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threw himself between his two opponents, and, without further ceremony, quickly dispatched the petits pâtés himself, and then returned to his owner with the empty basket."-P. 472.


"Mr C. Hughes, a son of Thespis, had a wig which generally hung on a peg in one of his rooms. He one day lent the said article to a brother player, and some time after called on him. Mr Hughes had his dog with him, and the other happened to have the borrowed wig on his head. The actor staid a little while with his friend, but, when he left him, the dog remained behind. For some time he stood looking the player full in the face, then, making a sudden spring, leaped on his shoulders, seized the wig, and ran off with it as fast as he could; and, when he reached home, he endeavoured, by jumping, to hang it up in its usual place.

"The same dog was one afternoon passing through a field in the skirts of Dartmouth, where a washerwoman had hung out her linen to dry. He stopped and surveyed one particular shirt with attention, then seizing it, he dragged it away through the dirt to his master, whose property it proved to be."-P. 476.

The appendix is not the least, and the wood-cuts certainly not the most, valuable part of this work. We recommend it heartily to all those who take an interest in an animal, which, in the words of Lord Byron, "possesses beauty without vanity-strength without insolence-courage without ferocity-and all the virtues of man without his vices."

Sermons, by the late Rev. John Campbell, D. D., one of the Ministers of the Tolbooth Church, Edinburgh; with an Appendix, containing some Minor Theological Pieces. To which is prefixed, the Sermon preached on the occasion of his Death, by the Rev. Robert Lorimer, LL. D., one of the ministers of Haddington. Edinburgh. Waugh and Innes. 8vo. 1829.

edness of the Christian.

To these is added an Appens dix, containing some theological tracts on various subjects, found among Dr Campbell's papers.

Dr Campbell, like his colleague, Dr Davidson, who died a very short time before him, was a theologian and a preacher of a somewhat antiquated, but highly respectable school. His life was pious, unostentatious, and serene, passed in virtue and benevolence; his death was peaceful and affecting. From a note furnished by his friend Dr Lorimer, the excellent and able editor of these Sermons, we obtain the following simple particulars. Dr Campbell " was born May 24, 1758, at Glasgow, and educated at the University of that city; licensed to preach the Gospel, August 1781; ordained minister of Kippen, May 8, 1783; translated to Edinburgh, October 1805; appointed secretary of the Society for propagating Christian Knowledge, January 1806; chosen moderator of the General Assembly, May 1818; died August 30, 1828,"-thus having obtained the 70th year of his age, after a life of piety and peace.

Dr Lorimer of Haddington performed the last tribute to his departed friend, by preaching his funeral sermon in the Tolbooth Church, Edinburgh, on the 7th of September, 1828, being the Sunday after Dr Campbell's interment. This sermon, which is entitled "Christ's Dominion over Death and the Invisible World," begins the volume, and has been inserted by particular request. We regret that our limits will not permit us to select a few passages from it. Dr Lorimer is well known as an able, eloquent, and indefatigable minister, and his name is honourably connected with every humane and generous institution in the vicinity of Haddington, pointing him out as the enlightened friend of science and education. His diligent and faithful editorship of the volume of Sermons now before us, entitles him to much praise; and Dr Campbell's friends will ill acquit themselves, and will be considered wanting in respect for the memory of their late venerable minister, if these Sermons do not soon see a second edition.



By the Editor of the Inverness Courier, and of the Poetry of Milton's Prose.

INDEPENDENTLY of the labour requisite to supply the staple materiel of genius or learning, the craft of authorship would seem to be by no means so easy of practice as is generally imagined. Almost all our works, whether of knowledge or of fancy, have been the product of much intellectual exertion and study, or, as it is better expressed by the poet,

"The well-ripened fruits of wise delay."

