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cially as no moral poison mingles with the flowers, no serpent lurks beneath the foliage, to sting either the hand, the head, or the heart of unsuspecting innocence.

To confirm the preceding observations, we beg to lay before our readers a few brief articles, which may be considered as fair specimens both of its prose and verse.

THE NETTLE.

(By the Rev. Robert Walsh, LL.D.) "A. Oh, papa! I have stung my hand with that nasty nettle.

"F. Well, my dear, I am sorry for it: but pull up that large dock-leaf you see near it ;-now bruise the juice out of it on the part you have stung.-Well, is the pain lessened?

"A. Oh, very much indeed-I hardly feel it now. But I wish there was not a nettle in the world. I am sure I do not know what use there can be in them.

"F. If you knew any thing of botany, Nanny, you would not say so.

A. What is botany, papa?

"F. Botany, my dear, is the first thing Adam ever learned.

"A. I do not understand you.

"F. Botany is the knowledge of plants; and these were the first things man became acquainted with. "A. Oh, dear papa, tell me how.

"F. Mau, you know, was created out of the dust of the earth; and when he rose from the ground, he saw himself every where surrounded with plants. The rearing of them became his first care, their fruit his first food, and marking their kinds his first knowledge. Botany, therefore, must have been as old as man's creation; for at that time, the Bible tell us, that "God planted a garden eastward in Eden for Adam, that he might dress it and till it.'

"A. That is very true indeed ;-but did any one else in the Bible ever learn botany?

"F. Yes; not only the first man, but the wisest mau in the world turned his mind to it.

4. Do you mean Solomon ?

"F. I do.

"A. Did Solomon study botany?

"F. So the Bible tells us. He considered the subject with great attention, learned the names and uses of every plant, and discoursed of trees from the largest to the smallest, from the cedar of Lebanon to the hyssop that groweth out of the wall.' Even our Saviour himself condescended to notice plants, and pointed them out to his disciples to instruct them in the wisdom, power, and providence of God. hold,' said he, the lilies of the field how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: yet I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like unto one of them.

'Be

"A. Oh, a lily, indeed, is a beautiful flower; and if there were such growing in our fields; I am sure I should not complain of them. But this ugly nettle! I do not know what beauty, use, or instruction, there could be in that.

"F. And yet, Nanny, there is more beauty, use, and instruction in a nettle than even in a lily. "A. Oh, papa, how can you make that out? "F. Put on your gloves, pluck up that nettle, and let us examine it. First look at the flower.

"A. The flower, papa-I see no flower unless you call that cluster of little ragged knobs flowers, which have neither colour nor smell, aud are not much larger than the heads of pins.

"F. Here, take this magnifying glass, and examine them.

"A. Oh, I see now ;-every little knob is folded up in leaves like a rosebud. Maybe there is a flower inside.

"F. Try--take this pin and touch the knob. Well, what do you see?

"A. Oh, how curious.

"F. What is curious?

"A. The moment I touched it, it flew open; a little cloud rose out of it like enchantment, and four beautiful little stems sprung up as if they were alive; and now that I look again with the glass, I see an elegant little flower as nice and perfect as a lily itself.

"F. Well, now examine the leaves.

"A. Oh, I see they are all covered over with little bristles: and when I examine them with a glass, I see a little bag filled with a juice like water at the bottom of each.-Ha! these are the things which stung me.

"F. Now touch the little bag with the point of the pin.

"A. Oh, when I press the bag, the juice runs up, and comes out at the small point at the top; so I sup

pose the little thorn must be hollow inside, though it is finer than the point of my eambric needie. "F. Have all the leaves those stings?

"A. No; papa; some of the young ones are quite green and soft, like velvet, and I may handle them without any danger.

"F. Now look at the stem, and break it.

"A. Oh, I can easily crack it, but I cannot break it asunder; for the bark is so strong, that it holds it together.

F. Well, now you see there are more curious things in a nettle than you expected.

"A. Oh, indeed, I see that. But you often told me that God made nothing in vain, or without its use; and I am sure I cannot see any use for all these things.

