song, A friend 's like a ship, when, with music and The tide of good fortune still speeds him along; But see him when tempest hath left him a wreck, And any mean billow can batter his deck! Then give me the heart that true sympathy shows, And clings to a messmate, whatever wind blows; And says, when aspersion, unanswered, grows cold,Wait; 66 one story 's good till another is told!" 9. THE GREAT MUSICAL CRITIC. — Original translation. ONCE on a time, the Nightingale, whose singing Of course, her friends all flocked to hear, There was a general cry of "Bravo! splendid'" Abashed and fluttering, to her nest retreated, It seemed as if the applause would never cease. But, 'mong the critics on the ground, An Ass was present, pompous and profound, With study, may some cleverness attain. Then, her friends tell me, she's a virtuous soul: But but-" "But," growled the Lion, "by my mane, I never knew an Ass who did not strain To qualify a good thing with a but!" "Nay," said the Goose, approaching, with a strut, pass; "1 was about," said Long Ear, "to remark, Something magnetic, To waken chords and feelings sympathetio And kindle in the breast a spark Like-like, for instance, a good juicy thistle." "Our learned friend, with his accustomed suavity, He should inform us, as no doubt he will, "Why," said the critic, with a look potential, As a fine, mellow, ear-inspiring bray." "I thought so," said the Fox, without a pause; The Nightingale is not an Ass like you!" 10. DRAMATIC STYLES.— Blackwood's Mag. In dramatic writing, the difference between the Grecian and Roman styles is very great. When you deal with a Greek subject, you must be very devout, and have unbounded reverence for Diana of the Ephesians. You must also believe in the second sight, and be as solemn, calm, and passionless, as the ghost of Hamlet's father. Never descend to the slightest familiarity, nor lay off the stilts for a moment; and, far from calling a spade a spade, call it The Roman, on the other hand, may occasionally be jocular, but always warlike. One is like a miracle-play in church; - the other. a tableau vivant in a camp. If a Greek has occasion to ask his sweetheart "if her mother knows she's out," and "if she has sold her mangle yet," he says: Menestheus. Cleanthe! Cleanthe. My Lord! Men. Your mother, your kind, excellent mother,- And felt within her heart the joyous pride Of having such a daughter, - does she know, Sweetest Cleanthe! that you've left the shade Of the maternal walls? Cle. She does, my Lord. Men. And, but I scarce can ask the question, — when I last beheld her, 'gainst the whitened wall Stoou a strong engine, flat, and broad, and heavy; Larés and old Penātés; - has she 't still? I fain would know; - pray tell me, is it sold? The Roman goes quicker to work: Tell me, my Julia, does your mother know The Composite, or Elizabethan, has a smack of both: Conradin. Ha! Celia here! Come hither, pretty one. thou hast a biting wit; this epitome Of what all other people are possessed of, Knows she thou 'rt out, and gadding? Cel. No, not gadding! Out, sir; she knows I'm out. Con. She had a mangle; Faith, 't was a huge machine, and smoothed the web Like snow. I've seen it oft; A right good mangle. -it was, indeed, Cel. Then thou 'rt not in thought To buy it, else thou would not praise it so. Con. A parlous child! keen as the cold North wind, Horace Smith. IN Broad-street buildings (on a winter night), Sat, all alone, with one hand rubbing His feet, rolled up in fleecy hose; With t'other he'd beneath his nose The Public Ledger, in whose columns grubbing. Ships, shops, and slops, Gums, galls, and groceries, ginger, gin, Tar, tallow, tumeric, turpentine, and tin; Entered, and most politely said, "Your footman, Sir, has gone his nightly track And left your door ajar, which I And thought it neighborly to give you notice." "You see, good Sir, how to my chair I'm tied; In time of danger, Such kind attentions from a stranger! Doomed to a final drop at Newgate; He knows that rogues and thieves, by scores, And see, how easily might one Even beneath your very nose, Blow out your candles, thus, and thus, — Pocket your silver candlesticks,. And walk off, - thus!" So said, so done; - he made no more remark, But marched off with his prize, 12 THE VICTIM OF REFORM. Blackwood's Magazine. Adapted. A MONKEY, once, whom fate had led to list To all the rancorous spouting and contention For every one's emancipation From every thing and body in creation, So, with some curious notions in his noddle, Had struck at all existing institutions, He strode forth with a step that seemed designed To represent the mighty march of mind. Not far he'd wandered, when his indignation A great menagerie, Where birds and beasts of every race and station All free-born animals, were kept confined, Caged and locked up in durance vile! It was a sight to waken all his bile. The window of the building stood ajar; Nor, like Parnassus, very hard to climb And many a growl was sent through many a bar. Unnoticed in the hunger-telling din. Zounds! how it made him chafe, Pug went above, a solitary mounter, Up gloomy stairs, and saw a pensive group Where feathered prisoners were doomed to droop: Not from the skies, but his impending roof; A pining ostrich, moping in a coop; And cramped in such a space, the longest bills His temper little mended, Pug from his bird-cage walk at last descended His bosom in a pant To see all Nature's free list thus suspended, To give them freedom, civil and religious; And first, with stealthy paw, Pug hastened to withdraw The bolt that kept the King of brutes within. Now, Monarch of the forest, thou shalt win Precious enfranchisement, thy bolts are undone Thou art no longer a degraded creature, But loose to roam with liberty and nature; Free to search all the jungles about London." |