the opinion of his early biographers was not far from the truth. The history of the warm friend and adviser of Queen Elizabeth is indeed a subject replete with interest, but at present we do not mean to enter into it, our object being merely to present our readers with a few of those valuable precepts which we would bere counsel every honest man to ponder well, and to treasure up in his memory. His Lordship used to say, and say truly

“ That he built more upon an honest man's word than a bad man's bond.

That no man can be counted happy in this world who is not wise ; and he that is wise secth most of his own unhappiness.

“ That that nation was happy, where the king would take counsel, and follow it.

“ That the strength of a king is the love of his subjects.

“ That princes ought to be better than other men, because they command and rule all others.

“ That he can never be a good statesman, who respecteth not the public more tban his own private advantage.

“ That honour is the reward of virtue, but is gotten with labour, and held with danger.

“ That counsel, without resolution and execution, is but wind.

“ That division in counsel is dangerous, if not subversive of the state.

“ That attempts are most probable, being wisely plotted, secretly carried, and speedily executed.

“ That uuity is the strength, and division the ruin, of any body politic.

“ That the taking or the losing of an opportunity is the gaining or losing of great fortunes.

“ That war is a curse, and peace a blessing of God upon a nation.

“ That a realm gaipeth more by one year's peace than ten years'

“ My

of aspects. I saw two or three of the picture galleries, containing many masterpieces of both the ancient and the modern schools, and I concluded in the fine arts, by a visit to West's celebrated picture of Christ Healing the Sick. I felt deeply interested, as I beheld this astonishing production of human genius--the benignity and compassion, pourtrayed in the face of him “who was a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief"-the ardent feeling and intense expression in the countenance of the imploring mother -the vacant and meaningless stare of the apparently dying youth—and the confiding yet timid look of the poor cripple—all combined to give a reality to the scene before me, which my warmest imaginings could never have anticipated. My attention was suddenly withdrawn from the picture, by the opening of the door of the exhibition room, and the entrance of an elderly gentleman habited in black, attended by a young lady, who seemed rather unwilling to approach. She was at length gently led towards the picture—and I had then an opportunity of observing that she was a female of surpassing loveliness—but the rolling of her dark blue eyes, and the unmeaning expression that pervaded her beautiful features, as once or twice she looked around upon the company, evidently indicated an aberration of mind, which the address of her companion could not altogether conceal. I could now perceive that her attention was powerfully attracted by the picture—her eye fixed upon it with unearthly expression—soul and body were in a moment absorbed by the scene, when, after contemplating it thus for sometime, she burst into tears, and exclaimedfather! my father! where have I been—where am I now.”

Her father did not reply. He slowly led her from the room, and I assisted in procuring a carriage, which rapidly conveyed them from our sight.

The events that I had just witnessed, occurred in succession so quickly, that I confess I had reached my hotel, before I thought of the vicar of F. and his Maria. Then however, I felt assured that the gentleman with whom I had thus met could be no other than he, and the lovely female his daughter. I soon succeeded in ascertaining their place of residence, and next day I visited it. The vicar speedily recognized me-- having wept for him when he wept, I was now delighted to rejoice with him when he did rejoice. He stated that this was the happiest day of his life, for a gracious providence had just restored his long lost daughter to reason, nor could the circumstance be accounted for in any other way, than by the powerful impression produced by West's picture of Christ Healing the Sick.

I saw Maria several times afterwards, during my residence in London, and, so completely was she restored, that she even talked of her feelings, as reason gradually assumed its powers, whilst she viewed that loveliest of pictures"—that a sensation altogether indescribable overwhelmed her—she felt as one risen from the dead! The day before I left town, I had the honour of escorting Maria to the park, she was cheerful and happy. The rose bad already assumed its bloom upon her cheek, and the twin-cherries of her lips were again more brilliant than colour could imi. tate ; with her delighted father she returned to the vicarage of F-, enjoying these most invaluable blessings--perfect health of body, and perfect soundness of mind. Three months afterwards, I received a letter from Montague, intimating to me his marriage with Marie. Not long since I visited them—if there be happiness on earth they enjoy it. Montague has a charming residence, a lovely family, and a fair and a most affectionate wife. May I be permitted to add that I again renewed my acquaintance with his beautiful sister-in-law, and, if the smile of woman is ever to be trusted, kind reader, 1 may perhaps be soon able to announce to thee an alliance of not less importance to me, than was the union of Maria to her faithful and happy Montague.


