present work, which is the production of an accurate ob- faithfully traced, that we can form a correct notion of server and vigorous thinker. A Series of the most esteemed Divines of the Church of the fermenting elements out of which the Church Reformation, and the splitting of the Empire into a number of independent states, went forth. Notwithstanding its title, Dr Münch's book is more properly a history of the house, than of the territory, of Fürstenberg. Of the latter, almost all that we learn from his work is, that it is situa ted in Suabia." From the annals of the former, he has selected some pleasing and instructive biographies. THIS is a handsome book, and likely to secure for itself, and the succeeding volumes of the series, an extensive circulation, especially in England. A complete collection of the best English Divines does not exist, and it is the object of the present work to supply the desideratum, and to afford, at a moderate expense and in a handsome shape, a full view of the profound researches, the luminous expositions, the interesting criticisms, and the noble eloquence, of Episcopalian Theologians. The works of each divine are to be preceded by a biographical memoir; and to each discourse is prefixed a summary of its contents, well calculated to assist the young clergyman in composition. The series is very appropriately commenced with the powerful compositions of Bishop Sherlock; and these are to be succeeded by the most popular works of Bar-ed itself upon his Parisian bookseller and the Editor of row, Hall, Atterbury, Jewell, Seed, Jortin, Lowth, Hurd, Beveridge, Clarke, Ogden, Paley, Jeremy Taylor, and others. A volume is to appear on the first of every month, and about fifty volumes will complete the work. The Rev. Mr Hughes, who acts as editor, is a zealous and able man, and his labours deserve all success. Memorial de Colonel Gustafson.-Colonel Gustafson is the assumed name of the Ex-King of Sweden,-a man so low in intellect, that when the principle of legitimacy triumphed after the overthrow of Napoleon, he was held incapable of being restored to his throne. He has of late been living chiefly in the neighbourhood of Aix-la-Chapelle. "Even kings have ta'en a mate out o' the plain," sings the poet; but Colonel Gustafson went farther, and selected one from the streets. The Colonel has lately found or fancied himself called upon to correct some statements of the Counts Las Cases and Segur; and as his corrections relate chiefly to dates, we are inclined to think him in the right, for we never yet knew a Frenchman who could condescend to be correct in such matters. But the chief brunt of the Ex-King's anger has expendthe Moniteur, who had ventured, in publishing his epistles, to correct some inaccuracies of style, into which, as a foreigner, he had naturally fallen. These gentlemen insisted upon rendering his French grammatical; whereas he insisted that having once been a crowned head, he was entitled to write it in his own way. The result has been, that the French litterateurs have given the world an intelligible version of the Colonel's story; and he has caused Obedience. By Mrs Sherwood, author of "Little Henry the work to be printed at Liege, in his own classical lanand his Bearer," &c. Berwick. Thomas Melrose.guage, with a preface in which he exposes their imperti1830. 24mo. Pp. 87. nence. THIS is another of Mrs Sherwood's excellent stories for The deserved success which has attended the illustraUmrisse zu Goethes Hermann und Dorothea. Fuhring. young people, full of good morality and chaste compositions of the German and English classics, in outline, by tion. MISCELLANEOUS LITERATURE. GERMAN LITERATURE. We have just received a considerable number of new works from Germany, but we do not think that many of them are of much interest. They are for the most part rather heavy. There are works on Jurisprudence, Antiquities, Philology, Philosophy, and Theology, but none remarkable either for originality or comprehensive views. One or two of the lighter publications, however, deserve a more particular mention. Retsch and Cornelius, has set all the young artists in Germany to emulate their example. Retsch, although a great mannerist, is undeniably a man of genius, and whatever he produces must deserve attention. Cornelius, with less power, has much more taste and less mannerism. After all, however, it is a pity to see men possessed of their talents, wasting their time in such unsubstantial work. The poem which Fuhring has chosen as the subject of his illustration, although one of the most pleasing and characteristic of its illustrious author, is perhaps less susceptible than any thing he ever wrote, of being trans|lated into a series of pictures. Fuhring's figures, too, remind us incessantly of Retsch; and the stiff and stately forms of that artist are scarcely at home in a domestic tale they belong to the mailed and brocaded halls of Hagiographa Posteriora. Fränkel.