WHILE the volume before us, as being a memorial of a truly good man, and a most zealous minister, will be duly appreciated by those connected with the congregation over which Dr Campbell presided, as well as by his numerous friends in the church, it is at the same time well worthy of a serious perusal, by all who are interested in the elucidation of Christian truth. The Sermons, as was to be expected, from Dr Campbell's reputation as a preacher and theologian, are faithful, earnest, and affectionate discourses on the Gospel; and as such, written with all that warmth of feeling and genuine devotion which characterized their venerable author. Though this is a posthumous publication, and contains only two sermons by Dr Campbell which were ever before printed, one of which is the tenth, entitled "The Acclamation of the Redeemed," a truly admi- Pope published nothing until it had been a year or two rable discourse, (preached in London in 1808, before the beside him, and even then his printers' sheets were full London Missionary Society,) Dr Lorimer, neverthe- of alterations; and, on one occasion, Dodsley, his publess, informs us, that, posthumous as they are, they do lisher, thought it better to reprint the whole than attempt not labour under all the disadvantages which usually at- the necessary corrections. Goldsmith considered four tend writings of this description, as the author had, for lines a-day good work, and was seven years in beating some time before his death, intended to publish them, out the pure gold of the Deserted Village. Hume wrote and they were fairly written out for this purpose. The his delightful history on a sofa, (not much of a "task" to volume will recall to the recollection of many the in- him,) but he went on silently correcting every edition structions and the admonitions they were wont to hear till his death. Robertson used to write out his sentences from its venerable author; while it will edify and on small slips of paper, and, after rounding and polishing strengthen the faith of all in the doctrines of the Gospel. them to his satisfaction, he entered them in a book, which, The Sermons are eleven in number. 1. The Christ- in its turn, underwent considerable revision. Burke had ian's Confidence. 2. The Christian's preparation for all his principal works printed two or three times at a Duty and Trial. 3. God the Portion of his People. 4. private press before submitting them to his publisher. The Way of obtaining Peace with God. 5. Children Akenside and Gray were indefatigable correctors, labourencouraged to come to Jesus. 6. The Gospel preached ing every line; and so was our more prolix and imagito the Poor. 7. The Faithful Minister's Character and native poet, Thomson. I have compared the first edition Reward. 8. Jesus Christ the First and the Last. 9. of the Seasons with the last corrected one, and am able Christ having the Keys of Hell and of Death. 10. The to state, that there is scarcely a page which does not bear Acclamation of the Redeemed. 11. The future Bless- evidence of his taste and industry. Johnson thinks


they lost much of their raciness under this severe regibut they were much improved in fancy and delieacy. The episode of Musidora, the "solemnly-ridiculous bathing scene," as Campbell justly describes it, was almost entirely re-written, the poet having originally peopled the "refreshing stream" with three inamoratos. Two of our most ambitious authors, Johnson and Gibbon, were the least laborious in arranging their thoughts for the press. Gibbon sent the first and only manuscript of his stupendous work to his printer; and Johnson's high-sounding sentences, which rise and fall like an Æolian harp or cathedral organ, were written almost without an effort. Both, however, lived and moved, as it were, in the world of letters, thinking or caring of little else, one in the heart of busy London, which he dearly loved, and the other in his silent retreat at Lausanne. Dryden wrote hurriedly, to provide for the day that was passing over him, and, consequently, had little time for correction; but his Absalom and Achitophel, and the beautiful imagery of the Hind and Panther, must have been fostered with parental care. St Pierre copied his Paul and Virginia nine times, that he might render it the more perfect. Rousseau exhibited the utmost coxcombry of affection for his long-cherished productions. The amatory epistles, in his new Heloise, he wrote on fine giltedged card paper, and, having folded, addressed, and scaled them, he opened and read them in his solitary walks in the woods of fair Clarens, with the mingled enthusiasm of an author and lover. (Wilkie and his models-the "timmer mannies," as an Aberdeenshire virtuoso styled them are nothing to this.) Sheridan watched long and anxiously for a good thought, and, when it did come, he was careful to attire it suitably, and to reward it with a glass or two of wine. Burns composed in the open air, -the sunnier the better; but he laboured hard, and with almost unerring taste and judgment, in correcting his pieces. His care of them did not cease with publication. I have seen a copy of the second edition of his poems with the blanks filled up, and numerous alterations made, in the poet's handwriting: one instance, not the most delicate, but perhaps the most amusing and characteristic, will suffice. After describing the gambols of his "Twa Dogs," their historian described their sitting down in coarse and rustic terms. This, of course, did not suit the poet's Edinburgh patrons, and he altered it

to the following:

"Till tired at last and doucer grown, Upon a knowe they set them down.' Still this did not please his fancy; he tried again, and hit it off in the simple, perfect form in which it now stands,

"Until wi' daffin weary grown,

Upon a knowe they set them down."

