A Political and Historical Account of Lower Canada; with Remarks on the Present Situation of the People, as regards their Manners, Character, Religion, &c. By a Canadian. London. William Marsh and Alfred Miller. 1830. 8vo. Pp. 275. &c. THE Colony of which we are now favoured with an account, from a person born and long resident in it, is at present an object of anxious interest to this country. Colonies, in general, are delicate subjects for a government's management. The inhabitants possess the same rights in the soil, and live under nearly the same laws, as their fellow-citizens in the mother country. But their distant situation necessarily cools the warmth of that sym Court of Van Diemen's Land, the result of which was unfavourable to the Captain. We could quote whole pages, in which the chronicling of these petty disputes is only varied by tedious statements as to wind and weather. When he comes to describe the Tonga Islands and their inhabitants, he makes, without ceremony, a literal transcript of part of Mariner's work, which occupies about a fourth of the second volume. In short, he seems to overlook almost entirely the chief purport of his Narrative, till he notices his arrival in Mannicola, about the middle of the second volume. Here, therefore, we have an author, avowedly actuated by a wish to promote the interests of science, and yet indulging in lengthened details of his personal brawls,-taking credit to himself for engaging in a voyage of discovery, intended to solve a ques-pathy, which makes a whole nation feel, in right and in tion which has caused a division of opinion for forty years, and yet nearly inhumating his leading design under a mass of extraneous and tedious discussion,-professing to make us acquainted "with human nature under a new aspect, and with tracts, never before fully explored," and yet actually borrowing his most important hints from a work long before the public, and already widely circulated. Captain Dillon may be, as he elsewhere modestly affirms, a plain seaman," but he has certainly been initiated most effectually into the mystery of forming bulky compilations out of comparatively very scraggy materials. The substance of the present two octavo volumes, so far as they relate to Pérouse, might have easily been compressed into a small duodecimo. But what are the proofs which Captain Dillon has really recovered as to the fate of Pérouse? In his anxiety to obtain relics of this unfortunate navigator, he has loaded his catalogue of curiosities with many articles, which assuredly cannot aid him in any way. How "the shank or socket of a copper candlestick," "iron adzes of native manufacture," "several pieces of broken glass," "a piece of earthen brick," et multa alia hujusmodi, can assist his views in bringing home the matter to Pérouse, we are somewhat at a loss to conceive. We willingly admit, that the recovery from the natives of Mannicola of several articles bearing the stamp of the fleur-de-lis, understood exclusively to designate the property of the French crown, seems to warrant the conclusion that the vessels wrecked on this island were French men-of-war. And unless it can be established, (which, judging from the interviews between Captain Dillon and the natives, appears hardly possible,) that some other vessels belonging to France were wrecked in the South Pacific Ocean about the same period, the presumption naturally enough arises, that the articles obtained could have only belonged either to the Boussole or the L'Astrolabe. This presumption might have been considerably strengthened had Captain Dillon adopted proper measures regarding the several brass guns which he also procured. These were necessarily numbered; and on application to the Register of the Arsenal at which the vessels of Pérouse had been fitted out, the guns might have been recognised as part of the equipment. This obvious course, however, Captain Dillon did not follow, though the defect is partially remedied by the testimony of Viscount Lesseps, the only person of Pérouse's expedition known to be alive. He was attached to it only twenty-six months, and was landed at Kamschatka, in order to carry to France accounts of the voyage up to that period. From his statements, and from other minor considerations unnecessary to be detailed, we think that Captain Dillon has completed his task, as far as it is capable of being completed-for even now it is impossible to arrive at any positive conclusion. While we cheerfully make this admission, we cannot retract our objections to the utility of the expedition itself, nor to the mode in which the Narrative before us - has been prepared. wrong, as one man; and a sturdy sort of spirit is thus engendered, which bows with reluctance, especially to an executive like ours, in which the popular voice, the voice of the co-equals of the colonists, has so potential an influence. Witness our former colonies in America, which separated from us the moment that the removal of the French power from Canada left them less dependent upon our protection. There were, no doubt, grievances on the part of the Americans, and misunderstandings on both sides, but the main cause of the rupture was, that Jonathan, our eldest born and dearly beloved, had come of age, -that his proud spirit had outgrown the application