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Palmer's arrival at Dover. It is needless, however, to be more specific, as the author seems himself to be aware of his blunder, when he talks of one of the adventures alluded to in this manner:—

It is of a nature so uncommon and melo-dramatic, that, unless the reader good-naturedly proceeds on a principle long since adopted by myself, viz. that of setting down for facts all circumstances in a narrative too improbable for fiction, I don't see how I can expect to be believed.

What are we to think of a declaration like this, in what is professedly a work of fusion !

An objection, equally great, which lies against the unity of the story, consists in this—that several characters are introduced who have no connection with the fortunes of the hero, and who, after being paraded on the stage for such a short time as merely to excite curiosity, are dismissed without auy further notice. There is, indeed, a great want of an underplot in this tale, as those persons, who do not figure in the denouement, seem to have very little business in the book. We should be inclined, for this reason, to rescind that passage where the episode of the Rannoch cottagers appears; and if the author does not consent to give some account of the destinies of Roger Falconer and the heiress of Castle-Moray, we should be as well pleased to see these characters, amiable as they are, altogether omitted. To say the truth, the book seems so crowded with persons who have nothing to do there, except to claim a passing attention, and so overloaded with scraps of different stories—nay, so much increased, by narratives introduced without any connection with the principal one—that it seems to have been the great aim of the author to endeavour, by every means, to swell out his work into a bulky volume. If, instead of indulging this preposterous ambition, he had confined himself to simple details, like Goldsmith or Mackenzie, we are confident that he would have gained more upon the sympathies of his readers.

We are not inclined to attribute these defects to any want of talent; for we are convinced that the author of this volume is a man of very high powers. Some of his descriptions, which are intended to illustrate character, are exceedingly good, and the scenes which he has drawn at Glen - Falcon a r, as well as some passages in the dialogue, are apt to remind us of Waverley. The style in which the book is written is unuusually free from the affectation so apparent in most modern writers; but, to oppose this, it is, in some instances, obscure, and occasionally ungrammatical. For the amusement of our readers we shall pick out a few sentences, which, either by their cumbersomeness or bad arrangement, will shew how liable even a practised writer is to fail in mastering the accuracies of our tongue.

We begin with the Introduction, which, as it is the first specimen of an author's powers that meets the reader's eye, is generally supposed to concentrate all his abilities. Does the writer of the following sentences suppose, that the vague and metaphysical generalities in which they abound, are half as expressive as plain English?

If it be asked why, amid a redundance of fictions of the most splendid and spirit-stirring description, the following simple pages were written, criticism may be disarmed by the reply of affection, that they were written, because every effort of memory, however superfluous, and every touch of the pencil, however feeble, which recalled to the eye of fancy their delightful subject, was a source of positive gratification. Their publication has been dictated by a kindred motive, viz.: the hope that one whose element and vocation it was, during three quarters of a century, to do good—might perchance be made, even now when unhappily no more, to contribute indirectly to the same benevolent purpose.

If one flower, however dim and scentless, shall have heen added to the chaplet of departed worth, or one alleviation, however trifling, purchased for the ills of surviving penury, the author's unpretending object will have been attained.

We might produce one or two instances of awkward construction, or of sentences beyond the standard length, and we might ask the author what he "meant by such phrases as u threatening a fever," (vide P< 76); but, as we do not wish to be hypercritical, we

shall merely take notice of those passages which offend against the statutes of Horne Tooke, or Lindley Murray.

At page 47, we remark the following sentence:—

The whole details of the single combat a Coutrance, waged by spendthrift heirs with Father Time, being as familiar to all classes of readers ah, thanks to Sir Walter—they have now become with those of the joust and tournay of olden days, I spare myself a blush, and the reader a yawn, by leaving them henceforth to his imagination.

