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on flowers, was found stumping over the paving-stones ; and September, instead of gliding through falling leaves, was seen sliddering away through the pools and gutters; and thus finally terminated the Quadrille of Rank and the Quadrille of Beauty, never, we fear, again to be resuscitated. The rest of the “ Irish Saison" under the above-mentioned administration was diversified in bazaars, morning concerts, pbrenological lectures, &c. The bazaar system, in particular, was much in vogue.

is an invention by which one part of the community is robbed and the other fed ; an ingenious device, by which the onus of charity is thrown: on starving shopkeepers, and the reputation of benevolence is acquired by fidgety young ladies. A bazaar is a repository of all the trinkumtrankums, gim-cracks, and hop-jacks, that the inventive faculty and pliant fingers of feminine gender can conceive and execute. It is a museum of all the sublime thoughts, conceptions, and imaginings, that young spinsters, armed with needles and thimbles, can be conceived to be inspired with. It is an aggregate of all the varieties that pasteboard,

souled imagination of lady sempstresses and lady pastrycooks. A bazaar is a place at which you may see and be seen, that is, from the chin up, the rest of the person forming a part of one dense mass. It is a place where cornets and ensigns may have the pleasure of making bargains with the above-mentioned lady shopkeepers, and the satisfaction of purchasing from these fair negotiators a goose-quill toothpick for the moderate charge of a month's pay. It is a place also where the said negotiators may negotiate with the said men of war a more sentimental species of traffic, and thus verify the interpretation that charity is love. With respect to the morning concerts which were scattered through the season, it is sufficient to say that they flourished in their generation. People were as well dressed and as chatty as they usually are on such occasions. As for the music, Mrs. Chit-Chatterly generally performed on the speaking-trumpet with her usual ability, being ably supported by numerous other performers on that very effective instrument, whilst the orchestra, enjoying a sinecure, was thereby enabled to surrender itself up to the grateful influences of balmy repose.

But perhaps you will be led to think from these details, that Dublin is a mere receptacle for fashion, and because its University is turned into an institution for the deaf and dumb, that therefore philosophy and learning are banished from her streets. You are wholly mistaken. What has a college to do with philosophy, and what justifies you in determining on the ignorance or knowledge of a nation by a reference to it? God bless my soul, you don't seem to understand even your mother tongue! A pretty task I have imposed upon myself,—to give you, forsooth, a Dublin Guide! Ask any body what a college is. Ask Sir Robert Inglis, and he will tell you it is a clerical borough, where young men in black gowns drink claret and toast the Church. Ask Sir Nicholas Tindall, and he will tell you it is a place which has disgraced itself by its no-popery principles. Ask John Wilson Croker, and he will tell you it is a big stone building in the middle of College-Green, and that he represents it in Parliament as it should be represented, that is, by keeping a dignified silence. Not a word is said of learning, you perceive. There is no ridiculous affectation of this sort. You in

stance the London University ; but what does it prove? Am I to be confuted in my position by Mr. Brougham's rash innovations on English habits and English language? No! If Mr. Brougham choose to introduce these wild and extravagant alterations into a system which has been handed down pure and untainted from the time of the Druids, which our forefathers and their grandfathers, and their great, great grandfathers abided by, and sanctioned, and approved of; if Mr. Brougham choose thus to undermine long established monopolies, to change political corporations into scientific ones; and oh! more profane than all, to tamper with our language, and to call this new Pandemonium by the name “University," why, let him do so; but with him let the infamy, and discredit, and obloquy, of such a nefarious transaction rest,- I wash my hands of it. As for myself, I am a loyal subject, and no radical; therefore as a conclusion to the argument I will give, if you allow me, (for I am at present taking my pint of Madeira,) " three cheers for three Universities and the good old times !” But this question about colleges has made me digress. You conceive that Dublin is destitute of learning? By no means. Had we not during the last season Mr. Coombe from Scotland lecturing us on Phrenology ; and was pot Mrs. Prim-Prosody to be seen every day, “cum multis aliis,” drinking in philosophy at every pore that was pervious ? Were not the good people of Dublin employed for two whole calendar months on bumpdiscoveries? Was not Mr. Prosy Literal found to be blessed with an excessive developement of the organ of imagination ; and Mr. Ploddington Mum with that of wit ; was not Miss Polly Addle-pate, who fortunately had her head fastened tight to her shoulders so as to remove all apprehensions of her leaving it behind her—was she not discovered to possess in a strong degree that combination of organs of which memory is the result; was not Mrs. Totally Discord proved to be big with the organ of melody; and Master Dashaway Random, (who by the by had just come home from school with a black-eye) discovered with the organ of order swelled out into the most uncommon dimensions ? Was not all this seen, and examined into, and analyzed ; and after all this, will you say that Dublin is not the repository of science? But, on the other hand, was the system of Mr. Coombe received without that proper degree of philosophical demur and investigation which demonstrates a genuine capability to learn ? No! Mr. Coombe was invited to private parties, and was cross-questioned by all the little masters and misses who could read the names of the organs. It was to no purpose that he pleaded an immunity from explaining the advanced parts of a science until previous steps had been acquired. It was to no purpose to say that we must read the first proposition of Euclid before the forty-seventh. This was treated with the neglect it deserved ; and dandy philosophers reeking from school, adjusted their neckcloths and talked of free-will. A laudable anxiety was evinced to pass off small wit as hucksters do small-beer, cheap but muddy withal, and to let the world see that they, the retailers of this respectable commodity, were able to controvert points even with phrenologists themselves. Now this was all very praiseworthy. Mr. Coombe was, no doubt, penetrated and confounded by the acute and philosophic interrogatories of these sage inquisitors, and the metropolis of all Ireland thus saved from the imputation of any deficiency in intellect or knowledge.

