current at home when they set out on their pilgrimage, and here they have remained in good use ever since."-Pp. 203-5 We said formerly, that at the time of its appearance, Captain Hall's book upon South America was the best which had been published;-we are by no means sure, but that we may not now with justice say the same of his book upon North America. The Foreign Review, and Continental Miscellany. No. VII. London. Black, Young and Young. July 1829. We feel ourselves in justice bound to compliment the conductors of this periodical on their punctuality and activity. But the present number has yet higher claims on our attention. It gives us a comprehensive, and in some particulars a satisfactory, view of continental literature. From France, we have intelligence of its ancient and modern juridical oratory, and of the present state of philosophy in that country. From Germany, we have an account of one of its most amiable mystics--- Novalis---by one who is more conversant with German literature than any Englishman of the day---Thomas Carlyle, Esq.; and an analytical review of Niebuhr's minor works, comprehending a memoir of the author's father, the indefatigable traveller. From Suabia, we were led to expect, from the title of one of the articles, some information respecting Godfrey of Strasburgh, one of the most distinguished of the Suabian poets; but the writer has disappointed us, for he confines himself to some details of Thomas the Rhymer, not particularly interesting or instructive in themselves. From Spain, we have a panegyrical, but not very graphic, notice of Jovellanos, a distinguished Asturian patriot; and a review of the continuation of a work on Guipuzcoan dances and diversions. From Italy, we have an account of its political economists. We have also a review of a Swedish poet, in the tone of a person who seeks to raise the literature of one country on the ruin of every other, not so much because he feels its superiority, as because his knowledge of it is an acquirement possessed by few. There is, besides, a narrative of the origin and progress of lithography, which, however, is too much confined to the mechanical details of the art, and does not evince much feeling or knowledge of what it has hitherto accomplished, or may be rendered capable of doing in future. The short reviews, and continental literary intelligence, at the end of the number, contain much that is interesting and amusing. On the whole, we rise from its perusal with a conviction, that this work is conducted with spirit and enterprsie. munication of life to an inert mass. In our opinion, that was but child's play to the materialising of mind which is here recorded as matter of history. It is the fairy-land of our exploded nursery books, where kings and queens walk about and sleep with crowns on their heads, realised. While perusing the work of Constantine, we do not wonder that the imperial city fell before the fierce onset of Muhammed, but only that its inhabitants were not found by him petrified, like those we read of in the Arabian Nights. We have sat spell-bound in the icy fetters of a formal English dinner party; we have endured the night-mare infliction of a Berlin literary tea-drinking; we the aid of these reminiscences, our fancy struggles in vain have travelled in a Dutch treck-schuyt; but even with to image satisfactorily the wooden life of Byzantium. Christian Biography; a Dictionary of the Lives and tablished or dissenting churches. The Vestry Library, Vol. I. Hall's Contemplations. Holds and general knowledge." This is not a very new, but it is a very true remark. We really think that, in the different departments of printing and engraving, this country has now got nearly to the topmost spoke in the liter Constantini Phorphyrogeniti Imperatoris de Cerimoniis | sonné of every remarkable individual, whether in the esAula Byzantina. Libri Duo. Bonnæ. 1829. THE indefatigable philologists of Bonn have just pub. lished the first volume of this work. Viewed apart, its literary merits are not great, and the information it conEdited by Thomas Russell, A.M. London. tains none of the most interesting. But standing as an worth and Ball. 12mo. Pp. 400. 1829. integral part of the series of Byzantine historians, (which we formerly noticed,) it contains much that throws light brary," is above all others distinguished by the unparal "THE present era," says the Editor of the Vestry Lion their darker passages, and helps to complete the pic-leled efforts which are made for the diffusion of scientific ture of the court of Byzantium. We gape at the accounts given us by travellers of the strict etiquette and ceremonial of the courts of Ava and Pekin; but this volume shows that there has been another court, little if at all inferior to these. The Emperor of Constantinople, in the tenth century, seems to have slept and waked, eat, drank, prayed, given audience, and taken exercise, according to a prescribed formula. Nay, his subjects had the manner in which they were to testify their loyalty enforced upon them by statute. We seem transported into a world of form and outward show, beneath which there beats no human heart. Punch and Judy (we mean the wooden images, not the vivifying principle behind the curtain) are sensitive and