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being. All this I had found, and accordingly inscri- sufferably tiresome, and that, of all creations under the
"Inveni portum! spes et fortuna, valete!
over the gateway of my future dwelling.
sun, it is the most monotonous and disagreeable. It is continually assuming, nevertheless, the airs of a coquette of threescore and ten, and seems anxious to impress us with the idea, that, phoenix-like, it can renew its youth when it pleases; but its efforts are to the last degree The livings of the Scotch country clergy are poor; feeble and futile. It is exposed to the influence, it is granted, and those which are emphatically denomina- true, of certain laws, which it is pleased to term laws of ted poor livings, are quite inadequate to the exigences change, but which, from the undeviating regularity of of a minister's family. But still-bear witness, every their operation, might quite as well be called laws of power that is interested in the happiness of man-the uniformity. Is not the rotation of the seasons just as life of a country minister is naturally a happy one; sur- certain as the succession through different generations of rounded by a population which is at once comparatively the same vegetable and animal productions? Sardanamoral and intelligent, consequently peaceable, and grate- palus, and Nebuchadnezzar, and Semiramis, and Camful for all little services-moving in the discharge of byses, have they not all perspired under a July sun, and official duties, at once intellectual and practical, giving been wet to the skin by a November shower? Danaus, almost equal and balanced exercise to the head and to and Priam, and Codrus, and Solon, have they not all inthe heart. Surrounded, it may be, and in the case of a haled the perfume of a rose or a lily, and enjoyed the country clergyman, it ought always to be, by all the en- flavour of an apple or an apricot? Every natural phedearments of family affection and love-the old stem, nomenon we now see, was seen by men and women who sheltered and sheltering, rising and overtopping, yet lived before Agamemnon; and all that we now feel, leaning and reposing on the young life, and branching | hope, fear, suffer, or delight in, was by them acknowbeneath misfortune; and reverenced by all that cluster-ledged to possess a similar power. Things have stood ing phalanx of aged maidenhood, reduced to poverty, in the same relation to each other, and produced upon which occupies the steps to a Scotch pu pit, and is at each other exactly the same effects, from the day on once its ornament and its praise; useful and indispen- which Jeroboam was defeated at Jezreal, down to the sable in all that youth, love, and beauty, are so closely very hour of iny present writing, which is between twelve interested in; the spiritual father, as time rolls on, of a and one of Friday, the 12th of December, eighteen hunyoung and a merry generation, all instructed to respect dred and twenty-eight. the hand which sprinkled their faces in infancy at the baptismal fount, and the lips which first pronounced their name in public; the glorious evenings and mornings over which duty refuses to establish a claim, and which are, therefore, the lawful possession of whim and inclination; the streams, trod and retrod, in bank ad sand-bed, till every inhabitant of every pool and gul-nated genius, we may arrange thoughts and feelings let is as well known to the minister" as if he had placed them all in his visiting muster-roll; the garden, ever new, a d varying in walk, arbour, and fruitage, -the minis er's drawing-room, in fact, where he dri ks tea with the younger sisterhood of the parish, of a summer evening, and reads Blackwood's Magazine on ordinary occasions;-all these, and an ificity of cousiderations besides, converge into one focus, and stand, with sunny radiance, one green and retired spot, in a Scotch valley, where the spire peeps over the trees, and the smoke of the minister's manse is observed trailing, with particular effect, about four o'clock of a Sabbath evening.
"Pereant qui ante nos nostra dixerunt !"
THE Assyrians say they are the most ancient people on the face of the earth. But the Moguls laugh at the Assyrians, whom they consider extremely modern upstarts. The Chinese, on their part, turn up their noses at both the Assyrians and the Moguls, believing their own celestial ancestors to have had possession of the world several millions of years before any other nation had been heard of. It is a difficult point. I shall not attempt to settle it. But whichever be the most ancient people in existence, no one will deny that the world itself is far past the meridian of life; or rather, to speak more plainly, that it has fallen long since into its dotage. The natural consequence is, that it has become most in
Hence the dull monotony of which we complain; and the only relief we ever experience, is by meeting now and then, not with a new existence, but only a new combination. If we go into a far country, we may see mountains grouped as we never saw them before; but they are still mountains. If we possess what has been denomisomewhat differently from those who have preceded us, but the individual thoughts and feelings are as old as the moon and stars. Compare, for example, Homer's battles with those of Virgil, or Ariosto, or Camoens, or Milton, or Voltaire, and how is it that you are able to distinguish them?-only by the words in which they are described, not by the deeds that are done, or the emotions which those deeds inspire. The soldier who fell at Waterloo died exactly like the soldier who fell at Troy. He may not have been apparelled after the same fashion; his language may have been less ancient, and a bullet may have gone through his heart instead of a javelin, but he had the same appetites, passions, propensities, and the same connexions with life. Drawing from the same originals, how can the artist avoid painting the same portraits?
