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The Lion's Head is determined on having a paw in the Coronation : It has serious thoughts of putting in its claim to sit on the right side of Britannia (if Britannia intends being present), its old established place, as the earliest pocket-pieces testify. The Lion's Head can pledge itself, that the Unicorn will not be there, so that there will certainly be nothing to apprehend from that old and graceless broil about the Crown: at any rate, Lion's Head will fight for nothing so little as a Crown; and Mr. Dymoke would be by to settle all squabbles, as in duty bound. Lion's Head, or some part of its family, attended heart in hand, at Richard Ceur de Lion's Coronation; and it will certainly prowl its way into Westminster Hall, on the approaching splendid day, and bear a watchful eye upon the ceremony. Lion's Head is not a Dandy-lion, but its mane will be carefully cut and turned for the occasion; and it will go ruffled, like a true British Lion. The readers of the LONDON MAGAZINE, in fine, may rest assured, that Lion's Head will, on that day, seek its own food, and not trust to the established Jackalls of the


diurnal press.

We promised a Plate in the present Number, from Mr. Hilton's picture, of “ Nature blowing Bubbles for her Children;" but being disappointed in the Engraving, we are compelled to defer the fulfilment of our promise till next month.

Table Talk, No. XI. and the Buccaneer, will certainly appear in our next Number.

We really cannot commend such poetry as the following, and say with our Correspondent that it “ mingles delicacy, tenderness, and sprightliness, and is among the prettiest that has been written on that poetic favourite, the Nightingale."

The Nightingale, pent in his cage,

Clcora, is musical still ;
He harps on the wires in his rage,

And his sighs in soft melody trill.


Oh! hear how he warbles ! each note

Is a mystical, soft billet doux,
Sent post to the woods, from his throat,

With the sweetest and saddest adieu.

We wish the Author of the “ Ballad to his Mistress,” bad been near the postman of the woods, mentioned above, as he might have compassed a cheaper delivery. Surely this “ earnest of future, and more valuable conributions," was never written in earnest.

The “ Pablic Office Clerk” must share the fate of many of his brethren, and be dismissed.

“ Two Sorts of Men” shall be carefully considered. We will, as a learned personage says, “ take the papers home with us, and give judgment on a future day."


J. W. G. must excuse us if we decline inserting the “two more little efforts of his unfledged muse," which we the less regret, as he says, “ they cost no effort."


Our respect for the original of Mr. R-'s “ poetic paraphrases,” impels us to refuse his friendly offer. Non hæc conveniunt lyrą. And if it were not so, the lyre he aims at holding is too heavy for his hands, judging from the specimen he has sent us.

“ The Lawyer, a Picture,” is quite to our taste; and we promise our poetical readers a treat, by the insertion of it in our next number.

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The paper of A. W. upon the encouragement of Autograph-Epitaphs(a species of writing to which we never particularly applied our minds) partakes rather too much of the sombre sobriety of its subject. We are obliged by the offer of it for our pages ; but, like young ladies at an offer of another description, we really cannot yet make up our minds.

The Translation from Earl Conrad, of Kirchberg, m Praise of May, will appear in our next. We may answer our fair Correspondent's proverb of a “ day after the fair,” with another: “a miss is as good as a mile.” The season, however, seems to have put itself off to oblige her.

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M. A. will see that we have availed ourselves of one of his papers. · We cannot promise as to the rest, for we have really not yet had time to read them.

E. R. and Zara, and the author of the versified Epistle on Poetical Deception, are unavoidably deferred.

The proprietors of the following signatures must frame excuses the most pleasant to their own feelings for our omission of their several contributions. We sincerely thank them one and all for their kind intentions ; but the public is a dainty personage, and we are obliged to cater cautiously.—Ensign S. -H. L.–Jack Straw.-J.J. W.-Beta.—Chevalier.-James with his Pocket Book.–Singultus.

Our Publishers desire to say a word or two, but we have not room for them this time : they shall have a fair hearing on a future opportunity. In

the mean time, the Public are assured, that all the former Contributors to · the London Magazine are earnest in giving it their powerful support;

and the contents of the present Number are, in our minds, a more substantial recommendation than a thousand promises.

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The castle I do give theez-here's the keyes. Old Ballad. If any one would choose to pay visit, for unless I go regularly through Antiquity a visit, and see, her in her the pictures of my, memory, and grand tiara of turrets, see her in all point them out in their proper lights her gloomy glory,—not dragging on and sequent courses, I become cona graceless existence, in ruined cell, fused and wandering, like the powwith disordered dress, and soiled vi- dered guide of Hampton Court, who sage ; but clad in seemly habili- drags along his aged silken feet, from ments, bearing a staid, proud, and painting to painting, day by day, glowing countenance, and dwelling and hour by hour, with a rigid and in a home that seems charmed, and tedious precision-pointing out to not distracted by time:- let such a every comer the same picture, from one go to the wooded solitudes, the the same spot, directing the visitor silent courts, the pictured walls, and (every visitor) to “stand there and rich embrowned floors of Warwick admire the perspective,” and never Castle. There dwells Antiquity like failing, winter and summer (I have a queen! There she holds her sombre been there I know not how oft), to state, amid spear and sword, and select a brass pan in the picture of battle-axe and shield: there she keeps the Deluge, as a thing that “ is rich and solemn revel through all reckoned very fine:” Leave him to time. The air takes a more hallowed his own course, and he knows a softness from her presence; and the Rembrandt from a Guido, a Titian paintings which hang in her halls, from a Raphael, a Vandyke from a appear to warm and brighten under Sir Peter Lely; but take him up on her mild care and sovereignty. Time the sudden, and call him back to a breathes patiently upon them, and picture past in his description, or to they ripen in his breath, like fruit in one considerably a head of his narthe rich mellowed airs of autumn. rative, and you ruin his knowledge, The Titian cheek deepens and glows lay waste his recollections, pillage into rich perfection; the black hair his pictorial saws and ancient inbecomes more black, magnificent, in- stances, and plunge him into a tutense. The velvet garmenting, and mult of names, from which he cannot crimson robe, and gloomy fur, seem easily extricate himself, I have his filled with thought. All around looks trick to a nicety, and must be allowsacred, and dedicate to Time. War- ed to “ begin at the beginning," or wick Castle is sure the palace of An- I shall confound oak with myrtle, tiquity : and here let me tell how I shade with sun light, and vase with found that gracious and queenly cauldron. Let me proceed “orderly, creature, when I last was in her pre- as it is meet,” or you get nothing

I will minutely describe my true of me. I must, if the reader Vol. IV.



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