-Mr Fränkel has chivalry. The chief merit of these outlines is the feeltaken the trouble to translate several of the Apocryphaling they display of the beauties of arrangement, and the books into Hebrew; for what end, or for whose use, we cannot imagine-nor does he condescend to give us any information upon this point. Mr F. is, we believe, a Jew; but these writings are not acknowledged by his nation to be "Hagiographa." We regret, for the sake of the Rev. Edward Irving, that the idea of Hebräising these books did not occur to some one a few centuries In that case, his attempt to elevate a portion of Esdras to the dignity of a canonical book, might have been more feasible. sooner. Geschichte des Hauses und Landes Fürstenberg. Von Ernst Münch. Erster Band.-Since the time of Möser, the provincial history of Germany has been prosecuted with an ardour and success unparalleled in any other country. This is, indeed, the only manner in which materials can be collected for a complete history of that gigantic kingdom; for the seeds of its dissolution were sown in the day it was planted. It is only after the individual history of the different principalities has been expression of one or two of the faces. Phantasiegemälde; von Dr Georg Döring. Für 1830.The author of this work publishes an annual novel, under the title of " Fancy Portraits." It is that for 1830 which at present lies on our table. Döring is a tolerably fair specimen of the second-rate German literati. He is an amiable and sensible man, and his writings bear the impress of his character. He has a felicitous style of dashing off a humorous character, and a happy knack at detecting and exposing baseness and hypocrisy of all kinds. When, however, he comes to give us a picture of his own ideal of human excellence, he is apt to fail. There is something feeble and insipid in the attempt. In like manner, when he tries to discuss principles, he seldom succeeds in elevating himself above the current opinions of the day; and what renders this still more provoking is, that he announces them with all the gravity of one who is revealing some hitherto unheard-of truths. In this little volume before us, he exposes, in a light and good-hu moured manner, some of the most fashionable follies and winds of fame. I have hid my lamp too long under a vices in the courts of the petty sovereigns of Germany. bushel. What am I to write? Suppose an epic, not The heartless ambition after universal admiration of a in twenty-four, but a hundred books; my hero conquers court beauty-the cold and unidead stiffness of an illite- the world; is betrothed to a modern Semiramis; derate and high-born old lady-the reckless duellist-the scends to hell, flings Pluto from his throne, and sends timid and sensual pretender to taste and literature—the no Proserpine screaming across the Styx; reascends; builds less contemptible pretender to piety, half debauchee, half cities by a nod, and levels mountains with a breath; dies, swindler-play off their different peculiarities upon each is taken up to heaven, deified, and set as a sign among other in a sufficiently edifying manner. But the author the other constellations. The idea is magnificent; but its lingers with greater pleasure upon the better attributes execution would require time. I could not finish it in of humanity-love, friendship, honesty, and bravery. The less than six months. I cannot wait so long. The perdescriptions of natural scenery are glowing; and the re-petuity of my existence must be secured in a much shorter marks upon music betray the hand of a master. Those period. The Epopee may still confine her smiles to Homer, upon painting, on the contrary, are in the last degree Virgil, Milton, Dante, and Tasso. I shall not become superficial and common-place. their rival. In looking over this book, some almost obliterated "Shall I write a tragedy? That might be done in a impressions have been awakened within us; and our at fortnight. But it would only be to prove myself a triton tention has been directed, after a long interval, to the con- among the minnows. There would be no competition. trast between the German and English character. Goethe I should bear the prize away as easily as the Admisomewhere remarks: Der Sinn erweitert, aber lähmt; rable Crichton' did in the ring at Bologna. I should die That belebt, aber beshränkt. Which we thus para- only have to walk the course like Lord Kennedy's Skiff. phrase:―The exclusive cultivation of the reflective pow- I disdain a laurel so easily won. I wish to see it guarders gives expansion to the ideas, but unnerves the charac-ed by serpents, fiery dragons, and cunning magicians. ter; habits of action give strength to the character, but I must enjoy the amusement of overcoming them, and narrow our ideas. In this maxim lies the key to the dif. depart with the consciousness that the spoil is but the ference between the German and Englishman-two cha- reward of my labour. The post of danger is the post of racters, which, in many points, show such a strong fa- honour. Let the energies of my great soul be called into mily likeness. Both nations have made no inconsidera- action by opposition. The delicious perfume of the ceble advances in civilisation, but upon different paths. The dar is discovered only when the tree is struck by the axe English nation, in commerce, in learning, in political of the woodman; the latent fire of the flint is brought management, has acted for itself. The part of the govern-out only by violent concussion. ment has been to watch and check its sometimes overhasty progress. The German nation, on the contrary, has been led on by a government more advanced than itself. The Englishman has acted like a free and irresponsible agent. The German like a schoolboy. Hence the Englishman is the slave of prejudices and narrow views, but he acts with determination and precision. The German is liberal and enlightened, but soft and unable to act for himself. The latter judges the world, scrutinizes the merits of individuals, and arranges them on a well-graduated scale of desert. The former commands the world, making other nations, willingly or reluctantly, the agents of his aggrandisement. THE INCIPIENT AUTHOR. TENNANT. My brain swims round, my pericranium glows, Like baker's oven, with poetic fire. "Now," said Vivian, seating himself resolutely before his well-appointed desk," I shall be no longer a dallier round the brink of fame. This pen is the sceptre of my immortality; that paper the Magna Charta of my legitimate sway over the mind of man. Let them say what they like of me, I know that I was born for glory. I know it by the throbbing of my heart, by the galloping of my pulse, by my moonlight walks, by my being in love, by my fragments of unfinished sonnets, by my extempore' in Lucy's album, by my dreams of shattered diamonds, garlands of flowers, rainbows, pearls, dew-drops, and ladies' eyes. I know, by all these signs, and a thousand more, that I am to move like a sunbeam through the world. I am not vain-nobody ever accused me of that; but if the gods are determined upon giving me glory, how can I help it? They have stuffed my brains as full of brilliant thoughts as they would a casket of jewels. I know not which to take out first. It is a concentration of rays, and all are equally dazzling. What a head I have got! How beautifully round and protuberant are all my knobs! What a noble bump this ideality is! I feel it swelling in my hand like a golden pippin. I was born a cheese-cutter if I was not born a genius. "What am I to write? I must give something to the "I shall write a novel. There is competition there. Every body has been writing novels, from John Galt up to Sir Walter Scott. I shall dispute with him his pre-eminence. I shall drag him from the throne, where, like the mysterious Lama of Thibet, he has so long sat supreme. There shall be a greater than the Great Unknown. I never admired those Waverley Novels; nothing more easy than to surpass them. Let me begin at once. I may finish a couple of chapters before dinner, could I only find a commencement. It must be something striking; I shall burst upon the reader's attention without a moment's warning. I shall infuse fear, wonder, and horror into his whole soul, and his eye will travel over my pages spell-bound. I have it. I shall enter upon my story thus: Ha! "It was twelve at night. A thunder-storm was gathering in the sky. A horseman galloped across the wold, and entered the recesses of the forest. He was in black armour, and he wore his visor down. A light gleamed from one of the towers of the castle, just as the muttering thunder awoke the lightning in the purple clouds'-(A very happy expression.) The stranger knocked at the great gate; the porter opened it, and, without a word, he rode into the court. The lady sat in her banqueting-hall, but the rosy wine stood untasted before her. She thought in silence of her own true knight. A heavy tread was heard along the corridor. The warrior, who wore his visor down, stood before her. ""Tis he! 