Nor is it that mankind has been condemned to fare upon the crambe repetita only once, or twice, or a thousand times. The same perpetually recurring banquet has been invariably re-cooked for the children, which their fathers had feasted on the day before. Other covers may have been put upon the dishes,-a philanthropie Oude may have discovered a new sauce, an ingenious Mrs Glass may have suggested a fresh garnishing,-but as soon as the food itself reaches the palate, the awful certainty of its personal identity was ascertained, and hope sank into despair. Originality is like the elixir vitae; he who seeks it will only be goaded into madness by his unprofitable labours. Not a sin le remnant has been left throughout all the moral and intellectual world. It would have been almost better had there been no such thing as passions at all, for they have been each harped upon with as much unwearying pertinacity, as was ever exhausted on the most genuine bottle of Warren's incomparable blacking. Look at love, for instance; through the indefatigable silliness of poets, and novelists, and people of that sort, has it not already become alm st disgusting? Not that the subject is in itself disagreeable, (Heaven forbid !) but that women being all
women, and men being all men, one good account of the tender interest they may excite in each other, is equal to a thousand. Who does not shudder to think of the unwearying cruelty with which the firmament of heaven has been persecuted, to represent blue eyes! What an interminable consumption has there not been of the raw material the west wind-to be manufactured into sighs! What a tremendous run upon every green bank for roses, to be changed into the favourite currency of blushes! How many myriads of heads of hair, or rather of wigs, have been made out of sunbeams! What a waste of pearl, to secure a sufficient supply of that staple commodity, called teeth! Even beauty must cease to please, -must cease to be considered beautiful-if for so many ages its constituent features have been so indubitably ascertained. How can I be expected to fall over head and ears in love with Ma ilda Amelia Elizabeth Fitz Oriel-decidedly the prettiest girl in the town of
if I find, by referring to my circulating library, that her eye is not one tint bluer, her blush not one shade deeper, her hair not one gleam brighter, than the eyes, blushes, and hair of all females, in all corners of the globe, and in all periods, have always been ?
ment of an order of things so new, that, to our ancient prejudices, it might at first sight appear strange and ludicrous That my meaning may be more clearly understood. I would make these suggestions among others. Let all the stars be knocked out, and most especially the evening and morning stars, which have become so disgustingly common-place. Perhaps some of them might be strung into necklaces, and ladies seventeen miles high might wear them about their necks. The moon should be stowed away with all expedition, and not another line allowed to be written even to her memory. The sun, after being carefully extinguished, might be made into a great steam-coach, that would carry a million of passengers round the world before breakfast. If so vulgar a thing as light was required at all, the Gas Company could easily manufacture rainbows of variegated lamps, and hang them in festoons through the firmament. There should be men and women of all shapes and sizes,-some, round as oranges, with the power of rolling themselves along like great bowls with or without a bias ;-some, like squares or parallelograms, as full of sharp corners as an old-fashioned house, and supporting life, not by breathing, but by apertures, The evil of which we complain pervades all space, resembling chimneys, from which smoke should issue; and extends itself to every object with which we are ac- -some no larger than drumsticks, and others so high, quainted. We are shut in by an atmosphere, to which that their heads would be far beyond the ordinary range belongs an equally fatal influence over animate and in- of vision, unless