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For days well spent, and years not given in vain.
Her charity was there, with dove-like eye,-
And Faith stood light, with eyes and arms upraised,
And wings outspread,- to mount amid the skies.

Her grave was made,--for her, as for the worst !
We past away, and left her to her God.
Wrapt in the bosom of the silent earth,
She sleeps; and, if athwart that saintly sleep
A dream can flash,—-'t will be a dream of joy ;
Beaming present’ment of eternal joy!
Is life a blank ? Has death's intruding step
Startled the inward peace, without whose song
Of never-ending mild security,
Our lives were tortures? No! I look around,
And all the bright world shines as heretofore ;
Only its turbid noise hath roll'd away,
Farther than ever, from an ear averse.
I hear the melody of early days,
Pure as if hymn'd by angels! still 'tis sweet,
And my lone bosom echoes back its tones,
As a cave murmureth to a quiet sea.

And in that heart the virgin's tender wish
She veileth with a blush, which, like a veil,
Emblazons but the thing 'tis ta’en to hide !
A dove, you see, her other hand doth perch
How meet a perch for such a gentle bird !
I warrant that's her answer 'neath its wing.
'Tis Love's own messenger, that does Love's wish
With speed, and seems to know it serveth Lore,
So eager to be gone 'twill fly-'tis stone !
Back to the face again, and mark the lips !
Methinks I hear a sigh upon those lips !-
So lovers' lips do part that breatbe a sigb-
"I knew not that fine chisel could cut air !"
But there it is!

Who sung


By the late Alexander Balfour. Sweet Bard! who sung “ the rosy-bosom'd hours;"

Who loved thy retrospective eye to fling O'er classic Eton's “ spires and antique towers," While former days “ waved fresh their gladsome wing;"

“ Adversity, resistless power!" Poetic “thoughts that breathe, and words that burn ;*

Whose “ Bard” sublime could “ life indignant spurn," And “ Cambria's curse" hurl in the “ arrowy shower."

But chief, “ who, mindful of the unhonour'd dead," Could pensively thy twilight vigils keep;

And musing sigh above the “ lowly bed,” Where “ rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep;" Thy name shall live, on Fame's broad pinions borne, And on thy grave shall smile the “incense-breathing



By Laurence Macdonald. Mild as young zephyrs in their gentlest hour, Commission’d forth by Spring from Flora's bower, To clothe the earth with garlands, and infuse Into each flower the spirit of its hues,

Art thou, Medora ! faultless as thou’rt fair, Divine as music's soul, and pure as childhood's prayer !

Hold on thy course, irrevocable fate!
Thou stayless action of the world, hold on !
Empires, and thrones, tribes, customs, and the world,
Tremble before thee! From thy chariot wheels
Man's institutions, creeds, conventions, sects,
Are scatter'd far and wide, like summer dust.
Successive ages, at thy stormy breath,
Tower up like mists,-glide on like flying rain
Along th’ Autumnal hills, and disappear
In the void skies! Their millions without strife
Obey thy voice; and shall a lonely one
Appeal from thee,--spurning what gifts thou giv'st,
In bootless grief o'er what has been withheld—
The only victim of a general woe!
Hold on the sternest doom thy power inflicts,
Will ne'er deprive me of a dearer blessing.
She walk'd on earth beside me like the morn,
Cheering the early traveller.

Now unbound
My love no longer chains me; and in part,
My heart is harden’d for that intercourse
With stern or selfish natures, which requires
Resolve, high hopes, and patience; and though oft
A lingering look I yield, where once abode
The household idols of my early love,-
Yet onward, seems a path to nobler ends;
And thither, beckoning me, thy spirit leads-
Thither, where Fancy paints upon the clouds
Her fond chimeras, fading while we gaze.-
In youth we build majestic piles of hope,–
Mighty, though vain—the toil of precious days,
And mockery for all future time.

Each pile
Stands in thy wastes, O Mem'ry! dark and lone,
The monument of feelings ne'er express'd,
And thoughts sublime but shadowy; and we gaze
Back on it, as the wandering Arab looks
On Egypt's solemn tombs, while dimly grand
They glimmer through the dusk; and oft the voice
Of mournful winds, in fitful tones comes down
From where it sweeps along each ledge of stone,
And sings the requiem of departed kings.

