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not defray his travelling charges to London. Besides, I bear this very barber an old grudge on the wig score-he may go to the devil for me, and seek stuff there to promote the growth of hair and whiskers. The truth is this. My poor old bear has been many years in the family. We had him as a legacy from Jem Woodieson, when betrayed by the unnatural appearance of his disguise wig, and exalted at Maidstonecurse the fingers that made it. Jem was a lad, whose skilful address in the withdrawing of pigs and poultry will be long remembered, and requires no eulogy of mine. In gratitude to our benefactor, we treated his favourite with much kindness and respect, both on Jem's account, and his own; for, truly, he was a noble animal. But trudging about from fair to fair, with the two monkeys, and dancing to every group of Johnny Raws that came in his way, gradually impaired a constitution, naturally delicate, until he became a downright cripple; so I took compassion on the poor soul, and, with the assistance of my nephew, Bill Felcher, had him clean and comfortably shaven. We now exhibit him in a large water tub at one end of the caravan; and really the grateful brute looks uncommonly fierce, and roars well-I freely use the expression, as ninetenths of our visitants know not the difference between a roar and a growl. By this speculation, we netted 471. 5s. 6d. last week at Lynn mart-all clear clink.

"I know not what to think of this Holborn affair. Property of that description is becoming every day more and more precarious. What with vagrant acts, and societies for the suppression of mendicity, and lions in the path of every denomination, both civil and religious, I verily do believe that the whole breed of street solicitors will, sooner or later, become extinct. No calling, within the range of my knowledge, is so very liable to be overhauled, as that of the cross-sweeper. He becomes a local character in a few days -the very nature of his profession requires him to vibrate from side to side, like a pendulum, and then comes Duncan Campbell, in all his terrors, demanding a scrutiny. No movement that I know of is more likely to VOL. IV.

tempt the curiosity of that mighty persecutor. Moreover, it is generally believed that charity, and loving kindness, and compassion, are on the decline; and, that a new-fangled system of education will very soon render mankind too sagacious and circumspect for the best of us-but what the deuce do I boggle at? History assures us, and daily experience corroborates the fact, that the same portions of sapience and stupidity, dulness and discernment, have been annually meted out to human nature, from the creation, down to the date hereof; and that mankind will continue to breed in the usual way— nine tenths geese, and the rest poulterers, in spite of Joseph Lancaster's teeth; so we'll dismiss all apprehension of the evil day, for the present, and proceed to business.

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"A recollection is just now flickering in my mind, like the lights and shades of a three-year-old dream. One evening, somewhere about four or five years ago, when chattering over a couple of rummers, with old Ben, at the Bear and Fiddle, he became, all of a sudden, exceedingly communicative; and as there could he little harm in asking a civil question or two, Now, Benjamin Skipstocks,' quoth I, very gravely, solve me a problem. How comes it to pass that the parish beadle pursues the tenor of his way, and the street-keeper passeth by, without reconnoitring thy position, or even saying-evil thou doest?' Aye, that I will, my boy, and frankly too;' replied the facetious old buffer, so lend an ear, and listen unto me-at the commencement of the season, a crown wet and a crown dry cures their bark; but O, Ned, Ned, that Suppression Secretary is a sad dog.' Now, Sam, before you broach the subject, sound this secretary, and if his per centage is any way moderate, offer the old fellow, in my name, to the tune of 75l., say guineas, as an equivalent for his right of sweeperage. truth is, I have it in contemplation to do something for my uncle Robin. Poor man, he has been in an ailing way ever since his neck had that confounded twist in Lincoln pillory; and the sweeperage of Holborn Bridge would just suit him to the nines. Should you close with the old man, and I really think there is F

The

little doubt of it, as I believe the incumbent is seriously disposed to sell off and retire to Cheltenham; get the deeds of conveyance drawn up by Thursday week; and I can safely make a bolt for a few days, to do the Deedful.