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F That we will now consider. You saw the little flower burst open-a cloud rose, you say, like enchantment-and stems spring up as if they were alive. Now all this is necessary for the nature of the plant. There are many thousand plants in the world; and it pleased God in his wisdom to make them all different. Some have parts that others want, and some have different flowers on different stems. Look at that nettle on the opposite side of the road: you see that it is not exactly the same as the one you examined.

A. No, papa; this has little flat seeds instead of flowers.

"F. Very right, my dear. Now, in order to make these seeds grow, it is necessary that the little flower of this plant and the seed of that should be together, as they are in others: but this, you see, is impossible; for they cannot move about like animals, but are fixed to the spot. The wisdom of God, therefore, has provided a remedy for this: for when you touched the flower, the outside leaves immediately burst open; and if you had not done so, they would in time burst open themselves: then they threw out a little fine powder, which you saw like a cloud; this was conveyed by the air to the other plant at the opposite side of the road; and then when it touched the seed, it gave it power to grow, and produce a new plant when the other withered and died away.

"A. That's very curious indeed; and I see the use of the little cloud and the flower;-but the leaf that stung me-what use can that be of-There, dear papa, I am afraid I puzzle you to tell me that.

F. God has given to all his creatures some kind of defence that they may protect themselves; and for this purpose the bull has horns, and the nettle stings. But even these stings are made of use to man. There are certain diseases which require sharp remedies. I am sorry, my love, that you had occasion to know this for once you were in pain, and your good uncle, the doctor, thought it necessary to put a blister on the part, and under God you got relief. Well, the poor people cannot always get a blister, so they frequently use nettles. They strike the part that is in pain, and the points entering the skin, it presses on the little bags at the bottom, the juice is then forced up and comes out at the point, and wherever it is left behind it leaves a little blister, which gives great relief to the pain. You remember poor Kitty Watson, she could not sleep with pains in the night, and old Thomas Stafford had lost the use of his limbs; and they both say they were relieved by nettles. But when there is no occasion to use them in this way, and you accidentally stung your hand with them, you found a plant beside them, and the mild juice of the one immediately corrected the sharp pain of the other so that you see how good Providence is. When the nettle is wanted for a remedy, it removes the pain of the sick; when it is not necessary for that purpose, the dock leaf grows beside it, to heal the pain it may give itself.

"A. But some of the leaves would not sting. Are they of any use?

"F. Yes, of great use. There are many people in the world who do not think it right to eat meat at some seasons of the year, particularly at a time which occurs in spring. They therefore make themselves food of boiled vegetables, which they call Lent porridge. As this occurs at a time of the year when any green thing is difficult to be found, the young nettle, which shoots out very early, is used for this purpose and it is very good and wholesome food. "A. Now for the stalk, papa.

"F. You saw how very tough the fibres or strings of the bark were: they are for that reason often used as hemp or flax. There is a plant called hempnettle, which the farmers of Yorkshire sow in their gardens for the purpose. When ripe, it is steeped in water, the stem decays, and the bark remains in strings: these are dressed like flax, and the farmers weave them into strong bags, frock coats, and other useful things.

"A. Well, I am sure I never thought of such things when I have trampled on a poor nettle; and I am very much obliged to you, dear papa, for instructing me.

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.....

Review.-Robert Montgomery's Universal Prayer, &c.

.....

"F. I would wish to instruct you a little more, my dear child, and on a still more important point. You were angry and impatient when the nettle stung you, and seemed to repine at that which God had made: but you see how good and perfect is the the thing you despised, and wished had never been in the world. Every thing when examined is equally a proof of God's wisdom and goodness. He, indeed,has made every thing for the use of man; and the scripture truly says, when he made it, he saw that it was very good. In this way he creates nothing in vain, but it may be applied to some useful purpose; and not only this, but whatever comes from his hands is most beautiful and curious, and no human being could ever make any thing like it. The Bible tells us, the heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament sheweth his handy work,' and so does every thing else in nature; God is every where, and his hand is in all things; you see him in the sun, moon, and stars, which glitter in the sky; and you see him in the humble nettle, which you despise and trample on."-p. 25 to 32.

It is scarcely necessary to add, that the preceding article happily blends instruction with entertainment. To the youthful inquirer, it must yield amusement, without being enveloped in those clouds into which natural philosophy sometimes proudly retires, and it is not improbable that it may convey some useful information to children of a stately growth.

