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tances as before on line lk on which the tion of the writing of the present day, as shadow of m will point out 11, 10, and coinage of words and fantasies of phrases 9 o'clock; the dial will then be finished. which will scarcely be understood, much
Observe. These diuls require consi- less relished, twenty years hence. But derable thickness (let it be equal to the style throughout is plain, sensible, a m,) because being placed parallel to und natural, free from caricature, and the equator, the sun shines upon the more that of the world thun of the book. upper face all the summer, and on the The plot is of the tale or adventure longest day is elevated 23° 29' above the description; certainly not new, but its plane of the dial, and consequently the interest turns upon points which will shadow of a will fall at noon in the line never cease to attract a reader. We do a b, not in the point b, but at an angle not enter into it, but prefer taking a few of 23° 29' therewith, and on the shortest of the characters to show the rank of day the like angle will be formed, but in life as well as the style of the materials. an opposite direction. It must further The first is a portrait of a London citibe observed that after the proper points zen sixty years since :are determined on the plane, they had At the Pewter Platter there were two better be transferred to the sides of the arm chairs, one near the door and the cross, as is shown in fig. 2, for there it other near the window, and both close is the shadow will be seen to puss. A by the fire, which were invariably occudial thus formed is universal; when pied by the same gentlemen. One of made according to the foregoing direc- these was Mr. Bryant, citizen and stations there is nothing more to do but to tioner, but not bookseller, save that he fix it by the help of your quadrant to the sold bibles, prayer-books and almanacks; elevation of the equinoctial or comple- for he seriously considered that the arment of the latitude of your habitation, morial bearings of the Stationers' Comand su that the side a m may exactly pany displaying three books between a face the south. A dial of this sort has chevron, or something of that kind, for been standing in my garden, more than he was not a dab at heraldry, mystically 12 months, and is found to answer the and gravely set forth that no good citipurpose well, being both useful and or. zen had occasion for more than three namental.
books, viz. bible, prayer-book and almaWhen the figures are painted on the nack. Mr. Bryant was a bachelor of thickness as in fig. 2, the upper surface some sixty years old or thereabouts. being unoccupied, an equinoctial diał He had a snug little business though may be described thereon, which will be but a small establishment; for it was izseful the summer half year, while on his maxim not to keep more cats than the lower surface a similar one may be would catch mice. His establishment placed for the winter half; or it may be consisted of only two individuals ; a made the bearer of some useful lesson, housekeeper and an apprentice. His in the form of a motto, e. g. “Disce housekeeper was one Mrs. Dickinson, dies numerare tus.” But this is only a staid, sober, matronly looking persone a hint to the curious. COLBOURNE. age, who tried very hard, but not very 5 Sturminster Newton, Dorset. successfully, to pass for about forty years
of age; the good woman, though called
Mrs. Dickinson, was a spinster, and The Selector
according to her own account was of a
We use good family, for her great uncle was a 9190 LITERARY NOTICES OF clergyman. She was remarkable for the ! NEW WORKS. AS
neatness of her dress, for the fineness of
To lo her muslin aprons, and the accurate sa adi ATHERTON,
arrangement of her plaited caps. In By the author of Rank and Talent.
one respect Mr. Bryant thought that
she carried her love of dress too far, for This tale bids fair to enjoy more last- she would always wear a hoop when her ing popularity than either of the author's day's work was done. Mr. Bryant's previous works. It has more story and apprentice, who was at the period of incident, though not enough for the which we are writing, nearly out of his novel. The characters, if not new, are time, was a high spirited young man, more strongly drawn-their colouring whom neither Mr. Bryant nor Mrs. is finer-their humour is richer and Dickinson could keep in any tolerable broader, and as they are from the last order. So far from confining his readcentury, so their drawing, reminds us ing to bibles, prayer-books, and almaforeibly of the writers of the same period. nacks, he would devour with the utmost There is none of the mawkish affecta- eagerness, whenever he could lay his
hands upon them, novels, plays, poems, council-men and liverymen. Out of romances, and political pamphlets ; he London he knew nothing ;-he believed was a constant frequenter of the theas that the Thamesran into the sea, because tres, sometimes with leave and sometimes he had read at school, that all rivers without, for Mr. Bryant was almost run into the sea, but what the sea was afraid of him ; and to crown the matter he did not know and did not care ; he he was a most outrageous Wilkite. believed that there were regions beyond
Mr. Bryant himself was a neat, quiet, Highgate, and that the earth was haorderly sort of a man, regular as clock- bitable farther westward than Hyde work, and steady as time, the very pink Park corner; but he had never explored of punctuality and the essence of exact- those remote districts.