Any one acquainted with the rules of grammar perceives, that the pronoun they, properly refers here to the subject of the sentence, and that, in opposition to the author's meaning, it would read, if printed fully, "as familiar to all classes of readers, as, thanks to Sir Walter—the details have now become with those of the joust and tourney of olden days," &c

Obscurity is the predominant feature in our next quotation, which we make from page 75.

I rose at least two hours sooner than I had done since my accident, or than any usual habits when in health, and awaited in a state of great excitement the summons to change a scene, which had begun to pall grievously on my senses.

Who were his usual habits? we may ask. He might have risen earlier than his domestics, but, to talk of rising earlier than " his habits when in health," is absurd.

Again, what is the author's idea of time, when he says, two pages further on,

About an hour after breakfast, I heard on the stairs, the wellknown step and joyous prattle of Mrs. Clitheroe ; and when, with her usual foreign frankness, she tendered her arm to conduct me to the sitting room, I never was more excited by handing a celebrated beauty to the top of a dance at the race ball.

He means to say, that "he never was more excited by handing a celebrated beauty to the top of a raceball, than when Mrs. Clitheroe, with her usual frankness, tendered her arm to conduct him to the sitting room." But, instead of this, he has made the hero hand the beauty at the race ball and be conducted by Mrs. Clitheroe both at the same time; for, if the members of the sentence be transposed, they will stand in the same order, and convey a meaning just as good as this, "I never was more happy in Tartary, when I was in London."

Let us examine the foot of page 83.

By removing from her father's roof, while yet unable to travel, a pretext was at once afforded for a temporary residence in the town, without betraying my latent attachment.

In vain we enquire, where is the subject to which the participle removing and the adjective unable refer? It would have made sense in this way, "By removing from her father's roof, &c. I had a pretext, &c."

The volume contains, besides Probation, two short stories, in one of which Selwyn is at last fitted with a wife. They are written with considerable talent.

In concluding our notice, we beg those readers who may think that we have been less indulgent to the volume criticised, than the reputation of its author warranted, to consider, that it is only upon works, which indicate talent one way or other, that we bestow any attention, and that our strictures are intended to promote the object which we have always in view, the improvement and diffusion of taste in literature.



Mr first, all ladies study much,

Tho' changing as the summer weather;

Yet always found in lofty halls,

Where beaus and belles may meet together.

My second—pray, excuse the theme—

Is where the animals reside, Unseemly to the eyes of all,

Offensive to the Hebrew's pride.

My whole adorns the British fair,
The noblest jewel they can wear,

The ornament of all the sex,
Which ever lovely will appear.

CELEBS AND CLARISSA. In our number of Monday last, we hinted that our friend Celebs was making interest in certain quarters, in order to obtain an interview with our fair correspondent Clarissa, and in consequence we have this day received the following polite card from the lady. Though she seems extremely indifferent as to the uneasiness she may have occasioned the gentleman, and very coolly (we would almost aay unfeelingly) hands him over to any other lady who may be inclined to listen " to all he's got to say;" still there is a secret something, in the female heart, that strongly inclines it to the aide of mercy. Before however hazarding our opinion, how far Clarissa's heart may be of this description, we shall consult Aunty Pyet on the affair, as it was on her authority we ventured to give the report, respecting Ccelebs, a place in " Cupid's Register." Since writing the above, we have opened a parcel of communications, sent us by our publisher, among which we observe, a letter from the gentleman himself. We regret, however that our limits will not permit of its appealing in our present number, as we have a respect for both.

To the Editor of The Day. Clarissa is happy to observe that her epistle has led Calebs to entertain such favourable sentiments towards one at least of her sex; and if it inclines him, "albeit, unused to the melting mood," to take compassion on one of the many fair ladies, whom his amiable manners and appearance has so deeply captivated, she will have reason to congratulate herself, on her labours not having been in vain. As to herself, she is so completely enveloped in " the mantle of indifference," that, even having touched the heart of the invincible Celebs, cannot induce her to throw it aside. She has every reason, however, to trust, that the impression she has made will have no serious effect upon him;

For Heaven be thanked, we live in such an age,
When no man dies of love, but on the stage.

Monday Morning.


The following account of the last moments of this distinguished Officer is extracted from Mr. James's " Memoirs of Great Commanders," just published. We will probably take an early opportunity of noticing this interesting and pleasing work by the author of " Darnley."

"The enemy approached steadily and quickly, firing as they came up; but, according to the general order, the British troops reserved their fire till the distance between the armies was narrowed to forty yards, when pouring it rapidly into the French line, they threw the advancing columns into some confusion. At that moment Wolfe gave the order to charge, and was leading on the Louisburg Grenadiers to attack the enemy with the bayonet, when he received a wound in his wrist, to which he paid no farther attention than by wrapping his handkerchief round it. An instant after, however, a second shot passed through his body; and before he fell, a third entered his right breast, He dropped immediately, and was carried insensible to the rear. The troops still pressed on, and General Monkton, the second in command, who was leading on another regiment of Grenadiers, fell severely wounded a moment after. The French wavered; and while their officers were making immense exertions to keep them to their ground, Montcalm was killed in the centre of the line. Nearly at the same moment each of the British regiments closed with their adversaries. The bayonets of the Grenadiers drove the enemy in confusion down the slope ; the Scotch regiments threw away their muskets and drew their broad-swords; the French dispersed in every direction, and the cry, 'They run! They run!' echoed over the field.

"Wolfe had lain without speech, and he though apparently revived from time to time, yet he never raised his head, and scarcely had animation returned for an instant before he again fainted away. At the moment when the French were finally put to flight, however, he was lying seemingly insensible: but at that cry 'They run! they runy his eyes opened, and looking up, he demanded eagerly, ' Who run?'

"' The French!' was the reply; 'they are in full flight down the hill.' 'Then, I thank God,' said the General, 'I die contented; and with those words upon his lips General Wolfe expired."


"Principles of Astronomy," by William Brett, M. A. Fellow of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge, is in the Press.

"Richard of York, or, the White Rose of England," an Historical Novel, is about to be published.

The " Adventures of Barney Mahoney, by T. Crofton CroKIR, Esq., will shortly appear.


\ /

discovery Of Ii. Stephen's Notes To Ciceeo. A Few weeks ago we noticed the discovery of a valuable Greek commentary by Stephens, in the Vienna Library. Another discovery, equally interesting to the literary world, has been made in a library at Orleans, where a folio edition of Cicero, (that printed by Charles Stephens in 1556,) with a broad margin, full of notes, signed by Henry Stephens, has been brought to light. On one of its leaves appears the name of " John," which is conjectured to be the handwriting of John Scapula, the faithless clerk in H. Stephens' service, who plundered his employer of the 1 Treasury of the Greek Tongue.' This curious book was obviously destined for a reprint of a complete edition of Cicero's works; the same of which Stephens makes mention in the preface to his 'Castigationes in quauiplurimos locos Ciceronis,'—a work which, however, was never brought before the public. Sixty pounds bare been already offered for the Cicero in question; but the owner demands ninety-six (2100 francs.) and intends to present a tithe of that sum to the hospital at Lyons, where Henry Stephens closed his eyes.—Atlienaum.


Crabbe, the Poet, whose death we recently announced, left behind him, quite finished, a rural poem of great beauty and simplicity, which is now in the hands of Mr. Murray. Few poets, of the present or of the last century, have been more generally read or better understood than Crabbe. Surely it would be extremely desirable to publish an uniform, complete, and cheap edition of the whole, to appear periodically in volumes, after the plan of Lord Byron's works, especially if the edition was got up with equal neatness, both of printing and embellishment!,, and published at as cheap a rate.

Good breeding is indeed an amiable and persuasive thing: it beautifies the actions and even the looks of men. But equally odious is the grimace of good breeding. In comparison with this, bluntness is an accomplishment. The age of a well-bred man is just as offensive as the well-bred man is agreeable: he is a nuisance to his acquaintance. I am frighted at the affected smile, and the apish shrug. When these foul copies of courtiers throw their civil grin in one's face, it is as much as one can do to avoid spitting in theirs. A starched rogue, forcing smiles, is a more hideous sight than a mummy. He is a fugitive from nature; and it is notable impudence in such a creature to pretend to be courteous. — Gordon.

The Hunchback Familv An individual at Antwerp gave a

supper to 40 poor hunchbacks. He awarded a premium of 60 florius to him whose hunch was the most prominent, and who was also proclaimed "king of the feast." Carriages were sent to bring the guests from their residences, and convey them bath again when the festivities were concluded. They enjoyed the dance till a late hour in the night, and returned home highly gratified with the kindness and generosity of their new Amphytrion. —Belgian Paper.


The Stanzas on the Death of Lord Byron's Mary, subscribed "Z," were misdirected. They have now reached us; but, from the cursory glance we have given them, it is our belief, they will not do for The Day.

We will endeavour to find room in our Monday's number, for another Chapter from Baillie Pirnie's Memoirs.

"moral Poets Of Great Britain, No. III. Jeremy Taylor, D. D." on Saturday.

"A,solemn Conceit," by the Author of " Wake, Lady, Wake,' will appear shortly,

Igy In future all communications for the Editor of " To Dit" are requested to be left with our Publisher, Mr. John Finlay, No. 9, Miller Street.

'P Having still great demands for No. 33, containing the Article on the "Cure and Prevention of the Cholera," and as all the Editions are sold off, this article, in a separate form, will now be found with our Publisher, at No. 9, Miller Street,


Published every Morning, Sunday excepted, by John Finlay, at No. 9, Miller Street; and Sold by John Wyxie, 97, Argyle Street; David Robertson, and W. R. M'phun, Glasgow, Thomas Stevenson, and the other Booksellers, Edinburgh : DaVid Dick, Bookseller, Paisley: Thomson, Greenockand J. Glass, Bookseller, Itothsay.







Heaven sends meat and the Devil send* Carver*.


It is no uncommon thing, for those who imagine they can point out a desideratum in the state of society, to commence by bringing under the review of their readers, a long list of existing advantages. In accordance with this very old practice of theoretical projectors, we could very easily, did our limits permit, enumerate the many useful establishments, at present in operation among us, not only for the necessary parts of education, but also for those which are considered ornamental. Without alluding to the various acquirements that are thought requisite, towards forming the education of such, as are intended for the mere drudgery of the counting-house, we may safely affirm, without the fear of contradiction, that Scotland affords as many opportunities of attaining a proficiency in those arts and accomplishments, which are generally considered essential towards forming that most imposing of all characters, the finished gentleman, as any other part of his Majesty's dominions; when we say so, we must be understood to mean, those requisites the knowledge of which a pecuniary consideration can command. Yet, amid this plenitude of the means and opportunities of information, it must be confessed, that in the duties of the table, particularly where carving is required, our countrymen to the North of the Tweed, are greatly inferior to their neighbours, on the South of that well-known boundary. This deficiency, in what may be reckoned an every-day matter of life, can be accounted for in two very different ways: in the first place, the Scots are an intellectual not a sensual people, and, in consequence, the affairs of the table form but an object of secondary consideration among them. In the next place—and which, we believe, contains the real secret of the matter—Scotsmen in general, except those in the higher ranks of life, are brought up with so much attention to economy at home, that in early life they have very few opportunities for domestic practice, and without this practice, or that which they could procure, by an early initiation to the Traveller's Room, which may be viewed as the grand school of gastronomical dissection, they have little chance of acquiring even a common-place acquaintance with the art. So much is this the case, that it is no uncommon thing to see a young man, otherwise well-informed, and witli perhaps twenty years' experience in the art of mastication, sitting on the edge of his chair, and holding: his knife and fork, as if he intended to beat a tatoo on his plate. Even among town-bred Scots, we have observed men, who had seen the best part of half a century over their heads, looking very shy at the tin covers on entering a dining room, and shifting and shuffling about, till they got ensconced in what they considered a safe corner. These men, from their manner, may almost be supposed, in the language of the nursery, to have been brought up on the spoon for a considerable part of their lives, and ever afterwords entertain a sort of innate reluctance, to handle anything of a larger size, while engaged in the business of the table. We could record innumerable awkwardnesses, and many ridiculous mishaps, which have befallen these

left-handed characters, when forced, as it were, to take the carving knife in hand, but as the class to which they belong rather abounds in our neighbourhood, we shall refrain from being too loquacious, in case we give offence where it is not intended. In the observations, however, which we have already made, and in those that we may hereafter make, either on this, or any other subject of an unpalatable nature, we request it to be particularly understood, that all the regular subscribers to " The Day" are to be considered as wholly exempt, and as this is an advantage which no other periodical holds out to the public, we trust our friends will estimate the boon at its full value.

The preceding hints, all tending to shew the necessity of an academy for the encouragement of gastronomical dissection in our city, has been, in a great measure, suggested by circumstances which fell under our observation, while occasionally dining out during the late festivities. One of these circumstances occurred at a Christmas party, to which the writer was invited by his tailor,' Mr. Nicol Twist. Nicol, as the clock struck six, stepped into his place at the foot of the table, in full puff, where he found a large, plump, wellfed goose smoking before him, and Mrs. Twist, a tidy little chitty-chatty body, born within the sound of Bow Bells, and of course up to all that is comfortable in the "wictualling" department, fronting him, with a large tureen-full of hare soup. The soup was soon despatched, and poor Nicol was called upon to handle his weapons, but

Alas! what dangers do environ

The man that meddles with cold iron!

Nicol raised his carver, but seemed utterly at a loss where to direct it; he looked round with B supplicating air, and at last, in a fit of desperation, applied it to that part which is called the parsons nose; this he managed to detach, and placed it, with a tremulous hand, on the plate of a young lady, who seemed by no means taken with the portion allotted her. He next attacked one of the legs, but he might as well have attempted to detach the statue of King William from his saddle ; he hacked, and blushed, and blushed, and hacked, and seemed perfectly unable to help the company to any gravy, which, to do him justice, we must say, was flying about in all directions. The scene now engaged the attention of the whole table, and poor Mrs. Twist, who seemed quite astonished at her husband's incapacity, (they had not been long married,) sat fretting her pretty face into all manner of shapes. Her displeasure, however, at last burst forth. "My dear," said she, in a tone of the most ironical bitterness, "you had better send up stairs for your large sheers, as you don't seem in the practice of cutting with any thing else." The keenness of the sarcasm excited the compassion of the company and a gentleman who sat next to him requested permission to officiate. It soon appeared, however, that politeness, and not ability, had dictated the request, and poor goosie had to change hands two or three times before the company could give a proper

* However wonderful the incident of an author dining with his tailor may appear to the reader, yet, we can assure him, upon your honour, that the affair is really no ham ; and, what may perhaps increase his surprise, the invite was given before the unprecedented run of our 33d number.

opinion as to her condition. From the appearance, manners and conversation of the company present on this occasion, we have no reason to believe that they were, as a body, worse carvers than nine-tenths of the parties that were met in town on the same evening. We are the more satisfied of this from having dined in what was considered a fashionable party a few evenings afterwards, when, having part of a turkey on our plate, we requested a gentleman of tip-top pretensions in point of exterior to all that might be considered ton, to help us to a slice of ham, but, will it believed, the Goth in disguise, in place of cutting a nice thin transparent waferish looking slice, actually sent us a piece thick and square as a Cheshire cake. Now, from all these circumstances, it appears a melancholy truth which can no longer be concealed, that the very necessary, useful and gentlemanly science, or art, call it which you will of gastronomical dissection, is at a very low ebb amongst us, and, in this age, when improvement in all the other arts and sciences is making such rapid strides, it is full time that we should look about and endeavour, at least, to make some approach to that perfection which has been attained by our neighbours. With this view we would propose, not a public subscription, gentle reader, for the public have calls upon it at present of a still more serious and imperative nature, but that those who are conscious of their own defects, should unite together and invite some gentlemen properly qualified to give instructions in the noble art of carving. And we conceive that a person of this kind, with every requisite qualification, might easily be found among some of the broken-down fraternity of the road, who, on account of the establishment being merely an experiment, might be inclined to listen to some such terms as the following :—

That a class of not less than twelve students, or the average of twelve, should be kept up during the first year; that each student should pay one guinea for 12 lessons, including half a pint of wine each day; that every student should furnish the subject which he may wish to dissect, and that all students operating at the same board should mutually partake of such parts of their fellow student's subjects as might chance to hit their fancy. That all fragments, after class hours are over, should belong to the Professor, who might afterwards dispose of them to less scrupulous feeders at a moderate rate per head. That the cook of the academy should also be entitled to 5s. from each student whose superior dexterity enabled him to finish his studies with the number of lessons specified, and 7s. 6d. from those who remained a longer period. That, in order to make the professor as comfortable as possible, he should also be allowed to give public lee tures twice a week. As there may, at first, be some difficulty in finding premises supplied with all the conveniences requisite for such an establishment, we would suggest, that our friend Mr. Morgan be applied to on the subject, and we have no doubt but he will furnish, at least temporary accommodation for the carving department; while his spacious pavillion is most admirably adapted for all the purposes of a lecture-room. His admirable band might also be in attendance, and, during the pauses incident to lectures which require illustration by experiment, might be employed in playing " The roast beef of Old England," " Lumps of Pudding," " The Mutton Chop," " Pit a sheep's head in the pat," with other gastronomical tunes, which, we conceive, in these cholera times, when good feeding is so strongly recommended, would have a most attractive effect upon the public. As we have no doubt but the speculation would turn out not only useful to our citizens, but beneficial to any person of enterprise, we shall feel much pleasure in being of service in forwarding the undertaking, by receiving the names of such as are inclined to become students, or taking charge of any offers from English commercial

gentlemen, or others, who may deem themselves qualified for the chair, and to whom the emoluments of the professorship may be an object.


The Western Journal. Donnan and Nelson, Ayr.January, 1832.

Literary men are said to be so scarce in this part of Scotland, that a Western Journal cannot make its appearance, without its contents being attributed to some of the talented few who adorn our provincial Metropolis. Those disciples of the muses, especially, who have been in the habit of contributing to the Edinburgh literary journals, are sure to get the credit of nourishing, by their wit or fancy, the productions of their own neighbourhood. From this cause, no doubt, have proceeded the suspicions of our correspondent who was so kind as to send us a copy of the Western Journal, along with some animadversions of his own upon a part of its contents. It seems, that in a late number of this publication, of which we now hear for the first time, there appeared some strictures on the criticism on Mr. Atkinson's Duet, inserted in our paper of the 6th instant,' With great propriety the editor has sent us a copy of the Journal, and a shrewd friend has not only repeated the gift, but has, as we hinted, given us the advantage of his conjectures regarding the authorship of the remarks in question. We were considerably amused with the ingenuity of his communication, but we must say that we cannot agree with him in attributing the Review in the Western Journal, to the author and publisher of the Duet himself. Almost the only grounds on which this opinion is founded, is the very favourable manner in which the production is spoken of, and to us this is very insufficient proof to fasten a hostile imputation upon a valued friend. If, as our correspondent insinuates, it is the custom of the poet to write his own puffs in other papers, a subject upon which we profess entire ignorance, we freely and cheerfully absolve him from the charge of writing his own censures; and we readily acknowledge, from the specimen of the reviews which we find in that of The Chameleon, that this department, at least, is not furnished by the imaginative author of the volume so unmercifully chastised. We have read, in Colley Gibber's life, of such a thing as a poet's ridiculing himself under an anonymous disguise, but we are not inclined to believe that such a romantic plan will be again adopted. Besides, we have reason to think, that Mr. Atkinson will be completely satisfied with the indemnification he has already sought from the effects of our judgment, since, when he circulated a request among the editors of the Glasgow newspapers, that they would give his Duet a place in their columns, he evinced his conviction that it was sufficient to read his verses in order to admire them. We cannot, then, reproach ourselves with having caused the amiable poet any uneasiness; and while we remain convinced that his equanimity sets him beyond the influence of any censures of ours, we shall never hesitate to express our opinion confidently, whenever his productions do not appear to us worthy of literary canonization.

We have, perhaps, occupied too much space in repelling a charge which, we are convinced, is entirely frivolous and vexatious; but, in justice to the gentleman who is the subject of it, we cannot help again adverting briefly to the chief point of its foundation. If our correspondent had read the article in the Western

* We are strangely puzzled to understand how a monthly periodical could be so prophetic, as to quote, in its January number, the very words which were not printed in The Day, till the beginning of the present month. We suspect the Western Journalists are considerably behind in their calculation both of time and of tune.

Journal, with sufficient attention, he might have discovered that it is no apology for the poetry, but an apology for the music. The keen and irritated feelings with which it is written, certainly do seem to indicate, that the writer of it has it near interest in the subject; but beyond this we can discover no shadow of suspicion to point out the poet as that writer. On the contrary, the stanzas are condemned with a sneer, while the musical accompaniment is loaded with all the epithets of praise which egotism itself could suggest. We need not say that our opinion of its merits and suitableness are unaltered, and that the critic of the Western Journal has not condescended to observe the radical fault which we pointed out in our former notice. To those who really understand the mysteries of counterpoint, the musical defects of the Duet are abundantly obvious, and we leave the worthy critic to glory, as too many now-a-days certainly do, in his obvious ignorance of one of the first principles of Caicot.


W E consider it no small proof of the estimation in which our labours are held by the discerning portion of our countrymen; that shortly after our paper made its appearance, in the shops and houses "of Edinburgh, an impulse was given to the periodical literature of that boasted capital, which showed itself in the establishment of new journals. We lately noticed the first number of the deserving publication, started under the superintendence of Mr. James Chambers; and since that, our attention has been attracted by the appearance of another novelty,. called the Edinburgh Spectator. We wish both of these meritorious undertakings every success, and we need not say, that, though they adopt the same line which we have been pursuing, we can admit of rivals, where our experience has shown us there is such an ample field for encouragement.

From a Correspondent.

A day or two ago, I visited the Fencing Rooms of Mr. Foucart, in George Street, and I may say, with truth, that I never spent a more interesting hour. Let the lover of exercise or manly accomplishments, only attend Mr. Foucart, and he will there, not only derive the greatest benefit to his constitution, but also receive the utmost pleasure from the exercise. Who is there, at all acquainted with the mysteries of the foil, or the art of the broadsword, that will not give the greatest credit and praise to Mr. Foucart, fur the skill and attention which he shows to his pupils when instructing them: and where is the man on the right side of sixty, who will not feel his blood warmed, and his spirits excited, at the enlivening sight of the longe, the guard, or the attack f I myself, though now in the vale of years, was so strongly reminded of my youthful days, and so much on the qui vive, that willingly I would have seized on a foil again, and, with glove in hand and mask on head, perhaps have proved to some of the more youthful aspirants to the small sword, that I am no mean Tyro in the art. I must not forget to mention, the athletic and gymnastic exercises I saw performed, and which afforded me the highest satisfaction. I have only further to request, that you would recommend such of your young friends as have the time, and opportunity, to take advantage of both, by attending Mr. Foucart, and thereby, not only gain to themselves a useful and gentlemanly accomplishment, but also encourage the laudable and masterly efforts of the deserving and accomplished Professor.