Lord Byron was a rapid composer, but made abundant use of the pruning knife. On returning one of his proofsheets from Italy, he once expressed himself undecided about a single word, for which he wished to substitute another, and requested Mr Murray to refer it to the late veteran editor of the Quarterly. This at once illustrates my argument, and marks the literary condescension of the noble bard. Sir Walter Scott has just evinced his love of literary labour, by undertaking the revision of the whole Waverley Novels-a goodly freightage of some fifty er sixty volumes! The works of Wordsworth, Southey, Coleridge, and Moore, and the occasional variations in their different editions, mark their love of re-touching. The Laureat is indeed unweariable, after his kind—a true author of the old school. The bright thoughts of Campbell, which sparkle like polished lances, were manufactured with almost equal care: he is the Pope of modern bards. His corrections are generally decided improvements; but in one instance he failed lamentably. The noble peroration of Lochiel is familiar to all :-

"Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low,
With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe;
And, leaving in battle no blot on his name,

Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame."

In the quarto edition of Gertrude of Wyoming, when the poet collected and reprinted his minor pieces, this lofty sentiment is thus stultified :—

"Shall victor exult in the battle's acclaim,

Or look to yon heaven from the death-bed of fame." The original passage, however, was wisely restored in the subsequent editions.

Allan Cunningham unfortunately corrects but little : his gay and gorgeous genius requires the curb of prudence, excepting, perhaps, in his imitations of the elder lyrics, which are perfect centos of Scottish feeling and poesy. I see, by the Edinburgh Literary Journal, that the Ettrick Shepherd is disposed to place the credit of the "Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song" to the genius of Allan; and he is right. Their publication, as "Remains," may have been "a fraud," (as Mr Jeffrey terms it,) but so was the Castle of Otranto-so were the strains of Chatterton—the “Vision” of Allan Ramsay— the sentimental prefaces of the Man of Feeling--and a thousand other productions. The origin of the Remains was as follows:-When a very young man, Mr Cunningham, by the side of his father's fire in the winter evenings, wrote some of the sweetest of his Scottish songs. These were shown to Cromek, when in Dumfries, by a relative of the bard; but they found no favour in the eyes of the collector of "relics."—" Could the young man," said he, "but assist me in procuring some of the fragments of ancient song, with which the country abounds, he would be much better employed." Upon this hint Allan spake. He soon supplied him with abundance of lyrical antiques, which seemed to be more common in the vale of Nith, than were ever relics of our Lady of Loretto in the dominions of the Pope. The unconscious Cockney adopted the whole as genuine, and, with the help of their author, manufactured the volume which occasioned some surprise and conjecture among the lovers of Scottish song and antiquities. This is the head and front of Mr Cunningham's offending; and there are few authors, we suspect, who would object to being placed in the confessional, if they had no heavier sins to acknowledge or to atone for.

