The former, she said, was showy and spacious, and
likely to allure young persons.
The uncertainty and
quick shifting of partners—a thing which the con-
stancy of whist abhors;-the dazzling supremacy and
regal investiture of Spadille-absurd, as she justly
observed, in the pure aristocracy of whist, where his
crown and garter gave him no proper power above
his brother-nobility of the Aces;-the giddy vanity,
so taking to the inexperienced, of playing alone;
above all the overpowering attractions of a Sans
Prendre Vole,-to the triumph of which there is cer-
tainly nothing parallel or approaching, in the con-
tingencies of whist ;-all these, she would say, make
quadrille a game of captivation to the young and
enthusiastic. But whist was the solider game: that
was her word. It was a long meal, not, like qua-
drille, a feast of snatches. One or two rubbers
might co-extend in duration with an evening. They
gave time to form rooted friendships, to cultivate
steady enmities. She despised the chance-started,
capricious and ever-fluctuating alliances of the
other. The skirmishes of quadrille, she would say,
reminded her of the petty ephemeral embroilments
of the little Indian states, depicted by Machiavel;
perpetually changing postures and connexions; bit-
ter foes to-day, sugared darlings to-morrow; kissing
and scratching in a breath'; but the wars of whist
were comparable to the long, steady, deep-rooted,
rational antipathies of the great French and English

nations.

A grave simplicity was what she chiefly admired in her favourite game. There was nothing silly in it, like the nob in cribbage-nothing superfluous. No flushes-that most irrational of all pleas that a reasonable being can set up :-that anyone should claim four by virtue of holding cards of the same mark and colour, without reference to the playing of the game, or the individual worth or pretensions of the cards themselves! She held this to be a solecism; as pitiful an ambition at cards as alliteration is in authorship. She despised superficiality, and looked deeper than the colours of things. Suits were soldiers, she would say, and must have a uniformity of array to distinguish them: but what should we say of a foolish squire, who should claim a merit from dressing up his tenantry in red jackets, that never were to be marshalled-never to take the field?-She even wished that whist were more simple than it is; and, in my mind, would have stript it of some appendages, which, in the state of human frailty, may be venially, and even comShe saw no reason for the mendably allowed of. deciding of the trump by the turn of the card. Why not one suit always trumps?-Why two colours, when the marks of the suits would have sufficiently distinguished them without it?—

delicately-turned ivory markers (work of Chinese
artist unconscious of their symbol, or as profanely
slighting their true application as the arrantest
Ephesian journeyman that turned out those little
shrines for the goddess)-exchange them for little
bits of leather (our ancestors' money) or chalk and a
slate!”

"But the eye, my dear madam, is agreeably refreshed with the variety. Man is not a creature of pure reason he must have his senses delightfully appealed to. We see it in Roman Catholic countries, where the music and the paintings draw in many to worship, whom your quaker spirit of unsensualizing would have kept out. You yourself have a pretty collection of paintings-but confess to me whether, walking in your gallery at Sandham, among those clear Vandykes, or among the Paul Potters in the ante-room, you ever felt your bosom glow with an elegant delight, at all comparable to that you have it in your power to experience most evenings over a well-arranged assortment of the court cards?the pretty antic habits, like heralds in a procession-the gay triumph-assuring scarletsthe contrasting deadly-killing sables-the majesty of spades'-Pam in all his glory!——

hoary

The old lady, with a smile confessed the soundness of my logic; and to her approbation of my arguments on her favourite topic that evening, I have always fancied myself indebted for the legacy of a curious cribbage-board, made of the finest Sienna marble, which her maternal uncle (old Walter Plumer, whom I have elsewhere celebrated) brought with him from Florence-this, and a trifle of five hundred pounds came to me at her death.