“ That a realm cannot be rich that hath not an intercourse of trade and merchandize with other nations. That no man can get riches of himself, but by means of others.

That riches are God's blessing to such as use them well, and his curse to such as do not.

“ That all things in this world are valuable but in estimation ; for a little to bim that thinketh it enough is great riches.

“ That private gain is the perverting of justice, and the pestilence of a commonwealth."

The following axioms, addressed to Parents and Children, are equally valuable and excellent :

“ Bring thy children up in learning and obedience, yet without outward austerity. Praise them openly; reprehend them secretly. Give them good countenance and convenient maintenance, according to thy ability ; otherwise thy life will seem their bondage, and what portion thou shalt leave them at thy death, they will thank Death for it, not thee. And I am persuaded that the foolish cockering up of some parents, and the over stern carriage of others, causeth more men and women to take ill courses, than their own vicious inclinations. Marry thy daughters in time, lest they marry themselves. Suffer not thy sons to pass the Alps, for they sball learn nothing there but pride, blasphemy, and atheism. Neither, by my consent, shalt thou train them up in wars, for be that sets up his rest to live by that profession can hardly be an honest man, or a good Christian; besides it is a science no Jonger in request than in use; for soldiers, in peace, are like chimnies in summer.”

The account of the Statesman's death shews that he carried bis good advice into practice.

“ His death was not sudden, nor his pain in sickness great ; for he continued languishing two or three months, yet went abroad to take air in his coach all that time, retiring himself fron the court, sometimes to his house at Theobalds, and sometimes at London; his greatest infirmity appearing to be the weakness of his stomach. It was also thought his mind was troubled that he could not work a peace for his country, which he earnestly laboured and desired of any thing, seeking to leave it as he bad long kept it. For there was no other worldly thing to give him cause of grief; he had the favour of his prince, the love of his people, great offices, honours, livings, good children, and all blessings the world could afford him; yet he contemned the world, and desired nothing but death, either because he had lived long enough, and desired to be in heaven, or else because he could not live to do that good for his country he would—or rather, as is most likely, both; for he had seen and tasted so much both of the sweet and sour of the Really, Mr. Coller's quirks and flings at Critics and Quacks are well worthy of attention, and we would seriously recommend their perusal, if time can be spared for the perusal of any book whatever, to the herd who conceal their ignorance and imbecility under the dictatorial and editorial “ We;" and most particularly and especially to the illiterate knot of

Hacks that haunt the literary stews,
Where balf-pay authors write their own reviews !


world as made him weary to live, and knew so much of the joys of his salvation, wherein was bis onely comfort, as gave him cause to desire death, when it was God's good pleasure, as he often said, but how or whatsoever it was, the signe was infallibly good. He contemned this life, and expected the next; for there was no earthly thing wherein he took comfort, but in comtemplation, reading or hearing the Scriptures, Psalmes, and Praieres. About ten or twelve daies before he died, he grew weak, and so dryvenne to kepe his bed, complayning onely of a pain in his breast, which was thought to be the humor of the goute, (wherewith he was so long possessed,) falling to that place, without any ague, fever or sign of distemper or danger, and that paine not great nor continuall, but by fits, and so continued till within one night before bis death. At six of the clock at night, the phisitions finding no distemper in his pulse or bodie, but assuring his life, affirming it was impossible he should be hartsicke that had so good temper, and so perfect pulse and senses; yet at seven of the clock following, he fell into a convulsion like the shaking of an ague. Now, quoth he, the Lord be praised, the tyme is come. And calling his chil. dren, blessed them, and took his leave, commanding them to love and feare God, and love one another. He also praid for the queen, that she might live longe and die in peace. Then he called for Thomas Ballot, his steward, one of his executors, and delivered him his will, saieing, I have ever found thee true to me, and I nowe trust thee with all. Who like a godly honest man, praid his lordship, as he had lived religiously, so now to remember his Savioure Christ, by whose blood he was to have forgiveness of his sins; with manie the like speecbes used by his chaplaines, to whom he answered, it was done already, for he was assured God had forgiven his sins, and would save his soul.”



Satirical Poem, in Three Cantos, by T. W. Coller. London. 1831.