The above are but a few instances of authors' cares the disjecta membra of literary history. Of many illustrious men, we have few memorials. Shakspeare was in all things a “chartered libertine,” and could not have been a very laborious corrector. His free genius must have disdained the restraints of study, and the unities of time and place, as much as his own beautiful, inimitable Ariel would have scorned the fetters of this mortal coil. Milton-the" old man eloquent"-the poet of Paradise Lost and Regained-was "slow to choose," and sedulous to write for immortality; but his great mind, like the famous pool of Norway, embraced at once the mightiest and the minutest things, and his thoughts disdained to appear in an imperfect shape. "What was writtenwas written" and was incapable of improvement. Of his gifted contemporary, Jeremy Taylor, few records have survived that "great storm, which dashed the vessel of the church and state all in pieces." When prescribing rules for the employment of their time in the morning, he does not fail to counsel his readers to be "curious to see the preparation which the sun makes, when he is coming forth from his chambers of the east ;" and we know that he was zealous to present "a rosary or chaplet of good works" to his Maker every evening. Such a man would, from taste and genius, be careful of the conceptions of his immortal mind: all that was tender, pious, and true, would be cherished and adorned, while the baser alloy of human passions and infirmities would be expelled from such consecrated ground. Cowper, the lights and shades of whose character have been spread before us almost as plainly and beautifully as the face of nature, in composition had only to transfer his thoughts to paper. He never forgot the man in the poet: he does not, like Milton's sirens," with voluptuous hope dissolve," but he

more than realizes our expectations, and he bounds them all within the "charmed ring" of virtue. In his Letters, as in those of other authors, we may sometimes trace the germ of his finest poetical pictures,—

"As yon grey lines that fret the east
Are messengers of day."

Who does not wish that he had foreseen the splendour of his meridian reputation?

But it is time to close these disjointed notes. However delightful it may be thus to string them together in the silence and sunshine of a Highland glen, every nook and crevice of which is now instinct with life and beauty, they will be read with different feelings in the saloons of the "city of palaces."



Ar the west end of the manse, and immediately betwixt me and the north-east wind, there grew, and there still grows, a small clump of firs. In fact, they were rather useful than ornamental, as they were all of the dull, stupid, leaden Scotch kind, and had been spared when their betters fell around them, on the same principle that some of us have attained to manhood. The crows, however, found them convenient for nest-building. So soon as the snowdrop thrust its snowy point through the softening soil, there they were, morning and evening, hard at work, in spite of wind and weather, croaking, fighting, and choaking. In these crows, however, and their yearly labours, my feelings were interested. They came careering, on the retiring blasts of winter, black and dark as the departing clouds, lively and cheerful as the returning brightness of heaven. And then I could not avoid associating their advent with other convocations, and other contested labours. They reminded me of the General Assembly of our Church, wedded, as it is, to the freshness and the splendour of confirmed spring. When I saw the glossy blackness of their habits, the wayward sagacity of their aspects, and listened to their notes of friendship, contest, debate, and war, I immediately bethought me of the right reverends, and right honourables, right and left of the throne.

Such had been my thoughts, when a few years ago I packed up my trunk with the regular allowance of necessaries, for my General Assembly expedition. It was but a spring from the ground to the top of the stagecoach, a careful wrapping of the neck, and buttoning of the coat, till I found myself rumbled and boated into Princes street. By this time the Assembly had met, and a number of the sharp-set lads were down from the mountains, and up from the glens, glossy as the evening cloud, good-humoured as the season itself, and openhearted, fisted, and mouthed, as old recollections and unexpected recognisances could make them. At every corner I met and recognised some friend of the olden time, and mutual exchanges of good-will were made on both sides. The fatness of the once thin man, and the thinness of the once fat man,—the wig, where wigs were formerly unknown,-the single tuft in the wilderness of baldness, where hair once flourished bushy and bristly; -all these, and similar circumstances, called forth, and do constantly, on similar occasions, call forth, a great deal of half-jocular, half-mournful chat. And there are the clubs to attend. I do not mean those political convenings where Assembly business is discussed ere it be debated; but the clubs I speak of are very innocent and pleasant meetings of old college acquaintances, who draw upon past reminiscences, as the prodigal does upon the accumulated treasures of his sires; who, in one evening of renewed friendships and tremendous excitement, live over the intermediate happiness of twenty years.

