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37. A little of what is hurtful, is better than too much of what is agreeable.

38. The fool pleases himself.

39. He who multiplies speech errs.

40. Those who are contented with little are rich.

41. The wise man disgraced, is better than the fool with a pension.

42. Hear and learn ; keep silence and be safe.

43. In haste there will be repentance, but in deliberation safety.

44. There are two sorts of men-those who get and are not satisfied, and those who seek and don't find.


To have the subjects prosperous, is more profitable than a multitude of troops.

46. Patience is the key of gladness, but bastiness is the key of repentance.

47. There is no brother to kings, no quietness to envious men, and no favour to liars.


JEREMY Bentham is no more! In him the world has lost the great teacher and patriarch of his time; the man who of all men who were living on the day of his death, has exercised and is exercising over the fortunes of mankind the widest and most durable influence; and who is even now in some sort governing the world, although not yet recognized and looked up to as their leader by those who are daily obeying the impulse which he gave; no unusual fate of the real guides and rulers of mankind, especially in these latter days.

Had such a man died at an earlier period of his life of usefulness, when much of his task yet remained for him to perform, and many years of possible existence to perform it in, there would have been room for sorrow and lamentation. It is one of the evils of the untimely death of a great man, that it mixes other feelings with those with which alone the thought of a departed sage or hero ought to be associated—joy and pride that our nature bas been found capable of again producing such a man, and affectionate gratitude for the good which we and our posterity have received from him. Such feelings only can find a fitting place near the tomb of Jeremy Bentham; nor know we, since all must die, what happier or more glorious end could have been desired for him, than to die just now, after living such a life. He has died full of years, and (so far as regards all minds throughout the world, which are yet fitted for appreciating him) of honours. He has lived to see many of the objects of his life in a train of accomplishment, and the realization of the remainder rendered certain at no remote period. He has achieved the hardest, but the noblest of problems, that of a well-directed and victorious existence, and has now finished his work and lain down to rest.

This is not the time for a complete estimate of the results of his labours. He is not like one of those who go to their grave, and are no more thought of. The value of such a life to mankind, which is even now insensibly making itself acknowledged, will be felt more and more, as men shall become more capable of knowing the hand which guide them. Nor need we fear any lack of opportunities for commemorating what philosophy owes to him, when all which has been doing for ten years in English politics and legislation, and all which shall be done for twice ten more, proclaims and will proclaim his name and merits in no inaudible voice, to all who can trace the influence of opinion upon events, and of a great mind upon opinion. These things, however, are worthy of notice at the present hour, chiefly as they conduce to a due appreciation of his life ; and under this aspect also, as under so many others, will they continue value, not for to-day or tomorrow only, (but so far as eternity can belong to any thing human) for ever.

Mr. Bentham was the son of Mr. Jeremiah Bentham, and was born at a residence of his father, adjacent to Aldgate church. He was remarkably precocious as a child, and soon after he was three years of age he read Rapin's History of England as an amusement. At seven years of age he read Telemaque in French. At eight he played the violin, an instrument on which, at a subsequent period of his life, he became remarkably proficient. He was very distinguished at Westminster School, and at thirteen years of age he entered the Univerity of Oxford.

Many incidents of his early life mark the extent of his connection with the last century. He was accustomed to relate with great pleasure, that when he was a boy, he was taken to drink tea with Hogarth, whose works he greatly admired. He was one of the class who attended the lectures of Sir William Blackstone, when they were delivered at Oxford, and, young as the mind of Bentham was, it even then revolted at the reasoning of the professor. As a law student, Bentham took notes of the speeches of

Mansfield; and he was a member of the club, ruled by Johnson, whom he never liked, considering him to be a gloomy misanthropist.

He entered upon his profession with a prospect, amounting almost to a certainty, of the highest success. His father's practice and influence as a solicitor was considerable, and his (the son's) draughts of bills in equity were at once distinguished for their superior execution. In one of his pamphlets (Indications respecting Lord Eldon,) Bentham thus notices the circumstances which led to his retirement from the bar.

“ By the command of a father, I entered into the profession, and, in the year, 1772, or thereabouts, was called to the bar. Not long after, having drawn a bill in equity, I had to defend it against exceptions before a Master in Chancery. We shall have to attend on such a day,' said the solicitor to me, naming a day a week or so distant, warrants for our attendance will be taken out for two intervening days; but it is not customary to attend before the third.' What I learnt afterward was that though no attendance more than one was ever bestowed, three were on every occasion regularly charged for ; for each of the two falsely pretended attendances, the client being by the solicitor charged with a fee for himself, as also with a fee of 6s. 8d. paid by him to the Master : the consequence was—that, for every attendance, the Master, instead of 6s. 8d. received £1,; and that, even if inclined, no solicitor durst omit taking out the three warrants instead of one, for fear of the not-to-be-hazarded displeasure of that subordinate judge and his superiors. True it is, the solicitor is not under any obligation thus to charge his client for work not done. He is, however, sure of indemnity in doing so: it is accordingly done of course.

