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story we have no particulars, but during its narration the King and his courtiers were ready to burst with laughter, while the Earl never changed countenance, but related it with as much unconcern as if he were in the midst of his companions in his own country. When he had concluded, the King, anxious to divert the discourse from the unfortunate Bishop, thus made an object of ridicule, cautioned the Earl to be well advised whom he would choose for his counsellor, for that whoever he should be, he would have enough to do to defend him. Marry!' said Kildare, 'I can see no better man in England than your Majesty, and will choose no other. By St Brigid,' said the King, it was well chosen; for I thought your tale would not excuse your doings. Do you think I am a fool?' answered the Earl; no; I am indeed a man, both in the field and the town.' Henry laughed and said, A wiser man might have chosen worse. A new accusation was now brought forward, that in one of his lawless excursions he had burned the cathedral of Cashel to the ground. 'Spare your evidence,' said Kildare I did set fire to the church, for I thought the Archbishop had been in it.' This singular simplicity in pleading a circumstance of aggravation as an apology for his offence, threw an air of ridicule on his prosecutors, which proved highly favourable to the cause of the accused; and when they concluded their charges by exclaiming passionately, All Ireland cannot govern this Earl !'—'Well,' replied the King, this Earl shall govern all Ireland.'"

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AN AFFECTIONATE WIFE." On the 19th of May, 1596, Otterburn, a rebel chieftain, demanded a passage over Stradbally-bridge, which being considered as a challenge by Cosby, he resolved to oppose the passage. He accordingly, accompanied by his eldest son Francis, who had lately married a lady of the Hartpole family, took post with his kerns at the bridge, while Dorcas Sidney (Cosby's wife) and her daughter-in-law seated themselves at a window of the abbey to see the fight. The O'Mores soon 'advanced with great intrepidity, and were resisted with equal bravery, till Sir Alexander Cosby was slain, when his kerns instantly gave way; and Francis, attempting to escape, by leaping

over the battlements of the bridge, was in the next moment shot dead. You might expect that the ladies at the window now became frantic with grief at the death of their husbands. But no such thing; the widow of Francis turned to her mother-in-law, and said, with the greatest self-possession, Remember, mother, that my father was shot before my husband, and, therefore, the latter became the legal possessor of the estate, and consequently I am entitled to my thirds or dowry.'

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THE EAGLE TURNED Restaurateur." A tradition prevails, that when O'Sullivan was quitting his retreat in Glengarriff, he consigned the care of his wife and children to a faithful gossip named Gorrane M'Swiney, who had a but at the foot of the Eagle's precipice, which was so constructed as to elude the vigilance of the English scouts who day and night prowled about these mountains. A single salted salmon was all the provision which M'Swiney had for his honoured charge when they entered his hut, but his ingenuity is said to have devised extraordinary means for their future sustenance. Having perceived an eagle flying to her nest with a hare in her talons, he conceived a plan for supporting the family of his chief with the food intended for the young eaglets. He accordingly, on the following morning, accompanied by his son, a boy about fourteen years old, ascended the mountains, on the summit of which they took post, till they saw the old eagles fly off in pursuit of prey. The elder M'Swiney then tied a rope, made of the fibres of bog fir, round the waist and between the legs of his son, and lowered him down to the nest, where the youth tightened the necks of the young eaglets with straps which he had provided for the purpose, that they might swallow their food with difficulty. This being accomplished, he was safely drawn up, and the father and son kept their station on the top of the precipice, till they witnessed the return of the eagles-one with a rabbit, and the other with a grouse, in its talons. After they had again flown off, young M'Swiney descended a second time, and brought the game, after having first gutted it, and left the entrails for the young eaglets. In this manner, we are informed, was the family of O'Sullivan supported, by their faithful guardian, during the period of their seclusion in this desolate part of the country."


We had occasion formerly to recommend the first series of these "True Stories," and we can now as conscientiously recommend the second.

