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I feel so elastic-"so buoyant-so buoyant!"

Fact from life, with the words.

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Ink. Apropos-Do you dine with Sir Humphry to-day? [Sir Humphry Davy, President of the Royal Society.]

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But remember Miss Diddle invites us to sup.

[The late Miss Lydia White, whose ambition was to be the hostess of the literary celebrities of the day. Sir W. Scott describes her as a lady "with stockings nineteen times nine dyed blue," superabundant liveliness and some wit, great good-nature and extreme absurdity. He mentions among her extravagances that she dressed on May-day morning like the Queen of the Chimney Sweeps. The last time he saw her she was lying on a couch "rouged, jesting, and dying.”]

THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.

BY

QUEVEDO REDIVIVUS.

SUGGESTED BY THE COMPOSITION SO ENTITLED BY THE AUTHOR OF "WAT TYLER."

"A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel !
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word.”

PREFACE.

IT hath been wisely said, that "One fool makes many;" and it hath been poetically observed

"That fools rush in where angels fear to tread."-POPE.

If Mr. Southey had not rushed in where he had no business, and where he never was before, and never will be again, the following poem would not have been written. It is not impossible that it may be as good as his own, seeing that it cannot, by any species of stupidity, natural or acquired, be worse. The gross flattery, the dull impudence, the renegado intolerance, and impious cant, of the poem by the author of " Wat Tyler," are something so stupendous as to form the sublime of himself-containing the quintessence of his own attributes.

So much for his poem-a word on his preface. In this preface it has pleased the magnanimous Laureate to draw the picture of a supposed "Satanic School," the which he doth recommend to the notice of the legislature; thereby adding to his other laurels the ambition of those of an informer. If there exists anywhere, except in his imagination, such a School, is he not sufficiently armed against it by his own intense vanity? The truth is, that there are certain writers whom Mr. S. imagine like Scrub, to have "talked of him; for they laughed consumedly."

I think I know enough of most of the writers to whom he is supposed to allude, to assert, that they, in their individual capacities, have done more good, in the charities of life, to