THE MUSAEID. No. VI.-THURSDAY, MAY 2, 1822. Cantus, Melpomene, cui liquidam pater Vocem cum cithara dedit. Thon, to whom harp and melting voice belong, Teach me, Melpomene, the mournful song! HOR. We hope LUCY will forgive our unreasonable delay of the publication of her poetical favour. Though apparently neglected, we assure her, it has never been forgotten. We are much pleased with the simple feeling and unaffected sorrow expressesattesting equally the goodness of her own heart and the excellence of her lost friend. Although she is unknown to us, we offer her the tribute of our sincerest esteem and deepest sympathy in her affliction. We are sure our readers can never accuse us of including such unostentatious productions as the following among the abuses of female talent, which we afterwards speak of. LUCY'S LAMENT FOR HER FRIEND. I wept, yet scarce knew why I wept; And once, in melancholy thought, I rose, as wont, with thee to seek My sad complaint I pour. I went to see thee dead; my friend, The silence seem'd to press thee down, It was a whiteness without light; And sicken on my sight. The forest shade, in whose retreat, The scorching ray we fled, Is sadden'd to a midnight gloom, I cannot choose to tread. The harp, whose chords thy fingers struck In low and murm'ring moan. I have a ring, thou gav'st it me, I wear it with another now, The roseate bow'r, where we reveal'd The green-house, with thy friendly aid, I sit there now, the weeping ash 'I am sure you will like her,' said Mrs. Rundyll, 'she is the cleverest girl, and writes so beautifully.' But does she sew and make puddings,' asked the Parson. Now Mr. Orthodox that's one of your ridiculous fidfad speeches, you know very well you don't like girls who sew and make puddings and all that sort of thing.' 'I do,' said the Parson. And it was but yesterday you were saying that you never could endure Miss Dainam and she does all such drudgeries to admiration.' 'But she can do nothing else,' said the Parson. Wonderfully expecting indeed; then you can't be satisfied with a woman unless she understand every thing.' I beg your pardon,' said Orthodox, and yet exclusive talents are not what I admire. The misfortune is, that ladies cultivate only one set of accomplishments which, by the trumpeting of friends, and their own dexterous management, is to serve as well as a dozen. One reads and writes, talks paradingly of books and authors, sets up for a critic and a satirist, and is sure she must be the most intelligent companion for any man; another is an artist, paints, plays, sings, and dances, this is confident of her powers of pleasing; a third can stitch, embroider, make patchwork, mend stockings, educates her younger sisters, O! what a useful wife such an one must make; a fourth is a proficient in domestic economy, has studied all books of cookery from the classical performances of Mesdames Raffald and Glass, to the modern institutes of The Complete Housekeeper,' and 'The Cooks' Oracle,' and has practised all their modes, can raise a pie, fry fish, broil a beefsteak, make puff-paste, is skilful in conserves and pickles, knows the mysteries of all sweets, and the properties of all spices, what man but must appreciate such a woman as this; a fifth relies solely on her fortune; and a sixth on her charms, and good breeding. Now of all these deficient completenesses, the only resource which is left us, is to choose the least evil we can think of. An ignorant man may be captivated with a display of abilities; an amateur or an old bachelor will choose the second; a dotard or a thrifty tradesman, who wishes to be prudent and advance in the world, may be caught by the needle Miss; a gourmand and a feaster is the only one for the cook; the fortune may enrich a poor fool, or be squandered by a senseless prodigal; the last falls into the arms of a man of rank and family, blesses some impetuous lover, or delays and hesitates and scorns till the charms have faded, and the good breeding evaporates in peevishness and disappointment. But none of these will suit me.' O, no! who could suppose it; a woman shall be made on purpose for you; you shall stand by and direct the ingredients, and have a piece of perfection after your own fancy, for I suppose nothing else will content you.' Something else must if I marry; a perfect woman I am sure there is not-yes! a perfect woman there undoubtedly is, but not a woman that is perfect there is however a degree of excellence to which all women may arrive, which some that I am acquainted with have attained to. For instance, my dear Madam, Miss Manners! she has as much beauty as might tempt her to be vain, but who ever speaks of Miss Manners as a beauty. How intelligent, how simple, how decorous, how affable, are the common epithets of admiration. Visit her, she is reading, she is drawing, she may be playing, yet no one speaks of her accomplishments; Virgil and Cicero have been found on her table, yet who ever accused her of pedantry; she converses of German, French, and Italian authors, yet the most envious coxcomb never called