“All these might be dispensed with; and, with their naked names upon the drab paste-board, the game might go on very well pictureless. But the beauty of cards would be extinguished for ever. Stripped of all that is imaginative in them, they must degenerate into mere gambling. Imagine a dull deal board, a drum head, to spread them on, instead of that nice verdant carpet (next to Nature's), fittest arena for those courtly combatants to play their gallant jousts and tourneys in! Exchange those

The former bequest (which I do not least value)
I have kept with religious care; though she herself,
to confess a truth, was never greatly taken with
cribbage. It was an essentially vulgar game, I have
heard her say,-disputing with her uncle, who was
very partial to it. She could never bring her mouth
heartily to pronounce "go "-or "that's a go." She
called it an ungrammatical game. The pegging teazed
her. I once knew her to forfeit a rubber (a five dollar
stake) because she would not take advantage of the
turn-up knave, which would have given it her, but
which she must have claimed by the disgraceful te-
nure of declaring "two for his heels." There is some-
thing extremely genteel in this sort of self-denial.
Sarah Battle was a gentlewoman born.

Piquet she held the best game at the cards for two
persons, though she would ridicule the pedantry of
the terms such as pique-repique-the capot-
they savoured (she thought) of affectation. But
games for two, or even three, she never greatly cared
for. She loved the quadrate, or square.
She would
argue thus :-Cards are warfare: the ends are gain,
with glory. But cards are war, in disguise of a sport;
when single adversaries encounter, the ends proposed
are too palpable. By themselves, it is too close a
fight; with spectators it is not much bettered. No
looker on can be interested, except for a bet, and then
it is a mere affair of money; he cares not for your
luck sympathetically, or for your play. Three are still
worse; a mere naked war of every man against every
man, as in cribbage, without league or alliance; or a
rotation of petty and contradictory interests, a suc-
cession of heartless leagues, and not much more
hearty infractions of them, as in tradrille.-But in
square games (she meant whist) all that is possible to
be attained in card-playing is accomplished. There
are the incentives of profit with honour, common to
to every species--though the latter can be but very
imperfectly enjoyed in those other games, where the
spectator is only feebly a participator. But the
parties in whist are spectators and principals too.
They are a theatre to themselves, and a looker-on is

stances.

and what possible principle of our nature, except stupid wonderment, could it gratify to gain that number as many times successively, without a prize? -Therefore she disliked the mixture of chance in backgammon, where it was not played for money. She called it foolish, and those people idiots who were taken with a lucky hit, under such circumGames of pure skill were as little to her fancy. Played for a stake, they were a mere system of over-reaching. Played for glory, they were a mere setting of one man's wit,-his memory, or combination-faculty rather-against another's; like a mock engagement at a review, bloodless and profitless. She could not conceive a game wanting the sprightly infusion of chance, the handsome excuses of good fortune. Two people playing at chess in a corner of a room, whilst whist was stirring in the centre, would inspire her with insufferable horror and ennui. Those well-cut similitudes of castles and knights, the imagery of the board, she would argue (and I think in this case justly), were intirely misplaced and senseless. Their hard head-contests can in no instance ally with the fancy. They reject form and colour. A pencil and dry slate, she used to say, were the proper arena for such combatants.

not wanted. He is rather worse than nothing, and
an impertinence. Whist abhors neutrality or in-
terests beyond its sphere. You glory in some sur-
prising stroke of skill or fortune, not because a cold-
or even an interested-by-stander witnesses it, but
because your partner sympathises in the contingency.
You win for two. You triumph for two. Two are
exalted. Two again are mortified; which divides
their disgrace, as the conjunction doubles (by taking
off the invidiousness) your glories. Two losing to
two are better reconciled, than one to one in that
close butchery. The hostile feeling is weakened by
multiplying the channels. War becomes a civil
game. By such reasonings as these the old lady was
accustomed to defend her favourite pastime.

No inducement could ever prevail upon her to
play at any game where chance entered into the
composition, for nothing. Chance, she would argue
-and here again admire the subtlety of her conclu-
sion!-chance is nothing but where something else
depends upon it. It is obvious that cannot be
glory. What rational cause of exultation could it
give to a man to turn up size ace a hundred times
together by himself? or before spectators, where no
stake was depending? Make a lottery of a hundred
thousand tickets with but one fortunate number

To those puny objectors against cards, as nurturing the bad passions, she would retort, that man is a gaming animal. He must be always trying to get the better in something or other :--that this passion can scarcely be more safely expended than upon a game at cards: that cards are a temporary illusion; in truth, a mere drama; for we do but play at being mightily concerned, where a few idle shillings are at stake, yet, during the illusion, we are as mightily concerned as those whose stake is crowns and kingdoms. They are a sort of dream-fighting; much ado; great battling, and little bloodshed; mighty means for disproportioned ends; quite as diverting, and a great deal more innoxious, than many of those more serious games of life, which men play, without esteeming them to be such.

