he carries a critch at the side where the odd leg hangs; and if you war to see that leg! it twists round the critch, wan or two times, after the manner iv the woodbine that grows in the hedges: and for the same raison they calls him Woodbine.'

'He, he, he! devil a betther.'

Well, my ould hare, I lived under the one roof wid Woodbine, at the time I'm goin' to tell about; and Tim and the whole of us liked a bit of mate well enough; so, myself was out in the direction of Ballysalla, and there was as fine a dhrake as ever you could lay your two eyes on, and as nice a duck along with the dhrake becoorse, and the both were paddlin' on afore me; and sure it come into my head, that they were tired-the cratures; they waddled over and hether at sich a rate; but sense that time I was often thinkin' 'twas the fat that made them hobble in their gate o' goin'-What do you think, Bridget?'

Och! and it was the fat sure enough,―he, he, he!'

Faix, and may be you'r in the right. Well, howsomdever, havin' the notion that they were tired, sure I said to myself, I'd carry 'em a start, and enough to do, I had to ketch 'em.'

Well, well; but sure that might put id in your head that they weren't tired, Nelly.'

'It never crossed my mind at that time, and more betoken: there's no dependin' on a duck or dhrake. I often seen 'em undher a horse's foot, and you'd think the hoof was down on their backs; and afther all, they'd twist out o' the way, like a 'cute old eel, and there wouldn't be a feather touched.Well, afther a rale chase, shure I had my duck and dhrake safe enough, and I puts one undher one arm, and another undther the other arm, an' draws the cloak over 'em, and I was goin' my way, when the widow Delouchry comes up to me, and she puts questions to me about the same duck and dhrake. Myself said I seen 'em crossin' the stubble field a little while agone, but then up comes the widow Delouchry's son to her help, and afther him her daughter-and they were all lookin' across the stubbles, when, my jewil, the threacherous duck cries out, "Walk, walk, walk," undher one arm, and her dhrake makes answer to her undher my other arm; and ochone, lanna machree, they tore open my mantle, widout sayin' by your leave, or how do you like it, and out they pulls misther dhrake and misthress duck fornent the world; and I gets a slap on one cheek wid the dhrake, and a slap on th' other cheek wid the duck, and they falls pullin' me to babby rags; but afore they had tore me asundher entirely, up gallops Father Connell on horseback, and he thried to make pase; and then shure they tould him the whole story, and iv a sartainty, he looked very black at me, and shuck his wig frightful to see, and yet for all that, the ould creathure of a priest wouldn't let 'em touch me any more, but tould me to make the best o' my way into town; and he overtuk me on the road, and he gave me the best of advice; and he made enquiries about my way ov livin', and every thing: and shure I tould the poor man how the husband was dead, and how the childer war very badly off entirely; and I didn't say I stopped in the house wid Woodbine at all, only I gave him the name ov another place—and what would you have of it, Bridget? When he came to help myself and the childher, he didn't find me where I said I had my lodgin”.

'Ho! ho! faix, and that was conthrary enough.'

'Och, mostha, and the worst is to be tould yet, Bridget Mulrooney. Woodbine, as I made known to you, liked a bit o' mate, and he was hard run for the same one time; and Father Connell had two goats, to give him erame for his tay, the poor gentleman, and Woodbine comes across the goats; and as shure as you're planked there afore the fire, he brings the goats home wid him-so that becoorse we didn't want for roast and biled while they lasted. But murdher an' ages!-just as we were on the last of 'em, and it was purty late in the night when we were sitten at the faste- the latch

o' the dour was riz up, my jewil, and in walks Father Connell his own self! --and shure the goat skins was hangin' agin the walls, and they sould the pass on us. Oh! oh! oh! you wouldn't give threppence for our souls and bodies when we saw him standin' on the flure-we thought he'd ate us alive. But what do you think?--the poor foolish man spoke to us peaceable enough, considhering we was afther devourin' his purty goats; and before goin' away, he tould us the worst thing he'd wish us was that they might be cryin' "Mag-a-maa" in our stomachs; and now its downright truth I'm goin' to tell you Bridget: Woodbine and myself, and two more, used to hear the " mag-a-maa" inside iv us every night for a long while afther.'"

All readers of Romance will doubtless peruse these three volumes, they richly merit an extensive popularity, and we tender our thanks to the author for having afforded us so great a treat as the story of Father Connell has proved.