her affected; she superintends her father's establishment, and is known to go to market, every one will praise her housewifery yet where is the fame of it? You will tell me she is an extraordinary girl, an exception, I grant it, but why should she be? There are many others who draw and play, or read the Latins-nay Miss you know is even surprised that any one can read Homer through Pope- or who quote Klopstock and Goëthe, or Ariosto and Tasso, or Racine, Rousseau, Voltaire, La Fontaine, &c. &c. &c. &c. my dear Madam, or who are economists, and may be seen with their John and a basket on Saturdays; but if any one mention them 'tis how accomplished, how clever, quite a scholar, perfect mistress of Italian, or German or French, keeps her father's house, really surprizing, you have no idea what an extraordinary creature she is, or did you ever see this that or the other specimen of her abilities. It makes me sick to hear of these puny brain-girls; minxes whose little bubble of celebrity spreads on the water, from one circle to another, while the substance which thus agitates the surface, has quietly found its way to the bottom, and is lost."' 'And the men?' O, as to the men, I am afraid they're no better, but I am speaking only of the women; besides, men have no time to attend to varieties, themselves, and naturally look for them in your sex. Women ought to have a thousand elegant pursuits, which it would be frivolous for a man to attempt after, but they ought to have them quietly, they should not set a whole town a gabbing of their propensities; it should be nothing rare to meet with these attainments. In a commercial town like Manchester, they have advantages over the men, which it is their duty to improve; the engrossing cares of business, are sufficient occupation for a man, he can have little leisure for lighter and more fascinating studies, all his knowledge must be collected at school, or from observation; but his mother, his sister, or his wife, may recreate in all these entertainments, which he is necessarily excluded. A man when he has quitted his accompting house and retires at evening into the bosom of his family, relaxing from the fatigues and vexations of business, seeks some diversion of his mind in domestic amusements and conversation and if he find them not, is driven elsewhere for the pleasures, which it is the duty of home to supply, But, bless me, I might think myself in the pulpit.' Go on Mr. Orthodox.' I have little more to add, madam, for my own part I should have no objection to a wife who could write a sermon if I asked her; such an one, might be the companion I should desire; but in general, literary ladies, are not the pleasantest associates; their learning does not sit easily upon them; like a fine garment they wish every body to see it; they would have it noticed as something which common folk have not. Now a man can't tolerate these shews of superiority in a woman, neither is it graceful in a woman to exhibit them. She should insinuate her talents, rather than express them; combine them with the more agreeable qualities of good nature and modesty, and with the more substantial ones of morality and religion. Such a woman will surely charm and none other ought.' : WEEKLY DIARY. MAY. MAY 5th, 1821.--Napoleon Buonaparte Died, æt. 51. The following spirited poem is a translation Hast thou burst thy prison bands, Where thou must-thou wilt be free? Tyrants! cowards! mark the day, Shall live with endless infamy! Of his glorious chivalry! That burned behind him gloriously! Alas! that he, the great, the brave, He should have died on bloody field, Ile should have laid his glorious head Spirit of undying name, REMARKABLE DAYS. PARIS.-A SKETCH. were a broker's shop; the ground is patched with diamonds, quadrants, circles, and ovals like an inlaid lady's work box; and the fountains struggle and spirt in all manner of antic dribblings. However, it cannot be denied that ingenuity has done its utmost, in a small compass, to amuse and accommodate the people. The same objection, as to bad taste, does not apply to the stately avenues of the Boulevards. Nothing in London is calculated to vie with its triple arcade, broad as Portland Place, shaded during a course of seven miles by lofty and luxuriant elms, and flanked by an unintermitted succession of palaces, flower gardens, fountains, and theatres. The only bad taste discernible is not in the scene, but in the dramatis persona. Indeed the spectators themselves are a part of the spectacle, and none more so than the beaux, who, with deter THOU wonderful city! shrine of luxury, emporium of amusement, temple of pleasure, and microcosm of the world! how and where shall I begin thy picture? how describe the indescribable? A pencil dipped in the colours of the rainbow would vainly attempt to sketch thy ever-shifting complexion, and mercurial humours; thy unfixable caprices, and interminable contrarieties; in splendid houses and dirty lanes; in a toe-torturing pavement beneath, and a hat-spoiling water-spout above; in quays capacious enough