parent, who kept a respectable booth for refreshing the liege subjects of the realm at all the large fairs in the neighbourhood of the metropolis. One thing, however, is certain-honest Joe got picked up by a gang during a warm press, and was sent on board a man-of-war, where he occupied that most enviable of all enviable situations-midshipman's boy. In this capacity he fagged like a lady'smaid in the dog-days, and being a capital hand at furnishing the mess-table, the caterer made him a perfect galley-slave; and Joe, by endeavouring to render his education subservient to his interests, was soon noticed by the captain's cook, who obtained him from the first-lieutenant; the midshipmen lost their favourite stews and rich sea-pies, and the captain's dinners were none the worse for Joe's useful suggestions. The cook pronounced him to be "a 'cute lad, who, under his tuteration, would become an eminent artist, and distinguish himself in the fleet." But the science of devilling was peculiarly his own-it grew to be a particular and especial nature in his composition, and his tongue was a perfect Fahrenheit in deciding the several degrees of temperature which a good devil would bear.

"Some are born great, others achieve greatness."

But Joe was not of the number of those who are born great, for he was diminutive in stature and in station; but his intellect-that is, his cooking intellectwas gigantic. A whitebait or a whale would have been the same to him; and he would have fried a kraken over Etna, could a fryingpan have been procured large enough for the purpose, or have griddled a mammoth at Vesuvius, if any one would have supplied him with a gridiron of suitable dimensions.

At the restoration of peace, after Wellington had played the very deuce with Napoleon, Admiral Valiant coiled himself up quite cozy in a snug little berth near Blackheath. I shall not mention the precise spot, but it is at no great distance from those abortions of brick-and-mortar architecture, which are stated to have their design from Sir John Vanbrugh, somewhere approximating to the summit of Maize Hill. Honest Joe retired with his patron, with only this small difference-the latter went upon half-pay, the former retained his full pay; and never had a kitchen chimney since the days of Adam and Eve smoked with more savoury offerings to epicureanism in a constant succession of devilled drumsticks :-breakfast, devilled drumsticks-lunch, devilled drumsticks-dinner, devilled drumsticks-supper, devilled drumsticks; it was one eternal tattoo of devilled drumsticks, till the Admiral began actually to assume the appearance of one himself.

The following is the concluding portion of a terribly true description of a vessel at sea on short allowance of water.

At length daylight broke-a bright, gorgeous daylight. We saw the land about eight miles distant; and there was the promise that, in a few hours more, we should enjoy the sweet refreshment of the delicious stream. Thus whispered Hope; but, oh! how delusive was the prospect! The sun arose above the eastern horizon, the wind was gradually hushed, and in another hour the heavens and the ocean were once more calm.

"At first every one seemed determined not to believe it; but the glassy surface of the water soon made it too evident to all, and a look of fixed despair sat on each countenance; but it was not the look of quiet, sullen despairthere was marked ferocity of aspect, as if every man would lift his hand against his neighbour, and, like a tiger, longed to quaff his blood. There was a dark menacing scowl upon the brow, and a redness in the fiery fierceness of the eye that claimed no connexion with the ordinary feelings of humanity. The wild ravings of the maniac-the earnest petitions to the throne of Omnipotence for help the curses and imprecations of the desperate-the shrieks of females, and the plaintive wail of childhood, came mingling upon the ear in frightful discord. Signals of distress were made-guns were fired-the boats were hoisted out and sent away with empty casks; but still the dreadful havoc went on; whilst, to add to the horrible bitterness of disappointment, we could see the dark clouds pass over the high peaks of the island, and the rain descend in

torrents; we could see the mountain-streams dashing from ridge to ridge, and rushing down the steep sides of the almost perpendicular rocks, whilst, racked with the keenest pangs, we were almost destitute of one drop to quench the overpowering heat. The sun rose higher in the heavens, and his scorching beams came pouring down with, to imagination, redoubled fervour. Our water was entirely gone. Many in their madness flew to the rum; and, oh! what a spectacle of horror then ensued! Numbers ran to the side of the ship next the land, and stretched their hands towards the, place where the clear element came tumbling into the ocean. They clutched their withered and forked fingers as if to grasp at the promised banquet, thrust out their shrivelled fingers and stiffened into death. Others in the wildness of their impatience, threw themselves headlong into the sea, and struck out for the shore, but the waters soon closed above their heads and they were seen no more.