'Tis my betrothed!" the lady cried, and she raised the goblet to her lips to pledge him joyfully. The knight unclasped his helmet, and laid it on the table, but it was the head of a skeleton that was seen beneath. scream echoed through the castle; the domestics rushed to the hall. A helmet lay upon the floor; but the stranger and the lady were gone for ever.' A "Lord bless me! I have got to the conclusion already. Though set in long primer with twenty leads between every line, this would not make above half a dozen pages, with four lines to the page. I must think of something on a more extensive plan. Unless I can produce three volumes, I may as well go to the booksellers with a ream of manuscript sermons in my pocket. My genius seems admirably adapted for the terrible, and my style a fine essence of the beauties of Radcliffe, Maturin, and Lewis. But I have all the versatility of a Chinese puzzle. I can adapt myself to any thing. The sentimental school of 1403, Scotland may be considered as still a barbarous na-› writing is popular. I should like to try it :tion. The feudal system,' &c. &c. Or there is the commencement descriptive stream. "It was on one of the loveliest evenings of August, an hour before the sun had set, that Rosalie stood on the banks of the Garonne, watching the approach of a gailypennoned little boat, which came slowly on against the She knew that it contained her lover, and that it was freighted, therefore, with her whole store of worldly happiness; for Rosalie was at that bewitching age, when the treasures of the heart pour themselves freely out, and bless the giver no less than the receiver.' (An admirable moral reflection, which will immediately gain me the reader's confidence.) The boat at length drew near with its tiny flags glittering in the auburn light' (' the auburn light,' fine) 'like so many Lilliputian rainbows. It grates upon the white pebbles; it touches the green bank; the sails are furled. Like a young sea-god, the delighted Conrad leaps ashore. Another moment, and they are locked in each other's arms,-in a long and pure embrace.' (I might here introduce a quotation either from Petrarch about alma gentile,' or from Rousseau about paisible et douce jouissance.') 'How can they ever forget that sunset hour upon their own Garonne? Though family feuds have disunited their fathers, their souls are made for each other. May no rude storm break upon the calm of their felicity! Suddenly a horn rings through the neighbouring wood. "It is my brother's! He is returning with his attendants from the hunt. Fly, Conrad; unloose the tmoorings of your barge, and away! Hark! I hear already the tramp of their horses! See! see! they come!' The moorings were unloosed; and Conrad had impressed a wild and burning kiss upon the lip of Rosalie, when the young St Germaine galloped to the spot, calling upon his followers to second him. He flung himself from his steed, with a dark frown upon his brow, and bared his well-tried weapon. But, with a bound, Conrad leaped on board, and gave his sails to the breeze. He leaped not alone; St Germaine, too, was in the boat. Just then the lagging servants arrived; but the wind and tide had wafted the obedient pinnace from the shore, and they were too late to stop its progress. But fierce was the struggle they witnessed as it sailed away. The two young warriors fought like two hyænas. At length, however, St Germaine's sword was seen to fly from his exhausted grasp. It gleamed for a moment above the blue Garonne, then fell with a splash into its waters. But Conrad wished not for his enemy's life; he pointed to the prow, where St Germaine threw himself down in gloomy silence. The conqueror took his station at the helm, and steered away with his prisoner towards his paternal domains, but first turned round and waved his heron-plumed cap to the almost fainting Rosalie.' "Heavens! they are ringing the dinner bell, and I am as yet only beginning. When, O when! shall I see my monumentum exactum, my kingdom conquered, my crown of glory won ?" H. G. B. REMARKS ON GAMBLING, WITH SOME ALLUSIONS By Lieut. late of the Royal Irish Dragoons. YOU'RE right, old boy. Enough of play I've seen in my time. And deep play, too, never doubt me. Wasn't I kept lying as a prisoner at large, for ten long years, in Paris, and isn't there a Palais Royal there? And wasn't I at Vienna at the last