These things, and others of the same complexion, in such immense abundance, determined me to quit the profession; and, as soon as I could obtain my father's permission, I did so : I found it more to my taste to endeavour, as I have been doing ever since, to put an end to them, and to profit by them."

In the year 1825 he went over to France for the benefit of his health, and was received with all the respect and enthusiasm which the French people always pay to men of superior mind. His jurisprudential works had had a very considerable circulation in France, and have obtained a very considerable influence over the minds of the professors, although they are, probably, more than English lawyers, under the influence of the vague generali ties which it was the tendency of his writings to expel. On one occasion, whilst he was in Paris, he casually visited one of the supreme courts. He was known on his entrance, when the whole body of the advocates rose and paid him the highest marks of respect, and the court invited him to the seat of honour.

He corresponded with nearly all the most able statesmen of his time. We understand that he has left all his correspondence, and a considerable portion of his auto-biography, for publication, to Dr. Bowring, his chief executor, to whom he also committed the whole of his manuscripts, with the charge of giving to the world a complete edition of all his works, including those which are yet in manuscript.

Few persons have ever lived whose lot in life, viewed on the whole, can be considered more enviable than that of Mr. Bentham. During a life protracted far beyond the ordinary length, he enjoyed, almost without interruption, perfect bodily health. In easy circumstances, he was able to devote his whole time and energies to the pursuits of his choice, those which exercised his highest faculties, moral and intellectual, and supplied him with the richest fund of delightful excitement. His retired habits saved him from personal contact with any but those who sought his acquaintance because they valued it. Few men have had more enthusiastic admirers; and if the hack writers of his day, and some who ought to have known better, often spoke of him with ridicule and contempt, he never read them, and therefore they never disturbed his tranquillity. Along with his passion for abstruser studies, and the lively interest which he felt in public events, he retained to the last a childlike freshness and excitability, which enabled him to derive pleasure from the minutest trifles, and gave to his old age the playfulness, lightheartedness, and keen relish of life, so seldom found except in early youth. In his intercourse with his friends he was remarkable for gaiety and easy pleasantry; it was his season of relaxation; and in conversing he seldom touched upon the great subjects of his intellectual exertions.

His principal works are his “ Introduction to the Principles of Morals and Legislation ;” the “ Fragment on Government,” already referred to; the “ Rationale of Judicial Evidence,” in five volumes, including a very full examination of the procedure of the English courts; “the Book of Fallacies;" the “ Plan of a Judicial Establishment,” one of his most finished productions, printed in 1792, but never regularly published; his “ Defence of Usury;" “ Panopticon," an admirable work on prison discipline;' and many others; besides the excellent treatises edited in French by M. Dumont, from the above works and various unpublished manuscripts, and containing all his most important doctrines, well stated and illustrated, though with little piquant criticism on existing institutions with which they were always interspersed in his own writings.

It being part of the will of the late Mr. Bentham, that his body should be devoted to the purpose of improving the science of anatomy. So determined was he on this point, and so resolved to

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secure its execution, that he expressly warned the three friends to whom he intrusted this delicate matter of the difficulties they would have to encounter, and then asked them if they would undertake the task? They pledged themselves to see his intentions carried into effect, and the result was, that on Saturday the body of this philosopher was laid on the table of the anatomical school, Webb Street, Borough. His friends—those who knew him best, and had enjoyed most happy hours with him—might not have been displeased, though affected, by the sight. He looked calm and serene, presenting, as Dr. Southwood Smith observed, an appearance that might reconcile those who have the most horror of a dead body to the aspect of death. It was one of the first

“ Dark days of nothingness,

The last of danger and distress
Before decay's effacing fingers

Have swept the lines were beauty lingers.” Manly and venerable beauty in this case, but enough of it remained to make the object soothing to behold. Taken, indeed, in conjunction with the fact that Mr. Bentham devoted his life to the improvement of mankind, and gave up his body to the same benevolent end, there was much in the appearance, combined with the reflection, to excite admiration. In compliance with Mr. Bentham's wish, Dr. Southwood Smith delivered a lecture over the body on the usefulness of anatomical knowledge to the community. On this occasion no demonstration of any of the parts were given. Dissection was not actually begun—even the brain had not been removed; and Mr. Bentham was as is in life, except that the living spirit had departed. Dr. Southwood Smith profited by the occasion to pronounce a spirited eulogium on Mr. Bentham, praising his integrity, his benevolence, his cheerfulness, and, above all, his devotion to the improvement of jurisprudence. Dr. Smith then adverted to the source of those prejudices which the last act of Mr. Bentham is so well calculated to remove, and ascribed them chiefly to the aversion men have to behold a corpse, particularly the corpse of a friend. The best remedy, he seemed to think, was to induce them for once steadily to look on the face of a dead friend, when all that was turbid in the passion had fled, and there was beauty greater than the sculptor's art could achieve. A numerous and enlightened audience testified, by their deep silence, their just appreciation of the lecturer's appropriate address. Dr. Smith has since begun his demonstrations on the body, making it precisely as his friend wished--useful for instruction.

from bursting every bond that attached me to society. Despair, like grief, bas its distinct gradations.