Last of all comes the Monday's, the Tuesday's, and the Wednesday's debate. "The combat thickens-on, ye brave!" and happy he whose voice is of that firm com

manding tone to secure a hearing, otherwise there are mouths and lungs strong and large enough to convert his incipient efforts into the chirpings of the Robin during the passing of a mail coach. The subject is an old and a tough one-nothing less than the " Plurality question." Doctor Tough is now on his legs, and even the darkness of his eye becomes meaning, mixed with threat, humour, dying into sarcasm. Arguments, lambent with illustration, are mixing and mingling like the merry dancers in the tempestuous north. Anon, his eye is brightened and his brow lighted ;-he has trode upon the dragon, and, with his foot upon his neck, he flourishes aloft his defiance; and bold is he, and fearless, who dares to accept of it. Snell, cutting, unsparing, reckless, cruel, he moves like an ancient scythe-armed chariot,-his very tread is terror-his every advance is death;—there is a breadth in his devastation, an extension in the zone of his overthrow, which occasions a fearful recoil in the ranks of opposition. "Longe fuge !" is the watchword; "fœnum habet in cornu." The victory his; and in an hour of reckless impetuosity and ungoverned triumph, he may order his victims to immediate execution. After a three hours' infliction, he sits down, having apparently dovetailed every argument, and hermetically sealed up the mouth of opposition.

But it is not so. He has defied armies,-but he is challenged to single combat-not indeed by little David, but by large Saul;-not by a commoner in the ranks, but by the king himself in his armour.

The voice is, for a time, shrill, tenor, and even peepy; but there is a mouth, and a face, and a brow of mighty compass and promise; the tenor is suddenly, and even over the accentuation of a single dissyllable, exchanged for the bass,-the rattle of the kettle is exchanged for the solemn rebound of the bass drum,—the warp of sound plays up and down; now the tenor and now the bass, are supereminent, till the opponent's argument is so loosened and unravelled, so twisted and twined into opposite meanings and constructions, that even Doctor Tough is at a loss to recognise the texture of his own workmanship. To mind, all things are possible; and here is mind enthroned on memory, a giant on a rock bobbing for whale. A seventy-four gun-ship does not move more unmovedly, and with greater certainty, over and through the flood, than Doctor Drive does to his mighty, luminous, and unanswerable conclusion.

But scarcely has he resumed his seat, and received the congratulation of his friends around him, when a whisper is felt to travel with a sawing severity, from left to right. The Doctor is on his legs that is he, holding with one hand by the railing on the further side of the throne, the other hand being reserved for action-action-action. With this hand he begins his speech-not with that graceful air with which an outstretched palm is sometimes waved to the admiring multitude-but he is undoubtedly cutting the air into faggots, upwards and downwards-backwards and forwards-" punctem et cæsim," it passes. All this while Dr Blast is silent; it is his hand that speaks, and claims for the tongue's work the indulgence of a hearing. Silence gives way to sound,-sound and hand equally at variance with taste and elegance; the demon of embarrassment seems to have fixed his disfiguring claws in the very front of his oratory, and there is every chance that he will not get on. But the waters of the mountain lake have been troubled, and lifted in their level by the descent of the avalanche; and their roar and impetuosity is now in the gullet,—they are struggling, wheeling, hurling, and bursting onward; and so soon as they have overtaken the extension and the freedom of the valley below, they will carry tower and tree, hut and palace, before them. The shepherd, however, has marked their approach, and has betaken himself to his mountain; and the very roar of their approach has contributed to the safety of all. Dr Blast is now in his eleHe dives and plunges in the flood; the triton of


the mermaids; not a fin from beneath the bank but shivers with apprehension, nor a supple-tailed tenant of the mud but dives to Orcus. The Doctor is now in his element; he rides on the wind, and the inhabitants of earth and air are trembling spectators of his flight; the eagle screams, and is lost in the sun; the ravens croak, and are incontinently on the wing; the very doves and jackdaws desert their outfields and resort to their cots and chimneys. The famous mirk-Monanday was nothing to this. It seems as if a new terror had been discovered, and a mental steam-engine of incalculable power had been set in motion. Imagination herself has run riot, and seems startled at her own imaginings. Involuted, and convoluted, she rolls herself onward, head over heels, till the heads of the spectators are bedizzened with the whirl :

And some say that we wan, and some say that they wan,
And some say that nane wan ava, man;

But of one thing I'm sure, that mid uproar and stour,

A contest there was, which I saw, man.