Forget-me-Not; a Christmas, New Year's, and BirthDay Present, for 1830. Edited by Frederic Shoberl.


R. Ackermann and Co. 12mo. Pp. 418. ACKERMANN is the Father of the Annuals,—the leader of all that "gallant companie," the nucleus round which this Christmas constellation has gathered. We love the morning star, though it be lost in the blaze of noon,-we love the white crocus, though it disappear amid the glories of the riper year, we love the venerable master, though his pupil rise to more glaring renown,—and in like manner ought we to love and admire that most tasteful and elegant of publishers, Mr R. Ackermann, who has originated a new series of works hitherto unknown in Great Britain—“ made to engage all hearts, and charm all eyes." Neither has our first and earliest annual faded away into comparative insignificance, before the surpassing splendour of those which have succeeded. On the contrary, it still fights a good fight, and maintains its place among the best with a becoming consciousness of its own dignity.

The volume for 1830 is now before us. It contains fourteen embellishments, which, though highly respectable, are on the whole surpassed by those of the Keepsake, the Souvenir, the Friendship's Offering, and the Amulet. They are arranged in the following order :-I. “The Spanish Princess," painted by Wilkie at Madrid in 1828, a fine picture, in so far as the artist is concerned; but the subject wants interest, seeing that the Princess is by no means beautiful; and, moreover, we are not quite satisfied with the manner in which the work is engraved by R. Graves.—II. A "Vignette Title," very tasteful and appropriate.-III. " Place de Jeanne D'Arc, Rouen," one of those fine Continental street scenes, which Prout paints so well, and Le Keux engraves so beautifully.-IV." The Flower Girl of Savoy," a sweet picture, by a French artist, though we think the flower girl looks a little too much as if she were a married woman; that is to say, scarcely young and happy enough.-V." The Land Storm," spirited, but rather clap-trappish, being too full of thunder and lightning, wind and rain.-VI. "The Exile," a scene by Stephanhoff, but not one of his best, the countenances being rather insipid, and the grouping and attitudes not such as to tell the story distinctly.-VII. " The Orphan Family," engraved by Davenport from a painting by Chisholme, and executed in a manner which reflects much credit upon both artists, the lights being very delicately managed, and the figures happily arranged and well conceived.-VIII. "The Tempting Moment," a humorous scene by Collins, representing boys stealing apples from the stall of an old lady who has fallen asleep,-clever, but far inferior to Wilkie, and rather raggedly engraved by H. C. Shenton.-IX. " Undine," engraved from a spirited painting by Retzsch, illustrative of part of a romance by De La Motte Fouqué, and worthy of the artist, whose outline illustrations, both of the poets of his own country and of our Shakspeare, are now so well known and admired.-X. "Greenwich Hospital," a good view, from the Thames, of this noble national institution.-XI. "The Improvisatrice," from a painting by Bone, the worst embellishment in the book, and the nearest thing to a caricature, not to be meant for a caricature, ever seen, the female figure, intended for the Improvisatrice, looking much more like an old maid with a pain in her stomach, which she is in hopes a dose of salts she has recently taken may remove, than a being in the fervour of poetical composition. It surely must have cost " Delta" some sacrifice of his conscience to puff up the unhappy creature as he has done.-XII. "Death of the Dove," an interesting painting by Stewardson, excellently engraved by W. Finden. XIII. "The Shipwreck," and XIV. "The Ghaut," both respectable.

The literary contents of the Forget-me-Not are neither greatly above nor below par. There are some very good prose tales, and some that are poor enough. We do not

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much like the first in the volume, entitled, A Quarter of an Hour too Soon." It is founded on an absurdity, being an attempt to show that the whole of the hero's distresses in life arose from his being on all occasions a quarter of an hour too soon. Mr Macnish, the author of the "Anatomy of Drunkenness," has communicated, under the signature of "A Modern Pythagorean," rather a clever story called "The Red Man." It is, however, too much in imitation of Sterne's style, and is too extravagant to be natural. "The Omen," by Mr Galt, is a meagre and unsatisfactory story, scarcely worth telling.

