condition in which we must fain acquiesce, for the sake of basking in their glory, and being gladdened by their light. We cannot, however, help uttering a prayer that the whole fraternity of reptiles that have been warmed into life by the heat of the luminary would employ their power, such as it is, in extinguishing one another: and we are not quite certain but that Shakspeare and his disciples and the reading world at large, would be all the better for getting rid of the motly crew-through all their ranks and varieties-from the smothering incubus of Malone's black-letter erudition, which has overlaid the writhing genius of the bard, down to the delicate and fastidious knife of Bowdler which has cast away his offensive pruriencies. When will Mr. Lockhart supply all our reasonable wants, and gratify our taste, and fulfill the high expectations that have been excited by the announcement, some time ago, of his projected edition of Shakspeare? From the power, beauty, originality and taste combined, that have characterised his published productions, we are tempted to prophesy that as soon as his edition shall make its appearance, all the others will be speedily put by, to enjoy everlasting repose in the honorable dust of our upper shelves. STANZAS. The soul which for Heaven is sighing In secret its blossoms are spreading, Far, far from the world's path of gloom, Where the breeze thro' the spice grove is swelling, " "Do move to this side-starboard—port again, Mind, mind your helm!" Then John-“why, d—n my eyes Here, to gain quiet for th' ensuing week, A too fond husband led his cara sposa, Such seem'd the Patagonian; and if dress And a fine Mecklin veil, it's great long length display'd! A silk pelisse, of deep cerulean die, With satin richly trimm'd, her form embrac'd; On the broad flounce in bunches thick were plac'd, From her left wrist a velvet reticule With golden tassels, and resplendent chain Her right hand glove off, nor essayed in vain, 1 Joyous, her little "gudeman" by her side Beside her, an old lady took her place, Who went, as others, for a sunday's airing; Age had bestowed some wrinkles on her face, And time had made her clothes the worse for wearing; Yet in her tout ensemble you could trace The vestiges of better days appearing; A stranger, she had ne'er been before On the Cork river, 'twas a novel view, Like a young dolphin, o'er the water flew, She heard of steam, and its unbounded force, From boiling tea urn, with a noisy whiz,--- Could move a mighty vessel, such as this, She wished, poor woman, somebody would tell her--- Who in each house and cottage was the dweller, How steam could cause the vessel's great velocity, Who owned this yard, that store-house, and this cellar; Which, after all, should not appear uncommon, In one so old, a stranger, and---a woman! But 'tis not fair, the milder sex to show Let us then deal a little christian charity To one, not quite a saint---who thought that there Was in her neigbour such familiarity As made the passengers on all sides stare; As if between them there was no disparity, A thought, her pride a moment could not bear. Brilliant as sun beams on the golden wave, To furnish pleasure, mirth, and joys, and blisses. Sweet innocents! as yet their bosoms were Strangers to love, hope, jealousy, despair! Next them, a Reverend Father took his station, His soul's first object, was the soul's salvation: So sweetly, that he sealed its reformation, And turned to God, the wayward and the wild. Man, not the world, engaged his constant care, And Heaven's unfading glory, all his prayer! Far different was the character beside The good old man. Intently he read o'er The glowing landscape stretching far before, How I do hate your newsmonger, whose soul Can feed on nought but journals and gazettes, Club orator, mob-mountebank; who gets |