vanced age,)-is it not preposterous to spend no less than seven or eight of these few fleeting years of the lives of our fine boys, in hammering, or rather thrashing into them a knowledge (and that a very imperfect one) of a dead language or two? 3dly, Suppose that such knowledge is worth the having, is it not possible to communicate it to our youngsters in a far shorter time? Sir, every thing else has increased in rapidity; and we ask, why should not this do so too? You can now reach Glasgow, from Edinburgh, in five hours, instead of a whole livelong day. You steam it now from Leith to London in two days, instead of sailing it in twenty, which was the custom forty or fifty years ago. As to the land journey there, the terms of the old song of Igo and Ago are now verified, for❝ to go to London's but a walk," it being a very different kind of expedition indeed, by the

daily mail, from one by the lumbering coach and six, which of old was only occasionlly dragged to the metropolis in several weeks' travel, by the same set of horses, from some hostelry or change-house in the Grassmarket, at which it was always advertised, that Mr John, or Mr Thomas Such-a-thing the coachman might be talked with. Now, while all these things are so, we inquire, why is the classical curriculum the only machine which now-a-days travels slowly? Sir, all these questions we have discussed; and on setting out, it was my intention to have told you our reasonings on them both pro and con, and to have tried my hand on a review of Dr Reid's pamphlet ; but my room is out, and I must delay them till a future letter. I am, in the meantime, Sir,

Your obedient servant,

ONE day I wander'd leisurely along

The bridges, sadly musing on the pastOn her for whom I sung a pretty song, Who left me like a rainbow in the blast

A lovely rainbow, which the boys pursue, And mourn to see it vanish from their view.

Is there a cure for sorrow? Some folks toil,

And sweat it out, like sickness, from the veins ;

Another seeks the wine-cup to beguile

His heart to happiness and fires his brains;

While others and by far the wisest they

Bow'd down before the source of comfort, pray.

But, reader, I nor toil'd, nor drank, nor pray'd,

Though I have done, and yet can do them all ;

But, in a novel manner, I essay'd

To flee from Sorrow, with her midnightpall,

A PLAIN MAN.

And so do all the labourers of thy kindEven Ramsay, Percy, Cromek, Diarmid, Galt;

And nameless thousands, who seem much inclin'd

To rise to fame-that is to say, exalt Themselves on borrow'd pinions, like the jay

In peacock plumes, that soon were torn away.

I read the Signs-ay, and with higher pleasure

Than one, a blockhead border laird, who got

A dictionary, which he thought a trea

sure;

And when he boldly to the finis fought, Folks asked him if 'twas good? he made reply,

"The beuk is weel enough, but some. thing dry."

I read the Signs-each large and lovely word,

Which, like most tombstones, generally tells lies;

For every shop's the cheapest-most absurd,

When,the superlative (the teacher cries)

Admits of no comparison;" but grammars The merchants study less than auction. hammers.

Here's the Hat-manufacturer, a trade
Most profitable, as I understand;
And pleasant too, for it requires no aid
From intellect, if people have a hand,
Or rather two, from sheep to pluck the
wool,

And place it on the cranium of a fool. There's the Silk-mercer, with his crape and gauze,

And all those baubles ladies go from home in;

Effeminate profession for the paws Of man! O, give the business up to woman!

No, never mind, worms will be butterflies, And human crawlers too like brilliant dyes.

Here is the Grocer, very useful creature, If justice sway his conscience and his

scales;

For, like a jackal, he provides our nature

With tea and mustard, treacle and ales; And all that people choose to set their

table on

For few eat grass now, like the King of Babylon.

There is the Clothier, very useful too,

Since folks were banish'd from fair Eden's bow'rs;

Especially in Scotland, where the dew

Is often chill, and heavy too the show'rs;

To go quite naked would be most unpleasant,

And sober souls might think it, too-indecent.

Here is the Glover,-speak, ye glovers, speak

Your pleasure when a bride comes in to buy

Her wedding-kids-what flush is on her cheek!

What mellow'd light within her liquid eye!

Sure it can ne'er be such sweet nymph's desire

To cheat her groom, though Jacob did his

sire.

There is the Hosier, oh, I wish that Cupid Had been a stocking-maker to his

trade!

For human labourers often are so stupid, They spoil the finest works e'er Nature

made:

An eye, a lock, a lip, may point Love's

dart,

But handsome ankles kick it to the heart.

Here is the Jeweller, where many a jewel (I mean the pretty ladies) calls full often,

To look at glittering toys that not a few will

Rejoice in purchasing; such things may

soften

A fellow's flinty heart, for more than half

This wicked world adore a golden calf.