intelligent beings in comparison with the actors in this gorgeous spectacle. It was thought a bold fancy in Mrs Shelley to pourtray the com ary ladder; and we humbly imagine, that two or three years at most will suffice to bring the bibliographical arts to such a pitch of perfection, that it will be impossible for the ingenuity or ability of man to go farther. What improvements may take place when Edward Irving's Milthat happy period makes its appearance, we are of opinion lennium arrives, it is impossible for us to say; but until that "The skill of artists can no farther go." The exterior of the Vestry Library is not very much in its favour, but it has "that within which passeth show." It is to contain a reprint of good, substantial works, on religious subjects. The first volume, now before us, presents us with a work which has been before the world for two centuries, and which has, many a long year ago, passed through the ordeal of criticism with no small credit to its author. The "Contemplations" of Joseph Hall, the good bishop of Norwich, is a book which Philip Doddridge (no mean authority,) has pronounced to be "incomparable for language, criticism, and devotion." This is praise sufficient without any addition of ours; and, wishing it all success, we leave the Vestry Library to find its way into as many Session Rooms on this side of the Tweed as possible. MISCELLANEOUS LITERATURE. THE EDITOR IN HIS SLIPPERS; A PEEP BEHIND THE SCENES. No. III. "Stulta, jocosa, canenda, dolentia, seria, sacra; secluded coves and bays, or standing upon gently-rising ground, and smiling in the morning sun. The mountains, too, which had appeared to skirt the very shore, we now found receded for several miles, and all the intervening space was occupied with fields of waving corn, gardens, shrubberies, and shady woods. We landed at Burntisland, and found, to our surprise, all the fashion and beauty of that city assembled on the pier to receive us. (We afterwards learned, that, as soon as our intention of crossing the Forth was known, a revenue cutter had been dispatched express to apprise the inhabitants of our coming.) The freedom of the good town of Burntisland was presented to us by the magistrates, with a suitable speech, to which we were just about to reply, when our eyes lighted on the most effulgent vision they had ever seen. It was three ladies--if angels may be called ladies. Two of them were arrayed in white, but she who stood in the centre was in blue-a pure cerulean blue, borrowed from the hue of her own eyes. We do not know her name-we shall never know it; but as long as blue silk exists, that maiden shall live in our memory. The magistrates and corporation observed our agitation, but knew not the cause. They hurried us to the council chamber, and there presented us with strawberries and cream, noyeau, and mareschino. Alas! we had received a wound "nullis medicabile herbis;" although we do acknowledge that we ate and drank to an extent which considerably amazed our Burntisland admirers. A gorgeous and imposing procession accompanied us from Burntisland to Aberdour, which we entered in triumph. We have seldom seen a village exert itself more emphatically to do honour to an illustrious visitant. Old Aberdour poured forth its two hundred inhabitants to meet us, and from the Earl of Morton's alone came forty additional spectators, who gazed upon us with a feeling almost approaching awe. In new Aberdour the bell of the church was set a-ringing, and the streets were strew We have just returned from a brief ramble along the coast of Fife. We sojourned for two days in that ancient kingdom. The ground was somewhat new to us, and of all things in this earth we delight in novelty. We are strongly inclined to suspect that by far the greater majority of the inhabitants of Edinburgh have a very faint and indefinite notion of Fife. Walking down North Hanover, Frederick, or Castle Street, or slowly pacing along Queen Street, they see in the far distance across the Frith of Forth, some blue and apparently barren hills; and, though they probably imagine that, on the other side of these hills, there is a civilized district of some extent, they never for a moment suppose that on this side there is any thing but sloping, unploughed fields, coming downed with flowers. We desired to be conducted to the harto the sea shore. Now this is a geographical error of some magnitude, though it is one out of which we confess that we ourselves have been only very lately emancipated. We had heard of the Fife Ferries, and seen long and most mysterious debates concerning them recorded in the newspapers; but what the Fife Ferries were, we thank Heaven, we were as ignorant as the child unborn. However, as Fife was the only corner of Europe we had left unexplored, we suddenly conceived the resolution of visiting it, and judging for ourselves. bour, where Kirkham's magnificent barge having been elegantly fitted up for our accommodation, we immediately proceeded on a visit to the adjacent island of Inchcombe. We were there most hospitably received by its present proprietor, Mr Watson, who holds under the Earl of Murray. We visited the old monastery, than which there are few more interesting ruins in Scotland, and having expressed our regret that