From among the poetry, we select the two following pieces.

THE YOUTHFUL KING.
Suggested by a Picture of Edward the Sixth in
his royal robes.-BY MARY JANE JEWSBURY,
Author of "Letters to the Young," &c.

MONARCH, pictured here in state,
Better glories yet were thine,

Than the grandeur of the great,
Than the jewels of the mine.
Born to govern and command,
Thou wast easy of control;
With a sceptre in thy hand,

There was meekness in thy soul.
Of thy haughty father's frown
Little on thy brow we trace,
And that little softened down
By simplicity and grace.
Child in age, and child in heart,
Thy magnificent array
Could not joy or pride impart,---
Thou hadst treasures more than they.
More than courtiers kneeling low:
More than flattery's ready smile;
More than conquest o'er the foe;
More, even more, than England's isle.
Treasures in which mind hath part;
Joys that teach the soul to rise;
Hopes that can sustain the heart,
When the body droops and dies!
Therefore, Star, thou art not shaded
By the darkness of the tomb!
Royal Rose! thou art not faded,
But in Paradise dost bloom!

EPITAPH ON A DOG.

By M. J. J.

My name was Bravo-and my home was placed
'Mid those with kindness and with bounty graced;
No surly cook e'er circumscribed my prey,
But well-filled trenchers met me every day;
No teasing children marred my temper sweet,
I never shewed my teeth-except to eat.
I had one mistress (I salute her hand,)
The oldest, yet the youngest of the band,-
And many friends, and, what is more, all true:
Princes and courtiers, is it thus with you?-
I loved them all, and ever unto each
1 duly wagged my tail---for lack of speech:

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And proved my love, by guarding well the house
From every robber, save a casual mouse.
Thus, free from care, and poverty, and strife,
I passed a happy, and a well-spent life.
Scorn not my being as of base degree,
Though all I had, 'twas all a dog's might be ;
I had no spirit separate from my dust,
And if thou hast, beware thy heavier trust!

From the specimens thus placed before the reader, the character of this volume may be easily understood. We have perused it with much pleasure, and now recommend it to the juvenile hunters after innocent amusement and useful knowledge, with the utmost sincerity and satisfaction.

REVIEW.-A Universal Prayer; Death; a Vision of Heaven; and a Vision of Hell. By Robert Montgomery, author of "The Omnipresence of the Deity," &c. 4to. pp. 141. Maunder, London. 1828.

As the author of a poem, entitled, "The Omnipresence of the Deity," Mr. Robert Montgomery is well known to the public, and particularly so to the lovers of the muse. This work during a few months has had an almost unexampled run, the seventh edition being now in circulation.

Stimulated by past success, he has ventured on the work before us, and now appears in all the dignity of a quarto volume, in which we have four poems on the im. portant subjects which are enumerated in the title-page. To these poems is prefixed a beautifully engraved portrait of the author; but we cannot forbear thinking, that the painter has flattered him into effeminacy, and robbed his countenance of its masculine features, without infusing into its lineaments those indications of genius which the productions of his pen give us a right to expect. His neck laid bare, his shirt collar carelessly thrown open, and bis appearance without a neckcloth, too strongly remind us of Lord Byron.

These poems are all in blank verse, and are neatly printed on paper of a very superior quality. The first in order is, "The Universal Prayer," which, commencing with an address to Deity, calls upon him as the universal Parent, in whom all things live, and move, and by whose power and goodness, the frame of nature, with all her offspring and appendages, is sustained. Throughout the whole, a spirit of unrestrained philanthropy breathes; and could the wishes of his paragraphs be rea lized, a second Eden would visit the abodes of men. The author, however, has nowhere manifested a temporizing spirit, by introducing palliatives which detach turpitude from vice, and dress the monster in

the habiliments of virtue, although he has omitted to characterize iniquity with those strong and pointed epithets of which he has a powerful command, and which he knows full well how to apply with the greatest effect. The following paragraph will illusStrate our meaning..

