To Messrs. A. Rowland and Son, 20, Hatton Garden, London.

Linton, Cambridge, October 25th, 1847. GENTLEMEN,—A striking instance of the efficacy of your Macassar Oil in the restoration of the hair, has just come under my notice The person alluded to is a young man named Haylock, of Ashdon, near this place, whose entire head of hair came off by some unaccountable means. He purchased of me several different popular preparations, which he regularly and faithfully used, but without effecting the least apparent change. At last, I advised him to try a bottle of your Macassar Oil; and, on Friday last, he communicated to me the pleasing intelligence of the reappearance of a thick head of hair. You can make what use you please of this, and refer inquirers to, Yours respectfully,

J. SERGEANT, Bookseller, &c.

ROWLANDS' MACASSAR OIL

It may with truth be averred, that ROWLAND'S MACASSAR OIL has enjoyed an extent of Patronage and Public Favour during the last half century, which is totally unexampled in the annals of FELICITOUS DISCOVERY. The extraordinary efficacy, and happy amalgamation of its PURELY EXOTIC MATERIALS, have rendered it justly renowned throughout the world for its remarkable virtues in nourishing, preserving, and beautifying the HUMAN HAIR. The following is a brief notice of some of its PRINCIPAL VIRTUES. The subject is more fully treated in a small Pamphlet which accompanies each bottle of ROWLANDS' MACASSAR OIL, and wherein important hints and advice will be found on the Culture of the Hair of Infancy, and on its preservation and beauty through the several stages of human life. It insinuates its balsamic properties into the pores of the head, nourishes the Hair in its embryo state, cleanses it from Scurf and Dandriff, accelerates its growth, sustains it in maturity, and continues its possession of healthy vigour, silky softness, and luxurious redundancy, to the latest period of human life. Its operation in cases of baldness is peculiarly active; so that, in numerous instances wherein other remedies have been tried in vain, ROWLANDS' MACASSAR OIL has superseded the ornaments of art, by reinstating, in full plentitude, the permanent gifts and graces of nature. In the growth of WHISKERS, EYEBROWS, and MUSTACHIOS, it is also unfailing in its stimulating operation. For Children, it is especially recommended, as forming the basis of a beautiful head of hair, and rendering the fine comb unnecessary. Its invaluable properties have obtained the especial patronage of Her Majesty the QUEEN, the COURT, and the whole of the ROYAL FAMILY of Great Britain, and of every COURT of the civilized world; and the high esteem in which it is universally held, together with numerous Testimonials constantly received of its efficacy, afford the best and surest proofs of its merits.-Price 3s 6d. and 7s.; or Family Bottles (equal to four small), at 10s 6d.; and double that size, 21s. Caution.-On the wrapper of each bottle of the GENUINE ROWLANDS' article are these words, in Two lines. MACASSAR Oiz.

The same are engraved on the back of the Wrapper nearly 1,500 times, containing 29,028 letters.

ROWLANDS' ODONTO, or Pearl Dentifrice. A WHITE POWDER FOR THE TEETH, compounded of the choicest and most recherche Ingredients of the Oriental Herbal, of inestimable virtue in preserving and beautifying the Teeth, strengthening the Gums, and in giving sweetness and perfume to the Breath. Its invaluable properties have obtained its selection by Her Majesty the Queen, the Court, and Royal Family of Great Britain, and the Sovereigns and Nobility throughout Europe. Price 2s. 9d. per box.

Caution. To protect the Public from Fraud, the Hon. Commissioners have directed the Proprietors' Name and Address, thus-"A. ROWLAND and SON, 20, HATTON GARDEN," to be engraved on the Government Stamp, which is affixed on each box.

IMPORTANT CAUTION.

UNPRINCIPLED INDIVIDUALS, for the sake of gaining a trifle more profit, vend the most SPURIOUS COMPOUNDS, under the same names; some under the implied sanction of Royalty, and the Government Departments, with similar attempts at deception. They copy the labels, advertisements, and testimonials (substituting fictitious names and addresses for the real) of the original preparations. It is, therefore, highly necessary to see that the word "ROWLANDS'" is on the wrapper of each article.

The Genuine Articles are sold by every respectable Perfumer and Chemist throughout the kingdom.

THE PATRICIAN.

DIALOGUES AMONG THE DEAD.

FROM AN ORIGINAL AND UNPUBLISHED MANUSCRIPT OF THE LATE
SIR S. EGERTON BRYDGES, BART.

DIALOGUE I.

SIR THOMAS WYAT, SAMUEL DANIEL, DR. SNEYD DAVIES, AND THOMAS WARTON.

