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constructed a great telescope, to which Herschel's at Slough, might serve as an eye-glass. I established a school for a hundred boys, taking good care to provide that the master should not have it in his power to subvert the founder's intention, and add to his profits by reducing his scholars to some half-a-dozen, a thing not uncommon in similar institutions thanks to Mr. Brougham for the disclosure. I then made my will, and devised the whole to the Nation as a great seminary for public instruction without distinction of creed. I drew up a code of laws for its government, and provided that the students should learn something more than to be tolerable classics and mathematicians something adapted to fit them for the active purposes of life, according to their respective prospects. In short, not to be tedious, I regulated my university agreeably to the state of modern discoveries and the present enlightened era, and rejected what smacked of monkish times, past superstitions, and all that in the present day is worse than useless. But I must not waste time in enumerating the kingdoms set free from despotism-public works constructed triumphs of art achieved, and labours for the general benefit without number, which I have thus brought to perfection.

But I shall be told, perhaps, that all castle-building is "blear illusion," and that though every instance of it may not be followed by the consequences which overtook the unlucky castle-builder Alnaschar, the glass-seller, in the Arabian Nights, it is equally empty and unsubstantial. But I contend that it is better to build castles than not to employ the mind at all-than to lie down like the boor and steep both body and soul in oblivion, or to sit in one's after-dinner chair a very corpse with respect to intellectual action. The first hint thus casually afforded to the mind has been sometimes brought within the limits of possibility, shaped and fashioned for practical use, and ultimately proved of important service to society. Castle-building differs essentially from what students call "thinking;" in the latter case the mind is employed in one particular way upon a given subject with the greatest degree of intensity. No play is allowed to the imagination; but the mental fibre, if I may so express myself, the vibrations of which belong to that one subject, becomes overstretched and overworked, and is injured by being kept a long time acting in the same direction. Castle-building, on the contrary, adapts itself to all the different functions of the mind, and to those in a peculiar manner which are

It may

agreeable to us at the moment. thus be styled a sort of spiritual game, invigorating while it affords delight, and enabling us to return with fresh energy to close study. There is something highly agreeable in the quiescence we experience when we are rearing these shadowy edifices: fancy has full play, and we invent the most graceful images -our thoughts reflect "colours dipt in heaven"-an interval of that happiness is felt, which consists in an absence from every disagreeable sensation and the enjoyment of a delightful illusion. Thus in the midst of the turmoil of life, in the very jaws of care and sorrow, we snatch a momentary respite from the troubles that environ us. Our enjoyment is not like dreaming, defective in its essentials, the judgment at one time being asleep with the body, and at another time the memory, so that the images which appear before us are incongruous and defective. The castle-builder is awake in the full plenitude of his mental functions; he may ride, or walk, or sit, or lie, and enjoy his

amusement.

What

But it is obvious that the architecture of the edifices so constructed will partake of the leading character of the individual that plans them, and be coloured with the hue of the habits and manners to which he has been accustomed. an infinite variety of these schemes must be eternally at work, and how amusing a couple of hundred close-printed folios would be, descriptive of the better part of them, especially of those that are begotten by genius, and that

"Float in light visions round the poet's head." Different nations also have their characteristics, agreeably to the peculiar impressions of each. The East is the centre of magnificent sensual castle-building, if we may judge from the fictions of the people. Incited by opium, the disciple of Mahomet sits stately and speechless upon his rich carpets for hours together, building palaces of topazes and emeralds, stocking his harems with the beauties of Paradise, and guarding them with the most faithful eunuchs of Africa, now lulled to repose by soft music in the midst of the luscious dances of the most beautiful Circassian slaves; quaffing rich wine for sherbet, slyly, out of ruby cups, in spite of the commands of the Koran; inflicting the bastinado even upon grand viziers; cutting off the heads of Christian dogs; impaling Israelites; exploring enchanted islands, and supping with Mahomet and Cajira in the third heaven. At a less magnificent extreme of castle-building, but equally delightful to the architect

