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Exceptions 'gainst the fair were coarse and Down Prince's Street I once or twice paraded, shocking

And gazed upon these same eternal faces ; I've seen in breeches many a true blue Those beardless beaux and bearded belles, stocking.

those faded Blue Stocking stands, in my vocabulary,

And flashy silks, surtouts, pelisses, laces ; For one that always chatters (sex is nothing) Those crowds of clerks, astride on hackneys About new books from June to January,

jaded, And with re-echoed carpings moves your Dreaming enthusiasts who indulge vain

Prancing and capering with notorial grace ; loathing.

whimsies, I like to see young people smart and airy,

That they might pass in Bond Street or St With well dressed hair and fashionable

James's. clothing, Can't they discourse about ball, rout, or play; -One to a herring in his lonely shop,

I saw equestrian and pedestrian vanish And know reviewing's quite out of their way? And some of kind gregarious, and more It strikes me as a thing exceeding stupid,

clanish, This conversation about books, books, bnoks, To club at Waters' for a mutton-chop; When I was young, and sat midst damsels Myself resolved for once my cares to banish, grouped,

And give the Cerberus of thought a sop, I talked of roses, zephyrs, gurgling brooks, Got Jack's, and Sam's, and Dick's, and Venus, the Graces, Dian, Hymen, Cupid,

Tom's consent, Perilous glances, soul-subduing looks, And o'er the Mound to Billy Young's we Slim tapering fingers, glossy clustering curls, Diamonds and emeralds, cairngorms and I am not nice, I care not what I dine on, pearls.

A sheep's head or beef-steak is all I wish; On Una that made sunshine in the shade, Old Homer! how he loved the spulgov osvov And Emily with eye of liquid jet,

It is the glass that glorifies the dish. And gentle Desdemona, and the maid The thing that I have always set my mind on That sleeps within the tomb of Capulet (A small foundation laid of fowl, tesh, fish) Hearts love to ponder-would it not degrade is out of bottle, pitcher, or punch-bowl, Our notion of a nymph like Juliet,

To suck reviving solace to my soul. To be informed that she had just read thro' Life's a dull dusty desert, waste and drear, Last Number of the Edinburgh Review ? With now and then an oasis between, Leave ye to dominies and sticker stibblers, Where palm-trees rise, and fountains gushAnd all the sedentary generation,

ing clear The endless chitter-chatter about scribblers, Burst 'neath the shelter of that leafy screen ; And England's melancholy situation. Haste not your parting steps, when such apLet them be still the customary nibblers

pear, Of all that rule or edify the nation ; Repose, ye weary travellers, on the green, Leave off the corn-bill, and the law of libel, Horace and Milton, Dante, Burns, and And read the Pilgrim's Progress or your Bible.


Dined at a tavern when they had “ the From the poem itself we quote siller." the following stanzas, without any remarks, convinced that their simple At Florence, London, Weimar, Rome, May.

And ne'er did poet, epical or tragical, elegance and unaffected grace stand

bole, in no need of the critics recommend

See time's dark lanthern glow with hues ation.

more magical I rose this morning about half past nine, Than I have witnessed in the Coffin-hole. At Breakfast coffee I consumed pour quatre, Praise of antiquity a bam and fudge I call, Unnumbered rolls enriched with marmalade Ne'er past the present let my wishes roll; fine,

A fig for all comparing, croaking grumblers, And little balls of butter dished in water, Hear me, dear dimpling Billy, bring the Three eggs, two plateful of superb cold chine tumblers. (Much recominended to make thin folks Let blank verse hero, or Spenserian rhymer, fatter);