Congress? And weren't old Blucher and our own Duke, God bless him! the devil's own hands for a tight set-to? And didn't I see there, and at Aix-la-Chapelle, on my way back, enough of my old friends of the Palais Royal? Och! and you may say it, I have seen something of play in my time. Well, then, you ask me what I think of this hubbaboo that has been kept up about our ears in this dirty little town of yours. Faith and troth, if you had asked me with our legs under the mahogany, I would have told you quietly, that you are much readier with your tongues than your triggers, on this side the water. But you have written me a civil card about this same, so I suppose I must be after answering you in a quieter fashion; and so, though I have neither the learning of old Daines Barrington, (as, sure, I have not half his ill humour,) nor of my old messmate Napier, (and sure I had not half his devilry, when his friends at Dublin sent him to school, just to keep him out of harm's way,) I'll just be telling you what I think of the matter, and the readier that it's a damned canting set ye are, one and all, and much the better you would be of having a little truth told you any how. I don't know how it is, but there's a world of difference betwixt our own little island and the continent. I put Ireland out of the question, because that is clean and clear a place by itself. But as to Great Britain, it's all decent, regular, quiet, sober people you are, with a certain way of living, and obliged to work hard for it. Now, all over the continent, there is a pretty neat heap of fellows good, strapping, gentlemanlike fellows-who have nothing but their own wits to live on. And the courts of the little pocket-pieces of sovereigns, that one meets with everywhere, are just hot-beds for breeding suchlike, full as they are of small nobles, who have little to live on, and dare not trade decently for fear of losing their rank; and of soldiers-brave and clever enough, but with pay that won't keep them in clean shirts. over and above all, there are the licensed gaming tables, where every one may play for what he likes, and the more the merrier, for the government gets a tax from them. Now, look to the upshot. There comes to be a regular class who live at or by the gaming table, and it shoots so many polypus-like fibres into the great mass of society, that you cannot tell where the honest set leave And "What an exquisite first chapter! Ransack every circulating library in the kingdom, and show me one to compare with it. I think I may say, without vanity, that I am very nearly a universal genius. Can there be any thing more different than these two openings, and yet how matchless are both! There are also other ways of beginning. There is the commencement familiar, as for example: Do you really imagine, Sir John,' said Lady Bevil, have you really the vanity to suppose, that I will listen for a moment to any thing you can say upon the subject? Certainly not,' replied the meek and peace-off, and the rogues begin. But, if I might venture on able massaio; ' I never presumed, Lady Bevil, to put my judgment on a level with yours; but I thought that though the coachman did stay three minutes behind his time, you might try him once more before you dismissed him.'- Fie! Sir John! You have no more brains than a tom cat, and yet you are always meddling with things you don't understand. It is a lucky thing you have got a wife to take care of you, Sir John.' Then there is the commencement circumstantial, as thus :-' Our hero was the son of a respectable merchant, who resided in the city of Bristol. His grandfather,' &c. &c. Again, there is the commencement historical; for instance, ' In the year stating my own belief, I would say, that it is more difficult to meet on the continent with one who is quite and away the clean potato, but that it's seldom you'll meet with such devil's own pigeons as here at home. And reason good. Mind me, I'm not speaking of London now-that's a ticklish chapter;-I'm speaking of your own decent little Presbyterian sort of a half capital. Now, in the first place, you're all so good, that any person who plays above twopence a-point long whist, must do it under the rose; so that any one who has any itching for high play, must swallow, in the first place, a double dose of hypocrisy, and that ruins him out and out clients, whose business accounts are paid once in te years, who all this while, on the strength of a cash acount, and kite bills, are keeping a splendid house, and breeding your children to be leaders of fashion; in striving thus to blind the populace, and