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Seeking the Houdy," by the Ettrick Shepherd, is humorous and talented, but almost a little too homely, we should have thought, for an Annual. Of the poetry, by far the ablest and most interesting production is the "Trial of Charles I.," a dramatic scene by Miss Mitford. We regret that we cannot quote the whole, and it would not do to abridge it. Another poetical contribution, more curious than valuable, is a poem by Byron :"It is the first attempt," says the editor, "of the late Lord Byron's that is known to be extant; and we consider this piece as being the more curious, inasmuch as it displays no dawning of that genius which soon afterwards burst forth with such overpowering splendour. It was inspired by the tender passion, and appears in the shape of verses to the object of his earliest, and perhaps his only real attachment, the Mary' whom he has celebrated in many of his poems. It is certified by the lady to whom it was addressed, (Mary Anne Musters,) and is now in the possession of Miss Mary Ann Cursham of Sutton, Nottinghamshire." The verses are as follows:

LORD BYRON's first verses.


"Adieu to sweet Mary for ever!
From her I must quickly depart;
Though the Fates us from each other sever,
Still her image will dwell in my heart.

"The flame that within my breast burns
Is unlike what in lovers' hearts glows!
The love which for Mary I feel

Is far purer than Cupid bestows!

"I wish not your peace to disturb,
I wish not your joys to molest;
Mistake not my passion for love,
'Tis your friendship alone I request.
"Not ten thousand lovers could feel

The friendship my bosom contains;
It will ever within my heart dwell,

While the warm blood flows through my veins.
"May the Ruler of Heaven look down,
And my Mary from evil defend!
May she ne'er know adversity's frown-
May her happiness ne'er have an end!

"Once more, my sweet Mary, adieu!
Farewell! I with anguish repeat-
For ever I'll think upon you,

While this heart in my bosom shall beat."

Another literary curiosity which the "Forget-me-Not" contains, is a short poem by Francis Jeffrey, Esq. We have long been aware that Mr Jeffrey, in his leisure moments (which are few and far between), wooed the Muses, and we have heard the story of his having once printed a volume of poems which he afterwards suppressed, and also of his having contemplated publishing several satires in the style of Pope; but we do not recollect having seen any of his verses in print before with his name appended to them. They will be read with interest; and, though rather on a commonplace subject, they place the critic and the lawyer in a pleasing point of view :


By Francis Jeffrey, Esq.

"Why write my name 'midst songs and flowers,
To meet the eye of lady gay?

I have no voice for lady's bowers—
For page like this no fitting lay.

"Yet though my heart no more must bound
At witching call of sprightly joys,
Mine is the brow that never frown'd
On laughing lips, or sparkling eyes.

"No-though behind me now is closed
The youthful paradise of Love,
Yet can I bless, with soul composed,
The lingerers in that happy grove!

"Take, then, fair girls, my blessing take!
Where'er amid its charms you roam,
Or where, by western hill or lake,
You brighten a serener home.

"And while the youthful lover's name
Here with the sister beauty's blends,
Laugh not to scorn the humbler aim,

That to their list would add a friend's!"

We do not find much else in the volume that calls for especial notice. There are some good lines by Barry Cornwall, a pretty song by Bayley, two rather dull things by Thomas Hood, and some respectable poetry by Charles Swain, Miss Jewsbury, and Delta. There is also one little piece by Miss Emma Roberts, which we like for its simplicity and natural feeling, and which we shall subjoin :


By Miss Emma Roberts. "Upon the Ganges' regal stream The sun's bright splendours rest; And gorgeously the noontide beam Reposes on its breast;

But, in a small secluded nook,

Beyond the western sea,

There rippling glides a narrow brook,
That's dearer far to me.

