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the area, lest he should by his gentle rap disturb his friend; and I have often seen a middle-aged maiden lady, who has known what trouble is in her time, stand patiently till her third quiet summons was answered, or step down to the servants' door herself, rather than endanger the rest of the invalid.

EUTERPE she, for whom the nymphs and swains,
Led by my graceful step, forsook the plains;
And deck'd in wreaths of opening flowers,
We sported on, the summer Hours
Softly as the moon-beams dancing
O'er the waves to land advancing;

While caught by strains, on earth now heard no more,
The Loves and Pleasures sought the classic shore.
Next to Romania's martial soil I flew,

Along the cloudless skies of turkis hue,

:

To aid the triumph of the Latin brave,
And speed the tardy foot of kingly slave;
There, as crown'd with tiars of gold,
And drest like Satyrs wild, of old,
Oft I paused, in dread and wonder,
At the clarion's voice of thunder;
Then fled inconstant from the din of arms,

And now, sir, let me request your help to tell the great, and the smart, and the friendly, that their purpose would be quite as well served if they did not announce themselves so noisily. No one will dispute the rank of a gentleman though his servant do not knock like a drover; and if a lady be lady-like, there is little fear that she will be slighted for making just as much noise as will serve the purpose. If it is the object O'er the broad fields, that own'd a thousand charms. to shew dignity or style, there will be a necessity to do it in things that inferiors cannot so easily imitate; and surely those who call for "friendship's sake," had better not introduce their kindness by an act of annoyance to a family, or to a whole street. Begging pardon for the length of this letter, I remain,

Sir,

Your obedient humble Servant,...
THOMAS TRANQUIL.

Onwards I hurried, where Hispania lent
A sweeter promise of merriment;
gay
The fleeting cistus and the myrtle's bloom
Shed o'er my joyous path a rich perfume ;
While, from their caves, came forth each Air
To weave with youth my tresses fair;
Where Seguntum's towers are lying,
Through the light fandango flying,
Striking her castanet, the black-eyed maid,
Of beauty conscious, laughing, I array'd.

Pride, Superstition, War's empoison'd spear,
My empire banish'd to another sphere;
Yet, ere I went, by Gallia's courts I swept,
Where bright Gisela mild dominion kept;
The lily flower of France she wore,
Her taper hand a crosslet bore.
She moved her eye with rapture beaming,

We submit the following poetical effusions to our readers, with some confidence of their merit. The first, which is anonymous, seems to be framed on the model of Collins's Ode on the Passions, and may boast some portion of the spirit and melody (Hesper through the twilight gleaming;),

of that writer's versification.

Driginal Poetry.

Eheu vitam perdidi operose nihil agendo ! "WHEN first in early Greece" my SISTER sung, In sylvan grove her lyric harp was strung;

But in her stately step, constrain'd and slow,
Seem'd that Minerva trod the world below!

A while Helvetia's reed my course delay'd,
As shrill it floated up the mountain glade ;-
But to the Danube's rapid stream I pass'd,
And o'er the young a sparkling zone I cast,

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Hiding with modest grace the bosom fair;
And oft I led their gentle footsteps there,
Light as the bee on heather bell,
Or Elfin's song on rugged fell,

Thus with force gay beauty blending,
Like the rainbow, peace portending,

(When tempests rude deform the face of day) To tell mankind that Love shall ne'er decay.

But ah! no more, save in some lonesome glade,
Are these bold marks of ancient sports display'd;
Degenerate days! soon shall I spurn this earth
For native realms of joy and harmless mirth.
SCOTIA! the measured step of France,
And swimming valtz, ill suit thy dance.
As the winds o'er Jura driven,

(Not the sailing mists of heaven)

Fair Caledonia! thou wilt chase me far,

To that most beauteous land beyond the vesper star: TERPSICHORE.

Feb. 26th, 1817.

