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he at least gains the credit of having their names mentioned together, by a particular set, and in a particular way, which, nine times out of ten, is the full accomplishment of modern gallantry.

Now, sir, the puff collateral is much used as an appendage to advertisements, and may take the form of anecdote. Yesterday, as the celebrated George Bon-Mot was sauntering down St. James's Street, he met the lively Lady Mary Myrtle, coming out of the Park,-" Heavens, Lady Mary, I'm surprised to meet you in a white jacket, for I expected never to have seen you, but in a full trimmed uniform and a light-horseman's cap!"-" Bless me, George, where could you have learned that?"—" Why,” replied the wit, “I just saw a print of you in a new publication called the Camp Magazine, which, by-the-by, is a monstrous clever thing, and is sold at No. 3, on the right hand of the way, two doors from the printing-office, the corner of IvyLane, Paternoster-Row, price only one shilling!"

But the puff collusive is the newest of any; for it acts in the disguise of determined hostility. It is much used by bold booksellers and enterprising poets. An indignant correspondent observes, that the new poem called Beelzebub's Cotillon, or Proserpine's Fete Champetre, is one of the most unjustifiable performances he ever read; the severity with which certain characters are handled is quite shocking; and as there are many descriptions in it too warmly coloured for female delicacy, the shameful avidity with which this piece is bought by all people of fashion, is a reproach on the taste of the times, and a disgrace to the delicacy of the age! Here, you see, the two strongest inducements are held forth: first, that nobody ought to read it; and secondly, that every body buys it; on the strength of which, the publisher boldly prints the tenth edition, before he had sold ten of the first; and then establishes it by threatening himself with the pillory, or absolutely indicting himself for scan. mag.!

As to the puff oblique, or puff by implication, it is too various and extensive to be illustrated by an instance; it attracts in titles, and presumes in patents; it lurks in the limitation of a subscription, and invites in the assurance of crowd and incommodation at public places; it delights to draw forth concealed merit, with a most disinterested assiduity; and sometimes wears a countenance of smiling censure and tender reproach. It has a wonderful memory for parliamentary debates, and will often give the whole speech of a favoured member with the most flattering accuracy. But, above all, it is a great dealer in reports and suppositions. It has the earliest intelligence of intended preferments that will reflect honour on the patrons; and embryo promotions of modest gentlemen-who know nothing of the matter themselves. It can hint a ribband for implied services, in the air of a common report; and with the carelessness of a casual paragraph, suggest officers into commands—to which they have no pretension but their wishes. This, sir, is the last principal class of the art of puffing, an art which I hope you will now agree with me, is of the highest dignityyielding a tablature of benevolence and public spirit; befriending equally trade, gallantry, criticism, and politics: the applause of genius! the register of charity! the triumph of heroism! the self-defence of contractors! the fame of orators! and the gazette of ministers!


A SPIRIT, whom the voice of death
Had call'd from this cold sphere,
Paused for a moment on her path,
To look at scenes once dear;
The frozen tinge that shadow'd o'er
Her face, had died away,

The shroud she wore an hour before,
She left beside her clay.

Her eye beheld, with strange delight,
The systems round her roll;

A thousand things unknown and bright,
Broke on her wondering soul:
She saw the earth hang dim and far
Beneath her airy tread,

Lit by each solitary star

That round her calmly spread.

She saw the city of her birth
Beneath the moonshine lie,
She saw the thousands of the earth
Unheeded fall and die,—
Smote by the giant arm of death,
They fell and left no trace,
Their spirits pass'd her on their path
Through the wide fields of space.

She gazed through the unclouded air,
Where once her mansion lay;
Her children still were weeping there,
Beside her tombless clay:

She saw them in their loneliness,

Unheeded, round her bow,

And in their sorrow kiss each tress
That hid her lifeless brow!-

They were in want-none came to cheer,
Even hope in darkness slept!
The spirit saw each burning tear,
And as she saw she wept;

And bending then her deathless eye
Far through the slumbering air,
Where God sat in the starry sky,

She breathed a mother's prayer:

"Eternal Spirit! comfort now

Yon mourners in their dark abode;
They have no parent-Oh! be thou
Their Guardian and their God;
Cold is the breast where they have clung,
And prattled in their infant glee,

Closed are the lips, and mute the tongue,
That would have turn'd their hearts to thee.

Then oh, bind up the broken heart,

Which few in yon cold world will heal;
Where is the shield to break the dart

That misery's victims feel?

Yes, Thou shalt plume the spirit's wing,
That bends on thee faith's trusting eye;
Though tempests gather, she shall spring
In sunshine to the sky.

Then smile upon their opening bloom,
Let virtue lead their hearts above;
Till past the darkness of the tomb,

They share once more a mother's love!"
She ceased-an arch of light appear'd,
Love's brightening banner to her given:-
The spirit knew her prayer was heard,
And bore away for heaven.


YE crags and peaks! I'm with you once again-
I hold to you the hands you first beheld,
To show they still are free. Methinks I hear
A spirit in your echoes answer me,
And bid your tenant welcome to his home
Again! O sacred forms, how proud you look!

How high you lift your heads into the sky!
How huge you are-how mighty, and how free!
Ye are the things that tower, that shine—whose smile
Makes glad-whose frown is terrible-whose forms,
Robed or unrobed, do all the impress wear

Of awe divine! Ye guards of liberty,

I'm with you once again! I call to you

With all my voice! I hold my hands to you,
To show they still are free! I rush to you,
As though I could embrace you!

Scaling yonder peak,
I saw an eagle wheeling near its brow
O'er the abyss: his broad-expanded wings
Lay calm and motionless upon the air,
As if he floated there without their aid,
By the sole act of his unlorded will,
That buoy'd him proudly up. Instinctively
I bent my bow; yet kept he rounding still
His airy circle, as in the delight

Of measuring the ample range beneath

And round about; absorb'd, he heeded not

The death that threaten'd him. I could not shoot!— 'Twas liberty!-I turn'd my bow aside,

And let him soar away!

The land was free! oh, with what pride I used
To walk these hills, and look up to my God,
And bless him that it was so. It was free-
From end to end, from cliff to lake 'twas free!
Free as our torrents are that leap our rocks,
And plough our valleys, without asking leave!
Or as our peaks, that wear their caps of snow
In very presence of the regal sun!

How happy was it then! I lov'd

Its very storms. Yes, Emma, I have sat

In my boat at night, when, midway o'er the lake,

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