What was He had been in business nearly Hammersmith to him or he to Hamforty years, in the same shop, conducted mersmith ? Heknew of nothing, thought precisely in the same style as in the days of nothing, and could conceive of nothing of his predecessors; he lacked not store more honourable, more dignified, or more of clothes or change of wigs, but his desirable than a good business properly clothes and wigs and three cornered attended to. He was proud of the close hats were so like each other, that they and personal attention that he paid to seemed, as it were, part of himself. His his shop,—somewhat censoriouslyproud; wig was brown, so were his coat and he might be called a mercantile prude; waistcoat, which were nearly of equal or shopkeeping pedant; and when a length. He wore short black breeches near neighbour who had a country house with paste buckles, speckled worsted at Kentish-town, to which he went hose and very large shoes with very down every Saturday, and from which large silver buckles. He was most in- he returned every Monday or Tuesday, tensely and entirely a citizen. He loved came by a variety of unavoidable, or the city with an undivided attachment. unavoided misfortunes to make his apHe loved the sound of its hells, and the pearance in the Gazette, with
a “Wherenoise of its carts and coaches; he loved as” prefixed to his name, Mr. Bryant the colour of its mud and the canopy of rather uncandidly chuckled and said, its smoke; he loved its November fogs, “I don't wonder at it. I thought it and enjoyed the music of its street mu- would end in that. That comes from sicians and its itinerant merchants; he leaving things to boys." loved all its institutions civil and reli- Much as Mr. Bryant venerated the gious; he thought there was wisdom city, and all the city institutions, yet he in them if there was wisdom in nothing was by no means ambitious of its ho. else; he loved the church and he loved nours. His motives of abstinence were the steeple, and the parson who did the of a mixed nature. He had fears that duty and the parson who did not do the the dignity of common-councilman, duty; and he loved the clerk and the which he had occasionally been invited sexton and the parish beadle with his to aspire to, might interfere with his broad gold-laced hat, and cane of stri- domestic comforts and put Mrs. Dicking authority; and he loved the watch- kinson out of her way; and he had men and their drowsy drawl of “ past some slight apprehensions that he might umph a' clock;" he loved the charity not be successful if he should make the schools and admired beyond all the attempt; and then as in the course of sculpture of Phidias, or the marble mi- his life he had seen many promoted to racles of the Parthenon, the two full- that honour, whom he had once known length statues about three feet each in as children and apprentices, and whom length and two feet six inches each in he still regarded as boys, though some breadth, representing a charity boy and of them were upwards of thirty years a charity girl, standing over the door of old, he affected to make light of a dig. the parish school; he loved the city com nity that had become so cheap. panies, their halls, their balls, though Mr. Bryant was considered hy the he never danced at them, their dinners, frequenters of the Pewter Platter as a for he never missed them; and above man of substance, and being some years all other companies he loved the sta- older than most of the visiters at that tioners', and its handsome barge, and house, and having been accustomed to its glorious monopoly of almanacks; he the house for more years than any other loved the Lord Mayor and the Mansion- of the party, the arm-chair, at what was house,- it was not quite so black then, called the upper side of the fire-place, as it is now,--and he loved the great was invariably reserved for him, and the lumbering state coach and the little other arm chair was most frequently gingerbrend sheriffs' coaches, and loved occupied by the Rev. Simon Plash. the aldermen, and depaties and common- This reverend gentleman was a specimen
of a class of clergy now happily extinct, politics, “ For who knows,” said he, and never it is to be hoped for the ho- is but that it may some day or other cost nour 'of the church, likely to be revived. me a dinner ?" He was for the most He was a tall, muscular, awkward man, part tolerably loyal, but democratic beef about fifty years of age; habited in a would not choke him. To crown the rusty grey coat, with waistcoat and whole, he was imperturbably good-nabreeches of greasy black, wearing & tured. grizzled wig that had shrunk from his forehead, which in its broad expanse of troduced to Wilkes and Doctor Johnson :
Early in the first volume we are in shining whiteness, formed a contrast this is rather a hazardous experiment of with a fiery hooked nose with alderma- the author, but is executed with sucnic decorations. His gait was shuffling cess. Atherton, the hero, is then a city and awkward, and all his carriage was that of a man who was a sloven in every- Wilkes and Liberty, and Atherton,
These were the days of