trusting to a distant and desperate chance, what are you but a gambler? You! who launch out into the wide sea of trade without a capital, and trust to making your fortune by a couple of bankruptcies, what are you but a dishonest gambler? even though he continue what the world calls honest. Next, when a man does take to cheating—and there never was one who played often, and deep, and well, who did not take to it in the long run-he has, in this same town, no class of society into which he can be received as a player. He must continue ostensibly a man of business, or of fortune. His superior skill, even though it go no farther, is carefully veiled. He pursues his schemes in the solitary silence of his own consciousness, without any one upon whom he can look and say, "Thou art like unto me." So you see that there is a difference between a You! who opening a banking office without capitale gambler on the continent, and here with us. There, he | your own, speculate in the funds upon other men's me is a nuisance-a licensed, and a pestilential nuisance-ney, though liable every moment to a run, careless of the corrupting the inmost core of society: here, he dares not ruin of the widow and the orphan, whose little peculiar be seen in open day. And well that it is so; for how has been deposited with you, what are you if not a much healthier the tone of society where vice is ashamed gambler ? to show its front, and where we may not unfrequently You! who, indulging in dreams of future literary exmeet with those who not only bid defiance to its seduc-ertion, live luxuriously upon borrowed money, are you tions, but who have lived in pure and happy ignorance not a gambler? of its existence, and where the degradation of him who You! who, paid by the country to administer justice, falls is of a tenfold degree! Hypocrisy-consciousness yawn on the bench when kept five minutes longer than that no one can sympathise with what he really is-wi-usual from your forenoon hand at whist, choose your own thers up all that is human within him. Utter selfishness -the only true and incurable moral cancer-for ever eats at his heart. name. Let us hear no more, then, of a paltry matter, to which the gossiping propensities of a provincial town have lent an undue degree of importance; and, above all, let us hear no more vapouring on the part of the press about its independence and daring in giving the circumstance publicity. Independence! there might have been some in refusing to gratify the universal craving for this gossip, "Daring, indeed! much daring there is about the matter." A THING OF shreds and pATCHES. Perhaps you will say, that there are very few such in Scotland. Sorry am I to say, that I think there are a good many. The current of life glides tranquil, and seemingly pure, around us; but seek to fathom its depths, and you will tell another story. I do not speak of this child's play this Jury Trial, and the piddling play in which it had its origin. That is, indeed, much noise, and little wool. The affair is simply this :-A few gentlemen occasionally play a little deeper than their after reflection can justify, or than is altogether decorous. One of them -God knows why-it does not seem to have been so much from want of money, as from an innate propensity to remove a card from the bottom to the top of the pack-takes undue advantages of his companions. Another, who has lost more than he can well afford, convinced that there has been foul play, demands his money a bachelor, and of independent fortune. I do not mean back again, and obtains it. The offender, not contented to say, however, that I am a man of talent; thank Heaven! with being quietly sent to Coventry by his friends, de- I have no talent. I read every thing, but write nothing mands that their verdict be publicly and solemnly ratified-nothing original, I mean; for I write a great deal of by the sentence of a court of justice, "and has his wish allowed." What is here to wonder at? That young men should be imprudent? or that once in a quarter of a century a knave should be discovered? Had this been all, you might have waited till doomsday for my remarks on the subject. But there is more behind. The public opinion has on this occasion been freely and fairly announced, that the gambler is a dangerous and detestable character. But this is not enough, unless we settle who the gambler is. Not he, surely, who, for his amusement, indulges occasionally in a game where skill, or chance, or a mixture of both, may assign him the victory. Such games, to a certain extent, are not only innocent, but useful; many of