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With an Engraving of the Statue of the ILISSUS, from the ELGIN MARBLES.

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR TAYLOR AND HESSEY.

[Entered at Stationers' Hall.

THE LION'S HEAD.

REPRESENTATIONS having been made to the Author of the Tales of Lyddalcross, that he ought not to crack so many Scotch words without giving some of the kernels, he has favoured us with the hardest; "seeing," as he truly observes, "that it is impossible to talk Scotch in English.

GLOSSARY TO THE SECOND TALE OF LYDDALCROSS.

Awmous powk, alms bag; a wallet borne by mendicants.

Ben, ben the house, the parlour of a Scottish farmer, an inner room.

Bink, sit on the bink, a common seat or bench in a farmer's kitchen.

Blink, a blink of your ee, a smile of your eye; she blinkit bonnilie, smiled sweetly. Brent, a brent brow, a high forehead, an upright and polished brow.

Bridal tocher, marriage portion.

Cantraips, a witch's spells or incantations.

Cloot, the hoof of a sheep; hence the devil is called Cloots, or Clootie, because he divides, it is said, the hoof.

Daffin, mirth, merriment, or gaiety bordering on folly.

Elf-arrows, the arrows which elves shoot among the flocks, and which cunning cowdoctors pretend to extract by charming them out.

Elf-candles, the lights which accompany those mischievous beings the elves; they always shine for harm to man: it is reckoned unsafe to see them.

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Evil een, eyes of evil influence; a very common belief in Scotland.

Gleg, keen, shrewd, inquisitive, sharp.

Goreks, cuckoos literally, but always applied to harmless fools.

Laird of windy-wa's and no-town-brae, lord of your own presence and no land beside. Lamiter's-crutch, a cripple's crutch.

Mowdie-tammocks, mole-hills.

Shedlans, shedlans of roads, separation of roads, to shed, to sunder.

Styme, I cannot see a styme, I cannot see even a glimmering, a glimpse.

Thairms, the strings of a fiddle, "And o'er the thairms be trying.”—BURNS.

Tryste, to keep tryste, to be true to the time and appointed place of meeting.

Tyke, a dog, "And struck the poor dumb tyke."-RAMSAY.
Water-spunkies, inferior water-fiends, will-o'-wisps.

Wraiths, spectral appearances prognosticating death, either to the individual who sees them, or to a dear friend or relative. Sometimes they are seen in the form of the person who is to die; but they are very capricious, and assume many dubious shapes; sometimes a black shroud or a white one, a coffin, a flash of fire, lights at the window or on a running stream.

The remonstrance of Juvenis is indeed pathetic; but in spite of the Sonnet which he has quoted in his behalf, we must adhere, though with regret, to our refusal; but if, as we suspect, he is Old Anthony himself, we shall be happy to hear from him again.

TO A CRITICK.

O cruel One how littel dost thou knowe

How manye Poetes with Unhappyenesse

Thou may'st have slaine; ere they began to blowe
Like to yonge Buddes in theyr firste Sappyenesse !
Even as Pinkes from littel Pipinges growe,
Great Poetes yet maye come of Singinges small;
Which if an hungrede Worme doth gnawe belowe
Fold up their stryped leaves and die withal.
Alake, that pleasant Flowre must fayde and fall
Because a Grubbe hath eat into its Head,-
That els had growne so fayre and eke so tall

Towards the Heaven and opende forthe and spreade

Its Blossoms to the Sunne for Men to read

In soe bright hues of Lovelinesse indeede.Anthony Rushtowne.

The Translator of Petrarch's Sixth Canzonet has conferred on us an obligation we should have felt happy to requite. That the Translation does not quite please us is in a great degree the fault of the original.

Verses "On Lord Byron's Tragedies," by H. L. Melpomene, must have been christened by mistake; for the only tragedy they mention was not, written by his Lordship.

The politeness of E. R.'s last letter has renewed our regret at having been obliged to return his manuscript. It would have been painful to us to dwell upon the causes of rejection with such a correspondent; and, we hoped, therefore, that whilst we were silent, he would imagine such excuses as would be most agreeable to his feelings. At present, from the multiplicity of papers which have come under our perusal, we only recollect our impression, that E. R.'s was not altogether suitable to the character of our pages.

W.'s "Night," is too long, for the moon rises twice in it. We will give a few lines, however, which appear to us to be novel:

The moon is up-O song-inspiring sight!
The moon is up-and waterfalls of light
Are streaming silverly from cloudy ridges;
And gladsome fairies, like nocturnal midges,
Are flitting through the shine with flashing wings.

Mr. Herapath requests us to contradict the assertion of our Correspondent R-that the Royal Society rejected his papers. He says, "they were never laid before that body. When the Vice-President offered me to have the first Paper which is printed in the Annals for April, May, and June, 1821, read at the Society's meetings, I declined it, and withdrew that and another, as may be seen by the Introductory Letter to that Paper; for reasons not connected with any judgment of the merits of either."

The papers of W. R. S. and J. A. H. are addressed to them at our Publisher's. We are sorry that we cannot print more than the Titles of M. A. Stopgap-The Minstrel-To Mary-The Coronation Address-The Soul— The Dream-Midnight—To - and Sonnet to H. K. White by G. M.

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Willing to oblige as many of our Friends as possible, we insert the following Sonnets:

DEATH.

Friend of a Bard, whom being holds from Fame!
That thou would'st condescend to visit me,
I've pray'd in my soul's strong-tongued agony;
And wooed thy love ;—and call'd upon thy name;—
With all young passion's longing I have sigh'd
To stand a statue gazing on thy face!
To lie a bridegroom in thy long embrace!
And, my heart haven in thy cold breast's void!
I've courted THEE in crowds-in solitudes ;-
To meet thy coming, midnight vigils kept ;—
Sent forth thy name in all my changeful moods ;-
And blood-drops at thy friendless absence wept!
And now-hear! hear me !-with affection's breath

I cry, a maniac cry-Come forth and own me DEATH.

H. B. M.

A VISION.

I thought the grave-doors open'd, and there rose
One whom mine eyes had wept for, as long dead;
For I had deem'd her even amongst those

Whose souls to immortality have fled :
She look'd as if the worm had never fed

On her fair skin, its beauty to oppose;
Her golden ringlets floated round her head,
Her cheek was like the summer-purpled rose,
But sweeter. Early youth seem'd still with her,
For, as on purpose, Time refused to stir,
And kept Age from her. She was young as ever,
So that I said, bright Angel, leave me never.
Joy madden'd me, and from sweet sleep I started,
And would have clasp'd her, but the shade departed.

H. L.

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