"The lory perches on my hand,
Caressing to be fed,

And spreads its plumes at my command, And stoops its purple head;

But where the robin, humble guest,

Comes flying from the tree,

Which bears its unpretending nest,
Alas! I'd rather be.

"The fire-fly flashes through the sky,
A meteor swift and bright;
And the wide space around on high,
Gleams with the emerald light;
Though glory tracks that shooting star,
And bright its splendours shine,
The glow-worm's lamp is dearer far
To this sad heart of mine.

"Throughout the summer year, the flowers,
In all the flush of bloom,
Clustering around the forest bowers,
Exhale their rich perfume.
The daisy and the primrose pale,
Though scentless they may be,
That gem a far far distant vale,
Are much more prized by me.

"The lotus opes its chalices,

Upon the Tank's broad lake,
Where India's stately palaces
Their ample mirrors make;
But reckless of each tower and dome,
The splendid and the grand,
I languish for a cottage home
Within my native land.
"Benares, 1828."

We shall end this article in a manner much in vogue among the gentler kind of reviewers, by "sincerely re commending the book in question to the notice of our readers."

Ackermann's Juvenile Forget-me-Not: A Christmas, New Year's, and Birth-Day Present, for Youth of both Sexes, for 1830. Edited by Frederic Shoberl. London. Ackermann and Co. 12mo. Pp. 274.

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We have already reviewed the Juvenile Forget-me-Not, edited by Mrs S. C. Hall. That before us is quite a distinct book, though varying in title only by having Ackermann's name prefixed to it. This is awkward, and should have been avoided, if possible. Mrs Hall, in the preface to her volume, thus mentions the subject:-" It gives me pain to allude to the fact, that the success of The Juvenile Forget-me-Not' has given rise to a similar publication under a title so nearly the same, that it is more than probable the one will be often mistaken for the other. Fair and honourable competition is at all times beneficial; and if the work to which I allude had received any other name, I should have been the last to complain; but I cannot consider it either fair or honourable to take advantage of that popularity for which the publishers of The Juvenile Forget-me-Not' had anxiously and successfully laboured during a period of two years." In the preface to Ackermann's Juvenile Forget-me-Not no allusion is made to this matter; and as some explanation was certainly called for, we must suppose that silence implies culpability. Had it been even alleged that the title of Mrs Hall's Juvenile Forget-me-Not was an infringement on the title of the original Forget-me-Not, the argument would have been worth something; but as this is not stated, we must conclude that Mrs Hall's publishers had Ackermann's consent to christen their bantling by the name they gave it, in which case his present interference with that name is harassing and injurious. "Non nobis," however, "tantas componere lites."

Ackermann's Juvenile Forget-me-Not is an exceedingly elegant little volume; indeed, we suspect the most clegant of all the Juvenile Annuals in external appearance, although we certainly prefer Mrs Hall's embellishments. The stories and poetry too, in Ackermann, are good, and well adapted for children, which is the great thing. The "True Story of Web Spinner," by Mary Howitt, is quite delightful. Who is Mary Howitt? She has proved herself, by the Annuals for 1830, to be one of the very cleverest of our female writers, yet we know next to nothing about her, Is she a Quakeress? We see there are a William and a Richard Howitt also, (clever, too, though not so clever as Mary)—are they her brothers, or is one of them her, husband? Will any benevolent Christian inform us on these particulars? for we are sorry to say that Mary Howitt's personal history is totally unknown to the literati of Edinburgh; yet she is one who deserves to be known, and who is fast making herself so. This little volume contains also by far the best thing which James Montgomery has contributed to any of the Annuals we have yet seen. Indeed, we were beginning to fear that Montgomery had lost his poetical talents altogether, so entirely did they appear to be frittered away upon the most insignificant subjects, until we met with the gem now before us. It is called "The Snake in the Grass;" but, as we can only give a part of it, we shall entitle it

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"What secret thus the soul possess'd

Of one so young and innocent?
Oh! nothing but a robin's nest,

O'er which in ecstasy she bent :
That treasure she herself had found,
With five brown eggs, upon the ground.

