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the labyrinth, where many a young counsel had lost his Among the number of valuable Tables, we notice four patience and his fees. Great expectations were excited in extensive Zoological Synopses, drawn up expressly for the profession, to which Mr Brown's assiduity was known, the present work, by Desmoulins ; also two Tables from his collections of Decisions, and from the skill and from the celebrated work of the Wenzels, showing the learning displayed in his Treatise on Sale ; and although absolute and relative size and weight of the human brain time alone can settle the public opinion on a work of at different periods of life, and the progress of the cere. this description, yet, so far as can yet be seen, the ex. hral developement in diff rent animals. We perceive pectations of the profession will not be disappointed. also that Dr Milligan lias presented us with a new view The arrangement is lucid and accessible, and the ab. of the relation of the external to the internal table of the stracts of the Decisions are at once logical, perspicuous, skull; and as the subject appears to us important, we and concise. We have heard professional men speak shall probably take an early opportunity of laying it bewith thankfulness of the labour and anxiety which this fore our readers in a popular shape. In the meantime, Synopsis has already saved them as the desired cases we may conclude the present briet notice by observing, are classified in such a scientific manner as to be found als that this translation of Majenoie's deservedly popular most at a glance, and as Mr Brown's abstract, in general, work should be in the hands of every person, who takes answers every requisite purpose ; and if farther informa- any delight in the interesting science of Physiology. tion be desired, the page and volume of the original report are indicated, so as to ensure immediate reference.

In conclusion, we beg to suggest to Mr Brown the propriety of subjoining an Index of the titles under The Christian's Pattern ; or Pious Reflections for every which he has arranged the cases, which should also in- day in the Month. Collected chiefly from Thomas à clude some of the titles used in other indices, and point Kempis; with Additions, by Edward Upham. Lon. out where the subject is to be found in his own arrange

don. Hurst, Chance, and Co. 1829.

EVERY body, we suppose, has heard of Thomas å

Kempis, yet we suspect a g od number of people have An Elementary Compendium of Physiology. By F.

a very vague notion who or what he was. He was a fa

mous theologian, born in those times when theology was Majendie, M.D. Translated from the French. With

all in all, in the year 1380, at Kempen, a small village Copious Notes, Tables, and Mustrations, by E. Mil

near Cologne. He devoted his whole lite to the study of ligan, M.D. Third Edition. Edinburgh. John

divinity, and did not die till he had reached his ninetyCarfrae. 1829.

second year. Besides transcribing many books of de

votion, which was then considered a work of great meThe name of Majendie ranks so high in the history rit, he left behind him a vast number of original serof Physiological Science, and his investigations and ex

mons and pious treatises, which were published at Coperiments have been so ably and successfully conducted, logne in the year 1960, in three volumes folio. One of that any production from his pen will always come be his treatises, “ De Imitatione Christi,” has been so fore the public, with a strong claim to attention. His

much adınired by the devout, that it has been translated detached essays, giving an account of his researches, are into almost all languages. He lived a solitary, but in. exceedingly numerous; but they are scattered through nocent life; and it has been well remarked of him, various French periodicals, and frequently inaccessible that " silence was his friend, labour bis companion, and to the English student. Accordingiy, his " Compen- prayer his auxiliary.” A saying of his has been recorded dium of Physiology,” which concentrates, in a single which strongly illustrates the character of the man. It volume, the most important of these researches, must prove a very useful and valuable work. We know it have found it nowhere, except in a little corner with a

is this :—“I have sought for rest everywhere, but I has long been pronounced one of the best elementary little book.” The epitaph on the stone which covers his books on this subject that has yet appeared in any remains, and which consists only of two lines, in the form country; and not only as a text-book to the student, of a question and answer, brings out the same idea:but as a work of general reference, it will always maintain a high character in the literature of medicine. Dr Oh! where is peace, for thou its paths hast trod ? Milligan, the author of a valuable edition of Celsus, has, In poverty, retirement, and with God." we therefore think, conferred a very great benefit on the This is nearly all that is known of Thomas à KemBritish student, by presenting him with the present pis. His works, though now-a-days no one ever thinks translation ; the value of which is materially enhanced, of looking into tbem, contain many excellent things, by the number of notes and tables which the translator and Mr Upham, the judicious editor and translator of hias himself added, including the opinions of other emi. the small book now before us, not choosing that the nent physiologists, and an account of the most recent Christian world should lose sight entirely of a divine discoveries in physiology. The business of a translator who once ranked so high, has given us, in “The Christian's is generally of a dull, plodding, and mechanical charac- Pattern,” a selection of some of his original's best pieces.

