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Jenkins.-Yes-having sat so long yesterday with my legs under his mahogany, the deuce take me if I could refuse him. 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 him 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 have 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 him 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.]

IAN.

CHOLERA MORBUS.

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 no appre

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 health. This was told me by the physician who administered the remedy. Our physician had 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 immediately abandoned. The Modern Athenians are in horror at the prospect of the approach of the malady. We trust the citizens of Glasgow have better sense than follow their example, and will bravely look the monster in the face. We verily believe that the disease which now threaten us, is, when once understood, not half so terrible as the typhus fever which is now raging among us.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

SONG,

THE SIGH OF LOVE.

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 fond, 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,
And Love the risen morn.

L.

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 " Demophile" for the enclosure he sends us. The "Lectures" will be examined, and, if we can make any use of them, we shall do so.

"Nice Pickings" will have a place as soon as we have room.

If " NN." 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.

GLASGOW GOSSIP.

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 pestilential 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 building, 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 hints 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 affixed 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 Mac Treddles or MacRump could only suggest ideas of vulgarity. We would therefore counsel the ladies of the Novi Homines always to stick to the number, especially to No. 1 if possible.

LONDON THEATRICALS.

From our London Correspondent.

THE Large and Minor Theatres are going on merrily with their Holiday 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 necessarily slowly. It is to be hoped that no other relapse shall occur. The last return of his disorder was occasioned by an injudicious desire on his part, and indeed on the part of those around him, 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. SURLE 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 have 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-Lion" goes afterwards to Ducrow at Liverpool and Manchester; that Mrs. Love (Emma's dutiful mama) has departed this life; and that a Miss Chambers, the daughter of Mr. Chambers, banker, has made a most successful debut at the Brighton Theatre.

FOREIGN THEATRICAL AND MUSICAL
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. Sinclair 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.

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 the 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 considers them as the popular reflection of the ancient Celtic traditions, 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. in 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.

FEMALE FASHIONS FOR JANUARY.

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; it is cut very low, and bordered by blond lace, which stands up round the bust. The sleeve is a single bouffant disposed in falling plaits. The skirt is trimmed 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.

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THE DAY,

A MORNING JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, FINE ARTS, FASHION, &c.

VELUTI IN SPECULO.

GLASGOW, FRIDAY, JANUARY 6, 1832.

THE POWER OF PAINTING.

She looked on many a face with vacant eye,
On many a token without knowing what;
She saw them watch her without asking why,
And reck'd not who around her pillow sat.
Not speechless though she spoke not; not a sigh
Relieved her thoughts.

BYRON.

I HAVE often felt, whilst contemplating beautiful works of art, that the enjoyment they afforded, principally arose from their sympathizing with the state of my feelings at the time I beheld them, and that whenever this sympathy did not exist, whatever might be the merits of the artist, to me they were value-less, since they did not touch my heart.

Fatigued with the turmoil, and pursuits of active life, with what enjoyment have I retreated to my pictures, to enhale peace and serenity, while luxuriating over the beauties of my favourite sunset by Claude,— or when cheered by prosperity and the kindness of friends, how often have I rejoiced with the happy groupes of Ostade and of Teniers!

Historical compositions, whilst they are made elevated in character, ought also more peculiarly to affect the feelings. It is not for the mere gazer, that the sculptor studies, or the artist paints. It is for him who can imbibe the sentiment of a pictoral production, who can transfer himself to the pictured scene, who for a time can become one of the artist's creations, that genius puts forth her design, and talent enriches the canvass. Alas! how limited is the number of those, who have power to enter into the spirit of such works,-and how apt are mankind to condemn, when they cannot comprehend! An unhappy contrast-an incorrect line -an inexpressive detail, are anxiously pointed to, whilst the general design and object of creative genius, is altogether forgotten. Yet pictures will be eloquent. Yes, and at times too they will find hearts that can respond to them.

More years have passed away than I would willingly number, since, one fine summer evening, my friend Montague and I rode towards the Vicarage of F—— in Devonshire. During the day, we had both been delighted with the varied prospects, which abound in that rich and fertile portion of England. A country, wealthy by her natural productions-the golden barvest waving luxuriantly-the fruit on every side assuming its rosy or russet hue, and occasionally the modest river Ex peeping over her green banks, after hiding herself for miles amid the foliage that adorn them,— all, all was loveliness,-it was a day of splendour and of glory.