Well, I believe I have now supplied you with information sufficient to initiate you into Irish fashion, and to give you some idea of the last “Saison.” Of course the sketch falls far short of the original. If, therefore, you do not think it a satisfactory one, you had better cross the channel and visit the great city yourself; but if you are tolerably content with it, and have not time for that excursion, I shall perhaps next season favour you, my fair friend, (for I would wager my heart against a lock of your hair, that you are a woman,) with another picture of Dublin.

K.

THE BOWER OF BLISS.
By a foam-clouded torrent, whose steep mountain-shower

A bright little rainbow eternally spans,
In a garden so wild there's a beautiful Bower,

Which the West with his violet-breath ever fans.
Did the Sons of the Sky, when they courted Earth's Daughters,

Build any more bowers so lovely as this?
I would it were so ! for the one by these waters

May well be entitled a Bower of Bliss.
No capitals chiselled in leaves of acanthus,

No pillars encrusted with gold or with gems;
But flowers ever-blooming, like famed Amaranthus,

Enrich the whole peristyle built of green stems.
Its roof of syringa and vine interweaving,

And kissing as close as the trees were of kin;
Its sides thickly trellised with myrtles--scarce leaving

A space for inquisitive eyes to peep in.
Each balm-breathing shrub from the mountain or valley,

A fold of green drapery lends to this room ;
And forms, with its neighbours, a high-pleached alley,

That winds down the Vale in a walk of sweet gloom.
Here, safe as the halcyon rocks in the harbour, .

Where blasts cannot enter to ruffle her crest,
The eye-closing Dove, in her own leafy arbour,

Delights to swing over a Bower so blest:
A Bower so fragrant, that Beauty still lingers

Around it, as if but to pilfer a braid;
And, twisting the elegant sprays with her fingers,

Still waits to be ask'd to walk under its shade.
If she enter,---behold, on a couch of fresh roses,

Yet not half as listless, perchance, as he seems,
The Bard, in some vision of splendour, reposes,

And takes her, perchance, for the light of his dreams.
A lyre on a green myrtle branch hangs before him,

O'er which his wild hand as he carelessly flings,
Should the Nymph by a look, or aught sweeter, implore him,
He chaunts some fond ditty, like this, to the strings.

The Lily of the field is fair,
A sovereign queen of beauty there,

A pale yet peerless flower ;
But, though she wear her crown of dew,
She's not so lovely still as you,

You Lily of my Bower!

The Rose is wondrous rich and sweet,
Still dropping rubies at her feet,

And wasting her perfume ;
Yet rarer far, I know not how,
The flower that droops beside me now,

All beauty and all bloom!
Some say the Violet's sweet mouth
When open’d by the dewy South

Would pains of death beguile;
But there's a mouth, not far from mine,
That breathes an odour more divine,

When open'd by a smile!
Then weave a floral crown for me!
Fill the red cup! and thou shalt be,

While inspiration flows,-
By times, my lovelier Violet
Than South wind ever sung to yet,

My Lily, or my Rose!
Yet ah! the Violet will die !
The Lily in sweet ashes lie!