when they went into the depths of the animate creation. The children of Galgacus made snow- ocean to bathe, when the waves would rise almost to balls, and so do ours; the first Druids sang sonnets to their shoulders, and the whales would pass in shoals bethe moon, and so do we. Helen eloped with Paris, and tween their legs. The sea should be of boiling water, we have still our Doctors' Commons. People died un- and all the fish should be ready for eating; and raw der King Pelops, and their friends lamented their loss; oysters be a thing to dream of, not to sell. There should tears are shed, and cambric handkerchiefs are used, at be several cast-iron, stone, and wooden bridges across funerals even now. The respectable burgesses of Mem- the Atlantic; Mr Owen's establishment at New Harphis gave exceedingly pleasant evening parties a few years mony should be the capital of the world; and there after the flood; and among their descendants, eating and should be a chain of mountains, called the Mountains drinking, dancing and fiddling, are still considered fa- of Phrenology, higher than the Andes, consisting wholly shionable amusements. There were races at the Olym- of human skulls. Thunder, and lightning, and wind, pic Games equal to those for the Great St Leger; there should be laid on the shelf; storms should have new feawere lectures delivered in Plato's Academy, not much tures, and might be manufactured out of the bursting of inferior to any which may be heard at Oxford or Aber-mountains, the crashing of red-hot ice-bergs, the bellowdeen; Bonaparte was only a second edition of Cæsar; ing of monsters that passed through the air, like great and Cæsar was only a copy of Alexander; and Alexan- balloons, and the pelting of church-steeples, old castles, der was a mere imitator of Cyrus; and Cyrus borrowed tombstones, coffins, dead birds, monks of the Inquisiall his best notions from Nimrod. Do we weep? Who tion, washing-tubs, and skeletons. Forests should be has not wept before us, inspired by the very same grief? all cut down, and green meadows all ploughed up; if Do we laugh? The joke is as old as the hills; it set the people wanted to hunt, they should hunt through the table in a roar in the time of Osiris. Are we ambitious? air, or under the sea. As for evening or morning walks, So were all the great men, whose names nobody ever or tours to the Continent, or poetical musings on the heard, who lived in Palmyra. Do we fall in love? The beauties of nature, such things might exist, but "with object of our admiration is the very fac-simile of ten a difference," as Ophelia says; for the walks, and the thousand young ladies, who married ten thousand young tours, and the musings, would not present the same etermen, and became the mothers of ten thousand families, nal round of objects and ideas. There would be no such before the downfall of Babylon. Are we anxious to thing as an odious, glaring sunrise, or a great unmeaning make ourselves wise, and to be the instructors of man- cream-faced moon; there would be no distressing classikind? The acquisitions of ninety years will be but a cal associations about Italy or Greece; and dabblers in trifling portion of that knowledge with which our ances- rhyme would not be constantly borrowing from each tors were familiar ninety centuries ago. Do we wish to other, at least until the new state of things became again cultivate the imagination? Tribes of husbandmen have old. It is not impossible, however, that these changes been upon the field before us, and the soil is exhausted. may be considered impracticable; and if so, the other There are just two ways by which we can be saved from plan I have hinted at is still at hand. the morbid listlessness-the dead swampy apathywhich a conviction of the monotony of all things must necessarily produce. The first is, by an entire change in the external universe; and the second is, by leaving external nature as it is, but effecting a complete revolution in the sentiments and ideas of all mankind concerning it. It is worth while considering, for a moment, both plans.
