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IMMEDIATELY after the publication of a just and excellent Essay upon French Pretensions in our last number, we met with a passage in Diodorus Siculus, which would have made the aptest motto to the paper that Author could desire. We cannot resist still letting our readers see what a writer of the time of Julius Cæsar thought of the French, because it is really astonishing that the national character of France should have undergone so little alteration in the space of 2000 years. What an eternal dance of mind and body this volatile people seems to be involved in !

They (the Gauls) are high and hyperbolical in trumpeting out their own praises ; but speak slightly and contemptibly of others. They are apt to menace others ; self-opi. nionated ; grievously provoking; of sharp wits, and apt to learn.--Diodorus Siculus, Chap. ii. Booth's Translation,

The following poem is melodiously written, and, with the exception of the fourth line of the first stanza, has more sweetness in it than generally marks our anonymous modern lyrics. We should, however, be glad to know the meaning of the said fourth line—it quite pozes us.

FAREWELL TO ITALY.

Written on leaving Genoa, May, 1822.
Farewell to the land of the south !

Farewell to the lovely clime
Where the sunny vallies smile in light,

And the piny mountains climb.
Farewell to her bright blue seas !

Farewell to her fervid skies!
0! many and dear are the thoughts that crowd
O'er the soften'd heart, while it sighs

Farewell to the land of the south !
As the look of a face beloved,

Was that bright land to me
It enchanted my sense—it sunk on my heart

Like music's witchery.
Through every thrilling nerve

I felt the genial air ;
For life is life in that glowing clime :
'Tis death of life elsewhere !

Farewell to the land of the south !
The poet's splendid dreams

Have hallow'd each grove and hill,
And the beautiful forms of ancient faith

Are lingering round us still.
And the spirits of other days,

Invoked by fancy's spell,
Are rollid before the kindling thought,
While we breathe our last farewell

To the glorious land of the south !
A long-a last adieu,

Romantic Italy !
Thou land of beauty, and love, and song,

As once of the brave and free!
Alas! for thy golden fields !

Alas! for thy classic shore !
Alas ! for thy myrtle and orange bowers !
I shall never behold them more,-
Farewell to the land of the south !

A. B. M.

We have received a letter (directed “to be delivered immediately,") giving us a description of The Mermaid now exhibiting in St. James's Street, from the pen of “ Dr. Rees Price, a gentleman distinguished for his scientific literary productions." Does the proprietor of this suspicious importation think that we never read Sheridan's Puff Collateral, or that we will artlessly stand a comma 'tween the amities of him and the Stamp Office! No-no.Besides, who is this distinguished Dr. Rees Price? We really do not know him-nor can we meet with any one who does. Has he any interest in this herring-tailed lady? -The Mermaid, in fact, comes very suspiciously, per the Americans. Now, if Mermaids do really exist, we must say we are sur. prised that no fisherman ever netted a specimen since the year One!

The following is taken, as Nimrod assures us, from a real “ Old Poem," upon hunting, and indeed it has the appearance of having never been young.

Jomblood

Now the loud (rp is up—and hark !
Che barky Trees give back pe Bark.
2. Vousewife heares the merrie route
and runnes and lets the Beere run out
Leaving her Babes to weepe, for why?
She likes to beare the Deer-Dogs crpe
And see the wild Stag how he stretches
The natural Buckskin of his Breeches
Running like one of Human kind
Dogged by Fleet Bapriffs close behind
As if he had not paid his Bill
For Venison, or was owing still
For his two Wornes and soe did get
Over his Bead and Eares in Debt:
Wherefore he strives to paie his ape
with his long Legs the while he mape
But he is chased, like silver Dishe,
As well as anpe Dart can wishe
Ercept that one whose Heart doth beate
So faste it hasteneth his Feete
And running soe he holdeth Deathe
Four feete from him till his Breathe
Failes, and slacking Pace at laste
He runs not slow but standech faste
With horny Baponettes at Bape
To baping Vops around, and they
Pushing him hard, he pusheth sore,
And goreth them that seek his Bore,
Whatever Dog his Worne doth rive
Is dead as sure as he's alive!
Do that Pourageous Dart doth fighte
With fate,--and calleth up his mighte
and standeth stout that he map falle
Sravelp and be avenged of alle,
Jor like a foward pield bis breathe
Vnder the Jaws of Dogs and Deathe.

a

Tre really have not room this month for particular replies to our numerous Unknowns. We only request they will not mistake our Silence for Consent.

