Thou art my all: the spring remains

In the fair violets of thy veins;
And that it is a summer's day,
Ripe cherries in thy lips display;

And when for autumn I would seek,
'Tis in the apples of thy cheek;
But that which only moves my smart,
Is to see winter in thy heart."

Of Butler it is needless to speak: every body knows Hudibras. He is, indeed a glorious champion of the octo-syllabic verse. The glories, too, of Prior,-the witty, the humorous, the riant Prior,are too well known to require illustration. We say "too well known," for Matthew, alas! had a sovereign contempt for les bienséancés, and only, now-a-days, finds his "way into families" because time and a classic reputation have, in a manner, sanctified his extravagances. But what must have been the irresistible charm of his octo-syllabic measure, to have seduced the morbid methodist, Cowper, into a warm eulogy of the very metre in which his licentious freaks were perpetrated?

As in Prior's case, Gay chose this particular verse to sin in. We do not allude to his "Fables," but to his "Tales," which are dexterous and pleasant enough, but wrong. The reader must not expect specimens. From the next writer, however, to whom we shall allude, namely Green, author of "The Spleen," we shall be happy to transfer to our pages an extract. Green was a member of the Society of Friends; but, whatever might have been the formality of the outward man, never did a more genial heart beat in the bosom of a human creature than in that of Quaker Green. He was a philosopher, a humanist, a wit, a poet; and we do not like him the less because he took especial delight in the sly humour of the eightsyllable rhyme. He found in this measure a pleasant compromise between a staid cheerfulness and a roystering joke, and he dandled it to his heart's content in the true spirit of Quaker love-making; that is to say with a certain significance of purpose qualified by sobriety of pretence. The friendly triumph of the flesh over the spirit was never more cordially manifested; but all is done "with conscience and tender heart." The poem called "The Spleen" would have been a luxury from any writer. From Green, in his drab coat, it has a double relish. The fire that burned under the broad-brimmed hat of this wise and gentle lover of humanity was too strong for the stuff of which his physical man was composed; it

"O'er-informed his tenement of clay;"

and our poetical Quaker died before he had reached his middle age. His principal poem is distinguished by the elastic play of the versification, by manly good sense, and flashing wit. Poor Green! it was especially necessary for him, with his delicate organization, to study how he might best exorcise the spleen, or, as we should now call it, hypochondria, a task which we, in our Miscellany, have taken under our especial care. The following extract from the exordium to the Quaker's poem will afford a good taste of his quality. We have italicised some lines that appeared to be peculiarly felicitous :

"Hunting I reckon very good

To brace the nerves, and stir the blood;
But after no field-honours itch,
Atchiev'd by leaping hedge and ditch.
While Spleen lies soft relax'd in bed,
Or o'er coal-fires inclines the head,
Hygeia's sons with hound and horn,
And jovial cry, awake the Morn :
These see her from her dusky plight,
Smear'd by th' embraces of the Night,
With roral wash redeem her face,
And prove herself of Titan's race,
And mounting in loose robes the skies,
Shed light and fragrance as she flies.
Then horse and hound fierce joy display,
Exulting at the 'Hark-away!"

And in pursuit o'er tainted ground
From lungs robust field-notes resound.
Then, as St. George the dragon slew,
Spleen pierced, trod down, and dying view,
While all the spirits are on wing,
And woods, and hills, and valleys ring.

To cure the mind's wrong bias, Spleen,
Some recommend the bowling-green;
Some, hilly walks; all, exercise;
Fling but a stone, the giant dies;

Laugh, and be well. Monkeys have been
Extreme good doctors for the Spleen;

And kitten, if the humour hit,

Has harlequin'd away the fit."

may take an opportunity of resuming this subject.

THE RISING PERIODICAL;

BEING MR. VERDANT'S ACCOUNT OF HIS LAST AERIAL VOYAGE, edited BY THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY.

WITHUOT apology, I'll trace

Our airy flight across the sea,

Because at once we raised ourselves
And public curiosity.

And well might those who saw us off
Our many perils long discuss,
Because, ere we were out of sight,
"Twas certainly "all up with us!"

There might be danger, sure enough,
On high, from thirst and hunger blending;
But men are told they should bear up
Against the danger that 's impending.

So we bore up into the clouds

Of creature comforts ample store;
And really coffee ne'er was known

To rise so speedily before.

Our tongues, though salted, never halted;
Our game fresh-kill'd was very high;
And, though all nicely truss'd and roasted,
We saw our fowls and turkeys fly!
Our solid food rose like a puff;

Hard biscuit seem'd a trifle, too;
And our champagne was so much up,
That e'en our empty bottles flew !
Our spirits rose; in fact we were,
When not a dozen miles from Dover,
Quite in a state of elevation,

Indisputably "half seas over."

How like conspirators were we,

So snug we kept our hour of rising;
And when our movement once was made,
All London cried, "Oh! how surprising !"

If, when we soar'd above the great,

They trembled, 'twas without occasion:
Our thoughts were turned to France; in truth
We meditated an invasion!

But over earth and over sea

We went without one hostile notion;

Our war on earth, a civil war ;

The Channel,-our Pacific Ocean.