"On each degree of men, benignant God!
We pray thee to bestow thy sleepless care;
Grave it on each adoring mind,--that heaven's
Bright portals are unbarred to all! that high,
Nor mean, nor rich, nor poor, with thee prevail,
By aught peculiar, save a perfect heart;
The meanest orphan of the world may win

A wreath in heaven; the humblest wear a crown
Of life. And, oh! may those, the gifted few,---
Archangels of the earth, before whose thrones
Mortality will bend, and half adore!
Remember what they owe to thee and man:
May genius never stoop to pander vice,
But fix her eye on heaven, and walk the earth,
A spirit conscious of her native sphere."

p. 15.

In a similar strain, the rich, the sorrowful, the young, and the guilty, become the subjects of distinct petitions. Of the good man's character, enjoyment, and prospects, he draws the following animated picture:

"On Him, whom hope and faith sublime, what dreams,

What joys, and what diviner moods, attend;
He walks the world as Jesus walked the waves,
Triumphant and secure! In every scene,
A love for thee prevails: creation breathes
Of heaven. The vaulted sky bedropt with stars,
The ocean rolled to rest, or sending up
Tremendous pæans to her mighty Lord!
The field and flower-whate'er in noontide walk
Is sweet, allure his wondering heart to him,
The Source and Spirit of the moving whole:
All order, beauty, and perfection here,
Are but as shadows of more perfect bliss
Cast from a purer world; he dwells in thee,
And thou in him, heaven is his native home,
And immortality shall hail him there."

P. 19.

In behalf of our king and country, the following admirable petition deserves to be transcribed.

Magnific King of kings, and Lord of lords!
Since at thy fiat empires rise and fall,
And pass away like whirlwinds o'er the deep,
Mantle our cherished country with thy wings
Of glory; may she prosper in the pride
Of Liberty; around her ancient throne,
Let all the kingly virtues throng; and may
Thy delegate, the monarch of the land,
Be graced with wisdom, and his sceptre wield,
The majesty of justice, and of truth:
May he be great and good, and ever find
His noblest bulwark in the people's hearts!"

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p. 21.

Thus far we have beheld effects, apparently expected without an adequate, cause, and some of our readers may be ready to inquire, Can the poet's hopes be realized without the influence which Christianity imparts? The great procuring cause of human salvation, and the all-powerful agency that accompanies it, the author happily supplies towards the conclusion of the poem, in the following nervous and expressive lines:

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"Yet not eternity's seraphic voice

Can mete the measure of that boundless love,
That from the bosom of perennial bliss,
Sent forth thy Son to snatch the world from hell!
He came, and in his glance the earth grew bright!
Idolatry unsealed her slavish eye,

While superstition from her gloom arose,
Burst from her bonds, and with an angel shout,
From east to west the hallelujah rang!

"Victor of Death! immingled God and man, Whose sainted blood was shed for lost mankind, Who bore the curse of the Almighty One Upon thy bleeding brow, unlocked the tomb, Trampled on hell, and oped the gates of heaven To banished man! Thou Prince of Peace! enthroned

In glory with thy co-eternal Sire,

Accept our prayer, the incense of the soul,'
And hallow it with thy perfecting grace.

"Thou light of light, by ancient seers foretold,
And by prophetic minstrels sung,---the sun
And centre of our faith redeeming Christ!
Look down and consecrate thy church below;
Around it rally all thy faithful hearts,-
Pillars beyond the powers of hell to shake!*
Roll on reluctant time, and spread from land
To land, from isle to isle, THE WORD OF TRUTH,
Till earth shall seem one universal soul !

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The passages thus selected from, "The Universal Prayer," cannot fail to place Mr. Montgomery's talents, and his appropriation of them, in an amiable and commanding light. We have perused this poem with much pleasure, and conceive that it will add considerably to his former fame.

In his next poem, Death is introduced under the following striking personification of his character:

"Throned in a vault where sleep departed kings,

Behold the tyrant of the world! Around
His shadowy head he waves a sceptre, made
Of monumental dust, and as it moves,
Before him glide a visionary throng
Of ministers, that do his deadly will."

p. 29.

Of these ministers the poet then proceeds to give an awful catalogue, among which we find murder, madness, melancholy, intemperance, anger, terror, consumption, under whose desolating power pestilence and famine are enlisted, to extend the empire of death throughout the world. With the eye of a moralist, and in the language of a poet, he tells us that

All we love and feel on nature's face,
Bear dim relations to our common doom.
The clouds that blush, and die a beamy death,
Or weep themselves away in rain,-the streams

That flow along in dying music,—leaves
That fade, and drop into the frosty arms.
Of winter, there to mingle with dead flowers,
Are all prophetic of our own decay.
And who, when hung enchanted o'er some page,
3 U

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Review. The Winter's Wreath.