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EDWARD HERBERT'S LETTERS TO THE FAMILY OF THE POWELLS.

No. v.

To Russell Powell, Esq.

It has a strange quick jar upon

the

ear, That coCKING

Lord Byron.

DEAR RUSSELL,—To write short hopes-spake of pain and its comand dispirited letters is one of the pany of evil spirits-of sea-side solitokens of a distempered frame. I tude and melancholy readings :blush to find by the packet of anxious I wish I had written no such foolnotes and tender enquiries, lately re- ery. Do you know, Russell, that a ceived from your family, that I have few morning rambles on the beach, furnished them a messenger of alarm and a few early excursions in the and disquiet, by my last brief but fishing boats, gave my feelings a tedious epistle from the country. new life on the instant, and made me When women are ill, they bear their better and blither than I ever in my sufferings with silence and patience, life remember to have been. I arose but the moment we masters of the with the sun (no common trick of creation are nipped by ailments, we mine); and while the sky was yet lose no time in hallooing to the world white, and the cold brisk waves came about our agony and magnanimity— shuddering in with a green gloom and in writhing before visitors like upon the beach,- 1 scrambled into giants in pain. I am sorry to say, one of the old black fishing boatsmy dear "Russell, that experience and oh, how bravely did we spread daily proves to me, that in all great the brown sail on the graceless pole things we men are frightfully little- of a mast, and dance off to our proand that it is the weaker sex that fitable sport! I assisted in putting rise with the difficulties of the time, out the nets-1 assisted in managing and that display unaffected great- the boat-I assisted in the pulling in. ness and power, in the moments of Suchflapping and flashing in the light! anguish, disappointment, or despair. -such tossing and breaking of waves! I gave to your sister the other day We would return before the day was a melancholy report of myself—hinted warm—and I relished my breakfast at declining health and decaying with part of the spoils. Sometimes, Vol. VI.

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however, I have done nothing but tal elasticity has taken its spring from saunter among the shingles as the the reflections which a maimed old tide was swelling in, and take note sailor lately awoke in me during of the grand labour of the sea--the some conversations I held with him. labour which has been—and which I cannot resist the temptation to will be !—What sights! what noble which we tourists are constantly submusic! The white spread of the jected, of giving you a sketch of this foam,-eternal, yet momentary ;- amiable and suffering creature, poor, the sound of the curled. wave pained, contented, gentle Tom Barnes! sounding with time !---I became He was about thirty-five years of age learned, Russell, in the mysteries of ---apparently healthy-certainly paan ocean and its shores. "I studied tient and cheerful :-- but the position the patient strife, and forgot the which he invariably occupied too world in all I saw and heard. If you plainly told me that he was the victim would, indeed, steep your mind in of some dreadful malady. On all quiet and in power, take a seat on sunny days, he was wheeled out in a a rock or on the loose dry stones of sort of plain wooden chaise, and the shore-and read the waves !—If placed opposite the cheering light you would truly wed your senses to and warmth—and long before you serenity—“ feast them upon the reached him you saw him surrounded wideness of the sea!”—1 only know with children,—a sure sign of worth! this (to know something in these ex- I was first attracted towards him by tremely wise times is not amiss) Yes, the mild smile of his sunburnt and -I only know this,--that with all placid countenance, and by the exmy love of merriment, bustle, and treme urbanity of his manner as I life with all my passion for popu- passed him. He was nibbing a pen for lar pleasures and exciting pastimes- a child. He sat in a sailor's dress, I never was half so contented in any in his leathern hat, in his blue strihour of my existence, as in that ped shirt,-habited as when he trod which found me overtaken by a ra- the deck or walked the shore. The venous wave that covered my feet costume of his once dear element was with embossed foam, and set me tear- left to him, though he was divorced ing with might and main from a for ever from boat and billow. His wave-that was dead and gone!- upper frame was nobly robust and Well, Russell, the meaning of all this manly, and his face remarkably salt-water prose is, that I am now placid and handsome. I never saw terribly well - and I must entreat softer or bluer eyes in woman. 1 you to break my sudden relapse into . stopped one morning and discoursed health to your distracted family with with him ;-I stopped each succeedas much tenderness as possible,—to ing day, and our discourse grew soften to your sister my unbecoming longer. He informed me briefly of desertion of the romance of my lets his malady. About eighteen years ter ;-to make them all, in short, ago, in some quay, on the Cornish think as favourably as they can of a coast (I forget its name, though he gentleman, who gave promise of an mentioned it) he fell from a high part approach towards the interesting, and of a vessel, and was stupified, bruised, who, at the very threshold of deli- and wet with his fall: his messmates cacy and youthful decay, has put the took off his jacket and shirt, but left pale face in his pocket, turned round him in his wet trowsers for two days impudently on those who were sym- totally neglected. He was bronght pathising with him, tripped up the home, surgical aid was called in, but heels of sensibility, and rushed back the lower part of his frame was to life with the impudence and thenceforth affected with paralysis strength of an Irish giant. P-beyond remedy. From that day, he will be good enough to let my last has been thus helpless and afflicted. letter go for nothing :--It was.-as From that day, he has been downdear uncle Noll says, “ too sentiment- ward-dead-useless-except to sit al by half!"