apprentice. thing; he was slovenly in his dress, slo- through his protracted attachment to venly in his behaviour; slovenly in mind. the cause, is locked out by his master, He had been a servitor at Oxford, where
John Bryant. it can hardly be said that he had received his education, for though an education As Atherton stood absorbed in thought had been offered to him both at school at the eastern side of Temple bar, he was and at Oxford, he had, in both instances, wakened from his reverie by two gentledeclined the offer, guessing, perhaps, men coming through the gate and talkthat with such a mind as his, the acqui. ing somewhat loudly. One of them was sition of mental furniture would be but a ponderous, burly figure of rolling and labour lost. By the tender mercy how- shuffling gait puffing like a grampus, ever, or by the culpable negligence of and at his side staggered or skipped college dignitaries and examining chap- along a younger, slenderer person, who lains, he had found his way into the hung swingingly and uncertainly on the clerical profession, and had undergone arm of his elderly companion. The the imposition of episcopal hands, which older of the two was growling out somewas rather an imposition on the public thing of a reproof to his unsteady comthan on him. Yet he lacked not talent panion, who flourished his arm as with of some kind; he was a good hand at the action of an orator and hiccupped whist, excellent at cudgel playing, dex- according to the best of his then ability terous on the bowling-green, capital at something like apology or vindication. quoits, unparalleled at rowing a skiff, The effect of this action was to throw could play well at nine-pins, could run, him off his balance, to unlock his arm hop, skip, jump or whistle with any from his more steady supporter and to man of his years, not ignorant of the send himself with a hopping reel off the science of self-defence, and when rudely pavement. To a dead certainty he or ruffianly insulted, could repay the would have deposited his unsober self indignity, with interest, at a moment's in the kennel had he not been kindly notice ; his lungs were vigorous, he and vigorously intercepted in his fall by could blow the French horn with most the ready assistance of Frank Atherton. poetic and potential blast, and with no At the ludicrous figure which his stagmean degree of skill, and as for preach- gering friend now made the older gening he made nothing of it; it used to be tleman burst into a roar of laughter said that, with the assistance of a dex- which might have been heard from Cha, terous parish clerk, he could get through ring Cross to St. Paul's; but suddenly the whole morning service, sermon and checking himself he mournfully shook all, in five and thirty minutes ; he was
his head saying, “Oh Bozzy, Bozzy, no spoil-pudding except where he dined. this is too bad." With all these talents, however, he had Frank, having no other occupation, no preferment in the church, nor even a was ready enough to offer his assistance curacy; but he had plenty of duty to do towards guiding and propping the intoxof one kind or another, and as all his icated gentleman; for it seemed to be work was piece-work, he got through a task rather too hard for the sober one it with as much rapidity as possible. to manage by himself. He was in almost constant requisition, “ I am sorry to take you out of your and could be found any morning at the way;" said the old gentleman to Ather. Chapter Coffee Honse, or any evening ton. at the Pewter Platter, except Sunday, - You cannot easily do that,” replied and he usually spent his Sunday evenings Frank, “ I have no particular destinae at Mr. Bryant's. Mr. Plush was one tion at present. My way lies in one who prudently avoided meddling with direction as well as in another."
4-346 Dot understand you rightly ?»? advice or direction, you are now at the asked the stranger, " Are you indeed a fountain head of all practical wisdom. houseless, homeless wanderer.”
My friend's comprehensive genius takes **I cannot justly call myself a home in all subjects from the government of less wanderer," said Frank, “but my empires to the construction of an apple master has just now closed his doors on dumpling. Follow his advice and you me and I have no other home at present cannot do wrong, neglect it and you than the streets.”
cannot do right. - Is not that well said, « Tis bad, 'tis bad,” said the gentle- Doctor ?—Rather tersely put ?'s man, “ you or your master has much to “ Go to sleep, Bozzy," said the docanswer for. But I'll take cure you shall tor, “ you don't know what you are not want a shelter for the present. I talking about, go to sleep. Tri will not have upon my conscience the “ But I know what you have been guilt of suffering you to roam about the talking about. My ears are always streets all night, if I can prevent it.” awake to your wisdom, when all my
Frank was of a grateful disposition, other senses are asleep. We have had and was so much struck with the consi- a glorious day of it, Doctor, you routed derate kindness of the old gentleman them all, they had not a word to say that he ardently exclaimed, “ Sir, I shall for themselves.” be infinitely obliged to you."
