that where there are realities, there also are counterfeits.

The learned pedants are not so numerous as the former; indeed their conduct is far more excusable. The semi-learned pedant aspires to the honour without the labour--the learned pedant to the honour after the labour; one expects the victory ere he has fought the battle; the other conquers and is ostentatious of his success. The learned pedant errs from not knowing, or not acknowledging the influence of times and seasons; few indeed are those who can blend amusement with abstruse disquisition, and strew flowers in the rugged paths of rigid demonstration. It has been said that a wit can shine only in certain company, and this might have been observed with equal truth of the profound student, who, however learned, is by some considered a "dull crack-brained fellow," irksome because incomprehensible. The learned scholar is not warranted in supposing that his auditors are equally as learned as himself, and therefore deeply interested in those subjects which, although so congenial to the philosopher, are disregarded by the generality of mankind. It may not be partial to assert, that the learned pedant's conduct does not arise from ostentation, but rather from an underrating of his own talents, which leads him to believe that all are equally as learned

and wise as himself.

As to the ignorant pedant he is only deserving of contempt; for not only does he invest himself with unmerited honours, but exposes learning itself to ridicule; and as to the semi-learned pedant, if he would but reflect on those master-minds who have possessed, and do now possess, stores of knowledge to which his scanty stock is not worthy to be compared, and

remember that others are at least as wellinformed as himself, he would abate his arrogance, and finding his intellectual superiority not so vast as he imagined, lower the tone of his colloquies, and talk of other subjects as well as remote history, or abstruse points of philosophy, the substratum of matter or the essence of existence.

SONNET TO A SOW.

(For the Mirror.)

J.

OH, Grumphie! Bristle-back! or Curly-tail!
What is thy name in poesy? for thou
In prose, I know, art vulgarly a sow;
Enchanting beastess! after whom do trai
Some dozen piggy-wiggies small; I vow
For blocking up the path, bad I a flail
I'd thrash thee well, unless my heart should
fail,

WHEN the queen bee is about to lay an egg, she puts her head into a cell, and remains in that position a second or two, to ascertain whether it be fit to receive the

deposit. She then withdraws her head, curves her body downwards, inserts her tail into the cell, and having kept this position for a few seconds, turns half round on herself, and after laying the egg, withdraws her body.

When the queen lays a cluster of eggs to the number of thirty or forty on one side of the comb, instead of laying in all the empty cells in the same quarter, she leaves it and goes to the other side, and lays in the cells which are directly opposite to those she has just supplied with eggs, and in none else. In this order she seems to be scrupulously exact, and probably it is to ascertain whether there be an egg in the opposite cell, that she keeps her head inserted, previous to laying, longer than would be merely necessary to find whether the one she is inspecting be empty. The mode of proceeding is of a piece with that wise arrangement which runs through all the operations of the bees, and is another effect of that remarkable instinct by which they are guided; for as they cluster closely in those parts of the comb which are filled with brood, in order to hatch them the heat will penetrate to the other side, and some part of it would be wasted if the cells on that side were altogether empty, or filled with honey. But when both sides are filled with brood, and covered with live bees, the heat is confined to the spot where it is necessary, and is turned to full account in hatching the young bees.

H. W. DEWHURST.

A YOUNG man of the name of Neck, was recently married to a Miss Heels; they are now therefore tied Neck and Heels together.

66

The Sketch-Book.

No. XL.

