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thick and thin, however despicable the merits of that
party may be to all eyes but their own. My worthy
friend, old Christopher there, supposes himself quite
fair, liberal, and impartial, in every department of lite-
rature, and to every literary person under the sun; and
I never contradict him. But, Lord help him! not he !
He is a greater aristocrat in literature than he is in po-
litics; and the amount of that is well known to be quite
sufficient. For instance, I have a great number of li-
terary friends, of whom I think very highly, because
perhaps they are something of the same school with my-
self of that school which Morison, the Galloway man,
calls THE MOUNTAIN SCHOOL,-well, sir, of not one
of these will Kit say a favourable word! He cannot
hinder me from speaking in their recommendation. But
then he makes no answer, but smiles, takes a glass, and
begins another subject; and whenever I try to edge in
a line or two, even sideways, to bring them to notice,
that line does not appear.

Of course, sir, when I read your announcement, and the invitation to take a share in it, and found that I would now be at liberty to publish my free and unbiassed sentiments of all my literary contemporaries, I felt precisely like the Laird of M'Nab, when he had got, with some difficulty, up to the winning-post at Perth races, "By the Lord, but this is me now!"

In articles "second" and "third," I likewise found several departments in which I felt quite at home. But in the fourth! ah! there I was a little staggered! I was obliged to scratch my elbow, and exclaim to myself, "This is no me at a'." "Religious discussion!" Mr Journalist, are you horn-mad? Have you in any degree studied the spirit of the times, and the manifest dispositions of churchmen to wrangle and contend?-to fume, and flame, and censure each other, with an acrimony at which laymen would blush? You will be bayed, sir, you will be worried outright, and both you and your Journal" blawn to the deil" in five weeks, if you meddle with religious discussion at this perilous moment of sacerdotal animosity. There is a prophecy in the Revelations, (a favourite book of mine the foundation of our school of poetry,) that Satan is to be loosed on the earth for a season; and is it not apparent to you, sir, that that period is arrived? that he is already loosed, and, in order to improve his time to the best advantage, has begun with the churchmen, and even fixed on the most ardent professors of religion for his purpose? Presbyterian and Seceder, Catholic and Episcopalian, are all in a fume against each other. Even the most popular of the Covenanters have gone to fisticuffs; and therefore to begin a religious discussion just now, would be the same as snapping an improved patent percussion cap over a barrel of gunpowder. I shall conclude this serious and well-meant letter by an advice which I once "Let us alane o' your heard a father give to his son. glaibering about religion, ye rascal. I wish you wad think mair, and pray mair, and haver less about it.D'ye think that religion's naething but a pease-kill for am, &c. chicken-cocks to cackle about ?"

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JAMES HOGG.

POETRY OF THE HEBREWS.

By William Tennant, Esq. Author of " Anster
Fair," &c.

THE character of every nation is perhaps best visible in the nature of its poetry. The national characters of the French and English people are not more dissimilar than is that of their poetry; in the wild and energetic productions of the German Muse, the German character is reflected as from a mirror. The Jewish people have left to us, in the Bible, a body of song characteristic of themselves, and worthy of that sublime Theocracy which

