Hints on the Nature and Management of Duns. By the Hon. a Younger Son. London: Newby. THIS is one of those merry, chirping productions, only appearing now and then upon the literary horizon, which it does a reader's heart and health a world of good to light on-full of fun, frolick, and devilry; clever illustrations, and apposite interpolations of rhyme, and sometimes positive poetry, which would give Heraditus himself a month's side-ache; and if there be the slightest truth in the proverb, "That one minute's hearty cachination adds a day to existence," it would be a most advantageous speculation for life policy vendors to buy up at a premium. Those who have been lucky enough to reach the faustadies of escape from what the Americans, in their bastard vernacular, term "tarnal indebtedness," will here find consoling remembrancers of past oburgatory annoyances and inflictions, while the neophyte who has but just entered upon the course which induces the inevitable bites and stings of that hybrid scorpion-rattlesnake, a creditor, accompanied by the creature's everlasting slimy trail of six-and-eightpenny letters, writs, judgments, ca. sa's and final executions, will find a well-stocked arsenal of defensive and offensive weapons of war and strategic manœuvres, by which the monster may be not only thwarted, hoodwinked, and fairly driven from the field, but its own machinations so skilfully turned upon itself, that the welkin shall ring with peals at its discomfiture. The book (though adapted to everybody's instruction) is more particularly dedicated to the use of younger sons-that hapless class of beings who are excluded by the laws of primogeniture from all the appliances that conduce to ease and happiness, and left to shift and shirk for themselves through their seven ages for the most moderate crumbs of homely comfort. These luckless gentlemen the author delicately introduces to the reader under the apposite denomination of "Detrimental"-a name which, as the writer supposes, and perhaps with some reason, was Originally given to Younger Sons by dowager mammas, who thereby meant to insinuate to their lovely single and marriageable daughters, that a matrimonial alliance with such a wretched being would be a "detriment" to all future happiness, consideration, and comfort; an unlucky devil, placed by primogeniture in the unenviable predicament of being either a scamp, living by his own wits and the folly of his creditors; or a poor, penniless, shabby vagabond, with an "Honourable" name, and a seedy coat; a man who ought to have none of the passions or feelings of men to whom ambition must be a sealed book, champagne ought to be an inexplicable mystery, and woman's-at least virtuous woman's-lip, an enticing, but generally unattaiuable, Paradise. He next launches, with happy effect, into a disquisition upon the nature and attributes of creditorial " Duns," and the most advantageous method of treating them; one of the most imperative lessons in which last respect is, " Let your dun in when he knocks, and be sure to keep your temper," and goes on to assimilate them to a well-known noxious insect, which he supposes to possess at least one of their properties, and which, as he says, affords to those well versed in matters of natural history a curious illustration of the remarkable affinity between the human and the brute creation :: a It is well-known to game-keepers and fanciers of the canine species, that dogs are subject to the attack of a disagreeable little animal, called "tick." This nauseous little wretch fixes itself firmly on the unfortunate dog, and lives by sucking the poor animal's blood, and it is very difficult to extirpate these vermin, which thrive and fatten on their sanguinary diet. Just so does the Dun fasten upon the Detrimental, and suck his very blood-when he has any (blood here being synonymous with blunt)—just as difficult is he to get rid of; and, still more extraordinary, both dog and Detrimental are equal sufferers from tick. How wonderful are the ways of Providence! His quaint advice to persecuted debtors, to "make as many bills as you can, but never give one," is worth a volume of Rochefoncauld; and his affecting contemplations upon his only remaining ten-pound note are too rich to need an apology for their introduction : MY TEN-POUND NOTE. My ten-pound-note! my ten-pound-note! Thy sister notes have vanished long, And shall I pay some bill with thee? My ten-pound-note! my ten-pound-note! I could not bear to part with thee The coat my tailor made of yore Hath many a greasy stain ; He shall not have thee !-ten-pound-note, Sleep in my purse again! My ten-pound-note! my ten-pound-note! The "words of promise" which thou breath'st, And shall some vulgar tradesman's hand Thy snowy charms profane? No! let them tick!