is the sober London citizen. His harem contains but one plump carneous fair-one, the emblem of plethoric vacuity, in whose presence he rears his more humble edifice over a pipe and brown stout after a calorific supper. The fabric which his less excursive and more humble fancy erects, will be limited by the possession of a brick house of two or three stories in the City-road, or in the purlieus of Hackney, a one-horse chaise, a hot joint every day, with added pudding to "solemnize the lord's," in a state of retirement from his shop in Cripplegate. His utmost stretch of mind never grasps a coach-andfour, nor does his notion of space extend much beyond Finchley in one direction, and Norwood in another; a steam-boat line to Margate, perhaps, excepted. Beyond this, the world, save through the speculum of a newspaper, is a terra incognita, and never enters into his fancies. Yet while contemplating the Ultima Thule of his desires, he is equally satisfied with the Turbaned Mussulman in the pomp of his paradisaical meditations. How infinite the variety between the before-mentioned extremes the merchant gazing on his visionary plums, and aping the nobility at the West-end; the parson contemplating accumulated tithes, pluralities, mitres, and translations; lawyers dazzling themselves with the glitter of gold gathered from litigations, bankruptcies, and felonies, amid a harvest of human misery; statesmen enjoying premierships with submissive parliaments and easy_sovereigns; painters with cartoons out-Raphaelling Raphael, and imagining themselves without, rivals; booksellers, each with an army of Scotch novelists; courtiers with toy-shops, ribbons, and baubles; princes with newly usurped powers and uncontrolled authority; and authors with literary leisure and literary glory.-[To be concluded in our next.]

NATIONAL SONGS.-DIBDIN. THE Songs of every nation must always be the most familiar and truly popular part of its poetry. They are uniformly the first fruits of the fancy and feeling of rude societies; and, even in the most civilized times, are the only poetry of the great body of the people. Their influence, therefore, upon the character of a country, has been universally felt and acknowledged. Among rude tribes, it is evident that their songs must, at first, take their tone from the prevailing character of the people. But, even among them, it is to be observed, that, though generally expressive of the fiercest passions, they yet represent them with some tincture of generosity and good feeling,

and may be regarded as the first lessons and memorials of savage virtue. An Indian warrior, at the stake of torture, exults, in wild numbers, over the enemies who have fallen by his tomahawk, and rejoices in the anticipated vengeance of his tribe: but it is chiefly by giving expression to the loftiest sentiments of invincible courage and fortitude, that he seeks to support himself in the midst of his torments. 'I am brave and intrepid!' he exclaims, I do not fear death, nor any kind of torture! He who fears them is a coward he is less than a woman. Death is nothing to him who has courage!' As it is thus the very best parts of their actual character that are dwelt upon even in the barbarous songs of savages, these songs must contribute essentially to the progress of refinement, by fostering and cherishing every germ of good feeling that is successively developed during the advancement of society. When selfishness begins to give way to generosity,-when mere animal courage is in some degree ennobled by feelings of patriotic self-devotion, and, above all, when sensual appetite begins to be purified into love, it is then that the popular songs, by acquiring a higher character themselves, come to produce a still more powerful reaction upon the character of the people. These songs, produced by the most highly gifted of the tribe,-by those who feel most strongly, and express their feelings most happily, convey ideas of greater elevation and refinement than are as yet familiar, but not so far removed from the ordinary habits of thinking as to be unintelligible. The hero, who devotes himself to death for the safety of his country, with a firmness as yet almost without example in the actual history of the race, and the lover, who follows his mistress through every danger, and perhaps dies for her sake,—become objects on which every one delights to dwell, and models which the braver and nobler spirits are thus incited to emulate. The songs of rude nations, accordingly, and those in which they take most pleasure, are filled with the most romantic instances of courage, fidelity, and generosity; and it cannot be supposed, that such delightful and elevating pictures of human nature can be constantly before the eyes of any people, without producing a great effect on their character.

The same considerations are applicable to the effects of popular ballads upon the most numerous classes of society, even in civilized nations. They, like the inhabitants of rude countries, have little but their songs to carry their fancy or their feelings beyond the dull realities of life;

and these strains thus occupy much of their attention, and have a proportionate effect upon their minds. They constitute, therefore, a powerful engine either for good or ill. We can still remember their effect, at the beginning of the French Revolution, in working up the passions of the populace to phrenzy and madness. While indulging in the most horrible excesses, they rent the air with the Ca ira,' or the Carmagnole ;'-and there cannot be a doubt, that the bloody and ferocious strain of the songs that were put into their mouths, had no inconsiderable share in the most strange and sudden transformation in the character of a whole nation, that ever was heard of in the history of the world. A very opposite instance of the effect of song-writing is to be found in the works of Dibdin, whose inimitable sea-songs have become, as it were, naturalized in the British Navy. By seizing, with exquisite skill, the finest parts of what we may call the national character of our sailors, their courage, generosity, and simplicity of heart, and embodying these in songs, wonderfully adapted, both to their tastes and those of more refined auditors, he succeeded in impressing on their minds such an admirable beau ideal of a British seaman, that it became, in no small degree, their endeavour to attain a resemblance to it. Dibdin was the Tyrtæus of modern times, and, like the Grecian Bard, well deserved the gratitude of his country.-Edin. Rev.

SONNET, FROM THE ITALIAN.

THERE is no God, the fool in secret said

There is no God that rules on earth or sky:

Tear off the band that folds the wretch's head,

That God may burst upon his faithless

eye.