in the sun-to lighten the fireside, The sea air certainly has given the to show the simple beauty of an return-force to my frame, but I have ungrieving endurance,

to read much reason to believe that my men through the long and cheerless night!

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1892.]
The Coclepit Royal.

391
To hear him speak, was to hear quite sure, Russell, that I gained
true, pure, unaffected wisdom--the strength of mind from my colloquies
philosophy, not of the schools, but of with this patient wreck of a man
nature. His face appeared to have and my resolution not to moan and
received a softer expression from his mutter over trifling ailments and
long inaction and serenity. His hu- temporary pains gained vigour from
manity seemed to have gone into his the contemplation of this smiling
features to have taken steady and sufferer of eighteen years' duration,
temperate watch in his calm blue who knew himself half perished-the
eyes. I learned from his townspeople eternal prey to sloth and anguish,-
(who invariably knew and loved him) yet could sit in the sun, gladden in
more of his history,-more of Tom the face of the sea, and look philoso-
Barnes ;—and one or two anecdotes phy to the gay, the active, and the
gave me a sensible delight-for they healthy of his kind. Poor Tom
not only vouched for the endearing Barnes ! I would thou couldst read
qualities of the sea-sufferer himself, this honest description of thyself, and
but extended my respect for others see how much good thou art able to
of his species. He had been attach- do, even in thy lone and withering
ed, in the heyday of his youth and inactivity! are
spirit, to one

a young

But to come to more serious matwoman, who lived by assisting ladies ter. I turn from the sea and its in their plain-work, as it is termed, wonders as abruptly as I bounded and a miserable living it is!-She from sickness to health. Nor will you must have been industrious, patient, regret that I make so little ceremony and contented-for persons not pos- in varying my subjects, for there is sessed of such qualities would quick- no one that surpasses Russell in an ly want employ-He must have been insatiable appetite for knowledge merry, volatile, handsome. I should « with a difference.” I remember, in like to have seen them in this spring- one of my early letters, I made a time of their love! Eighteen years kind of half promise to induct you are now gone by, and more! Tom into the mysteries of this metropolis; Barnes has lost relatives, acquaint

--and since my return to the placid ance, and friends--but this young comforts of the Albany once more, I woman (she can never grow old) is am strongly reminded of my duty to near, dear, and constant to him still, you, my poor country solitary-and and her family are the only creatures more particularly since I have been that attend him. She talks to him of carried by volatile Tom Morton to an evening, sits with her needlework a fresh scene of London's singular by his side, and loves him at this drama. I shall, therefore, put on very moment. He has also once been my habit of description-and retail taken to a hospital, some fifty miles to you, not only the particulars of from his residence, at the expense of what I witnessed, but my own imthe Misses P—and there he has pressions at the time. I can give you had the first medical aid, -but to few of Tom's-who certainly sinks him, alas ! aid, it has been none !-At a good deal of his humanity and mothis day he is continually hearing of ral feeling in the enthusiasm of the the deaths of those sailors who so moment. He has a way of settling cruelly deserted him when he met these things with his conscience in a with his accident-and he seems to very summary mode; for when he lament, by his manner of recounting has a mind to be profuse, or when their dooms, that they should be so he has, in his sporting speculations, marked by Providence ! His own fate“ made his money,” (to use his own he never repines at -and he even expression) he sends off his initials recalls certain mischances, by which and his guinea to some charitable his progress was baffled in the royal subscription, and thus pays his toll navy, the West-India, and the East- for the liberty of passing

through the India trades, with an air of wonder turnpike of iniquity. He will hold rather than sorrow ;-invariably con- five guineas in his hand, just recluding with the remark, that his was ceived from some creature of folly “a number lot,” and therefore not like himself,—and calculate its apto be lamented or disputed. I am plication with the nicest mixture of

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