E. O. B.

'Tis sweet to watch the day-blush burst on high, Chasing the darkness both from earth and skyTo view the blending tints of night and day, Softening and hallowing all things with their rap,

But sweeter far, to watch Medora's smileThe soul !—the heaven!—that brightens o'er that fat

the while.

It is as if the waves on ocean's breast
Were by some spirit soothed—not quite to rest,
But, to that state, which is nor rest, nor motion,
That state, when bosoms feel some soft emotion

Mantling the blood, as if an angel's breath
Pass'd o'er the summer waters, else all still as death.



By J. S. Knowles.
The maiden holds a letter to her breast-
Would'st con its secrets ?- Read them in her face!
It is the proper glowing page of Love!
It voucheth for a heart beneath that brcast,


By W. M. Hetherington. The Torwood Oak! How like a spell

By potent wizard breathed, that name Bids every Scottish bosom swell,

And burn with all a patriot's flame! The past before the rapt eye brings

Forth stalk the phantom shades of kings, And loud the warrior's bugle rings

O'er gory fields of blood ! I see the Roman eagle whet

Its hungry beak, I see it soar ; It stoops, I see its pinions wet,

Rufled and wet with its own gore :

I see the Danish Raven sweep
O'er the dark bosom of the deep,-

Its scatter'd plumage strews the steep
Of rugged Albin's sbore.

BOURRIENNE'S MEMOIRS OF BONAPARTE-A translation of Lo! England's Edward comes !--the plain

this interesting work, by James S. Memes, LL.D., is preparing for Groans where his marshall’d thousands wheel, - garded as the most authentic and impartial documents yet given to

Constable's Miscellany. The Memoirs of Bourrienne are to be reGrim Havoc stalks o'er heaps of slain,

the world on the subject of Napoleon. This preference is claimed Gaunt Famine, prowling, dogs his heel !

on the grounds of the opportunities of information enjoyed, and of Ah! woe for Scotland! blood and woe!

the qualifications, literary as well as moral, exhibited by the writer, Fierce and relentless is the foe,

For six and twenty years, commencing with the eighth year of And treason points the murderous blow,

Bonaparte's age, Bourrienne possessed the unlimited confidence of Edges the ruthless steel !

that ext:aordinary personage, and this during the most eventsul

period of his career. From all beside, the mask of ambition first, But who is he with dauntless brow,

of policy afterwards, concealed entirely the man, and, in a great de.

gree, the ruler also. To the writer of these Memoirs alone were And dragon crest, and eagle eye,

bared the genuine features of his mind and conduct. At school, BourWhose proud form never knew to bow

rienne was the chosen companion-the sympathising comforter of the Its lofty port and bearing high?

youthful and melancholy Corsican. At Paris, amid poverty and disAround him close a glorious band

appointment, he continued the sole confident of the hopes, fears, and Few-but the chosen of the land;

schemes of the young officer of artillery, sharing the contents of his Beneath the Torwood Tree they stand,

own scantily furnished purse with him who was to sway the destinies

of Europe. He witnessed the various turns, or was informed of Freedom to gain, or die !

them by letter, which raised his former comrade to general, and

finally commander-in-chief in Italy. No sooner had Bonaparte ob'Tis he, the bravest of the brave !

tained this elevation, than he invited Bourrienne to come to him and Champion of Scotland's liberty,

share his prosperity. Henceforth, in the capacity of secretary and Whose mighty arm and dreadful glaive

confidential friend, in Italy, in France, at sea, in Egypt, in Syria, His mother-land could thrice set free!

during the struggles and triumphs of the Consulate, he was conThat hero-patriot, whose great name

stantly by Bonaparte's side in public-ever a party to his private

thoughts and plans. From the closet of Napoleon, where his secreJastly the foremost rank


tary and himself alone laboured, proceeded, from the dictation of Of all that grace the rolls of fame

the former, and in the handwriting of the latter, those documents, WALLACE OF ELDERSLIE!

