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hour. If we increase the velocity of the accession of new strength, Number boat the resistance will also be increased, One gives the lie to his own proprietor and with amazing rapidity. The resist- with the most unblushing effrontery ance of a fluid increases as the square of the for does he not declare that a few jaded velocity. Since 90,000lb., therefore, is asses have merely been displaced by drawn at the rate of two miles an hour

an equal number of fresh cuddies ? by one horse;

For our own parts, we pity the poor At 4 miles an hour it would require 4 Lion's Head, as he used to call himhorses,

self ; for his braying brethren have 6


discovered the deceit--the hide-royal 8


has been with some difficulty drawn 12


off, it having become entangled about Or,

his ears; and the disconsolate donkey At 4 miles an hour, the draught of I

has been turned out to thistle in the horse will be about 22,0001b.

suburbs. 6

10,000 8


But I must conclude somewhat 12


hastily, my dear Mullion, for my ne

phew has just called, and we are goInformation such as this, could not ing to cross the hills to Altrive. But have been communicated to the public, be sure to get North to expose this without a new series-half-a-crown a dishonest humbug of a New Series. Number was too low a price and Don't let him attempt to read any the balaam-box would otherwise have of it, in his present uncertain state of burst. Towards the conclusion of this health. But let him merely see it affair, I see a most elegant compliment open it before him- let him hear the to America. What wide knowledge heavy rustling of the fat greasy leaves, of the New world is here exhibited! and then let it drop, with a squelch

“ RAIL-ROADS HAVE ALREADY EX- upon the floor, and the old boy will CITED THE STRONGEST FEELINGS OF know its whole character without more INTEREST IN AMERICA, THAT THEA- ado. It will thus speak for itself. TRE, WHERE EVERY FACULTY OF HU- Meanwhile, having determined not to MAN NATURE, AND EVERY DISCOVERY suffer such an imposition, I have writIN ART AND SCIENCE, IS DEVELOPED ten a letter to the Opium-Eater, and anWITH SUCH MIRACULOUS ENERGY!” other to poor dear good Charles Lamb, Bah! Bah! Bah !

demanding an explanation. I have Why, Mullion, has not the above also sent off a few lines to “ Honest stuffabout rail-roads previously appear. Allan," in case the Opium-Eater be ed in all the newspapers in the king dead. Indeed, I begin to fear that dom? And in newspapers only should all three are defunct; and yet if it be such stuff appear. Now, would you so, it is certainly rather odd that I believe it, after my lucid analysis of should not have heard of it. But you this ninny Number, of which Namby would be surprised to know how slow Pamby, Esq. must be the editor, that news travel hitherwards. Yesterday it is puffed like a soap-bubble, in the I had a visit from a man, who appearairy columns of the Morning Chron.? ed with his wife and two children, but The advertising scribe therein says, who was assuredly a bachelor last that the New Series " has a more Spring, and whose marriage. I have worldly character” than the Old Lon- not, up to this blessed hour, heard of don; and the publishers have also paid through any other channel. Mrs T. for an advertisement in the New sends her love, and I am, my dear Times, declaring that there is an entire Mullion, yours affectionately, change in the Editorship, and a vast



