THE DEEP BLUE SEA. THE deep blue Sea! how fair it seems, The breeze sighs softly o'er the wave, Each billow is at rest! The dark blue Sea! how pure and bright, The twinkling stars, far downward peep, Whose bosom glows in quiet sleep, The proud blue Sea! when winds are high, Resounds, as if in scorn! The wild blue Sea! how fearful now Now death and danger seem to ride, The calm blue Sea! how still the wave, Far 'mongst the waters free! T. JOHNSTONE'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE. Prospectus of Johnstone's Edinburgh Magazine. Tait: Edinburgh THIS is the age of periodicals; and, above all, of cheap periodicals. A revolution has taken place in the world of bookselling. Penny Magazines have taken the place of fourteen-shilling octavos, and two-guinea quartos. But the limits of the Weekly Magazines have been found too confined to allow sufficient scope for the development of a story, or for a review of a new book, so ample as to convey to the reader any adequate knowledge of the work reviewed. With only one exception, we believe, the demand for the weekly periodicals has greatly declined in the places where they first obtained a large sale; although it is possible that what may have been lost in the principal towns has been compensated by acquisitions in the more remote quarters to which the circulation of the cheap magazines has been gradually extending. The conductors of this new cheap periodical have chosen the monthly interval of publication; and we think wisely. A monthly work not only" admits of greater scope, and more careful balancing and arrangement of contents," than a weekly publication, as the prospectus of Johnstone's Magazine says, but is sure of the patronage of the higher classes of retail booksellers ; who, although they dislike all cheap literature, on account of the serious injury it has done their trade, find that they must go with the tide, and are led to foster the sale of Numbers or Parts that appear monthly, as the means of getting rid of the intolerable trouble of supplying literature in weekly doles at one penny each. Nothing is said in the prospectus of this New Magazine about illustrations. The Magazine, we presume, is intended for those who prefer literature to large wooden engravings; things very attractive to children, but to adults scarcely worth the room they occupy. The absence of wooden cuts, we see it advertised, will enable the conductors of this new Magazine to give as much letterpress for eightpence, as the Penny Magazine gives for one shilling. We have read the prospectus of Johnstone's Magazine with care, and say, without hesitation, that if the work be conducted after the manner set forth in the prospectus, it will be the best of the cheap periodicals. The conductors are well known to us. Both of them are writers of no common talent. Mr. Johnstone's style is correct, clear, and vigorous; and Mrs. Johnstone enjoys a high and deserved reputation as a writer of works of fancy. Like the other eminent writers, however, alluded to in the article, "French and English authors," in our present number, Mrs. Johnstone is only known as the authoress of several books, on which the world has set the seal of its approbation. As Mrs. Johnstone, she is scarcely known to fame: but who that has read Clan-Albin, in which she made her literary debut, can be insensible to the merits of this lady as a novelist, even in the first development of her powers? and who that has perused her more matured and elaborate production, entitled Elizabeth de Bruse, can withhold his admiration of her inventive genius and natural eloquenceher subdued but effective humour-her rich style, teeming with redundant beauties-her fine tact, and nice discrimination of character; together with the faculty which she possesses of unfolding the most complicated incidents with easy grace, vivid distinctness, and never-failing propriety? Of her accomplishments as an imaginative writer, and the interest with which she knows how to invest any subject of fancy, we shall submit a specimen to our readers. Mrs. Johnstone, however, has not confined her efforts to that department of literature in which she has so greatly excelled. Her mind is essentially versatile, and readily accommodates its energies to any task in which it may suit her convenience to engage; and hence, in the merest matter-of-fact pursuits, no less than in embodying, and, as it were, vivifying the creations of fancy, she has been pre-eminently successful. In her hands, even the affairs of the cuisine have been invested with an intellectual and imaginative, as well as physical attraction; and Meg Dods of the Cleikum Inn, St. Ronans, has received the honours of a second impersonation; while Peregrine S. Touchwood is brought again upon the scene, to delight us with his testy humour, and saturnine bonhommie. In a word, if there be any author of the day, whether male or female, better qualified than another to conduct a periodical intended to combine instruction with amuse, ment, and to render the latter the vehicle of the former, that author is Mrs. Johnstone; who, besides her acknowledged powers as an original writer, possesses the practical tact and knowledge which can only be acquired by lengthened experience; and, withal, combines a degree of judgment and prudence we have rarely found equalled, and never surpassed. We have no doubt, therefore, of the success of the periodical with which she has identified her name. Her stores are ample; her industry is indefatigable; none knows better the duties which such an undertaking imposes on an editor; and there are few indeed who can bring an equal amount of talent and experience to assist in discharging them. We have only to add our hearty wish, that her success may, in some degree, be commensurate with her great and undoubted merits. Our specimen of Mrs. Johnstone's works of fancy shall be the Three Westminster Boys, one of the Tales in her " Nights of the Round Table;"* and, although it is our favourite-in the opinion of many, not the best. It is so good, however, that we are sure that those of our readers who have perused the volume from which we extract the tale, will be more inclined to thank than to blame us for submitting it again to their notice. We must inform those to whom "Nights of the Round Table" is not known, that it is a series of Tales for the young. THE THREE WESTMINSTER BOYS. THE Magic Lantern, which belonged to Mr. Dodsley, was elegantly and ingeniously formed. He chose to exhibit its wonders himself; and, story and picture aiding and illustrating each other, agreeably occupied several NIGHTS OF THE ROUND TABLE. "Peep, and tell us what you see, Charles," said the Reverend showman to our old friend Charles Herbert.