Warton.-Do not shun me, Sir Thomas; I do not intrude upon you from earthly courts and brawling politics!

Wyat.-Fate cast me into the fevers and bad passions of courts, but they were my abhorrence.

Daniel.-You enjoyed only the fields and the woods, as I did; and was never happy but in contemplation on the banks of your own Medway. Davies. It was so that I wiled away my solitary life under the Herefordshire hills; yet, I was sometimes sick of thought.

Warton. The shades of our college gardens were sufficient for me, except when I could escape to the pastoral hedgerows of my quiet Wynslade.

Daniel.-Whenever I could think most, and moralize upon human fate and human frailties, I was most content.

Warton.-Books were my delight,—I could not live without amplitude of curious books.

Daniel.-Books but furnish us with subjects of sorrow; yet, I also loved books.

Wyat.-When I escaped from the court, I devoured them in the silence of my own fire-side.

Davies.-Yes, in these dear retirements from irritating passion,

"The Muse would take me on her airy wing,

And waft to scenes romantic!"

There I could pore over the lovely fictions of my boyish days; the dreams and the ambitions of my youth, and the hopes that have been so cruelly disappointed.

Wyat.-Fate did not allow me to know the feelings and thoughts of age.

VOL. V.-NO. XXIII.

Q

Daniel.-I knew the comforts of its mental fulness, and I knew also ts dejections.

Wyat. Something of the experience of active life is necessary to give a depth and a realization to our moralities.

Daniel.-Perhaps so, but mine was principally the life of a recluse scholar, and yet I think that no one will say that the sincere depth of moral sentiment was wanting in my compositions.

Warton. They abound with them in the most eloquent and impressive manner; yet they never overflow. No writings exhibit more fulness of heart, and fulness of thought.

Davies.-Mine was sometimes said to descend to querulousness, as far as they were known (for I passed my life little noticed). I admit that I was subject to low spirits and the spleen; and that I had indulged prospects, of which I had not at all times the magnanimity to bear the disappointment. I thought that my friend Lord Chancellor Camden did not do all for me which he ought to have done.

Warton. You were an Etonian, and you had contracted some of the Etonian expectations of fame. Did you never know Gray?

Davies. He was just sufficiently junior to me not to have known him. We should have suited each other in melancholy, and in our love of Latin verses.

Warton,―I never was personally acquainted with him: I should have thought his manners too finical.

Wyat. The divine morality of his plaintive poems has reached us here. I have trembled over them, and shed over them tears like human tears. Daniel. He had a most noble and spiritual train of tender and virtuous reflections, associated to all those poetical images, which emblazon the mind. It was said to be art-no art ever reaches such materials, or is conversant of such emotions.

Warton.—I sincerely admit all these praises. The course of my own life may perhaps be assimilated to Gray's, but they were different in their origin; and the domestic affliction which Gray saw in his childhood, gave him sombreness and dejection from which I was free. Probably my sensibility was not naturally quick, morbid, and indignant, like his. I would therefore rather sympathize with this depth of colouring in his poetry, than imitate it. It was exquisitely just, chaste, pure, and perfect. Wyat. The circumstances of life may suppress genius, but can never give a spark of it. "Flowers may blush unseen," or they may never come into bloom, and tens of thousands do so: but no hot-bed can produce them, where there is not the true seed. Numbers have died without knowing their own innate powers of mind, which have perished for want of encouragement.

Davies.-Exercise and warm stimulants are necessary before one arrives at his strength; I grievously found the want of these things, and fell into a miserable languor and ennui.

Daniel. But you said that you loved solitude and contemplation?

Davies. So I did, but not without going occasionally into the world to furnish materials to meditate upon. Almost all the most affecting reflections we find in books, have flowed from men, who have returned from the world, after having been sated with its vanities and disappointments. Sir Thomas Wyat's moralizations derive a double force from the active affairs in which he had been engaged.

Wyat. I never wrote but from my heart, I never conjured up factitious sentiments for the occasion.

Daniel. He must be a very stupid reader who cannot distinguish the sincere from the factitious. All in composition that is factitious ought to be cleared away as waste paper.

Warton. There are those who pretend that it is not so easy to make this distinction. It might as well be said that it is difficult to distinguish the paper rose of a flower-maker from the living one just plucked from the stem.

Davies. What is this moral sensitiveness, so acute and copious in some; so faint and acid in others?