T. G.

By J. H. Wiffen, Author of " Aonian Hours," and the
Translator of Tasso's "Jerusalem Delivered."

To the greenwoods and waters one midnight I went;
The thoughts of my soul were of memory and grief,—
All was wet with a cloud, that in misty descent
Feil gloomy and sad on each murmuring leaf;—
But I heard, in the shade of my favourite beech,

A nightingale near, through the storm singing loud,——
Like a spirit endued with the accents of speech,
Like a rainbow of music adorning the cloud.

In that music was transport! I smiled through my tears:
Even now, in dark moments, when exiled from bliss,
From the baseless illusions of Hope's coming years,

I turn to the truth and the sweetness of this!
Such in life's lonely walk, is a delicate deed;
Its music breathes forth in a desolate hour,
Surpassing the nightingale's voice in its meed,

Which more sweetly resounded the darker the shower!



By Alaric A. Watts.

[This poem, and the one which follows, were both written fourteen years ago, and were presented to us by an early friend of the poet in the author's own handwriting. They have never before been published.-Ed. LIT. JOUR.]

THE gift I have reserved for thee
May well, dear girl, my emblem be;
For, ere my heart had bled to know
The ills that wait on all below,
Life's book its fairest leaves display'd,
Unsullied by the blots of Care,
And not the slightest mark betray'd
That Sorrow's hand had written there!

But oh! not long did thus remain
Each snowy page without a stain;
For Folly, with her sister, Grief,
Soon came and darkened many a leaf;
And though, with fairy fingers, oft
Hope fond devices traced,
Yet were her pencils all so soft,
They quickly were effaced.

Some hours of bliss my bosom knew,
As a few scattered leaves will show,

When Love was wont in song to tell
The feelings thou mayst guess so well;
And who, as what he said was sweetest,
Inscribed his characters the neatest!
At length there came a gentle maid,
Who found one page, though ruffled, fair,
And as the book had often stray'd,

She smiled, and wrote a spell-word there,
Which, spite of Folly, Grief, or Pain,
Will never let it roam again!


By Alaric A. Watts.

Он, say not, dearest! say not so;
My heart is wholly thine;
And if I ever seem to bow
Before another shrine,

I do but court the Muse's smile,
And sing of love and thee the while!

Beloved, this tender truth believe,
Thou'rt all the world to me;
And if the minstrel-lay I weave,
'Tis but to sing of thee!

And if I seek the wreath of fame,
'Tis but to twine with it thy name!

Then say not, dearest! say not so;

To thee alone belong,

In grief or gladness, weal or woe,

My sweetest thoughts and song; Then fear not I can ever be

False to my heart, my lyre, and thee.


By Thomas Brydson, Author of " Poems," &c. THERE is a happiness we cannot find

When wandering through the crowded ways of men ; Yet day by day it lies in distant ken,A lovely thing unto the eye of mind: So have I seen amid the summer hills, (In early life) a shade-encircled spot Of sunniness as 'twere a place forgot When earth was blasted by sin's thousand ills; I bounded o'er the turf with panting haste, As if a kingdom would have been my dower Could I have kiss'd the sunshine from one flower Of that bright fairy-land.-Lo! from the waste Around me, while I knelt, there came a cloud, And blotted out the scene.-I wept-I wept aloud!


THE EDINBURGH REVIEW.-It may not perhaps be generally, known to our readers, that Mr Jeffrey resigned, a few weeks ago, the Editorship of the Edinburgh Review, which he has conducted with so much talent since its commencement. It is generally believed that the likelihood of a speedy professional appointment is at least one cause which has induced Mr Jeffrey to take this step,-not that he would for a moment compromise his principles, but that it might be prudent and necessary for him to bring them less conspicuously before the public. Mr Jeffrey is probably tired also of the toils of Editorship, and having done all that Editor could do, he may feel disposed to devote his attention to other pursuits.-We are enabled to state positively, that no one has yet been fixed on as his successor; and indeed it will be no easy task to find a successor, especially if the Review is still to retain the character of being a Scotch publication. Mr Rees, of the house of Longman, Rees, Orme, and Co. (who have the principal interest in the work,) is now in Edinburgh, making arrangements; but as these are not concluded, we refrain from mentioning the names of the one or two literary gentlemen who are spoken of as candidates for the situation. If the work is to enjoy any share of its former success, the new Editor must be