Treat Donna Musa with chateau-margout, And having thus my ballast stow'd on board, Chateau-la-filte, Johannisberg, Hocheimer, Roamed forth to kill a day's time like a lord. In tall outlandish glasses green and blue. How I contrived to pass the whole forenoon, Thanks to my stars, myself, a doggrel-chimer, I can't remember though my life were on it; Have nothing with such costly tastes to do ; I helped G. T, in jotting of a tune, My muse is always kindest when I court her, And hinted rhymes to G -s for a sonnet; O'er whisky-punch, gin-twist, strong beer Called at the Knox's shop with Miss Balloon,

and porter. And heard her ipsa dixit on a bonnet ; And O, my pipe, though in these Dandy days Then washed my mouth with ices, tarts, Few love thee, fewer still their love confess, and flummeries,

Ne'er let me blush to celebrate thy praise, And ginger-beer and soda, at Montgomery's. Divine invention of the age of Bess!

I for a moment interrupt my lays

But then the smoke's too near the eye by far, The tiny tube with loving lip to press, And out of doors 'tis in a twinkling flown ; I'll then come back with a reviving zest, And somehow it sets all my teeth ajar, And give thee three more stanzas of my best. When to an inch or so we've smoked him

down ; (I smoke.)

And if your leaf have got a straw within it, Pipe! whether plain in fashion of Frey-herr, You know 'tis like a cinder in a minute. Or gaudy glittering in the taste of Boor, Deep-darkened Meer-schaum or Ecume-de. I have no doubt a long excursive hooker mer,

Suits well some lordly lounger of Bengal, Or snowy clay of Gowda, light and pure. Who never writes, or looks into a book, or Let different people different pipes prefer, Does any thing with earnestness at all : Delft, horn, or catgut, long, short, older, He sits, and his tobacco's in the nook, or

Tended by some black heathen in the hall, Puff, every brother, as it likes him best,

Lays up his legs, and thinks he does great De gustibus non disputandum est.

things Pipe ! when I stuff into thee my canaster,

If once in the half hour a puff he brings. With flower of camomil and leaf of rose, And the calm rising fume comes fast and

I rather follow in my smoking trim faster,

The example of Scots cottars and their Curling with balmy circles near my nose,

wives, And all the while my dexter hand is master

Who, while the evening air is warm and dim, Of the full cup from Meux's vat that flows,

In July sit beside their garden hives ; Heavens! all my brain a soft oblivion wraps To see how the concern of honey thrives,

And, gazing all the while with wrinkles grim, Of wafered letters and of single taps.

Empty before they've done a four-ounce bag I've no objections to a good segar,

Of sailors' twist, or, what's less common A true Havannah, smooth, and moist, and shag. brown;

( To be continued.)



[The two following classical jeur d'esprit are extracted from the works of the Rev Francis Wrangham (3 vols 8vo. Baldwin & Co. London, 1816), one of the most accomplished of our living English scholars, and distinguished at the university of Cambridge as the successful competitor of the celebrated Tweddell. We intend, in an early Number, to offer some remarks on that class of writers of which we consider him an honourable representative. EDITOR.]

Dialogue I.

Παντοιων στοματων λαλον εικονα, ποιμεσιν ηδυ

Παιγνιον. .
Can Echo speak the tongue of every country ? Echo. Try.
Te virginem si fortè poscam erotica ?

Ερω ταχα.
Ma si ti sopra il futuro questionerò ?

Ετεον ερω. .
Et puis-je te parler sur des choses passées ?

Dic mihi quæso virum, vitiis cui tot bona parta : BUONAPARTE.
Whom once Sir Sidney drove with shame from Acre. A cur !
T unlock our India, France would make of Turkey- Her key.
Would she then seize Madras, Bombay, Bengal ? AU.
And did her chief fly Egypt, when most needed ? He did.
Whom is he like, who thrives but by escaping ? Scapin.
Croyez vous aux histoires, qu'en dit Denon ?

What are the arms with which he now fights Britons ? High tones.
Ususne in istius minus fuit aliquis ?

All a quiz !
Quid nobis iterat tanto hic jactator hiatu ?