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Among the varied beauties scattered throughout these poems, there is not one scene more true to nature, or more accurately delineated, than the following. We are well aware that it has been already transplanted into other soils, but this will not prevent us from transcribing it anew, as many of our readers may not have seen it, and to those who have, its intrinsic merit will offer a sufficient apology for its reappearance.

"On yonder mead that like a windless lake Shines in the glow of heaven, a cherub boy Is bounding, playful as the breeze new born, Light as the beam that dances by his side. Phantom of beauty! with his trepid locks Gleaming like water wreaths,a flower of life. To whom the fairy world is fresh, the sky A glory, and the earth one huge delight! Joy shaped his brow, and pleasure rolls his eye, While innocence, from out the budding lip Darts her young smiles along his rounded cheek. Grief hath not dimmed the brightness of his form, Love and affection o'er him spread their wings, And nature, like a nurse, attends him with Her sweetest looks. The humming bee will bound From out the flower, nor sting his baby hand; The birds sing to him from the sunny tree, And suppliantly the fierce-eyed mastiff fawn Beneath his feet, to court the playful touch.

"To rise all rosy from the arms of sleep, And like the sky-bird hail the bright cheeked morn With gleeful song, then o'er the bladed mead, To chase the blue-winged butterfly, or play With curly streams; or, led by watchful love, To hear the chorus of the trooping waves, When the young breezes laugh them into life! Or listen to the mimic ocean roar Within the womb of spiry sea-shell wove; From sight and sound to catch intense delight, And infant gladness from each happy face; These are the guileless duties of the day: And when at length reposing evening comes, Joy-worn, he nestles in the welcome couch, With kisses warm upon his cheek, to dream Of heaven, till morning wakes him to the world.

"The scene hath changed into a curtained room, Where mournful glimmers of a yellow sun Lie dreaming on the walls! Dim-eyed and sad, And dumb with agony, two parents bend O'er a pale image in the coffin laid, 'Their infant once, the laughing leaping boy, The paragon and nursling of their souls! Death touched him, and the life-glow fled away, Swift as a gay hour's fancy; fresh and cold As winter's shadow, with his eyelids sealed, Like violet lips at eve, he lies enrobed An offering to the grave! but pure as when It winged from heaven, his spirit hath returned, To lisp its hallelujahs with the choirs Of sinless babes, imparadised above."

p. 42-45.

On painting so exquisite, and language so dignified, harmonious, and expressive, all remarks will be superfluous. While full of life and activity, nature glows in every line; and the death of the "Cherub Boy" by shading with a melancholy con

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trast, finishes the picture by crowning the climax with a momentous moral lesson.

many

On the different characters introduced, and the diversified scenery presented to our view in this poem, particular animadversion cient to say, that it abounds with lively and would be impracticable. It will be suffi awful descriptions of realities, which are daily presented to man through the medium of his senses. It is a poem in which imagi nation, keeping her eye fixed on the movements of nature, is always on the wing, and her flight rarely fails to please, although she carefully avoids the regions into which philosophy invites intellectual energy. The next poem, "A Vision of Heaven," is, in our opinion, by no means equal to either of the preceding. It bears too strong a resemblance to Arcadian scenes, to the happy valley of Ambara, or to a Mahometan paradise. Sensitive magnificence and glory usurp the place of intellect, and half exclude "the feast of reason and the flow of soul." "A Vision of Hell" contains lines fraught with images of real terror, on which the reader can hardly cast his eye without finding that his feelings are strongly influ enced by the interest which they excite. In the descriptive portions the scenes are at once awful and appalling, and although we may, on former occasions, have ventured with Milton "down the deep descent," yet we are pleased to behold images already known, appearing in new associations. Alluding to such of the inhabitants of these infernal abodes, as the human family has through time supplied, we could have wished the author had confined himself to charac teristic description, without having recourse to personal allusions. But independently of such considerations, this poem has a strong portion of solemn vigour, exhibiting occasional coruscations of thought that are highly creditable to the author's talents. From his poem "On the Omnipresence of the Deity," Mr. Montgomery has already reaped a respectable harvest of profitable fame. How far this may tend to augment his pecuniary resources we have no right to anticipate, but we feel confident that it will not diminish but increase the reputation, which by the previous publication he has acquired, and powerfully assist in transmitting his name to posterity.