the Earl of Murray, being at present in Italy, had been deprived of the pleasure of seeing us, either here or at Dunniebirsel, we re-embarked in Having added one or two codicils to our will, and taken Kirkham's barge. It was now evening, and we observed an affectionate farewell of our family and friends, we emthat Aberdour was illuminated. Being anxious, howbarked on board a steam-boat at Newhaven, and soon af- ever, to escape from the gaieties which we knew were preterwards found ourselves careering through the mighty pared for us, we determined to sail down the coast to deep. We stood on the poop, and waving a hand-the Burntisland, and there land once more incognito. We snowy whiteness and gentlemanly delicacy of which has accomplished our purpose, though not without some difbeen long the subject of popular admiration-we ex-ficulty; and knowing that we could not long conceal claimed, with Childe Harold-" My native land, good ourselves here, we started at midnight for Kirkaldy. We night!" (We should have said "good morning," for it preferred walking, and we walked alone. We had a was about ten A.M., but the poetical license may be par- proud pleasure in thus passing through a part of Fife, doned, considering the excited state of our feelings.) We humble and unregarded, knowing, as we did, that no one very soon cleared the Roads, where several ships were ly- had ever been seen in that country whom the people ing at anchor; and we soon afterwards descried Inchkeith would have more delighted to honour. It was cloudy on our starboard beam, reposing in the deep solitude of the and dark, and we saw little of the road along which we main ocean. About this time a seal passed athwart our bows, travelled, although we have a faint recollection that a lake and created a considerable sensation, being, at first sight, which skirted it on the left, glimmered beside us for some mistaken, by all the passengers and some of the crew, for part of the way. Our thoughts were far off, unless a whale. But the Captain, who appeared to be a man of when the lady in blue flashed across our mind, and we skill, assured us that we were not yet in a sufficiently breathed a fervent prayer that the dreams which were at northern latitude to meet with whales. This information that moment hovering round her pillow might be dreams allayed the fears of the ladies, who, having nothing else to of bliss. do, immediately grew sea-sick, and hung over the sides of the vessel. As we neared the coast of Fife, it became, of course, more distinctly visible; and our astonishment was not small to discover that it was thickly studded with towns and villages, either peeping out, like birds' nests, from little It was two o'clock in the morning when we knocked at the door of the Bell Inn of Kirkaldy, kept by Mrs Lowe. Little did the fair damsel who gave us admission, guess who was crossing the threshold; and little did the smart waiter who brought us supper conceive who was devouring his cold chicken! We felt like Alfred in the neat herd's cottage; or Peter the Great in the wood-yard at Rotterdam. All this time we had worn boots, but now we ordered SLIPPERS. There was a faltering in our voice as we pronounced the word, which almost betrayed us. The slippers were produced, but such slippers !—-gay, red, cockney affairs, into which our expansive feet would scarcely peep. The whole force of our affections for the slippers we had left behind burst forth at once, and we exclaimed despairingly, "Heu! quantum minus est cum reliquis versari, Quam tui meminisse !" -- in all In the whole world in the whole universe space---there is but one pair of slippers like those by which we have been rendered immortal, and to which we have returned the compliment. We walked next day seven or eight miles through Kirkaldy, the west end of which, we are informed, was never yet reached by any traveller who entered from the east, or the east by any one who entered from the west. Captain Cochrane, who walked to Kamtschatka, tried to walk through Kirkaldy, but failed, having been taken dangerously ill when he had got about half-way. It is called the long town of Kirkaldy;" but what its length really is, remains to be discovered by some future Mungo Park, Bruce, or Clapperton. At length, perceiving the citizens beginning to make preparations for our advent, which they expected would take place in the course of that day, we flung ourselves into a carriage-andfour, galloped first to Kinghorn, and then to Pettycur, where we found a steam-boat ready to sail, and were once more safely landed at Newhaven, almost before the people of Kirkaldy had made the appalling discovery that we had been among them, without their knowing it! "Encore, après un an, je te revois, Arbate." Once more behold us in our study, restored, dear reader, to thee, and to our slippers. Have we not cause for mutual congratulation? After all," there is no place like home." What a mountain of new books, and what an uncountable number of letters, await our return! It will take us hours merely to open them. But now that the evening sunlight is streaming into our room, we shall light our pastilles of sandal-wood, whose odorific smoke will mingle with the breath of flowers, and surround us with a dreamy and delicious atmosphere, as, stretched along the sofa with the marble table by its side, we proceed to select from our papers an agreeable oglio for that most intellectual and valuable class of the community---the readers and admirers of the EDINBURGH LITERARY JOURNAL. And what, in the present instance, can be more appropriate to begin with than the following spirited effusion, with the sentiments expressed in which, the author assures us, that all mankind heartily coincides?