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And look ! there's a balloon love! liam Hazlitto and perhaps obliged

, Round and bright as the moon above. after all, to put up for the night at Now we loosen-DOW-take care ; Old Mother Red-Cap's! Mr Hunt What a spring from earth was there ! then exultingly exclaims, soon as he Like an angel mounting fierce,

has got the Monarch of Olympus and We have shot the night with a pierce ; the Lecturer at the Surrey Institution And the moon, with slant-up beam,

out of his house, Makes our starting faces gleam. Lovers below will stare at the sight,

Now this I call passing a few devout hours

, And talk of the double moon last night.

Beseeming a world that has friendship and

Nowers, Mr Hunt's notions of sociality are very That has lips also, made for still more than moderate ones indeed ; and we know

to chat to, not what will be thought of them by And if it has rain, has a rainbow for that those whom he calls 65 the once cheer too! ful gentry of this war and money. Who ever supposed that lips were injured land.”

Reader, if thou art an made only to chat to ? Their ordinary honest, stout county squire, what use is to chat with and really all their thinkst thou of the following debauch other little agreeable offices are to of two Cockney's, Hunt and Hazlitt.

universally acknowledged to allor Then tea made by one, who although my Leigh Hunt to claim the honour of wife she be,

discovery. If Jove were to drink it, would soon be his

Under the head of « Love of Socia Hebe, Then silence a little, a creeping twilight,

ality

we now make room for only Then an egg for your supper with lettuces one passage more--from an epistle to white,

Charles Lamb, who has for many years And a moon and friend's arm to go home past been in the very reprehensible with at night

habit of allowing Mr Hunt and Mr In this passage we have " the love of Hazlitt to suck his brains, at tex. sociality, of the country and of the fine drinkings and select suppers, to steal imagination of the Greeks," all in one.

from him his ingenious fancies, and What does Sir John Swinburne think

to send them out into the world wo of the Phidian Jove at his fourth cup fully bedizened in the Cockney uniof tea, putting his spoon across it, or

form. Mr Coleridge, too, used to be fairly turning the cup upside down, plundered in this way--and one evene in imitation of the custom of Cock ing of his fine, rich, overflowing moaigne, to ensure himself against the nologue would amply furnish out a lecfifth dilution? Then, think of the ture on poetry, or any thing else, at the delicacy of the compliment paid to the Surrey Institution. Let that simplelady who pours out the gun-powder! minded man of genius, Charles Lamb, Jupiter drinking tea at Hampstead beware of such ungrateful plunderers with Mr and Mrs Hunt, and Mr Haz

-nor allow himself to be flattered by litt!

their magnificent compliments. “ Cedite Romani Scriptores Cedite Graii.” You'll guess why I can't see the snow. The affable arch-angel, supping with Adam and Eve in Paradise, is nothing Without thinking of you and your visiting to the Father of Gods and Men eating When you call to remembrance how you muffins with the Editor of a Sunday newspaper. There, Mr Benjamin Hay- When I wanted it most, used to knock at don, is a grand historical subject for

my door. your pencil. Shut yourself up again For when the sad winds told us rain would for seven years in sublime solitude, come down, and Raphael and Michael Angelo are

Or snow upon snow fairly clogged up the One is at a loss

to know if And dun yellow fogs brooded over it's waitas Jupiter staid supper. Short commons for a god who, in days of yore, went

So that scarcely a being was seen towards

night, to sleep on Juno's bosom, full of nec

Then, then said the lady yclept near and dear tar and ambrosia

• Now mind what I tell you,--the Lo's will

be here.” An egg for his supper with lettuces white !

So 1 poked up the flame, and she got out Then think of letting Jove decamp, the tea! without so much as once offering him And down we both sat, as prepared as could a bed-leaning on the arm of Mr Wil be!

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And there, sure as fate, came the knock of That laughs and tumbles, like a conscious

thing,
Then the lanthorn, the laugh, and the For joy of all its future travelling.
“ Well, how d’ye do ?”

The lizard circuits them ; and his grave will
Then your palm tow'rds the fire, and your The frog, with reckoning leap, enjoys

apart,
face turned to me,

Till now and then the woodcock frights his
And shawls and great-coats being-where heart
they should be

With brushing down to dip his dainty bill.
And due • never saw's" being paid to the How beautifully he describes the
weather,

Hampstead clouds of heaven.
We cherished our knees, and sat sipping And lo, there issued from beside the trees,
together,

Through the blue air, a most delicious sight,
And leaving the world to the fogs and the A troop of clouds, rich, separate, three parts
fighters,

white,
Discussed the pretensions of all sorts of As beautiful as pigeons that one sees
writers.