He endeavours laboriously to follow closely the And saying to himself, like the Frenchman,—“A pre. footsteps of the original author, and does not himself sent, qui lise des tomes en folio ?” he has compressed aspire to throw a single additional ray of lig on the his is Pious Reflections" into as neat and little a 24mo subject by which he may be surrounded. Dr Milligan, as one could wish to carry in his waistcoat pocket. The however, has assumed a higher ground ; since, in addi. “ Meditations,” which are for every day in the month, tion to discharging his duties as a translator, he has will be read with profit-by all those who know the vaalso added, in an appendix, a number of original misalue of the Psalmist's advice to “ Commune with your cellaneous articles, which are as worthy of our attention

own heart in your chamber, and be still." as is any part of the work of Majendie itself. Among the number of these, we notice discussions on the Tis. sues of Bichat, with tables ; on Bichat's Doctrine of the Double Life ; on the Theories of Vibration, Respira. Tales and Confessions. By Leitch Ritchie. London. tion, Absorption, &c.; also an account of the most re- Smith, Elder, and Co. 1829. 8vo. Pp. 364. cent discoveries in the Nervous System, including the labours of Flourens, Bell, Edwards, Dumas, and Pre- Had we been able to notice this book a week or two vost; Rolando, Desmoulius, Fodera, Mayo, and the sooner, we should have spoken of it at greater length. most distinguished French and English physiologists. We have read it through with considerable pleasure, and

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the impression it leaves upon us is, that Mr Ritchie is a “ You may save yourself the terror of such a conjuncclever iman, though not possessed of much original ge. tion,” said she. “ You shall never take me to your bonius. There is a good deal of interest in most of the I hope in God we shall never again sleep under stories, with here and there passages of more than ordi- the same roof." nary power. We wish well to all literary men; and we “ Just as you please, madam. Make the most of think Mr Ritchie peculiarly entitled to encouragement, your pride and insolence that you can.

In the meansince, in conjunction with his friends, Messrs Richard time, you will please to remember that this is my house;": son and St John, he has given us one of the best week- and so saying, I strode majestically into my own room. ly periodicals of which the metropolis can boast" The The horrors of that night will remain engraven on my London Weekly Review."

distracted memory for ever! I overheard her hushing our beloved baby to sleep, with many sobs and tears,

and still I had not the power to return and fling myself MISCELLANEOUS LITERATURE,

at her feet. I found that in my heart she was forgiven already ; but, wondering who could have poisoned her ear, I resolved to let her feel my resentment for such un

grounded suspicions for a little while. As I was hugTHE WANDERER'S TALE.

ging myself on the propriety of this demeanour, I heard By the Ettrick Shepherd.

a carriage stop at the street door ; but, it being a place “ Cross'd in life--by villains plunder'd,

where carriages were constantly stopping, I paid no at. More than yet you've given belieť ;

tention to it. Our door-bell was never rung; and though Fortune's bolts have o'er me thunder'd,

I heard some bustling on the stair, I regarded not that Till my very heart is deal."

either. The carriage drove off, and all was quiet. At I TOLD you that I had loved,—and heaven is my length, being unable to contain myself longer, I rung witness how dearly and how sincerely! Yes! I saw the bell, and asked the girl for Clara. my Clara, I wooed and won her from a feared and hated “ My lady is gone out, sir.” rival, just when he thought he had nothing to do but to “ Out! Whither is she gone at this time of night ?” lead her to the altar. From that day he took every op- “ She is gone out, sir. She went away in that carportunity of picking a quarrel with me; but I bore all riage.” triumphantly, proud of the prize of which I had berea- • And the child? What, then, has become of the ved him.