of birch and ferula, and that he was resolved to set up in business for himself. This resolution was powerfully strengthened, when his venerable Mamma, like the Hon. Mrs Byron, flung the tongs at his head, in the course of a discussion respecting some household arrangements. There are some circumstances in our relations to Lower Canada, which render our connexion with it even more delicate than is usually the case. It is a colony which has become ours by conquest, and contains a large population, chiefly of a different origin, and speaking a different language, from ourselves. It is flanked and outflanked by the territories of the United States; and the frontier line is not particularly susceptible of an easy defence. Nor are the jealousies, occasioned by the difference of race and language between the governors and governed, merely prospective and possible. We had learned from the debates in Parliament, from the puffing and blowing in our political journals, (especially the Westminster,) and we have it now confirmed by a native Canadian, that there have been serious differences in the colony between the Executive and the inhabitants. It is a pity Captain Hall did not extend to the Lower Canadians the blessings of that eloquence, which he poured into the ears of their Upper brethren "till the rude seas grew civil at his song," respecting the benefits of a dutiful and polite carriage towards Great Britain, which, in reference to the French Canadians, we suppose ourselves bound, by all the rules of analogy, to call the step-mother country. But since he did not, and may possibly entertain qualms of conscience as to the convenience and expediency of again trusting himself on the American side of the Atlantic, some other person must undertake the task; and to that person, whoever he be, we would recommend our Canadian's work as a sort of vade mecum, or reading-made-easy, to be duly studied before entering upon his task. Seriously, we think the work now before us of some moment, both on account of the importance of its subject, and the great quantity of information it contains regarding a country, with the condition and relations of which we are not so much acquainted as we ought to be. The reader will find in it a distinct view of the situation and boundaries of Lower Canada, its natural products, and its facilities for production and commerce. There are also pretty complete notices of its civil history, the density of its population, the physical, moral, and religious characteristics and manners of its inhabitants. The state of law and legislation occupies, in like manner, a considerable portion of the author's attention; and, connected with these, we have disquisitions regarding the most likely mode of affording due facilities to the settlement on the waste lands by inhabitants of the densely peopled districts, and by emigrants from the mother country. The author is-and we like him the better for it-a Canadian in his feelings, as well as in the extent of his local knowledge. It will be necessary, therefore, for any one who seeks to make himself master of this subject, to check his statements, and complete his narrative, from the works of others who have enjoyed the same opportunities of acquiring knowledge, and from the information lately elicited on several occasions by different committees of our Parlia ment. On the Extent and Remedy of National Intemperance. By John Dunlop, Esq. Glasgow. William Collins. 1829. 8vo. Pp. 123. Ir would appear that the vice of intemperance is more prevalent in America than in any other quarter of the globe. Luckily, however, for the people there, the higher and middle classes are determined to wipe off this reproach if possible, and have already, by the powerful aid of Temperance Societies, been the means of checking, in no small degree, this besetting sin of the Americans. In some parts of the United States, the success of these societies has been quite extraordinary. This is principally to be attributed to the fact, that gentlemen of the highest respectability, on purpose to influence the lower classes by a good example-which goes a far way in a case of this kind—have entirely given up the use of wine and ardent spirits, and, for a considerable time back, have abstained, both at home and abroad, from partaking of any liquid after dinner, except a glass of water! a friend's letter on some interesting point; or music might This is amusing enough, and proves pretty clearly that The appendix to Mr Dunlop's pamphlet is principally composed of notices favourable to his cause, extracted from the American journals. The following paragraph from the "Journal of Commerce," sounds rather oddly in British ears: "REFORM. "A gentleman with his sister rode out a few mornings since for an airing, and stopped at one of the most frequented taverns on the island, where he saw a dozen young gentlemen in the bar-room, with each a glass of milk and a cracker [a kind of biscuit.] The landlord remarked that he had sold ten dollars' worth of milk that morning !" Whether this Arcadian state of things will ever be attained in Glasgow, we shall not attempt to prophesy ; but one thing is certain, that the work which Mr Dun lop and his friends have laid out for themselves will be no sinecure, and must, in all probability, be