* Vox populi, vox dei. As Mr. Godwin truly observes of a more famous saying, of some merit as a popular maxim, but totally destitute of philosophical accuracy.

+ Quasi, Qui valet verba :—i. c. all the words which have been, are, or may be expended by, for, against, with, or on him. A sufficient proof of the utility of this history. Peter's progenitor who selected this name seems to have possessed a pure anticipated cognition of the nature and medesty of this ornament of his posterity.

After these ghastly rides, he caine

Home to his heart, and found from thence Much stolen of its accustomed flame; His thoughts grew weak, drowsy, and lane Of their intelligence.

To Peter's view, all seemed one hue;
He was no whig, he was no tory;
No Deist and no Christian he ;-
He got so subtle, that to be
Nothing, was all his glory.

Une single point in his belief
From his organisation sprung,
The heart-enrooted faith, the chief
Ear in his doctrines' blighted sheaf,
That "happiness is wrong;"

So thought Calvin and Dominic ;

So think their fierce successors, who
Even now would neither stint nor stick
Our flesh from off our bones to pick,
If they might do their do."

His morals thus were undermined :-
The old Peter-the hard, old Potter
Was born anew within his mind;
He grew dull, harsh, sly, unrefined,
As when he tramped beside the Otter*.
In the death hues of agony
Lambently flashing from a fish,
Now Peter felt amused to see
Shades like a rainbow's rise and flee,
Mixed with a certain hungry wish.†

So in his Country's dying face

He looked and lovely as she lay, Seeking in vain his last embrace, Wailing her own abandoned case, With hardened sneer he turned away:

And coolly to his own soul said ;-
"Do you not think that we might make
A poem on her when she's dead :-
Or, no-a thought is in my head-

Her shroud for a new sheet I'll take.

"My wife wants one.-Let who will bury

This mangled corpse! And I and you, My dearest Soul, will then make merry, As the Prince Regent did with Sherry,Ay-and at last desert me too."

A famous river in the new Atlantis of the Dynasto phylic Pantisocratists.

See the description of the beautiful colours produced during the agonising death of a number of trout, in the fourth part of a long poem in blank verse, published within a few years. That poem contains curious evidence of the gradual hardening of a strong but circumscribed sensibility, of the perversion of a penetrating but panic. stricken understanding. The author might have derived a lesson which he had probably forgotten from these sweet and sublime verses.

This lesson, Shepherd, let us two divide,
Taught both by what she shows and what conceals,
Never to blend our pleasure or our pride
With sorrow of the meanest thing that feels.

+ Nature.

THE Devil now knew his proper eue.-
Soon as he read the ode, he drove
To his friend Lord Mac Murderchouse's,
A man of interest in both houses,
And said :-" For money or for love,

"Pray find some cure or sinecure ;

To feed from the superfluous taxes, A friend of ours-a poet-fewer Have fluttered tamer to the lure

Than he." His lordship stands and racks his

Stupid brains, while one might count

As many beads as he had boroughs,—
At length replies; from his mean front,
Like one who rubs out an account,
Smoothing away the unmeaning furrows:

"It happens fortunately, dear Sir,
I can. I hope I need require

No pledge from you, that he will stir
In our affairs ;-like Oliver,

That he'll be worthy of his hire.”

These words exchanged, the news sent off
To Peter, home the Devil hied,—
Took to his bed; he had no cough,
No doctor,-meat and drink enough,-
Yet that same night he died.

It is curious to observe how often extremes meet. Cobbett and Peter use the same language for a different purpose: Peter is indeed a sort of metrical Cobbett. Cobbett is, however, more mischievous than Peter, because he pollutes a holy and now unconquerable cause with the principles of legitimate murder; whilst the other only makes a bad one ridiculous and odious.

If either Peter or Cobbett should see this note, each will feel more indignation at being compared to the other than at any censure implied in the moral perversion laid to their charge.

AN old, mad, blind, despised, and dying king,-
Princes, the dregs of their dull race, who flow
Through public scorn-mud from a muddy
spring,-

Rulers, who neither see, nor feel, nor know,
But leech-like to their fainting country cling,
Till they drop, blind in blood, without a blow,
A people starved and stabbed in the untilled field,-
An army, which liberticide and prey
Makes as a two-edged sword to all who wield,
Golden and sanguine laws which tempt and slay,-
Religion Christless, Godless-a book sealed;
A Senate-Time's worst statute unrepealed,—
Are graves, from which a glorious Phantom may
Burst, to illumine our tempestuous day.