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celebrated historian of Manchester, when speaking of Gibbon, respecting his "Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,"66 Sir, it was the ambition of that man to become the rival of Tacitus, and I must confess that he has succeeded." With an alteration of names, we may say, "It is the ambition of Liverpool to become the rival of London, and in the production of this beautiful annual, we must confess that she has succeeded."

It would be a waste of time to descant at large on the elegance of its exterior. An ornamented and delicate case encloses the volume, which is dressed in a robe of blue silk tinged with purple, neatly put out of hand, and its leaves are edged with gold. Art, delicacy, and ingenuity have combined their energies, to send this splendid annual into the world, to contend for the prize of beauty with the Andromedas and Nereides of the metropolis.

Including a beautiful wreath which decorates the title-page, this volume is embellished with twelve admirable engravings, selected under the eye of chastity, and executed with that surprising delicacy and tastefulness, which at once record the skill of him who held the pencil, and of the hand that transferred its exquisite touches to the plates, and half imparted life to a metallic surface. From among these beautiful engravings it would perhaps be both difficult and dangerous to make any selections:-difficult, because all have a strong claim upon our warmest approbation; and dangerous, because any thing like superlative admiration bestowed on one, would seem invidious towards the

rest.

In addition to this, taste, fancy, and judgment essentially differ in different persons; hence, that engraving which would be viewed with comparative indifference by one, would gain from another the most decided approbation. With us, the View on the Thames near Windsor, Meleager and Atalanta, and the View near Ambleside, are particular favourites. In each of these, the objects are both numerous and diver sified. The scenery is captivating, the perspective, though considerably extended, is nicely preserved, and the sky is delicately touched. Yet even in the former of these, we cannot but regret that the steam vessel is not seen to greater advantage, and that the margins of the majestic river had not been more distinctly defined. Lady Blanch and her Merlin, and O'Conner's Child, are beautifully executed figures, and the Scotch Peasant Girl cannot be seen without commanding our admiration.

Turning from the ornamental to the literary department, we are informed in the preface that "the editorship having passed into totally different hands, the change has influenced the contents of the volume." Here we think the editor should have stopped on this point. But when he adds, "No attempt has been here made to produce a religious impression," and that on the contrary, the introduction of religious topics has been carefully avoided," we think the remark ill-timed, and perhaps liable to misinterpretation.

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It cannot be denied that in the Winter's Wreath for 1828, several of the articles had something of an ascetic aspect, not altogether suitable for a work in which tasteful elegance, and innocent cheerfulness, enlivened by interesting narrative and animated description, should be the prevailing characteristics. To these points the writers have strictly attended in the volume before us, and this change of countenance, without any variation in principle, comprises all that we understand the editor to mean, when we are told that no attempt has been made to produce a religious impression." To the morally inoffensive character, and pleasing tendency, of these articles we readily bear our most unequivocal testimony. Many of them are written with a degree of sprightliness and vivacity, that will render the facts recorded, and the narratives detailed, additionally pleasing to the youthful mind.

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In number, the articles are about one hundred and thirty, among which we find a fair proportion of prose and verse. These have been contributed by various authors, many of whom have long since had their names inscribed on the tablets of fame. Several indeed of the same individuals to whom the London annuals are indebted for their valuable contributions, have extended their literary visits to the banks of the Mersey, and furnished evergreens for the Winter's Wreath.

The

The Harold of fashionable Life, is, we fear, but too true a picture of what may every day be found among the illustrious vagabonds, and titled scoundrels, who frequent the haunts of profligacy, and entail misery on their dearest connexions. story is so well told, that while we follow this victim of more than common dissipation, from wealth to poverty, and from health to a broken constitution, we are in no danger of being captivated with his vices, or led into ruin by the contagion of his pernicious example. The tale is so contrived, that Harold never claims our sympathy without exciting our disgust.

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