the labour of years. However, their cause may succeed, and if so, This spirit of temperance has fortunately been wafted they will have achieved a great good. across the Atlantic, and is making a fair progress among our friends in the west. In the work of reformation, John Dunlop, Esq. leads the van. We had occasion lately to notice a poem from the pen of this gentleman, entitled "Oliver Cromwell," and also a volume called "A Glance at London, Brussels, and Paris, by a Provincial Scotsman." On the interesting subject of drunkenness, he has now produced a pamphlet of 120 pages. The first fifty are occupied with the "Extent and Remedy" of the evil, together with the moral and medical considerations connected with the topic-ground which has been already gone over by Mr Macnish, in his clever work on Drunkenness. Then follows an appendix, containing extracts from Medical Treatises, and Plans for Temperance, in all its variety. For the amusement of our readers, we shall make one extract: National Work, under the Patronage of several Members of the Highland Society of Scotland. The Breeds of our different Domestic Animals, engraved from Portraits painted from Life, by Howe. Edinburgh. To be published in Parts. 1829-30. PLAN OF A TEMPERANCE DINNER. "At the risk of provoking a smile, the following is submitted as a plan of a Temperance Dinner, among the middle classes. The entertainment to consist of, 1st, a course of soup and fish. 2d, Roast and boiled meat, game, &c. 3d, Sweetmeats, &c. (Mem.-Sedentary men who partake of the third course, may be as well to refrain from cheese.) No wine or drams to be on the table. Conversation, ordinary subjects. (!) (Mem.-Perhaps the fashionable topic of cooking may be excluded; except by way of discovering how to serve up more light and nutritious viands than those in present use.) Immediately after dinner, while others refresh themselves with coffee, chocolate, and other infusions free of alcohol, those of the party qualified to do so, should be requested to regale the company with instrumental music; and the harp, piano, and violin, (under the authority of Milton,) ought always to succeed a full meal. (!) Some individuals might sing in harmony. The gentlemen to follow the ladies within a reasonable time into the drawing-room. Tea-Conversation of various kinds. In the event of the interest flagging, there might be introduced (but as much as possible without formality) exhibitions of drawings, books, varieties, mechanism. Some particular topic of general interest may be admitted, but not too systematically or professionally: a paragraph from a periodical: part of * We particularly recommend the Literary Journal. THIS is an interesting and elegantly executed work, both in regard to the illustrations and the letter-press. Its object is to exhibit the varieties of the different species of our domestic animals, in the different breeds into which they have been modified by cultivation and climate. The first Part is devoted to the Horse, the second, to the Ox. The drawings, by Howe, are exceedingly good; and the accompanying descriptions by the Editor, Mr Wight, are lively and instructive. The work is to be completed in six Parts, each Part containing four Plates. A Part is to be published every four months; and the spirited exertions of the conductors ought, we think, to be patronized by all those who are interested in the improvement of the breed of our domestic animals. The editoR IN HIS SLIPPERS; A PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES. "Stulta, jocosa, canenda, dolentia, seria, sacra, SCENE The EDITOR'S Study. A mixture of snow and By the Goddesses! we shall either resign or rebel. These contributors will be the death of us. It would take fifty Editors, instead of one, to go through all their lucubrations. Why were we not born like the Siamese youths? We might then have kept pace with them, for while one of us slept, the other could have worked. We are well aware that we are equal to at least "two single Editors rolled into one;" but still we are like to be buried under the No outpouring of the literary cacoethes of Scotland. man can tell where it will end. All the stage-coach and mail proprietors are beginning to complain of the loads of parcels they are obliged to carry; and, in consequence of the voluminousness of our correspondence, it has been found necessary to separate the penny-post deliveries from those of the General Post Office, and to add to the establishment in Edinburgh upwards of twenty additional hands. To the postmen alone, we gave away a small fortune in perquisites at the commencement of the year. Yet are we not angry. Mild as the gentle zephyr of a July morning, we sink into our easy chair, and bury our momentary vexation deep in the recesses of our SLIPPERS. We forgive the genus scribbletabile. It is natural for all high-minded men to be ambitious; and what ambition more praiseworthy than that which leads to a desire of appearing in those pages which continually bend under a weight of golden thoughts? Beautiful as the bride stepping, in the light of the rosy morning, forth from the bridegroom's chamber, with the blush of maidenhood still lingering on a cheek warm with the glow of a wife's deep love, is the hebdomadal issuing from its Athenian press of our and