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principally constituted their government, and under the
influence of which issued every poetic emanation. The
poetry of no nation is so elevated and sublime; sublimity,
pure, simple, unpropped and unencumbered by any fic-
titious aids of sounding and ostentatious language, is
its great imperial characteristic. Greece, which perhaps
stands in this regard next to Judea, stands next only by
a long interval. Neither Homer, Hesiod, nor Eschylus,
the sublimest Greek writers, copious and animated as
they are in their sentiments and their descriptions of
conflicts of Gods and men, can enter into competition
with the Hebrew poets. The works of Isaiah, Ezekiel,
and Jeremiah, contain more sublimity than is to be
found in the productions of the poets of all other coun-
tries taken together. Of these, Isaiah stands supreme,
unique, and unapproachable. His is indeed the tongue
"touched with live-coal from the hand of Seraphim."
The sublimity of Homer appears but a temporary and
impetuous flight, ever tending inevitably earthwards;
that of Isaiah is a self-sustained, continued, and majes-
tic soaring, most at home in heaven. His exultation
over the fallen glory of the King of Babylon-his de-
scription of the power and majestic operations of the
Almighty-his burdens of Egypt, Tyre, and Damascus,
exceed in power all the finest passages of Homer and
Eschylus. His sublime yet satirical contrast of the
God of Jacob with the idols of the heathen (in chap. 44),
exhibits the noblest piece of satire on record. Nor is
Jeremiah less pre-eminent over the Greeks in pathos-a
quality of writing, though inferior to and of less dignity
than sublimity, yet entitling the writer to at least the
second rank. The lyric poetry of the Hebrews is ex-
cellent. The classic reader is disappointed in his pe-
rusal of the writings of Pindar; the Roman language
possesses no sublime lyric poetry. In David we have
beauty of sentiments, tenderness, sublimity; and these
are at times mixed up (as in Psalms 8th and 19th) with
a divine spirit of philosophy peculiar to himself, and of
which no traces are to be found in any ethnical poet.
In short, the Bible, considered as a body of writing,
will ever be regarded as the greatest and best treasure
of poetic literature; and it may be deemed a good test
of taste and sound canon of criticism, that in proportion
as a man possesses a true relish for the higher beauties
of writing, and has endeavoured to gratify and refine
that taste by extensive reading, in the same proportion
will he praise, and the more frequently recur to, that
Book, wherein, above all other books, is to be found most
simplicity and sublimity.

ANECDOTE OF THE CELEBRATED MR RALPH ERS-
KINE, THE FATHER OF THE SCOTTISH SECES-
SION.

By the Author of the "Historics of the Scottish Rebel-
lions," "The Traditions of Edinburgh," &c.
THE only amusement in which this celebrated man
indulged was playing on the violin. He was so great a
proficient on this instrument, and so often beguiled his
leisure hours with it, that the people of Dunfermline
believed he composed his sermons to its tones, as a poet
writes a song to a particular air. They also tell the fol-
lowing traditionary anecdote connected with the subject.
A poor man, in one of the neighbouring parishes, having
a child to baptise, resolved not to employ his own clergy-
man, with whom he was at issue on certain points of doc-
trine, but to have the office performed by some minister
of whose tenets fame gave a better report. With the
child in his arms, therefore, and attended by the full
complement of old and young women who usually mi-
nister on such occasions, he proceeded to the manse of
some miles off, (not that of Mr Erskine,)
where he inquired if the clergyman was at home. "Na,
he's no at hame yenoo," answered the servant-lass;
"he's down the burn fishing. But I can soon cry him