for the commerce of the world, and a river not deep enough to drown a rat; in bronzed pillars, and faces of bronze; in Sunday finery, and Saturday filth; in grim mustachios à la militaire, and gay earrings à la femme; in shoe-blacks as polished as they are polishing, and fish-women as fanci-mined anxiety for the repose of their legs and ful as a fine lady, and fat as a porpoise. arms, contrive to occupy three chairs at a What a contrast does Paris offer to London! time. All besides is in restless motion; ---show seems to have presided in the building the tension of excitement is kept up alof one, comfort in that of the other. The most to torture, and while resolving to run houses of the Parisians are much loftier and the gauntlet of the Boulevards, and see all statelier than ours; but then "every man's that is to be seen, one thinks of the speech house is not his castle," and there is a tenant of poor Damien, when first fastened to the for every floor, nay, perhaps for every room. rack-" Ce sera une journée forte!" One is In London the comfort of private society was fairly thumb-screwed, picketed, and pressed to never before equalled in any stage of the social death, by the eagerness of the Parisian desire progress; in Paris the French escape from to please. A Savoyard torments with his etertheir comfortless brick floors, naked walls, and nal thrumming, or a frizeur twists the most fireless hearths, to seek enjoyment without. wiry hair into pliant corkscrews, or a grimacier The Boulevards, in point of momentary amusetortures" the human face divine" into monstroment, are unrivalled; but Paris, as far as sities of ugliness, which would have petrified regards continued gratification, possesses no- the Gorgons. Next stands a conjuror with all thing that is capable of vying with our squares. his tools of trade spread out before him, and You may walk in London for miles on an ex- farther on a female professor, who engages to cellent pavement, equal to the floor of a French-perform any given operation on your poodle. man's drawing-room; but there is nothing ostentatious in all this. The wonders of London are concealed almost entirely from the eye; the countless means by which water and light, the two greatest wants in a populous city, are circulated through all the veins of the metropolis, are unseen and scarcely thought of. The new street in London is indeed a magnificent dance of architectural beauties; but this is an exception; while Paris in every quartier presents the coup-d'œil of a new Babylon. We can conceive nothing grander in the most far-famed cities of ancient times, than the view from the Pont de Louis Quinze; particularly when looking across the river to the Chamber des Députés, backed by the gorgeous dome of the Hôpital de Invalids-- The golden palace, temple, grave of war. Nor can we readily believe that Rome, "in her most high and palmy state," possessed a MONDAY, 6th ---John Evangelist, A. P. L. condensed assemblage of more magnificent objects than are to be met with in a walk from John the Evangelist, so called from the Greek the Boulevards Italiens, down the Rue de la term Eváyyeloc, the messenger of glad tidings, Paix, through the Place Vendome to the Place was a Galilean by birth, the son of Zebedee and Louis Quinze, and so on to the river, proceedSalome, the younger brother of James, but not ing along the Quai to the Tuilleries and the of him that was surnamed the Just, and who Louvre. The Tuilleries gardens, it is true, was the brother of our Lord. His brother are small in comparison with our Kensington James and he were surnamed by Jesus, the gardens; but then they have the superior adSons of Thunder, meaning the principal minis- vantage of being near at hand. It must at the ters of the gospel, and John was more endeared same time be allowed, that they are laid out to him than any of his disciples. He was con- in very bad taste. The trees seem as if they demned to be thrown into a cask of burning were ranged for a country dance or a cotillion. oil, Ante Port. Lat., before the gate of Latina; Each orange has a partner; every poplar and hence the letters added to his name. He lived lime tree shakes his head at a relation, and to the reign of Trajan, and died about ainety" half the terrace just reflects the other." years of age. The bronzes are crowded upon a wall, as if it Here a fruit-seller, with fruit which might tempt Eve to a second perdition; and there the "brown marchande," with a red handkerchief round her head, scarcely redder than her sun-burnt skin, arranges her gaudy tray of all the Circean mysteries that restore or create beauty, rouges and essences, false eyes, false teeth, false ringlets, and false noses. The line of exhibitants seems "to stretch out to the crack of doom," and the intervals of the interminable series are filled up with every species of "all monstrous and prodigious things: beggar bards and beggar fortune-tellers, merry andrews, and tragic actors as merry, dancing children and dancing dogs, white mice, learned monkeys, and militant Canary birds. دو