Scotland's JOURNAL! And glorious as the blaze of the early sun-in itself a concentrated mass of starsis the appearance of those lovely folia when massed together into one burning book, to remain the admiration of all posterity, and the source of ceaseless regret to our children's children, that they lived too late to see the volumes starting into existence, hot from the mint of mind. Enter Peter. Peter. One of the most remarkable looking gentlemen that I ever beheld, requests that the EDITOR will admit him to an audience. THE EDITOR. You are aware, Peter, that many strange persons are continually calling upon us, some at daybreak, some at noon, and some at midnight. From nondescript characters in tartan cloaks, up to English Earls, German Barons, and French Dukes, we are exposed to the visitations of all ranks and classes. We have given audience in one hour to three poets, two actresses, one sculptor, five booksellers, six noblemen, three printers, one painter, and two spirits from another world. Peter (growing pale, and looking round the Study with evident signs of fear.) Heaven forbid that any supernatural being should be with you at this moment! I am not quite sure as to the gentleman who is now waiting in the anteroom. THE EDITOR. Describe him, Peter. Peter. When I first opened the door to him, upon hearing three loud and distinct knocks, he appeared to me a middle-aged person, with a very quick grey eye, and very bright red hair, which escaped from under his hat in short thick curls. I happened, however, to turn away for a moment, and, on looking again, my astonishment cannot be told, when I distinctly perceived that his hair was of a crisp grey, and his eye of a most red and bloodshot hue, and that, though he still retained the same indescribable expression of countenance, he looked like a man at least twenty years older than he seemed at first. I ushered him in with much composure, and told him I would inform you of his presence. As I left the room, I could not help casting a glance at him once more, and behold! his hair was jet black, his eye was jet black, his whiskers were jet black, and there had suddenly started out upon his upper lip the most enormous moustaches, which were also jet black, and, by the shadow they cast upon his He wears a long fomouth, made it, too, seem jet black! reign kind of mantle, so that I could not distinctly see his feet, but I am willing to stake my reputation, that they are not only jet black, but of a peculiar shape. THE EDITOR (Smiling). Soyez tranquille, Pietro. We know our visitor well. It is our friend Old Cerberus. Admit him. Peter. Old Cerberus, sir? May I ask whether he is a medical gentleman, a writer to the signet, or a preacher of the gospel? THE EDITOR. Ask nothing, Peter. The mysteries connected with Old Cerberus cannot be explained to thee. Peter. But, my honoured master, is there no danger in Consider how pretrusting yourself alone with him? cious your safety is to all Europe. Peter; and foolish, THE EDITOR. You grow officious, too. What danger can affect us? Know you not that we possess a spell which could bring the lion crouching to our feet, and which could make the artillery of an army innocuous as the pistils of a flower? Have we not stepped over Corra Linn with as much ease as you could step down stairs? Have we not encountered fifty enraged authors at a time, and scattered them like dust before the wind? Would you have us shrink from meeting one of our own contributors? Never!-Admit Old Cerberus. [Exit Peter, bowing. THE EDITOR. We are glad he has come. His opinions are always valuable, and if he could only restrain that ungovernable temper of his, which still haunts him even in his human state, he might be tamed down into something admissible into a drawing-room. The ladies would tremble, but admire him; and the male creatures, whom he could trample over like an elephant among cabbages, would tremble too, and be far too jealous to admire. Enter Old Cerberus, with only one head visible ;-in height about six feet five, and with two brilliant eyes, burning under dark shaggy eyebrows. As Peter closes the door behind him, he casts an anxious look, first towards Old Cerberus, and then towards the EDITOR, who receives his visitor with a placid solemnity of manner. THE EDITOR. We are glad to see you, Old Cerberus, Old Cerberus. May the infernal gods singe me into the dimensions of a burnt cocoa-nut if I return the compliment! I fawn to no man. I scorn these vile conventional phrases of polite society. I speak my mind, and nothing more, even to the EDITOR IN HIS SLIPPERS, the greatest man with whom I have met since the days of Rhadamanthus. I am not glad to see you, for I am angry. THE EDITOR. Why, Old Cerberus ? Old Cerberus. You are the only man to whom I trusted to lay bare, as with a scalping-knife, the gross follies of this puny, piddling, paltry generation,-to pluck out their little rotten hearts, and set them grinning at each other, to lift up the flowing garments of their conceit, and whip them into humility, you are the only man to do this, and you shrink from the task,—you are becoming fat and good-natured. THE EDITOR. Were we to own the soft impeachment," we do not perceive that we could be greatly blamed. But we deny the charge, and maintain that we only temper our