THE BAKER A

íaof the

THE baker is an al vourite among the fema kitchen department. H ed upon by them as the very flow gallantry. His hat, whether white orck, is always worn smartly; and there is a dandyism (peculiar to this class of the community) about his boots,-and the most indifferent observer may perceive he is vastly particular in this part of his accoutrement the cream-coloured tops, deep as a quarttop, display the care and attention in cleaning them and then his large, doublecased silver watch, which he often draws out, and proudly, though apparently unintentionally, exhibits when gossipping and the pendant chain and gingling bunch large seals and choice coins thereto belonging, all proclaim his pardonable vanity, and tend to exalt his consequence in the curious and admiring eyes of giggling Betty," who good-humouredly retorts his half-whispered "nothings," by an exclamation of "What nonsense!" or, "A-done, you foolish fellow-do !". and trips down the area in glee-hugging the brick or quartern in one hand, and perhaps a pen and ink, and check-book in the other the latter of which is of little utility in the hands of such an Argus, or steward, as Betty, who would probably take serious offence at hearing the young man's strict honesty called in question; and cares little how many deadmen" he makes, so long as he continues to keep the women alive by his flirtation and pretty sayings. The very creaking of his wicker basket, as he wields it round and casts it at the door, is pleasing music, and an overture of an agreeable chat to the maid-who never keeps him waiting, and indeed scarcely gives him time to knock or ring before she makes her appearance with a-"good mornen, mister baker!"

He is in every respect a most fortunate and favoured man, for he can do no wrong; and if there be any complaint to be made (as it often happens) concerning the badness of the bread or the bakings, the maid softens it down by beginning" Tell your master my missus says"-thus holding mister baker himself guiltless of any participation in the fault.-Happy man! -Nay, even if his knees be accidentally knocked, or his legs form an X, or St. Andrew's Cross, from his having carried a heavy basket when he was green and

growin

e can, by a dexterous twist position of the said basket, y conceal from observation the d fashion of his understandings. dow different the fate of the unforunate pot-boy. He is held in no respect by any, but as a plague to all. He is often a sturdy, thick-set, thickheaded boy, (selected from the parish school perchance,) coarse in converse, and not an iota of the baker's "mealymouthed" manners about him-and is nem. con. considered the most vulgar of the comers. The very clanking and rattling of his pewter measures is the forerunner of discord and squabbles 'twixt him and the scullion, or dish-water, (none of higher grade in servitude willingly attend him,) for he is always grumbling about the manner in which his pots are returned-the servants always bruising, blacking, or burning them. He hates them for the trouble they give him, and they him for the trouble he takes in telling them of it. The morning of his "life" is no enviable one; but in the evening he starts a different creature; his cares and rebuffs are forgotten, and he glides through the dark streets with his lantern and beer-trays, like a glow-worm. But still he is the pot-boy, and the maids despise him; notwithstanding he whistles the most popular airs, or double-shuffles between his partner-trays, in his hobnailed, high-low shoes, to wile away the time they keep him waiting, and the sole chance he possesses of obtaining a smile or a good word is, when they want to wheedle him to let them have the " yesterday's" newspaper first!

Absurdities: in Prose and Verse

SPIRIT OF THE

Public Journals.

LITERARY REMINISCENCES. "LACON."

THE AUTHOR OF

NEARLY fourteen years have elapsed since chance first threw me in the way of the Rev. C. C. Colton, now so well known to the public by his various writings, but more especially by his admirable series of apothegms, entitled Lacon, or Many Things in Few Words. For my introduction to this very talented but eccentric personage, I was indebted to the politeness of my worthy friend, John Stewart, formerly secretary to the Nabob of Arcot, but better known to the generality of my readers by his cognomen of "Walking Stewart;" a man no less remarkable for the originality of his character, than the