child ?" He was a Major-General at this time ; and, not long “ He is gone out too, sir. My lady has taken him after my marriage, my embarrassments induced me to along with her.” accept an appointment in the arıny; and it so fell out, " When is she to be in again ?" that in about three years afterwards, this same rival be- “ I could not be saying, sir. But I suppose she is came my commanding officer. This was a humility not going to make some stay away; for when she went she to be borne, and I had already taken measures to get kissed me, gave me a guinea, and, squeezing my hand, she rid of it, which, however, could not be brought to bear said, “ Farewell, Nancy,' and I felt the tears dripping off for soine time ; and, in the meanwhile, I fear my temper at her chin,—- farewell, Nancy,' said she ; . God be with had grown surly and severe with my charming wife, for you !' and poor, dear lady, she was crying. What could I had been chagrined by many losses and crosses of late. ail her, your honour ? I cannot comprehend it, for inSo one night when I came home to my lodging, after a deed she was crying.' Week's absence on duty, I kissed my little boy, and, as Every word that the girl spoke went like a dagger to usual, was going to kiss his mother ; but behold! I was my heart, and I felt that my face was sealed, and that repulsed with indignation and scorn ; and before I got misery, desolation, and utter oblivion, only awaited me. time to articulate a word in my astonishment, I was ad- I was mad already; for I seized my hát, ran down stairs, dressed in the following unbrookable terms:

and, without ever asking which way the carriage went, " Go and bestow your kisses on those who have en pursued, running till at the farther end of the town, aná joyed them for these eight days past,-nay, for these then along another street, till quite exhausted. Twice eight months and more. I have suffered your irregulari- was I taken up by the police ere morning, while running ties and insults long; but I will suffer them no longer." and calling her name, like a child that had lost its mo

In utier consternation, I asked an eclaircissement, I ther. believe good-naturedly, or nearly so, when the woman of Had I been capable of any proper exertion at all ademy heart and soul, -the woman on whose face I had ne. quate to my love and regret, I might still have recoverver seen a frown,-accused me broadly of infidelity to her, ed my beloved Clara ; but I was petrified, benumbed, and of seducing the wife of another,-a crime of which overwhelmed with astonishment, and I knew of no place I had kept her in concealment for the best part of a year. to which she could retreat whither to follow her; so I And she added,

took to my bed, and abandoned myself to despair. 1 " I knew of it long ago, and would fain have passed was called on to attend parade, and, being obliged to it over in silence; but now, it is become so public that comply, I found the General more than usually insulting decency is outraged, and I desire you to return to her, that day; but I bore all with unmoved apathy, caring and leave me as I am, with my poor child here." neither for him nor aught in this world. As I refused

Here I fell into the greatest error of my life. I got going to mess, one of my companions, who sympathised into an ungovernable rage, and there is no doubt that I with me, accompanied me home, and by the way said to used my beloved wife very badly. The crime of which me," I am truly sorry for you, Archibald ; but I fear I was accused was entirely without foundation. I had you have been the author of this flagrant and disgracenever so much as in thought been for a moment alien- ful business yourself; and now it is irremediable.” ated from Clara, and the accusal put me actually beside I asked him to what he alluded, every joint in my myself; and perhaps my misfortunes had rendered my body in the meanwhile trembling like an aspen, when mind rather unstable by this time.

he told me shortly, as a fact known to the whole mess, “ You are a poor, weak-minded miserable woman, to that my wife was now living under the General's probelieve any such report of me,” said I ; " and if you tection. This was a blow indeed! Could any man's Were a thousand times dearer than you are, I would tear reason have stood this shock : Could yours, sir? I deyou from my heart and affections ; for how could I take ny it, if you had any spark of the feelings of a man. I a being to my bosom who entertains such a mean opi- instantly penned a challenge,-a terrible one ; but my nion of me?

companion refused to carry it to his commanding officer,

a

telling me that I would be found in the wrong. But lic, upon whom they prey, into a belief of their harm. knowing another gentleman who hated the General, Ilessness. We propose stirring a few of them up with got him to deliver the challenge. But his honour re- the long pole of our ingenuity; and, on the old princi. fused to meet me. Yes, the dog, the craven, refused gi- ple of place aux dames, we shall begin with a female ving me satisfaction, and, what was worse, answered my monster :note in a calm, exulting style, as I had answered his in. The Fushionable-Matron-Monster,-a very formida. jurious remarks formerly. He told me he had done me ble and imposing animal. Her drawing-room is the no wrong, but rather a service, by granting my wife and most splendid that was ever protected from the vulgar child an asylum, when I had turned them out of doors ; glare of day by glowingly painted window-blinds. The and that such a fellow was not worthy to be whipt by foot sinks in her rich and velvety carpet as in a bed of the hands of a gentleman--a fellow who could turn a moss. Her tables, of dark mahogany, or burnished rose lovely and amiable lady, with a babe at her bosom, out or elm wood, reflect the carved ceiling in their massy to the streets at midnight.