With great deference to the old lady's judgment on these matters, I think I have experienced some moments in my life, when playing at cards for nothing has even been agreeable. When I am in sickness, or not in the best spirits, I sometimes call for the cards, and play a game at piquet for love with my cousin Bridget-Bridget Elia.

I grant there is something sneaking in it; but with a tooth-ache, or a sprained ancle,—when you are subdued and humble,-you are glad to put up with an inferior spring of action.

There is such a thing in nature, I am convinced, as sick whist.—

I grant it is not the highest style of man-I deprecate the manes of Sarah Battle--she lives not, alas! to whom I should apologise.

At such times, those terms which my old friend objected to, come in as something admissible. — I love to get a tierce or a quatorze, though they mean nothing. I am subdued to an inferior interest. Those shadows of winning amuse me.

That last game I had with my sweet cousin (I capotted her)-(dare I tell thee, how foolish I am?) -I wished it might have lasted for ever, though we gained nothing, and lost nothing, though it was a mere shade of play: I would be content to go on in that idle folly for ever. The pipkin should be ever boiling, that was to prepare the gentle lenitive to my foot, which Bridget was doomed to apply after the game was over: and, as I do not much relish appliances, there it should ever bubble. Bridget and I should be ever playing.

IMPORTANCE OF INDIVIDUALS TO ONE ANOTHER.

Widely separated as they may be, there is no case where the influence possessed by any individual, however mean, over any other individual, however mighty, is really null, and unworthy of all regard. The mouse in the fable, releasing the lion from bondage, is an exemplification of the possible dependence of the strong upon the weak.-Bentham's Deon tology.

THE WEEK.

PERSONAL PORTRAITS OF EMINENT MEN.

DANTE.

[FROM 'Lives of Eminent Italians. This summary account of the great Italian is one of the best fitted to give a popular and true idea of him, that we have seen.]

DANTE's poem is certainly neither the greatest nor the best in the world; but it is, perhaps, the most extraordinary one which resolute intellect ever planned, or persevering talents successfully executed. It stands alone; and must be read and judged ac

cording to rules and immunities adapted to its peculiar structure, plot, and purpose, formed upon principles affording scope to the exercise of the highest powers, with little regard to precedent. If these principles, then, have intrinsic excellence, and the work be found uniformly consistent with them, fulfilling to the utmost the aims of the author, the Divina Commedia ' must be allowed to stand among

the proudest trophies of original genius, challenging, encountering, and overcoming unparalleled difficulties. Though the fields of action, or rather of vision, are nominally Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise,--the Paradise, Purgatory, and Hell of Dante, with all their terrors, and splendours, and preternatural fictions, are but representations of scenes transacted on earth, and characters that lived antecedently or contemporaneously with himself. Though altogether out of the world, the whole is of the world. Men and women seem fixed in eternal torments, passing through purifying flames, or exalted to celestial beatitude; yet in all these situations they are what they were; and it is their former history, more than their present happiness, hope, or despair, which constitutes, through a hundred cantos, the interest awakened and kept up by the successive exhibition of more than a thousand individuals, actors and sufferers. Of every one of these something terrible or touching is intimated or told briefly at the utmost, but frequently by mere hints of narrative, or gleams of allusion, which excite curiosity in the breast of the reader, who is surprised at the poet's forbearance, when, in the notes of commentators, he finds complex, strange and fearful circumstances, on which a modern versifier or novelist would extend pages, treated here as ordinary events on which it would be impertinent to dwell. These, in the author's own age, were gener

ally understood; the bulk of the materials being gathered up during a period of restlessness and confusion among the republican states of Italy.