"When first it flash'd upon her sight,

Bolt flew the dam above her head: She stoop'd and almost shriek'd for fright; But spying there that little bed, With feathers, moss, and horse-hair twined, Wonder and gladness fill'd her mind. "Breathless and beautiful she stood; Her ringlets o'er her bosom fell; With hand uplift-in attitude,

As though a pulse would break the spell; While through the shade her pale fine face Shone like a star amidst the place.

"She stood so silent, staid so long,

The parent birds forgot their fear: Cock-robin soon renew'd his song,

In notes like dew-drops, trembling clear;
From spray to spray the shyer hen
Dropt softly on her nest again.

"Then Lucy mark'd her slender bill
On this side, and on that her tail
Peer'd on the edge,-while, fix'd and still,
Two bright black eyes her own assail,
Which in eye-language seem'd to say,
Peep, pretty maiden; then, away!"

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"Away, away, at length she crept,

So pleased, she knew not how she trode,
Yet light on tottering tip-toe stepp'd,

As though birds' eggs strew'd all the road;
Close cradling in her heart's recess,
The secret of her happiness."

They who are determined not to buy Mrs Hall's Jurenile Forget-me-Not, have nothing to do but to ask for Ackermann's Juvenile Forget-me-Not.

4to. EdinLothian's Historical Atlas of Scotland. burgh. 1829.-Lothian's County Atlas of Scotland. 4to. Edinburgh. 1826-28.

A COUNTY Atlas of Scotland, of a convenient size, and at a moderate price, has long been a desideratum. The maps in Mr Lothian's publication, besides that they supply this want, are as accurate as the scale upon which they are projected admits, and are executed with the greatest neatness. His Historical Atlas contains several curious relics of antiquity, and is a valuable present to the student of our national history. It serves to throw light on many passages in our older historians, where the author's incorrect notions of Scottish geography render him unintelligible to the reader, who has in his mind's eye a true picture of the relative localities of the country. Entertaining so favourable an opinion of the merits of these two works, we are happy to learn that the enterprise of their publisher is likely to reap its due reward.

The Historical Atlas has suggested to us a few remarks connected with the history of map-making, which we shall submit to our readers. It is with no small unwillingness that we feel obliged to commence, by acknowledging that the art or science of map-making is in this country at a much lower grade of perfection than it is on the Continent. The necessities of our trade and navigation have produced many accurate marine charts-perhaps more than are to be found in any other nation-although France and Holland, if not exactly equal to us in this department, are treading close upon our heels ;but in land maps we are miserably deficient: and this is the more unpardonable, because, in respect to all the me chanical aids which go to their construction-good engravers, accurate mathematical instruments, and the likewe are better off than any country in Europe.

set out.

this make-shift was Lehmann, latterly a major in the service of Saxony, and director of the royal plan-chamber in Dresden. It is impossible to enter here into an histo rical account of the progress of his invention ;-the result was this. A map is a representation, on a plane surface, of a portion of land, supposed to be extended horizontally beneath the spectator. To a person so situated relatively to the land itself, all those portions of the surface which lay parallel to the horizontal line would appear in a strong light; all those which, forming a declivity, deviated from the horizontal line, and receded from the eye, would ap pear in shade, and this shade would be more or less intense, in proportion to the angle which the line of declivity formed with the horizontal line. Upon these data Lehmann formed his system. All planes parallel to this horizontal line were left white;-all inclined planes, which formed a greater angle than 45 deg. with the horizontal line, were viewed as perpendiculars, and marked as invisible, by a deep black line ;-all inclined planes from 0 deg. to 45 deg. were denoted by different degrees of shade, beginning with a very slight admixture of black, deepening in proportion to the increase of the angle ;—all the black strokes, by which the process of shading was effected, were drawn perpendicular to the horizontal line. By this means, a representation of the inequalities of a country, upon a plane surface, was obtained, as exact as could be afforded by a model upon the same scale. The most splendid specimen of Lehmann's talents, and the most satisfactory proof of the practicability and sufficiency of his system, is the map of the kingdom of Saxony, in

