and that therefore the idea that he, who imbibes from a black jack, acquires a superior fierceness or martiality of aspect, must be classed among such innocent delusions as induced the barber to recommend whitehandled razors as the best fitted for abrading of beards. Lastly and finally, we cannot help being pleased by the vein of genuine and unaffected piety which runs through both these dignified compositions. The prayers which in both conclude each verse, though more varied and poetical in the latter, are not more solemn and impressive than the solitary ejaculations of blessing bestowed upon the earlier production. There is something striking, which sinks in to the soul, in the constant chorallike repetition of the one formulary which amply compensates for the picturesque diversity, which excites our admiration, but fills us not with awe. The one goes to the head-the other to the heart. To conclude, if the brows of the inventors of the Bottle and Jack deserve to be bound with snow-white fillets, as being men who civilized life by new productions of art and genius, the bards who hymned their exploits may justly claim the same honour, as being pious poets, who spoke things worthy of Apollo. M. OD. FISTS AND THE MAN I sing, who, in the valleys of Hampshire, Beat, in a handful of rounds, Bill Neat, the butcher of Bristol. *This imitation (so far as the metre goes,) of Southey's ment," appeared in Blackwood for July, 1823.— M. “Vision of Judg Tom Spring's real name was Thomas Winter. He was a native of Herefordshire. In stature he was tall, in strength great, in science superb, in pluck unrivalled, in honesty above all doubt, in aspect pleasing, in manners mild. For many years after he left the Ring he kept the well-known public-house yclept "The Castle," in Holborn, London, not far from the principal entrance to Gray's Inn. He was particularly placid in temper and unassuming in demeanor. Always attired in black, with an irreproachable white cravat, he gently moved among the pewter-pots, in his bar, reminding one more of a cler gyman than of the Champion of England. At night he presided in a free-andeasy, celebrated for its vocalization, in his own hostelrie, and many went thither to see him in the chair. But his proper place was in the little parlor behind the bar, every inch of its walls covered with portraits of pugilists save one little corner, which contained a few shelves on which were ranged sundry volumes of the Racing Calendar, (for Tom Spring latterly affected to patronize the Turf,) and the whole of Pierce Egan's "Boxiana." In that little snuggery, where a substantial joint ever ornamented the table, punctually at half-past one, I have met with members of parliament, authors, barristers, doctors, and country gentlemen who were on friendliest terms with Tom. Perhaps, also, they might come to see the bright eyes of Tom's niece—the rosiest and plumpest of feminines! Tom Spring was a fair fighter and an honest man. He realized a considerable sum by his business of innkeeper.— M. ‡ The late Sir John Newport, a patriot in the Irish and a placeman in the English Parliament. He was Comptroller of the Exchequer, with £2000 a year salary, for many years, but lent himself to a scandalous job, connected Canning may give the lie to Brougham,* and Brougham be a Christian; Neat and the Gasman put up, and the light of Gas was extinguished. with it, in 1839. At that date, the Melbourne Ministry was so nearly "done up" that some of its members, whose private fortune was small, looked out for the loss of place and pay. Among these was Mr. Spring Rice, Chancellor of the Exchequer, with £5000 a year salary. He prevailed on Old Newport to resign his £2000 per annum as Comptroller of the Exchequer, obtained a retiring pension of £1000 out of the public revenue, made up another £1000 a year out of his own pocket, and had himself appointed to the then vacated Comptrollership, which he has held ever since. Newport lived for a few years —at a cost to the country of £1000 a year and of as much more to Mr. Spring Rice, who was created Lord Monteagle on quitting the Ministry.— M. * Alluding to Canning's celebrated response “I rise to say that that is false" to Brougham, who charged him, in Parliament, with being guilty of most monstrous political tergiversation.”