If the external universe were to undergo a revision and alteration, sufficient to remove the ground of our present complaint, it would need to be borne in mind that no partial change would do,-nothing could be listened to but a sweeping and radical reform,-a total destruction of the old constitution, and the establish
My second mode for securing the attainment of that greatest of all lessings, ORIGINALITY—is simply, to change the nature of the human mind, to alter the standard of taste, to abrogate the old, and to introduce a set of fresh canons by which to regulate our notions, both of material combinations, and of moral and intellectual beauty, worth, and fitness. This might be done with less trouble, and would be quite as efficient as the scheme already proposed. Would there not, for example, be a delightful novelty in having all our old notions of virtue and vice swept away at once? People have been praising courage, and justice, and honour, and benevolence, and all that sort of thing, so incessantly, that every one knows the furniture of a good character as exactly as an
upholsterer knows the furniture of a gentleman's drawing-room. This is melancholy; and it is not less melancholy that no great villain possesses an idiosyncrasy of his own, but that they are all, without a single exception, cunning, ungrateful, ferocious, selfish, and impious. This should be altered. Epic poets should choose for their heroes the younger sons of Irish emigrants, born in some of the least fashionable houses of the parish of St Giles; they should dwell with delight on their neglected education, luxuriate in pleasing descriptions of their tattered poverty, and celebrate their glorious contempt of all shockingly honest industry; they should paint in the most bewitching colours the lady of their love, whose young heart beat with a passionate fondness for gin-twist, and whose delicate fingers rejoiced to play about a gentleman's fob, or in his sidepockets; they should follow with a noble ardour the lofty subject of their verse from one degree of manly wickedness to another, till he at length reigned over an affectionate and admiring world, and, for the greater glory, made a gallows his throne, and the hangman his prime minister. How infinitely superior would such a production be to those maudlin and hackneyed compositions in which the bravery of an Achilles, the piety of an Eneas, or the constancy of a Rinaldo, are so stupidly lauded! So long as we retained our present antiquated mental constitution, it might perhaps be difficult for us fully to enter into the spirit of such a poem; but, as soon as that was changed, its beauties would shine conspicuous.
Every moment of existence-every thought-every feeling would now be new, and, consequently, worth living for. We should no longer hear of murmuring streams, or shady groves, or warbling birds, or blue skies, or gentle zephyrs, or any other set of epithets equally loathsome, because all equally trite. In describing a fine landscape, the traveller or novelist might write thus, and, in thus writing, would address himself to the sympathies of every reader :-"It was a day of dark and cloudy beauty, in that most enchanting month December; an agreeable and heavy shower was falling; the air was in that most delicious of all states, when it is not cold enough to condense rain into hail, but is too cold to admit of its remaining purely liquid, and converts it, therefore, into sleet. There was not an ugly green leaf on any of the trees; the birds were, fortunate ly, all silent, with the exception of a jackdaw and a peacock, whose mingled melody came full upon the ear. The insignificant sea was visible in the distance, but its sickening water was forgotten, for the eye rested upon a majestic steam-boat with seven funnels, out of which came a glorious canopy of smoke, suggesting, even on the barren ocean, some of those snug and cheerful feelings the stranger experiences on coming, for the first time, within sight of beautiful Leeds, or romantic Manchester. In the foreground there was an Irish village, with a row of pig-styes at one end, and a churchyard at the other, all in a state of fine decay, and exciting emotions so sublime, that the enraptured and awestruck spectator, after laughing for half an hour, could not help dancing an Indian war-dance, and at last, overpowered by his feelings, walking a dozen paces backward on his hands and feet, and then bursting into a tear!"
Upon the same principles might be written a description of a lady, "made to engage all hearts, and charm all eyes "The heroine of my tale-the lovely Snifterina Gogglegrumph-had all the constituents of perfect beauty. Her eyes, which in their expression differed considerably from each other, were both of a delicate green; and Nature, as if unwilling that any one object should ever be honoured with the united gaze of two such orbs, gave to Snifterina the power of looking east and west, or north and south, at the same moment, and thus of killing, as sportsmen technically term it, both right and left. She had a nose angelically flattened upon