which, now firming a portion of history, then awed or astonished

Europe. In the last volume of the work, even when Bourrienne, Yes, oft the Torwood Oak has bent

from being too unbending in principle, had ceased to be secretary, Its broad boughs o'er his noble head;

he was often employed, and sustained offices of importance. He

was also employed under Louis. Here some of his narrative is peOft, in his hour of peril, lent

culiarly interesting. In every case of moment he refers to origiThe shelter of its friendly shade;

nal documents, very frequently autographs in his own possession. And though rude Time and stern Decay

These he was enabled to preserve by a singular display of courage Its moulder'd stem have swept away,

and address, by which he foiled first Fouché, and even Bonaparte The Hero's name there dwells for aye

himself; subsequently the Bourbons, who, in succession, sought to A name that cannot fade!

deprive him of his treasure. He now enjoys powerful protection in the Netherlands, where he has drawn up his Memoirs, or rather tran. scribed his journals; for seeing from the beginning that history was

making, he wrote down the transactions as they occurred. To these MARY'S EYES.

advantages of situation and opportunity, such as no other writer on

this subject ever enjoyed, Bourrienne adds excellent talents, great By J. W. Ord.

good sense, and, above all, a most reverential regard for truth. This Wild as the gazelle's

he searches out, and displays at all hazards. Prejudices he has, but Now brightly bold—now beautifully shy

they are of the right kind, in favour of humanity and liberty. Even Win as they wander-dazzle where they dwell.

these sentiments, however honourable their excesses might be es

teemed, are never allowed to oppose truth. But with all these adThere are who doubt that Jove doth live at all,

vantages, the work, to be valuable at once, and interesting to the Or that he made this many-peopled ball.

general reader, will require care in the translation. The style is light They gaze upon the rose's golden rim,

and elegant, but very loose, diffuse, and full of repetitions. These And look into its heart, and list the hymn

give great room for condensing, and indeed require it. From followOf Tellus' myriad birds, and view the flight

ing the order of time, too, the facts are often perplexingly intermixed

and repeated. This clogs the narrative. These superfluities must Of the far eagle to the realms of light;

Le lopped off, the diffuseness condensed, and the facts arranged, in a They walk into the woods, and see the trees

translation; and it is evident that this cannot be ventured upon ex, Put on their summer robe, and hear the breeze

cept with the utinost care, and by a responsible translator. We look, Sing sweetly, night and day, like one in love,

bowever, with confidence to Dr Memes. Besides his well-known taAnd still deny great Jove dwell above.

lents and discrimination, he visited most of the scenes of Bonaparte's Approach, vain sopbists! and behold the brow

operations in Europe, in Italy, Germany, and Holland, coll cting in, Of heaven all diadem'd with stars; and now,

formation on the spot, wiih views, long since laid aside, of doing

something on the same subject. Under his superintendence, the work Holding your breath so that it touch her not,

can hardly fail to be well executed. Come nearer to this sweet secluded spot,

A History of the Western Highlands and Hebrides, during the sixW bere I with Mary sit, and view her eyes,

teenth and seventeenth centuries, by Donald Gregory, Esq. Assist. If that ye can; and if there do not rise

ant Secretary to the Society of Antiquaries of Scotland, is preparing Purer and higher thoughts within your breast,

for publication. This work is meant to be one of more research

than any that has hitherto appeared on the subject of the Highlands; Like gentle winds, that slumber in the west,

and, from what we know of the talents of the author, we are in. No kindling soul bave ye—no high and far behest.

clined to augur very favourably of its contents.

Au interestir g Memoir of the Rev. Thomas Bradbury, author of I e'er have loved to dwell within the light

the Mystery of Godliness, &c. by the Rer. John Brown of Whitburn, Of woman's eye,-it bath so much delight.

is in the press. And, Mary, though thy brow is clear and high,

Obedience, a Tale, by Mrs Sherwood, is announced. And though thy words are full of melody,

Our able friend and contributor, William Kennedy, who has al. Though roses sit upon thy speaking face,

ready displayed so much poetical genius in his “ Fitful Fancies," and

other works, has a new volume in the press, to be entitled, The Ar. And all thou dost is full of ease and grace,

row and the Rose, and other Poems. Mr Kennedy is also engaged And though young loves do wanton on thy breast,

with a prose work for one of the Family Libraries. Thine eyes !--thine eyes! - I love thine eyes the best ! Our readers will be glad to learn that Mr Tennant is about to pub

Jish, in a separate pamphlet, all the articles upon the Psalms which magistrate before whom they were taken had the wit or imperti. have appeared in the Literary Journal, with some additions, which nence to quote to them the well-known couplet,may probably yet be made through the medium of our pages. The

“Strange that such difference there should be pamphlet will be ready previous to the meeting of the General As

'Twixt Tweedledum and Tweedledee." sembly.