Creoleana; or, Social and Domestic Scenes and Incidents in Barbados in Days of Yore. Saunders and Otley.

A venerable twaddler, named Orderson, has wasted his time in writing, and squandered his money in printing and causing to be published a volume of the most unredeemed trash. We should pass

it over in silence, but for the arrogant presumption of the writer, who "ventures to affirm from his own observation that Barbados has contributed her share with no unlavish hand" of West Indian literature. If Mr. Orderson's work is to be considered as a sample, sent over to the English market, the sooner a hurricane scatters the entire stock, the better, say we!

He quotes the authority of the late Mr. Wilberforce in proof of his being considered by that holy little man, "a humane and benevolent person;" we do not mean to doubt it, but the fact of Mr. Orderson giving orders to spare the backs of his niggers,' goes no way to prove that he can write anything beyond the common-place, vulgar stuff, of which he has made up his " Creoleana."

The only remarkable thing about the book is, that the writer has taken the liberty of altering the orthography of his native Island, spelling Barbadoes without the letter E. Does he think his example will be followed. Why should it? Poor silly old man!

:

Astolfo a Dramatic Romance, in three Parts. G. Purkess. That well known line of our great Bard,

"The Poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling,"

has more than once tempted people to believe that, if they could but accomplish a constant revolving of their orbs of vision, and felt at the same time" a leetel dam'd mad," they were then in a fitting mood for writing poetry.

We should imagine that before the present composition was finished, the perpetrator must have been forced to consult Mr. Alexander, or some other skilful Oculist, or perhaps the "Frenzy," got ahead, and a straight waistcoat was found necessary. We hope by this time the gentleman is better; and as we do not like to make assertions without proof, we will quote the following passages in support of our

belief. The fit must have been unusually strong when the patient was delivered of them.

"Chambers of Death! where the Presiding Spirit,
Palled and o'ercanopied, in moveless state
Sits like a statue, with his stony eyes,

Pale in their charnel glare, in stare most fixed
Bound to the crumbling wall:- Vast Hall of Death!
Where ranks of voiceless courtiers crowd around
In stiff and grinning waiting, all still-stiff,
Bones iron'd to position-marble-gaze
Nailed upon vacancy, and awe and dread,
Iceing the heart and binding nerves with fear
In their so tight embrace, wrapt round as if
Shroud sheeted :-Palace of the Colossus
Whose cloudy countenance darkens the skies,
Turning the blue to stone! dread lives in thee,
Lives in thine ev'ry stone, and penetrates
The atoms of thy structure, drinking in
Awe as an ocean."

"While through the windows rich, the moonlight blue
Streams in a sea of clearness, phosphoring
The hollow-tabled tombs.-Thy flag-paved floor,
All letter-crowded, with the broken edge,
The dark green damp, and earth accumulate,
Turning to dingy verdure, springing with
The mossy fatness of the humid ground.—
Thine aisles long-drawing, with the ghostly haze
Misting their shafted distance, and the depth
Of thy vaults hollow, where the rusty grate
Creaks to the long sigh of the funereal wind.
Statues are round me, shapes of old gray stone,
Whose features gray and yellow, rocky-hard,
Gaze flinty cold upon my contemplation,
Their sightless orbs staring half-intellect;
As if from behind their removed nature they
Saw me, though no trace their visages
Sailed over. In their dim marble majesty
Cut-folds their presence drape-and flowing robes
And mitres rising stern death-faces 'bove,
And brows all bald, polished, and flowing hair
Falling in stony locks, and eyes all fixed,
The scalp and tonsure, and the heavy hand,
And goblin-beards, on the solidity

Of breasts-sepulchral resting, raise an awe
Stirring the brain.

I tremble not;my heart is firm ;--I can

Gaze with composure; and I nothing feel

In my breast moving, while my pulse, its time
Deliberately beats. Then what is round?

Graves with the mouldering coffin-plated, nailed,
Now green with rotting damps, and wasting wood,

And robes, and shrouds, all gray, and grim, and ghastly."

A Week in London; or, How to View the Metropolis, with all its National Establishments, Public Buildings, &c. in Seven Days. T. M. Cradock.