A brief retrospect of what has been done towards perfecting the construction of maps, during the last century, will clearly establish the assertion with which we have The earliest maps aspired to do little more than to give an approximating idea of the relative situations and distances of several places. More accurate notions of the longitude and latitude, together with more accurate means of ascertaining them, suggested the mode of projecting a sphere upon a plane surface, and thus of giving greater accuracy to maps. The discovery of America, which gave the first impulse in modern times to the more general study of geography, by turning the attention of Europe for a while almost exclusively to maritime enterprises, was the cause that marine charts were more speedily brought to a degree of perfection than the other class. Voyages were undertaken, observations and soundings made, in all directions, in order to diminish, by the discovery and accurate notation of the hidden dangers of the ocean, the perils of the mariner. In this manner, the outlines of all such countries as were bounded by the sea came to be exactly pourtrayed. Their interior, however, and the relative situation of inland nations, were more slovenly represented. There was no peril of life and limb to be incurred by ignorance in this respect, and men were content to rest upon the vague information to be attained from casual and ignorant travellers. It did not even once occur to them that more could be effected in land maps than had been in sea charts—the representation of distance and relative situation. They never entertained the idea that any correcter notion of the inequalities of the surface could be conveyed otherwise than by a hierogly-eight large sheets, taken and projected by him, now enphic similar to that used to denote a town, placed as nearly as might be in the situation of any very conspicuous eminence. Such was the state of map-making all over Europe down to a comparatively late period.

A more extended and scientific inspection of the surface of the earth, has taught us that every portion of land rises gradually from the sea towards some central point that the mountains are not casual elevations rising in a chain, but partial terminations of this ascent-that they hang together in chains, united by the necessity of an internal organization—and that the courses of rivers are determined by this uniform rising of the land, and the position and direction of the chains of mountains. A knowledge of these peculiar features in every territory is of importance to the landed proprietor, since upon the elevation of his possessions depend the natural products they are capable of yielding-to the merchant, that he may know the easiest routes of travel-to the military leader, as upon a thorough acquaintance with his ground his whole art depends-to the statesman, as it is his to wield the combined forces of all the three. All the details can be but imperfectly expressed in words, and it became therefore an interesting problem, whether they might not by some means or other be represented on maps. The first plan devised was rude enough. For the old isolated representatives of hills, were substituted links of them placed in the direction of the principal chains of mountains. This was obviously very deficient. The general rise of land which determines the main direction of rivers, and the exposure of the soil, does not always coincide exactly with the mountain ranges, and could not therefore be expressed in this manner. Besides, it was an attempt to unite two irreconcilable ways of representing an object. In a map, we are supposed to take a bird's-eye view of the territory, but on this plan the spectator was placed at the base of the hills, and made to look towards them. Still something was gained, and the ingenuity of many engineers gave to this method a degree of perfection, which, when we take into consideration its utter want of a systematic theory to direct it, is almost inconceivable. The best maps executed in this manner are those constructed by order of the French government during the war in Italy.

The first who substituted a more sufficient method for

graving at the royal plan-chamber of Dresden.