A disquisition on the Geography of Herodotus, with a Map; and -Madame Vestris has been applying to Sir Richard Birnie for sacist Researches on the History of the Scythians, Getæ, and Sarmatians,

ance because she was hissed the other evening at Drury Lane, when from the German of Niebuhr, is in the press.

she made her appearance in the part of Captain Mecheath. Ir NaColonel Bory de St Vincent has been appointed by the French dame Vestris had been hissed a little more frequently in the course Minister of the Interior to prepare a work on Greece; and, having of her career, it would have been better for her.-From the last pusdirected the first expedition to the Morca, he will probably be able lished statement of the number of students at the English Universia to furnish many interesting particulars relative to that country.

ties, it appears that Cambridge has now a majority over Ofærd, A Second Voyage round the World, translated from the German having increased by 118 students in the last year. The present total of Otto von Kotzebue, is in the press.

of the members of Cambridge is 5263, while that of Oxford is 5258. We understand that the new work now in preparation, by the

Theatrical Gossip.- The Easter melodrame at Drury Lane is call. author of "The Confessions of an English Opium-Eater," (Thomas ed the ". Dragon's Gift, or the Scarf of Flight and the Mintura De Quincey, Esq.) will not be published before next winter.

Light:" it is very splendid, and was completely successful. That at PROFESSIONAL SOCIETY's Fourth CONCERT.-The fourth and

Covent Garden is called the "Wigwam," and is founded on Cooper's last Concert given by the Society this season, took place in the As

novel the “ Pioneers.” Astley's has re-opened with “ an equestria sembly Rooms, on Friday, the 16th inst. It was respectably, but

romantic tale," entitled “ The Spectre Monarch and his Phantom not crowdedly, attended. The instrumental music was, as usual,

Steed." It gives Ducrow an opportunity of exhibiting his unrivalvery good; and among the vocalists, Miss E. Paton especially dis

led skill.--At the Surrey, they have made a melodrame of young tinguished herself, her " Ah, compir" being one of the most bril. Burke's exhibitions. The Cobourg rejoices in Monsieur Goufe, the liant efforts she has made this season. Our readers will find some man-monkey, and a piece of spectacle bearing the captivating tidle able remarks upon this concert in the Weekly Journal of Wednesday after the model of “ Tom and Jerry.”—The stupid old twaddler

“ Charles the Terrible."-Sadler's Wells has brought out something last. We do not always agree with the musical criticism in that paper; but on the present occasion it has our sincere approbation.