an active-minded and nervous writer, well acquainted with the bearings of the times, and prepared to start upon a fresh and vigorous course with spirit and with principle. How would it do to put the Review under commission, as has sometimes been done with Ireland, and other places difficult to manage?

THE ANNIVERSARY.-Extract of a Letter from Allan Cunningham.-"The Anniversary will be published in monthly portions of forty pages each. The first Number appears on the 1st of July, embellished with a Plate, and accompanied by eighty pages of other miscellaneous matter, which will be superintended by Theodore Hooke. My part (adds Mr Cunningham.) will, at the end of a twelvemonth, assume the form of a volume of Poetry and Prose."

We are glad to understand that Mr Sillery, whose name as a young poet is already so favourably known to the public, has nearly finished a new Poem, in two Books, and in the Spenserian stanza, which is to be entitled Eldred of Erin, or the Solitary. We have been favoured with a short and very beautiful extract from this Poem, which we propose laying before our readers next Saturday. Mr Alaric Watts has nearly ready for publication the Second Volume of the Poetical Album, containing a selection of all the best fugitive poetry of the day.

The Rev. Alexander Fleming, A.M., of Neilston, has made considerable progress in revising a new edition of Pardoran's Collections concerning the Church of Scotland; in which will be incorporated the History, Jurisdiction, and Forms of the several Church Judicatories, together with the civil Decisions relative to the rights and patrimony of the established church and her clergy.

The rudiments of Hieroglyphics and Egyptian Antiquities, in a course of Lectures delivered at the University of Cambridge, by the Marchese di Spineta, are about to be published in Numbers, (cach Number to contain one Lecture,) by Mr Murray, of London.

The Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge have just published an Address, in which they present a rapid and satisfactory retrospect of the progress of their labours, which seems to augur well for the future. The Library of Entertaining Knowledge, (in which the Society is interested) is also proceeding prosperously; 14,000 copies having been already sold of the first volume, and 9000 of the second.

A circumstantial account of persons remarkable for their Health and Longevity, by a Physician, is nearly ready for publication.

We understand, that among other new works, Mr Colburn will speedily publish,-The Marquis of Londonderry's Narrative of the War in Germany and France in 1813 and 1814,-Geraldine of Desmond, an Historical Romance,-The Book of the Boudoir, in two volumes, by Lady Morgan,-Stories of Waterloo, in three volumes, -The Private Correspondence of David Garrick with the most eminent persons of his times,-Memoirs of the Bedouins, with a history of the Wahabis of Arabia, from the original manuscripts of the late celebrated John Lewes Burckhardt,-The History of Modern Greece, by James Emmerson,-Memoirs of the Court and Reign of Louis XVIII., by a Lady,-Recollections of the East, by John Carne, Esq. author of Letters from the East,-Random Records, by George Colman, Esq.-Tales of my Time, by the author of Blue Stocking Hall,-and Stories of a Bride.

The Rev. Robert Everett, A.M., of Oxford, has in the press a Journey through Norway, Lapland, and part of Sweden; with remarks on the Geology of the country, Statistical Tables, Meteorological Observations, &c. To two of these countries Mr Derwent Conway's recent work has been very successful in directing public attention.

The second Number of the London Review, edited by the Rev. Blanco White, has just appeared. The following are its contents: -Mineral Waters-Records of History-Peru and the Andes-Spanish Poetry and Language-Juvenile Library-Fa hionable Novels -Mathematical writers-Human Physiology-War with TurkeyGame Laws-French Public Charities-Bishop Heber.