-- TO THE EDITOR IN HIS SLIPPERS. 'Tis not for men of simple rhyme, I'd sweep such scribblers off the earth- The "NOCTES" still may rule the night, And North and Hogg be whippers Of dulness; but a brighter light Shall glow around thy SLIPPers. In shoes thou canst a Tartar prove,-- Now, in thy bark late launch'd on fame, A score of bards are skippers, That would have given Rome a name→ Made Grecians sigh for SLIPPERS. There dulness lives not, and the race If gratitude by man is due To knowledge-box equippers, The world shall vote their thanks to you, The Greek Pashas, and Afric chiefs,- And modest beauty, jealous grown,--- The corner of thy SLIPPERS. And if an humble genius pine, Wedged in misfortune's nippers,--- What need of more ?---though I could wear Upon thy deathless SLIPPERS. tations to dinner-parties, to pic-nic parties, to aquatic We next open twenty-seven cards, which contain inviparties, to fêtes-champêtres, to the houses of country gentlemen, to public meetings, and to every kind of entertainment to which invitations are ever sent. We rarely or never answer any of these cards, but when the day comes, we go if we are in the mood, and if not, they must do the best they can without us. We are not naturally vain, but the adulation of a too partial world has those cards, over which we have just happened to cast our a slight tendency towards making us so. Here is one of eye, from as excellent a fellow as breathes,---one who has boarded many an enemy's ship, sword in hand, and is he belongs. now at the very top of the honourable profession to which He is not now quite so young as he has been, but he still retains all the enthusiasm and warm feelings of youth. He writes to us from Plymouth, whence he is just about to sail on a short cruise :-- AN INVITATION FROM THE " OLD COMMODORE." Come sup with old Neptune with me, sir; I vow 'twere a horrible pity, When summer is laughing around. Then leave all the devils behind you, The printers, the green, and the blue: Odd's blood! sir, and let me remind you, A Nautical Journal is new. Consider, my dear Mr Editor, How with sea stores we'll be cramm'd: When every subscriber's a creditor, Every opponent is d――d! Off!---off with your long gown and slippers; In summer you scribblers should roam : 'Tis better to blow out with skippers, Than fall out with lubbers at home. Odd, zooks! when the zephyrs are blowing, And off with the old Commodore! Away! oh! away o'er the billows; And July's the month for the sea! A curious document was lately put into our hands, which, we believe, has never before been given to the public, and a copy of which we have pleasure in being now able to lay before our readers. It is an original letter in the handwriting of George III., addressed to his friend and preceptor, the Earl of Bute, shortly after his accession in 1761. It is interesting in several points of view, and particularly as it contains the original order for the pension that was settled upon Home, the author of "Douglas,” and places the character of our late monarch in the most amiable, and, we may say, endearing light. We print it verbatim as it is in the original :-- UNPUBLISHED Letter of George III. MY DEAREST FRIEND,---In looking over the list we made together, I feel myself still in debt, particularly to poor Home; no office occurs to me that I think fit for him; I, therefore, desire you would give him £300 per annum out of my privy purse, which mode will be of more utility to him, as it will come free from the burthen of taxes, and infamous fees of office. I have a double satisfaction in giving Home this mark of my favour, as I know the execution of it will be as agreeable to my dearest friend as the directing it is to myself. I remain, The late venerated Dr C., of Cupar, was in the habit of taking his evening walk, on the high-road, in the immediate neighbourhood of the town. During one of these stated excursions, he had occasion to meet several people returning from Ceres market, whose conversation and step indicated that Ceres and Bacchus had not been separated. Amongst the rest, a well-known, canty little body, of the name of "Tibby Brown," hove in sight, manifestly after having made, as was sometimes Tibby's practice, a little too free with a certain little stoup, which contains a gill. Tibby was a character, and though somewhat addicted to a glass at orra times, was a welldoing body upon the whole, kept a clean well-swept house, a sonsy cat, and a cheerful tongue in her head, what time the minister paid her a visit. Tibby, however, had that day disposed of some sale yarn, and had tithed the price to the amount of a cheerful glass with the merchant who purchased it. Tibby was close upon her pastor, ere she perceived him, and finding it impossible to retreat, did, what most people would have done