The title of this little pamphlet fully explains its purport, it has been concocted with great accuracy as to the sights to be seen, but we will not venture to affirm that any one on the shady side of five and twenty would be able to visit them all in the time specified; a fine lad of six feet, with legs in proportion, and lungs in capital order, might manage the task, but we should pity even him at the end of the week, as he could not fail to be thoroughly knocked up.

However the book shows what can be done, let those try it who feel disposed so to do.

A Few Words of Advice to Cadets, and other Young Persons proceeding to India. By HENRY KERR, Esq. Allen and Co.

To young gentlemen who receive appointments from the Hon. East India Company, this manual will be found of vast utility; it also contains some valuable and instructive hints to young ladies, about to visit the "land of the Sun."

There is scarcely a subject upon which knowledge is desirable, from the first appointment of a Cadet, to his service with the army in Hindostan, but what is explicitly set down.

Parents and Guardians can derive from this work the most essential and authentic information, relating to the necessary forms of Certificates, &c., the usual outfitting, and means of procuring passage for their young folks, without the toil of a visit to Leadenhall Street.

We can honestly recommend Captain Kerr's book to all whom its contents may concern, well assured that they will feel obliged to that gentleman for a compilation of such accuracy and utility.

Some Loose Leaves from my Portfolio. By GEORGE COOPER, Newcastle under Lyme. Saunders and Otley.

Really, Mr. Cooper, it would have been quite as well if you had suffered these "Loose Leaves" of yours, to remain undisturbed in your" portfolio ;" they ought never to have been tried by the ordeal of type. You appear a very amiable and a very loyal man, but we cannot admit that you have the most distant claim to the title of Poet.

Perchance you might have heard of

"The Butter woman's jog to market."

Her pace was more measured than most of your lines, rely on't; and as for composition, or construction, a boy at school would be flogged for such namby pamby stuff as this,—

"Oh! where is gentle Peace gone hide

Her form so passing fair?

Where from our presence hath she hied
And made her home-ah! where ?

Go seek her in the silent wood,
In distant lands, or nigh ;
Adown the vale, beside the flood,
Entreat her not to fly."

The paltry and execrable engravings are fitting embellishments to the book, and saying this we take leave of Mr. Cooper, no way anxious for the chance of meeting him again.

The Use and Study of History.

By W. T. M'CULLAGH, LL.B. Machen: Dublin. Longman.

This volume is composed of a series of Lectures, delivered by the author, at the Mechanics' Institution in Dublin, and they bear strong evidence of being originally addressed to persons needing instruction, but who, from National vivacity of character, required a sprinkling, now and then, of pepper and spice over the dish of knowledge set before them. Thus we find in the first Discourse the following passage:—

"But I am sick of hearing small men cry their stolen goods—the cast off garments of a robbed antiquity, as novelties of their own invention. I am tired of seeing every priggish pamphleteer hawk about his little barrel of what, poor man, he hath no other right to, than that he drew it as it is, from the unacknowledged tank of history."

The mention of cast off clothes, and robbery, was doubtless considered personal by some of the parties present, but they would soon recover themselves and listen to another sally with which he indulges his auditors :

"Ah! 'tis almost time to give over the dull slang about prejudice,' and 'prove it,' and 'the test of utility.' This is a lower wisdom than the ape's, for he plucks the nut and stores it in his pouch until he wants it; but your monkey of the Bentham breed, will not condescend to pull or crack a single nut until you shall have satisfied his mind, by statistic reference to filbert averages, that, if not certain, it is at least more probable that the particular husk in question does contain a toothsome kernel, than that it does not.— Lord help the monkeys !—if they were no wiser than the sceptics, they must inevitably starve."

We wonder what poor Pat knows about the "Bentham breed?" of a breed of Bantams he might be able to tell you something. The Lecturer presently tickles his hearers with a morsel of Military history, which could not fail to be acceptable:

"Did ever hero dipped in Styx, beard death with more immortal scorn than Ney at Waterloo ? Yet what availed it? Simply and merely, nothing. He could not break or bend one rank of Irish infantry!"

The honour and glory of " Ould Ireland," thus brought home, must have greatly relieved the listeners from the bewilderment occasioned on hearing of a hero " Dipped in Styx." Right well they knew how to dip iotn a bundle of Sticks, and select one capable of breaking a head, or

"Knock the brains out of a Connaught man."

But we question their acquaintance with Charon's ferry.

Of that class of Literature called "The Romance of History," in