“ I hate you." Qu'il vienne aussitôt qu'il le veut, ce grand homme! A grand hum! Nectit at ille moras, pelagusque horrere putatur !

Peut-être. You'd think him then mad, if his forces he march here ? As a March hare. Where does he wish those forces wafted over ?

To Dover. Granted—what would they be, ere led to London ? All undone. Can George then thrash by land the Corsican?

He can.

But what, if he should chance to meet our navy?
Τετω γαρ' εχθρα γη τε και θαλασσ' εφυ;
Atqui, ceu Xerxes, nostris fugere actus ab oris-
And hence he swears, he'll ne'er again turn flyer.
How best shall England quell his high pretences ?
Et qu'est ce qu'elle montrera, pour calmer cet inquiet?
Ast unco ductus pænas dabis, improbe, Gallis.
E chi ti vedrà morto, Ben gli sta" griderà.

A few.
A bore is.
Liar !
Paret enses.

Dialogue II.

All agree.


-Quæ nec reticere loquenti,

Nec prior ipsa loqui potuit.
Again I call; sweet Maid, come echo me. Echo. Eccomi!
Tell me, of what consists the heart of Gaul:

Of gall.
Her mad caprices in her ancient shape;

Ape! Her present taste, for blood and riot eager.

Tigre! Tell, of what God her sons are now the votaries; A995. And whose before, so wolvish grown and ravenous : Venus. Wretches, as changeful as the changing ocean !

O chiens!
Au roi, qui les aimoit, ils ont frappé le cou-

Πελεκκε. .
Ma sotto i erano sempre allégri.
Τις δε τοσης αυτοις ενεπνευσ' Υπατε θρησκειαν και

Aliquid mali molitur in nos consili:

Cumque illo miles Batavus conjurat amicè.

Rot 'em, I say.
Where would his Brest fleet in our empire land ? Ireland.
Αλλοθι δ' ογ ηπειλ’ εισβαλάν διηνεκώς. .

En Ecosse.
Quisnam illum à Scotis manet eritus, auspice Moirû ? Μοιρα. .
Spem forsan nullam, Moirâ ibi jam duce, habet! Deuce a bit !
Εις Αγγλικον δ'ηκειν ισως νοεί τoδι. .

To die.
How best shall we 'scape this invasion's alarm?
Then, Englishmen, rush to the field, 'tis your duty:
Be no longer the dupes of an Amiens truce.

Ruse! (Ην δολος, και φιλια: τε δ'εκ φρενος ηλυθεν αυτος και

Furem ego contundam, qui te rapere audet, agelle : To a jelly.
Angliaque externos facilè opprimet ipsa latrones : At her own ease.
And dost thou wish the throne restored by Moreau ? Oro.
Then from his height falls dread Napoleon ;

Apollyon ! (Scilicet hunc Anglus vocat, hunc Hebræus Abaddon ! *

A bad one.)
And then the world, now scared, will laugh at him: Affatim.
Il reste donc à souhaiter, que la France lui désobeit. So be it!

All arm.

Δευτε. .

• Rev. ix. 11.


he wants discretion. Instead of giving

his powers fair play on some subject Buck's Head, April 10, 1819. of general interest, he has let himself

down by certain personalities which it MR EDITOR,

is quite impossible to defend or justify.

Some silly people would fain consider I beg leave to offer a few observations these personalities gross and insulting. on the second letter of Dr Nicol Jarvie, That is by no means the case. But which has lately made so much noise they are, what Dr Nicol Jarvie perhaps in this city. The doctor is a wag, and does not suspect them to be, very possesses a genuine vein of humour, childish, or rather, to use an expressive which, under good management, could Scots word, “unco bairnly.” . There not fail of amusing the public. But, is also some indelicacy in printing at like too many wits of the present day, full length the christian and surnames of worthy citizens who walk about the their friend than for themselves. One coffee-room here, without thinking of of them with whom I supped last you or your Magazine. Nobody