It is not surprising, therefore, that Paris, considered merely as a place of gaiety and recreation, should command the preference of strangers. All kinds of luxuries and sensual pleasures are not only in the highest state of refinement, but easily procurable. The comparative smallness of Paris is attended with the same superiority as a small theatre has over a large one; the spectacle is compressed into a smaller compass, and the dulcia vitia of the place are more available. In Paris there are no sulphurous clouds of smoke to hide the "deep blue" beautiful sky, oppress the lungs, and sicken the appetite; and (important fact !) a half-sovereign in Paris will go as far or farther than a whole sovereign in London. In this case the half is greater than the whole, as Cicero said of a colossal bust of his diminutive son-in-law. With rare félicity of combination, the physical and moral taste may be gratified at the same time. Sensual pleasure even condescends so far as to woo economy. The gastronome of miserly habits or deficient | thoughts, I now recollect that the passage is in Eu- A SCENE IN REAL LIFE. A FRAGMENT. he, how dull I am; I recollect now, yes, yes, I per- It is well known, that, the professor's memory was Chamber, or dormitory. Porson's dame (the lady in Oft have I felt delight in sharing the plea sures of his fire-side. His wife and two lovely children formed his domestic circle, and to these would he retire after the labours of the day. His house neatly furnished, his concerns managed with economy, he wanted for nothing himself, and his friends were welcome to the fare which was provided for his own daily consump-foundation (of whom, himself was one) in the Long tion; happiness seemed to reign mistress over the little community, and each day brought with it content and plenty. With difficulty do I tell the rest; I have since called,-found the house inhabited by strangers. The story is brief: my old friend had been unfortunate, had lost his all, and more, he had become involved; his wife had fallen sick, and was with her friendshis children were divided, and himself. It was with dificulty that I found him in a garret. His remorseless creditors had pursued him until he sunk under the weight of his engagements; he was pale and dejected; his few books lay before him, but beyond these scarce a fragment remained of his furniture or effects. He was writing a moral lesson for his son when I entered. The thoughts of his different situation forced a tear, and he sat down overcome with recollections of his former happiness and present misery. He in a few words recounted his adventures-his friends had forsaken him, he was no longer invited to the festive board, and it was obvious that he had been the object of envy among his acquaintances, and was now the victim of internal disease. I acted as an old friend, I might have said a fellow-creature, and left the scene contemplating the fickle mind of fortune, who dealt out riches and honors as by lottery-heaped favours upon the worthless and the ignorant, while-but I must not rebel. VARIETIES. ANECDOTES OF PROFESSOR PORSON, Porson was once travelling in a stage coach, when a young Oxonian, fresh from college, was amusing the ladies with a variety of talk, and amongst other things, with a quotation, as he said, from Sophocles. A Greek quotation, and in a coach too! roused our slumbering professor, from a kind of dog sleep, in a snug corner of the vehicle;-shaking his ears, and rubbing his eyes, I think, young gentleman,' said he, you favoured us just now with a quotation from Sophocles; I do not happen to recollect it there.' Oh, sir,' replied our Tyro, the quotation is word for word as I have repeated it, and in Sophocles too; but I suspect, sir, it is some time since you were at college.' The professor, applying his hand to his great coat, and taking out a small pocket edition of Sophocles, quietly asked him if he could be kind enough to show him the passage in question, in that little book; after rummaging the pages for some time, he replied, upon second CASIMIR, KING OF POLAND. Casimir, second King of Poland, received a blow from a Polish Gentleman, named Kanarski, who had lost all he had while playing with this Prince. Scarcely was the blow given, when, sensible of the enormity of his crime, he betook himself to flight, but was soon apprehended by the king's guards. Casimir, who waited for him in silence amid his him as follows: My friends, this man is less culpable courtiers, as soon as he saw him, appear, addressed than I, since I put myself upon a level with him. I have been the cause of his violence, and the first emotions of our passions do not depend upon ourselves.' Then turning to the criminal, You are sorry for your fault, that is sufficient; take your money again, and let us renounce gaming for ever. SPORTING. We often read in the news-papers of the mighty exploits of our sportsmen at the battus given by noble and great land proprietors; they do not, however, eclipse former achievements in the field. In the year 1758, the Emperor Francis 