“I wish it were so with you,' replied « Nay, nay,' replied the stranger, the Doctor. “ you speak profanely. You cannot be “Good again! Put that down;" infinitely obliged to any man." ; said Mr. Boswell, and then turning to
The party then entered a house in Atherton, he continued, “ You see how one of the courts of Fleet street and free I am with my illustrious friend.” Frank felt happy in having met with one “Be quiet, Bozzy,” said the doctor likely to befriend him. For though the again. gentleman was rather pompons in his “Well, well I may go to sleep conmanners and somewhat awful in his as- tentedly to-night, for I have not lost a pect, yet there was a look of kindness day. I shall record it all to-morrow, about him and an expression of huma- and that fine glorious laugh which you nity and consideration in his countenance. uttered as we came through Temple When the intoxicated gentleman had Bar ; I shall never forget the awful rebeen seated for a few minutes, his fa- verberation. There is not a man in culties partially returned and looking, or Europe whose laugh can be compared rather endeavouring to look upon Ather with yours.--I shall never forget it; ton, for his eye was not steady enough pray remind me of it to-morrow morning, to take a good aim, he said: “ Young — I shall never, never forget it, never gentleman, I am very highly obli-obli- nev-nev.” So saying he fell fast asleep. obligat" « Obligated,” roared the old gentle
We like this portrait-painting turn of man, “ you would say. But you had
the author. Its identity is very enterbetter hold your tongue. That is the
taining, and is very superior in interest best use you can make of it."
to the satirical nommes in the fashionable “ Glorious ! Capital ! Ten thousand novels of our day. thanks for that superb aphorism. Doctor, you must recollect that for me to.
SPIRIT OF THE morrow morning, and you must put it down for me in your best style." He
Public Journals. then went on hiccuping and muttering - The best use, hic, the best use, hic, LINES ON THE VIEW FROM ST. LEO I can make of my, hic, the tongue, hic,
, RH hold your tongue, hic, oh doctor hic, I
· BY THOMAS CAMPBELL.".. shall never forget, hic, I hope you will Hail to thy face and odours, glorious Sea! in remind me of it, hic, to-morrow morn
morn. Twere tbanklessness in me to bless thee not,
Great beauteous Being! in whose breath and
ead My heart beats calmer, and my very inind and sighedthe tipsy orator proceeded, Inhales salubrious thoughts. How welcomer**
Thy murmurs than tbe murinurs of the world! and directing his speech to Atherton he Though like the world thou fluctuatest, thy dia ma
To me is peace-thy restlessness repose.
And gardens haunted by the nightingale's ally as it were, for it was all by puré Long trills and xushing ecstacies of song accident, been introduced to the great to
For these wild headlands and the soa-mew's Dr. Johnson Is And if you need any With thee beneath iny wiudow, pleasant Sea, "
I long not to o'erlook Earth's fairest gladesh8 And pictures things unseen. To realms beyond
When by her tall and triple mast we know
Some noble voyager that has to woo The lightning not take it in.
too weak to sweep its The trade-winds, and to stem tbe ecliptic surge. al space, contains
The coral groves--the shores of couch and pearl, Sinks balf way o'er it like a wearied bird ;- Wnere she will cast her ancbor, and refect It is the mirror of the stars, where all
Her cabin-window lights on wärmer waves, Tveir host within the concave firmament, And under planets brighter than our own: Gay marching to the music of the spheres, 365 The nights of palmy isles, that she will see Can see themselves at once- YAZAAR..
boundless by the fire-fly- all the smells Nor on the stage
Of tropic fruits that will regale hér-all Of rural landscape are their lights and shades
The pomp of nature, and the inspiriting
Varieties of life she has to greet,
Come swarming o'er the meditative mind.
