him as a friend. The poet laureate encouraged him, therefore, to transmit more of his verses, and the result is the volume before us-not more than a third of which, however, is occupied with the 'Attempts' of the good old butler of Kirby Hall, the rest being given to a chapter of our literary history from his editor's own pen, which, we venture to say, will be not less generally attractive than the "Life of John Bunyan," reviewed in our last Number. "There were many," says Mr. Southey, "I thought, who would be pleased at seeing how much intellectual enjoyment had been attained in humble life, and in very unfavourable circumstances; and that this exercise of the mind, instead of rendering the individual discontented with his station, had conduced greatly to his happiness; and if it had not made him a good man, had contributed to keep him so. This plea sure should in itself, methought, he sufficient to content those subscribers who might kindly patronize a little volume of his verses.' "" John Jones's own account of the circumstances under which his "Attempts" have been produced, cannot fail to impress every mind with the moral lesson thus briefly pointed to by the editor. After a simple chronicle of his earlier life, he thus concludes : "I entered into the family which I am now serving in January, 1804, and have continued in it, first with the father, and then with the son, only during an interval of eighteen months, up to the present hour, and during which period most of my trifles have been composed, and some of my former attempts brought (perhaps) a little nearer perfection: but I have seldom sat down to study any thing; for in many instances when I have done so, a ring at the bell, or a knock at the door, or something or other, would disturb me; and not wishing to be seen, I frequently used to either crumple my paper up in my pocket, or take the trouble to lock it up, and before I could arrange it again, I was often, sir, again disturbed. From this, sir, I got into the habit of trusting entirely to my memory, and most of my little pieces have been completed and borne in mind for weeks before I have committed them to paper. From this I am led to believe that there are but few situations in life in which attempts of the kind may not be made under less discouraging circumstances. Having a wife and three children to support, sir, I have had some little difficulties to contend with; but, thank God, I have en countered them pretty well. I have received many little helps from the family, for which I hope, sir, I may be allowed to say that I have shown my gratitude, by a faithful discharge of my duty; but, within the last year, my children have all gone to service. Having been rather busy this last week, sir, I have taken up but little time in the preparation of this, and I am fearful you will think it comes before you in a discreditable shape; but I hope you will be able to collect from it all that may be required for your benevolent purpose: but should you wish to be empowered to speak with greater confidence of my character, by having the testimony of others in support of my own, I believe, sir, I should not find much difficulty in obtaining it; for it affords me some little gratification, sir, to think that in the few families I have served, I have lived respected, for in none do I remember of ever being accused of an immoral action; nor with all my propensity to rhyme have I been charged with a neglect of duty. I therefore hope, sir, that if some of the fruits of my humble muse be destined to see the light, and should not be thought worthy of commendation, no person of a beneficent disposition will regret any little encouragement given to an old servant under such circumstances."pp. 179, 180. The tranquil, affectionate, and con, tented spirit that shines out in the "Attempts" is in keeping with the tone of this letter; and if Burns was right when he told Dugald Stewart that no man could understand the pleasure he felt in seeing the smoke curling up from a cottage chimney, who had not been born and bred, like himself, in such abodes, and therefore knew how much worth and happiness they contain; and if the works of that great poet have, in spite of many licentious passages, been found, on the whole, productive of a wholesome effect in society, through their aim and power to awaken sympathy and respect between classes whom fortune has placed asunder, surely this old man's verses ought to meet with no cold reception among those who appreciate the value of kindly relations between masters and dependents. In them they will trace the natural influence of that old system of manners which was once general throughout England; under which the young domestic was looked after, by his master and mistress, with a sort of parental solicitude-admonished kindly for petty faults, commended for good conduct, advised, and encouraged—and which held out to him "The Youth who strays, with dark design, who should spend a series of years honestly and dutifully in one household, the sure hope of being considered and treated in old age as a humble friend. Persons who breathe habitually the air of a crowded city, where the habits of life