For myself, all hopes were at an end; life seemed ebbing fast, and I went to my cabin as if it had been my sepulchre, and wrapped my cot about me for a winding-sheet. Insensibility, or, as I thought, a deep sleep fell upon me, and yet there were times when I could perceive the shadows of things moving and the sound of many voices blending into harmony; delicious banquets were offered to my taste; and I wandered through green fields and luxuriant meadows, by the margin of the cool transparent rivulet, in which I bathed my fevered temples and quenched the burning heat of my tongue. Bright eyes were beaming on me; and the soft notes of soothing tenderness came, like the dulcet thrillings of the harp, to pour their melody upon the soul. On first awaking from this state of mental aberration, I found myself on a comfortable couch in a neat apartment, and as all recollections of the past had faded away, when or how I came thither was enveloped in mystery. I approached the opened window, and entered on a trellised verandah that looked down upon the pinnacles of lofty mountains that seemed to hang beneath me, whilst huge chasms rent in the solid rocks, yawned fearfully on all sides. The orange and apple blossoms breathed their odours in the mountain breeze, and looked beautiful amid the green foliage. Far as the eye could reach, the ocean glistened in the sunbeams, and a small island, floating like a hillock on the waters, rose on the verge of the horizon. This, I recollected to be the island of Corvo ; and as memory resumed her functions, the truth of my situation was gradually developed; but it was not till health was restored, and strength returned, that I was made acquainted with the circumstances that had taken place after my sinking into insensibility, by which I was relieved from witnessing the dreadful events that occurred.

The ship's boats were enabled, though with much difficulty, to get the casks filled, and hastily returned on board; but the moment the water was started into the scuttle-butt, a general rush took place. The very gurgling and splashing of the element as it fell into the butt served to increase desire. From striving they came to blows, and from blows to slaughter. Madness, in its most raging mood and terrific form, ruled the moment. Children who had pushed forward amongst the rest were trampled under foot; and every feeling of humanity was outraged. The dead and dying lay in promiscuous heaps; the red stream from many wounds stained the deck-the blood from brave and noble, kind and generous hearts.

At length the boats' crews, who had somewhat slaked their thirst ashore, (though several died afterwards), succeeded in keeping the poor creatures at a distance, and proper guards were placed, who served the water out in small quantities. Scarcely had this been accomplished, when a breeze carried the ship to her anchorage, and the Portuguese evinced their benevolence by kindly administering to our wants. Myself and several other officers were removed to a country-house of the governor's, where we received the most humane and assiduous attention. My stupefaction was succeeded by delirium; a fortnight elapsed before I was restored to reason. The ship had proceeded on her des

tination; but, on mustering previous to her departure, it was ascertained that not less than one hundred and seventy had perished.

Infinite is the variety of these volumes, and they will fully support the popular reputation of their author.

THE LITERARY LADIES OF ENGLAND.*

THIS is the bluest of blue-books: all the " literary ladies" of England, collected, collated, and criticised by a literary lady, for the benefit of literary ladies all over the world, and the literary and all other ladies of England, Scotland, and Ireland in particular:-for though Mrs. Elwood's book is full of amusement and information that the ruder sex may with greater advantage avail themselves of, it is especially and emphatically a lady's book, devised and concocted for the honour and glory of ladies, and demanding and deserving their especial patronage and support accordingly, which if they fail to accord, they will be as wanting in justice as in esprit de corps-in itself "a sort of wild justice," which is sometimes even better than the tamer species.

We must be pardoned if we lay more stress than may at first seem needful on the foregoing point. The question, it may be said is, whether or not the book is a good and valuable book? And whether this question be answered in the affirmative or the negative, the matter is not mended by showing or alleging by or for whom it was written. But we repudiate this dry and hard mode of looking at and settling a question of this nature. These light and unpretending biographical notices of the literary ladies of England are good and valuable because, and in proportion as, they fulfil the good and valuable object they have in view, that of cultivating and disseminating literary tastes and habits among the writer's fellow-countrywomen, and of showing that those tastes and habits have never yet failed to render their possessors wiser and better, and consequently happier, than they would have been without them. And it will be no disparagement of such a work to allege that it tells only one-tenth part of what many may desire to know on the respective topics of which it treats. In fact, this would only be saying in other words that it is not in twenty volumes instead of two. It does all that its plan promises and its space allows; and it does this gracefully and well. In a word, that it gives us "an abstract and brief chronicle" of each life, instead of a life itself in the ordinary sense of the phrase, is precisely the merit which constitutes it a lady's book; and we are much mistaken in our estimate of the more cultivated portion of our countrywomen if it will not find a place in every lady's library where such a book already exists, and form the nucleus of one where it does not.

The work opens very appropriately with Lady Mary Wortley Montague the origin and glory of our English blues without being one,

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*The Literary Ladies of England; from the commencement of the last century to the present time. By Mrs. Elwood, author of “ An Overland Journey to India.” 2 vols.

for the name as well as the thing was of later date; and, pursuing a chronological order, it closes with Miss Emma Roberts, the last of those losses so many of which our own immediate day has had to lament. Including these two, we have no less than twenty-nine memoirs, every one of which will be read with interest, and no one of which could with propriety have been dispensed with. The fund of literary anecdote and information thus gathered into the compass of two moderately sized volumes may readily be conceived, especially as the work is very closely printed, and comprises an amount of reading that might easily have been spread over thrice the space.