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in." "Ye needna gie yoursell the trouble," replied the man, quite shocked at this account of the minister's habits; "nane o' your fishin' ministers shall bapteese my bairn." Off he then trudged, followed by his whole train, to the residence of another parochial clergyman, at the distance of some miles. Here, on his inquiring if the minister was at home, the lass answered, "Deed, he's no at hame the day; he's been out since sax i' the morning at the shooting. Ye needna wait, neither; for he'll be sae made out (fatigued) when he comes back, that he'll no be able to say bo to a calf, let a-be kirsen a wean!"—"Wait, lassie!" cried the man in a tone of indignant scorn; "wad I wait, d'ye think, to haud up my bairn before a minister that gangs out at six i' the morning to shoot God's creatures? I'll awa down to gude Mr Erskine at Dunfermline; and he'll be neither out at the fishing nor the shooting, I think." The whole baptismal train then set off for Dunfermline, sure that the father of the Secession, although not now a placed minister, would at least be engaged in no unclerical sports, to incapacitate him for performing the sacred ordinance in question. On their reaching, however, the house of this clergyman, which they did not do till late in the evening, the man, in rapping at the door, anticipated that he would not be at home any more than his brethren, as he heard the strains of a fiddle proceeding from an upper chamber. "The minister will no be at hame," he said, with a sly smile, to the girl who came to the door," or your lad (sweetheart) wad na be playing that gate t'ye on the fiddle."-" The minister is at hame," quoth the girl, "mair by token that it's himsell that's playing, honest man. He aye takes a tune at night, before gaun to bed. Faith, there's nae lad o' mine can play that gate; it wad be something to tell if ony o' them could."-"That the minister playing!" cried the man, in a degree of astonishment and horror far transcending what he had expressed on either of the former occasions. "If he does this, what may the rest no do! Weel, I fairly gie them up a'thegither. I have travelled this haill day in search o' a godly minister, and never man met wi' mair disappointment in a day's journey. -I'll tell ye what, gude wife," he added, turning to the disconsolate party behind, "we'll just awa back to our ain minister after a'! He's no a'thegither sound, it's true; but, let him be what he likes in doctrine, deil hae me if ever I kenned him to fish, shoot, or play on the fiddle, a' his days!"

DR CHALMERS.

printer, now dead, was in the habit of introducing a much greater number of commas than it appeared to the author the sense required. The case was provoking, but did not produce a formal remonstrance, until Mr W-n himself accidentally afforded the learned editor an opportunity of signifying his dissatisfaction with the plethora of punctuation under which his compositions were made to labour. The worthy printer, coming to a passage one day which he could not understand, very naturally took it into his head that it was unintelligible, and transmitted it to his employer, with a remark, on the margin, that" there appeared some obscurity in it." The sheet was immediately returned with this reply, which we give verbatim" Mr J- sees no obscurity here, except such as arises from the d-d quantity of commas, which Mr W-n seems to keep in a pepperbox beside him, for the purpose of dusting all his proofs with."

THE DRAMA.

IN introducing a series of dramatic criticisms to the attention of our readers it may be proper to remark, that whilst we shall always take the acted drama of the Theatre Royal here for our text, and shall not scruple to animadvert freely both upon the performances and the performers, we are at the same time anxious to handle the subject in such a manner that our articles may not be considered of merely provincial and ephemeral interest. The proper end and dignity of dramatical criticism have of late years been too much neglected both in the metropolis and throughout the country. Little is to be learned from the lucubrations of the public journals, unless that a new piece succeeded or failed, or that a certain actor or actress, in some established and familiar part, drew down much applause, or excited very general ridicule. What may be termed the philosophy of liberal criticism is entirely lost sight of; and instead of regarding every stage representation as an engine either for good or for evil, and every piece of acting as either a sin against taste and nature, or as a proof of refinement in the one, and accurate knowledge of the other, we are put off with a few flippant and disjointed observations which are forgotten almost as soon as read.

There are two sets of dramatic critics who principally possess the public ear, and against both, objections of a different nature, but equally just, may be urged. The one consists of those, who having in their youth, perhaps twenty or thirty years ago, when John Kemble and his sister Mrs Siddons were in their glory, acquired some reputation for dramatic acumen, have long considered themselves entitled to lie upon their oars, and pronounce opinions only now and then, "as who should say, I am Sir Oracle." To them the drama has lost with its novelty much of its interest. They have seen all the great actors play all their great characters; they have been at a hundred rehearsals; they are familiar with all the fashions of the green-room; plays have they read and seen performed without number; much have they spoken and much have they written upon "tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical,

THE University of Edinburgh has this year added another name to her list of eminent professors, and we have no doubt that, under the management of Dr Chalmers, Theology will vindicate that rank among the sciences which it justly claims. The Rev. Frofessor's Introductory Lecture, on Monday last, was a splendid specimen of that warm and imaginative eloquence, which has made his name illustrious as a pulpit orator. It is premature to judge of his public usefulness as a Divinity Professor, but surely we are justified in anticipating all that success which first-rate talents in the possession of a zealous theologian can accomplish. One great advantage he seems to possess at the outset, in the enthu-historical-pastoral, tragical-historical, tragical-historisiastic admiration and confidence of his students; admiration which we hope time will but increase, and a confidence which we trust to find confirmed by experience.