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THE LITERARY SOUVENIR.* This is a volume that Christopher let them pass,) do you wish to give himself ought to have reviewed-its a small earnest graceful gift to some beauty and accomplishments would dearly-beloved one, then thank us have softened the natural and acquired for the happy hint, and with a kiss, acerbity of his disposition,--and tin- or, if that be not yet permissible, at ged his intellectual countenance with least with a smile of severest suavity, a fine glow of moral sentiment. We almost equal to one of the Basia of think, even now, that we see the snell Joannes Secundus, lay the Literary elderly gentleman taking somewhat Souvenir upon her tender lap, with a superciliously the Literary Souvenir very few words, which it would be into his long sinewy chalk-stoned fin- impertinent us to particularize ; gers (North’s hand is quite Miltonic), only be sure " you breathe them not those fingers that have been the death far from her delicate auricle ;” and of many an able-bodied quarto, and with a low, a deep, and pleading tone, whose lightest touch sends a trem like the knight who won the bright bling twelvemo to Tartarus-wethink, and beauteous Genevieve. It is a hunI say, even now, that we see Him dred to one that you are a married clutching a copy of the Souvenir, as if man in six weeks or two months ; nay, about to pronounce not only sentence if it be a “ large paper copy," one flesh of death, but also to carry it into im- will ye be before the new moon. mediate effect, without hope of par. What pleasant Pagan was it that, don, respite, or commutation,--when, thousands of years agone, said, that lo and behold! his rigorous and vigo- gifts were powerful over affection ?" rous physiognomy relaxes and expands It is hard to know when a young Chrisinto a smile, “ celestial rosy red, Jove's tian gentleman is fairly entitled to proper hue,"— his eyes beam with phi- give something more than words, looks, lanthropic fire, as if he were a very sighs, to a young Christian lady. We benevolent Howard,--his very nose believe that nothing like a general rule curls with kindness-a peculiar and could be laid down, safe to be acted appropriate expression belonging to upon ; but, provided nothing exceeda each nostril,to the right friendship, ingly unfortunate had occurred, sureto the left (that nearest the heart, ly, surely, about the beginning of a love ; his small, thin, gentlemanly new year, the austerest moralist would ears, so antithetical to those long crisp allow a touch--be it almost accidentconcerns upon a Cockney, seem just to al-a pressure of the hand as unacstir that one beautiful lock of silver countably as unintentionally meeting that comes waving over his lofty tem- the hand-a-d-a kiss. Well, well, ples,--there is in his short sharp shrill if that sweet name startle, call it a Licough something singularly hearty, terary Souvenir-for, by any other approbative, and urbane,-and as he name, it will taste as sweet--yes, our changes his seat upon that venerable fair subscribers, let it be a Literary chair, whose bright brass studs, un- Souvenir bound in the whitest, pudimmed by years, shine like stars rest, most unstained lamb, whose fra. scattered over a black leathern firma- grance is felt over the whole library, ment,—the good old man shews the and preserves the immortal spirit satisfaction of his soul by the whamlet breathing there from trouble and deof his body; and it is plain to the cay. whole world that the book in hand is It is so long since we have written worth two in the bush, and destined an article, that we have entirely forfor a third edition. What a picture ! gotten how to begin--and instead of

Gentle reader ! and all readers of driving away tooth and nail, accordour Maga are gentle as the sweet ing to the sensible rules laid down in South, that breathes upon a bank of that useful work “ The Contributor," violets, giving and stealing odours, here have we been sitting at our oval (these are not the ipsissima verba; but table, about the size of a shield, for up


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* The Literary Souvenir ; or, Cabinet of Poetry and Romance. Edited by Alaric A. Watts. Hurst, Robinson, and Co. London ; and Constable, Edinburgh. 1824.

+ See Dr Jamieson.


wards of two hours, and yet there does without expense, which, as we said be not appearto be a page of Pica. But who fore, is to us a matter of no moment, the deuce cares? Not I. You know but also without trouble, which is a well that our sole motive in committing matter of the greatest moment to every to paper one single syllable, is our own enlightened and virtuous epicurean. delight, or, if you choose to add, the The petty and paltry details of housedelight of the world at large. We love keeping are mortal to Mind and its Proto linger over an article for hours, ductions, and above all, the single article days, weeks, months-if we did not of coals. The eternal laying-in of coals, abhor all exaggeration, we would say and discharging of those mean printed years, lustres, centuries. On one article coal-accounts, is fatal to the contribuyet unfinished, we were occasionally tor. But, on the other hand, there is employed, so at least it seemed to us, nothing too much to be expected from and every man is the best, indeed the periodical author, whose domestic only judge of his own feelings, for arrangements are all carried into effect, many centuries.

We distinctly re- as if by the agency of unseen and fairy member sketching a plan of it before hands—who sits at a table that absothe flood, and we appeal for the truth lutely produces the viands that adorn of this to Mr Montgomery and Mr it-who lies down to sleep in a bed for Cornwall. Indeed, a sight of the ma- ever made and unmade in kaleidosnuscript would convert the most bi- copic change of form, but by what gotted unbeliever. Such characters! chambermaid no tongue can tell ;Above all, what prodigious double-w's, who wears breeches shaped by a “Great formidable ells, and furious-looking Unknown” Tailor, whose bill is disa Z's. Several of the latter would make charged in the clouds;—who walks in Leigh Hunt give up the ghost in his shoes glittering to the total eclipse of yellow breeches. But we shall leave Day and Martin, “dark with excessive instructions in our will to our great bright,” yet shoe-black seeth never, grandson how to finish off this article and who, familiar as he is with the af. with effect for the first Number of our fairs of empires, never to his knowledge New Series.