mirrors. She sits upon the splendour of her crimson This was blow upon blow! There never was a poor Ottoman, and bestows the indubitableness of her opinions wretch humbled as I was. I swore to myself to have upon those who venture within fifteen yards of her mag. revenge, and went and watched the villain's door early nificence. Her carriage has the deepest colouring, the and late to assassinate him. But, aware of his danger, larg st armorial bearings, and the costliest mountings. he always eschewed me, and soon went away 10 a distunt Her horses are of unequalled size and sleekness ; and part of the country to review some troops, taking my her lacqueys move their empurpled limbs under a canopy wife in the carriage with him. I followed him, and, of powdered and pomatu ined hair. When she rides, she waylaying him on his path to the field, I met him, with sees that there is a pedestrian world, but looks out upon only one servant riding a good way behind him. I chal. it only with a c.lm sense of incalculable superiority, lenged him to fight me, or die on the spot. When he apparent upon the maj stic ugliness of her countenence. saw it was me, he was terrified, and put spurs to his Her obeisance is imperial,-colder and statelier than the horse ; but I seized it by the reins, and tired a pistol in obnutation of an iceberg. Her routs are splendid and the villain's face, determined to blow his brains all abroad exclusive. “ Family cinners,” compromising and econoupon the high way. In the struggle I missed my aim ; mical “ hops,” she probably never heard of ; and if she the ball only grazed his cheek, and took off his left ear. did, she would look upon them with contempt, as tendHe then either fell or flung himself from the horse, roar. ing to lower the grand scale of her social operations. The ing out murder. I drew my sword in order to extermi. date and style of her cards of invitation settle the fashion nate him, and, it seems, gave him one wound, when at for the winter. The male creatures, who receive the that moment I was knocked down by a blow from behind honour of invitations, are expected to dress with preci

. by the servant's loaded whip. When I recovered, I sion. An erroneous knot upon a neckcloth ; a waistcoat found myself in a dungeon. I was tried, found guilty, buttoned too high or too low ; a vulgar arrangement of and condemned. But I cannot tell you what I suffered. hair,—not to talk of the horrible profanity of an improNo tongue can relate the half of the contumely, disgrace, perly cut coat, or silk stockings a season out of date, and humiliation, that I underwent. Man has done his inevitably strike the wearer off the privileged list. Her worst to mewoman has done her worst to me- the name is always found high up among the lady-patron. world has done its worst to me and I have done with esses and lady.directresses ; and if she goes to a public them all!

place, she is followed by a select suite of young ladies, The General soon turned off Clara. He had got his sent by their happy mammas to luxuriate in the aristorevenge. He had got the victory, and he wanted no cracy of her presence. Her door is unsullied with aught more, -ruined her, and broken and disgraced me. It so vulgar as a number or a name ; but you may know was long before I ventured to go and see her. At length it by the lazy footmen, and overgrown poodles, who I ventured; but she only screamed and tainted, and I commonly congregate in its vicinity. Every sentiment was obliged to retire. We exchanged several letters ; is up in arms against this proud, unfeeling automaton; and, after some months had elapsed, I was permitted to it is some comfort, therefore, to know that every body visit her, under a promise that it was to be for the last hates her, and that she is not happy. time. But what passed at that meeting I can never The Consequential Wisc-Man-Monster..Self-condescribe. You see, it makes me shed tears to think of ceit, pom posiiy, and the profound adiniration of old wo. it even now. I kneeled at her feet ; but she would not men, have been an over-match for the originally weak permit me to touch her. The boy called me father, and intellect of Mr Owlstare. He now imagines himself a I caressed him ; but Clara kepi a reserved and deter. walking Encyclopædia, and the final court of appeal in mined distance, saying, that no motive should ever in all cases where a literary, political, moral, or religious duce her to live with me again, which she considered an dispute arises. Ask him to meet with the most en inent injustice to me that she was incapable of. She knew long men of the day, and he never for a moment supposes ago, she said, that I was blameless ; but she had been that the compliment is paid to him, but to them. Tell misled by the miscreant with alleged proofs, which she him one of your best stories, and it will fail to produce deemed conclusive. We exchanged forgiveness in the any effect upon him ; he merely hints that he has heard name of the Lord, and in the same name cursed our de- it better told before. Make one of your profoundest stroyer, and parted, never to meet again in this world. observations on philosophy or political economy, and be

will only hem, and look half s ge, half contemptuous. Try him upon the fine arts, and he gives you to under. stand, that unless you have been to the Vatican, you cannot sail upon the same tack with him. Venture into

the arcana of science, and you are silenced, by hearing “Now, by two-headed Janus ! Nature hath framed strange felluws in her time."