Colman has just given a new specimen of the manner in which te Mr Murray's

CONCERT.-This Concert took place in the Hope- exercises the functions of Dramatic Licenser. In the English tes toun Rooms last Tuesday evening, and was well attended. We have sion of the opera of “Cinderella," brought out a few nights sinee at seldom heard at a benefit concert a more pleasing selection of music. Covent Garden Theatre, the following dialogue originally occurred: The orchestra, though not full, was well selected and admirably – Dandini. Pray, Master Alidoro, help me, for I am a great man drilled; and Murray's solos on the violin, especially that in which now, and can do nothing !— Alidoro. How, sirrah! is that one of ou he introduced the Scotch air, “ Here's a health to ane that's awa," privileges ?-Dandini. Certainly; what do the great dbut live by were in themselves a treat of no mean order. Miss Inverarity sang the labours of the little?" Mr Colman struck out the whole of Des her chef d'euvre, the Scena composed for her by Murray from “u dini's last answer. Surely Mr Colman must be a goose, or sa oid Sacraficio d'Abramo," and her efforts were, as they deserved, rap woman in disguise. Lalande has made her debut at the king turously applauded. Miss E. Paton was no less successful in an ex- Theatre, and been well received.-Mrs Waylett leaves the Tottenquisite piece of music by Niedermeyer, never before performed in ham-street Theatre shortly : she is engaged at Vauxhall-Miss Foote this country, but which we hope to hear her frequently sing again. will shortly make her appearance at Covent Garden.-Fawcett and Her fair sister, Miss I. Paton, sang her favourite song, " In infancy Mrs Davenport take their farewell benefits this season.-T. P.Coote our hopes and fears," very beautifully. Mr Wilson was unfortu- commences a three months' engagement at the Surrey, at Whitsunnately so hoarse, that it was difficult to say what sort of music he tide, at L.30 a-week, and three clear benefits. Mr Goldsunid cora sang. The principal novelty of the evening was the debut of Miss out as Monsieur Morbleu.-Braham and Miss Paton are engaged for Orme, as a pianist. She performed variations on a favourite theme both the Liverpool and Norwich festivals-Macready, who visited from the opera of Semiramide, and a fantasia of Czerny's from the the Giant's Causeway during the Easter Holidays, has been playing Siege of Corinth. We question whether more difficult and chroma- for a few evenings in Belfast.—The benefits will commence here tic music could have been selected ; but Miss Orme's articulation and on the termination of T. P. Cooke's engagement-Miss Jarman has touch are both excellent,-her style is full of expression and feeling, been exciting great admiration in Glasgow. She has played there -and she certainly bids fair to be a distinguished ornament to the the part of Aloyse, with much success.- Mackay goes to Glasgow musical circles of Edinburgh. If her object be to teach the piano- for a few evenings next week.During the Glasgox sacrament a forte, we know of no young lady to whose care we would sooner en- tolerable company performed at Doune. trust any pupils in whose progress we took an interest. Two MS. songs by Murray, and one by John Thomson, were also produced at

this concert, and were all well received.
MR TAYLOR'S CONCERT.--This concert, which took place in the

April 17–23.
Hopetoun Rooms on Thursday evening, was crowdedly attended.
Mr Taylor, of course, distinguished himself as the first harp-player

SAT. Paul Pry, & Deaf as a Post.
in Edinburgh. Miss Louisa Jarman sang two songs, “ Elena oh tu," Mon. Black-eyed Susan, Monsieur Tonson, 4 Gilderoy.
and “My own Blue Bell." We never heard this young lady to Tues. Do., Luke the Labourer, $ Cramond Brig.
greater advantage. In the last song she was honoured with an unani-


Do., d The Pilot. Miss E. Paton and Miss Inverarity were also enco THURS. Do., & Presumption. red in their respective songs; and the audience generally seemed to


Do., & The Pilot. be well satisfied with the entertainment which Mr Taylor had prepared for them.

CHIT-CHAT FROM LONDON.--There is a good article in the last number of the Literary Gazette, exposing what the editor calls “the cut and dry system of criticism," or what he might have termed,

TO OUR CORRESPONDENTS. " the art of reviewing books without reading them.” It has of late

We are reluctantly obliged to postpone “The Apology, Pat become customary for publishers to pick out a score or so of what 111.” till next Saturday. they consider the most striking passages of any new book, and to The EDITOR IN His SLIPPERS, No. VII, in our next. print them on a loose separate sheet of paper, which they forth with “ The Beauties of the Tay and its Tributaries" shall have a place transmit to all the journals and newspapers, in order to save review

as soon as possible.—"T. B.J." shall hear something about himsk ers the trouble of making their own extracts. The consequence is, next Saturday.-We are not aware whether the Prospectus of the that we see the same extracts in all the papers, and run a great “ Medical Provident Institution of Scotland" is meant as an adress chance of being nauseated with the new work before we have cut up tisement or not. the leaves. In common with our contemporary, we protest against Journal in any other shape.—The Letters of “ Presbyter" and

It could not conveniently appear in the Literery such scissor work, and are confident that no such helps will ever be “ J. N. B.” of Dundee, shall be forwarded to Mr Tennant. resorted to by the conductors of the Literary Journal. It is said