The following beautiful lyric, we believe, is from the pen of one of the most popular of our bards. As hard names, &c. have already been complained of in our lucubrations, it may be proper to premise, that Danaë, the daughter of Acrisius, king of the Argives, was confined by her father in an inaccessible tower, because an oracle had forewarned him that he should die by the hand of his grandchild. Jupiter, in a golden shower, pervaded the tiles of the fortress, and fell upon the lady's bosom; she became the mother of Theseus, whom, together with Danaë, the implacable Acrisius ordered to be shut up in a chest, and thrown into the sea. Of the story no more need be detailed; nor shall we trouble our readers by drawing a parallel, in the manner of Plutarch, between the Princess of the Argives and the sister of Lord Holy

roodhouse, whose beautiful Lament this translation of Simonides must recall to the minds of all admirers of Scottish poetry.

DANAË

FROM THE GREEK OF SIMONIDES.

NIGHT, on horror's wing suspended,

Veil'd in clouds the watery world; Darkening storms, by death attended, Through the air destruction hurled.

Loud was heard the whirlwind blowing, High was borne the brazen chest, When the Fair, with eyes o'erflowing, Clasp'd her Infant to her breast.

"Babe," she said, " my fears confound me; Babe," she said, " for you 1 fear;

I should scorn the floods around me,
Did not you their fury share.

"But thy breast, to fear a stranger,

Sleeps, while torrents round thee pour; Thou, dear boy, art blind to danger, Thou art deaf to nature's roar.

"By thine innocence protected,

Thou canst sleep from sorrow free, While thy mother's soul distracted Wakes to horror, wakes for thee.

"Knew'st thou in what fears I languish,
Knew'st thou what afflicts my soul,
Tears of terror, tears of anguish,
Down thy tender cheek would roll.

"Then no longer sportive pleasure

Round thy rosy lips would play ; Grief would seize my little treasure,

Grief would steal his smiles away.

"Wake not then, sweet boy; let slumber
Check the tear, and hush the groan,
Since my bosom grieves to number
Thy afflictions, not my own.

February 23, 1817.

"Sleep, my babe-thy mother pillows
On her breast thy cheek of snow;
Sleep, my babe, and sleep, ye billows!
Sleep, and with you sleep my woe."

K.

TO CORRESPONDENTS.

We have a long arrear of obligation to settle with numerous valuable Correspondents, whose contributions we must entreat them to believe are by no means rejected, although of necessity postponed. Such as come within the purpose of our publication will be inserted as fast as we can overtake them.

Edinburgh, printed by James Ballantyne & Co.

For John Ballantyne, Hanover-Street.

No. X.]

THE

SALE-ROOM.

SATURDAY, MARCH 8, 1817.

A Periodical Paper, published weekly at No. 4, Hanover-Street, Edinburgh.

of social tea-drinkings, followed by a beefsteak or an oyster, he is tantalized with noisy routs and peripatetick suppers; and a fourth is loud in his objurgation of the young ladies of the present day, because, after thirty good years spent zealously in their service, they have found him out to be an old bachelor. All very just ; and, as Sir Archy Masarcasm says, "vara new!"

Now, really, we must hereby enter our protest against this species of appeal, either to ourselves, or, through us, to our readers. "To be accommodated is, as one would say,

In our last Paper we felt much inclined to boast of the number and value of our Correspondents. In the present, we suspect our tone will exhibit some symptoms of qualification. Not that the quantity of pence which we pay to the penny postman has decreased; far from it. The sheets of good foolscap that we are in the❘ daily habit of receiving are enough to satisfy a much less calculating ambition than ours; but one would really suspect, either that our early friend, Peter Grievance, had bit the whole fraternity of our gentle and respectful admirers, or that these said gen--why it is whereby as if one might be said tle and respectful persons were, in the vulgo-fashionable phrase, bent upon quizzing us. On opening a dozen of well-spelt communications, we find at least ten of them to contain nothing earthly but lists of grievances. One complains, that he cannot walk Prince's Street in quiet, for the shoals of loungers that intercept him in columns of six abreast; another has returned from his travels, and is astounded to find that the hour of dining is now six o'clock, instead of three; a third is dissatisfied, that in place

to be, as it were, accommodated;" and the reverse of this comfortable feeling of accommodation will in the same way operate upon those who are so unlucky as to be subjected to it. But, in place of " telling it to the world," let such sufferers "tell it to their physician." Their best way is to swallow and digest it; our Sale Room has no panacea for their distresses.

We are hardly aware of any other principle of preference in selecting the two following letters from the round dozen that

K

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