severity with becoming mildness, and soften the awful terrors of our frown with a little smile, which occasionally plays across our countenance, like sunlight flickering around the edges of the thunder-cloud. It is true, that we rarely indeed wax so savage as thou wert on that most unfortunate and ill-used lady, Miss Smithson. The battles we have had to fight for thee on her account, are innumerable. Your lucubrations shook the kingdom to its centre, and killed two milliners. Old Cerberus. (The colour of his eye changing to a dark red.) By the immortal memory of Alecto, Tysiphone, and Megara, my remarks were just! The being who dares to tell me I went one syllable too far, dies the death of a worm. THE EDITOR. (Fixing upon Old Cerberus a benevolent, but determined look.) Your remarks were not just; you went too far. As an actress, Miss Smithson is nothing, but as a lady her feelings should have been more regarded. We liked your discrimination, but were distressed by your ferocity. [Old Cerberus rises in a tremendous passion, and drawing from his bosom an Indian crease, is about to rush upon the EDITOR. The latter, with a calm smile, points to his SLIPPERS. Old Cerberus drops the crease, falls upon his chair, and covers his face with his hands. When he removes them, there is a marked change on his countenance. Rich chestnut locks cluster over his forehead, and his eye is blue, intelligent, and gentle. THE EDITOR. (Without appearing to notice the alteration.) At times you are as mild, merry, and benevolent as man could wish. That was a splendid article you wrote upon the Christmas pantomime. Old Cerberus. I am a strange creature. I am at one moment a volcano, at another a flower-garden ;-today full of flames and red-hot rocks, to-morrow yielding up my senses to all pleasant odours and sunny sights. The worst of it is, I cannot even trust myself; yet I feel that there is something about me worthy of respect, and I should like the world to own it, else to what avail am I different from all mankind? To what avail that I have been where foot of mortal dared not follow me,-that I have stood where the brain grew giddy, and the senses reeled, that I have loved as none but I could love,—that I have resolved into their elements substances which have puzzled the science of ages, and that I have crowded into a single night the events and thoughts of a thousand years, what avails it, if I am to be set down as mad by the wise, because I am a step before the wisest ? THE EDITOR. Fear not that. There are those who can appreciate thee. Old Cerberus. There is not one but you, and that is because you are greater than I. But perhaps the day may come when even the EDITOR IN HIS SLIPPERS will be thought mad by the grovelling herd. (The EDITOR | smiles.) It was you that first reconciled me to existence. Had it not been for the LITERARY JOURNAL, I should have committed suicide. It is the only thing worth living for. That Christmas-oh! that Christmas Number !what a flood of light did it not pour in upon the darkness of December! how splendidly did it marshal on the January of 1830! Did it not concentrate into one glittering focus the truly national and racy vigour of Gillespie, -the classical humour, and clear, picturesque, crispy sketching of Tennant,-the delicate, deep, and touching beauty of Mrs Hemans, the delightful originality and characteristic quaintness of the Ettrick Shepherd,—the chastened pathos and moral eloquence of Memes,-the glowing thoughts and warm-hearted imagination of Mrs Hall,-the wild strength of Shelley, the pensive grace of Malcolm, the manly power and intensity of Kennedy, -the rich traditional lore, and busy fancy of Chambers, -the elegance and the sound sense of Derwent Conway, the instructive pleasantness of Carruthers, the gentleness of Hetherington,-the spirited energy of Atkinson, the Grecian patriotism of Negris,—the romantic genius of Sillery,-the tender melancholy of the authoress of "Aloyse,"-the ardent and well-cultivated mind of Weir,-the sportive earnestness of H. G. Bell, —did it not link all these together in one garland of unfading loveliness? And it is to you, wonderful and thrice admirable man!-to You, sitting here alone with your SLIPPERS in the silence of your own study, that we owe all this! Against such an EDITOR, how could we ever breathe one word of discontent ? When I think of all you have done for the periodical literature of Scotland,—— how you have collected its strength from the four corners of heaven-how you have sacrificed your own time and pleasures to promote its interests-how you have rebuked the vain, and encouraged the timid-how you have strangled impudent quackery even in the pride of its strength, and raised up humble genius from the dust,-how you have given a new tone to conversation, and put a new spirit into the literature of your age and country,—when I think of all this, tears rush into my eyes, my heart beats audibly, and, clasping your knees thus, I humbly prostrate myself before you and your SLIPPERS. [Old Cerberus kneels ;-the EDITOR looks upon him for a moment with an approving smile,—then stretches out his hand, and restores him to his seat. THE EDITOR. (After a short pause.) Just as you came in we were looking over a mass of communications. Some of them are interesting and