individual whose name I have prefixed to the present paper. It was the custom of my travelled acquaintance to give musical soireés, at his apartments in Cockspurstreet, twice a week; viz. on the evenings of Tuesday and Sunday. His concerts were formed, in the first instance, chiefly of amateurs; but finding their attendance very little to be depended upon, Mr. Stewart determined to secure his visiters against disappointment, by hiring musical professors expressly for the occasion. These entertainments, to which no passport beyond the introduction of a friend was considered necessary, provided that friend was one of the intimate acquaintances of the worthy traveller, continued without intermission, on every ap pointed night throughout the season, nay, Sometimes throughout the entire year; and although the company on such occasions was frequently of a singularly mixed character, there wanted neither beauty, talent, nor fashion, to add to the attractions of the hour. As it is my intention to be more particular in my description of these soirees, and the visiters who frequented them, in my reminiscences of their worthy founder, I shall content my self for the present with remarking, that it was at one of them that Mr. Stewart introduced to me a military-looking gentleman, of somewhat peculiar physiognomy, whom he described as “ Mr. C. C. Colton, the author of a singularly clever brochure, as yet unpublished." My old friend had no very remarkable respect for the dignity of Mr. Colton's office, and consequently left the word Reverend entirely out of the introduction. Mr. C.'s tout-ensemble was at once striking and peculiar. There was an indefinable something in the general character of his features, which, without being remarkably prepossessing, fixed the attention of a stranger in no ordinary degree. His keen grey eye was occasionally overshadowed by a scowl, or inflection of the brow, indicative rather of an habitual intensity of reflection than of any cynical severity of disposition. His nose was aquiline, or (to speak more correctly, if less elegantly,) hooked; his cheek bones were high and protruding; and his forehead by no means remarkable, either for its expansiveness or phrenological beauty of developement. There was a singular variability of expression about his mouth, and his chin was precisely what Lavater would have called an intellectual chin. Perhaps the shrewdness of his glance was indicative rather of extraordinary cunning than of high mental intelligence. His usual costume was a frock-coat, sometimes richly braided, and a black velvet

stock; in short, his general appearance was quite military; so much so, that he was often asked if he was not in the army. I am half inclined to believe that he courted this kind of misconception, as his reply was invariably the same: "No, Sir, but I am an officer of the chuch militant" Had not this pun been destined for immortality, he must inevitably have worn it out many years ago; for scarcely a day passed that he did not put it in requisition.

The eloquence of Mr. Colton's conver. sation inspired me with a strong desire to cultivate his further acquaintance; and my curiosity was considerably increased by the perusal of one of the proof sheets of the sketch he was then preparing for publication, which he happened to have at that time in his pocket, and which appeared to me to contain evidence of very exalted poetical talent. This production, the first edition of which was published under the title of Napoleon, was subse quently enlarged to nearly twice its ori ginal length, and re-christened, The Conflagration of Moscow. There are some circumstances connected with its first appearance which are not a little remarkable, and which deserve a particular mention in this place, as affording evidence that the faculty of poesy and prophecy is sometimes united in the same person, even at the present time. I allude to the extraordinary coincidence of events as connected with the history of Napoleon (and which occurred more than two years after this poem was printed,) with one or two poetical predictions to be met with in its pages. The poem opens with a splendid allusion to the conflagration of Moscow; and after various prophetical denunciations, founded on events that had partially taken place at the time the author wrote, Mr. C. goes on to say

"But ere we part, Napoleon, deign to hear
The bodings of thy future dark career ;
Fate to the poet trusts her iron leaf,
Fraught with thy ruin-read it, and be brief;
Then to the senate flee, to tell the tale
Of Russia's full revenge, Gaul's deep indignant
wail.

-It is thy doom false greatness to pursue,
Rejecting, and rejected by, the true;

A sterling name THRICE proffered to refuse;
And highest means pervert to lowest views;
Till Fate and Fortune, finding that thou'rt still
Untaught by all their good, and all their ill,
Expelled, recalled, reconquered-all in vain—
Shall sink thee to thy nothingness again."