Round a glad homestead reeling at their ease,
There is too much reason to believe, But large, and slowly; and what made the
that this everlasting tea-drinking was sight
the chief cause of Leigh Hunt's death. Such as I say, was not that piled white,
The truth is, that he had for many Nor their more rosy backs, nor forward press

Like sails, nor yet their surfy massiveness
years been sipping imitation-tea, a

Light in it's plenitude, like racks of snow.
pleasant but deleterious preparation-
more pernicious by far than the very

These are singing clouds, and ought
worst port; and there can be little to be introduced on the stage.

As they stooped them near,
doubt, that if he had drunk about a
bottle of black-strap in the fortnight, How the smooth silver clouds, lasping with

Lo, I could hear
and forsworn thin potations altoge-
ther, he might have been alive, and Make a bland music to the fawning air,
perhaps writing a sonnet at this very Filling with such a roundly-slipping tune
moment.

The hollow of the great attentive noon,

That' the tall sky seemed touched; and all
II. His love of the Country.

the trees
Mr Hunt informs us, that of all the Thrilled with the coming harmonies ;
poets of the present day he was the And the fair waters looked as if they lay
fondest of rural scenes.

Their cheek against the sound, and so went
O Spirit, O muse of mine,

But it is needless to enter at greater
Frank, and quick-dimpled to all social glee, length into Mr Hunt's “ love of the
And yet most sylvan of the earnest Nine,
Who on the fountain-shedding hill,

country," for it all hangs on one great
Leaning about among the clumpy bays

principle-every grove has its nymph,
Look at the clear Apollo while he plays ;-

and that is enough for the author of
Take me, now, now, and let me stand the story of Rimini.
On some such lovely land,

You finer people of the earth,
Where I may feel me, as I please,

Nymphs of all names, and woodland Geni.
In dells among the trees,
Or on some outward slope, with ruffling hair, I see you, here and there, among the trees,
Be level with the air ;

Shrouded in noon-day respite of your mirth :
For a new smiling sense has shot down This hum in air, which the still ear perceives,
through me,

Is your unquarrelling voice among the leaves;
And from the clouds, like stars, bright eyes And now I find, whose are the laughs and
are beckoning to me.

stirrings
Having got into this situation, Mr That make the delicate birds dart so in
Hunt did not long for his wonted cup

whisks and whirrings
of tea, but for "poetic women”

It is much to be regretted, that the To have their fill of pipes and leafy play- deceased bard's rural life was so limiting.”

ed and local. - He had no other notion What vást ideas of tobacco does “ fill of that sublime expression, “sub Dio," of pipes” awaken! and what a game than merely “out of doors.” One alat romps is signified by " leafy play- ways thinks of Leigh Hunt, on his ing!” after this violent exertion the rural excursions to and from Hamppoet and his nymphs lie down to sleep.stead, in a great-coat or spencer, clogs There lie they, lulled by little whiffling tones

over his shoes, and with an umbrella Of rills among the stones,

in his hand. He is always talking of Or by the rounder murmur, glib and fush, lanes, and styles, and hedgerows, and Of the escaping gush,

clumps of trees, and cows with large Vol. VI.

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ndders. He is the most suburban of from the Iliad, on which Pope and poets. He died, as might have been Cowper had wrought in vain. prophesied, within a few hours saunter Thrice did great Hector drag him by the feet of the spot where he was born, and Backward, and loudly shouted to the Trowithout having been once beyond the

jans ; well-fenced ineadows of his micro- And thrice did the Ajaces, springy-strength’d, cosm. Suppose for a moment, Leigh Thrust him away; yet still he kept the Hunt at sea—or on the summit of Sure of his strength; and now and then Mount Blanc ! It is impossible. No. rushed on Hampstead was the only place for him. Into the thick, and now and then stood still, “ With farmy fields in front and sloping Shouting great shouts; and not an inch

green. Only hear how he revels in the morn

When Iris invites Achilles to go to ing before breakfast, when out on an

the rescue of the body of Patrocles, the alventurous constitutional stroll. son of Thetis replies to her, as if he Then northward what a range,- with heath

were speaking to our old friend Mr and pond,

Rees, in Paternoster-row, with a MS. Nature's own ground; woods that let man for publication in his pocket. sions through,

“ But how am I to go into the press ?. And cottaged vales with pillowy fields be In another place, Tiunt makes Hoyond,

mer call a fountain “ clear and crisp,And clump of darkening pines, and pros- which had he ever done, Apollo would And that clear path through all, where daily is something to us quite shocking in

have shot him instantly dead. There Cool cheeks, and brilliant eyes, and morn

the idea of Hunt translating Homerelastic feet.