saw the face of a tax-gatherer, and will One delightful feeling accompanies probably go to his grave ignorant of us now in all that we write for our dear the inspector of window-lights. ly beloved Maga, that is, the feeling not There now—that was one of the only of the most devoted, but of the narrowest escapes ever book had in the most disinterested attachment. It is a' world. My dear Watts, you must know , subject of just wonder and astonish- that our ink-holder is a dolphin, bement to us, how we couldever have sub- strid by a Cupid, who has unfished mitted to any other remuneration for our Amphion. Into the jaws of this dolarticles, incomparable as most of them phin, ever and anon plunges the pen of undoubtedly were, than the delight the present writer ; and two minutes of being delightful. What was thirty ago, just as I was about to begin a new guineas a-sheet to us? No more than paragraph, by an unlucky flourish, I so much waste paper. As a proof of upset the heir-apparent to the French this, we have at this moment (if indeed throne, who forthwith vomited forth the rats have not eaten them) a great his whole chapter of contents over the many (we forget how many, but cer- board of green cloth. There were the tainly near a score) of our worthy Pub- two copies (large and small-paper) of lisher's cheques on his banker, the least the Literary Souvenir within a hair'sof which would pay an ordinary family's breadth of the inundation.—We durst annual butcher's bill, lying in an old not draw our breath in that tribulation. crazy escritoire, near the slates, with. We saw in the stream of ink, “the torout a lock, which was twisted off by rent's smoothness ere it dash below;" one of the children. An accidental or we feared to stretch out a saving hand, designed dozen of Madeira-an occa- lest the motion should bring down the sional five-gallon cask of Jamaica-an inky avalanche. All is safe, not a single East-Indian hump, once a-week a goose spot-and we go on to write from the or turkey, and now and then a few main current of the stream on the tahares, are all that we now accept from ble; for the intrusion of a servant with either North or Ebony; these, indeed, a cloth is odious, and to wipe up ink we accept willingly-and thus our lar, with paper, is a hell upon earth. der and our cellar are as superbly fur- Few or none of our good poets are nished as any in Edinburgh, not only now publishing. This is, therefore,



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just the very precise nick of time for no more clumsy battalion-men be ade such a publication as the Literary mitted into the corps d'elites-and, Souvenir. First-rate poems of large above all, that be his bulk or bearing dimensions, like Kehama, Madoc,Lady what it will, there shall be no drafts of the Lake, Marmion, and above all, made directly from the awkward squad. the Excursion, “wallowing unwieldy Of course, all Cockneys are excluded, enormous in its gait,” are not coming unless indeed there should seem need out upon the public like absolute pe for a brace of trumpets, in which case riodicals, as in years past. Some of Leigh Hunt, whose powers of puffing our best poets are dead - all are dumb. are known, might be admitted, chiefly Now, we are sorry for this, upon the on account of the reviews, and any whole, and wish to have some poetry. other chicken-breasted Ludgate lad, Does a day ever pass over a poet's who might also perhaps, if required, head, in which he does not see visions operate upon the serpent or trombone. and dream dreams? Perhaps he is in- Let us change the image, metaphor, disposed to sit down to a great immor- or figure of speech, (all of which, by tal work-but is in a fit key for a song the way, have ever seemed to us one hymn, ballad, elegy, epigram, epitha- and the same thing, in rerum natura,) lamium, or, as our late friend Pirie and return to the ordinary language would have said, Epicedium. Off then of human life. with a charming little piece, glowing The excellent editor is well known from the mint of Nature. A separate in the world of letters, and possesses volume is a serious business. But no ordinary share of poetical genius. send the first-rate trifle to Ebony, or He is prodigiously improved within the New Monthly, (as you have a these few years, both in power and soul to be saved, beware the London, expression, and some of his best or you will be led into a New Series of pieces are extremely beautiful. Mr mean misfortunes,) or much rather to Watts writes with much elegance and the next year's Literary Souvenir. simplicity, and we like his composiThe truth is, that there is by“ much tions for their entire freedom from too little" brotherhood among our that spirit of exaggeration, and that bards. They are either too jealous or simulated passionateness, so rife in too selfish. 'Each bard is too broadly Cockneydom. He writes sincerely; on his own bottom-too much the and his sincerity has been felt; for cock of his own walk. How beauti- we scarcely remember any instance ful it would be to see them all playing of so unostentatious a writer as he is, into each other's hands ! Hours of and, without any boast of originality, Leisure need not be hours of Idleness; acquiring so much popular favour in and then what pretty tall fellows so short a tiine.