1. hunted for eighteen days successively on the estates of Prince Colloredo, in Bohemia. Besides the emperor and his son, there were present three princesses, and twenty of the principal nobility, With 116,200 shots they killed 1710 wild boars, 3216 deer, 132 foxes, 13,248 hares, 29,545 partridges, 9409 pheasants, 746 larks, 9353 quails, 1967 snipes, 513 wild turkeys, and 117 other birds. ABSENCE OF MIND. The Reverend Mr. Reynolds (father of Sir Joshua was remarkable for his absence of mind. Once, when | saddle. When the old gentleman arrived at his friend's house, it was remarked that he had only one gambado. "Bless me!" said he, "it is very true, but I am sure I had them both when. I set out from home." And so it proved, as the lost gambado was afterwards found on the road, having dropt from the saddle and his leg without his perceiving, the loss of it. A SLIDE. Near the top of Mount Cenis, there is a spot where adventurous travellers sometimes descend to the town of Lans le Bourg upon a sledge, in the short space of seven minutes; whereas it takes two hours and a half. to ascend in a carriage or on a mule. The precipice is really frightful, yet the English travellers frequently adopt this mode of conveyance during the winter. EXTRACTS FROM LACON. No duels are palatable to both parties, except those that are engaged in, from motives of revenge. Such duels are rare in moderntimes, for law has been found as efficacious for this purpose as lead, though not so expeditious, and the lingering tortures inflicted by parchment, as terrible as the more summary decisions of the pistol. In all affairs of honour, excepting those where the sole motive is revenge, it is curious that fear is the main ingredient. From fear we accept a challenge, and from fear we refuse it. From the false fear of opinion we enter the lists, or we decline to do so from the real fear of danger, or the it will be extremely difficult to eradicate, bemoral fear of guilt. Duelling is an evil that cause it would require a society composed of such materials as are not to be found without admixture ; a society where all who are not christians, must at least be gentlemen, or if neither-philosophers. Friendship often ends in love; but love, in friendship-never. When we feel a strong desire to thrust our advice upon others, it is usually because we suspect their weakness; but we ought rather to suspect our own. It is in the middle classes of society, that all the finest feelings, and the most amiable propensities of our nature, do principally flourish and abound. For the good opinion of our fellow men is the strongest, though not the purest motive to virtue. The privations of poverty render us too cold and callous, and the privileges of property, too arrogant and consequential to feel; the first, places us beneath the influence of opinion-the second, above it. He that sets out on the journey of life, with a profound knowledge of books, but a shallow knowledge of men, with much sense of others, but little of his own, will find himself as completely at a loss on occasions of common and of constant occurrence, as a Dutchman without his pipe, a Frenchman without his mistress, an Italian without his fiddle, or an Englishman without his umbrella. Dull authors will measure our judgement, not by our abilities, but by their own conceit. To admire their vapidity is to have superior taste, to despise it is to have none. CORRESPONDENCE. TO THE EDITOR, SIR,-"C. A." in page 96 of your 12th Number, wishes to know, why Grocers place Grasshoppers over their doors? to trace the origin of placing them in those situations is perhaps difficult to most persons, and for want of authentic record to demonstrate to the enquiring reader-conjecture ventures sometimes to state the probable causes. I, for my own part, have heard the question asked frequently, but never heard it satisfactorily explained: seeing C. A.'s request, I am induced to state my humble opinion, that the grasshopper was taken as an ornamental emblem by the grocers, in compliment to Sir Thomas Gresham, it being the crest of that most eminent merchant, who laid the foundation stone of the Royal Exchange, June 7th, 1566, and finished it November, 1567; which structure was called simply the Bourse, until the 23rd January, 1570, when Queen Elizabeth, after dining with Sir Thomas, caused it, in his presence, to be proclaimed by herald and trumpet, "The Royal Exchange." Upon the roof at each corner was two grasshoppers upon pedestals: this fabric was destroyed by the great fire in 1666, and on the 23rd October, 1667, the foundation stone of the present magnificent structure was levelled by Charles II. It is said that Sir Thomas was originally a grocer, and that by industry and proper application of talent he arose to merit the appellation of the "Royal Merchant." The grasshopper of itself is very symbolic and most apropos to grocers, whose stocks are generally produced from vegetables or plants, of which species the grasshopper may be considered as an animated production. Tradesmen generally take for ornamental signs the crest of some incorporated Company, and following this, the crest of the Grocer's Company, (a camel, Or. bearing a pack, ermine corded gules, with a bridle of the last,) would have been applicable to those of that business, unless the grasshopper was substituted from the reasons above stated. Amongst the Athenians they were so much esteemed, that gold ones were wore in the hair, to denote their national antiquity, and the Egyptians took it for their hieroglyphic of music. I should be glad to see its origin authenticated by some of your readers. Manchester, May 1, 1822. L. P. S. Will some of your correspondents say, why do chimney sweepers adorn their signs with some of the most public buildings?