and his executors have much to anMr Hunt is the only poet who has

swer for in having made the fact pubconsidered the external world simply as the “ country,” in contradiction to

The following description, though the town-fields in place of squares, very conceited and passionless, seems lanes vice streets, and trees as lieuten- to us the best thing the late Mr Hunt ants of houses. That fine line of ever did " in the poetical line.” But Campbell's,

instead of breathing “ of the fine ima“ And look on nature with a poet's eye,”

gination of the Greeks,” it is nothing must, to be applicable to him, be

more than a copy in words of a picchanged into,

ture in oil. Mr Hunt used to be a “ Look on the country with a cockney's great lounger in picture-dealer's shops, eye."

and was a sad bore among the artists, It is true, that on one occasion Mr --who must feel much relieved by his Hunt (see a former quotation) talks of death. Whenever you meet with a having gone up in a balloon-but there vivid image in his verses, you are sure is something Cockneyish even in that that it is taken from a picture. He is object with all its beauty-and one speaking of Polyphemus descending thinks of the Aeronaut after his flight, by night, returning to town in a post-chaise, To walk in his anguish about the green with the shrivelled globe bundled on places, the roof.

And see where his mistress lay dreaming of

Acis. III. His love of the fine imagination i fancy him now, coming just where she of the Greeks.

sleeps ; A man who could ask Jupiter if his

He parts the close hawthorns, and hushes,

and creeps ; tea was sweetened to his mind, must The moon slips from under the dark clonds, have a truly Greekish imagination of and throws his own no doubt—and pray, where A light, through the leaves, on her snildid Mr Hunt find that Hebe was a ing repose. married lady with six children? What There, there she lies, bower'd ;- a slope for does that great orthographist, Lindley

her bed ; Murray, think of spelling Apollo with One branch, like a hand, reaches over her a finalr, which Me Hunt is in duty Half naked, half shrinking, with side-swelbound to do when he pronounces bim ling grace, A pollar? But Mr Hunt used to read A crook's twixt her bosom, and crosses her Homer, and to translate choice passages face,

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The crook of her shepherd; and close to her pius, and ever and ánon coquetting
lips

with himself in the magic mirror..
Lies the Pan-pipe he blows, which in sleep- No doubt, he rung the bell for the la-

ing she sips ;
The giant's knees totter, with passions di- dies, and the children, and the ser-

vants, and probably sent out for his
Ah, how can he bear it! Ah! what could favourite “ washerwoman.” When
be worse!

hé dressed for dinner, did the ivy He's ready to cry out, for anguish of heart : wreath still continue to deck his regal And tears himself off, lest she wake with a temples ? Did he sip tea in it? Play

a rubber at whist?' And finally, did So much for our deceased friend's he go to bed in it-and, if so, did he " love of sociality, the country, and shroud its glories in a night-cap, or the fine imagination of the Greeks.”

did he lay his head on the pillow like May we add a few specimens of

Bacchus by the side of Ariadne? All

these little interesting circumstantiali-,
IV. His love of himself. ties are, no doubt, mentioned in his
He gets Mrs L. H. to model a bust autobiography.
of him, and during the operation, he

But one sonnet-two sonnets to
talks of becoming

John Keats, do not suffice and we “ Worthier of Apollo's bough."

have a third " on the same." What is to be thought of a man

It is a lofty feeling, yet a kind,
writing a triumphal sonnet on his own

Thus to be topped with leaves ; to have a
bust, and publishing it and what Of honour-shaded thought-an influence
if that man be, at the best, but a small As from great nature's fingers, and be
poetaster and newsmonger. Then fol twined
lows a sonnet to John Keats,

With her old, sacred, verdurous ivy-bind,
'Tis well you think me truly one of those , As though she hallowed with that sylvan
Whose sense discerns the loveliness of fence,
things, &c.

A head that bows to her benevolence,
And then again comes another son-

Midst pomp of funcied trumpets in the

wind !!!!
net on
receiving a crown of ivy from

'Tis what's within us crowned.
the same.

There is a pair of blockheads for
A crown of ivy !..I submit my head

John Keats had no more right
To the young
hand that gives it-young, 'tis

to dress up Leigh Hunt in this absurd
true,
But with a right, for 'tis a poet's too.

fashion, than he had to tar and feather
How pleasant the leaves feel!! and how him and we do not doubt, that if
they spread

Leigh Hunt had ever had the misforWith their broad angles, like a nodding tune to have been tarred and feathered, shed

he would have written a sonnet on his Over both eyes !! and how complete and plumification, and described himself as new,

a Bird of Paradise. As on my hand I lean, to feel them strew

From John Keats the transition is
My sense with freshness, Fancy's rustling not difficult to John Hamilton Rey-
bed!