her face towards the centre, but rising at the lower end into a knob of exquisite rotundity. Her mouth had that slight twist which all sculptors and painters love to imitate; and the bluish whiteness of her lips contrasted finely with the blackening grandeur of her teeth. Her classical chin was sharp and long, throwing into the shade her thin neck, which rose gracefully, almost like a continuation of her slender body. Miss Gogglegrumph's head having been skilfully shaved, only one little tuft remained as a love-lock upon the very top; and many a noble youth looked at that love-lock and sighed. But it was not Snifterina's ineffable smile, nor the squeaking clearness of her irresistible voice, nor all the charms of her matchless person, that delighted most ;-it was her mind, entirely unhurt as that mind had been, by any attempt at education. Yet was she not destitute of accomplishments. She could sing the comic songs of all languages; she was alike at home in the sciences of farriery and rat-catching; and few could surpass her in the healthful and elegant exercise of eating and drinking; she was so prudent, that the only thing she did not keep was her temper; and she was never known to lose any thing except her judgment. A report was at one time industriously circulated, that she had been observed to blush; but we can positively contradict the uncharitable calumny. Such was the fascinating Snifterina,—amiably pert, fashionably insolent, naturally affected, rationally conceited, independently masculine, and, in short, lost in a blaze of all those virtues which adorn a
For authors and publishers, in particular, these will indeed be happy times, when originality will thus be born anew. The reviews may probably speak somewhat in the following style of a work which may have recently issued from the press "This is an able production. There is not a single sentiment in the whole we ever met with in any known author. Most of the words, indeed, are new; and the style is as diametrically opposed to all the rules of Aristotle, Longinus, Quinctilian, Blair, and Campbell, as the most fastidious critic could desire. We observe several parentheses of twenty pages; and we think there are only three separate sentences in all the four volumes. This is as it should be. The reader's attention is thus riveted, and the majestic flow of the English language is preserved. No one should venture to begin this book with an empty stomach; for, as the end of the first sentence is somewhere about the middle of the second volume, and as it is impossible to leave off till this point be gained, the consequences upon a weak constitution might be dangerous. The subject which the author principally insists upon is, the interesting one of damp sheets a theme more intimately connected with all the sublimest doctrines of philosophy than, perhaps, any other. The chapter upon warming-pans is, in our estimation, the finest; but there are besides several admirable digressions (if they can be called so) upon the high intellectual character of idiots, upon the notorious honesty of that most useful class of the community, somewhat oddly termed pickpockets, and upon mousetraps, silk stockings, the female sex, hatters, patriots, landed property, and bellows-menders. On the whole, we can safely recommend this book, as admirably adapted for the use of schools, members of parliament, and medical gentlemen."
I have thus only thrown out a few crude hints, which will, nevertheless, serve to evince my earnest desire that an entire change should immediately take place in the nature of things, both for the sake of that most exhausted portion of human beings called authors, and those other respectable persons, no less to be pitied, called readers. The prosecution of the design I must leave in the hands of the legislature, and the country at large. That a connexion with all that is stale, flat, and common-place has increased, is increasing, and ought to be diminished, no sensible man can doubt. But that a
crusade is even now commencing, which will put an end to this stagnant condition of the world and its inhabitants, there is every reason to believe. All existing popular authors will pass away with a great noise; and all the libraries of the earth, stuffed with the monotonous lore of worn-out brains, will be burned to the dust. A new epoch will commence. The Nile, having been traced from its mountain spring to its ocean mouths, will be deserted; and fame will float down the more devious wanderings of the unknown and incomprehensible Niger.
THE last week has produced no dramatic novelty of importance; and the pieces which have been played have for the most part been of very ephemeral interest. We regret therefore the less that it is not in our power to devote any space to their consideration. A new Christmas pantomime is in preparation, which we are glad of, were it only for the sake of the good old times, when Christmas was, in real earnest, a season of merry-making. Even yet it is the season when elderly people indulge in a glass of wine additional, and talk over the days that are gone; and children eat plum-cake, and are happy.
WEEKLY LIST OF PERFORMANCES.
TUES. Mason of Buda, Aloyse, & For England Ho!
WED. Do., Two Friends, & Aloyse.
THUR. Green-eyed Monster, Aloyse. & Legend of Montrose.
MY FAIRY ELLEN.
By Henry G. Bell.
BEAUTIFUL Moon! wilt thou tell me where
Where 'neath each blossom a fay lies dreaming?
Where the fish in green and gold are sparkling? Or is it among those ancient trees
Where the tremulous shadows move soft and darkling?
"O no!" said the moon, with a playful smile, "The best of my beams are for ever dwelling In the exquisite eyes so deeply blue,
And the eloquent glance of the fairy Ellen."
Gentlest of zephyrs! pray tell me how
Thou lovest to spend a serene May morning,
In the bells of the flowers,-an innocent tippling?— "O no!" said the zephyr, and softly sigh'd, His voice with a musical melody swelling, "All the morning of May 'mong the ringlets I play, That dance on the brow of the fairy Ellen."