-also, the origin of the barber's pole ! TO THE EDITOR, SIR, Your correspondent, subscribing himself "A Friend," is surprised at my comment upon his reply to my Query, and appears to consider his first address a sufficient answer to my enquiry: to me, however, it was not satisfactory; and I therefore addressed to you the note inserted in the twelfth number of your Publication: what your correspondent finds in that note, that is so "surprising," so "captious," or, so jeering," as to occasion the ill-humour, with which he appears to have had so violent a struggle, I cannot imagine; if, however, it does contain any objectionable expression, I, too, "humbly beg pardon," and would now request his attention to a few remarks upon his last communi cation. Your correspondent doubts the accuracy of my observations; since the publication of his last address, I have repeated the experiment, and invariably find the yellow image, or spectrum, (as your correspondent unphilosophically terms it) supplanted by a green one, whose colour, becoming gradually deeper, gives place at length to a blue, which ultimately subsides into a deep violet. I am sorry to find, that in my original Query I expressed myself so vaguely, as to leave room for a doubt respecting the object of my enquiry; I did not imagine that any one would affix to it so ridiculous an idea, as the supposition, that I expected to be informed how the sensation of colour is communicated to the mind; I supposed it would be evident, that the Phenomenon proposed for explanation was simply that of the successive appearance of the prismatic colours. 66 an In your correspondent's solution of this Phoenomenon he states, that the optic nerve, wearied by the repeated impression of the yellow rays, seeks relief by spontaneously throwing itself into opposite sort of action," whereby a change in the colour of the image is effected. This is, to me at least, a perfectly new hypothesis: Sir Isaac Newton supposed variation of colour to originate in difference of magnitude in the various particles of light; and Euler maintained it to arise from difference in the velocities, with which the different rays cause the optic nerve to vibrate; but no where do I remember to have met with the theory advocated by "A Friend." Ingenious, however, as it is, two objections naturally present themselves, the removal of which is desirable. In the first place, I do not understand what is implied by "the different sorts of action" of the optic nerve. I am aware of the impossibility of ascertaining the precise method, in which the optic nerve is affected; nor am I desirous of proposing an objection, arising from the limitation of our means of observation; but I cannot admit assumptions, evidently erroneous. I conceive the optic nerve to be elastic, and consequently capable of extension and contraction, as well as of vibratory motion; but I cannot conceive it possible to impart to it the seven different kinds of motion, necessary, according to your correspondent's hypothesis, for the production of the different prismatic colours. The elasticity of bodies is brought into action by extension and contraction; and by the alternate operation of these agents, vibratory motion may be produced; but the assertion, that the optic nerve is capable of seven different kinds of action, appears to me a mere petitio principii: unauthorized by experiment, and unsupported by analogy. This Day is Published, BLACKWOOD'S EDINBURGH MAGAZINE. No. LXIII. For April, 1822. Contents:-I. Colonel David Stewart's Sketches of the Highland Regiments.-II. Sketches of Scottish Character. No. 10. "Zachary Meldrum."-III. Stanzas on an Infant.IV. A Spanish Tale.-V." Sufficient unto the Day is the Evil thereof."-VI. The Anglo-Florentine.-VII. Sea-Side Sketches. The Shipwright's Yard.-VIII. Calcutta. Chap. 1. The Landing. Chap. 2. Writers and Writerism.-IX. Letter from Odoherty.-X. Mr. Allan's Picture of the Death of Archbishop Sharpe.-XI. On the Drama. Ducis' Shakespeare, and Jouy's Sylla. XII. Critique on Lord Byron.— from a very Old One.-XV. Domestic Politics.-XVI. XIII. Letter from Paddy.-XIV. Hints for a Young Author, Letter to Christopher North, Esq. from a Volunteer, with an Address to the Yeomanry Cavalry of Manchester.-XVII. Noctes Ambrosianæ. No. 2.-XVIII. Works preparing for Publication.