His darker binis; but where's the element Flash'd like the rainbow or the ring dove's neck,
That cheqners pot its usefulness to man And giving to the glancing sea-bird's wings With casual terror? Scathes pot earth some: The semblance of a meteor.
CASE WHO RAMOT O Mighty Sea!
Her children with Tartarean fires, or shakes Cameleon-like thou changest, but there's love
Their shrieking cities, and, with one last clang In all thy change, and constant sympathy
or bells for their own ruin, strews them fiat With yonder Sky-thy mistress ; from her brow
As riddled ashes-silent as the grave. Thou tak'st thy moods and wear'st her colours on
Walks not Contagion on the Air itself? Thy faithful bosom; morning's milky white,
I should-old Ocean's Saturnalian days Noon's sapphire, or the saffron glow of eve; And roaring nights of revelry and sport And all thy balmier hours' fair Element,
With wreck and human woe-be loth to sing Have such divine complexion-crisped smiles,
For they are few, and all their ills weight light Luxuriaut heavings, and sweet whisperings,
Against his sacred usefulness, that bids That little is the wonder Love's own Queen Our pensile globe revolve in purer air. From thee of old was fabled to have sprung
Here Morn and Eve with blushing thanks re
ceive Creation's common which no human power
Their fresh'ning dews, gay fluttering breezes Can parcel or inclose: the lordliest floods 538 cool
Their wings to fan the brow of fever'd climes, Can tame, conduct, or bound, are drops of dew
And here the Spring dips down her emerald urn To thee that conld'st subdue the Earth itself, For showers to glad the earth. And brook'st commandment from the Heavens alone
Old Oceau was For marsballing thy waves
80 Infinity of ages ere we breathed 919019
Existence- and be will be beautiful
When all the living world that sees him now
Shall roll unconscious dust around the sun, Along yon sparkling shingles. Who can be
Quelling from age to age the vital throb So fanciless as to feel no gratitude
In human hearts, Death shall not subjugate That power and grandeur can be so serene, Soothing the home-bound navy's peaceful way,
The pulse that swells in his stupendous breast,
Or interdict bis minstrelsy to sonnd And rocking e'en the fisher's little bark
In thund'ring concert with the quiring winds; As gently as a mother rocks her child ?
But long as Man to parent Nature owns The inhabitants of other worlds behold
Instinctive homage, and in times beyond Our orb more lucid for thy spacious share The power of thought to reach, bard after bard On earth's rotundity; and is he not
Shall sing thy glory, BEATIFIC SEA! A blind worm in the dust, great Deep, the man
Metropolitan.* Who sees pot, or who seeing has no joy, In thy magnificence? What though thou art Unconscious and material, thou canst reach
THE LATE MR. ABERNETHY. The inmost immaterial mind's recess, And with thy tints and motion stir its chords MR. ABERNETHY, although ainiable and To music, like the ligbt on Memnon's lyre!
good-natured, with strong feelings, posThe Spirit of the Universe in thee Obsessed an irritable temper, which made Is visible; thou hast in thee the lifeThe eternal, graceful, and majestic life- him very petulant and impatient at times Of nature, and the natural human heart with his patients and medical men who Is therefore bound to thee with holy love.
applied to him for his opinion and adEarth bas her gorgeous towns; the earth-circling vice on cases.
When one of the latter Has spires and mansions more amusive still
asked him once, whether he did not Men's volant homes that measnre liquid space
think that some plan which he suggestOn wheel or wing. The chariot of the land, ed would answer, the only reply he With painod and panting steeds, and clouds of could obtain was, “ Ay, ay, put a little Has no sight-gladdening motion like these fair salt on a bird's tail, and you'll be sure to Careerers with the foam beneath their bows, catch him." When consulted on a case Whose streaming ensigns charm the waves by by the ordinary medical attendant, he
day Whose carols and whose watch-bells cheer the would frequently pace the room to and night,
fro with his hands in his breeches' Moor'd as they cast the shadows of their masts In long array, or bither flit and yondas
pockets, and whistle all the time, and not Mysteriously with slow and crossing lights, say a word, but to tell the practitioner to Like spirits on the darkness of the deep. go home and read his book. There is a magnet-like attraction in These waters to the imaginative power,
* With snch a poem as this, even occasionally, That links the viewless with the visible,
the Metropolitan must take high ground.