-" An old building, forms, desks, a lofty large room, many boys and youths, and three apart and prominent."-" Let me look," cried Sophia,"Westminster school, I declare! and those three boys!-one very noble and graceful; the next dark, thoughtful, resolute, with keen eyes, and compressed lips; and the third-O! how gently, yet brightly he smiles, dear bashful boy, as his dark, bold companion extends his arm, haranguing and pointing forward to some high distant object-A picture is it,-a figure in state robes ? or is it to the insignia blazoned on that desk ?-Nay, I daresay he wishes to be head-master." "Have you all seen the three school-fellows ?" asked Mr. Dodsley; "look at them well, for here they part on the path of life, never to meet again. Presto! change:What see you now, Sophia ?"" Still the dark stern youth, and the gentle timid one: -they are older now, but I know them well. The noble-looking boy has disappeared. The scene seems chambers in the Temple. Through an open window I have a glimpse of gardens piles of huge books are lying on tables, floors, and shelves. The dark * Published by Oliver and Boyd, Edinburgh, small 8vo. resolute youth pores on a black-letter folio, and makes as it were notes or extracts. The other leans by the window, gazing over the gardens, a small open volume fluttering in his relaxed hand. Ha! I read on it Thomson's Seasons.'". "Yes, Sophia, your gentle law-student is an idle rogue; he has been seduced into the primrose paths of poesy'-let us see the result;-meanwhile here is another picture."-" Beautiful! beautiful!" cried the admiring girl, "A large ship!"-" An outward-bound Indiaman," said Mr. Dodsley. All her sails set," continued Sophia. "How proudly, how statelily she ploughs her way, breasting the waters like a swan. And there, on her deck, that noble gentleman, the third Westminster boy,-and yet not he, walking so proudly as if in accordance with the majestic motion of the brave ship. I am glad to meet him again :—and all those military attendants-the gaudilydressed musical band,-the plumed officers, and he the centre of all! What a great man he must be, and how well honour becomes him." "Shall we follow his progress to the East, or return to yonder gloomy, sombre chamber in the Temple ?"-" Both," cried several young eager voices; "we must trace them all, all the three school-fellows." The next view was of a large Oriental city, its architectural splendour and magnificence of outline glittering in the dazzling, but uncertain brilliance of the morning sun; domes and minarets, Mahomedan mosques, and Indian pagodas, fountains, and palaces, and stately dwellings, sparkling in the outpouring of the increasing flood of intense and golden light. Over this scene were grouped and scattered Mussulmans, Arab warriors, Brahmins and Sepoys,-all in diversified and picturesque costumes, -ornamented palanquins, European officers richly dressed, and mounted on beautiful horses; elephants prancing in their splendid trappings; females and children, their dark skins and silky hair, and large black eyes, contrasting with their white and gaudily spangled dresses; dancing girls, and marabouts,-all, in short, that could compose a picture of Oriental beauty and splendour; and that princely man, now of middle age, on the large white elephant, still the centre of all. The scene changed slightly, and discovered the interior of the magnificent saloon of a residence that appeared royal, where the noble figure, whom Sophia still rightly declared the third boy of Westminster school, received, in Oriental state, homage, paid with the lowliest prostrations of the East, from a long train of nawaubs, rajahs, and envoys, illustrious captives or princely tributaries, whom his policy or his prowess had subdued to the dominion of England. Royal and magnificent was all about him; his aspect grave, dignified, and elate, his step and air majestic; yet the shadow of deep, anxious thought, of heart-struck care, at times darkened his embrowned visage. Whence then had fled the generous, sunny, open smile, that lightened the grey walls of Westminster school?-the noble, free expression of the younger man, who so proudly trode the deck of the outward-bound Indiaman? "Alas! what change!" said Sophia; "I almost dread, yet long to follow him farther." Dim, troubled, misty scenes next flitted by; battles hid in smoke and obscurity; the wide plain of Hindostan flooded or desolate,-naked huddled millions, signs of disaster, famine, and misery; and in the foreground still that princely man, his features ploughed with care, knitting his brows in fierce anger and disdain, stamping on the ground, while his eastern slaves cowered around him, as he hastily perused letters and despatches, his English secretary, attendants, and aids-de-camp standing back, anxiously scanning his looks, and reading his troubled mind in his working and eloquent features. This scene passed, and he was next seen in an English ship, more stately if possible than the former vessel, freighted with all the rich and rare productions of the East; but the bright look had waxed dim, the buoyant step of the outward-bound voyager was now heavy and slow. Anon, and he lay