THE BOOK OF BEAUTY.*

If any evidence were required to satisfy foreigners of the superiority of Englishwomen in personal attractions, it surely might be found in the continued publication of this work; for what nation could produce such a series of "Beauties" as those Mr. Heath has published in his delightful annual? We may well be proud of our women, and regard with more than ordinary interest a work which gratifies our nationality so completely as the one before us. Lady Blessington, with her customary taste and judgment, has taken care that in the letterpress which illustrates the illustrations there should be an approach, as near as possible, to the grace and intelligence pervading the exquisitely fair faces that adorn the volume. Among many distinguished writers the names of Sir Lytton Bulwer, Barry Cornwall, the late Marquess Wellesley, Lord Leigh, Walter Savage Landor, Lady Emmeline Stuart Wortley, Lady Stepney, the Countess of Blessington, and Mrs. S. C. Hall, are evidence that the literary department is every thing that could be required. Of the portraits, we are in duty bound to admire most, the frontispiece, in which Mr. Drummond has represented her majesty, in one of the most honourable phases in which her character could appear-that of a matron, dandling the Prince of Wales, with the Princess Royal at her elbow, raised upon a cushion, fondling a favourite spaniel with one arm, and resting the other on the arm of the Queen. It is a very charming group. Another portrait, by the same artist, of the Princess Esterhazy, is also well worth studying. But, setting our loyalty aside, "the face that doth content us wondrous well," is that of Miss Meyer, whose eyes are full of an expression not easy to turn away from, and equally difficult to forget afterwards. From Miss Meyer we have at last succeeded in snatching a glance at Miss Ellen Power, and if any thing would obliterate the impression of the one, the powerful seductions with which the pencil of Edwin Landseer has clothed the other would go far towards it. He must be a veritable St. Kevin who can gaze on this delicious portrait without envying the position of the bird the artist has represented in such close contact with the lovely mouth of its fair mistress. From this it will readily be believed that "the Book of Beauty" for 1843, ably supports its high reputation.

• Heath's Book of Beauty for 1843. Edited by the Countess of Blessington.

PHINEAS QUIDDY.*

THOUGH it would be a work of supererogation to tell the readers of the New Monthly Magazine any thing in detail about Mr. Phineas Quiddy and his "Sheer Industry," it would, on the other hand, be doing injustice to this unique work as a whole, not to commend it to the reader's attention in that capacity. The vivid impressions made by its various individual features-particularly the personal onescannot have escaped even from the least impressible minds on which they have once been struck: for Mr. Poole is the Daguerre of his art, not merely in the power of striking a portrait or a picture at a blow, but of fixing it where it has been struck, by an intellectual chemistry quite his own. In these two particulars he stands alone; and there can be no question but that his "Phineas Quiddy" is incomparably the most remarkable specimen he has yet given us of his "so potent art." And it is as a whole even more remarkable than as a series of consecutive parts, which is our reason for now pointing the reader's attention to it in its completed state.

But if Mr. Poole is the Daguerre of literary portrait painters in the instantaneous impressions he stamps, and the startling truth of his delineations, the comparison (as indeed it necessarily must) holds equally good in regard to the general effects he produces. On his pallet there is no couleur de rose. His portraits are things to swear by-" the truth-the whole truth-and nothing but the truth." He is no Sir Thomas Lawrence, to paint ladies and gentlemen as they wish to be. The consequence is, that his gallery of portraits is the most piquant and amusing place imaginable, to all but those who happen to find themselves hung up in it-or fancy they do-which answers all the purpose.

Nor does this (in his way) exquisite artist betray any disposition to place his sitters in "unbecoming" lights, or ungraceful attitudes. Like his scientific prototype, as he catches people and things, so he depicts them so that those who make up their mind to sit to him, must look to their p's and q's; for every portrait he paints might have written above it, for at least one person in the world, "know thyself!" Deformities or perfections-pimples or dimples-the bloom and freshness of youth and health, or the paint and blotches of age and disease, all go down alike, and all in their due proportions. That he has no exclusive eye for blemishes, witness the admirable portrait of Miss Honoria St. Egremont in the work which has called forth these remarks. With every temptation on the side of worldly cant, and the prevailing tone of the time to make her what all "good" people wish to find, or to make all people who are not "good" in their sense of the phrase,-she has many generous and noble qualities, and not a single fault but that which is in effect her greatest virtue-that of being the scourge to inflict "poetical justice" on the hideous Quiddy-a character, by the by, not inferior in force and spirit to Quilp himself, and certainly more natural.

* Phineas Quiddy; or, Sheer Industry. By John Poole, Esq. 3 vols.