-my ten-pound-note, My ten-pound-note! my ten-pound-note! His last consumptive child! Though Duns may thunder at my door, In their besieging train; They shall not have thee !-ten-pound-note, Sleep in my purse again! Ми There is as much truth as wit in the following: We can only find room for one more extract upon this fruitful subject, and which is not only intrinsically good in itself, but also affords a fair criterion by which to judge the merit of the rest of the work : I may add, that perhaps, all things considered, washerwomen are the most troublesome and detestable of the "small fry" of Duns. They are continually clamouring for their dues, and they are somewhat dangerous persons to offend, as the following anecdote will show. I once was acquainted with a Younger Son, whose stock of linen had degenerated (from too frequent visits to " my uncle") into one solitary shirt. It is true, he had ordered a fresh supply on credit from his hosier; but, at the time I mean, they had not yet been sent home. My hero was consequently under the disagreeable necessity of lying in bed all the morning till this solitary shirt could be washed and dried for his evening use. One evening he was engaged to a dinner party, where a very pretty woman, and very rich in the bargain, to whom he had long been paying his attentions-and successfully-was to be present. The hour was drawing nigh, the Detrimental had made all his toilet except in the one indispensable article-a shirt. Enveloped in a "seedy" dressing gown, he sat shivering in anxiety, awaiting his washerwoman's well-known knock. It came, and she made her appearance with the wished-for shirt in her hand. "Give me the shirt, quick," cried he, extending his hand as he spoke. The washerwoman drew back, and coolly replied "You owe me eighteenpence, sir; I am a poor woman, with a large family-I must be paid." "D-n your family," cried the Detrimental, "I have not got a farthing-give me my shirt." "I won't till I have my money," was the virego's reply. The unfortunate Detrimental swore, stormed, and raved, but all was of no avail; he even descended to the most abject supplications, but it was in vain. There she stood with the coveted garment in her hand, while he like Tantalus of old, "saw, but could not grasp" it. At length, driven, to despair, he exclaimed, "My good Mrs. Brown, for God's sake give me my shirt. I am going to dine at Mr. Wilkinson's in Belgrave square; I shall be too late-I shall be ruined!" An infernal smile lighted up for an instant the obdurate washerwoman's face, and without saying another word, she departed with her prize, leaving him shirtless, and, of course, dinnerless. In the middle of dinner at Mr. Wilkinson's that evening, while the guests were discussing the mysterious non-appearance of my hero, and the pretty Charlotte Singleton was pouting and looking daggers, grievously offended by the absence of her lover, a parcel was brought in by a servant and delivered to the master of the house. He opened it, and, to the astonishment of all, out fell a shirt! Snatching up a little dirty scrap of paper which fell from the garment, the host read out the following exquisite morceau for the edification of the company : "Muster Wilkinson, "Sir,-Has Muster Howard, owes me eighteen-pence, and has only got this one shirt, which I encloses; and has I would not let he have this ere shirt till he paid me, which he said as how he could'nt, I sends you the harticle in question, that you may not be surprised at his not coming to dinner. "Your humbell servant, "MARY BROWN, Washerwoman. "N.B.-Washing done on reasonable terms, and a good drying ground." The roar of laughter which succeeced may be guessed. In less than a month after this "untoward event," Charlotte Singleton was married to a fat merchant, and Fitz Walter Howard, Esq., was in the Queen's Bench. Poems. BY THOMAS POWELL. London: Mitchell. WE have for years observed that the publisher of these poems has a happy knack or fortunate destiny in respect of his authors, especially in the dramatic sphere. One would suppose that Mr Mitchell was either blessed with an excellent critical taste, or was happy beyond measure in his random associates and business intercourse. Mr. Powell's poems are amongst the best proofs of this general judgement. They are of a miscellaneous character, unusually varied in respect of theme, metre, idea, and sentiment. Marguerite; a tragedy in three acts, is neither wanting in thought nor action, although the dramatic effect is not, we think, equal to the power and the skill manifested. The Count de Foix is a chivalrous story, not remarkable for incident or treatment. The more miscellaneaus pieces, however, are superexcellent-rich in the thought, abounding in the finest sym |