“ Having crossed a small court shaded by a few trees of sad and sombre foliage, I entered a vast apartment almost filled by an im. mense horse-shoe table. At first, I supposed it to be the ball in which the question is administered, and with a shudder I looked round for the instruments of torture. .... I was politely to be seated.

“ What a picture was before me. Pain-stupidity—laughter without gaiety-weeping without tears—one single face of pity, that of Mad. Blanche; and, all this, agglomerated, as it were, in a space scarcely ten feet square. .....

. . My brain turned-I thought I was dreaming ;-I wanted to know, yet feared to learn. “I had time for observation.

The weakness of my body seemed to impart energy to my soul. A little man, round, red, and pimpled, was seated in an arm-chair, looking at me with stupid eyes, and laughing at my cadaverous complexion. How dared he laugh? I had twice turned away from this face so stupidly ironical, so igrobly sardonic; yet still he ogled me with his odious grin. I thought it a gross insult, and my fingers of iron were already hovering around his cheek, when a soft and compassionate voice bade me be seated.

The voice of a woman has alone power to calm the workings of my excited soul ;-I obeyed, my ire evaporated, and I listened with tolerable patience to the conclusion of a sonata played on the piano forte by a female boarder about twenty years of age.

Mad. B_ was mad, as I afterwards learned, when not playing upon the piano forte.

" But the Procureur du Roi came not, and there was a profound silence in the next room, where, as I supposed, I should be subjected to a painful trial.

“«Show the gentleman to his room,' said the benevolent fairy to a servant, who had not left my side since my entrance. He led the way I followed like an automaton. After threading two or three corridors, and ascending as many staircases, I was forcibly thrust into a room whose window was garnished with iron bars and lattice-work of the same metal. A sorry bed, two chairs, and a strait-waistcoat, composed the furniture of my apartment.

“My conductor had been joined by one of his comrades. What are you doing? What do you want?' I said. We are to wait upon you, Sir.'-'I want nothing ; leave me.'-'We are ordered not to leave you, Sir.'-Will the Procureur du Roi soon come?'

- It will not be long-first, Sir.'-'He will do well to make haste if he wishes to examine me, for I am losing my strength.'

“I went to bed only half undressed. If you please, Sir, we bave barley-water in that jug.'-'Why barley-water? --Dr. Blancbe ordered it.'- Where am I then :'-At Dr. Blanche's.'

“ The fillet fell from my eyes. I thought myself a conspirator, and now discovered that I was only a madman."

DR. BLANCHE, HIS PATIENTS, AND HIS HOUSE. “ The Doctor came in. I courageously prepared myself for the pump-bath; for his language, far from consoling me, froze the little blood that remained in my body. He talked to me of murder, assassination, incendiarism. These were the words fixed upon. I thought him mad, and I pitied bim-I, whom none seemed to pity!

“ All night, a man bellowed in the next room. It was a mani. ac demanding his liberty. As for me, I contemplated in sullen despair, the walls and bars by which I was surrounded. I had a thousand lives for suffering, but not a single hand to strike with.


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The following strange paper is from the pen of M. Arago, and was written, as he bimself informs us, whilst he was labouring under aberration of miod. It purports to be an account of the madhouse kept at Paris by Dr. Blanche, und in which the author was confined during his malady.

" The history of a madhouse, written by a madman, must be a curious production. I was mad when I wrote these pages. On the return of reason, I chose to read them. Every thing they contain is so accurately exact, that I thought it best to make no alteration in them; they form a likeness which I should spoil by retouching."

THE AUTHOR'S ARREST. “ I was arrested at six o'clock in the evening by four robust fellows, who seized me behind. I attempted resistance I was powerless. In acute pain and almost dying, what could I do? In the King's name !'—could I withstand such authority as this? I was not delirious, and yet I tried to resist; but, with a couple of jerks, I found myself thrown into a coach which was waiting to receive me.

" The drive was long. The men who accompanied me, talked of the beauty of the city, the coolness of the night, and if I but sighed, advised me to call forth my courage and show that I was a

Who could fancy lessons of courage given by a mouchard ?* Does a mouchard ever come in contact with a man, except to arrest him from behind ?