reclined on a couch on the deck, under a silken and gold awning. A physician felt his pulse; black servants in splendid costumes fanned him; others approached with profound salams, bearing perfumes, and offering service, as they might have done to a divinity. Indifferent to all, his eye remained riveted on one paper, on a few cabalistic words, which, like the damned blood-spot on the hand of Lady Macbeth, would not out, could not sweeten. "Turn we again to England," said Mr. Dodsley, shifting the scene, "to our stern ambitious, iron-minded man, of invincible purpose, of unconquerable perseverance and, let me add, of strong intellect, and yet stronger ambition :-there you see him, the slough of the Temple cast, in the King's Bench, in the Court of Chancery, in the Commons' House of Parliament, every energy of his mind in perpetual activity, already surrounded by satellites, the ministers or slaves of his will, subdued by that mighty and resistless will to its own purposes of selfish aggrandizement, of intrigue and poli. tical ambition, and, it may occasionally be, of pure patriotism. And now, every obstacle overcome, undermined, or boldly trampled under foot, see him make one grand spring to reach the height at which every act of his life has aimed; while all men, the stronger as well as the feebler spirits, give way to his resistless progress, or cheer him on to the spot where lie the coveted rich robes, the patents, and the purses, and by these the mighty insigna of the Lord High Chancellor of England." "I begin to long for a glimpse of our gentle boy now," said Sophia, "dreaming over his Thomson's Seasons.' Has he been borne down by the torrent which has carried his bold and daring companion so high and far?—Our gentle interesting boy! -has he been cast away like a weed, or has he cast away himself ?"-" You shall judge," said Mr. Dodsley,-" Here is our lost one" And there he was, the very boy, developed in the thin, melancholy, wo-worn man, sitting lonely on a tombstone, under the elms of a country churchyard." He is curate of that church," said Sophia; "and I daresay he has lost his wife or his child. How refined and how expressive are his faded features; a look of meek resignation, stealing over the traces of some deep mysterious affliction." "He never was in orders, nor yet had wife or child, my sprightly guesser," said Mr. Dodsley. "Mental blight, dark and fearful trial, and the utter desolation of worldly prospects, have passed all over him; but he is, as you see, better now, there is even an occasional flash of humour kindling over those placid features, of which, however, gentle kindness, deep, holy submission, is the fixed and habitual expression." "It makes my heart ache to see him so far thrown out," said Sophia; “for even at Westminster I liked him best."-" He was my boy, too," cried Fanny. This was not quite correct, for Sophia had expressed strong sympathy with the " noble boy," as she called him, and great admiration of the Oriental Vice-king; but Mr. Dodsley accepted her own interpretation of her altered feelings, and said, "He was 'a stricken deer that left the herd'-nor was he free from blame; but his dark hour is past. Shall we follow him to his humble abode, not far from those churchyard elms, or return to those scenes of splendour, of grandeur, of substantial wealth, of real power, in which his early compeers preside, guiding or wielding the energies and the destinies of nations ?" "Follow him, Sir," said Sophia; and the boys, though anxious for more stirring pictures of life, politely yielded to her wish. The quickly-shifting scenes exhibited a dull, dingy, and even mean-looking house, in the centre of a small, fifth-rate market town, and again a low-roofed parlour in that house, very plainly furnished with things neither fine nor new, and still less fashionable. Here sat an elderly, but comely gentlewoman knitting; and before her stood a plain tea equipage, waiting, as the next scene showed, the arrival of the loiterer under the churchyard elins, whom she seemed to welcome with the placid smile of long-tried affection. This scene looked brighter than the former. The old window curtain was let down, the old sofa wheeled in, the tea-kettle was steaming,-and it was singing also, no doubt, if pictures could give out sounds; the shadows of a blazing fire of wood were dancing and quivering on walls and roof, and shining on all the polished surfaces of the furniture; and a couple of hares, at a touch, were seen in another scene, leaping from a box. They gamboled and wheeled on the well-brushed carpet, their benevolent master and protector looking on their sports, and caracoles, and gambades, with pleased, affectionate, and even interested eyes. "How lively those scenes-they are nature itself, Mr. Dodsley," said Miss Jane Harding. "Your magic lantern is the finest mimic representation of life I ever saw." "I know whereabouts we are now," cried Sophia, in a low, earnest, yet delighted tone of voice. "Olney! Cowper! Mrs. Unwin!-Ah! sulky Tiney, and Mistress Bess the vaulter!” "Let me see, let me see!” cried the younger children; and Sophia had now a much stronger object of interest than the pictured scene, which she left to Fanny and Charles, and the other little ones. "But the studious, thoughtful youth, who pored over the folio in the Temple," she cried," the dark-browed, stern man of the Chancery Court, Cowper's early friend, who was he?" "Edward Thurlow, Lord High Chancellor of England."—" And that other boythe noble boy-the Westminster scholar ?" said Sophia. "Warren Hastings, Governor-General of India. These three youths started from the same point. In birth, Cowper was certainly the most distinguished of the three; of their respective talents we will not now speak-great men they all were-good men too, let us hope. The lot was cast into the lap. All started for the prize :-by routes how different did each gain the appointed place where all human travellers |