“Our fair correspondent, "Amelia B.” will, no doubt, be shocked that Moore does not intend to take any notice of Campbell's late at to hear that we still remain inexorable.-We shall endeavour to find tack, his friends being of opinion that it does not deserve the com

room for the verses by “ Alpha;” if he has any better, he may sest pliment.-Colburn and Bentley continue to publish with great spirit, them to us in the meantime.—There is promise of future improve but the other booksellers are not doing much at present.-Mr Charles

ment in the lines by “ Juvenis."—Neither the “Song" bor the Nicholson, the celebrated flute-player, challenged a few days ago Mr James, the editor of “The Flutist's Magazine," in consequence

“Serenade” by “P." come up to our standard. of an article which appeared in the last number of that periodical, entitled “ Death of Charles Tootle Too, Esq." Both gentlemen, however, were apprehended, and bound over to keep the peace. The Antiquaries, for " M. D. Greville," read “ M. De Gerville"

ERRATUM.-In our last report of the proceedings of the Society at

mous encore.

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of these has wellnigh brought our mother's weakness to our eyes, and we blessed God, that though inured in all the cold and artificial habits of the common earth, we

were still capable of casting the stiff mantle of manhood NO. VII.

away, and recalling to ourselves the nature of a boy who " Stulta, jocosa, canenda, dolentia, seria, sacra,

lies among the heather on a bright hill-side, and dreams En posita ante oculos, Lector amice, tuos ;

of the crystal world he is about to enter. And what is Quisquis es, hic aliquid quod delectabit habebis ; Tristior an levior, selige quicquid amas."

man, or the life of man, worth, if he cannot continue to

throw, at intervals, a rainbow light over the dulness of Friends, readers, and contributors ! May has come reality? Woc unto him who scoifs at the existence, and once more !--the “ merry month of May !"_smiling in ridicules the enjoyment, of all pure and lovely emotions ! the blue skies, and on the feathery clouds, sparkling on We speak not of the boisterous mirth of nocturnal convi. the broad breast of the placid sea, and greatly rejoicing | viality, though even that hath its redeeming points;

we the hearts of all the fishes in brook, stream, lake, and speak not with the view of painting a fabled Utopia, which river. Many a pair of slippers that formed the solace of hath no being in the nature of things. All that we stand the winter fire-side, are now stowed away far back under up for, (and now that our Slippers are on, we do not stand a huge chest of drawers, or behind a great trunk, or in a so high by a full inch as we did before)-all that we stand rarely-frequented closet, covered with dust, neglected and up for is, that no poet has ever exaggerated the value and forgotten! Such is the world's gratitude. It is atten- | the might of friendship, or the glory and the rapture of tive to its friends as long as they can be of any service, woman's love. Poets, with all their inspiration, have but its attachment ends with the chance of some recipro- but limited powers. They can describe but what they cal advantages arising out of the connexion. Fie on't! see, and what they feel. They may express feelings, Such is not our mode of treating the companions of by- which, in the particular case alluded to, did not belong gone days ;

to them, but which other circumstances either have call“ Come, ye SLIPPERS, fair and free,

ed or will call forth. IIence all the privileges they enIn Heaven worn by Euphrosyne,~"

joy ;—friendship is with them a passion, and a glad

delirium ;-love, a transport and a splendour. Let it be come once more unto our willing feet, and albeit the granted that the friendship dies out, and that the love grate sparkles in the brightness of its own well-tempered may in time grow cold. It matters not; better to be metal, unconscious of fire,-albeit our easy-chair, into loved by them for a day, than by all the rest of mankind which we sink as into a bed of eider-down, be now for a for a hundred years ! We speak no rash and hasty paratime discarded,—albeit the air is soft and balmy, and dox. What is friendship? What is love? It is a sucwhen we throw open the casement of our suburban re cession of feelings towards another, existing within the treat, the perfume of a thousand flowers hurries the sense recesses of our own nature. To a certain extent, these into Elysium,—still we are prepared to address our Slip- feelings may be expressed by outward signs, and made PERs in the language of Goldsmith, and say,

palpable to the object beloved,—but only to a certain er . “ Eternal blessings crown our earliest friend !"

tent, and in noble natures to a wretchedly limited extent.