him pronounce Sir Humphrey Davy a mere schoulbos. The use he makes of all the information he possesses, is

to exalt himself; and when his ignoran e by chance For a succession of ages Naturalists have endeavour. stares him in the face, he gets out of the dilen ma, by ed to inculcate the opinion, that wild beasts are to be treating his adve-sary with sarcastic indiff-rence. To found only among the brute creation ; but the melan- general company this manner is successful. He is not choly fact is at length ascertained, that many monsters, inuch liked, but he is immensely respected. Hospitar besides those which usually haunt dens and caves, gø ble country gentlemen, middle-rate lawyers

, wealthy loose in society under talse pretences, deluding that pub- merchants, with all their wives and all their daughters,

MONSTERS NOT MENTIONED BY LINNEUS.

SHAKSPEARI.

a

my dear,

9

hardly know how to treat him with sufficient deference. Upon all subjects he is equally at home,-that is to say, Every body begs for the honour of drinking wine with equally superficial. He knows all about the next WaMr Owlstare ; every body is anxious to know what Mr verley novel ; he writes in Blackwood's Magazine, or at Owlstare thinks upon the subject ; every body sends the least says that he writes in it; and can tell you who all nicest cut in the whole salmon, and the wing and breast the articles are by. On the Corn Laws, the Drama, the of the chicken, to Mr Owlscare. He goes into the Catholic question, the Opera, Phrenology, and modern drawing-room, and the lady of the house carries him his Poetry, he is ever ready to pour forth a torrent of infortea-cup with her own hands, whilst her eldest girl, “ who mation, of somewhat ephemeral interest, it is true,—but was seventeen the fifth of last September,”' brings him that is not his fault. He writes and speaks on every the cake. He eats and drinks an unconscionable quan- subject that comes in his way. His father is proud of tity, but every body is continually beseeching him to him; his mother doats on him; his sisters admire him ; eat and drink more. He goes home about nine-a kind his cousins die for him. He publishes a thin quarto voof disagreeable caricature of Samuel Johnson; and his lume of very magnificently printed poetry, and, like Roabser.ce occasions, unconsciously, so general a relief, bert Montgomery's, his own portrait faces the title-page, that the young people, in the exuberance of their spirits, his neck bare, and shirt collar turned down a la Byron, propose a quadrille, and the previous generation sit.-bis hair combed back over his brow, and his eye lookdown to whist, enlivening the pauses of the game by the ing upwards, to see what is to be seen in the sky. Senmost animated encomiums on Mr Owlstare.

sible men pronounce him a coxcomb; but the uniniti. The Treacle-tongued-Monster-is commonly a female. ated discover genius in every line, and milliners fall into She is probably a would-be-young old maid, who has a pining melancholy by the hundred. Then comes a wormed herself into a sort of paltry independence, prin shower of Albums, and he writes in every one of them, cipally by having had several legacies left her, as the and signs his name at full length by way of autograph. wages of toad.eating. She visits a good number of fa- All this, though it may make “ the unskilful laugh, milies of respectability, on what she considers an easy cannot but make the judicious grieve.” The Clever. and intimate footing ; that is to say, she can look in up- young-Man-Monster, unless roused by ridicule into com. on them very soon after breakfast, or about tea-time, mon sense and a useful pursuit, sinks into premature and she is sure not to derange their domestic economy, oblivion, and lives to wonder at his own littleness. for they will say,_". Oh! it is only Miss Amelia The Insipid-young-Lady-Monster.—This is a harm. Treacle.tongue. Her conversation is very thickly less, but very annoying monster.