Hence, though the first appearance of the 'Divina Commedia,' in any intelligible edition, is repulsive from the multitude of notes, and the text is not seldom difficult and dark with the oracular words, yet will the toil and patience of any reader be well repaid, who perseveringly proceeds but a little way, quietly referring, as occasion may require, from the obscurity of the original to the illustrations below; for when he returns from the latter to the former (as though his own eye had been refreshed with new light, the darkness having been in it, and not in the verse), what was colourless as a cloud is radiant with

beauty, and what before was undefined in form, becomes exquisitely precise and symmetrical from comprehending in so small a compass so vast a variety of thought, feeling, or fact. Dante, in this respect, must be studied as an author in a dead language by a learner, or rather as one who employs a living language on forgotten themes; then will his style grow easier and clearer as the reader grows more and more acquainted with his subject, his manner, and his materials. For whatever be the corruption of the text (which, perhaps, has never been sufficiently collated) the remoteness of the allusions, of our countrymen's want of that previous knowledge of almost everything treated upon which best prepares the mind for the perception and highest enjoyment of poetical beauty and poetical pleasure, Dante will be found, in reality, one of the most clear, minute, and accurate writers in sentiment, as he is one of the most perfectly natural and graphic painters to the life of persons, characters, and actions. His draughts

have the freedom of etchings, and the sharpness of
proof impressions. His poem is well worth all the
pains which the most indolent reader may take to
master it.

- Boccaccio, the earliest of his biographers, though
not the most authentic, says, that in person Dante
was of middle stature; that he stooped a little from
the shoulders, and was remarkable for his firm and
graceful gait. He always dressed in a manner pecu-
liarly becoming his rank and years. His visage was
long, with an aquiline nose, and eyes rather full than
small, his cheek-bones large, and his upper-lip pro-
jecting beyond the under; his complexion was dark;
his beard and hair black, thick and curled; and his
countenance exhibited a confirmed expression of
melancholy and thoughtfulness. Hence, one day, at
Verona, as he passed a gateway, where several ladies
were seated, one of them exclaimed, "There goes
the man who can take a walk to hell, and back again,
whenever he pleases, and bring us news of everything
that is doing there." On which another, with equal
sagacity, added, "That must be true; for don't you
see how his beard is frizzled, and his face browned,
with the heat and the smoke below." The words,
whether spoken in sport or silliness, were overheard
by the poet, who, as the fair slanderers meant no
malice, was quite willing that they should please

themselves with their own fancies.

Towards the

opening of the Purgatorio' there is an allusion to
the soil which his face had contracted on his journey
with Virgil through the nether world :-

"High Morn had triumph'd o'er the glimmering
dawn

Which fled before her, so that I discern'd
The tremble of the ocean from afar :
We walk'd along the solitary plain,
Like men retracing their erratic steps,
Who think all lost till they regain the path.
Arriving where the dew-drops with the sun
Contended, and lay thick beneath the shade,
Both hands my master delicately spread
Upon the grass: aware of his intent,

I turn'd to him my tearful countenance,
And thence he wiped away the dusky hue
With which the infernal air had sullied it." *

In his studies, Dante was so eager, earnest, and
indefatigable, that his wife and family often com-
plained of his unsocial habits. Boccaccio mentions,
that once when he was at Sienna, having unexpectedly
found at a shop-window a book which he had not
seen, but had long coveted, he placed himself on a
bench before the door, at nine o'clock in the morning,
and never lifted up his eyes till vespers, when he had
run through the whole contents with such intense
application, as to have totally disregarded the festi-
vities of processions and music which had been pass-
ing through the streets the greater part of the day;
and when questioned about what had happened in
his presence, he denied having had any knowledge of
anything but what he was reading. As might be
expected from his other habits, he rarely spoke, ex-
cept when personally addressed, or strongly moved,
and then his words were few, well chosen, weighty,
and expressed in tones of voice accommodated to the
subject. Yet, when it was required, his eloquence
broke forth with spontaneous felicity, splendour, and
exuberance of diction, imagery, and thought.

Dante delighted in music. The most natural and touching incident in his 'Purgatorio' is the inter view between himself and his friend Casella, an eminent singer in his day, who must, notwithstanding, have been forgotten within his century, but for the extraordinary good fortune which had befallen him, to be celebrated by two of the greatest poets of their respective countries (Dante and Milton), from whose pages his name cannot soon perish.