Lehmann's system has been adopted, with some slight modifications, by the engineers of Prussia and Austria. Of their alterations, we would say, that although perhaps less accurate, they are better adapted for speed in cases of emergency. The French, too, have adopted as much of the system as serves to give their maps a plausible appearance; but as far as we can judge from those we have yet seen, they do not adhere to it with that strictness which is necessary to ensure accuracy. Britain alone remains behind. Her military engineers keep still by the old system, which attempts to unite perspective with plan-drawing. Her surveyors are, in general, men of too confined and desultory education, to be masters of their trade. Those few of them who have attempted to introduce something like the system of Lehmann, have too confused a notion of the principles upon which it rests, to do so to any purpose. The great misfortune with us is, that no person of sufficient education has devoted himself to the construction of maps. With the exception of that constructed under the auspices of government (and which seems to have stuck in the middle) upon the trigonometrical survey, and perhaps one or two others of less importance, all our English maps are published as speculations by some one of the trade. Arrowsmith's are the best, and yet his are almost always copies, sometimes not very correct ones, of some Continental map. The excellency of their engraving is their chief recommendation.


The Bijou: An Annual of Literature and the Arts.
London. William Pickering. 1830. 12mo. Pp. 288.
THE two embellishments of greatest interest in this
Annual (there are only nine altogether) are,
"Ada, a
Portrait of a Young Lady," from a picture by Sir Thomas
The first
Lawrence, and "The Bagpiper," by Wilkie.
is a perfect gem: it is the head of a little girl, five or six
years old, who, if she be not Lord Byron's daughter, as
the name leads us to hope, ought to be. We have seldom
seen in a youthful face so much intelligence, combined
with so much infantine simplicity and innocence. Had
Lawrence never painted any thing but this, it would have
been enough to hand his name down to posterity. As to
Wilkie's "Bagpiper," it is of course inimitable. The

And little sprouts come by and by,
So die married men.

"But, ah! as thistles on the blast
From every garden bed are cast,
And fade on dreary wastes at last,
So die bachelors.

"Then, Thomas, change that grublike skin,
Your butterfly career begin,

And fly, and swear that 'tis a sin

To be a bachelor."

We have no room for further quotations. The volume is a handsome one; and we have no doubt will make a very satisfactory New Year's present.

weatherbeaten, strongly marked, acute, and truly Highland countenance of the old man, playing one of the favourite airs of his mountain land with all his fingers and with all his soul, is full of the fire and energy of Wilkie's genius. His piper is just the man to march at the head of the Forty-Second into the field of battle. The glory of old Scotland is in his heart, and he could move up with his bagpipe to a serried phalanx of bayonets, or to the mouth of a cannon. He is the chief's piper, and he might almost be the chief himself. Many a bloody field, and many a merry meeting, has he witnessed. There is a history of something or other in every corner of his face. He is like one of Sir Walter Scott's novels. The portrait of his Majesty, which serves as the frontispiece, does not charm us much; and that of Mrs Arbuthnot, which, if we mistake not, we have already seen in "La Belle As-Life on Board a Man-of-War; including a Full Account semblée," does not strike us as remarkably beautiful. It is odd, but it is nevertheless true, that celebrated beauties never make very fine pictures. What can be more insipid, for example, than the face of Mrs Agar Ellis in the Keepsake? and this of Mrs Arbuthnot is just a very good face for an English wife, without being in any way remarkable. The truth is, that beauty does not agree with the atmosphere and the habits of fashion, and that white satin gowns, gold chains, and rings, have little or nothing to do with it.

of the Battle of Navarino. By a British Seaman. Blackie, Fullarton, and Co. 1829. 8vo.

Pp. 194.