We had proceeded in silence for some time, proud of England, and rejoicing over her fertility and happiness, when my companion, who had spent his earlier years in this neighbourhood, directed my attention to 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 beneath these elms, I think, Sir, you shall soon see the fairest girl in Devonshire." To a young man of only twenty years, this was rather an interesting announcement, and, as I knew my friend had been long an inmate of the vicar's mansion, I could not for a moment doubt the correctness of his description. The vicarage,

We

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 trained along its front. As Montague had some time before written to announce our intended visit, we found the vicar at the porch, awaiting our arrival. entered the parlour, where I was immediately introduced to his lady and two lovely girls, and I watched eagerly to ascertain which of them was Maria. I soon perceived however, that neither bore that name,; and I looked with some anxiety to my friend, when at length he enquired, "where is Maria?" The girls seemed unconscious of any peculiarity in the question, but the vicar and his wife turned at the same moment towards us, and with a look which I shall never forget, a look that did not say "we blame you for the question," but rather "we implore you, spare our feelings." My friend's inquiry was thus sadly, but effectually answered.

I attempted to relieve the embarrassment of the company, by expatiating on the beauty of the surrounding scenery, and each one of the party appeared to think it a duty to fill up every pause in the conversation with alacrity; but the question which had been put never seemed to be forgotten-and the night closed heavily and painfully over us-the string of sorrow had been touched, and all the other chords vibrated to it alone. The ladies at their usual hour retired. I was soon after conducted to my chamber, having left the vicar and my friend in the summer parlour, after having agreed, to depart at an early hour in the morning. Nothing occurred to interrupt my slumbers until midnight, when, suddenly, I heard a female voice singing delightfully a melody with which I was familiar; but, so soon as the song had proceeded a few bars, the melody was changed for another-and again for a third, leaving me to speculate on a circumstance, at once peculiar and incomprehensible. I now sunk into repose; nor did I awake, until it was announced to me, in the morning, that my friend waited for me. I found him already mounted, and slowly and silently we commenced our journey. His appearance was most melancholy. We proceeded for sometime, each occupied with his own painful reflections, until at length, unable to bear the suspense which the mysterious circumstances attending our visit had occasioned, I asked him, What of Maria? "Maria," said my friend with a firm voice, "Maria is insane."-I could have wept for him! Now, his every hope was blighted; and the affection of years dimmed, absorbed, and lost in the sorrows of that morning. No longer had we enjoyment from the fair face of nature-all seemed gloomy and sunless; and we agreed to separate immediately, and to return each to his respective home, as the most suitable arrangement in the present state of our perturbed feelings.

Eight years had passed away, and poor Maria's fate was a subject that frequently occupied my thoughts during the long interval. At length the death of a rich relation, induced me to visit London, and, during my stay, I entertained myself with the varied novelties, which, especially to the eye of a stranger, the metropolis of the world presents, in such a variety

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 my tour 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 exclaimed-" My father! father! where have I been-where am I my 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 had already assumed its bloom upon her cheek, and the twin-cherries of her lips were again more brilliant than colour could imitate; 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 Maria. 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 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, I 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.

LORD BURLEIGH,

WILLIAM CECIL, first Lord Burleigh, is no great favourite with a certain class of Scotchmen, for to his influence has been, not unjustly, attributed the sufferings and the death of the lovely and unfortunate Mary, Queen of Scots. His early biographers, however, 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, we 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 here 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 seeth 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 than 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 unity 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 gaineth more by one year's peace than ten years'

war.

"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 him 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 shall learn nothing there but pride, blasphemy, and atheism. Neither, by my consent, shalt thou train them up in wars, for he 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 longer in request than in use; for soldiers, in peace, are like chimnies in summer.'

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The account of the Statesman's death shews that he carried his 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 from 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 had 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

world as made him weary to live, and knew so much of the joys of his salvation, wherein was his 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 his 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 children, 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 speeches 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."

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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 by Terror, Dismay, Distress, Death and spleen, thunders forth a diatribe against the "March of Intellect," 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 honest 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 be more justly descriptive of such critics' sentiments than the following stanzas? Let the galled jades wince!

What 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 his 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!

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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!

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 half-pay authors write their own reviews!

ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE SERENADE.

Wake, lady, wake!
Dear heart, awake,
From slumbers light,

For neath thy bower, at this still hour,
In harness 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!

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THE hint from a "Lady in Blytheswood Square," that her hour 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 fu

ture.

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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