nolds-for he too had written lines on
This sonnet presents to us a very the story of Rimini—though by na-
laughable picture, which, spite of Mr ture fit for far other occupation--and
Hunt's decease, we hope there can be accordingly Mr Hunt returns him
no great harm in enjoying. Mr John sonnet for sonnet. In it, Mr Rey-
Keats was, we believe, at this time, a nolds, clever man as he is, is made to
young apothecary, and if, instead of look very like a ninny.
crowning poor Mr Hunt with ivy, he
had clapped a blister upon his head, he On his Lines upon the Story of Rimini.
would have acted in a way more suite Reynolds, whose Muse, from out thy gentle
able to his profession. Such an opportu-

embraces,
nity, probably never occurred again. Holding a little crisp and dewy swwer,
Well-behold the Cockney--strutting Where many fine-eyed Friendships and glad

my close-entwined bower,
about the room, for we hope there was

Graces,
out of doors” exposure, with his Parting the boughs, have looked in with
ivy-crown, dressing gown, yellow

like faces,
breeches, and red slippers--followed, And thanked the song which had sufficient
in all his movements by young Escula power

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With Phæbus to bring back a warmer hour, « The force of nature could no farther gomme And turn his southern eye to our green To make one Fool, she joined the other

places. But the most insane of all the Idol Two more sonnets follow on the ators is at hand, in the shape of a cer same subject, and Mr Hunt, we are tain Doctor, whose name, lest it should told, a short time before his death, injure his practice, we shall not men

had the lock of Milton's hair put into tion, and who (upon his knees, we a broach, in the figure of a naked Eve, presume,) makes an offering to the and wore it, and the Mother of Man. İdol of Cockaigne OP A LOCK OF Mil- kind, on the frill of his shirt. TON'S HAIR!!!!

This fashion of firing off sonnets at

each other was prevalent in the me To M. D.

tropolis a short time since among the On his giving me a Lock of Milton's Hair. bardlings, and was even more annoying I felt my spirit leap, and look at thee

than the detonating balls. We have Through my changed colour with glad heard them cracking off in the lobbies

grateful stare. When after shewing us this glorious hair,

of the Theatres, and several exploded Thou didst turn short, and bending plea- close to our ear one morning in Sir santly

John Leicester's gallery. Like other With gracious hand gav'st the great lock to nuisances of the kind, they are now ME!!

laughed down; and, indeed, after An honouring gift indeed! which I will Leigh Hunt's death, who was at the

top of the fashion, it dwindled quite About me, while I breathe this strenuous

away, though sometimes even yet a air, That nursed his Apollonian tresses free.

stray sonneteer is to be found can

tering along on his velocipede. See what it is to be a favourite of In our next we hope to publish Apollo ! Apothecaries and physicians “ Luctus” on the death of Mr Hunt, flock in upon you from every side. by Webb, Keats, and Co.--and also a And well might it be said of funeral oration, by Mr Hazlitt, We

M.D., in reference to Keats ourselves intend to write his epitaph. and Reynolds,

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DECORATIONS OF EDINBURGH. MR EDITOR, I HAVE read with some sorrow, and store the old ; let us make works which more shame, your correspondent's pro- exercise the memory in recollections posal to adorn Edinburgh with a of Athens or Rome, rather than Greek Temple. Is he serious? or does aspire after an hazardous reputation he write it as a satire upon Scottish for originality. So thought the pruinvention and is it true, that no dent—the calculating—the painstakliving man is capable of conceiving a ing people of America, and what have suitable structure to commemorate the they done, and what are they daily glories of cotland ? That your cor- doing ? Your correspondent knows respondent shews good taste in ad- this—you cannot climb an eminence miring the Parthenon, who would in the United States but you see deny—but he is unwise in recommende Spartas, Thebes's, and Athens's on ing its restoration by his countrymen. all sides, hills abound with classic The use to be made of ancient works, names-here is Ethos there is Athos, of the majestic remains of Grecian Parnassus is near, and beyond it arises greatness, is not to transfer them in mount Pelion, the very

have the gross into marble or stone, to carry climbed is the “ Calícolone on the them off, pillar and rafter, like the Simio's side.” fabled church of Loretto,—but to con “ And what was Goose Creek once, is Tyber template and admire them, to clevate now.” the mind and kindle a fire which may Now all this is harmless enough, excite an emulation of their glories. but what does it shew-all but an oriBut your correspondent thinks the ginal spirit. In the same taste people sun of Scottish invention has sunk or may-and many people do baptize has never risen : therefore, says he, let their children. I have seen Lucius us not seek to create the new, but re- Junius O‘Flanagan, which is a 50

hill you

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