-XIX, Monthly List of New PublicationsXX. Monthly Register. Printed for WILLIAM BLACKWOOD, No. 17, Prince'sStreet, Edinburgh; and T. CADELL, Strand, London; and Sold by T. Sowler, St. Ann's-Square, Manchester. LIBRARY of the late REV. JOSHUA BROOKES, consisting of nearly SIX THOUSAND VOLUMES. DODD, at his AUCTION REPERTORY, No. 28, KINGSTREET, MANCHESTER, on Monday, May 13, 1822, and nine following days, Saturday and Sunday excepted. To commence precisely at half-past ten in the Forenoon, and at three in the Afternoon of each day. In the second place, your correspondent states that "the nerve, having suffered so severely, spontaneously fell into a spasm, or opposite sort of action, and produced a blue spectrum;" from which it appears to be 'tis opinion, that the retina can, of its own accord, throw itself into such a kind of action, To be SOLD by AUCTION, by MR. THOMAS as to produce the sensation of a particular colour : retina, which is thus capable of exciting_the_sensafrom this assumption it is a 'fair inference, that the tions, which we term blue, green, &c. has also the power of resisting those sensations. According to this hypothesis, each individual has entire command over his own optic nerves; can throw them into any kind of action he pleases; can make the moon appear green, and have the proof of ocular demonstration, that the natural colour of snow is scarlet. Should your correspondent think proper to make any reply to these remarks, hope he will, at the same time, state the distinctions, upon which he grounds his division of colours into the direct, and the reverse or inverse. In conclusion I beg to assure "A Friend," that my Query is not "captions," nor my remarks jeering" they originate solely in a desire to bring the mysterious but interesting subject of the nature of colour under consideration;-under these circumstances, I trust no apology for the freedom of my remarks will be deemed necessary. 0. With respect to O. R.'s experiment, a moment's consideration convinced me of its futility: the division of time into hours, &c. is artificial; and to endeavour to connect with it any such natural phonomenon, as that supposed or pretended by O. R. is evidently useless and absurd. This interesting Collection of Books is replete in the most valuable works in Divinity and Ecclesiastical History, Classics, Lives, Memoirs, History, and Important Events, Voyages, Travels, Tours, Poetry, Education, Bibliography, Magazines, Reviews, Tracts, and a profusion of Miscella neous Facetia of the most enlivening and entertaining des cription, abounding in Prophetic Admonitions, Solid Re marks. 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The Books may be viewed on Thursday, May 9th, and previous to the Days of Sale, when Catalogues may be had, at One Shilling each. Manchester: Printed, Published, and Sold, by the Proprietors, HENRY SMITH AND BROTHERS, St. Ann's Square, to whom all Communications (post paid) must be addressed. Sold also by all the Booksellers in Manchester and the neighbouring towns. FOR THE IRIS. ON STUDY. Il ne s'agit pas de faire lire, mais de faire penser. MONTESQUIEU. The most delightful path of life, is that which leads through the avenue of Literature and Science. HUME. SATURDAY, MAY 11, 1822. weakness. Hence the advantages which a person of education, whose mind has been invigorated and enlightened by study, possesses over others placed in dissimilar circumstances. If study be at first irksome, habit will render it agreeable; and as soon as it is pursued for the pleasure it affords, it is probably a source of the highest delight of which the human mind is susceptible. The enjoyments of the voluptuary are always transient; those of the student permanent. The pleasures of ON the great importance of study in early invariably succeeded by remorse; those of the the former are precarious, and are almost life, when the faculties are forming, and when latter are certain, and are always reflected the energies of the human mind are easily roused, it is not necessary to expatiate. Ex-upon with satisfaction. The one may have his perience shews us, that the most splendid ta- circumstances; the other is not dependant on only thread of delight broken by extraneous lents cannot compensate for the want of ap- contingencies, but like the spider, carries in plication; and that, well directed assiduity, himself the materials for his web. not only "supplies the place of genius and invention," but enables the possessor of moderate abilities, to surpass others favoured by superior natural endowments.. Nothing tends in a greater degree to facilitate the progress of the student, than method and regularity. A proper adherence to a well formed plan of study, saves more time and labour than is generally supposed. He who studies a little, regularly and often, will soon surpass another who makes great efforts at distant intervals. The advantages of study are numerous and important. In a civilized country it is generally found to be the principal avenue to advancement. By assiduous study, and a moderate share of