Is there no God?—the stars in myriads spread,

If he look up, the blasphemy deny, Whilst his own features in the mirror read, Reflect the image of Divinity.

Is there no God?-the stream that silver flows,

The air he breathes, the ground he treads, the trees,

The flowers, the grass, the sands, each wind that blows,

All speak of God; throughout one

voice agrees, And eloquent his dread existence shows: Blind to thyself, ah, see him, fool, in these. London Magazine.

ANNUS MIRABILIS;

OR, A PARTHIAN GLANCF AT 1829.

January. Dr. Doyle, a Roman Catholic Bishop, in his pastoral charge, recommends Orangemen to be civil; Orangemen and Papists not to be bigoted; nothing new under the sun. The Duke of Sussex swallows an embrocation at Bognor; Royal Dukes at public dinners, have swallowed stranger things, and no danger apprehended; Canonical clergy of Durham, convivially defended by the Reverend Dr. Phil-pots; to the best of his knowledge and belief, not a stall in the diocese that does not contain an animal overworked and under fed.

February. Several wild swans seen flying over Brighton, to the no small amazement of several tame geese, who happened to be waddling along the Steine; the bills of the former said to be three inches long; those of the latter much longer. Two Englishmen, by mistake, confined all night in the Catacombs at Paris, let out next morning, by means of a skeleton key. Valentine's day Mr. Freeling applies to the Postmasser general for two waggons, to convey the extra letters, and for permission to get them drawn by the asinine inditers, yoked in pairs.

March.-Lord Manners refuses to dine with the Lord Lieutenant. Query, Title in abeyance when the note was transmitted? Action brought by Mr. Cruikshank against the proprietor of a stage coach, for breaking his leg; most ungrateful return for an intended benefit.

April.-Old woman taken for a witch at Taunton; and Mr. Ex. Sheriff Parkins for the Goddess Justice in London, owing to his skill in holding a balance in hand. Mrs. M'Kinnon executed for murder at Edinburgh. General averment in all the Scottish Journals that the family of M'Kinnon is originally Irish, and not Scotch. Cork mail runs one day without being fired at from behind a hedge.

"Then is dooms-day near."

May.-Easter hunt; droves of unhorsed Londoners find their way as they can, from Epping Forest to Bishopsgate street" all on foot he fights." Lady Mayoresses Easter Ball; great scrambling after ices in the Egyptian Hall. Query isis.

June. An old soldier advertises to quell' the Irish rebellion for 10,000%. Query which of them?

July. The proprietors of Vauxhall Gardens inform the public, that "nothing can damp their ardour;" certainly, if the present weather cannot, nothing can. By a fatal accident, (and it may be

added, an unaccountable one,) the perpetual curate of Sawley loses his life. Much money taken at a door in Fleetstreet by a speculator, who exhibited, at a shilling a head, a live man who had not been to Fonthill Abbey.

was his first distorted escape out of his disguise his cavern of a mouth-his thievish eye-his supple limb-and most undoubted laugh-What decay on earth can have mastered all these ?—Go to !-He is not retired!-We will not believe August. The ghost of John Knox it. Yet, alack! his name is not in the makes its appearance in Cross-street, Hat- bills" Clown, Mr. J. S. Grimaldi." ton Garden, arrayed in black whiskers, Oh, villanous J. S. ! It should be and a dandy shirt collar. Prince Hohen- "Clown, Mr. Grimaldi,"—or Pantomime loe miraculously cures a lady of res- should betake itself to its weeds-and pectability, who had been for many years pine in perfect widowhood. We will one of the religious community of Rane- say, without a fear of contradiction, that lagh," the chief part of the miracle there not only never was such a clown, being the conversion of a fashionable but that there never will be such another! community into a religious one.

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September.-A London Gazette is published without a single whereas in the evening the several tradesmen illuminated their houses. Fall of the Trocadero announced upon the Royal Exchange; benevolent hope expressed by an Alderman that it did not hurt any body.

October. In consequence of the projected improvements in St. James's Palace, several old women have received notice to quit.-Memorial of a murdered gentleman inserted in the Dublin papers.

November. Mr. Sinclair the singer desires the temperature of his sitting room, not wishing to be "thought a greater fool than he is,' Mr. Maberley's

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horse bazaar is removed to the winter theatres. The Author of Waverley said to have a curious mode of acquainting his domestics of his wants, by having the words "breakfast, lunch, dinner, supper," painted upon a board. N.B. The only poet on record who can call for four meals a day. A 50%. bill said to be swallowed by a donkey at Liverpool, and the printed statement of it swallowed by several of the species in London.

December. Dreadful storm of wind blows over the metropolis: an eddy of the remorseless gale carries divers schoolboys prematurely to town for the Christmas holidays; numerous caitiffs in white great coats are blown from their own houses into those of other people, muttering something about the compliments of the season, and dinner-cards, whisk through the air bringing heterogeneous relations together on Christmas-day.― New Monthly Magazine.

