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pair of whiskers, and irreproachable pantaloons, consented to part with him, declaring that next to his daughter he was the only solace of his life. As the youth bore the name of his tribe, the semi-barbarous cognomen of Simpson, he agreed to accept of that of Lee boo, not only as being more civilized, but expressive of his situation. As he was of an ambitious nature, he had made, unknown to his parent, many excursions towards the west; we therefore agreed to accept of him as our guide; and we left our simple and promising friends, with the assurance of a speedy return: as a pledge, we exchanged one of our cravats, well stiffened and with the Petersham tie, for one of the collars worn by the male, and a flounce of the she savage's petticoats; promising also to send them on our arrival, a pattern of Lord Harborough's beard, which approached nearer to savage life, than any other object we could then think of in the civilized world. Not to trespass any further on the time of my honorable listeners, I will merely mention, that we reached Connaught Place without any accident, with the young savage as a trophy, and received the most affectionate welcome on our unexpected and safe return. Prayers were put up the following day at most of the fashionable churches, and a solemn te deum was composed expressly for the occasion. The young savage has already realized the expectation we formed of his docility and capacity; already he speaks our language equal to a native, has ran through the whole of his property-keeps race horses -and has an opera singer under his protection-never pays a bill, and is admitted without a voucher at every hell in the metropolis; has forgot his father's name, and never hears the unknown region "Russell Square" mentioned, but inquires, "if that is not the place where the people drink porter, and don't wear shoes and stockings?"

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[It is needless to observe, that after this examination the aspiring candidate for academical honours was admitted without a further question, and his degree of Bac. Dand. was delivered to him with a handsome compliment on his extreme capability.]

SONG ON THE DELPHIN CLASSICS.

BY AN AMATEUR.

For we're all nodding, nid, nid, nodding,
For we're all nodding o'er these drowsy tomes.

Y.

OLD SONG PARAPHRASED.

Let scholars lament o'er the ruins divine
Of Athenians, and Romans, and Massics,
So famous alike for their wit and their wine,
That they face all our cleverest classics.
No writers of old, whatsoe'er they may be,
Come forth in such scurvy condition,

As those whose fine talents are mildewed by the
Man-moths of the Delphin Edition.

CHORUS.

With my Brek, ek, ek, ax ko-ax, ko-ax *,

Aristarchus and Co. are astonishing quacks.

Bρex, ex, sx, ag, noag, xoag, the chorus of frogs in Aristophanes. Aristarchus, the assumed name of the editor of the Delphin Classics, from his having written a dall work in defence thereof, yclept "Aristarchus ante Bloomfieldeanus."

First Horace, who boasted how vainly to be
An eloquent eulogist vini,

Variorum'd, with vengeance, is plunged in a sea
Of nonsense, in usum delphini.

Next Ovid, whose spirit and pages were big
With love, and its Julian abettor *,

So buckrammed in starch by a man in a wig,
Who thunders a note in each letter.

CHORUS. -With my Brek, &c. &c, &c.

Superlative Cæsar, sole king of the world,
Unequalled in fight or defence,

Still achieves, with a banner of blarney unfurl'd,
Fresh conquests o'er grammar and sense.
Grim Juvenal's text, with the rest of the sqad,
Transformed by a pantomime change,

Is clystered with critical pills, 'till, by —
You would swear that his mind had the mange.

CHORUS. With my Brek, &c. &c. &c.

Philosopher Tacitus, solid as beef,

Oak-hearted in spirit and strength,

Condemned without jury, is hung like a thief,

On a note of some acres in length.

Poor Cicero, salted for sale like a pig,

And alter'd as alter'd can be,

Seems to cry in each sentence, "Oh, man in the wig!

Oh, why persecutest thou me ?"

CHORUS. -With my Brek, &c. &c. &c.

"Miser Catullus," (how justly) and eke

Propertius, tricked out by his foes,

Are tweaked with their critical tongs as you'd tweak
A thick-headed fop by the nose.
Their stiff Aristarchus has put them to bed
On his book, where each heedlessly slumbers,
Tucked up in a blanket of bombast, instead
Of a sheet from his own flowing numbers.