Daniel.-There is an innate consciousness of right and wrong-of the fair and the ugly-dispensed in different degrees to mankind at their birth, and a sympathy, of a stronger or weaker kind, with the sorrows or misfortunes of others. When this is combined with a powerful and active intellect, it breaks out in moral reflections; the internal emotions are relieved by this vent.

Wyat.-Lord Surry had more passion and imagery than I had, my pathos was more intellectual. Indeed, there was a great deal of moral and didactic thought in the fashionable poetry of the day, as Tottel's Miscellany shews.

Warton. My taste rather led me to imagery.' I was willing to enjoy all that was tranquil and beautiful in the material world; and have as little as possible to do with mental distresses.

Davies. Our feelings are not at our command.

What nature has

fitted our minds to be impressed with, will have its operation. Warton. Then I am grateful that I was made as I was.

Lamenta

tion over human evils will not lessen them; we may be allowed to escape from what we cannot cure or soften.

Daniel.-Yes, but does not this lead us sometimes to escape from what we can cure or soften?

Wyat.-And do we not lose the great sources of the sublime, and pathetic, in which literary genius exhibits itself most powerfully? Is it not thus that we are best enabled

"To ope the source of sympathetic tears?

Warton. Perhaps you will say then that I tended a little too much to the factitious; for the fables and manners of Chivalry and Romance can hardly be said to be otherwise than factitious.

Daniel. Whatever you brought forward and dilated upon, was done with so much loveliness, classicality, condition, and elegance, that we cannot pronounce it factitious; but you did not deal much with the general passions of mankind. In a state of ease and seclusion you knew no violent tempests and dangers,

Wyat. This state, however, has its inconveniences and evils; tempests sometimes are necessary to purify the heavy air. Ease collects morbid humours; and men often become stupified, and then die from stagnated blood. None know the pleasure of rest, but those who have laboured hard; nor of security, but those who have been in peril.

Davies. I too well know by my own experience, that nothing is more destructive to enjoyment than indolence. Adventures, exertion, and variety, give spirits to the mind, and health to the body.

Warton. Luckily my temper was tranquil, and my literary curiosity and the opportunity of gratifying it, always kept me upon the alert.

Daniel. I saw something of greatness in its interior, and saw enough of unhappiness, to load my heart with melancholy. I saw lustre of birth, loftiness of heart, beauty of person, nobleness of intellect, and grandeur of possession, afflicted in the youthful face of Lady Anne Clifford, and I said to myself, how empty then is human prosperity, and the favour of a splendid lot.

Warton. Why did you not then retire, shut out the world, and spend your life tranquilly in literature, as I did?

Daniel.-The stings of regret were upon me; remembrances, which I could not efface, haunted me. There were barbed arrows fixed in my

heart.

Warton.-Would not your moral philosophy have healed your

wounds?

Daniel.-I learned from a sight of the misery of greatness, to melt still more deeply at the sorrows of all. But yet, in the composition of my Moral Epistles, I found a charm which did, in some degree, mellow and sooth my grief. We teach the bosom to swell with an enduring courage, by lofty reflections and eloquent appeals to the best sympathies of others.

Davies.-When days and years pass over us, without having brought forward and embodied our early visions, we grow discontented with ourselves, and lose our self-complacence.

Warton. I must appeal again to the varieties dispensed by nature; the discipline will do something. A country rectory might be made a happy life to a literary man, though not as it is generally managed. He must not have his wishes always pining after preferment; he must resolutely abandon all regard to the show of life; he must lift his mind above any notice of the petty airs of rural rank, wealth, and impertinence; he must resolutely refuse association with those whose fuller purses enable them to indulge in greater luxuries; he must avoid those whose unpolished minds cause irritation and disgust; and he must keep up the dignity of his profession and his mental acquirements.

Davies. This advice is easy to be given, but not easy to be followed. Our little human passions, and frailties, and weaknesses, may be conquered, but the struggle will be severe, and the success uncertain. Literature is apt to increase our sensibilities, even to disease, and it requires a stubborn magnanimity to put up with all the impertinences of vulgar wealth or rank, when the multitude are sure to take part with "might against right." Then, what is more difficult to endure, than to be sinking from the rank and companions among whom one was born?

Daniel.-These are difficulties and mortifications; but what station of life, or lot of fortune in humanity, is free from severe sorrows and evils? Warton.-I was always surprised that so few of the clergy betook themselves to literature, when the necessary course of their lives gave them so many hours of leisure and quiet. This led me to suppose that the qualifications for authorship, if not for reading, were more rarely bestowed, than at first appeared probable. The apprehension which receives, and the memory which repeats, are common; but the fructifying power which adds, and the imagination which combines anew, are rare.