“Our progress was slow; and my heart, though horribly tortured by violent passion, had time to become full with another feeling, that of indignation. To be collared by a mouchard! What an outrage! During the disturbances, I had met with a similar affront. Tho mouchard, without moral existence, is the mere machine of power ;-a base coward, he is the agent of force. No, I am wrong: a mouchard is the most courageous of men, for he braves that which all other men dread the most-public contempt.

“ We came at length to our journey's end. I remember the minutest circumstances of those heavy and eternal hours which tortured me so horribly. We have so many fibres alive to pain and grief! I thought I was entering the house of a judge of instruction, or a Procureur du Roi. I had been led to suppose so on the road, and had been told of daggers, and incendiarism, and murder. I had listened to my conductors like a man who regrets not having done sufficient to justify the rigour inflicted upon him; and when I appealed to my confused recollections, I was almost furious at having possessed cominand enough over myself to refrain


“ Dr. Blanche returned. His urgings of reason quieted the effervescence of my ideas, and I thought no more of self-destruction. Wrapped in a brown cloak, a young man of five and twenty stood by my side, in deep and sad meditation. The fire of two pistols had been unable to destroy him. Both balls bad traversed bis upper jaw, and found an outlet between bis eyes. Some beings are cruelly persecuted by fate! This unbappy man is still alive.

“ Another well-dressed individual, with a smiling countenance, and gracious expression, seated himself next me, and politely inquired after my health. I know not what I answered; but he took a violin, and, with remarkable vigour and precision, played variations upon a well-known air. I think I paid him some com. pliments. • Oh! Oh!' replied he, “I bave many other talents ! I perfectly recollect being Gengis-Khan, Mahomet and Napoleon. Pray, Sir, do you remember what you have been? when the brain leaves the skull to pass into another .... Mad. Blanche told him to be silent, and he obeyed, laughing.

“ I had leave to walk in the court and garden. Here, I saw and studied; and I can describe, because I am in full possession of my reason.

“ On the summit of Montemartre, upon a billock, surmounted by the gigantic sails of several windmills, stands a large irregular edifice, whose white front, of rather elegant architecture, attracts the looks of the curious. A ground floor, a first and second story, of fourteen windows each, some with iron bars, others with simple trellis-work, form the front of the mansion. Two small wings, the left of which is inhabited by the Doctor and his family, seein to have been added to the building subsequently to its construction; there is a little verdure between the house and iron-railings in front, which space is termed the court.

“ At the back of the house are, also, two stories opening upon an English garden, small, but pretty. Sick, idiots and madmen, walk in it at their pleasure. They whose madness is dangerous, are separated from the others by bigh wooden palissades, which they

* A mouchard is a secret spy of the French Police, generally a condemned thief, let loose upon the community, by the perfidious policy of the Prefect of Police, to pry into the secrets of families, and detect crime after seducing others to its commission,

Can neither pull down, nor climb over. On one side is pain, on the other despair ;-here, moral suffering, in the excess of its poignancy —there, physical pain, and mental aflliction, in their most lamentable form ;- bitter tears are shed in the one enclosure—the other displays scenes of a more sombre, and more corrosive kind. I should prefer the affliction which annihilates reason!”


at once.

“ Each of the rooms I visited, recall beart-rending dramas. In tbis cell was, and is still confined, a poble Portuguese, whose brother, only twelve years of age, was hanged at Coimbra, as the accomplice of a plan to overthrow the existing form of government. • Wbat shall we do with this child ?' said the Chief Judge to a woman, he is only twelve years old.'-- Twelve years old!' she replied, "so much the better? Let him be hanged forth with, he will sup with angels. And let his brother, a little older, witness the execution from the foot of the scaffold.' The woman who thus commanded the cold blooded murder of a child, was the mother of Don Miguel. The execution took place—and the brother, wbo witnessed this borrid spectacle, lost his senses. The care and ability of Dr. Blanche restored him to health ; but, still pursued by the phantom of his brother's strangled corpse, he became mad a second time."

“ Here, again, is a room connected with historical associations. Surrounded by these bare walls, a heroic female, whom joy had deprived of her senses, spent many a tedious day-many a long, interminably long night. Here, upon this very pallet, did the lovely and noble Mad. Lavallette shed many bitter tears of imaginary woe. Sir Robert Wilson, Bruce and Hutchinson, had rescued her husband from the royal murderer's power. Glory to them ! The Count has since paid bis last tribute to nature, not to kiogly tyranny—and Mad. Lavallette owes to Dr. Blanche an almost miraculous cure.”

THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD. We lately had the pleasure of noticing the visit of the Ettrick Shepherd to London, and the hopes which he entertained of mending his fortune, by a republication of his works.