Here is the Bookseller, the man of sheets, Not winding ones, for shrouding lifeless limbs ;

Not bridal ones, where Love with Pleasure meets;

But paper ones of tales, and plays, and

hymns:

Deuce take their venders! they are sometimes greedy,

And authors, Heaven protect them! often needy.

Here is the Teacher-all success to them Who "teach the young idea how to

shoot,"―

Not hares or grouse, or any sort of game, For this is meaning that would never

suit

The tender-hearted Thomson; he but sings In metaphors, because they're glaring things.

There's the Apothecary-mercy on us! Who saps our constitution and repairs;

Upon the dunce's stool; and as thy head

The master could not any knowledge teach,

He tried to whip it oft into thy breech.

The father of this blockhead, Peter Snail, Was rich in worldly goods, if not in grace;

Perhaps he had that too, but, in my tale,

Religious bickerings shall have no place, Lest I, like other pugilists, may throw My bosom open to a knock-down blow.

I say, the man was rich, that is enough, Gold is a passport to all things save heaven;

To peer's attention, and to peasant's puff, To colonelships, and admiralships, and

even

To senates and to pulpits-and (I start With anger and disgust) to woman's

heart.

Well, he was rich-and he resolved to make,

According to the phrase, his son a man; But mother Nature, who appear'd to take Some interest in the matter, marr'd his plan,

By having purpos'd that the boy should

pass

Among terrestrial creatures as an-ass.

No matter he must be, at any rate, Bred to a learned profession-such as scribe,

Or minister, or leech, or advocate,

Or nothing more these are the learned tribe;

How wondrously miscall'd! they bear a

name

To which, as I shall prove, they have no claim.

The man who learns to labour with an awl,

Might just as easily labour with a pen; The ballad-singer that has lungs to bawl, Might well confound a dozen jurymen; The ragged wretch that cries the felon's speech

Might be a priest-the tinker be a leech.

It has been said, that every infant head

Is lighted to its trade by inborn tapers; Some to write tragedies-others to readOne to cut throats-another to cut ca

I've felt the joys within my breast that flow'd,

"Oh, curse the country! what are streams and lakes,

And trees, and flowers, and hills, and rocks, and dales?

Fit residence for wild-ducks and for drakes, And timorous hares, and ever-harping rails;

Fit residence for stupid sheep and men That, like a badger, grovel in their den. "But, bless the city! here are spires and domes,

And streets and squares, that give the heart delight;

And wealth unbounded as the sea that foams,

And honours numerous as the stars of night;

And men with brains where embryo volumes lie,

And maids with lips where-mine will never sigh."

"Why, Master Peppermint, I can't agree With this comparison that you have

made:

road.

square.

While I shall walk upon the stony street, More safe by far than bog beneath my feet."

"Lord! Master Peppermint, my worthy friend,

I'm like a fly within a cobweb caught; I've a good business-that will still extend

I've money out-I can't get in when sought

I've dreams of wealth, too, which my sil. ly pate

Will not give up although my trade I hate.

"But, oh! I love to muse upon the spot Where first I gambol'd in life's vernal

day;

And, oh! I trust it yet may be my lot, When eyes are dim, and locks are thin

and gray,

There to retire, and, like a worn-out

wave,

Sink to repose beside my parent's grave."

"Retain these thoughts," unto myself I cried,

When we had parted; "nurse them in your breast;

They are like sunbeams shining on a tide That winter comes to freeze-they will

arrest

The searing power of avarice, which destroys

The heart for earthly and for heavenly joys. "But is this Peter Snail ?-what wondrous freaks

Are often play'd by Fate on human things!

As boy-he seem'd just what his name bespeaks,

As man-he seems indeed to have got

wings;

Yet 'tis not always thus-I've known at schools

Some clever lads that now are downright fools."

Magna Parvis.

It is an old observation, that extremes are nearly allied to each other. Pain and pleasure, heat and cold, the sublime and the ludicrous, may become, in their extremes, almost identical. I do not, however, purpose to pursue this copious topic, which would form a fine subject of metaphysical inquiry. But I was led to make the foregoing trite remark, by observing, that, as the ludicrous and the sub

lime may become, in the extreme of the latter, (and the latter only,) identical, so common images and low metaphors often "furnish forth" the noblest and most expressive sublime composition. An idea or a thought is frequently heightened and exalted (paradoxical as the assertion may appear) by a common-place, or, I might say, a petty illustrative epithet. Examples of what I mean are innumerous. The following occur to my recollection: