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It is by similar reasoning that we would confute another set of unwelcome advisers, who wish to convert the present season of rejoicing into one of moping melancholy. These are the men who call upon us to reflect that, by entering into a New-Year, we have abridged the span of life, and ought to weep on an occasion which reminds us of our brief mortality, Instead of hailing it with shortsighted delight. To such prophets of evil it would be a sufficient answer to bid them turn to the customs of mankind, and observe the tame levity prevailing in every form and in every concern of humanity. And when they found that grief, sickness, death, nay marriage itself, the most protracted and self-inflicted of all sufferings, are each of them made the subjects of mirth, they might be convinced that it has been attached as a provision to our nature, that we should in trouble find comfort in the lightness of the fancy, and should draw amusement, to beguile our pilgrimage, from the very ills by which it is encompassed.

But we can justify the hospitable revelry of this period on much higher grounds, as it is a custom handed down to us by our ancestors, and interwoven with national feelings. The purpose for which the genial board is spread, and the cup filled with sparkling wine, is not to pamper the appetite, but to commemorate the glory of the British Name. It is to celebrate the success wllh -which the triumphant vessel of the state has ridden through another year, weathering the storms of hostility, and baffiing the treacherous waves of faction. The selfish feeling of regret for perishing existence never crosses the mind of the good man in that hour of enthusiasm which precedes the birth of a New-Year, and no personal fears enfeeble the shout of pleasure with which he answers to the twelfth beat of the heralding time-piece, for he then feels himself bound to his species by the ties of sympathy; be receives from each hand that is pressed in his, the clasp of a brother; he knows himself the member of a nation which at that moment ha8 one common feeling; and every thought of his mind, and every pulsation of his heart, are in unison with the happiness of others!

The New-Year is likewise connected with associations which pleasingly link in the memory the different stages of life. It recals to us the holiday, so anxiously watched for in our childhood, when toys were spread out in endless array to our admiring gaze; and it brings up to view the indulgent parents who sat the lung winter evening smiling at our gambols, and rejoicing in the thought of having made us happy. These, alas! now perhaps sleep beneath the silent sod; but there may be friends, yet living, who have shared with us in the celebration of our youthful Christmas. There may be hands of brave men which were always first stretched out to wish us joy of a New-Year; and there may be eyes of fair women which have 11 looked love1' into ours again when we pledged a bumper to their brightness. There may be lips which then yielded, for the first time, to the privileged salute, and which made the lover bless the morning when all distinctions are removed, and the primitive rights of society are preferred to (he usurping customs of fashion. To the old man, a New-Year recalls all the feelings of childhood, youth and munbnod together. Tiie romp and the dance are both numbered among his past pleasures, and he feels his youth renewed in witnessing the rports in which be was once himself a sharer. Reader, So may it be with thee when thou art bid!

LITERARY NOTICE.

The Mothers' Book, By Mrt. Child, Glasgow, 1832. We have perused many volumes on Education, and on (he various modes of training up children "in the way they should go," but we must honestly confess that we have found more practical information in the little treatise before us, than all the rest put together. With a simplicity and earnestness of style, worthy of the Interesting topic she handles, the authoress here presents the parent with rules and maxims of plain practical good sense, applicable to the management of children, fjom their tenderest years even till they begin to play their own part in the world. The concluding chapter, on Matrimony, is well worthy the careful study of every Mother who has daughters. Were the hints therein given attended to, we might predict the reign of greater happiness in domestic life. Thinking so much as we do of this volume, we have merely to suggest that, when the fund fathers are to day laying out a few shillings on the purchase of picture books for their little prattlers at home, that they will think of extending their gifts to Mama, and purchase for her especial benefit The Mothers' Rook.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

LIFE.

Life is a tear, nnd tears are like the dew

Which heaven's bounty sheds upon tbe rose— At Morn it shines, at Noon wild pleasures woo Its strength away, and, ere Eve's darkling hue, It seeks the sky, the source from whence it flows!

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FINE ARTS.

STATUE OF GEORGE THE FOURTH BY CHANTRY.

Wi happened lately to meet with certain modern Athenians, nnd we anxiously enquired of them, their opinion regarding the Statue of George the Fourth, designed for, and lately erected in, the eastern metropolis. Cold, formal, and chilling, was their reply. We were astonished, our curiosity was excited, and we therefore determined to repair thither ourselves, for the purpose of ascertaining, whether genius did not ratify what fame had long since proclaimed—the superior taste and talent of Chantry. We saw aud we were satisfied. Every lover of native talent will find himself amply and pleasantly compensated for undertaking the same journey, by balf-an-hour spent in contemplating this distinguished work of the finest of our sculptors. The noble, dignified, and graceful figure of George IV. appears to peculiar advantage, from tbe artist having formed the Statue of colossal dimensions; while the grace, which was so marked a characteristic of our late king, is happily exemplified in the manner which, with partially extended arm, he receives the sceptre of Scotland, as its liege and sovereign lord.

The drapery, which is admirably cast, is in a grand and broad style, and tells with great effect upon the eye of the spectator. We viewed it in various positions and distances, and found an indisputable feeling of Xbvgrand predominate in them all. Although the details of this Statue, on close examination are found to be carefully made out, and thut considerable labour has obviously been bestowed to produce them, they do not, in the least degree, interfere with the general breadth, or induce the eye to wundcr from its effect as a whole. The figure itself is of bronze. As we have already mentioned, it is of colossal dimensions, and it is placed upon a pedestal of granite, about twenty feet in height. This statue of George the Fourth is certainly one of Chantry's very best and most successful efforts; and it proves, beyond the power of contradiction, how deeply he is cmbucd with the most elevated and scientific principles of his art. We recommend that it should be first viewed from the south, and then from the eist.

There cannot be a more useful lesson to the student than the careful observation of, and a faithful comparison between, Lord Melville's monument in St. Andrew's Square, and the statue of our late Sovereign. In the former, the confined character of the limbs, the petite style of the drapery, and the general breadth entirely destroyed by the frittering of detoil, at once point to an inferior style of art, and an indistinct knowledge of its purest principles; while the latter, faultless in all these respects, will bo admired by future generations, as a valuable and honourable memorial of the sculptor, and a splendid proof of the high state of British Art in the nineteenth century.

NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS.

Owing to the length of our first article, we have been obliged to make use of smaller letter than we mean hereafter to use for our leading article.

The Communication relative to tbe Mal-appropriation of the Poor's Rate, for the Relief of the Barony Heritors, we decline inserting, the subject being already in the hands of a contemporary.

•,• In order to insure this Publication being on the Breakfast Table every morning, it is requested that intending Subscribers will leave their names and addresses at the Publisher's.

GLASGOW GOSSIP.

The judicious propositions submitted to the public by Mr. David Bell, auent our Bridges, ore creating considerable discussion among those connected with the municipal authorities. It requires not however to visit London, Paris, Bordeaux or Florence, to arrive at the just conclusion which our acute traveller has come, dnring his late perambulations, " that the more numerous the bridges are in a populous city, built on both sides of a river, so much the better for the communication of the inhabitants." Agreeing with Mr. Bell in his statements, we cannot but wish his very feasible project every success. "In the name of Scottish prudence meddle not," say all cautious citizens, "with the Jamaica Street Bridge till the one at the foot of the Saltmarket be once open and patent." Let us only add that the proprietors of the Old City, of Gorbals and of Laurieston, are all deeply interested in the adoption of Mr. Bell's hints.

The absurd proposal, made by some sumph, of carrying the statue of King William from the Cross to George's Square, is causing very considerable merriment among all classes. If ancient Glasgow is to be defaced of all its well-known land-marks, it would be well if some scheming engineer would think of a plan of wheeling the High Church to Blythswood Square, the Tron Spire to the Highland Kirk, and the College to Sauchiehall Street. The Public Offices might then be removed to Buchanan Street, and George's Church converted into "a den of thieves." No, uo, let the gifted figure of the hero of the Boyne stand where he does, and let the association with boyhood, of having gone on Hougmane to see a king with as many heads as there were days in the year, be still awakened on passing the Cross! We would propose that the Committee on the Old Cross Improvements should volunteer to turn out on Old Hougmane, and toss the Anti-Antiquarian projector, in a blanket, in front of the Tontine.

The Cholera Gatlopades, now so popular in Vienna, and with the awful title of which the police interfered, and forced their author to give them a less alarming and offensive designation, are, it is hinted, to be brought out at the first Gorbals assembly. We have no doubt that their contagion will spread to the opposite side of the river, and will afford some City Holbein an opportunity of sketching another Dance Of Death.

LONDON THEATRICALS.

From our London Correspondent.

The idea of your Journal is a good one, and I will do my endeavour to aid you in the patriotic and independent course you mean to pursue. As in all other matters here there is a very considerable degree of humbug in the Theatrical Criticism of London, but you may rest assured, that what I shall send you will, at least, have the merit of being unbought opinions. Well then, what have I to tell you! Why, that the long-promised infliction at Old Drury, in the shape of a three-act Comedy, has at last appeared under the astounding title of " Lords andCommons." Why, it might as well have been called 11 Masters and Misses," for any reference the title bears to the plot. It is attributed to Mrs. Gore, who appears to have attempted to bring upon the stage such scenes of fashionable life as those which the herd of Colburn's writers pretend to provide for their readers. As a literary production it is really contemptible. It possesses neither interest to eDchain the feelings, or plot to rivet the attention, nor delineation of human character to fix the mind. The piece was entirely saved by the performers. To say that Farren, Wallack, Brindal (a clever rising actor), Miss Phillips, Mrs. Humby and Mrs. Faucet did their best is but faint praise. The fact is, they made mountains out of molehills, and gave to everything a local habitation and a name. Really, the authoress owes every thing to their exertions, especially for the noble manner in which they falsified the old adage 11 Ex nihilo nihil Jit" Lords and Commons was given out for repetition amid faint applause. Like some second-rate playwrights, the authoress has descended to the introduction of clap-traps in allusion to the present state of parties. If this be the footing on which a play is expected to succeed, it seems pretty evident that the chance of its surviving the temporary ciscumstances to which it is, in some measure, indebted for a favourite reception will be very trilling.—Adieu, till to-morrow.

FOREIGN THEATRICAL AND MUSICAL
INTELLIGENCE.

The debut of Madame Cinnraii Allan, in the part of Rosina in the Barbicre, at the Italian Opera in Paris, was pre-eminently successful.

Donzelli, the fine Italian Tenorc, has been lately charming the cognoscenti at Bologna in the part of Otello.

LiNDrAiNTNEa, the famous composer, at Stutgardt, has lately brought out a new Opera called the " Amazon."

A new Opera by Marschner, entitled the "Templar and Jewess," founded on Sir Walter Scott's novel of Ivanhoe, has been brought out with great applause at Berlin.

LITERARY INTELLIGENCE, &c.

A New Poem, of some extent, on the Fate of Poland, by the distinguished Author of the " Pleasures of Hope," is to appear in this month's number of the Metropolitan Magazine.

The Waverly Anecdotes, illustrative of Sir Walter Scott's Novels, in two Volumes, uniform with the " Waverly Novels," and embellished with Plates, are immediately to be published.

The Literary Guardian, a publication, which from the extraordinary low price at which it is produced, having met with great success, is announced to appear on the 7th of this month, in a more improved aud perfect form.

The Second Volume of Niebuhr's History of Rome, translated by Hare and Thirlwall, is expected shortly.

Mr. James, who has written so ably on Chivalry, is about to publish a new work, to be entitled Memoirs of Great Commanders.

Passages fram the Diary of a late Physician, (reprinted Blackwood's Magazine,) with Additions, Notes, and Illustrations, by the Editor, is announced for publication.

FOREIGN LITERARY INTELLIGENCE.

M. Von Humboldt has returned to Paris, after having traversed a space of more than 4,500 leagues. He has presented to the Institute many rare and hitherto unknown minerals, which he picked up during his journey, and has intimated that his companion M. Rose is engaged on an important work on the gold found in veins and alluvial beds in the Ural mountains—a chain, which contains in its ridges alluvial deposits of gold and platina, from the 53d to considerably beyond the Cist degree of latitude.

The Historiographer of the Hohenstauffens, Herr Raumer, is now busy on another great work, the History of Europe during the Last Three Centuries,

No fewer than nine long-established Periodicals terminated their existence in Russia during the year 1830. As some compensation for their demise, several new ones have started, among which the " Telescope" holds the first rank.

Klincer, the romance writer and dramatist, died at St. Pctersburgh, in February last. He was born at Frankfort iu 1753, aud took an active part in the regeneration of German literature, which took place about fifty years ago. His complete works were printed at Kouigsberg in 1811), in 12 vols.

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THE DAY,

A MORNING JOURNAL OF LITERATURE, POLITICS, ARTS AND FASHION.

VELUTIIN SPECULO.

GLASGOW, TUESDAY, JANUARY 3, 1832.

'« SUPREMACY OF INTELLECT," THE NEW POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY.

Of the many changes in speaking, and in writing, which the new order of things has introduced, none is more startling than the doctrine of the supremacy of intellect, at present a favourite subject or discussion among a certain class of political theorists.

Our readers may not be aware that there is a remnant of Mr. Owen's people here, who delight in the appellation of the Co-operatives, and that to the mighty and invincible spirits of these scattered members of the poor philanthropist's now forgotten communion, nothing is more offensive than the ordinary institutions of society, and nothing so intolerably galling as certain forms of expression to which the artificial distinctions of life have necessarily given rise. The relative terms high and low, as applied to the different orders of which the general community is formed, have been long expunged from the vocabulary of these philosophical weavers, and are never employed, now-a-days, except to be reprobated as indecorous and insolent. It is criminal, it seems, to say of a man who breaks stones on the roadside that he belongs to the lower orders: and, as to the word workman, or the expression working classes, though it be notorious as the sun at noonday that such persons do exist, and that they constitute by far the largest portion of our population, it has been agreed to abolish their use too, and to substitute the term operative, which, by the way, means the same thing, for the discarded epithets above, which the dignity of modern manners, and the liberality of modern sentiment, could no longer tolerate. It can scarcely be wondered at, therefore, that the same spirit of vulgar foppery which has dictated these changes, should extend its laughable pretensions still farther, and should now broadly contend for the general recognition of a new, but fundamental tenet of this vulgar school of utilitarians. The tenet in question is what is called the supremacy of intellect—it being insinuated, we presume, by this expression, that the said supremacy is to be found only among a certain class—that it has not hitherto been duly recognised by that class itself, nor by the other, and less influential portions of society— and that upon its recognition depends the well-being of the state, and the elevation of the humbler orders to a station much more dignified than that which they have hitherto occupied. This dangerous delusion, with its correlative errors, it is high time to expose, otherwise the corner stones of society will be removed, and an entry made for a flood of vague and unsound reasoning on the relative positions of the different orders of the state to each other, and of the mechanism by which the whole framework of civilized life is regulated.

One of the advantages of pecuniary competency is that it places the means of education, and the leisure necessary for intellectual culture, within the reach of all who are fortunate enough to possess it; hence it has happened that in this, and in every other country, ancient and modern, the general presumption has always been in favour of the superior intelligence of those who occupy an independent station in society, and to them, especially, the government of states has been confided. For the most part, experience has

shewn this ground of selection to be as just as any other general rule which time and expediency have established for the control of human affairs. It would appear, however, that the class of persons to whom we have referred, not content with assuming all the power of the state on the ground of numerical strength, have resolved to institute a new, and, it must be owned, a very modest claim, on the ground of intellectual superiority! The boldness of this assumption, however is much more remarkable than it* novelty. The claim is the natural offspring of ignorance, both of men and books, betraying, on the front of it, the secluded and monastic habits of the parties who urge it. It could have been engendered no where but in the brains of men whose habitual modes of thinking were as thickly encumbered with the dust of political fanaticism, as the walls of an old house with cobwebs, whose only tenants are flies and spiders; for who but the framers of this bright hypothesis does not see that the liberalising influence of good society, where something more than mere dogmatism is required as a passport to toleration, would wipe away all the rusty notions on amelioration, and optimism, which these conceited regenerators are putting forth as profound and novel deductions in the philosophy of human government? Every clever and partially educated schoolboy entertains precisely the same opinion of himself, as compared with his teachers, which the utilitarian mechanic fancies he has discovered in reference to his employer, or to the constituted guardians of the state. He feels certain irrepressible murmurings of ambition, and certain impetuous aspirations after imaginary perfection, which he mistakes for indications of intellectual strength, and, long before he is competent to the government of his own affairs, he expresses his loud dissatisfaction with the barbarous usages of the world, which prevent him from getting the charge of the affairs of others. So is it with the present race of philosophising and co-operative workmen, who have discovered, somehow or other, that they are the lights of the earth, and that all that is necessary to prove this, is, to abuse their betters, and to propound political novelties, or what they esteem such, and which they find to he, unfortunately, an easy and an expeditious mode of making bread. Hence the sickening and reiterated cry about intellectual supremacy, which is to be found, of course, only among the adepts of their own body; and which, we imagine, is in the reverse ratio of clean hands and whole clothing, so that, if the phrensy lasts much longer, we shall have an order of breechless philanthropists, who, like the sans culottes of the French revolution, will impersonate all the wisdom of all the ages, past, present and to come!

Had these men ever been so oppressed as to prevent the free exercise of their understandings—had they ever been prevented, by any tyrannical statute, from acquiring all the knowledge which circumstances placed within their reach—had it ever been proclaimed, in the form of a conventional enactment, that they were disqualified, by birth, or station, from rising above their original condition—had they been branded as a peculiar and an inferior caste—had the possession of talent been refused to them, and had it been exclusively claimed by their superiors in rank—then, indeed, there might have been some apology for their present folly, and for all this idle hectoring about intellect; but every body knows that such are not the facts of the case.

In no country in the world are the bonds which unite the different orders of society together so delicately adjusted as in the British Empire—in no other country are the life and property of the poor roan so effectually protected, or his virtuous exertions so extensively sympathised with—in no other country, where the feudal distinctions of ranks are still observed, are instances of petty tyranny so uncommon—and in no other country are the avenues of advancement so perfectly free to the indigent man of merit. Watt began the world as a philosophical instrument maker, and an optician—Ronnie as a common millwright—and Telford as a stone mason; and to those who are capable of analysing the materials out of which the mercantile aristocracy of this great nation has been compounded, it will appear obvious that the institutions of society impose no unnecessary restrictions on the exertions of men of genius, and that no insolent and exclusive pretensions do operate favourably for one order, and unfavourably for another. But it does not follow that because a man does not get on, he is necessarily a martyr to the spirit of the age. It is quite possible that he may be in error as to the precise amount of merit which he possesses, and that the only sin which has been committed against him has been committed by himself. Self-complacency, when united, as it usually is, to a reasonable share of ignorance, is the greatest of all deceivers: and among no class of men are its pernicious effects so conspicuous as among your plebeian regenerators.

It is impossible, therefore, to discover on what grounds the arrogant assumptions of the supremacy men rest, or what good can possibly result from, impressing on the minds of those whom the distress of the times and the calamities inseparable from a period of great commercial depression, have rendered sensible to every vibration of the political pendulum, that they have been defrauded of their natural rights by a most unjust usurpation on the part of their superiors in rank. The consequences of this glaring and absurd fiction— supposing it to have any consequences—can only be to sow the seeds of disunion, far and wide, and must evidently tend to bring about a collision between the different orders of the state, the issue of which it is not difficult to foresee.

But, though all were granted to the conceited fcols, who rave about supremacy, which they demand, how shall it be proved that a knot of discontented and idle men,—the ex-associates of a forgotten and silly confederacy—are the real inheritors of the philosophers' stone? The mere fact of their being Owenites is prima facie evidence against them, and we should be glad to learn what other claims they can institute either to the gratitude, or the confidence of society. We are in the happiest state of ignorance imaginable on this point, but we are docile, and are willing to be enlightened. Meanwhile, we beg them to remember that we have our eyes upon them, and that we shall take especial care to watch their proceedings, and to counteract, as far as we can, the influence of their crude, political, and moral imaginations, on their ignorant and credulous brethren: for we grieve to think that the most interesting portion of our community is at this moment exposed to the desolating effects of the basest of all passions, political hatred, and to the most heartless of all kinds of philosophy—if it can be so called—the atheistical madness, and the mechanical pollution of modern France.

As the friends and supporters of rational liberty, in the most comprehensive sense in which these words can be employed, we have considered it right, at the very outset, to make a stand against encroachments on general freedom by any class of men whatever. We will yield obedience to the imperious domination of no

order, high or low, much less to the exactions of a bigotted sect, whom circumstances have invested with a little brief and unnatural authority; and whose tyranny, were it once submitted to, would be more intolerable than "Egyptian bondage." If we must be slaves, we shall have a choice of masters.

TEA AND TABBTES.

But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd.

Than that, which, withering on the virgin thorn,

Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness.

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If occasional alliterations be allowable in good writing, surely the one of " Tea and Tabbies" may be of the number. The association of Congo with single-blessedness is in my mind inseparable; and no sooner do I see a tray with a dozen of tea cups, a singing urn, and a salver redolent of currant-bun, shortbread and slate biscuit, than I immediately dream of my maiden aunt Lizzy, and of her extensive coterie of spinsters, like herself. But, after all, there are worse things in the world than an old tabby, especially when she possesses, like my sexagenarian relative, a few spare pagodas to leave behind her, to comfort those who are called to mourn her loss. For my own part however, I may honestly say that, without any ulterior views connected with my aunt's testament, I really enjoy her society, and obtain no little amusement from her tittletattle. Like all the rest, who are at least twenty summers on the other side of the grand climateric of Dumbarton (36), she has acquired a most prying and inquisitive disposition, and moreover has a most retentive memory for all the delicious bits of scandal that have had their day, during the present century. From my aunt I am always certain of having the first intelligence of all that is going on in the city, and of all that are going off. She can tell me too what ladies indulge their servants with draughts of J. O. Denny's, "Entire," and what dames indulge themselves with Barclay and Perkins' double X. She can name those who keep locked, and those who keep open, pantries, who dine every day well en JamiUe, and who live upon salt herring and potatoes the ball'of the twelvemonth, to give one grand bluw-out party about Christmas. She can name you all the husbands that go to clubs, and all those who doze away the evening on the sofa at home. She can tell you of all the maneuvering that is practised on the part of the impertinent to push themselves forward, and of all the vain upstarts who, from selfconceit and vanity, learn to Cut their real friends and relatives, in the hope of popping their noses into a society which makes no secret of using them as its butt and laughing-stock. She can explain every mother's view with respect to her daughter, before the girl has worn out her London boarding-school bonnet, or her Edinburgh Degville dancing slippers. She knows what every marriageable miss has got, and what every unmarriageable old bachelor will leave; and can tell which house is the scene of continued strife and discord, and which the pattern and pillow of peace! But to the point:—

Well, then, t'other night as I was slowly sauntering along Argyle street, I was suddenly stopped by a crowd gazing in wonderment at the rapid motion of a small steam-engine turning a large coffeemill. The interruption made me gaze too. I found the shop replete with all the delicacies of Arabia and China. The beans of Mocha lay in profusion in the window, and boxes of Souchong and Hyson stood piled in countless variety around. Their appearance immediately awakened a desire within me for one or other of those fascinating beverages. I felt my lips smack; and, at the same moment, the form of my old aunt Lizzy's tea-pot flitted athwart my brain. I resolved to taste its contents that same evening, and instantly hurried on to her snug and comfortable mansion.

On entering, I asked if my aunt was at home, and was answered that she had company. Some of her gossips doubtless, thought I, and, opening the door of the parlour, stepped forward, and wished her a happy Christinas. "We are a' as merry as crickets," said she, "I'm glad to see you. This is my nephew, leddies, and, I need na tell you that twa or three are setting their caps for him." I thanked her for the compliment, and placed myself at the board, and it was not long ere I found myself " up to the throat" in tea and scandal. Story followed story, tale succeeded tale, inuendo chased inuendo; when, at length, the conversation happened to turn on the beauty and accomplishments of a fair acquaintance, towards whom I had rather a considerable penchant. I praised her of course, when Miss Betty hinted that I should not be carried away by appearances; for she heard, when Mary was at school, that she was a sad hypocrite. Miss Girzysaid that she was very fond of Hil ling with redcoats, and Miss Babby averred that she was once seen smiling to a young man in church! One found fault with the expression of her eye, a second with the shape of her mouth, and a third with the smallness of her waist. Thinking that I might get something allowed in favour of my fair acquaintance, I spoke of her lovely complexion, but my observation was met with a look which suggested the idea of its not being wholly her own. I then alluded to her fine ringlets, but the suppressed titter of Miss Girzy intimated that my fair friend owed this peculiar charm not to her own hair, but her hair-dresser. I next talked of her figure, but miss Baby asked me if I knew anything of the fictions of stays and bussels. I spoke of her amiable disposition. My aunt hinted that " smooth water runs deep.'1 I whispered something about her fortune; but the whole batch of tabbies whistled out that *' there was much between the cup and the lip." Baffled at every point, in my defence of youth and beauty, I felt piqued and annoyed, and, having pulled my pencil out of my pocket, I committed four lines to the back of one of my calling cards, laid it on the table, made my bow, and took my leave. The old maidens, no doubt curious to know what the mysterious communication contained, scarcely allowed me to get out of the house, before Mis* Girzy was requested to examine the document, and began to whistle through her false teeth the following impromptu which I had left them :—

You're not what you were; but just the reverse;

You're still what you were, which is very perverse;

And all the day long you do nothing but fret

Because you are not, what you never were yet!

LITERARY CRITICISM.

Alice Paulet, a Sequel to Sydenham, or Memoirs of a Man of the World, 3 vols. London, 1831.

The art of puffing was perhaps never carried so far as it has been by the Publishers of the volumes before us. In the modes adopted by them to attract public attention to their wares, they have exhibited a degree of ingenuity and effrontery as great as that of Warren or Solomon. Ready-printed Sligo, prepared by their regular Whackers, has been circulated with every presentation copy, sent to the various newspapers, upon the plea of saving their editors the trouble of perusal, and the lazy compilers for the public press, feeling the obligation, put the volumes in their library, and, what was worse, inserted the puff under the head of " Critical Notices." Every book consequently that issued from that quarter, we found bedaubed with praise throughout the whole land, and whether its pages happened to be the brainless ravings of a fool, or the able and tasteful effusions of a genius, the same slavering opinion of both appeared in the journals. The consequence of all this falsehood and injustice towards the public, has been a reaction in the public mind. The literary fraud, though not openly attacked, has been discovered, by that most instructive and most potent of all arguments, that of many being personally taken in; and, hence the total disregard and contempt for all such like literary licentiousness. A novel of Colburns, though praised in a manner that terms of commendation appear absolutely at a premium on the part of the critic, is now looked upon with the greatest suspicion, and work* which would otherwise have won immediate fame from their intrinsic merits, are now destined to procure even a perusal by slow and painful degrees. Having ourselves not unfrequently "caught a Tartar," we allowed this self-same novel '* Am.K Paulet," to lie for weeks among the literary lumber, that litters our library table, without once dreaming of inserting our ivory cutter into its uncut pages. It was only a few nights ago, when, in a fit of ennui, we took up one of the volumes, and having found that it exhibited something like talent, and a knowledge of the world, on the part of its author, we proceeded through its three volumes. The fact is, this novel, viewed as a vast variety of clever sketches of present manners, is really neither an unreadable nor an uninstructive work. Who for example, not altogether lost to every good feeling, would not shudder at the vicious course and fearful end of Colonel Sydenham's libertine life, and would not resolve at least to avoid the first approaches towards such a brutal existence? Who, on the other hand, with the least anxiety to be really happy, would not feel, on being introduced into the orderly, the plain and the mural interior of Mr. Paulet's home, the prudent wish rising in his bosom, that the same mode of life should be his, whether fate should place him in a cottage orapalace? And, who, that studies the character of Alice Paulet, would not wish to have such a companion to adorn either? If there be in the pages before us, a too anxious and evident attempt made to advocate a fallen political cause, there is at the same time no delicacy displayed, in openly exhibiting the monstrosities which has brought it into disrepute. As a story to awaken curiosity "Alice Paulet" has no pretensions. There is little plot and no denouement, save that which is evidently seen from the beginning. It is the mere Memoirs of a Man of Fashion, with an account of the various scenes to which he is exposed—of a sworn Benedict brought, through contempt for the world and an example of domestic bliss, to abandon his single blessedness, and to become a married man. For the sake of the extra-proportion of our fair citizens, we would hope that some of our bachelors, would immediately follow such an example. Let them read the novel, and then make up their minds.

ORIGINAL POETRY.

PETER AND MARY;
A Kitchen Ballad;

Founded on Fact, and written expressly for all the
about the Dripping Pan.

The learned have said (but who can tell

When learned folks are right)
That there is no such thing in life

As Loving at First Sight.
But I will now an instance bring,

You may rely upon,
How Peter Black fell deep in love

With Mart Mucklejohn.
He through the kitchen window look'd,

When Mary just had got,
A round of beef all newly cook'd,

And smoking from the pot.
And ay he gazed and ay be smelt,

With many a hungry groan,
Till Mary's heart began to melt,

Like marrow in the bone.
And looking up, she sweetly smiled.

Her smile it seemed to say,
"Please, Mr. Black, if your inclined,

You'll dine with me to-day."
At least so Peter read her smile

And soon tripped down the stair;
When Mary kindly welcomed him,

And help\1 him to a chair.
There, much he praised the round of beef,

And much he praised the maid;
While she, poor simple soul, believed

Each flattering word he said.
Perhaps he made some slight mistakes,

Yet part might well be trew'd,
For tho' her face was no great shakes,

The beef was really good.
Then Peter pledged his troth, and swore

A constant man he'd be,
And daily, like a man of truth,

Came constantly at Three.
And thus ho dared, tho' long and lean,

Each slanderous tongue to say,
That, though when present he seem'd long,

That he was long away.
Three was the hour, when bits were nice,

And then he show'd his face.
But show'd it there so very oft

That Mary lost her place.
Some fair ones say that love is sweet,

And hideth many a fault;
Our fair one found, when turn'd away,

Her love was rather salt.
Poor Mary says to Peter Black,

"Now wedded let us be,
Bone of your bone, flesh of your flesh,

You promised to make me."
"Flesh of your flesh, I grant I said,

Bone of your bone, I'd be;
But now, you know, you've got no Jlesh

And bones are not for me."
Poor Cooky now stood all aghast

To find him on the shy,
And rais'd her apron tail to wipe

The dripping from her eye.
She sobbed •' Oh, perjured Peter Black,

The basest man I know,
You're Black by name, you're black at heart.

Since you can use me so."
Yet still to please her Peter's taste

Gave her poor heart relief;
So Mary went and hung herself

And thus became hung beef.
That grief had cut her up, t'was plain

To every one in tow n,
But Peter, when he heard the tale,

He ran and cut her down.
Fast, fast, his briny tears now flowed

Yet Mary's sands ran fleeter;
Such brine could not presence the maid,

Though from her own salt Peter.
From this let Coukmaids learn to shun

Men who are long and lean;
For when they talk about their love

"lis pudding that they mean.

Ian.

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