Some of the very would they all look, dressed rank and best pieces in the Souvenir are from file, in the light-infantry company of his own pen-and it gives us pleasure Fugitive Poetry !

to quote the following very touching Now, all that is necessary is, that and pathetic stanzas :

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By Alaric A. Walls.
Fare thee well, thou first and fairest !
Fare thee well, thou best and dearest I-BURNS.

My sweet one, my sweet one, the tears were in my eyes
When first I clasp'd thee to my heart, and heard thy feeble cries ;-
For I thought of all that I had borne, as I bent me down to kiss
Thy cherry lip and sunny brow, my first-born bud of bliss !
I turn'd to many a wither'd hope, -to years of grief and pain ;
And the cruel wrongs of a bitter world flash'd o'er my boding brain ;-
I thought of friends grown worse than cold, of persecuting foes,
And I ask'd of Heaven, if ills like these must mar thy youth's repose !
I gazed upon thy quiet face-half blinded by my tears
Till gleams of bliss, unfelt before, came brightening on my fears,
Sweet rays of hope that fairer shone 'mid the clouds of gloom that bound them,
As stars dart down their loveliest light when midnight akies are round them.

My sweet one, my sweet one, thy life's brief hour is o'er,
And a father's anxious fears for thee can fever me no more;
And for the hopes—the sun-bright hopes that blossom'd at thy birth,
They too have fled, to prove how frail are cherish'd things on earth !

'Tis true that thou wert young, my child, but though brief thy span below,
To me it was a little age of agony and woe;
For, from thy first faint dawn of life thy cheek began to fade,
And my heart had scarce thy welcome breathed ere my hopes were wrapt in shade.

Oh the child, in its hours of health and bloom, that is dear as thou wert then,
Grows far more prized-more fondly loved-in sickness and in pain,
And thus 'twas thine to prove, dear babe, when every hope was lost,
Ten times more precious to my soul for all that thou hadst cost !

Cradled in thy fair mother's arms, we watch'd thee day by day,
Pale, like the second bow of Heaven, as gently waste away ;
And, sick with dark foreboding fears, we dared not breathe aloud,
Sat, hand in hand, in speechless grief, to wait death's coming cloud.

It came at length ;--o'er thy bright blue eye the film was gathering fast,
And an awful shade pass'd o'er thy brow, the deepest and the last;
In thicker gushes strove thy breath, we raised thy drooping head,
A moment more the final pang--and thou wert of the dead !

Thy gentle mother turn'd away to hide her face from me,
And murmur'd low of Heaven's behests, and bliss attain’d by thee ;--
She would have chid me that I mourn'd a doom so blest as thine,
Had not her own deep grief burst forth in tears as wild as mine!

We laid thee down in sinless rest, and from thine infant brow
Cullid one soft lock of radiant hair-nour only solace now,
Then placed around thy beauteous corse, flowers--not more fair and sweet-
Twin rose-buds in thy little hands, and jasmine at thy feet.

Though other offspring still be ours, as fair përchance as thou,
With all the beauty of thy cheek—the sunshine of thy brow,
They never can replace the bud our early fondness nurst,
They may be lovely and beloved, but not like thee-the first!

THE FIRST! How many a memory bright that one sweet word can bring,
Of hopes that blossom'd, droop’d, and died, in life's delightful spring;
Of fervid feelings pass'd away-those early seeds of bliss,
That germinate in hearts unsear'd by such a world as this!

My sweet one, my sweet one, my Fairest and my First!
When I think of what thou might'st have been, my heart is like to burst ;
But gleams of gladness through my gloom their soothing radiance dart,
And my sighs are hush'd, my tears are dried, when I turn to what thou art !

Pure as the snow-flake ere it falls and takes the stain of earth,
With not a taint of mortal life, except thy mortal birth,-
God bade thee early taste the spring for which so many thirst,
And bliss-eternal bliss-is thine, my Fairest and my First !

Perhaps the best poem in the vo- language almost Wordsworthian. lume is by Allan Cunninghame. It is Cunninghame is far superior to Clare, full of real warm human feeling of and we say so, wi meaning any the best kind, finely tinged too with disrespect to that most amiable and the spirit of poetry, and written in interesting person. He has all, or nearVOL. XVII.


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