[ We need hardly tray that M. Foucart's merits are known to us, and that we most cheerfully second the recommendation of our experienced friend. ]


A Miracle—One of the principal performers of one of the Patent Theatres actually exhibited the other day, in a public room, a long tailor's bill, with a receipt attached to it! Upon which an old and sceptic member of the "sock and buskin," af

ter putting "spectacles on nose," and examining the documents closely, declared, very quaintly, "that it was a miracle!!"

Ancient Manner or Knighting.—The custom among the Saxons was—first, he who should receive the order of knighthood confessed himself in the evening to a priest; then he continued all that night in the church, watching and applying himself to bis private devotion; the next morning be heard mass and offered his sword upon the altar. After the Gospel was read, the sword was hallowed, and, with a benediction, put about his neck. Lastly, he communicated the mysteries of the blessed body of Christ; and from that time, remained a perfect knight. But this custom of consecrating knights the Normans abhorred.—Baker.



Awake, my love! Awake, awake; my bark is in the bay;
The sails are quivering to the breeze, that heralds in the day—
The war flag's drooping on its staff—the voice of life is still—
They wait the summons to depart—they only wait my will.

I came afar to visit thee, in thy lone sea-girt home;
Oh ! if thou spurn'st me not away—with thee I'd cease to roam,
I'd fling the mail'd glove from my hand, the falchion from my

If I might claim thee—lovely one—as an ocean monarch's bride.

As the vulture darts upon his prey, from the mountain's rocky height,

Above th' oppressor's battlements of strength, I take my flight. And the gathered wealth, that fill the depths of their hidden

chambers dark— Red gold and gems, the hoarder's gains, come forth to freight

my bark.

Onwards from swarthy Afric's shore, to Zembla's icy zone: From east to west, from north to south, I trow, my name has flown:

From India's starry palaces, to England's foam-wrapt crag; Where'er the winds of heaven essayed to bear my battle-flag.

Earth's furthest bounds, the ocean's distant isles, have felt my wrath—

The proudest monarchs tremble, if my galley cross their path. Blest is the strand, where my dark flag, has ne'er been seen to fly;—

For there the landsmen cross their breasts, as my proud ship sweeps by.

Nor old ancestral home, my love; nor household hearth are mine;

Where torches bright, and brighter eyes, from every lattice shine: Where the voice of laughter ever rings, along the graven wall, As the dancers wheel in airy groups, amid the ancient hall.

The music of the masquer's late, no more may greet thine ear— The songs, that now are wont to fall within thy bome-bowers here—

When the passion-chord's fierce eloquence—the lover's notes otfire

Nurst in the heart, upon the harp in melody expire.

The menial throng may never fill thine ear with flattery's din; When the flushing lip is wreathed with smiles, though the soul is false within.

A rover's arm, to guard his own heart's queen, alone is meet; When he leaves the gun and boarding brand, to worship at her feet.

Thy home is safe amid the waves, when the rattling tempest blow—

A canopy of stars above, and drifting foam below.
Far other minstrelsy shall thrill, as our galley bounds along;
The wild blast and the halcyon's note shall weave our bridal

Make room! make room, my comrades all—what ho ! the signal gun:

Sweep the light oars, my merry men: hurrah! she's won! she's won.

May the silken vest that wraps this breast, with my own heart's blood swell,

When the falchion, that my broad arm wields, forgets to guard thee well.

Answer to the Charade in our last.
Ladies and beaus delight in hall,

To study modes as fashions fly;
But oh, I blush to name your next,

A house for pigs—in truth a sty.
United, Modesty's the name,
The English fair shall ever claim.

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