—M. † Richard Carlile who, for many years, kept a shop in Fleet street, London, for the sale of irreligious publications, was repeatedly convicted and imprisoned, and finally became an itinerant preacher of the Gospel.- M. ‡ "Liber Amoris, or the Modern Pygmalion," was an unfortunate book, by William Hazlitt, in which is detailed how he loved a tailor's daughter and was jilted by her.- M. § Dymoke of Scrivelsbaye is hereditary Champion of England, and one of the family appeared, as such, at the gorgeous Coronation of George IV.-M. || "My troth, gin yon chield had shaved twa inches nearer you, your head, my man, would have lookit very like a bluidy pancake."— Reginald Dalton. You see I agree with Southey, a man for whom I have a particular esteem, that people ought to indicate the most minute sources of information. Yet the Doctor is not always so fair-the most splendid passage in his Roderick is merely a transcript of a conversation I had with him on the top of one of the Bristol coaches in the year 1814; and yet I do not recollect that he anywhere alludes to the circumstance. Indeed, he seldom mentions my name in any of his writings. Yet I respect him highly, and frequently mention him in my works.-M. OD. Hailed him with greetings loud; and, boldly declaring him matchless, London replied to the call the land of the Cockneys, indignant Looked with its great big eyes at Spring, and Spring understood it, So, Either to camp in the street, or sleep on three chairs in the bar-room. Curricles, shandry-dans, gigs, tall phaetons, jaunting cars, waggons, Cabriolets, landaus, all sorts of vehicles rolling, Four-wheeled, or two-wheeled, drawn by one, two, three, or four horses ; Bit of blood, skin-and-boner, pad, hack, mule, jackass, or donkey ;§ Amphitheatrical wise, in a most judgmatical fashion. There had the Johnny-raws of Hants ta'en places at leisure, * Yokel. - Provincial, I opine; but am not sure. If wrong, shall correct in second edition; or, at all events, in time for the third.-M. OD. † Jackson, once a prize-fighter; afterward a teacher of pugilism. Lord Byron, who was one of his pupils, has repeatedly mentioned him—always with praise. In his more advanced years, when I saw him, the gravity of his aspect and gentleness of his manners were particularly observable.-M. ‡ A magistrate in England always possesses, and sometimes has exercised, the power of preventing prize-fights — as leading to breaches of the peace.— M. $ Jackass, or donkey. I mean the four-footed animals. No allusion whatever to any he or she Whig-they being biped.-M. OD. || Fisher of fogles, i. e. pickpocket. A fogle is a handkerchief. M. OD. Many an hour before the combatants came to the turn-up. We were not idle, be sure, although we waited in patience; Hollands that ne'er saw Holland, mum, brown stout, perry, and cyder; Negus, or godlike grog, flip, lambswool, syllabub, rumbo ; [Thanks be to thee, Jack Keats; our thanks for the dactyl and spondee Pestleman Jack, whom, according to Shelley, the Quarterly murdered With a critique as fell as one of his own patent medicines.] Gibbons appeared at last; and, with adjutants versed in the business, Drove in the stakes and roped them. The hawbuck|| Hottentot Hantsmen Felt an objection to be whipped out of the ring by the Gibbons. Fight was accordingly shewn, and Bill, afraid of the numbers, Kept his whip in peace, awaiting the coming of Jackson. Soon did his eloquent tongue tip off the blarney among them; * Their ra-di-ance inter-mingling.-There is a fine spondaic fall. What do you think of that, Doctor Carey? Read the line over three times before you answer. It must put you in mind of Ag-mi-na circum-spexit.”—Virg.— M. OD. † Whiskey, my jewel dear, &c.—These fine lines are imitated from the Vision of Judgment. See the passage beginning, "Bristol, my birth-place dear, what though I have chosen a dwelling," &c. &c.-M. OD. ‡ Tipsily quaffing.—From a poem about Bacchus, written by poor Jack Keats, a man for whom I had a particular esteem. I never can read the Quarterly of late, on account of the barbarous murder it committed on that promising young man. Murray can never come to luck. Indeed, since Keat's death, he has been publishing Sardanapalus, and Cain, and Fleury's Memoirs, &c. &c. which must give some satisfaction to the injured shade of the deceased.M. OD. "Strange that the soul, that very fiery particle, || Hawbuck.- Johnny Raw to the last degree. — M. OD. |