Choosing to excel in all the elegancies of life, as
well as in gentlemanly exercises and intellectual

* L'alba vinceva l' ora mattutina
Che fuggia 'nnanzi, si che di lontano
Conobbi il tremolar della marina.
Noi andavam per lo solingo piano
Com' uom, che torna alla smarrita strada
Che 'nfino ad essa li pare ire in vano.

There is an interesting allusion to the employment which he loved in the Vita Nuova':-"On the day that completed the year after this lady (Beatrice) had been received among the denizens of eternal life, while I was sitting alone, and recalling her form to my remembrance, I drew an angel on a certain tablet," &c. It may be incidentally observed, that Dante's angels are often painted with unsurpassable beauty, as well as inexhaustible variety of delineation throughout his poems, especially in Canto ix of the 'Inferno,' and Cantos ii, viii, xii, xv, xviii, xxiv of

the Purgatorio. Take six lines of one of these portraits; though the inimitable original must consume the unequal version :

"A noi venia la creatura bella,

Bianco vestita, e ne la faccia quale
Par, tremolando, mattutina stella :
Le braccia aperse, e indi aperse l' ale;
Disse; Venite; qui son presso i gradi,
E agevolmente omai si sale."

DELL' PURGATORIO, Canto XII.

"That being came, all beautiful, to meet us,
Clad in white raiment, and the morning star
Appear'd to tremble in his countenance;
His arms he spread, and then he spread his
wings

And cried, Come on, the steps are near at hand,
And here the ascent is easy.'"

Leonardo Aretino, who had seen Dante's handwriting, mentions, with no small commendation, that the letters were long, slender, and exceedingly distinct, the characteristics of what is called in ornamental writing a fine Italian hand. The circumstance may seem small, but it is not insignificant as a finishing stroke in the portraiture of one who, though he was the first poet unquestionably, and not the least philosopher, was also one of the most accomplished gentlemen of his age.

CHARACTERS OF SHAKSPEARE'S
PLAYS.

BY WILLIAM HAZLITT.

NO. XII. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.

THIS is one of the most loose and desultory of our author's plays: it rambles on just at it happens, but it overtakes, together with some indifferent matter, a prodigious number of fine things in its way. Troilus himself is no character: he is merely a common lover: but Cressida and her uncle Pandarus are hit off with proverbial truth. By the speeches given to the leaders of the Grecian host, Nestor, Ulysses, Agamemnon, Achilles, Shakspeare seems to have known them as well as if he had been a spy sent by the Trojans into the enemy's camp-to say nothing of their being very lofty examples of didactic eloquence. The following is a very stately and spirited declamation :—

"ULYSSES. Troy, yet upon her basis, had been
down,

And the great Hector's sword had lack'd a master,
But for these instances.

The specialty of rule hath been neglected.

The heavens themselves, the planets, and this centre,
Observe degree, priority, and place,
Insisture, course, proportion, season, form,
Office, and custom, in all line of order:
And therefore is the glorious planet, Sol,
In noble eminence, enthron'd and spher'd
Amidst the other, whose med'cinable eye

practised jilt, who falls in love with Troilus, as she
afterwards deserts him, from mere levity and

Or, like a gallant horse fall'n in first rank,
O'er-run and trampled on : then what they do in thoughtlessness of temper. She may be wooed

He

secutive, rather than discursive. He arrived at truth
through a certain process; Shakspeare saw every-
thing by intuition. Chaucer had great variety of
power, but he could do only one thing at once.
set himself to work on a particular subject. His
ideas were kept separate, labelled, ticketed and par-
celled out in a set form, in pews and compartments
by themselves. They did not play into one another's
hands. They did not re-act upon one another, as
the blower's breath moulds the yielding glass. There
is something hard and dry in them. What is the
most wonderful thing in Shakspeare's faculties is
their excessive sociability, and how they gossipped
and compared notes together.

