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(I have purposely forborn filling it up, as I thought it best to leave that to the reader.) Could any thing be more simple, and, at the same time, more elegant ? Could any thing be better adapted to enhance the reader's estimation, and awaken his attention? Here an interest is excited, our expectations are roused : we look forward with eagerness to the answer of the hero who takes his place at the end of the verse, while we are amused with the pleasing variety of a tódus wwws 'Αχιλλεύς, or a κορυθαίολος Έκτωρ. Νor is this verse only calculated to give pleasure to those who take delight in reading Homer; but others also, who look upon the obligation to read it as a trouble, rather than a source of instruction and amusement. Where is the individual, who, being compelled to toil through thirty or forty verses, and endeavouring to understand, with the assistance of a lexicon, the meaning and derivation of the words, has not received some little pleasure on meeting with this line as with an old friend? But there is another merit which this verse possesses, and in which no other line, I think, will bear comparison with it; I mean the peculiar manner in which it is adapted to every hero in the poem. Would it not (if I may be allowed to make the comparison) baffle the art of a Stultz, or a Pulford, were they to attempt to make a coat which might fit men of different sizes? Yet, the poet has in the most masterly manner, by one single effusion of genius, rendered it conformable to the size and quality of every hero.

hero. And we see the mountis 'Oduoriùs agreeing as well in point of rhythm as the great τελαμώνιος "Αιας. Having gone thus far in my observations upon the merits of this verse, it would perhaps be unjust to omit observing, that the heroes of the poem are not the only persons qualified to answer the rhythm, nor have mortals the sole right to this verse, but immortals have an equal right, and the νεφεληγερέτα Ζευς or λευκώλενος "Ηρη, shine as conspiciously, and excite as much interest as the greatest heroes in the poem. Indeed, both Greeks and Trojans, Gods and Goddesses, take their place here with equal facility, and without any rivalry in beauty.


1.-A View from Glen Aber.
Between yon rocks, that wave with many a tree,
Burst the wild waters of the. boundless sea,
And dash the billows in the sunbeam's smile
Round the black cliffs of Seiriol's lonely isle.
The distant roar, as bounds the breeze away,
The shadowy sails that flit along the bay,
And yon clear sky, that spreads its azure plain,
And beams in glory o'er the sparkling main,
All speak of joy, and rapt the spirit springs,
And soars in freedom on the morning's wings.



Dark roll the waves-yet on the horizon's verge
What line of brightness gilds the living surge! .
What tints that shame the rainbow's every dye,
Blend all in one the ocean and the sky !
He comes : the sun, amid the ruddy dawn,
And man has liv'd to hail another morn.
Fast fly the shades, and hill and vale and stream
Burst into glory with the gladdening beam;
While from yon rock, far beetling o'er the bay,
The eagle soars to meet the god of day.



Fuit vivis quæ cura

eadem sequitur tellure repôstos.

As I lay awake the other night, I found it impossible to turn my attention from the publication of “ The Eton Miscellany.” I turned from one side to the other, and back again, with equal inutility ; I tried to compose myself to sleep, by resorting to all the usual methods; I shut my eyes, and endeavoured to count the waves of the sea, but could think of nothing but the metaphorical launch. I endeavoured to repeat verses—I could think of nothing but the motto of “The Eton Miscellany." I endeavoured to count I could not get beyond the number of copies. I soon gave it up in despair, and, par conséquence, in five minutes I fell asleep. As I had been considering what my defunct predecessor, Peregrine Courtenay and his merry colleagues would think of my presumption in setting up another periodical while their own laurels were yet green, it was but natural that my waking thoughts should still pursue me in my dreams; indeed, it would have been incredibly incorrect, and contrary to all the unities of Aristotle, if they had not. To cut the matter short, I had one of those convenient dreams, so common in books, and so rare in bed, the substance of which I shall rohtly relate to my readers.

I saw a little, hale, active old man, with wings on

66 who are

his feet, the caduceus in one hand, and a roll of paper in the other. “My dear sir," exclaimed I, you?”—“Sir,” rejoined the stranger, “ I am Mercury. -“Mercury !" I repeated in surprise ; "where, then, are the crines flavos, et membra decora juventæ ? for, of course, my dear divinity, you understand the dead languages. Where is that youthful appearance and radiant beauty so celebrated in Virgil ?"-"I cannot compliment your politeness,” said the god, “ in reminding me of their loss; but, to speak the truth, the gods of Olympus are now getting-of a certain age! It is unreasonable to expect that I should be the same Mercury that I was nearly 2,000 years ago, and even then Virgil flattered like a portrait painter : in short, it is some centuries ago since I began to get very grey; and, as we must all yield to time, Venus herself is beginning to wear rouge.” -“My dear sir," I exclaimed, “ I have been sadly remiss : pray take a chair, and explain why I am indebted to you for the honour of your visit.” The god bowed, and after three prefatory hems, opened his mission. He informed me that he had brought the congratulations of the deceased subjects of the King of Clubs, and their entreaties to have a copy sent down to them. “ However,” continued the little god,“ their wishes will be better explained by this printed paper, than by any eloquence of mine. You shall have it directly." He then entered into conversation, and made himself very agreeable, mixing up with the real object of his visit a good deal of entertaining scandal and useful information about Elysium. He informed me that there was a new subdivision in that territory, called the Scribentes

Campi, where every thing was poetical ; where there were rivers that ran by, murmuring the most beautiful tunes, and that the most celebrated of them was practising the “ Huntsman's Chorus,” in Der Freischütz, with great assiduity : where the ditches were filled with ink, the trees flowered with paper, and the birds, as they flew past, dropped ready-made pens, equal to those usually sold at 12s. per hundred; that bad and tedious poets were doomed to have their own poetry, the inferiority of which they at last perceived, continually read out to them, without the power of going to sleep! that Pluto had had a long conversation with his headcarpenter, on the expediency of fitting up an abode exclusively for the poets of The Lake School.

After a long conversation, Mercury rose hastily, saying that he should be too late for the tide, which waited neither for gods nor mortals. At the same time he held out the following communication from the other world. In snatching eagerly at it, I awoke, and found myself sitting up in my bed, with the mysterious paper in my hand. I have placed the original in the hands of Mr. Ingalton, bookseller of Eton, for the inspection of the curious.

N. B.-Those who take the trouble to examine it, are particularly requested to take notice of the patent sulphureous smell, which precludes imitation or imposture. If any lady or gentleman should be disposed to ask how it was printed there, &c. I must refer them to that respectable Mandarin, with a name that nobody can speak, and nobody can spell—the editor of “ Napoleon in the other World,” who, as he preceded me in his

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