We have now the pain of saying, that all his hopes are frustrated, by the bankruptcy of Mr. Cochrane, his bookseller, and that, in consequence, he is overwhelmed with difficulties, such as he could neither foresee, nor prevent. To relieve him from these, is the object of his friends; and, that it may be done with due delicacy, it is proposed to publish an edition of his chief poem, “ The Queen's Wake,” by subscription; and Mr. Murray, Albemarle Street, and Mr. Duncan, Paternoster Row, have generously undertaken to conduct the impression, so that the whole profits shall go to the aid of the poet

The matter will not, we fear, be mended, unless the work commences with a good list of subscribers, and, as the exigency of the case is great, it is hoped that the price of the volume, one guinea, will be paid on subscription, so that the Ettrick Shepherd may be released from the pressure of immediate distress. We earnestly entreat our friends to give the suffering poet all the help they can : the miseries which (men of genius, and the followers of the muse in particular, have to sustain, are many, and severe; and, it is enough, perhaps, to have starved Otway, Butler, Burns, and Bloomfield, without adding James Hogg to the number. We call on the titled and the wealthy, to think of the poet of Ettrick now; we call on London, on its citizens, its knights, its lords, its earls, nay, on its princes—on all, in short, who courted the company of the poet, and enjoyed his conversation, and the chaunting of his songs and ballads, to come forward with their guineas at this moment of crushing distress, and prove that their love of genius was real and not affected. It gives us sincere pleasure to add, that one of the first names on the as yet short list of subscribers is that of Samuel Rogers, and another, that of the Lord Chancellor Brougham.



COST OF PUBLISHING IN GERMANY. This is stated, by a bookseller of Berlin, to be composed of the undermentioned items; in so far as regards a work of twenty sheets printed to the extent of one thousand copies : Prioting,

£13 10 0 Paper,

16 10 0 Engraving or other minor expenses,

10 0 0 Manuscript from 15 to

70 0 0 Trade allowances,

27 10 0 Guarantee and correction of the press, supervision, &c. wbere a thousand copies are sold,

25 0 0 Discount and profit to the publisher,

53 10 0

The following lively sketch of the fair sex of the Peninsula is taken from Contarini Fleming, a singular work just published, and attributed to young D'Israeli :

“ The Spanish women are very interesting. What we associate with the idea of female beauty, is not perhaps very common in this country. There are seldom those seraphic countenances which strike you dumb, or blind, but faces, in abundance, which will never pass without commanding admiration. Their charms consist in their sensibility. Each incident, every person, every word, touches the fancy of a Spanish lady, and her expressive features are constantly confuting the creed of the Mosleim. But, there is nothing quick, harsh, or forced about her. She is extremely unaffected, and not at all French. Her eyes gleam rather than sparkle, sbe speaks with vivacity, but in sweet tones, and there is in all her carriage, particularly when she walks, certain dignified grace, which never deserts her, and which is very remarkable.”

“ The general female dress in Spain is of black silk, called a basquina, and a black silk shawl, with wbich they usually enve. lope their heads, called a mantilla. As they walk along in this costume in an evening, with their soft dark eyes dangerously conspicuous, you willingly believe in their universal charms. They are remarkable for the beauty of their hair. Of this, they are very proud, and, indeed, its luxuriance is only equalled by the attention which they lavish on its culture. I have seen a young girl of fourteen, whose hair reached her feet, and was as glossy as the curl of a Contessa. All day long, even the lowest order, are brushing, curling and arranging it. A fruit-woman has her hair dress. ed with as much care as the duchess of Ossuna.

In the summer, they do not wear their mantilla over their heads, but show their combs, wbich are of very great size. The fashion of these combs varies constantly. Every two or three months, you may observe a new form. It is the part of the costume, of which a Spanish woman is most proud. The moment that a new comb appears, even the servant wench will run to the melter's with her old one, and thus, with the cost of a dollar or two, appear the next holiday in the newest style. These combs are worn at the back of the head. They are of tortoise-shell, and with the very fashionable, they are white. I sat next to a lady of high distinction at a bull-fight at Seville. She was the daughter-in-law of the Captain-General of the province, and the most beautiful Spaniard I ever met. Her comb was white, and she wore a mantilla of blonde, without doubt, extremely valuable; for it was very dirty. The effect, however, was charming. Her hair was glossy black, ber eyes like an antelope's, and all her other features deliciously soft. She was further adorned, which is rare in Spain, with a rosy cheek; for in Spain our heroines are rather sallow. But they counteract this slight defect by never appearing until twilight, which calls them from their bowers, fresh, though languid, from the late siesta.”