CURIOUS TYPOGRAPHICAL ANECDOTE.

It is well known to literary people, that in preparing works for the press, it is usual for the printer, after the proofsheets have been seen by the author, to go over them again, and clear them of what are called typographical errors, such as wrong spellings, inaccuracies of punctuation, and similar imperfections. In performing this office for a celebrated northern critic and editor, a

cal-comical-pastoral, scene indivisible, or poem unlimited." Seneca has not been "too heavy" for them, "nor Plautus too light." Gradually, however, all this activity has died away; and, what often happens when an over degree of enthusiasm in a favourite pursuit produces exhaustion, they have passed into an opposite extreme of listlessness and apathy. They are inclined to parody Hamlet, and exclaim-" How weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable, seem to me all the uses of dramatic criticism!" Their feelings upon this subject have become morbid, and though they still retain their former judgment and discrimination, the activity which

ought to accompany these qualities is gone, and they slumber unexercised. No man who takes a steady interest in the progress of the Drama can depend upon such persons for regular and satisfactory information.

The other set of critics above alluded to, are perhaps still less to be trusted. They are for the most part young men of fair abilities who cultivate the belles lettres, and are somewhat vain of the clever articles they write in newspapers, and of having their names on the free list of the theatre. To them all behind the curtain is new, because they have but lately come to consider the realities of an actor's life in a common-sense point of view. The illusions of their boyhood have but recently passed away, when the stage was fairy-land, and all the beings who moved across it genii of a higher order in the scale of creation than themselves. And though this pleasant dream is dissolved, another scarcely less pleasant, has succeeded. The performers are men and women, the manager is a little king, on the scenery and decorations large sums of money have been expended, the audiences are numerous and respectable,—and there is something intoxicating in feeling that over all these their own talents may give them a certain degree of control, and that they may live in the eye of the public in the most enviable of all lights-as guardians of its amusements and directors of its tastes. The consequence is, they are all bustle and energy. The manager has not a moment's peace with them. If a favourite actor be not engaged, if there be too much Opera and too little Tragedy, or if there be too much Melodrama and too little Comedy, how they fume!-they denounce him as a manifest traitor to the best interests of his country,-they impeach his moral character,-they question the soundness of his intellect, they hardly think him entitled to exist! Or it may be that their feelings flow in an opposite channel altogether; they are delighted with every thing, and the merest trifles are magnified into matters of the utmost moment. Of a new piece in one act they will talk for weeks; the elegance of a favourite actress's costume will be the theme of many a lengthened paragraph;-the comic humour of Mr A., the fine figure of Mr B., the sonorous voice of Mr C., the dazzling beauty of Miss D., will be reiterated like some childish rhyme which the child drops asleep in repeating. Or, with a still more tantalizing display of zealous industry and total. absence of all discrimination, they will inform us, day after day, that " Mr E. played delightfully," "Mr F. was exceedingly amusing," "Mr G. was never seen to greater advantage," "Mr H. did more than justice to his part," "Miss I. sang with her usual sweetness," "Mrs J. was greatly and justly applauded." If this be dramatic criticism, there are certainly no sallets in the lines to make the matter savoury; nor no matter in the phrase that might indite the author of af. fection; but an honest method by very much more handsome than fine."