The Rose will see decay!
And ah! the lovelier Maiden-flower,
Even you-you glory of my Bower!

Like them will pass away!

THE YOUNG SURGEON, NO. III. My landlady one morning opening my door announced Mr. Stewart ! Mr. Stewart? I mentally ejaculated -I know no Mr. Stewart-who can the man be? what business can he have with me? As I am of a civil nature, I offered him a chair, and he sat down. An inquiry from him respecting the health of one who, like himself, had devoted his mind to intellectual pursuits, at once dissipated my doubts. It was Dugald Stewart. But how could I recognize him when he was ushered into my room as Mr. Stewart ? I had heard of Dugald Stewart, as of Locke, and Reid, and Hume; I was familiar with his writings; but I should not have been more perplexed with the announcement of “Mr. John Locke!” I was in company, then, with Dugald Stewart, the most illustrious name that Scotland could boastma man whose writings were known wherever civilization extended! I cannot express the transition of my feelings when I found that, instead of being in company with some traveller, or man of business, as I at first suspected, I stood in the presence of one of the first philosophers of modern times. There was a mild, and yet dignified suavity in his manner which at once placed me at my ease, and took away every feeling of constraint, He reminded me, in his address, of that most excellent and accomplished person the late Sir James Edward Smith. Indeed, I have ever found that men of the highest powers of mind are invariably mild and gentle in conversation, however harsh and severe they may sometimes appear in their writings. Of this, Priestley was a remarkable instance. The health of several friends in England, with whom Dugald Stewart had passed some time on a visit, was the first subject of our conversation. He then talked about the improvements which had lately

been made in the College, inquired into my views, offered some friendly suggestions, and after sitting with me about twenty minutes, took his departure. Circumstances prevented me from seeing more of him during my stay in Scotland, a misfortune which I shall ever regret. I never, during my residence there, heard the name of Dugald Stewart mentioned without respect. He seemed, by his splendid reputation, to have overpowered all feelings of rivalship; and he was, I believe, as much beloved in private life, as he was admired, respected, and honoured in public.

Soon after my arrival in Edinburgh, I was introduced to Lord Buchan, the elder brother of Lord Erskine and of the Hon. Henry Erskine. For his kind attention to me during my severe attack of fever, I shall ever feel grateful. He did not send to inquire after my health, but came himself to my bed-side; and though I told him I was afraid he might take the fever, he replied that he had no apprehensions on the subject; that he had studied medicine himself, and that it would not, therefore, become him to display any thing like fear of contagion. The appearance of Lord Buchan was very striking. His venerable countenance was open and benevolent, and his long white hair streamed over his shoulders. He had many eccentric notions and habits. Thus, he would never, even in the most severe weather, wear a great coat. Like the greater part of the world, he was very fond of talking of himself, and he frequently amused me with giving an account of his early life. He told me that he used, when a child, to be awakened by the sound of sweet music every morning, in order that his mind might be kept tranquil. I said, “ I suppose it was the bagpipes, my Lord!"-a joke which he took very good-naturedly. Only think of a child awakened every morning by the bagpipes, and breakfasting on oatmeal porridge; what a ferocious fellow he would be! One of the infirmities of his Lordship was a habit of exaggeration, which very frequently displayed itself. Amongst other things, he told me that he was sadly plagued to make any thing of his brother Thomas (Lord Erskine), and that he was for a long time very doubtful how he would turn out.

When Jefferson was President of the United States, his Lordship addressed a long letter to him, telling the Yankees how they ought to behave. To this he received a very polite answer, and he had copies of the letters made in a fine hand, framed, and hung in his library. In his earlier years, in common with many other young noblemen, he used to attend the lectures delivered in the University on the various branches of literature and science, a great advantage which Edinburgh at that time possessed over London as a place of residence. But since the successful establishment of the London University, this superiority no longer exists, and London now presents advantages which no other metropolis can offer. All who have a little time to spare, and inclination to improve it, have great facilities for the acquisition of knowledge afforded them, by the establishment of the many excellent lectures on the various branches of science and literature which are daily delivered within the walls of the University. As a school of medicine, in particular, the University will, I feel persuaded, become most popular and celebrated. The lectures that have hitherto been delivered at the various Institutions in London, on the different branches of science con

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