them exercise and sharpen the wits, all of them may teach command of temper. It is, therefore, only in excess that they are an evil. But certainly risking a portion of our fortune greater than prudence warrants, on the chance of gaining what there is no credit in so gaining, if shameful when done by the instrumentality of cards and dice, is not the less shameful when effected by some other instrument. It is the habitual indulgence in the excitement of having a great sum on the hazard, or the endeavour to raise one's self in the scale of wealth by a lucky chance, instead of honest industry, that constitutes gambling, and every one to whom these charges can be brought home is a gambler. You! who lately began the world without a farthing, who are obliged to make a continual outlay for your what others have first written for me. I am a wretched composer, but an admirable selector. It was a remark of either an ancient or modern philosopher, (I am not sure which, but I know it was a philosopher's remark,) that there was never a book published out of which something useful might not be gleaned. I entirely coincide with the philosopher, and upon this principle I have acted for the last fifteen years. Put any thing in the shape of a book into my hands, from an encyclopædia down to a cheap tract; from Sir Walter Scott's "Ivanhoe" down to Galt's "Annals of the Parish;" from Lord Byron's "Childe Harold" down to Campbell's "Theodric;" from Plato's "Idea of a Perfect Republic" down to MacCulloch's Lectures on "Political Economy;" and there is not a single volume among the whole from which I shall not be induced to make some extracts. You may call it trifling, if you will, but it is innocent and useful trifling; and I would rather be a virtuoso in thoughts and sentiments, than in butterflies or old coins. Without farther preface, I shall give you a sample of the contents of this Common-Place Book of mine, and flatter myself that your readers may find among them a few passages worthy of remembering, and of transference, perhaps, to the albums kept either by themselves or their fair cousins. WALLER.-Waller did not marry the Lady Dorothea Sidney, eldest daughter of the Earl of Leicester, whom he courted by all the poetry in which Sacharissa is celebrated a word derived from the Latin appellation of which will convince the reader that the roughness of the previous easier conquest. It has not been discovered that his wife sugar. When he had lost all hopes of her, he found an Our friend the Lieutenant here begins to write a better style, part of his communication was somewhat affected,-ED, was won by his poetry. He doubtless praised some whom he would have been afraid to marry, and perhaps married one whom he would have been ashamed to praise. Many qualities contribute to domestic happiness, upon which poetry has no colours to bestow; and many airs and sallies may delight the imagination, which he who flatters them can never approve. There are charms made only for distant admiration. No spectacle is nobler than a blaze.-Johnson's Lives of the Poets. AMITIE. J'ai trois sortes d'amis; les amis qui m'aiment, les amis à qui je suis indifférent, et les amis qui me détestent.- Voltaire. SOPHOCLES.-The ungrateful and impious children of Sophocles summoned him before the judges, on the pretence of lunacy, that they might obtain a decree to take possession of his estate. He made no other defence than by reading the tragedy of "Edipus at Colonna," which he was then composing. The judges were delighted with the performance, and he carried his cause unanimously. This would be a good subject for a poem.-Rutherford's View of Ancient History, Vol. II. BREVITAS VITE.-Cum per magna camporum spatia porrigeret exercitum, nec numerum ejus, sed mensuram comprehenderet Persarum rex insolentissimus, lacrimas profudit, quod intra centum annos nemo ex tanta juven.. tute superfuturus esset.-Seneca-De Brev. Vitæ, cap. 16. STANZAS FOR MUSIC. I never cast a flower away, The gift of one who cared for me, A little flower,-a faded flower,But it was done reluctantly. I never look'd a last adieu To things familiar, but my heart Shrank with a feeling almost pain, Even from their lifelessness to part. I never spoke the word farewell! But with an utterance faint and broken; A heart-sick yearning for the time When it should never more be spoken. Blackwood's Mag. No. 89. MRS SIDDONS.