natural talents, many persons have deservedly risen from comparatively low situations, to the first ranks in society. Probably no sort of elevation is so gratifying to the human mind, as that which a man is conscious he owes to himself. The prosperity which is purchased by personal merit has in it nothing derogatory; it blesses him that gives, and him that takes" it serves to support the possessor better than the imbecility which is propped by the proudest ancestry that heraldry has recorded. Study leads to knowledge; knowledge is the most honourable of possessions. Without it the wealthiest, and most powerful individuals are but little respected while living, and soon forgotten after they are dead but the man of superior intellectual attainments is always regarded with respect; and when he lives only in the visioned eye of memory, his loss is thought of with regret, and his name spoken of with kindness. and The mind is at first always feeble. Exercise is necessary to give it strength. When but little exerted it retains much of its pristine that of the second is honourable, and valuable, The life of the first is degraded and useless; not to himself only, but to his friends, and not to his friends only, but to his country, and the world. The pleasures of the student admit of sufficient variety. He experiences none of those vacant moments which he knows not how to occupy. His own reflections are to him a source of perpetual enjoyment. In company he may impart information, and receive it. he may digest that which he has already acWhen alone he may add to his knowledge, or quired. Study is attended with no disadvantage that I can discover, unless when it is carried to an improper degree. But this objection applies equally to every human virtue. Charity may degenerate into silly profusion; mercy into criminal weakness; and religion into idle superstition. In like manner the study of literature or science may induce a man to neglect the pursuits of his trade or profession; it may render a mind naturally surly still more unsociable; or, when pursued without proper of health. But if we would find any thing intervals of relaxation, it may be destructive against which captious ingenuity can discover no objection, we should seek for it in vain. J. W. ON FRIENDSHIP. NOTHING is more conducive to man's happiness, and more capable of easing his mind, when oppressed with cares and anxieties, than the society of a faithful friend, to whom he may fly for relief, and into whose WEEKLY. PRICE 3 d. bosom, the receptacle of every virtue, he may pour forth the lamentations of his heart. The operation which friendship has upon man, is greater than that of any other passion; he reflects with heartfelt satisfaction upon the pleasure, as well as the advantages which result from this soft soother of sorrow. It fits the soul for the performance of those duties and purposes for which it was created, and by the strict observance of which, it hopes to obtain that blissful immortality which is preplanted from the earthly mass which it animates pared for it in a future state; and when transinto the paradise of its Maker, it will shine forth with increased splendor. detestation, behold the various abuses which Who can, without the greatest sorrow and are daily practised under the sanction of this sacred name! It is truly lamentable that so infamous purposes, and used as a cloak to sublime a passion should be prostituted to such conceal the blackest crimes. At the same time, we pity the man who possesses so great a share of credulity, and whose honour forbids him to entertain suspicions of another's fidelity, until his own accomplished ruin convinces him of his fatal and misplaced confidence. Under the specious title of a friend, the most glaring actions have been perpetrated. Many an innocent victim has been sacrificed of his fortune by the false insinuations of the to the crafty designs of an artful villain, bereft -base deceiver, his family involved in ruin and left entirely destitute: he cannot enjoy the pleasing satisfaction of having expended his fortune in the service of an honourable man, but of an ungrateful wretch, who even exults in his ruin, and, without remorse, beholds a father meditating with the most poignant anguish of soul, upon the wretchedness to which his children are reduced. No person who possesses any tender feeling can reflect upon such an instance of misplaced confidence, without partaking of the afflictions of the untear of pity upon the recollection of his unhappy sufferer, and dropping the sympathetic merited misfortunes. It was the custom of certain Greek Philosophers to dissuade their disciples from entering into any strong attachments, as unavoidably creating supernumerary disquietudes to those who engage in them, strange infatuation! that they should disdain the greatest blessing which man obtains! Without a friend all the wealth of Attalus could not render man happy, and adversity would be almost intolerable. "De amicitiâ omnes ad unum sentiunt, sine amicitiâ vitam esse nullam." The man who would |