66

It will surely not be a task of great difficulty to avoid either of the extremes we have attempted to describe; and by endeavouring to catch some little inspiration from that immortal author, whose works we shall be frequently called on to notice, mingle at once instruction and entertainment in our dramatic criticisms. It is not merely the shortlived actor alone, or the peculiar style of his representation of character, that we conceive ourselves called upon to bring under review; we should wish likewise to convey to our readers some substantial knowledge of the literary merits of our modern drama, and to inspire them also, if the inspiration be not their own already, with a love for all the ancient glories of the British stage. Two good ends will be thus accomplished our opinions of actors will not be thought the less valuable because intermingled with topics of a more comprehensive and permanent interest, and those topics will themselves be divested of any dryness which might occasionally attach itself to abstract literary dis

cussion, because they will bear a reference to men and things which are, at the very moment, immediately before the public eye. The lapse of a few weeks will enable our readers to judge how far we shall be able to carry these designs into execution.

Of the Edinburgh Theatre and its present manage. ment we shall speak at more length in our next. The winter campaign has commenced auspiciously; the house has been very handsomely repainted; new scenery and decorations have been procured; several novelties have been already produced, and more are in preparation.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

A PASTORAL SANG.

By the Ettrick Shepherd.
AWAKE, my bonnie Marrion Graham,
And see this scene before it closes,
The eastern lift is a' on flame,

And a' besprinkled o'er wi' roses;
It is a sight will glad your ee,
A sight my Marrion loe's to see.
Here are the streaks of gowden light,
Fair as my Marrion's locks o' yellow;
And tints of blue as heavenly bright
As smile within her eye sae mellow;
Her cheeks, young roses even seem
To dimple in yon heavenly beam.
Awake, my bonny Marrion Graham,

Ye never saw sae bright adorning;

I canna bear that my sweet dame

Should lose the pleasures o' this morning; For what wad a' its beauties be Without some likeness unto thee!

I see thee in the silver stream,

The budding rose, and gracefu' willow; I see thee in yon morning beam, And beauty of the glowing billow; I see thy innocence and glee In every lamb that skims the lea. And could you trow it, lovely May,

I see thee in the hues of even; Thy virgin bed the milky way,

Thy coverlet the veil of heaven;
There have I seen a vision dim
Hush'd by an angel's holy hymn.

And, Marrion, when, this morn, above
The gates of heaven I saw advancing
The morning's gem-the star of love,

My heart with rapture fell a-dancing;
Yet I in all its rays could see,
And all its glories, only thee.

Ah! Marrion Graham! 'tis e'en ower true,
And gude forgie my fond devotion,
In earth's sweet green, and heaven's blue,
And all the dyes that deck the ocean,
The scene that brings nae mind o' thee
Has little beauty to my ee.

Get up, ye little wily knave!

I ken your pawky jinks an' jeering,
You like to hear your lover rave,

An' gar him trow ye dinna hear him ;
Yet weel this homage you'll repay,
Get up, my love, an' come away!

THE TRIUMPH OF MALACHI, KING OF MEATH,
BY WHOM THE DANES UNDER TURGESIUS WERE
EXPELLED IRELAND.

By James Sheridan Knowles, Esq.
Author of "Virginius," &c.

MIDST forest deep of flashing spears
The flag of Erin's flying;

Her cause, the one the tyrant fears,
The freeman dares to die in!

In garb of steel each true-born son,
Her anthem bold repeating,

With martial stride moves blithely on,
Impatient for the meeting!

Till Erin saw her son enslaved,-
While Tara's princes sway'd her,
What tongue in vain her shelter craved?
But see what wrongs have made her!
The hand-the first to welcome in,
And feast and rest the stranger,
Now wakes him with the battle's din
To meet the stern Avenger!

In shining lists no more appear
The sons of Erin vying;
Forbade to wield the glaive or spear,
Their knightly name is dying:
For Erin's daughters, fair in vain,
Their ardent breasts are glowing,-
The nuptial couch is now their bane,
For honour shame bestowing.

From end to end the country groans;
On every hand's oppression,-
Till death becomes the best of boons;
With wrongs, in thick succession,
Her princes fall!-her heroes fall!
Her misery's upbraided!

Her name a mock! and, worst of all,
The sacred cross degraded!