“ The only fault of the Spanish beauty is, that she too soon indulges in the magniticence of embonpoint. There are, however, many exceptions. At seventeen, a Spanish beauty is poetical. Tall, lithe and clear, and graceful as a jennet, who can withstand the summer lightning of her soft and languid glance? As she advances, if sbe do not lose her shape, she resembles Juno rather Venus. Majestic she ever is, and, if her feet be less twinkling than in her first bolero, look on her hand, and you'll forgive them all.

£216 0 0 Presuming these charges and profits to be correct, the remunerating sale price of a volume of three hundred and twenty pages appears to be somewhat less than four shillings and fourpence! We must, however, remark, that 70 pounds is far too high an average for the remuneration to German authors; it will not, in general, be found to exceed thirty; and this abatement will reduce the selling price of the volume to nearly three shillings and sixpence.

MISCELLANEA. Military Glory - The habit of danger made us look upon death as one of the most ordinary circumstances of life. We pitied our comrades, when wounded, but, when once they had ceased to live, the indifference which was shewn to them amounted almost to irony. When, as the soldiers passed by, they recognized one of their companions stretched among the dead, they just said, “ He is in want of nothing, he will not have his horse to abuse again, he has got drunk for the last time,” or something similar, which only marked, in the speaker, a stoical contempt of existence; such were the only funeral orations pronounced in honour of those who fell in our battles.-Rocca.


WRITTEN DURING ILLNESS. Oh, soft is the hour when the moon beams rest,

On the smooth wave, calmly sleeping; And soft is that hour for the weary breast, When the aching eyes, by grief opprest,

In slumber have quenched their weeping, Then, Memory, why at this soft hour,

When darkness all Nature is shading, Revivest thou thus with resistless power, Bright visious that fled like the bloom of that flower,

Which the sun-beams leave, drooping and fading? Oh, a bright hour comes, when the early dawn,

On the gem-sparkling violet is waking; Then Hope pours her holy and blissful balm, And breathes for a moment delicious calm,

O'er hearts that have long been breaking.
But thrice hallow'd the hour, when the soul-blessing ray

Of the day-spring from Heaven is revealing,
To dim-sighted mortals, the glorious way,
To that country where pleasure can never decay,

And which error and guilt had been veiling.




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We understand that a meeting of the Glasgow Association of Bucks was lately convened, in the Royal Hotel, George Square, for the purpose of debating the question, wbether check pantaloons were to be the fashionable costume this summer. As might be expected, from the interest of the question, a very full attendance of members took place, among whom were some of the most distinguished swells of the city. The chair was ably filled by a retired officer of long standing in this part of the world, and the office of speakers was supplied by gentlemen as distinguished for oratorical powers, as for their taste in the fit of a surtout or a Wellington. The discussion lasted for some time, and was carried on with great warmth, as some of those present contended for the checks, on account of the inconvenience to which a change of the fashion would expose them, while others as vehemently insisted, that a decision should be immediately passed by which the wearers of such an article should be pronounced incapable of entering into society. The votes being taken, there appeared a majority against the checks, and it was carried into a law, that any person appearing in public with cross stripes upon his legs, should be considered a non-conformist, and treated as a vulgar nuisance. Just as the meeting was breaking up, a question arose with regard to the precise width of a well-made pair of pantaloons, and upon this subject a good deal of eloquence was displayed by a young member who was conspicuous for the degagée air with which he cocked his white bat on one side of his head. This speaker contended, that that part of the dress which is made to exhibit the shape of the leg, should always be drawn as tight as possible at the knee. Just as he sat down, the attention of the chair was called to a military looking man, apparently a stranger, who now rose, and who seemed from the appearance of his dress, to be about to advocate the opposite side of the argument. His premeditated address, however, was lost to the house, as he had no sooner risen than the dent called him to order, observing that he had a large bouquet of blown flowers stuck in his breast, a breach of etiquette which was never allowed within the walls of the club room. The gentleman thus reprimanded twisted his mustachios fiercely, and strutted out of the door. Cries of question,” then loudly resounded from every quarter, and upon their being acceded to, it appeared that the voice of the meeting was divided between 13 and 12 inches for the width above the calf. At last the chairman decided it, by remarking, with great appearance of truth, that it depended very much upon the make of each man's legs, and that no definite rule could be laid down which would apply equally to all cases.

58, HUTCHESON STREET, GLASGOW, EDICATED by Permission to His Majesty. In One

A few copies on Imperial Writing Paper, price £5, 5s. BIBLIOTHECA SCOTO-CELTICA; ör, an Account of all the Books which have been Printed in the Gaelic Language. With Bibliographical and Biographical Notices. By John Reid.

THE LITTLE GIRL'S OWN BOOK. By Mrs. Child. Illustrated with many Wood Cuts. 18mo. price 4s. 6d. in extra cloth boards. 5s. gilt edges. 6s. 6d. elegantly bound in Morocco.