are such that the man often knows little more of his master than that master does of his next-door neighbour, will gather instruction as well as pleasure from the glimpses which John Jones's history and lucubrations afford of the interior machinery of life in a yet unsophisticated region of the country. His little complimentary stanzas on the birthdays, and such other festivals of the family his inscriptions to their neighbour Mrs. Laurence, of Studley Park, and the like, are equally honourable to himself and his benevolent su- And miss'd by the ear was thy voice in the sound; periors; and the simple purity of his Thy chamber was darksome, thy bell was unverses of love or gallantry, inspired by village beauties of his own station, may kindle a blush on the cheeks of most of those whose effusions are now warbled over fashionable piano-fortes. The stanzas which first claimed and won the favourable consideration of the poet laureate were these 'To a Robin Red-breast:' "Sweet social bird, with breast of red, "Thy cheerful song in winter's cold, Where fear appals each other bird; "The gleanings of the sumptuous board, And not dispensed till thou art there. "In stately ball and rustic dome, The gaily robed and homely poor "The Herdsman on the upland hill, "The Woodman seated on a log His meal divides atween the three, And Angler when he baits his hook. Dost thou some crumbs of comfort find. "Nor are thy little wants forgot In Beggar's hut or Crispin's stall; Among many affectionate tributes to the kind family in whose service he has spent so many years, not the worst are some lines occasioned by the death of Miss Sadlier Bruere, written a few months afterwards (December 1826) at Tours: Thou wert miss'd in the group when the eye look'd around, rung, Thy footstep unheard, and thy lyre unstrung: Too plainly denoted that death had been there. * * * * * * "Shall I make spirits fetch me what I please? Perforin what desperate enterprises I will? And search all corners of the New-found World AN old man on his death-bed lay, an old, yet His lip seemed moulded for command, tho' quivering now, and wan; By fits a wild and wandering fire sbot from his troubled eye, But his pale brow still austerely wore its native mastery. There were gorgeous things from lands afar, strewn round the mystic room; From where the orient palm-trees wave, bright gem and dazzling plume: And vases with rich odour fili'd, that o'er the couch of death Shed forth, like groves from Indian isles, a spicy summer's breath. And sculptured forms of olden time, in their strange beauty white, Stood round the chamber solemnly, robed as in ghostly light; All passionless and still they stood, and shining through the gloom, Like watchers of another world, stern angels of the tomb. 'Twas silent as a midnight church, that dim and mystic place, While shadows cast from many thoughts, o'erswept the old man's face: He spoke at last, and low and deep, yet piercing was the tone, To one that o'er him long had watched, in reverence and alone. "I leave," he said, "an empire dread, by mount, and shore, and sea, Wider than Roman Eagle's wing e'er traversed proudly free; Never did King or Kaiser yet such high dominion boast, Or Soldan of the sunbeam's clime, girt with a conquering host. "They hear me, they that dwell far down where the sea-serpent lies, And they, th' unseen, on Afric's hills, that sport when tempests rise; And they that rest in central caves, whence fiery streams make way, My lightest whisper shakes their sleep-they hear me, and obey. "They come to me with ancient wealth-with crown and cup of gold, From cities roof'd with ocean-waves, that buried them of old; They come from Earth's most hidden veins, which man shall never find, With gems that have the hues of fire deep at their heart enshrined. "But a mightier power is on me now-it rules my struggling breath; I have sway'd the rushing elements-but still and strong is Death' I quit my throne, yet leave I not my vassalspirits free Thou hast brave and high aspirings, youth!- my Sceptre is for thee! Now listen! I will teach thee words whose mas in human ear, Until thou'rt laid, as I am now, the grave's dark portals near." His voice in faintness died away-and a sudden flush was seen, A mantling of the rapid blood o'er the youth's impassion'd mien, A mantling and a fading swift-a look with sadness fraught And that too pass'd-and boldly then rush'd forth the ardent thought. "Must those high words of sovereignty ne'er sound in human ear? I have a friend-a uoble friend-as life or freedom dear! Thou offerest me a glorious gift-a proud ma Live, thou beloved, and trustful yet! No more on human head, Be the sorrows of unworthy gifts from bitter vials shed!" Blackwood's Magazine, A MOORE-ISH MELODY. OH! give me not unmeaning smiles, Of radiant eyes when tears wash o'er them. Though small the fount where they begin, They form-'tis thought in many a sonnetA flood to drown our sense of sin; But oh! Love's ark still floats upon it. Then give me tears-oh! hide not one; The best affections are but flowers, That faint beneath the fervid sun, And languish once a day for showers. Yet peril lurks in every gem For tears are worse than swords