She is rather pretty, studded with tender appellatives ; such as

lisps slightly, and, as the Ettrick Shepherd says, has a -“my love,"_terms in which she continually ad- great quantity of " waving curls abune the bree. She dresses all her female acquaintances. She is always very very frequenily sits beside you at a large and ceremoni. particular in her inquiries on the subject of health, and ous dinner-party. You determine to be agreeable, and is distressed-quite distressed--to hear of the slightest alenost brilliant; but, to your infinite distress, you dis. ailment. A headach “ alarms" her,-a cough “ sug- cover, before the soup is removed, that the fair automagests the fear of consumption,”-a sore throat makes ton has, in her whole composition, only one idea and a her pathetic, and reminds ber of the uncertainty of half. She listens to you, but does not understand you ; human existence.” She calls to ask after the patient your most sparkling sayings she rewards with a look of every day, often twice a day, until the most perfect con- gentle be wilderment,-half reproachful, and half depre. valescence has taken place. She apparently has the catory,—as if she fancied you were quizzing her. You most ardent attachment 10 all children. She takes every at length labour to say things as full of inanity and sil. little urchin in her arms, kisses him, calls him a “ dar. liness as possible, and she immediately regains her comling cherub," and gazes on him delightedly, (at least posure, and thinks you have begun to talk rationally. when his mamma or papa is present,) although the said Her mamma watches the progress of the conversation, “ darling cherub" be a spoiled, clumsy, dumpy, red. and is quite delighted with the attention you are paying headed, disagreeable varlet. With all the minutiæ of her daughter. When you return to the drawing-room, little family histories Miss Amelia Treacle-longue is a scat is reserved for you, a, an especial favour, beside particularly well acquainted; she communicatus a piece the Insipid-young.Lady-Monster. Your concealed yawns of scandal in the softest and most confidential manner; almost kill you; but, to make up for your real listlessshe “ hints a doubt,” or “ hesitates dislike,” with a ness, you atfect the most animated pleasure, and next whispery gentleness, quite irresistible. She is rather day all your friends wish you joy, considering the mar. delicate, yet goes abroad in all weathers. At table,- riage already fixed. The insipid young lady actually not in her own house, but that of a friend, she is con- knits a purse for you, and sends it to you with a note, tinually pressing you to eat, and animadverting on the in which there are only three grammatical errors. For a poorness of your appetite. She has no taste or ear for month, the very sight of a petticoat gives you the va. music; but is exceedingly useful in praising the

efforts pours; and you never go to a ceremonious dinner-party of all the young ladies of the house, and in affecting without fear and trembling. rapture, till others think it necessary to affect it too. The Dyspeptic,or Stomach-complaint. Monster._ This She is rather religious, and has a temper which nothing monster is like a caterpillar in your soup, or a spider in on earth would seem capable of ruffling; yet, in truth, your tea-cup. He is called Sir Pillbox Phialwn, and if her real character were known, she is the most pee- he edities you with details of the inefficaciousness of his vish, hypocritical, greedy, selfish, and tyrannical being digestive organs, till he alınost makes you suppose you in existence. She is a concentration of stings, smeared have lost your appetite yourself. There is not a medi. over with an external coating of honey; and does more cine in the whole pharmacopeia that he has not taken by mischief in her own officious, sneaking, underhand way, pounds or pints, until the only nutriment which his in. than a hundred bold downright murderers, who kill ner man can enjoy is something or other concocted in an their men, and are hanged for it.

apothecary's shop. His face has a saffron, exsanguineous The Ciever-young-Man-Monster.--The growth of hue, and smiles are strangers to its cavernous recesses. this species of monster has been so rapid, that it almost He reminds one of a raw day in February, and his concalls for the interference of the legislature. Like the versation is like the drizzling of sleet upon a cupola. rats of the old Egyptian city, they threaten to cat up All his reading is confined to medical and non-niedical every thing. One can hardlý tuin without meeting this treatises on health and ditt. The only work of a lit rary monster. He is about two-and-twenty ; has rather an kind he ever looks into, is the “ Diary of an Invalid.” expressive face, and an interminable volubility of tongue. He wonders that the horrible excesses of general society, He is not one of those that hides his light under a bushel. in the matter of eating and drinking, do not throw all

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mankind into fevers. His children, if he has any, are little, lean, half-starved things; and they look like small memento moris collected round a death's.head.