The Publishers, in offering this improved edition of Mrs. Child's book to the public, think it proper to state, that the work has undergone a complete revisal, and that all the Americanisms, so dangerous for Children, have been translated into English. Particular care has also been taken in excluding what, in this Country, is considered as not properly the Amusement of Girls.

AN AUTHENTIC REPORT of the PROCEEDINGS of the MEETING, held in the Assembly Rooms, Glasgow, on Tuesday, the first May, 1832, “ For the purpose of taking into consideration, a Motion for Petitioning Parliament, relative to the Measures contemplated for the Education of the Poor in Ireland.” 12mo. Stitched. Price Sixpence.

REID & Co. have just received, a Packet of New Books from France, among which will be found :

ATLAS HISTORIQUE ET CHRONOLOGIQUE DES LITTERATURES, ANCIENNES ET MODERNES, DES SCIENCES, ET DES BEAUX-ARTS, D'Après la Méthode et sur le Flan de l'Atlas DE A. LESAGE, (COMTE DE LAS CASES,) et propre a Former la Complement de cet ouvrage, PAR A. JARRY DE MANCY, Ancien élève de l'école Normale, Professeur d'Histoire et Bibliothécaire a l' Ecole Royale des Beaux-arts, Professeur d'Histoire de l'Academie de Paris, etc. Imperial folio, half-bound, Morocco, £7.

This Work merits the particular attention of every one the least connected with the History of Literature. It is composed of a great many Tables, showing the Literature of the World according to different arrangements.

One Table contains the Languages of the World branching out from the various parent tongues, followed by other Tables of the separate branches. Some of the Tables shew French, others German, English and Oriental Literature, arranged chronologically, or according to subjects; and altogether forming the most complete and comprehensive body of the Statistics of LITERATURE in any language.

DUMAS TRAITE DE CHIMIE, vols. I.-III. 14s. each.


EUVRES DE MOLIERE, 7 vols. 8vo. extra bds. 21s. EUVRES DE CORNEILLE, 4 vols. 8vo. extra bds. 12s. THEATRE DE VOLTAIRE, 7 vols. 8vo. extra bds. 21s. @UVRES DE RACINE, 5 vols. 8vo. extra bds. 15s.

ANNALES DE CHIMIE pour 1831, 3 vols. 8vo. cloth, 36s.

JOURNAL DE CHIMIE MEDICALE, pour 1831, 8vo. cloth, 14s.







EUVRES DE BOILEAU, vols. I.-III. 8vo. 3s. 6d, each.




MRS. OMAN HILL. This lady made her first appearance here, on Wednesday evening, in the arduous part of “ Lady Townly,in Vanbrugh's and Cibber's admirable comedy of The Provoked Husband." There are few actresses to whom nature has been more lavish of her gifts. Her face, form and voice are all very fine, and well adapted to the histrionic art. Her personation of the gay, thoughtless and giddy lady of quality was excellent, but, in the last scene, where she is brought to perceive the folly and errors of her past life, and, by repentance, is restored to the arms of a doating husband, she wanted both force and feeling ; this, however, we are inclined to attribute altogether to her want of experience in the profession. She is but a young actress, and, therefore, cannot be expected to convey to the audience, her full conception of the author's meaning so powerfully as one who has, from childhood, been nurtured in the school of Thespis.

We have seldom seen a play, in this theatre, so well performed in all its parts. Mr. Emley, of whom we spoke rather unfavourably in our last, from having seen him in a character altogether out of the range of his line of business, was really very respectable

Mr. Manly.The John Moodyof Mr. Alexander was excellent, as also, was the “ Lord Townlyof Mr. Edwards. Mr. Wallace played the part of the “ Wily Basset,” and little Lloyd was never seen to more advantage than in the “ Squire, Richard.The “ Lady Grace" of Miss Richardson, and Miss Phillips' “ Jenny," were, also, very good.


PUBLISHED, every Saturday Morning, by John Finlay, at No.

9, Miller Street; and Sold by John WYLIE, Argyll Arcade; David Robertson, and W. R. M Phun, Glasgow ; Thomas STEVENSON, and the other Booksellers, Edinburgh : DAviD Dick, and A. GARDNER, Booksellers, Paisley : A. LAING Greenock; and J. Glass, Bookseller, Rothsay.







His word,
Though absurd,

Must be law.




aspirants, as few would possess that happy flexibility GOTHAM..

of character which would enable them religiously to vow, and as religiously to provide, før their convenient peformance, We gravely suspect that Mr. David is one of these, and yet he is so sly withal.