But man is man, howe'er you boast
To tame his noble nature!
Though warp'd a while, is never lost
Its framer-marking feature!
The slave that's made by tyrant pride
To grace the foul oppressor,
Is found the freeman still to hide
That's Freedom's sure redresser!
O, day of pride!—O, happy day!
When Erin's king deploring
His country's sorrows, braved the fray,
Her banner green restoring!
Then fled the Dane, while Erin's son,
New-burst from bonds inglorious,
Stood free the gory plain upon

That saw his arms victorious.

SONG.

By William Tennant, Esq. Author of " Anster Fair," &c.

1.

WHEN snaw-flakes straigle down the lift, And frostit doors are seal'd wi' drift,

And bairnies on the dubs are skaitin',

And daddies auld in blankets heatin',

And Boreas, wi' his cauld ice-draps,
Gems the noses blue o' carrier-chaps,
And hailstanes on the windows jingle,
O leif is to me the social ingle!
2.

When skytes o' rain the causeys lash,
And eaves drap fast wi' a constant plash,
And bairnies in the strands do paidle,
And ducks in dubs do dive and daidle,
And ploughman Jock to his smeeky house
Comes daund'ring hame like a druikit mouse,
And barkit hoasts auld dads maist throttle,
O leif is to me the bowl and the bottle!

3.

When merry May in the woods is dancin',
With her kirtle o' lilies around her glancin',
And the new-born woods in the sun-beams glitter,
And the new-come swallows at casements twitter,
And Jock, rejoiced 'mid the sunny gleam,
Gangs whistling alang wi' his blithsome team,
And the gardens are glad, and the meadows grassy,
Then I think of love, and my bonnie lassie !

LETTERS FROM LONDON.
No. I.

[We consider ourselves particularly fortunate, in having it in our power to lay before our readers, from a very high source, the following interesting literary information upon various subjects; and to be able to promise a continuation of these letters from time to time.]

THE literary campaign is now about to open, and there appears to be no doubt that it will prove an animated one. The Annuals are almost all in the hands of the booksellers already; and it is obvious that a considerable improvement in this department has taken place. By degrees, no question, some distinctions either of political or religious feeling will be called in; for, as yet, it is impossible to classify these works. They are all Souvenirs, Keepsakes, or Forget-me-Nots; but no one addresses itself to any one particular order of readers more than the rest. The expense at which these pretty books are got up is enormous. On the Keepsake and Anniversary alone, £20,000 have been spent; and chiefly, no doubt, on the engravings, and on the painters who charge highly for permission to copy their good things. Sir Thomas Lawrence gets £200 or £300 for leave to engrave a portrait of Mrs Peel or the like. Yet this year, the literary contributors have been paid well also. Sir Walter had £500 for his little stories in the Keepsake, and I hear the five or six Lords who figure in its pages, have condescended to take £100 a-piece, £5 being the full value of all the brains some of them possess. These aristocratic authors have the name in the trade, of being the greediest of the genus irritabile. Lady Charlotte Bury had £1000 for Flirtation last year, and another is on the stocks at the same rate, and no doubt Mr Colburn knows what he is about. He gave £250 for Sir Walter Scott's two Sermons, which, if printed as Sermons usually are, would make a very little pamphlet.

These Annuals are one symptom of the prevailing rage for bringing literature to the doors of the people-their steel engravings and wood-cuts are a strange contrast to the illustrations of books ten years ago. Meanwhile, the booksellers who do not publish Annuals, are all at work with cheap books; Longman starting a Cabinet Encyclopædia, under the editorship of Dr Lardner of the London University; and Murray about to bring out a series of Biographies in separate volumes, which, for all I hear, is likely to be a work of the highest importance, and successful accordingly. Sir Walter Scott, Mr Southey, Mr Milman, Dr Brewster, Mr Lockhart, Mr Edwards, &c. are the collaborateurs. Southey's Lives of Wolfe and Marlborough are to be among the first of the series; but