We must conclude this criticism; and we will do herd. Cattermole's Death of Llewellyn' is spirited;

it with a quotation or two. One of the most beau-
tiful passages in Chaucer's tale is the description of
Cresseide's first avowal of her love :-

"And as the new abashed nightingale,
That stinteth first when she beginneth sing,
When that she heareth any herde's tale,
Or in the hedges any wight stirring,
And, after, sicker doth her voice outring;
Right so Cresseide, when that her dread stent,
Opened her heart, and told him her intent."

but not very carefully drawn.

Poems, with Illustrations, by Louisa Anne Twamley.
London. Tilt.

MISS TWAMLEY urges that the illustrations to her poems are her first attempt at etching on copper; she need scarcely have done so, for they are executed with much feeling and talent, and bear no signs of incapacity or immaturity. They consist of landscapes and flower-pieces. Of the landscapes, we prefer Tintern Abbey, which we never saw look better on paper; more venerable or picturesque; and a friend, who has visited the veritable edifice, praises it for its fidelity. The flower-piece immediately following it is still better in point of execution; it is drawn with great freedom and feeling, and the blending and variety of the tints is very happily Compare this with the following speech of Troilus caught. Something will be said of the poetry in to Cressida in the play.

See also the two next stanzas, and particularly that divine one beginning

"Her armes small, her back both straight and soft," &c.

"O, that I thought it could be in a woman; And if it can, I will presume in you,

To feed for aye her lamp and flame of love,
To keep her constancy in plight and youth,
Out-living beauties out-ward, with a mind
That doth renew swifter than blood decays.
Or, that persuasion could but thus convince me,
That my integrity and truth to you
Might be affronted with the match and weight
Of such a winnow'd purity in love;
How were I then uplifted! But alas,

I am as true as Truth's simplicity,
And simpler than the infancy of Truth.”

These passages may not seem very characteristic at first sight, though we think they are so. We will give two, that cannot be mistaken. Patroclus says to Achilles,

"Rouse yourself; and the weak_wanton Cupid
Shall from your neck unloose his amorous fold,
And like a dew-drop from the lion's mane,
Be shook to air."

Troilus, addressing the God of Day on the approach of the morning that parts him from Cressida, says with much scorn,—

"What! proffer'st thou thy light here for to sell? Go, sell it them that smallé selés grave."

If nobody but Shakspeare could have written the former, nobody but Chaucer would have thought of the latter. Chaucer was the most literal of poets, as Richardson was of prose-writers.

We have much pleasure in inserting the following literary notice which has been sent us. In the press, Corn Law Rhymes.' The third volume of the works of Ebenezer Elliott will appear in the ensuing month. Amongst its contents will be found some of the earliest productions of this talented writer, without any political allusions,-productions which were almost unheeded at the time of their publicationSouthey alone addressing him to this effect: "There is power in the least serious of these tales, but the higher you pitch your tone the better you succeed. Thirty years ago they would have made your reputation; thirty years hence the world will wonder that they did not do so."

another number.

TO F. M. W.

too great length. He reminds us of the letterwriter, who said, "Excuse my being so long, but I have not time to be shorter." Is this our friend's case? At present he wants concentration; and must also study his versification a little more. He is in such haste to live in his pleasant bowers, that he must needs inhabit them, before they are built!

The writer of a letter in pencil, who notices the doctrine of Berkeley, is, we take it, not the same Correspondent who made the quotation alluded to. We have two Readers who seem to have objections to pen and ink. With regard to Berkeley's argu

ments we would recommend him to read them for

himself in the philosopher's works. He would find them very amusing at least, and, we suspect, very startling. And we should be glad to hear from him afterwards on the subject, for our own acquaintance with them was both partial and hasty.

AN OLD ENGLISH Gentleman will probably have seen the announcement of Captain Sword and Captain Pen' before this answer appears. At all events,

it will be speedily published by Mr Knight. His other query we cannot notice, because it would trench upon the forbidden ground of advertisement. We are much flattered by his idea of the " Series " he speaks of.

Agreeably to our wish to avoid all possible themes of controversy, we are sorry that the mention of the Clergyman" in 'Sunday in the Suburbs' was not omitted. F., who takes such a kindly interest in our pages, is informed that the article was written some time back, and the passage, on a hasty review of it, overlooked.