THOUGH in some parts a little coarse, this is, on the whole, a clever and amusing book. We have already given our readers an extract from some of the sheets which were sent to us as it was passing through the press, and now that we have the completed work before us, we propose adding, for their entertainment, one or two extracts more. The title-page describes very well the naFew eminent names appear among the contributors to ture of the book, which is a good deal more than can be the Bijou; and, in looking over the contents, we confess said for all title-pages. The author has evidently seen this circumstance was to us quite refreshing. We have what he undertakes to speak about. Though of respectbeen dabbling so much in Annuals for the last two or able parentage, he chose to run away when only a lad of three weeks, that we have got heartily tired of " eminent seventeen, and voluntarily became a common seaman on names." Besides, we are satisfied that there are a great board a man-of-war. Soon after his arrival at Liverpool, number of very clever people whom the world has never whither he had come by steam from Glasgow, he got himheard any thing about; and we flattered ourselves that self entered for his Majesty's ship Genoa. He was, the editor of the Bijou, trusting to his own judgment, was ever, in the first place, along with a good number of other determined to prefer talented things from persons without new hands, sent on board the Bittern sloop of war, in a name, to stupid things from persons with a very large order to be broken into his new profession, before he went name. We hoped that he was, in this way, about to upon actual service. From the Bittern he was draughted "give the world assurance" of an Annual that would to the brig Reynard, in which he made a cruise, at the stand ponderibus librata suis, and would trust to no ficti- end of which he came into Plymouth Sound, and was at tious celebrity whatever. We have been somewhat dis-length delivered over to the Genoa. In her he sailed, appointed, however; for, on perusing the book, we find, under Captain Bathurst, first to Lisbon, then to Malta, that instead of stupid things by well-known people, we and finally to Navarino, soon after which battle he quitare, for the most part, presented with stupid things from ted the service, and returned to Glasgow, his native city. unknown people. Thus, we have "The Fisher's Wife, Although, comparatively speaking, the writer is still but by a young Lady," "Oswald and Leonora," ""Lines writa young sailor, it is evident that he is an acute and inten under a Butterfly painted in an Album," " Sonnet on telligent observer in his own sphere; and many of the Emigration," " Sonnet by the Rev. Alexander Dyce," scenes he describes, for graphic accuracy and strength of "Sonnet by Commander Hutchinson," "Sonnet by T. colouring, would do no discredit even to the pen of SmolE. R.," "Sonnet by A B C," " Sonnet by X Y Z." lett. We look upon his book as giving the same kind of This is rather tiresome. One might as soon expect to pictures of the naval service, that the memorials of the extract the ottar of roses out of a decoction of boiled peb- soldier of the 71st give of a private's military career. In bles, as poetry out of subjects like these. Nevertheless both instances, we are presented with somewhat novel there are, of course, some things a good deal better, among views of human life; and though these are occasionally which we class the following little poem: more repulsive than could be wished, yet whatever is true to nature ought to be known, and, if honestly told, will be read with interest. For our own part, we hesitate not to say, that we have perused the whole of this volume with much entertainment, and, we think, some profit. Without farther comment, we subjoin as much as our space will allow us to extract, beginning with


"As lone clouds in autumn eves,

As a tree without its leaves,

As a shirt without its sleeves,
Such are bachelors.

"As syllabubs without a head,

As jokes not laugh'd at when they're said,
As cucumbers without a bed,
Such are bachelors.

"As creatures of another sphere,
As things that have no business here,
As inconsistencies, 'tis clear,

Such are bachelors.

"When, lo! as souls in fabled bowers,
As beings born for happier hours,
As butterflies on favour'd flowers,
Such are married men.

"These perform their functions high;
They bear their fruit and then they die,

A SAILOR'S YARN." Well, d'ye see, when I was on board the Barfleur in the West Ingees under old Tommy Harvey, we had a rum time of it; for he was a real tartar. He was none of your wishy-washy old women; for, if a man came before him once, he was as sure of his five dozen as he had his biscuit to crack for dinner, and you know that's always sure. Well, as I was saying, the old fellor had a quare notion as how the ship's company was in a state of mutiny, thof there was not a more peaceabler set of men in the grand fleet at the time than we were. The masterat-arms was just, d'ye see, the two ends and the middle of a twice laid rotten strand of a bloody rascal,* and then, d'ye

Twice laid is applied to ropes made of old yarns. The two ends and the middle of course comprise the whole. Strand means one of the plies of a rope.

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