it will open with a Life of Napoleon, written, it is said, by Mr Gleig, "The Subaltern," in two small volumes, full of beautiful engravings on wood and steel, done under the presiding care of George Cruickshanks, who is Murray's graphic editor.-The Life of Byron by Moore, and the Papers and Memoirs of the late Lord Castlereagh, appear to be the magna opera of the Albemarle Street list. Much is expected from the Garrick papers, announced by Colburn; and the report gains ground, that Sotheby's Iliad about to come out, I know not where, is really a great work, and sure to rank in the first class of permanent stock-books.

The days of quartos and of dear books are over. You may be sure the public will not consent much longer to give half a guinea a volume, for a modern novel, when the whole works of Dr Johnson are in every shop window, at the moderate price of thirty shillings !-well and clearly printed too!-and when it is obvious to all men, that the just price of the Zillah, or Salathiel, or Roué of the day, cannot be above three or four shillings a-volume.

In the world of the periodicals, little is stirring. There is to be a new Quarterly Review, called the London, edited by Mr Blanco White. It is understood to be got up chiefly in Oriel College, where White has had chambers for some years past; and that the principal writers are to be the Rev. Dr Whately and Mr Senior, the professor of Political Economy. The two Foreign Reviews go on pari passu, neither paying, but answering the publishers' purposes, as promoting the sale of foreign books, and without doubt, affording a vast deal of valuable information to the public.-Blackwood keeps at the head of the Monthlies; next Campbell's, next the Monthly Review, now edited by the Catholic barrister, Mr Quin. The London Magazine, though it has changed hands for the better, like the Old Monthly, makes little noise in the world. A "Monthly Foreign Review" is, I am told, on the anvil, and this I think not unlikely to do well; for news is, after all, the great desideratum, and its will be the freshest.

Constable's Miscellany is improving, I hear, in circulation, and I hope the managers will keep on the alert'; for both Longman's Cabinet Cyclopedia, and Murray's Biographical Series, will in fact be rivals, and formida

ble rivals.

Mr Southey, the indefatigable, has an edition of John Bunyan, with a copious life, in the press of some of the City publishers. P. P.

LITERARY CHIT-CHAT AND VARIETIES.

We understand that Mr J. G. Lockhart is preparing for publication, the Poems and Letters of Robert Burns, chronologically arranged, with a preliminary Essay and Notes, and sundry additions.

We are informed that the interesting little work about to be published by Messrs Oliver and Boyd, on the life and adventures of Alexander Selkirk, who died in 1723, contains the real incidents on which the romance of Robinson Crusoe is founded.

There is preparing for Constable's Miscellany, a History of the Rise and Progress of Architecture, Sculpture, and Painting, Ancient and Modern, by J. S. Memes, LL.D., author of "The Life of Canova." Both from the nature of the subject, and the talents of the writer, there is every reason to suppose that this work will be highly interesting.

The Indefatigable Author of Waverley is about to publish "Essays on Planting and Gardening," in one pocket volume. The Souvenir Litteraire de France," edited by Alaric A. Watts, with original contributions from a great variety of distinguished French writers, and ten of the illustrations of the English Souvenir, will be published in a few weeks, both in Paris and London.

Le Petit Bijou, which has just appeared, is a selection in the shape of an Annual from French authors, ancient and modern, intended principally for young ladies, who have finished, or are finishing, their French studies.

Mr Southey has in the press, "All for Love, or a Sinner well Saved," "The Pilgrim of Compostella," and other poems.

Mr T. Roscoe is engaged in writing the Life of Ariosto, with sketches of his most distinguished literary and political contemporaries.

A dissertation, proving, or attempting to prove, that Ulysses is the real author of the Poems commonly attributed to Homer, is about to appear, from the pen of Constantine Koliader, Professor in the Ionian University.