"Your son Bob has commenced operations against the enemy. By the coach, you will receive three prime Ringstead turkeys, all withdrawn in one night, by his own hands-what a haul for such a gosling! Truly, Sam, he is a sweet little fellow, and promises fair to shine amongst us, a star of the first magnitude. You exercised a sound discretion in taking him away from school. Another year, in all probability, would have ruined the lad. Education, my dear Sir, notwithstanding all the assertions of old prejudice to the contrary, is absolutely necessary in our profession; only care must be taken to remove the student before his ideas of what the enemy calls morality, begin to consolidate. This was a favourite maxim of my worthy father's-all his children were removed from boarding school, before they had completed their fourteenth year. He then fell to work, modelled their minds to his liking, and carefully turned the portion of learning they had acquired into the proper channels. Hence arises the wide difference, in point of adroitness, between our family, and many others I could name, whose children's education was stinted to the rude construction of a St. Andrew's cross.

"A fresh supply of tambourines is absolutely necessary, our drunken farmers having demolished my whole stock. One guinea a kick, hit or miss, is quite the go; all yellow lads down on the nail. They certainly are prime fellows. What can be more delightful than walking on the dilapidated ramparts, of an evening, or sitting on the old Watch Tower, and listening to the overflowings of their joy as they gallop home from a rising market; hallooing with all their might, and lashing the Johnny Raws who presume to dispute their right of cantering on the highway foot-paths. I humbly hope that the day is far distant, indeed, when ne

cessity will compel them to ride at leisure.

"The result of your inquiries, and all other particulars, relative to the Holborn business, I shall look for every post. Dear Sam, I have much to say, but a pressure of business requiring immediate attention, compels me to haul my wind, and subscribe myself,

"Thine truly and faithfully,

"EDWARD GALLOWGATE. "To Mr. Saml. Cuddiecowper, Kent-street, Boro', London.

"P.S.-All our endeavours to save Scotch Andrew were unavailing.Thirteen indictments preferred against him;-nine substantiated by point blank evidence; and his clergy allowed at the last Derby Assizes, were a phalanx too firm to be shaken. What, in the name of Folly, could have tempted the man to commence pick-pocket; a profession so very far beyond the range of his abilities.— The bag-pipe was Andrew's forte, and tune-making his delight. I never knew a young bear refuse to obey the voice of his chaunter. Poor Andrew!-Five of us visited him the night before his exaltation; and such a five never before acknowledged the mastery of bolt and lock. Old adventures, new schemes of ways and means, and ludicrous anecdotes,-soon screwed our conviviality to the highest pitch. Andrew was the first to recollect himself. a sudden, and in the very midst of our hilarity, he wrung his hands, and exclaimed, in a tone of sorrow that will ever haunt my remembrance,

All of

O sirs, this wearifu' hanging rings in my head like a new tune! Poor discretion. man, he fell a martyr to his own inAdieu. E. G."

Then follows an entire letter from a young man on the eve of burying his first wife.* This epistle abounds with much original information; inasmuch as it proves, beyond the possibility of doubt, that a certain class of men, hitherto deemed untameable as the wild ass's colt, have at length been reduced by the manufacturing system, and fairly brought under the yoke.

A cant phrase used by apprentices when about to be released from their indentures.

"Garland Crescent, 22d Dec.

1820.

"Dear and honoured Father,-As my apprenticeship is now drawing to a close, I beseech you to jog Uncle Barnaby's memory, and remind him of his promise. Something must be done to put me in business; for I do declare that the thoughts of journeywork freeze my very blood. Master employs no less than fifteen hands, nine of them ballad-makers-the rest attached to the dying-speech and elegy departments. Poor fellows, it grieves me to see them. Figure to yourself fifteen men of sublime genius, pacing to and fro on the factory floor; holding up the semblance of nether garments with one hand, a sketch-book in the other, and all of them rapt in meditation high,' or haply standing by the inspiration tub, partaking of whiskey toddy, brewed by our indulgent foreman. But their best endeavours, owing to the badness of the times, are insufficient