CHORUS. With my Brek, &c. &c. &c.

But I call to revenge the foul insults of this
Anthropophagus, cunning and clever
Acherontis Alceto, whose serpents shall hiss
In his critical conscience for ever.

The ghost, too, of Virgil shall howl o'er him loud,
As the voice of a critic whom I know,

With the sprite of his love in her skeleton shroud,
And the "dora ultricio" of Dido.

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Though murder will out, it had better be in,

When published in calf-skin octaves,

Go for God's sake, dear Valpy, repent of your sin,
And let the dead rest in their graves.

And still let them sleep in their solitude deep,
In your tractates no more let us see 'em,
And so shall the world out of gratitude sleep
O'er your own soporific Museum t.

CHORUS.- -With my Brek, &c. &c. &c.

* Julia, the name of the lady in whose cause he was banished.

†The name of a delectable weekly miscellany with which the town was treated. It

died, however, the death of the righteous.

MATRIMONY.

“ If any know cause why this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony, they are to declare it." COMMON PRAYER. "The true enjoyments of a reasonable being, do not consist in unbounded indulgence, or luxurious ease---in the tumult of passions, the languor of indolence, or the flutter of light amusements."

RAMBLER.

The charms of society, and the necessity that the affections which Nature has implanted in us should be decently satisfied, illustrate the advantages of marrying, were it not desirable for any thing else. But, besides this, we establish a fire-side of our own, we bind one heart to our service, and secure one bosom in which we may confide in seasons of adversity; and from which, in such dark hours, we may draw forth ample consolation and affectionate support: and this last, appears to me, the highest privilege of connubial bliss. When the results of business have thwarted the worldly man, and the caprice of dissipation, the gay man; or when, perhaps, some imagined coldness in another's conduct has wounded the feelings of a friend, it is then that each of these may fly to his home, and seek in the bosom of his wife that alleviation to his uneasiness, which an interchange of thoughts and feelings ought not in any, and does not in most cases, fail to ensure. I can easily imagine a man may pass through life singly with less care, but in sickness he will have to purchase kindness with money; and, in misfortune, he will look in vain for that companionship and countenance which it is the nature of the least worthy or most miserable to wish for. As a sign-post, whose direction line is washed off by the hand of time, is thought an incumbrance to a highway, so an old bachelor, without money to buy attention to his sufferings, is regarded by travellers, on the grand highway of life, as a thing of no interest, and not worthy of speculation. If this be the case, and the hearts of all men yearn for social intercourse; if they do so, how necessary is it, then, to attach oneself, early in life, to an intelligent and amiable woman.

Those of your readers, Mr. Inspector, who are not taken with the dash of dissipation (which is often as unsatisfactory to its votaries as it is contemptible to reflective minds), will readily allow the desirability of matrimony; but we must not pass by the disadvantages of it, and I will therefore run over those which, to me, would be of some moment. It is an old observation; that all happiness here is imperfect, and, therefore, marriage should not be avoided because of its attendant annoyances; the most palpable of which, and that generally first thought of, (and, indeed, of great importance,) is the difficulty of providing for a helpmate, and the probable consequence, a family. This, I have said, is of great importance, but it is not of the first importance-it is of more moment that we look to the temper of our companion: the inconveniences of poverty will warp even a good temper, how much more, then must be borne from