Purcell's Sacred Music is to be collected and edited by a gentleman whom we should think fully adequate to the duty, Mr Vincent Novello. The vocal secular music of Purcell, was collected and published by his widow two years after his decease, in 1695, under the title of Orpheus Britannicus; but his ecclesias tical compositions, which do equal honour to his skill and science, authors; and many of his anthems still remain in manuscript. have remained scattered and detached in various works by other All these Mr Novello proposes to bring into one entire work.

Esq. entitled "The Beggar's Daughter of Bethnal Green," is Theatrical Gossip.-A Comedy, by James Sheridan Knowles, about to be performed in London, and if possessed of even a moiety of the merit of "Virginius," cannot fail to be successful. At Covent Garden, Morton has a new musical piece in preparation, called "The Sublime and Beautiful." The music is composed by Lee, and the principal female parts are to be supported by Madame Vestris and Miss Foote. Bishop is also preparing an of an interesting kind is in rehearsal at our own theatre, which it opera for the same theatre. We hear it whispered that a drama is said is from the pen of a fair author, and is to be speedily pro

duced.

TO OUR READERS.

NOTWITHSTANDING all the pains which may have been bestowed upon it, we believe it has been invariably found impossible to make the first Number of a new periodical work exactly what was desired. Whatever opinion our readers may entertain of that now before them, we venture confidently to affirm, that they will find us of the work, in so far as regards its appearance and typography, gathering additional strength as we proceed. Of the general style they will now be able to form some estimate. The Royal Octavo size which we have adopted, is somewhat smaller than the Quarto shape, commonly chosen in London periodicals of a similar description, but the diminution in size is not nearly in proportion to our lower rate of charge; whilst it will be at once perceived, that "The Edinburgh Literary Journal" is much more calculaperiodical now existing. This we consider of the last importance, ted for binding into an elegant volume, than any other weekly for our great and leading anxiety is, that our readers, and the public in general, should consider these pages as a permanent record of much of the literary talent of the day. Of one thing we are sure, that we shall be able to boast of many contributions from the most eminent pens, which will be found nowhere else but in the columns of this Journal. If we thus succeed in giving to the metropolis of the north a weekly periodical of its own,

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which will supply to our Scottish readers what has been long desideratum, and will not fear a comparison with the most successful of its southern contemporaries, we shall feel that we have done the literature of our country a service, and shall not doubt of being well supported by that patriotic spirit, which was never yet appealed to in vain.

The Literary Journal" will be made up into volumes every six months, and our readers supplied with an ornamental titlepage, and index. The last leaf of each Number, which will contain advertisements, and other temporary matter, will have a paging of its own, so that it may be either bound up at the end of the volume, or cancelled. The "Journal" will also be sold in Monthly Parts, neatly covered, price TWO SHILLINGS. Country readers, who do not wish the stamped edition, may have these parts forwarded to any corner of the kingdom.

TO OUR CORRESPONDENTS.

We take this opportunity of returning generally, our sincere thanks to our numerous literary friends for the interest they have already expressed in our Work.

Articles which we consider of much value reached us too late for the present Number, but will appear very speedily, from Dr Memes, author of the "Life of Canova;" the author of "Tales of a Pilgrim;" John Malcolm, Esq.; the Authors of the "Odd Volume;" the Author of "The Histories of the Scottish Rebellions;" and W. A nslie, Esq. M. D.

The Articles entitled, "Popular Remarks on Comets and other Celestial Phenomena;" "On the Present State of Music in Scotland;" and "The Papermaker's Coffin," from the German of Clauren, will appear in early Numbers.

The communications of "C. H." are under consideration. The books which have been tent us for review will all be noticed soon.

As we cannot devote more than four columns to Advertisements, we have been obliged to delay several favours of this kind, not having received them in time for the present Number. All Advertisements intended to appear in the earliest publication must be forwarded to the Publishers not later than the previous Wednesday. We trust for a continuance of that support in this department which we have already received.

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