excellent, and I shall be glad to show them to you, as I know you will be pleased with them. Old Cerberus. You could not confer upon me a higher favour. THE EDITOR. You have spoken of our Christmas Number. We are happy to assure you that no literary production ever created so great a sensation in Scotland, not even Moore's Life of Byron. Nobody considered himself able to enjoy the New Year properly unless he secured a copy; and we venture to say, that we were, on that occasion, read to an extent hitherto unparalleled by any other periodical. To give you some idea of the eagerness with which we were devoured, here is a letter from a person of great eminence, who thus writes :-" I was delighted with your Christmas Number. Few of your readers, I presume, read you as I did. Having been engaged abroad all day, I took you up before dining even, seized the nearest article in my library to cut you up, which happened to be the bronze dagger of an ancient Roman, put the candlestick (it happened to be a small chamber-light, and I could not wait to ring for another) upon a Greek urn, propping the whole with the diviningstone of an Arch-Druid, and thus I devoured you pien, column after column." Old Cerberus. Bravo! This was just such a reader as such writers as your contributors and yourself ought always to have. THE EDITOR. We have laid our hand upon a poem, by Alexander Maclaggan. You are aware that we give ourselves some little credit for having first discovered and encouraged the poetical genius of this young man. We have not for a moment tempted him to forsake the steady duties which belong to his sphere of life; but, in pointing out to him how best to cultivate his imagination and strengthen his mind, we have rendered these labours less irksome, and presented him with an additional motive for activity. We have already published two or three poems by him, which we do not think would disgrace poets of far longer standing and higher name; and the lines of which we now speak are not inferior to any he has yet written. Here they are: AN INVOCATION TO FANCY. By Alexander Maclaggan. Light-footed Fancy! bring to me And the merry trout with finny wings, Up from its watery wimple springs. Then lay me down in that calm bower, Where lovers have spent their midnight hour, And the blood that broke every curbing chain, Or, Fancy! if thou art unheeding Through calm or storm, or day or night; Where soothing silence woos to rest, Save in the woodland turtle's nest; There Fancy smoothes my bed, and brings A little heaven upon her wings; And swiftly fly the blessed hours I watch the white clouds sailing by. Another sight as gay and fair! Queen of my heart! wer't not for thee, Lifts thy locks, (like sunbeams fair,) How deep my joy to feel them there! The worldly cold-the unfeeling wise— Do thee, and song, and me despise ; They tell me that I soon will wake From my stupor deep of dreamy madness, To see my air-built castles break Dark on my path in clouds of sadness; They tell me that mine eye's wild beam Will soon be quench'd in woful weeping: But let me dream my heavenly dream, Whilst in this world of darkness sleeping. And sure the vision is more sweet, Than any dim material show Of sights all soil'd with dust belowPoor, fading, fleeting, fallen things!Fancy thy high imaginings Are truer, better, far than all That rattles in this childish ball! Old Cerberus. There is both fancy and feeling in that poem. I will back Alexander Maclaggan against all the young men who have published five-and-sixpenny volumes of miscellaneous poetry within the last three years. THE EDITOR. Here is a letter from Inverkeithing, in which there is a very considerable proportion of sense; and it is therefore worth reading: TO THE EDITOR OF THE EDINBURGH LITERARY JOURNAL. Sir, I know that the Editor of a Journal is overwhelmed with poetry, and that generally of a very inferior kind; yet, notwithstanding, I have enclosed two little pieces, chiefly because they are out of the vile hackneyed track of Magazine verse, which always abounds too much in sighs and sentiments, and that sort of thing, altogether intolerable to an old stager like me. Permit me to say, that the little bits with which you occasionally favour your readers, and your mode of managing them, suit my taste exactly; and are, as the fashionable phrase is, quite refreshing, amidst the heap of even well selected poetry of the present day. Let us have more of them during this gloomy weather. Many of the subjects you write upon would be rejected with disdain by the juvenile Magazine contributor, because, forsooth, in his conception they are not poetical,-which merely means, that out of such materials, he could not fabricate a single verse. But as to the pure all things are pure, so to the poetical mind, every subject, however unpromising, is capable of poetical embellishment. Indeed, it would be a good test of poetical tact and ingenuity to propose a subject apparently barren and intractable, and see what could be made of it. Whilst the many aspirants would find themselves unable to pass this pons asinorum, a few quos equus amavit Apollo,-the Wordsworths, the Byrons, and Campbells, would skilfully convert the barren field into a fruitful soil,-they would make springs in the desert, and their alchymic touch would transmute the iron |