Nay, he seems to have foretold the share which the Scots Greys were destined to take in the final struggle with Bonaparte, at Waterloo :

**And last, to fix thy fate, and seal thy doom, Her bugle note shall Scotia stern resume, Shall grasp her Highland braud, her plaided bonnet plume."

small window over the shop, two or three panes of which were stuffed with the staple commodity of the landlord's trade, I could discover no indication of any

*Such are thy foes, Napoleon, when Time Wakes Vengeauce, sure concomitant of Crime. -Fixed, like Prometheus, to thy rock, o'er powered

By force, by vulture-conscience slow devoured;
With godlike power, but fiendlike rage, no more
To drench a world-thy reeking stage-in gore;
Fit but o'er Shame to triumph, and to rule;
And proved in all things-but in danger-cool,
That found'st a Nation melted to thy will,
And Freedom's place didst with thine image fill;
Skilled not to govern, but obey the storin,
To catch the tame occasion, not to form;
Victorious only when Success pursued,
But when thou follow'dst her, as quick subdued;
The first to challenge, as the first to run,
Whom Death and Glory both consent to shun-
Live! that thy body and thy soul may be
Foes that can't part, and friends that can't agree-
Live! to be numbered with that common herd,
Who life's base boon unto themselves preferred

Live! till each dazzled fool hath understood
That nothing can be great that is not good.
And when Remorse, for blood in torrents spilt,
Shall sting-to madness-conscious, sleepless
Guilt,

May deep Contrition this black hope repel,-
Snatch me, thou Future, from this Present Hell!"

Mr. Colton seemed a good deal flattered by the admiration I expressed of the specimen of his poetical talents with which he had been pleased to favour me; and as our route home lay in the same direction, it was proposed that we should take our leave of Mr. Stewart's party together. Before we separated, Mr. C. gave me a pressing invitation to breakfast with him the ensuing morning; and, to obviate the possibility of any mistake as to his "whereabouts," put a card into my hand, on which the name of the street, and number of the house, were explicitly described.

At the appointed time I repaired to the scene of action, with my appetite considerably improved by a good half-hour's exposure to the cold air of a spring morning. But what was my surprise, when I found that the house referred to in Mr. Colton's memorandum was a marine-store shop, of the most filthy and povertystricken description. By a marine-store shop (a cant phrase, I believe, for a depository for stolen goods,) I mean a place where old iron, rags, glass bottles, and such like commodities, are bought, sold, and exchanged. To add to my embar rassment, this miserable hovel appeared to contain no possible accommodation for lodgers; as with the exception of a very

of the place of business. Had I set out on a voyage of discovery to the characteristic hiding-place of a blind beggar, for the purpose of administering to his necessities, I might have had some expectation of meeting with the object of my search; but my eccentric acquaintance had informed me that he was not only a Fellow of King's College, Cambridge, (300%. per annum,) but also the possessor of several valuable livings (I forget if the vicarship of Kew and Petersham was at that time among the number;) and I felt that it was impossible that a person moving in such a sphere of life could harbour in so abominable a kennel. After inquiring fruitlessly at almost every other house in the street (I forget its name, but it is directly opposite to that end of Lower Grosvenor-Place which opens into Pinilico,) I concluded there must have been some mistake on the part of Mr. Colton in transcribing the number; and accordingly returned home, determined never more to undertake any similar expedition, without having first fortified my inward man by a good breakfast.

The next time I chanced to meet my new friend, he reproached me with some asperity with having broken my appointment; and on my declaring that the only place I could discover which answered to the description given upon his card was a pestilent hovel into which I should scarcely have ventured to penetrate without some strong preservative against infection, he burst into a loud guffaw, exclaiming, "Why, man, that's my castle, I live there! I despise appearances. The nuisances which seem to have laid so strong a hold on your imagination, did not prevent me from writing the poem you profess to admire so much, within the sphere of their influence. Nay, I am writing-but come, and I will show you what I am writing; and if you are cu rious in wines, I can give you a glass of the noblest hock you ever tasted." Somewhat anxious to atone for my involuntary incivility, I took an early opportunity of paying my respects to him. The most exaggerated description of the garrets of the poets of fifty years ago, would not libel Mr. Colton's apartment. The long accumulation of dirt upon such panes of the windows as were entire, and the opaque substances which kept out the wind from those which were not, abridged in no small degree the modicum of light which might otherwise have been vouch

safea to his labours. The room did not exactly answer to Goldsmith's descrip.