to fill their skins, and clothe their
emaciated bodies. Were it not for
the exhilarating beverage liberally
supplied by our benevolent manager,
I verily do believe, that all their
fancies would have perished long
ago. Since I last wrote you, master
has taken on another journeyman,
through sheer compassion,-
a fine
young lad of promising talent. He
has the heels of all his shopmates,
in sentimental tenderness; and the
pathos of his elegy is much admired-
but he positively refuses to taste the
toddy,-and dissuades me from put-
ting my lips to the ladle with which
it is distributed. To him I stand in-
debted for much valuable informa-
tion. The following ballad, founded
on the story of poor Helen Græme,
that grandmother used to tell with
so much feeling, was sketched by
him. He gave me the skeleton, and
I clothed it with flesh and skin.-
Master says it's poor stuff,—but I
think otherwise: judge for yourself.

HELEN GRÆME.

A spirit glides to my bed-side,
Wringing it's hands of virgin snow;
Loosely it's robes of floating light,
Loosely it's golden ringlets flow;
All in a shadowy mantle clad,
It climbs my blissless bridal bed.

"Thou airy phantom of the night,

Unveil thy face, and gaze on me,
Until my shivering heart is cold,—
And I'll arise, and follow thee.
Oh! Helen Græme, celestial maid,
I commune with thine angel shade.
"Ill omen'd was this morn to me,

The woeful morn of my wedding;
Matilda heard a death-bell toll-

When on her finger glow'd the ring.
My cold hand clasp'd the blushing dame's,-
But O! my heart was Helen Græme's."

"Arise, Lord Auchinlea, arise,

And wrap thee in this shroud of mine;
Turn from thy softly slumbering bride,
And press my shivering cheek to thine.
On forest glade, and naked wold,
The wind is keen-the dew is cold.

"I know thee well, deserving youth;

Fair honour clothes thy gentle brow;
The rage of feud withheld thy hand,-
But hand and heart are Helen's now.
Another lock'd embrace, and we
Will hie us to eternity.

"An angry father's scowling brow,

A lady mother's wrathful eye, Will never more our loves divide

Will never more our peace annoy. In one wide bed, beneath the yew, There will we sleep-and sweetly too." His young bride woke in sore affrightPale as the cold, the lifeless clay; She saw her lord in Helen's arms,

His quivering corse beside her lay. Wrapt in a mantling blaze of light, They vanish'd from that lady's sight. Green grows the birk on Laggan burn, And fair the opening blossom blows; But greener is the sacred grass,

And ruddier too, the wild-briar rose, Where dew-bath'd flowrets gently rest Their bloomy heads on Helen's breast.

"On comparing this sample with the piece I sent home last Christmas, I hope my dear father will find an alteration in my versification for the better. My application to study has indeed been most arduous; and, happy am I to say, attended with a success seldom experienced by lads of my years at least I think so. Many thanks to aunt for the fine collection of old psalm tunes she sent me. They suit my style of composition admirably well, and in due time will make their appearance, accompanied with the very best lyrics that I can produce. My dear father, let me again entreat you to keep uncle in your eye. I well know that he has bowels, though somewhat difficult of access; and a kind warm heart,-though, like the best of coal fires, it requires pokering now and then. With kind love to all my kindred, acquaintance, and inquiring friends, I ever remain, my dear and honoured father, "Your dutiful and affectionate son, "BARNABY DANDELION.' These gleanings of Fugitive Literature fully justify an opinion I have long entertained; viz. that much curious information, amusement, and even knowledge, is annually consumed by cheesemongers, barbers, tobacconists, &c.—and strange as it may seem, neither literary philanthropists, nor book-making publishers, so far as I know, with the exception of Sir Gideon Moubray, have hitherto taken compassion on the forlorn fugitives, or even availed themselves of a fund, untouched by speculative fingers. Being a little man,

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and slow of speech, perhaps it would be deemed presumptuous, were I even to dream of a Society for the Preservation of Literary Scraps; but a word to the wise is sufficient. The hint may possibly fall into abler hands,-and though I should neither enjoy the honourable and lucrative situation of Secretary to the Association, nor even be deemed eligible to fill the no less useful one of Beadle, yet will I not complain. The internal satisfaction of having been the humble means of providing a Refuge for the Destitute, will amply recompense my loving kindness.