in slaughter: And man is still subdued by them, As humming-birds are shot with water. Monthly Magazine. THE LAST WORDS OF A MOTH. I BURN-I die-I cannot fly Too late, and all in vain: The glow-the light-charmed sense and sightNow naught is left but pain. That wicked flame, no pencil's aim, No pen can e'er depict on paper; My cure is past the power of money; Its eye was blue, its head was cold, Its round neck white as lilied chalice; Now I but see my winding-sheet. Oh, sad delusion;-ah, poor Moth! I caused them not; 'twas but a thief Had got within to wrong us both. Now I am left quite in the dark, The light's gone out that caused my pain; Kind breezes, blow it in again. On such bright cause I'll cast no scandal I fled to one who could not fly- The Gatherer. lbid. "A snapper-up of unconsidered trifles." SHAKSPEARE. THE LAST FRIEND. A RESPECTABLE character, after having long figured in the gay world of Paris, was at length compelled to live in an obscure retreat in that city, the victim of severe and unforeseen misfortunes. double machination of Satan, he was obliged carefully to reperuse the work, and to form this singular list of the blunders of printers working under the influence of the devil. W. A. R. CHARTER. Translation of "a Charter, originally written in Saxon, and granted by William the Conqueror to the Inhabitants of London :" He was so indigent that he subsisted on W. G. C. THE DEVIL AMONG THE PRINTERS. IN the year 1561, a work was printed, entitled the Anatomy of the Mass. It contained one hundred and seventy pages, accompanied with errata of fifteen pages! The author, a monk, in an advertisement prefixed to the errata states, that the devil, to ruin the fruit of his work, employed two very malicious frauds, by first drenching the manuscript in the kennel, reducing it to a most pitiable state, and rendering some parts altogether illegible, and then obliging the printers to commit such numerous blunders, never before equalled in so small a work. To combat this "WILLIAM, King, greets William, Bishop, and Godfrey Portgrave" (the same in office as Lord Mayor) "and all the Borough of London, French and English friendly. And I now make known to you, that you are worthy to enjoy all those laws and privileges which you did before the decease of King Edward. And it is my will that every child be his father's heir after his father's decease. And I will not suffer any man to do you wrong. God you keep.' J. H. N.. A "SPECTATOR" NEWSPAPER. "P.S. If you thought of a middle plan between a Spectator and a newspaper, why not?-only not on a Sunday. Not that Sunday is not an excellent day, but it is engaged already. We will call it the Tenda Rossa,' the name Tassoni gave an answer of his in a controversy, in allusion to the delicate hint of Timour of that colour, before he gave battle. Or the Lame, to his enemies, by a 'Tenda' we will call it Gli,' or 'I Carbonari,' if it so please you-or any other name full of 'pastime and prodigality,' which you may prefer. answer. I conclude poetically, with the bellman, a merry Christmas to you !'"! -Lord Byron to Mr. Moore, in his Life of the Noble Poet, vol. ii. p. 387. * Let me have an FOR ALL FAMILIES. In a closely-printed volume, price 5s. the AND SERVANTS' GUIDE. "This little volume contains much useful information upon every subject in which a domestic servant ought to be well versed. From the housekeeper to the scullery-maid, and from the butler to the groom, advice, cautions, receipts, and general hints, are given to each and all. They are written in a plain and sensible manner, and appear, as far as we are able to judge, the results of practical experience. To the master and mistress, as well as to those whose duties are of a more humble nature, the book may be strongly recommended. It is one from which the high and low may derive much benefit, and should find a place in the kitchen or servants'hall of those who desire to blend comfort with elegance, and prudence with luxury-New Monthly Magazine for the present month. Printed and Published by J. LIMBIRD, 143, Strand, near Somerset House,) London; sold by ERNEST FLEISCHER, 626, New Markei, Leipsic; and by all Newsmen and Booksellers. No. 476.] OF LITERATURE, AMUSEMENT, AND INSTRUCTION. [PRICE 2d. LORD BYRON'S PALACE, AT VENICE. SCORES of readers who have been jour- VOL. XVII. I. any ordinary person, could not be considered otherwise than disastrous and humiliating. He had, in the course of one short year, gone through every variety of domestic misery ;-had seen his hearth eight or nine times profaned by the visitations of the law, and been only saved from a prison by the privileges of his rank. He had alienated, as far as they had ever been his, the affections of his wife; and now, rejected by her, and condemned by the world, was betaking himself to an exile which had not even the dignity of appearing voluntary, as the excommunicating voice of society seemed to leave him no other resource. Had he been of that class of unfeeling and self-satisfied natures from whose hard surface the reproaches of others fall pointless, he might have found in insensibility a sure refuge against reproach: but, on the contrary, the same 476 |