The Strong-Man-Monster. Mr Sampson Hammerclub is six feet one in height, and proportionably broad. He is a member of all Highland and gymnastic clubs. Athletic exercises engross all his time and thoughts. He is continually walking backwards_forwards- upon his hands and feet-upon his head ;-running, leaping, ri. ding, shooting, boxing, fencing, quoiting, putting, climb. ing up poles, raising weights, and fitty other similar operations. In whatever society he may be, he never sits on his seat balf-an-hour at a time, without offering to exbi. bit his powers, by lifting a chair in his teeth, and flinging it over his head ; or bending a poker across bis arm ; or jumping over the table without breaking the decan. ters; or, if Heaven hath made you of smali dimensions, letting you stand upon one of his hands, and litting you upon the sideboard. He has bushy, black whiskers, a strong voice, an immeasurable chest ; and moves among delicate females like a "bull in a china-shop." He thinks himself the handsomest man in Scotland ; and, by all persons of five feet six, is looked upon as the ugliest fellow in existence.

Many other Monsters are there, whom we can, at present, do little more than name. There is the Universallyrespected, or Exemplary Monster, one who wants the virtue to be great, or the passion to be egregiously wrong; the Over-refined Monster,-who, instead of a gentleman, is a petit maitre, and mistakes finical nicety for taste ; the Would-be-genteel Monster,—who is the vulgarest creature under the sun, because he does not know his vulgarity, and therefore boldly does things which make every body else blush for one who cannot blush for himseli; the inevitable Monster,—who, in his idleness and prosy stupidity, is continually inflicting himself upon you, and whom you are sure to meet with at every turn, without knowing how or why; the Married-man Monster,—who, from being one of the best companions in the world, suddenly becomes uxorious, rigidly moral, and a great descanter on the comforts of domestic life; the No-supper-eating Monster, who sits down to that most social of all meals, and will touch nothing but a crust of bread and a glass of water, which he seasons with anecdotes of nightmare and apoplexy ; the Clever-woman Monster,—whois aged thirty, at least, and probably unmarried, and who makes her reputation the excuse for brow-beating all her female acquaintances, and saying impertinent things to the men ; the Happy Monster, who is always in the most tremendous flow of good spirits, and who has no more notion of indulging you in any thing like a sentimental mood, than he would have of scattering roses over his plum-pudding before he eat it; and, lastly, the Editorial Monster,—who treats his contributors worse than negro-slaves, but of whom we shall only venture to say, that he is “ a very ancient and fish-like monster."

And the bill, thick-starred with golden furze,

With daisy glades between, Why do I hate to look on it,

As 'twere some blasted scene? O Mary! Mary dearest !

'Twas there we spent our May,
'Twas there I dreamt that life would be

To us one summer day.
My mother, well you warned me,

The time that he came here;-
I heeded not that warning,

And it has cost me dear.
I thought not that his twilight song,

His darksome hair and eye,
His wan cheek and his gloomy brow,

Could work such witchery.
But Mary, my loved Mary,

Became the stranger's bride,
And then fate had no ills for me,
Save one, which did betide.

II.
It was an autumn evening;

The yellow leaves and brown,
Like orphan children, o'er the tields,

Were scattered up and down.
And I, more sére than autumn leaf,

More sad than orphan child,
Roamed, all unknowingly, to where

Her new-built cottage smiled.
My hand restrained the rising heart,

That would have swell'd in vain;
I bless'd herself;— I bless'd her house,

And felt relieved from pain. “ Canst tell us where young Robert lives,

The husband of the maid,
The fairest girl in all your glen ?"

Two stalwart strangers said.
My eye fell upon Mary's home,

Not one word did I say ;Before I had recall'd my glance,

The men were on their way. A moment, and a moment more,

Loud rose a woman's cry ;
The roebuck on the heather-hill,

Was not more fleet than I.
At once I stood beneath that roof,

Where I had never been,
Where but to fancy I might be,

I would have thought a sin.
In fetters of the iron cold,

The men had Robert bound,
His wife,-my love-lost Mary, lay

Stretch'd senseless on the ground.
I grasp'd a knife,—to deadlier arms

The strangers flew, and cried “ Young man ! we've seiz'd a murdererNay, more--a parricide !"

III.
They took dark Robert to the jail, -

On came his trial day;
He was a proven parricide,

No man could say it nay.

a

ORIGINAL POETRY.

THE ILL-STARRED BRIDE. By William Kennedy, Esq. Author of Fitful Fancies," dir.

I. When small bird and bright wild flower,

River and rustling tree, Keep, in my old paternal glen,

Blithe summer jubilee ;
How comes it, that though still my heart

Loves Nature as before,
It singeth not, it danceth not,

To greet her as of yore?

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