in her circumstances; she put the best face on it possiblebrought up her lee-way---steadied her pace to a miracle--cocked her head--and, from her very anxiety to disguise her unsteadiness, immediately tripped, stumbled, and all but came in contact with the person of her pastor. Dr C. saw Tibby's situation, and knew her general character as well as her foible, so, continuing that benignity of countenance which was natural to him, he proceeded to rally Tibby in the following terms:--"Hout, tout, Tibby, woman, ye're reeling, I see."Tibby heard the assertion, and being more accustomed to the professional than to the English sense of the term, incontinently and gaily rejoined, "Weel, minister, ye ken a body canna aye be spinnin'." We have said before that Glasgow contains several poets. The following Sonnet is by a new aspirant, and it does him no discredit : SONNET TO A day a summer day of sunshine, with And thou-wilt thou, too, go?-Oh, what to me Mr Brydson, who has already appeared in our pages, and who is, besides, the author of a small volume of poetry, also resides, we believe, in Glasgow. The two following pieces are by him, and contain much of that gentle, meditative pensiveness, for which we like his style. He always writes pleasingly : Of birch-embower'd walks at noon, Of tales beside the winter hearth, When storms were up amid the night, But only added to your mirth, And made the fire more brightYes, ye were joyous then-ye say, "Here spent we many a happy day." These balmy eves-these nights and days→→ 'Tis eloquent that parting lay 'Tis tender---and I will not seek To dash the trickling tear away From off my burning cheek, That falls in grief, because ye say, "Here spent we many a happy day?" SONNET, ON RECOVERING A LOST COPY OF HENRY KIRKE WHITE'S POEMS. Back to my bosom come, thou early friend; Strange changes have I seen since last with thee I sat beneath mine own laburnum tree, And turn'd thy well-known pages to an end, And watch'd the rays of summer eve descend, Like blessings on the quiet roof of home, And heard the little voice that bade me come To sing the ev'ning psalm. And thou didst lend Thy pictured stores to beautify the dream That hung around me through the silent night, Bringing loved forms. Ah, little did I deem Few years would sweep them from my waking sight! This comfort visits my lone heart with thee, That these shall meet me in eternity. In a different strain is the following successful imitation of the livelier sort of old south-country ballad. It is a communication from a Kirkcudbright correspondent : AULD JANNET BAIRD-A SANG TO ITS AIN TUNE. Chorus. Auld Jannet Baird, auld Jannet Baird, Auld Jannet Baird was a changewife o' fame, Auld Jannet could brew a browst o' gude ale, Auld Jannet Baird was baith gaucy an' sleek, Auld Jannet Baird had a purse fu' o' gowd, An' wha was sae bein or sae braw's Jannet Baird? But Jannet had secretly nourish'd for lang The wooer that's hooly is oftentimes crost, An' words wared on courtin' are often words lost; The marriage was settled, the bridal day set, LOVE AT ONE GLIMPSE; OR THE GLASGOW GENTLEMAN AND THE LADY. Some years ago, there used to be pointed out, upon the streets of Glasgow, a man whose intellects had been unsettled upon a very strange account. When a youth, he had happened to pass a lady on a crowded thoroughfare--a lady whose extreme beauty, though dimmed by the intervention of a veil, and seen but for a moment, made an indelible impression upon his mind. This lovely vision shot rapidly past him, and was in an instant lost amidst the commonplace crowd through which it moved. He was so confounded by the tumult of his feelings, that he could not pursue, or even attempt to see it again. Yet he never afterwards forgot it. With a mind full of distracting thoughts, and a heart filled alternately with gushes of pleasure and of pain, the man slowly left the spot where he had remained for some minutes as it were thunderstruck. He soon after, with out being aware of what he wished, or what he was doing, found himself again at the place. He came to the very spot where he had stood when the lady passed, mused for some time about it, went to a little distance, and then came up as he had come when he met the exquisite subject of his reverie---unconsciously deluding himself with the idea that this might recall her to the spot. She came not; he felt disappointed; he tried again; still she abstained from passing. He continued to traverse the place till the evening, when the street became deserted. By and by, he was left altogether alone. He then saw that all his fond efforts were vain, and he left the silent, lonely street at midnight, with a soul as desolate as that gloomy He terrace. For weeks afterwards he was never off the streets. wandered hither and thither throughout the town, like a forlorn ghost. In particular, he often visited the place where he had first seen the object of his abstracted thoughts, as if he considered that he had a better chance of seeing her there than any where else. He frequented every place of public amusement to which he could purchase admission; and he made the tour of all the churches in the town. All was in vain. He never again placed his eyes. upon that angelic countenance. She was ever present to |