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an irritable one! There is a disadvantage, too, arising in the marriage state from the intimacy being necessarily so close, and so open, that each party is made acquainted of the other's faults; whereas, in other connections (for instance, such as friendship), the contact of persons not being so incessant, some mental deficiency, or annoying turn of temper, may be concealed. It may likewise be avoided, which is not the case with one's wife. There is too, too often, a use made of the knowledge of this fault in matters of disagreement, by which the happiness of the person thus reproved is, of course, abridged. Besides which, the married state gives too much power to women generally, inasmuch (for this requires explanation, that it may be observed) there is less delicacy or tact in their way of delivering their censures or dissenting opinions, than in the male sex; and matrimony gives no palpable means to put down, or soften, or avoid this evil, which too often creates bickering and unhappiness. The state of matrimony, therefore, before the service, must be cautiously weighed; and those who have already entered it, must look to the failings of their companion with the kindness of affection, not with the strictness of propriety. In the choice of a wife, temper, pecuniary consideration, health, and family, are, with sense, of great importance. With a bad temper, differences are inevitable; with an unequal income, they are probable; with imperfect health, your happiness, if there be affection, will be abridged; and marrying into a family that does not go kindly with you, is certainly a lesser sort of evil. If, on the other hand, there be good temper, straightened circumstances will be cheerly borne with; the sickly look of infirm health will be cheered by the sunny smile of contentedness, and differences of friends will flee away at the prospect of connubial happiness. C. W. L. Q. S.

SONG.

The sun is up---though feebly still

He throws his yellow beam;

The gray mist shrouds the distant hill,
And floats along the stream.

The fluttering hangs on the air,
And pours his matin lay;

While Mirth and rosy Health repair
To meet the rising day.

The forest-branches slowly wave,

Where sport the zephyrs coy,
And Echo, from her hollow cave,

Repeats the notes of joy.

The light airs cool my fevered brow,

And pain and care depart;

For Nature's holy radiance now
Hath flashed upon my heart!

D. L. R.

ON VERSIFICATION.

Notwithstanding the present popularity of the muses, and the extraordinary increase of late years in the number of their successful votaries, it is surprising how many otherwise well-informed persons, are utterly unacquainted with the simplest principles of poetic composition. On this account, perhaps a concise and easy explanation of the mechanical construction of verse, may not be altogether unacceptable. I shall not, however, in the present instance, puzzle the unlearned reader with definitions of the terms Trochee, lambus, Spondee, Pyrrhic, &c. and the order in which poetic feet should be used to produce the most perfect harmony. They will probably form the subject of a future communication. I shall now proceed, without further introduction, to a consideration of the principal forms of English verse.

"BLANK-VERSE," says Southey, in his preface to Thalaba, "is the noblest measure, in my judgment, of which our admirable language is capable." There are few persons at the present day, who would question for a moment the justice of the Laureate's remark; though perhaps, when Johnson swayed the sceptre of literary criticism, there were not wanting many of his slavish admirers, who were willing to embrace the absurd opinion expressed in his life of Somerville, that if blank-verse be not tumid and gorgeous, it is crippled prose."

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BLANK-VERSE is commonly formed of lines of ten syllables, with no other precise regulation for the pause of sense or sound, than that it should be varied as much as possible, and be placed not more frequently at the end of the line than elsewhere. Care, however, should be taken that the stream of harmony be not ruffled by interruptions too abrupt, or numerous. Full pauses at the fourth, sixth,

"The variety of pauses, so much boasted by the lovers of blank-verse, changes the measures of an English poet, to the periods of a declaimer; and there are only a few skilful and happy readers of Milton, who enable their audience to perceive where the lines end or begin. Blank-verse, said an INGENIOUS critic, seem to be verse only to the eye." Life of Milton.

"Blank-verse, left merely to its numbers, has little operation on the ear or mind." Life of Roscommon. "The disgust which blank-verse, encumbering and encumbered, superadds to an unpleasing subject, soon repels the reader, however willing to be pleased."

Life of Dyer. "His blank-verses, those that can read them may probably find to be like the blankverses of his neighbours. Love and Honour,' is derived from the old ballad, Did you not hear of a Spanish lady?' I wish it well enough to wish it were in rhyme." Life of Shenstone. "Blank-verse will, I fear, be too often found in description exuberant, in argument loquacious, and in narration tiresome." Life of Akenside.

The above extracts from the "Lives of the Poets," sufficiently express Dr. Johnson's dislike to blank-verse, and shew that he was glad of every opportunity to abuse a metre, the melody of which a remarkably dull car rendered him wholly unable to appreciate.

R.

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