NEVER was there, since the days of Dr. Wolcot, a truer or a more opportune satire on the Critical Quackery every where prevalent, than the little work now before us. In good sooth, we owe the author a thousand thanks, for, by merely quoting his stanzas, we will be saved a world of trouble in conveying to our readers the sentiments that we have long entertained of the Zoili of the present day. The “ Battle of Oblivion" is as piquant in its conception, as it is novel in its execution-smart and pungent, pointed and pitiless. The author, with a flourish almost equal to Tasso's famous “rauco suon,” that made the wide caverns of hell tremble,

E l' aer cieco a quel rumor rimbomba, immediately conducts the reader into the subterranean court of Oblivion, who, environed hy Terror, Dismay, Distress, Death and spleen, thunders forth a diatribe against the “ March of Intel. lect," and the motley herd of puffers and nicknamed critics above ground, who endeavour to rob her of her rights by forcing into notoriety a swarm of stupid scribblers and prosy authors. To this succeeds the combat between Oblivion and Quackery, which though perhaps in some measure heavy in detail, is replete with many highly amusing incidents, and with much poignant satire.As a picture of the Critical Quackery of the age, what can be more true and graphic than the following stanzas ?

But shall the quacks—the playthings of a day-
Who, swan-like, float in literary spray;
Shall crawling critics--underlings of sense
Who damn for spite, and eulogise for pence,
Shall these usurp the place of bonest worth,

And fix an immortality on earth ? It certainly is to be hoped not. But still the reptiles are busy in their vocation every day and every night. And again, what can he more justly descriptive of such critics' sentiments than the following stanzas ? Let the galled jades wince !

Wbat though the Muse's wreath round Science twine,
And fiery genius flash through every line?
The Critic-alias advertising sage-
Ne'er reads the work, but scans the title page,-
Runs o'er bis base“ Retainer Book,” to find
The author's talents, tact, and strength of mind;
Then dashes off the quaint, the kingly “ We,"

And measures out his fustian by his fee! Bravo! Mr. Coller ; Collar again these “ hireling prostitutes of pence and praise;" down with quackery—every honest man will cry you bravo ! for doing so. Well, here goes a lounder at the “ mental Jack-o'-lanthorns of the State," as our author designates the fashionable novel writers of the day :

Like B—'s muse, (poor thing! with all her sins,
She, struggling, died in child-bed of her twins,)
A dress, a glittering smile, or masquerade,
Or slanderous whisper, form their stock in trade;
Round courts they cringe, but, after jostling in,
Their eyes can pierce no farther than the skin,
To pick the little odds and ends of strife,
And call it Sketching Fashionable Life!

Wake, lady, wake!
Dear heart, awake,

From slumbers light,
For neath thy bower, at this still hour,

In barness bright,
Lingers thine own true paramour

And chosen knight.
Wake, lady, wake!
Wake, lady, wake.
For thy lov'd sake,

Each trembling star
Smiles from on high, with its clear eye ;

While, nobler far,
Yon silvery shield lights earth and sky,

How good they are !
Wake, lady, wake!
Rise, lady, rise!
Not star-6lled skies

I worship now.
A fairer sbrine, I trust, is mine

For loyal vow.
Oh, that the loving stars would shine

That light thy brow!
Rise, lady, rise!
Rise, lady, rise !
Ere war's rude cries

Fright land and sea :
To-morrow's light sees mail-sheathed knight,

Even hapless me,
Careering through the bloody fight,

A far froin thee.
Rise, lady, risc !
Mute, lady, mute!
I have no lute,

Nor rebeck small,
To soothe thine ear with lay sincere

Or madrigal:
With helm on head, and hand on spear,

On thee I call,
Mute, lady, mute!
Mute, lady, mute
To love's fond suit!

I'll not complain,
Since underneath thy balmy breath

I may remain
One brief hour more, ere I seek death

On battle plain!
Mute, lady, mute!
Sleep, lady, sleep,
While watch I keep,

Till dawn of day;
But o'er the wold, now morning cold

Shines icy grey ;
While the plain gleams with steel and gold,

And chargers neigh!
Sleep, lady, sleep!
Sleep, lady, sleep!
Nor wake to weep,

For heart-struck me.
These trumpets knell my last farewell,

To love and thee;
When next they sound, will be to tell

I died for thee!
Sleep, lady, sleep!

NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS The hint from a “ Lady in Blytheswood Square," that her bour of breakfast is nine, not twelve, will be attended to. Owing to the holiday laziness of the Runners about the New Year, our Journal has not been so regularly delivered as it will be in suture.

In order to insure this Publication being on the Breakfast Table every morning, it is requested that intending Subscribers will leave their names and addresses at the Publisher's.

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