What S. J. says upon Love and Matrimony' is very true, and does him honour; but we fear to open our columns to all that may be said on this subject. We agree with all the opinions expressed in the

WITH A QUARTO EDITION OF LADY RACHEL RUSSELL'S letter of X; but has he not made his 'Gipsy's Song'

LETTERS.

On more than Russell in thy fortitude,
And in thy love too, capable of more,
Say, either may we bless or must deplore
The lot which makes thy evil and our good.
For, Lady, had the silken lap of ease

Nursed the charms thy friends so doat upon,
Then hadst thou not from adverse fortune won
The triumph which a chastened heart decrees,
For hadst thou known the subtle bands that knit
Into one web meek feeling and high thought,
Making the soul a holy garment, wrought
With nicest art, magnificently fit-
Then unto us thy love had only brought
The grace of manners and the charm of wit.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

T. F. T.

THE enlarged copy of Mr Landor's ode will appear
in our next. Its insertion has been delayed by a
provoking accident, which has conspired, we fear,
with another hindrance, to make us seem very un-
accountable and thankless in the eyes of the fair Cor-
respondent by whom it was forwarded. But we have
been hoping, day by day, to be able to beg her accept-
ance of a little volume, which would have accom-
panied our letter of explanation; and in case this
volume does not appear before the present Number
of our JOURNAL, we hereby mention the circumstance
that she may see we are not quite so absurd as she
might otherwise reasonably imagine.

We shall be glad to hear again from H. F.
We cordially thank the gentleman who has written
to us so kindly about the LONDON JOURNAL, and
whose letter inclosed some of the poems of Sir Rich-
ard Fanshawe, &c. He will see that we are not for-
getful.

The MS. sent us by Mr J. will be attended to at
our very first leisure.

We are much mistaken if we have not inserted some article written by J. M. C. Will he favour us with copy or copies of some later communications, in case they have been mislaid?

Our friend G. H. L. seems to be full of good feeling, and fancy too; but he is in too great a hurry both with his verse and prose, and therefore writes at

somewhat too intimate with the language and luxuries of high living?

Thanks to GODFREY GRAFTON; who will hear further from us.

The printed articles on Mr Lamb reached us unfortunately too late to be made use of in our present number. Due attention shall be paid to them in our next. Meantime we must observe that the writer is under a great mistake respecting the absence of some of Mr Hazlitt's friends, when his funeral took place.

We will not do venerable JOHN PACEY the injustice of publishing the lines sent us by the gentleman who gives us the following account of him, because the homeliness of their attire may not allow everybody to pay honour enough to their spirit; but no one will misunderstand the reverend and living piece of poetry here presented us in the person of a cheerful old man of eighty, rendered superior to his adversity by a good conscience and a mind willing to look around it for sources of comfort:—

"The author of the accompanying trifles, John Pacey, now eighty years of age, was born in the village of Charlton-Kings, Gloucestershire, of honest and industrious parents. He was apprenticed at an early age to a laborious trade, which he has, however, with commendable industry, pursued until within these last few years, when age and infirmities prevented his further exertions, and drove him to tion of a little vegetable-garden. His wants are few seek refuge from penury and distress in the cultivaand easily supplied; a life of industry has rendered him frugal and abstinent, while honesty and goodfeeling have preserved him in the paths of sobriety and rectitude. He married at the early age o twenty-one, and has decently brought up seven children. His eldest son is an object of great compassion, being alike infirm in body and imbecile in mind; he is dependant upon the kindness of his parents, not only for the necessities of life, but also for his actual support, he is helpless. Notwithstanding this unusual clog, poor old Pacey bears up under the burdens of existence, is cheerful and contented, and even bestows his leisure hours to the cultivation of an humble and amusing taste for poetry."

LONDON: Published by H. HOOPER, Pall Mall East, and supplied to Country Agents by C. KNIGHT, Ludgate-street. From the Steam-Press of C. & W. REYNELL, Little Pulteney-street.

LONDON JOURNAL.

TO ASSIST THE ENQUIRING, ANIMATE THE STRUGGLING, AND SYMPATHIZE WITH ALL.