Many and various are the sources whence the dealer and chapman draws a supply of waste paper, at

per lb. The early and unavailing struggles of indigent genius to behold the light, baffled, and trodden under foot, perhaps, by the underling Mentor of some fat publisher, whom success in business has rendered too indolent, or nature too stupid, to judge for himself—The wailings and gratulation of desponding and successful love, in prose and

verse

-The high-seasoned resolves of public meetings, Catholic, and anti-Catholic, radical, and anti-radical, together with all, and sundry the miscellaneous offspring of the mind-But where am I wandering? To the formation of an establishment, whose component parts I have neither sagacity to select, nor influence I shall, therefore, to consolidate. close the subject, and leave my observations to shift for themselves.

LAUCHLIN GALLOWAY.

THE GARDEN OF FLORENCE, AND OTHER POEMS;

BY JOHN HAMILTON.

THERE are two sorts of poetry which have grown up and flourished in this our excellent age. The one is good, solid (even when airy), unassuming, wholesome diet for the mind. The other is frothy, noisy, and vain-glorious, dealing in big words and puffed phrases, in fustian and folly; and of this let every man take heed; for though it maketh somewhat of a show, and allureth the eye like an omelet soufflée, yet is it indigestible, unsubstantial, and unwholesome.

It has been thus with every age. The spirit of poetry has always had its attendant shadow, larger than itself, but empty, monstrous, misshapen

Monstr' horrend' inform' ingens cui lumen ademptum.

Lear was preceded by Tamburlaine (the shade is thrown_forward when the sun is behind) ;-Pope had his imitators and enemies; and Lord Byron is not without his satellites, who catch a transient notoriety from his brightness, though they reflect neither lustre nor credit upon him.Wordsworth has but few followers; although he has contributed more than any man of his time to free poetry from its shackles, and has mixed an unpretending beauty of diction with a more profound insight into the philosophy of nature than any other cotemporary poet. Mr. Shelley has excluded himself from imitators, by his exposition of a very questionable system of morals (probably "unquestionable" were better), but his ear is, perhaps, finer than that of any poet since the time of Milton, and his command of language is unrivalled. In Wordsworth there is a studied avoidance of sounding phraseology; so much so, in fact, that he at times betrays an absolute baldness of diction; yet he too can rise, when occasion suits, and clothe the neck of his Pegasus with thunder. Mr. Shelley's elevation of style is more sustained; but his mastery of words is so complete, and his magnificent and happy combinations so

*

frequent, that the richness is obscured by the profusion.

With such men as these (Byron, Wordsworth, Shelley-we say nothing of the subjects on which they write) high phrase is well; but we hate to hear a Pistol of a man let off his matchlock close to our ear with nothing but blank cartridge in it,— like an empty barrel, the more noisy from its very vacancy: this is vile, and not to be endured: it affronts us while it perplexes our taste.-It was well said by a friend of ours (an eminent critic) that Mr.. - had nothing but a verbal imagination,'that all his feats were in words; though this might have been well enough, but unluckily there were no ideas amongst them. Words were not the mere drapery of this person's imagination (if he had any), but they were the substance, the body and soul, of his works: if they had not words, they had nothing;—they were the chaff and husks of literature, in short, to be blown away by a breath of criticism,-a mere dictionary matter, and no more. Now such a man as this would have done well to let the muses alone: they never could have returned his affection; nor would they, indeed, have understood him, for the language of Cambyses is not spoken on the slopes of Parnassus :--but the author before us is entirely of a different stamp. He is as free from bombast and pretension as the infirm nature of poets will allow. There is, besides, a great deal of fancy and deep pathos in his volume,-a good deal of original (verging occasionally on fantastic) expression; and much of that old fashioned love of what is good and beautiful in nature, with all that is gentle in expression, and correct in thought,-too seldom to be met with in the poetry of the present period. Let not our readers, young or fair, be alarmed: there is nothing didactic or repulsive in the book: it is simply a collection of tales, lyrical poems, and songs, pleasantly varied, and delicately touched; among which are many passages of

Warren, London, 1821.

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