White little lily! pray tell me when
Thy happiest moments the Fates allow thee? Thou seem'st a favourite with bees and men, And all the boys and butterflies know thee;→→ Is it at dawn or at sunset hour,
That pleasantest fancies are o'er thee stealing? One would think thee a poet, to judge by thy looks, Or at least a pale-faced Man of Feeling ;"O no!" said the lily, and slightly blush'd, "My highest ambition's to be sweet smelling, To live in the sight, and to die on the breast, Of the fairest of beings, the fairy Ellen."
O! would that I were the moon myself,
Or a balmy zephyr fresh fragrance breathing; Or a white-crown'd lily, my slight green stem Worlds would I give to bask in those eyes,Slyly around that dear neck wreathing ;— Stars, if I had them, for one of those tresses,→→ My heart, and my soul, and my body to boot, For merely the smallest of all her kisses; And if she would love me, O heaven and earth! I would not be Jove, the cloud-compelling, Though he offer'd me Juno and Venus both, In exchange for one smile of my fairy Ellen.
On reading "The Last Man," a Poem, by Thomas Campbell, Esq. in which are described the condition and feelings of one who is supposed to survive the dissolution of the globe.
By Dr Memes, Author of the "Life of Canova," &c.
THE last man!-the being who outlives
In darkness and in death expire;
Nor must e'en one world subside in night-
Few years absolve our rounds of fate;
Our hearts declare we are alone;
But wrecks and ruins of happier days;
Each kind bosom has its little sphere
Its hopes-its joys all centre here; In this mystic bound alone we view
All that is dear-or fair-or true! Friends, parents, brothers-perhaps than those One name more dear-this world compose. Can it, then, soothe the sad, troubled soul When o'er its world the tempests roll, When, struck by the blast, all beauty dies,-That elsewhere are serener skies? Alien gladness lightens not the breast Which is with home-felt grief opprest;
Nor can aught consolatory prove,
If time our bosom's sphere destroy.
To Thomas Campbell, Esq. on his first election to the
Of glory gains the seat of proudest name
In thine own Glasgow,-lower yet than Fame
Of Britain's bards!-Ask not my tale: I sate
where his labours are conspicuous, in having, within a very few years, converted a park of no attractions, into one of the loveliest spots in Scotland.""
Comments on Corpulence, Lineaments of Leanness, Mems. and Maxims on Diet, and Dietetics, by William Wadd, Esq. have just appeared.
Battle of Navarin.-We have seen the Panorama of the Battle of Navarin with much pleasure. It is not very finely painted, ut the effect produced is distinct and impressive. A miitary band serves to strengthen the illusion of the scene; and the person who describes the different ictures, takes care to inspire a proper degree of patriotisn, by pronouncing the usual encomiums on British valour, and philippics against Turkish cruelty,
Theatrical Gossip.-A new Drama in two ac's, by Mr Planché, entitled Charles the Twelfth," has been produced, with much success, at Drury Lane.-A Miss Nelson has appeared at Covent Garden as Peggy, in the "Country Girl;" some of the ond on critics say she will supply Mrs Jordan's place. and others say she will do no such thing.-Kean has played Virginius with great suc cess;-Miss Jarman was the Virginia, and Ward the Appius. -Weekes has got a three years' engagement at Drury Lane. - A very splendi1 Melo-Drama has been got up at the Adelphi, called "The Earthquake, or the Phantom of the Nile." The music is by Rodwell, who is also the composer of the music in "The Mason of Buda." which has lately been performed here.-The following are the words of the song "Away, love, away," which has been so popular in the new drama of Aloyse;" they are simple, and in excellent keeping with the music, which, we understand, is about to be published in London :
Away, Love, away!
My heart, my heart's too gay
To yield, to yield to thee!
I change as the wind,
Which thou canst not bind My heart-my will as free! Away, Love, away, &c.
Thro' the fields I rove,
Where violets spring
Love, little rogue, you may fly!
LITERARY CHIT-CHAT AND VARIETIES.
THE second volume of Wodrow's History of the Sufferings of the Church of Scotland, edited by Dr Burns, will speedily be published.