tion

"A chair-lumbered closet, just twelve foet by nine,"

for this simple reason: it contained only two chairs, one apparently the property of the poet, easy and cushioned, and differing essentially in character from the rest of the furniture; and the other a miserable, rush-bottomed affair, so awfully afflicted with the rickets as to keep its unhappy occupant in a state of the most painful anxiety for the nether parts of his person during the whole period of his probation upon it. Damocles could not have been more apprehensive of the fall of the fatal sword upon his head, than I was of the concussion of my head's antipodes with the floor beneath it. The deal table at which Mr. Colton was seated (wrapped in a tattered baize dressing gown,) had evidently caught the conta gion; for, notwithstanding the supple. mentary support with which some bungling practitioner had furnished it, it could scarcely be said to have a leg to stand upon. Then there was, in truth, "The chest, contrived a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day;”and,

"The sanded floor, that grits beneath the tread, The humid wall, with paltry pictures spread." We can scarcely add, also

"The rusty grate, unconscious of a fire”— for, to be candid, the smoke in which the room was immersed, afforded an indication of that of which it might otherwise have been difficult to have ascertained the existence.

Upon the aforesaid table stood a broken wine glass, half filled with ink, with a steel pen (which had seen some service,) laid transversely upon its edge. Imme diately beside the poet, lay a bundle of dirty and dog's-eared manuscripts, the characters of which it would have required the ingenuity of a second Edipus to have deciphered. At his right hand lay Burdon's Materials for Thinking, a work of which I have frequently heard him express himself in terms of exalted commendation, and from which he appears to have derived the hints of several of the best apothegms in his Lacon. On the wall, over against the table, was a three-cornered piece of looking-glass, starred and cracked in every direction; and on the floor of that part of the room in which he was sitting, was spread the tattered remnant of a piece of drugget, the original colour of which it would have been an extremely difficult matter to have ascertained.

Nothing daunted by the wretchedness of the scene before me, poised myself as well as I could on the crazy chair, and entered into conversation with him on the current topics of the day; on all of which, notwithstanding the seclusion in which he lived, he seemed to possess the best information. In short, it was scarcely possible to name a subject on which he could not dilate with extraordinary fluency and effect. He appeared to have an intimate knowledge of chemistry, and to be, in theory at least, a very excellent mechanic; and these various kinds of knowledge are often displayed in a very considerable degree, in his endeavours to illustrate some of the favourite maxims in his Lacon.

On questioning Mr. Colton as to the publication announced on the back of the proof-sheet he had shown me of his Napoleon, he informed me, that the papers then before him formed a portion of the MS.; and proceeded to read me several of the maxims, with a sonorous voice, and the most ludicrous gesticulation. At this time he scarcely contemplated publishing more of them than would occupy a tolerable sized pamphlet; but, encou raged by his success, he afterwards altered his intentions, and determined not to begin to print until he had prepared sufficient copy for a moderate sized octavo volume. The title of the work, as at first announced, was, Many Things in Few Words; addressed to Fewer Persons Those who Think." But on its being suggested to him, that an author was not likely to conciliate the public who conveyed an imputation upon their common sense in the very title page of his book, he agreed to omit the words printed in italics, and thus obviated the objection. He fancied, however, and perhaps with reason, that as every reader would take to himself the credit of 'being one of the "select few," no offence would be given. After reciting to me several pages of this work, he insisted that I should taste his wine; and going to the piece of furniture which contained his bed, opened a large drawer next the floor, which was filled with bottles or wine, ranged in sawdust, as in a bin. From this depository he selected a bottle of the finest hock I ever tasted; an 1 when this was exhausted (a feat which, as we drank out of "tumblers," was soon accomplished,) he replaced it with a bottle of white hermitage, which was also as speedily discussed; and that, too, with as much zest as if we had been in one of the most splendid saloons in the metropolis. It was fortunate for me that I had that day taken an carly dinner, or