can night, said it was ridiculous to cry out like this sort of notoriety; and for my for a mere toothach. own part, I fully expect some day or I have now, Mr Editor, protested other to plump upon my own name generally against all personalities whatin some dark corner of your Work, ever of this nature; but you will aland to find myself publicly celebrated low me to add, that in this particular for qualities, which I would rather case, Dr Nicol Jarvie's offence is of were admired by a more limited circle. an aggravated kind. Had he been joYour Miscellany is very much read cose upon a man of wit, and humour, and admired here; do not therefore, and sarcasm-some formidable pungood Mr Editor, alarm your subscrib- ster--some mason-lodge orator-some ers in this way. If you and your cor- everlasting strutter of the Trongaterespondents must write about us folks some attitudinarian of the Tontine in Glasgow, “ give us a local habita- some demigod in the misty heaven of tion,” but if you please “ no naine." the Dirty Shirt (once a celebrated Believe me that there is a great deal of club in this city), his sallies would veracity in these observations. have been enjoyed by the whole of our

A question, I understand, has arisen, “ reading population.” But to fall how far this mode of writing is action- foul of the modest—the retiring—the able, and it is rumoured in the coffee- unassuming—the courter of the shade room, that one of the much-injured –the bashful and the shamefaced ! gentlemen mentioned in Dr Jarvie's with rude hands to grasp the leaves of letter, intends to sue the Publisher the sensitive plant ! To withdraw the for damages in the Jury Court. Many veil, as it were, from the blushing parties of ladies and gentlemen have bride! this, Mr Editor, was indeed already been formed to attend the coarse, unfeeling, and unmanly, and court on the great day of trial, and we therefore, sir, be not surprised, though hear that a public breakfast is to be the days of chivalry are gone, that a given to the spirited prosecutor, who courteous knight like myself issues comes forward to vindicate the rights forth from the bar of the Buck's head, of private citizens against the licenti- to break a lance with the “ Paynim ousness of the press. This ebullition vile,” who hath insulted modesty, inof feeling may serve to shew you on nocence, and beauty. what dangerous ground you are tread- Witty, Mr Editor, as you may think ing, and points out the propriety of an yourself and friends, more especially apology. If you are wise, you will the redoubtable Dr Nicol Jarvie, terforthwise publish some such palinode tius, beware of retaliation. Though in as the following:

this instance the injured person may " It having been incautiously assert- want talents to defend himself, yet we ed in this Magazine, on the anthority have other wits among us to avenge of Dr Nicol Jarvie, tertius, of the Salt- his wrongs. Duncan Whip is “ bang inarket, Glasgow, that Mr (here up to the mark,”-Helvidius Priscus insert the learned gentleman's name) may rise up against you, flushed with is fond of a good dinner, and tells victory over Scott, Chalmers, Malthus, witty stories ; the Editor begs his par- Bentham, and Jeffrey, and armed like don for having been duped into the Samson of old, the Editors of the belief and circulation of such unfound- Glasgow Chronicle will harness themed calumnies.”

selves for the battle, with their faSome such manly apology as this mous prentice at their head, -and to would, I am confident, sooth that gen- secure your discomfiture, who knows tleman's wounded sensibilities, and re- but JAMES GRAHAME, Esq. ADVOstore him to that peace of mind which, CATE, HIMSELF, will barbarously previously to the publication of your scribble you to death, and enshroud last Number, he apparently enjoyed. you in a winding-sheet of his own I believe that all the other gentleinen pamphlets. joursely, but coarsely, quoted by the Mr Editor, however fond of persondoctor, though somewhat furried and alities you learned folks in Edinburgh fustered at first, as they might well may be, instructed as you have been be, now laugh at the whole affair as in that kind of lore, by 57 Numbers an absurdity, and feel much more for of the Edinburgh Review, unquestionVol. III.