Brown's Self-interpreting Bible is in the press, with the marginal references revised, and numerous additional ones introduced, with occasional notes, illustrative of Geography. Manners, Customs, &c. A concise Dictionary, and complete Index to the Bible, are subjoined. We are informed that this edition will be at once the most correct and beautiful which has yet issued from the press.
Captain Basil Hall's Travels in North America, in three vols. will appear soon.
There is preparing for publication, Aquat e Excursions throughout the Unite Kingdoms of Gre t Britain and Ireland, and various parts of the Continent, with maps and plan, in one volume duodecimo.
A Highland gentleman is at present engaged in translating Mr R Chambers' History of the Rebellion of 1745 into Gaelic, which will shortly appear.-We understand that a French translation of the Life of Mary Queen of Scots, recently published in Constable's Miscellany, is also in preparation.
It is announced in the Literary Gazette, that Mrs Norton's Sorrows of Rosalie have rapidly run through a first edition; and the editor adds,-"Thus, in spite of the outery that poetry is a drug, we now find that it is a drug which sells as well as any other kind of literature."
Mr Crofton Croker's Sayings and Doings at Killarney are on the eve of appearance. They are the record, we understand, of the author's personal adventures at the lakes, and contain all the jokes, stories, songs, and sketches, which he uttered, collected, sung, or designed, during his sojourn there. The work is to contain, besides, a narrative of Sir Walter Scott's, Lockhart's, and Miss Edgeworth's visit to the lakes, to the latter of whom Mr Croker has dedicated the book.
Moral and Sacred Poetry, selected from the works of the most admired authors, ancient and modern, is in the press.
The works of Dr Sanuel Parr, with Memoirs of his Life and Writings, and a selection from his Correspondence, have just appeared, edited by Dr John Johnstone. The work has reached the formidable size of eight volumes, octavo.
A second edition of the Pianter's Guide, by Sir Henry Steuart, has just been published. A contemporary critic justly remarks, that no country gentleman, no landed proprietor, no ornamen. tor of grounds, no man of taste in landscape, no one above the ordinary rank of life which confines to towns and handicrafts.
add a more useful or ag eeable companion to his book-shelf than this able treatise by the worthy Laird and improver of Allanton,
As Censor of the Greek class.
TO OUR READERS.
It gives us no small pleasure to have it in our power to add the name of Allan Cunningham to the list of those eminent authors whom we have already marshalled as contributors to the " Edinburgh Literary Journal," and from all of whom communications will be found in our next, or Christmas Number.
TO OUR CORRESPONDENTS.
lingly publish; but not until we have the author's permission to THE Letter by a "North-country Schoolmaster" we shall wilself to be betrayed, and which do not bear upon the matter in expunge one or two personalities into which he has allowed himquestion. We should also like to be favoured with his name.To our fair English correspondent, Caroline," we have to return our thanks for the interest she expresses in the success of our losing the benefit of being able to send the "Journal" free by post. The alteration she proposes could not be made, without -We are obliged to "W. R." for his politeness in sending us "Rienzi;" but we had a copy previously in our possession. The tragedy is too old now to be reviewed, and we suspect we differ a little from our correspondent regarding its merits. His copy lies for him at our Publisher's.-" D. C.'s" Highland Legend is scarcely original or striking enough.-The same remark applies to the story of the Smuggler, by "W. S."-" J. W." hardly comes up
to our standard.
"The Italian Peasant's Farewell to his Native Valley" is not new to us; but the author is older now, and can write better things.-" L. L.'s" German translation is well executed; but the common-place a style.-The Verses four Hamilton Correspondoriginal is on too common place a subject, which is treated in too ent possess merit; but not enough to entitle them to a place."The Bandit's Soliloquy" is in a similar predicament.-We regret we can give " Tom Bowline," who seems an honest fellow, no better answer" Amena" and "C. N." will not suit us.
We have to repeat ur wish, that our Correspondents will, as often as possible, furnish us with their names, and give us permission to make use of them, if we insert their cominunications. We believe so e little inaccuracies have occurred in the delivery of the" Edinburgh Literary Journal;" but these are to be attributed entirely to the confusion necessarily connected, to a certain degree, with the arrangements of a new work We trust
our readers will have no cau-e of complaint in future; and, on any occasion, a note addressed to the Publishers will meet with the most prompt attention.