When passing over Chatham town
We were just finishing a chicken;
A soldier and a maiden fair

I saw whilst I the bones was picking.
I threw a drumstick at the youth,

Who all around the culprit sought; And whilst the maiden laughed aloud,

I struck her with a merry thought. In darkness we the Channel cross'd,

And left our fragile car to chance; And, scorning customary rules,

Without a passport enter'd France! But on we went, and our descent

Bewilder'd many a German gaper; Until, to prove from whence we came,

We show'd the last day's London paper!

We're told no good that is substantial
Results from all we nobly dare;
What then?-We took a clever MASON
To build us castles in the air.

We're not like certain rising men,

Puff'd up with vain presumptuous thoughts;
We nothing boast of what we v'e done,
And deem ourselves mere airy-noughts!

T. H. B.

AN ITALIAN ANECDOTE.

Naples, July 1.-This was one of the hottest days of the season. I had long contemplated Fort St. Elmo, high on the crest of the mountain which overhung Naples, as one of the objects which I was bound to visit. I knew and felt that, like Vesuvius, it was one of those sights which exercise a tyranny over every traveller, not to be evaded, and which he must see, or hazard his peace of mind for ever; but never yet had I been able to overcome my natural indolence, and to proceed to explore it. On this morning I rose with an alacrity and love of enterprise quite unusual to me, and I at once determined to ascend to St. Elmo to see the magnificent Certosini Convent, with the Chiesa di S. Martino, to enjoy the extensive view which this summit presents, and to hear the ascending buzz of the city and its numerous inhabitants. I immediately sent to T-to accompany me; and, after eating a hearty breakfast, we took our departure. Who that has ever mounted the steep, rugged, and neverending ascent, will not pity the middle-aged gentleman of indolent habits, seeing sights for conscience' sake, of no mean size, (for such I am,) as he struggled with the difficulties before him, looking up in dismay at the castle, inflating and distending his lungs with an action to which they had long been unaccustomed, until his face rivalled the sun in glowing crimson?

At length we reached our object. We saw the sights,-admired the beauty of the church, and its beautiful pictures by Spagnoletto,-exclaimed with rapture at the view, and heard the buzz. With my conscience satisfied, and with my critical observations on all we had seen, ready to be made upon the first favourable opportunity, I lost no time in descending to whence we came. By this time it was past meridian. The descent was very trying upon legs of forty-five years' standing; and the tremulous motion which it produced upon the muscles only increased the longing I felt to find myself once more extended fulllength on my sofa at the Vittoria.

I had taken off my coat, and, lazzaroni-like, had thrown it over my shoulder; my neckcloth was thrust into my waistcoat pocket, and my neck was bare. I carried my hat on my stick, using it by way of parasol; and, thus accoutred, I determined to make one desperate effort to brave the heat of the sun, that was baking the pavement of Santa Lucia, and emitting a glare that acted like a burning-glass upon my eyeballs. As we walked through this ordeal, we passed close to an assembly of young lazzaronis, basking in the sun, near to a stall; there they lay, in the midst of fish-bones, orange-peels, and decayed melons. We evidently excited their mirth; and I, in particular, felt myself privileged to be laughed at,-for what could be more grotesque than my appearance? One of the boys was standing. We had scarcely turned our backs upon them, when I received a

blow on the head from a melon-rind; -I turned about, and immediately the whole gang ran off laughing. I would have followed, but, in truth, was too tired. I could scarcely move but at a slow walk. The boys stopped, and looked at us. At length, making a virtue of necessity, I called out to the boy who had thrown the melon-rind, to come to me-he hesitated; I called again he was evidently puzzled, and suspicious of my intention; I then showed him a carline-" Come here," said I, "take this." "In the name of goodness!" exclaimed T"what are you about ?" "Never mind," said I; "stop and see." The boy at length took courage, and came to me. "Here," said I, bravo! bravissimo! avete fatto bene! take this." Upon which, in surprise, the boy, taking the piece of money out of my hand, ran off in the greatest exultation, showing it to his little friends as a prize fallen down from heaven.

66

"Now do tell me," said T- "what demon of madness can have possessed you? You ought to have broken every bone in that young rascal's skin, instead of feeing him for insulting us." "So I would," said I, "if I could; but to catch him is impossible. By feeing him for his insolence, he will probably throw another piece of melon at the first Englishman he sees, who will, no doubt, give him the beating which I cannot. Tlaughed heartily at the ingenious turn which my indolence had taken-administering a beating à ricochet, as he called it; and, having reached my room, we laughed over our adventure, and speculated upon the beating the youngster would get.

and

And, true enough, the next day, as we were seated on one of the benches of the Villa Reale, we heard a sort of hue and cry on the Chiaja, and shortly after, saw our carroty and irascible friend Wappear, foaming with rage, streaming from every pore, owing to some recent exertion, and exploding with bursts of execration. He came straight to us;-" Who ever knew such an infernal country as this?" said he. "D—them all for a beggarly set of villains! Did you ever see the like? I gave it him well, however,-that's some comfort. The young rascal won't forget me for some time, I'll warrant you!" T I smiled at each other in anticipation of the reason, which only made him more furious. "Here," said he, "was I walking quietly along, when a young rascal of a lazzaroni thought fit to shy half a water-melon at my head;—you may laugh; but it was no laughing matter to me, nor to him either, for I have half killed the young urchin; and then, forsooth, I must have half the town of Naples upon me, backed by all their carrion of old women." We allowed his rage to expend itself, and said nothing, for fear of being implicated in his wrath, inasmuch as I was the origin of his disaster; but, truly, indolence was never so completely justified as on this occasion.

J. M.