THE TRUE MEANING OF WORDS.-In the twenty-ninth edition of "Guy's English Spelling-Book," just published, revised and improved, and stated in the Preface to be" the result of a combination of talent," we meet with the following definitions, which we beg to submit to the serious attention of our philological readers:

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Mr Guy must surely be a descendant of Guy Faux, for he seems, with his " combination of talent,” to have entered into a conspiracy against the English language.

PORTRAIT OF SIR JAMES MONCRIEFF.-Mr Walker has published a mezzotinto engraving from Watson Gordon's fine picture of this eminent lawyer. The likeness is happily preserved;-indeed, the print almost strikes us as more like than the painting. With regard to the manipulation, it possesses all that delicacy in the management of light and shade, which is the exclusive province of mezzotinto; and has less of that weakness and haziness, which is the inherent defect of that style of engraving, than any works of the kind we have seen lately, except those of Martin. Mr Walker is making rapid progress in his art. Might he not think of publishing a series of our eminent Edinburgh characters? The plate, we believe, is private, and not intended to come into the print shops.

HAYDON. We are happy to understand that this able artist's most recent picture has been sold for five hundred guineas. The subject is the death of the heir of Pharoah's throne,-his "first-born,"-at the passover, and the agony of the Queen and Royal Family in consequence. (Exodus, chap. 12.) It is of a small size compared with most of the artist's preceding works of this class; but it is said to possess many striking beauties.

NATIONAL PORTRAIT GALLERY.-This is a new work, to be published in numbers, each number to contain three portraits of illustrious and eminent personages of the nineteenth century, with short Memoirs. The first number contains Portraits of the Duke of Wellington, Byron, and the Marquis Camden. They are, on the whole, well executed, and the publication will be a valuable one, if followed up with due diligence.

Theatrical Gossip.-Kean has had a dispute with the Dublin manager, Mr Bunn, who, it is said, has refused to pay him his stipu lated salary of L.50 per night, (a most disgracefully large sum,) on the odd enough plea, that Kean performs in a slovenly manner. This may be very true; but if the manager made a foolish bargain, he must abide by it.-Nothing very remarkable is taking place in the London Theatrical world. Charles Kemble is said to have cleared L.600 by his benefit, and the French actor, Laporte, L.1500. Ducrow is performing more equestrian wonders at Astley's. "His performances," says a critic in the Court Journal, "are the finest things extant, now that Kean is virtually defunct, and Macready asleep.”— Pritchard's benefit here, last Monday, was quite a bumper. Madame Caradori renewed her engagement for three nights this week; the houses, however, have not been so crowded as at first. This is to be attributed to the monotony of a concert, where only one person sings a song worth hearing. We are glad to observe that, according to a suggestion made in our last, Madame Caradori is to appear in an operatic character this evening, having undertaken to perform Polly in the "Beggar's Opera,"-an arduous task for a foreigner, but which, we doubt not, will be triumphantly executed.-On Monday, Mr and Mrs Stanley take their benefit. Few members of our company deserve better of the public;-Mrs Stanley is a highly respectable actress of all work; and, in his own peculiar line of humour, mixed occasionally with a fine developement of the stronger passions, her husband is unrivalled. Our readers are aware that we do not speak of benefits indiscriminately; and our words, on the present occasion, will perhaps have the more weight.

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COMMUNICATIONS from Derwent Conway, Esq., John Malcolm, Esq., and others, together with a very interesting unpublished Poem, by Mrs Elizabeth Hamilton, Authoress of the "Cottagers of Glenburnie," will appear in our next number.

Several poetical pieces, which are in types, are unavoidably postponed.

The "Sonnet to," by "N. C." of Glasgow, shall perhaps have a place when the Editor is next in his Slippers.-"King Edward's Dream," though not destitute of poetical merit, is too long for our pages. We regret we cannot give a place to the lines "On seeing a Picture of Mary, Queen of Scots," nor to the verses of "Zella."

Specimen copies of the First Volume of the LITERARY JOURNAL, boarded in a neat and substantial manner, may now be seen at our Publishers'. A few remain on sale.

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