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ably the most scurrilous Periodical of gabble and uplifted wings, like the the day, such writings have, at all gander aforesaid, when some impatient times, been most offensive to the bet- pedestrian turns round suddenly on ter taste of the citizens of Glasgow. the “ feathered fool," and sends him of this take the following example. waddling back, on his great splay-feet, Last summer, your excellent towns. into the dirty puddle of the village woman, Mrs Grant, author of so many pool, to solace himself with his yellow admirable works, paid a visit to a gen- billed paramour. tleman's family in this neighbourhood. Had Dr Jarvie attacked such a perAll who know' her, and I am proud to son as this-good and well. But is it be of that number, love her for her so ? gentle and unassuming private charac- Mr Editor, I have done. I may say ter, as much as they admire the of you what Cowper the poet said of strength and originality of her genius. England, “ with all thy faults I love Soon as it was known that this lady thee still !" and I may add, as Burns was in our vicinity, some unfeeling the poet said to the devil, “ gif ye wad clown” began to abuse her in the tak a thought and mend,” that you Glasgow Chronicle, and to drag her, might yet get over all the little peccaday after day, before the public, in all dillos of yourself and the doctor, and the wanton insolence of ignorant bru- firmly establish yourself in the good tality. When the Editors of that graces of the people of this city, who paper were requested, in the most (though I say it that should not say it) gentle terms, to desist from such un

are as warm-hearted, upright, and inprovoked attacks, they printed in their telligent a set of citizens as any in the volumes the request itself, as they kingdom.

MUNGO. received it, and then went on more grossly than ever insulting a lady! Though we pretend to no great delica

SONNET TO JOHN CARNEGIE, ESQ. cacy of feeling in this good town, yet, believe me, that a Glasgow merchant

(We have received from Mr John Care

* Larhas his heart in its right place; and negie of Glasgow, a poem, entitled, we all, learned (will you allow me to go's Vale.” It is, we fear, rather long for

insertion in our Magazine, though we hope use the word ?) and unlearned, flung

to find room for it soon. Meanwhile we these odious Chronicles from our hands

publish with much pleasure the following with loathing and disgust.

beautiful Sonnet, from a distinguished pen, I recollect, however, that there was to the Bard of the Largs. EDITOR.] one person, even here in our Glasgow

SWEET Bard of Largo's Vale! yet once again eoffee-room, who seemed to delight in

Strike that wild harpof thine, and to the gale, the dirty dulness of the Chronicle. I Casting the volume of its melody, think I see him sitting in his accus- The Zephyrs on their wings shall waft the tomed chair, with all becoming state- strain, liness and pomposity, like a great gan

And the whole world shall ring with Largo's der that seats himself on a heap of Vale. addled eggs, during the absence of his Carnegie! Yes, the Muse, on bended knee, mate who has laid them, and keeps Ivy and laurel deftly mixed for thee,

Shall wreathe a garland of the brightest dies, stretching out his long neck, gaping Thou Bard of tender tears and gentle sighs, and hissing towards every passer-by, Poet of Largs ! in whose most classic line, as if they cared for him, and the snif- That loveliest land of Scotia's wild domain fling silliness of his sedentary occupa- Sees all its long unchanted beauties shine. tion. It is persons of this stamp who Muse of the West, go wipe thine eyes, yet red are most clamorous when attacked For Burns; rejoice, rejoice. All is not fled. themselves; and I have no doubt,

J. H. that if the hero of whom I now speak, and who kept daily rubbing his elbows

PETIT VOLUME" with the very itch of chuckling enjoyment, extending his chest, and leaning our duty to more recent and indiback his broad, rosy, grinning face over the vile insults heaped upon a

genous productions has led us to

procrastinate, for a few months, our respectable lady,-I say, Mr Editor, that such a creature, if retorted upon “ Petit Volume, contenant quelques himself with the more threatening of apperçus des Hommes et de la Société." castigation, would retreat with loud A Paris. 1817. 18mo, pp. 176.



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