By far the higher part of the mystery remains unseen. In the long, frosty, blue, coal-consuming nights of winter, The movement of the outward wheels may be discovered, how often have they met us smilingly after the fatigues but the delicate mechanism of the interior, productive of of the day, and, with the gentle pressure of mute affec- the acutest nicety of perception, is hid from the vulgar tion,-a pressure like unto that of a maiden's soft and eye--is for ever incapable of being communicated even to thrilling hand,-how often hare they restored our wound the object on which all our regard is lavished. But the ed spirit to the conviction that some small portion of mechanism, or, to use a higher and a better word, the peace and happiness was still left for us in the world! soul, with its concomitant emotions, exists, though the

It was in such moments as these that the better por- weakness of the material senses cannot discover them to tions of our nature awoke within us, and all the scor- others. They exist, and for ever hallow to the mind of pions of our heart laid themselves down to sleep. The the poet the subject by which such emotions are called petty cares, the contemptible jealousies, the perpetual forth. Is this a matter of little moment ? Is it a small squabbles, which agitate the literary world, and in the thing to be a poet's friend,-a poet's love ?-not for what vortex of which even we are sometimes involved, faded he writes or says about his friendship or his love, but for away like the mist of morning upon a mountain brow, what he feels, and what he could not ever attempt either and we felt prepared to love and to be beloved by all to write or say? Words are but feeble types of thoughts. mankind. Then came tripping forth, like fairies in the They are not thoughts itself,—they are but symbols of it. moonlight, our affections and gentler feelings ;-a single Can a symbol ever be so good as an original ? Think you stanza of divine poesy,-a tone or two of pensive music, that the language of a book, or even the syllables which perchance one of our old accustomed melodies, loved drop from the tongue, are equally fervent and expressive from childhood, and loved now a thonsand times more as the throbbings of the unseen heart? or as those lights because those whom we love, love them too,—the glance and shades of feeling, wbich cause neither a thrilling nor of a kind eye,—the sound of a familiar voice,-each or all a throbbing, which pass like a sun-blink, or the reflection



of a cloud upon the water, but which stamp the character whatever you have been doing, we have a regard for thee. and elevate the individual into something far different from But if thou art a man, then, O man! away with thee to the multitude ? O ye men of genius! wear SLIPPERS, the country for as long a period as thou canst - a day, a and commune with your own hearts, and be still. week, or a month. Thou knowest not how fresh and

lovely it looks at this moment. Couldst thou but get Not having read over the above paragraphs, we shall one glimpse of the blossoms upon the cherry-trees, we not be too positive, but we are certainly inclined to think should have a greater respect for thee. Thou smilest with they contain some very splendid writing. A set of a grave serenity, and thinkest to thyself—" I am a lawyer, dolts will assert that it is vain in us to say so. Nay, and lo! I wear a wig; what have I to do with the blossoms it has even reached our ears, that the Editor IN HIS on the cherry-trees ?" But again, we say unto thee, O man! Slippers is thought at times rather conceited and egotisti-fing thy wig to the four winds of heaven, take unto thyself cal! Good God! (as Mr Brougham says in the House the feelings of a boy-a rosy blossom newly shaken from of Commons when he wants to be very eloquent,) what the tree of life-and away with thee to the blessed gtern an idea is this to enter into the mind of a rational hu- fields. We should have rejoiced to have taken thee with man being ! Because we sometimes make our own popu- us to Roseneath, that fairest peninsula in the Firth of larity the subject of a good-humoured joke, must we be Clyde, which we visited but a few short days ago. We therefore classed with the petty coxcombs of this and should have rejoiced to point out to thee the beauties of former ages ? By Jupiter Ammon! and likewise by Helensburgh, and the loveliness of the Gair Loch, with Jupiter Tonans, and also by the Capitoline Jove! the day its towering amphitheatre of hills in the background ; nur will come when we shall shake that notion out of the should we have asked thee to have thrown thyself after minds of our worst foes! Proud of being the Editor of us, when we were foolish enough to tumble out of the the Edinburgh Literary Journal, forsooth! What is it, steam-boat into the water, for well we know that it is after all, but a mere sixpenny periodical, very neatly only the ignoble and the undistinguished who die the printed, to be sure, by Ballantyne, and in very universal death of a blind puppy,—therefore we smiled in the water circulation and esteem, but still only a weekly Gazette of with a calm smile, and, after a brief space, regained the sixteen pages ? Heaven and earth! who is it fancies that boat. periodical writing of any kind would satisfy our ambi. Reader ! perchance thou art a lady! If so, Hearen tion? Look at the editors of all the periodicals,—they bless thee! Art thou fond of flowers? Thou art perhaps are mere nobodies, unless they have done something dis- the lady who wrote the lines in the style of Miss Landen tinct and apart from contributing anonymous articles to on a tuft of early violets, which are as follows: Reviews, Magazines, or Literary Journals. Does Lock