JOSEPH's LAMENT.*

GRIMALDI gone!-we scarcely know where we are; we scarcely know how to write! He was so entirely rich! There

* Grimaldi, so long the favourite clown at Covent-Garden Theatre, does not appear in the Pantomime this season on account of ill health. He is succeeded by his son Mr. J. S. Grimaldi, "a worthy son of such a sire."---ED.

Grimaldi requires rest ;—that must be all, and that we can imagine to be possible. No doubt, instead of pulling on his motley inexpressibles, and preparing his large lucky bag of a pocket, he is now sitting by a cozey fire, with a spoonful of Madeira in his eye, and J. S. (good in his way, but no Joe) listening to the clownish reminiscences of his inimitable papa: perhaps he speaketh thus-but one should see him speak!—

Adieu to Mother Goose!-adieu-adieu
To spangles, tufted heads, and dancing
Adieu to Pantomime_to all-that threw
limbs,-

O'er Christmas' shoulders a rich robe
of whims !

Never shall old Bologna-old, alack!
Once he was young and diamonded all

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How children shriek'd to see me eat!How I

Stole the broad laugh from aged sober folk!

Boys pick'd their plumbs out of my Christmas pie,

And people took my vices for a joke. Be wise, (that's foolish)-tumblesome! be rich

And oh, J. S. to every fancy stoop! Carry a ponderous pocket at thy breech, And roll thine eyes, as thou wouldst roll a hoop.

Hand Columbine about with nimble hand, Covet thy neighbour's riches as thy own; Dance on the water, swim upon the land, Let thy legs prove themselves bone of my bone.

Cuff Pantaloon, be sure -forget not this: As thou beats him, thou'rt poor, J. S. or funny!

And wear a deal of paint upon thy phiz, It doth boys good, and draws in gallery money.

Lastly, be jolly! be alive! be light! Twitch, flirt, and caper, tumble, fall,

and throw!

Grow up right ugly in thy father's sight! And be an absolute Joseph," like old Joe!

PETER PINDARICS;

OR, JOE MILLER VERSIFIED. THO' Fontenelle with pleasing toil, Had taught his cook to dress with oil, Asparagus, and made a splutter If e'er he saw drest with butter; Yet when he kindly asked to dine, To crack his walnuts, sip his wine, A fat and butter-loving priest, He ordered half the dish at least, Should, in compliance with this whim, With butter be prepared for lim. In vain, alas! was this intended, By sudden death his days were ended. The Abbe sunk to rise no more; His friend rushed quickly to the door, And loudly his commands exprest, Let all, let all with oil be drest.

The Gatherer.

"I am but a Gatherer and disposer of other men's stuff."---Wotton.

I SHOULD like much to know, how to manage a house!

Why, then, take for example the good Mrs. Douce!

She's certainly saving, for she's nearly fourscore!

And has ever, as yet, kept the wolf from the door.

She certainly has, you are right Sir, enough

If he peep'd, he would never stay longer.

Stomachs, much less than his, should they there make a stay, Most certain, would soon die of hunger.

ECONOMY.

AT a time of general scarcity, the great Emperor Acbar went to visit the tomb of a Saint, buried at Corrub, near Delhi. On his return, he alighted at a house on the road to rest himself; while convers

ing there with his vizier, he perceived at his foot a grain of corn; the monarch, whose mind was constantly occupied with the sufferings of his people, took it up, gave it to his vizier, desired him to sow it, and to render him an account every year of its produce. At the end of ten years it had so multiplied, that after making large distributions among the poor, the surplus, sold by order of the Emperor, was sufficient to defray the exerected it on the spot where he had found pense of building a mosque. Achar thanks to the goodness of the Omnipotent, the grain of corn, wishing thus to render and leave to posterity a monument of the fruits of industry and perseverance.

SINGULAR CUSTOM.

A singular custom prevails at West Wickham, in Kent, and its neighbourhood, which seems worth recording. In Rogation week, a troop of young men run about the orchards, with a great noise and tumult, bawling out these lines :

Stand fast, root; bear well top;
God send us a jouling sop;
Every twig, apple big,
Every bough, apples enow.

For this they expect money or liquor, or both; and if disappointed, leave the place with a curse, expressed in some such doggerel rhimes. The meaning of the word jouling may puzzle more profound antiquaries than we profess to be. Hasted's idea, that it comes from Eolus, god of the winds, is ridiculous enough; there is much more probably some affinity between the jouling of the Kent youths, and Ule or Jule games, so frequent in the northern parts of this kingdom. Dr. Hammond has an opinion that it comes immediately from the Latin word jubilum, which means a time of festivity.

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