All the world knows that Creeds and Confessions Last week we had the pleasing task of doing justice have proved in all ages, the great promoters of dissento the literary labours of two most worthy Biblio- tion and warfare, and it requires no great philosophy poles, to whose "aggressive impulse" the Electors of to discover, that the notable creed to which we have ihis city stand deeply indebted for some most oppor- referred, and which, moreover, each Gothamite may tune advice respecting the proper use of the Elective procure for the small charge of one halfpenny, is desFranchise. Heaven be praised that the minds of all, tined to do the same thing in this the city of our habiimmediately after the promulgation of the hints given tation. Yes, gentle reader, it is much to be feared, by these sage political Mentors, were at once made up, if the five-and-twenty articles, enumerated in this and the “Men of Glasgow" found themselves ready "scheme," be fairly swallowed, digested and adopted by to mount the hustings with all the confidence which a any knot of individuals as their bond of union, that correct knowledge of the sacred duty reposed in them then we shall have all the thinking men of Glasgow had so naturally engendered. The "Man of, from, and set by the ears, and all the unthinking ones ballooing for, the People" was

was“ instantaneously, simulta- them on to that wordy contest, which will inevitably neously, and spontaneously," pounced upon by every reflecting individual who had eyes to read and ears to In this way the credo of a Gothamite will give birth hear. Anxiety was set at rest, and the troubled to the same disunion, that the creeds agreed to at the waters of public opinion were lulled into a calm, councils of Trent and Nice so unhappily produced, and under the bewitching vocables of the author of the the Confession of our most excellent friend St. David “ Appeal,” no less than by the analytical subtleties of will give rise to as many doubts and difficulties as that the “ Elector.The eight thousand hearts, which had of his more notorious, but less perspicuous, predecessor become so anxious and agitated under the weight of the St. Anastasius. Let us take a sample or two from the awful responsibility of being invested with a suffrage, bond of union drawn up for the consciences of the men leapt for joy, and the “woeful countenances” of of Gotham, and to which it is gravely propounded, every inan who intended to pay his taxes before the that every candidate for the membership of this great 20th of July became gay and gladsome. Citizen community shall be bound to append his sign manual. stopped to congratulate citizen on the light which had We find in the very outset the following words:broken in upon their benighted spirits, and the loud “ As you go to Parliament to forward the interests of and reiterated guffaw which, ever and anon, burst your constituents, according to their own views, you from congregated knots of smiling faces, proclaimed pledge yourself to resign your seat should you be nnthat all the doubts and difficulties, about who could, able conscientiously to forward any measure which would, or should be, our Members, had fairly vanished. they enjoin at a public meeting.” Well, this is really The city, in fact, was calm, and the citizens contented, a damper to any reasonable man. Where is the inwhen lo ! a shell, in the shape of a Political Confes- dividual, that knows how easily it is to set the mechasion of Faith, was thrown amid the electors. Confu- nism of a public meeting a-going, would put himself at sion, as might be anticipated, was the immediate the mercy of every Clique, that might have the preconsequence, and the men, who had, formerly, felt sumption of submitting their doginas or panaceas to a themselves shut up to what they should do, found public meeting of necessarily only a minority of electhemselves again in disunion and consternation. tors, nay perhaps, of none of the electors at all ? “ Where,” exclaimed every man,

can an individual be Wbat man of sense and thought would go into St. found, of, from and for the people, who would gulp Stephen's under the burden of making a retiring down such a terrible test as the one which was now bow to the Speaker, so soon, for example, as the Chronito regulate the electors even in the choice of a candi- cle Clique could obtain the approval of five hundate? Where is the back broad enough to bear five- dred persons, assembled in the Hall of the Mechanics' and-twenty such weighty matters as make up this not- Institution, to the absurd proposition, that “the memable credo? If Mr. Atkinson made the city stare at bers for Glasgow shall not consent to any supplies, his bill of exclusions, how much more does Mr. David unless the persons employed in the public offices, Prentice fill the town with astonishment, when the receive no higher salaries than those of the managers eye wanders over his appalling list of five-and-twenty and clerks of private men of business.” That, in other necessariæ for membership ?”

words, the man who has been educated as a statesOut upon you, Master David, for a cunning satirist. man shall receive no higher compensation for the You have been dreaming of Lilliput when you should public service done to the people of Great Britain, have been thinking of Glasgow. Will nothing serve than Tom Splitfig, the oilman's shop boy, or Dick Dunyou bat

you must bind our political Gullivers to the derhead, the petty cash-book keeper of a cotton spinner? earth by so many minute and invisible ties, besides A guffaw is the only reasonable answer that could be running a slip-knot over their unfortunate heads ! given to such a proposition as this. And yet, Lord There have been wags who have supposed that an save the mark! this constitutes a portion of the object might be attained by this fastening down of our second article of the political creed for the men of

Gotham! Proposed Scheme of a General Election Committee for the Burgh District of Glasgow, and Pledges for the Representatives.

As we wander over the various articles of the “ Con. Vol. II.-No. 8.


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