-On Saturday, Mrs Siddons, about whom all the world has been talking, made her first appearance here in the all-tearful character of Isabella. From the repeated panegyrics in the impartial London papers, we were taught to expect the sight of a heavenly angel; but how were we supernaturally surprised into the most awful joy at beholding a mortal goddess! The house was crowded with hundreds more than it could hold, with thousands of admiring spectators that went without a sight. This extraordinary phenomenon of tragic excellence! this star of Melpomene! this comet of the stage! this sun of the firmament of the Muses! this moon of blank verse! this queen and princess of tears! this Donellan of the poisoned bowl! this empress of the pistol and dagger! this chaos of Shakspeare! this world of weeping clouds! this Juno of commanding aspects! this Terpsichore of the curtains and scenes! this Proserpine of fire and earthquake! this Katterfelto of wonders! exceeded expectation, went beyond belief, and soared above all the natural powers of description! She was nature itself! She was the very daisy, primrose, tuberose, sweetbriar, furze-blossom, gilliflower, wallflower, cauliflower, auricula, and rosemary! In short, she was the banquet of Parnassus! When she came to the scene of parting with her wedding-ring, the very fiddlers in the orchestra, “albeit unused to the melting mood,” blubbered, like hungry children for their bread and butter; and when the bell rang for music between the acts, the tears ran from the bassoon-player's eyes in such plentiful showers, that they choked the finger-stops, and, making a spout of the instrument, poured in such torrents on the fiddlers' books, that, not seeing the overture was in two sharps, the leader of the band actually played in one flat! But the sighs and sobs of the groaning audience, and the noise of the corks drawn from the smelling bottles, prevented the mistake being discovered. One hundred and nine ladies fainted! forty-six went into fits! and ninety-five had strong hysterics! Future ages will scarcely credit the truth, when they hear, that fourteen children, five old women, one hundred tailors, and six common-council men, were drowned in the inundation of tears that flowed from the galleries, the slips, and the boxes, into the pit! And what is more melancholy, their bodies have not yet been found! An act of Parliament should certainly be got to prevent her from acting.-Old Irish Paper. LIBERTY OF THOUGHT.-Philosophy, wisdom, and liberty, support each other; he who will not reason, is a bigot; he who cannot, is a fool; and he who dares not, is a slave.-Preface to Sir William Drummond's Academical Questions. PROPER CHOICE OF ASSOCIATES.-For a man of high qualities, it is rare to find a meet companion; painful and injurious to want one. Solitude exasperates or deadens the heart, perverts or enervates the faculties; association with inferiors leads to dogmatism in thought, and selfwill even in affections. Rousseau never should have lived in the Val de Montmorenci; it had been good for Warburton that Hurd had not existed; for Johnson never to have known Boswell or Davis.—Life of Schiller. LINES TO A SPIder running across a room. Thou poisonous rascal! running at this rate, Scrambling and scuttling on thy scratchy legs, Thou thief-thou scamp-thou hideous much in little, Caitiff of corners,-doer of dark deeds, Mere lump of poison lifted on starved threads, That, while they run, go shuddering here and there, As if abhorring what they're forced to bear, I have thee now ;-I have thee here full blown- The Liberal, No. 4. THE FAMOUS BONONIAN ENIGMA.-Elia Laelia Crispis, nec vir, nec mulier, nec androgyna; nec puella, nec juvenis, nec anus; nec casta, nec meretrix, nec pudica, sed omnia: sublata neque fama, neque ferro, neque veneno, sed omnibus: nec coelo, nec terris, nec aquis, sed ubique jacet. Lucius Agatho Priscius, nec maritus, nec amator, nec necessarius; neque mærens, neque gaudens, neque flens; hanc nec molem, nec pyramidem, nec sepulchrum, sed omnia, scit et nescit cui posuerit. Of this riddle the following solutions have been suggested among many others; the last appears the best. 1st, Niobe turned into stone. 2d, A Eunuch. 3d, The philosopher's stone. 4th, Lot's Wife. 5th, A lawsuit. 6th, Three different dead bodies. Encyc. Brit. AN ADVICE.-Let not the creaking of shoes, nor the rustling of silks, betray thy poor heart to women.-Shakspeare. A MATRIMONIAL SECRET.-You may ride us With one soft kiss a thousand furlongs, ere WINTER.I am surprised to see people think it matter of congratulation that winter is going; or, if coming, is not likely to be a severe one. On the contrary, I put up a petition annually, for as much snow, hail, frost, or storm, of one kind or other, as the skies can possibly afford |