“ The first that grew this season! hart owe his reputation to that most respectable and heavy

I have been miles for them! How many miles?concern the Quarterly Review ? What has Jeffrey made

Just two!" by the Edinburgh, except that he fretted his hour upon the stage, and then departed? Who ever thinks of Campbell Well, it must have been a pleasant walk, whether short as the editor of the New Monthly, with its Cockney or long. Have you a passion for primroses? Here they sketches and little bits of unreadable trash of poetry? are in living groups,-most lovely and gentle things! De Will not a single page of the “ Isle of Palms,” or the you like cowslips, whose perfume is like the beautiful

City of the Plague,” or “ Lights and Shadows," or thought of an innocent girl? If so, there is a bank ail something he will yet write, do more to perpetuate the golden with them. But are not all tiowers alike? They name of John Wilson than all Blackwood's Magazine put are nature's eternal jewels, and their odour oppresses the together? Is Dr Bowring better known as a poetical heart with a joy that weighs it down almost as if it were translator from the modern languages, or as the conductor a sorrow. We hate a lady who looks coldly upon flowers; of that able and suspicious review the Westminster ? As we love her best who is affected by them even unto sad. for the scribblers in Frazer's Magazine, the Monthly, and ness. others, which nobody ever sees or hears of, unless through Come, sit thee down beneath this pleasant tree, whose the medium of a newspaper advertisement, their very tender and feathery leaves quiver in the passing zephyr, names are unknown; and though they were, they would and we shall furnish thee with an hour's reading that not live one week longer than their own periodicals, which will make thee remember with delight the EDITOR IS His will be short enough. The Edinburgh Literary Journal SLIPPERS all the rest of thy days. Here is a scrap, in the ranks, we believe, higher than any other weekly miscel.. first place, which we shrewdly suspect was written by lany now in existence; but what kind of satisfaction is ourselves as we walked in the garden yesternight, and it to know this, when we also know that we could, if we had our attention attracted by the melancholy object which chose, rise to as great a beight above the Journal, as the forins the subject of our poem. Journal is above Cobbett's Register, or the Cork Quarterly

TO A WITHERED CURRANT BUSH, Magazine ? Vanity, indeed! We shall see, before five years elapse, whether the Editor IN HIS Slippers is a per What is the reason, thou currant bush, son to be sneezed at in this way. The Edinburgh Lite That there is not a leaf upon thee, rary Journal, like a rock rolled from the top of a moun Although there are leaves on the gooseberry bushes, tain, shall go on to prosper with increased celerity and And leaves on the old apple-tree? quickly accumulating influence, but it shall be confessed, ere long, to be only the smallest gem in our coronet. So Art thou asleep in thy winter sleep, much for egotism. Let the small fry sneer and snarl if Or art thou a stubborn thing they will. We have said it.

That will not be woo'd by the April sun, Revert we once more to the pleasant fact, that this is Nor the breath of the gentle spring ? the first morning of May. Where hast thou been, dear reader ?-away up on the mountain side, gathering the The heart's-ease looks up, with a smile, in thy face, sweetest and the brightest dew of all the year,—or down And the primrose is silent with joy, by the stream, catching a score of the biggest trout it And the butterfly flutters from flower to flower, boasts--or lying in bed, amidst a profusion of shattered Like a happy, but truant boy. dreams dancing round thee like motes in the sunbeam, till the breakfast bell rang for the last time, and you The blackbird is singing among the boughs, knew that all the rest would be in the parlour before you, And the lark 'neath the rainbow's zone ; and that the eggs would be cold, and the Literary Journal All nature is full of the spirit of joy, half read before you got down? Well, never mind; But thou art dejected alone !

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