would not bring them sense, or skill,
or knowledge, and without something
of those they could not find readers
content to pay for even the cheap
press. The whole mushroom brood,
born of the mire of Radical folly, and
waked into ridiculous existence by
the sunshine of Whig patronage,
have gone
the way of poor Lord Al-
thorp's fame, and the only result is,
the loss of half a million of pounds
sterling to the nation,-a larger sum
than Mr Spring Rice and all his coad-
jutors would sell for, if they were
sent, talents and all, to take their
chance in any slave-market from Ma-
dagascar to Columbia, "the land of
the free!"

The subject is wide. But we restrict ourselves for the moment to one instance where the remission of the stamp has been of service at once to the community and to the revenue. But this is not in the case of the cheap sedition, but in the case of the Almanacs. The Almanac is useful to every body, a circumstance in which it differs largely from incentives to assassination, lectures on Atheism, calls for "bread or blood," and vulgar libels on the Lords. The difference is already sufficiently marked by the result. John Bull may be a sullen animal, but he. knows the distinction between the useful and the worthless; he may suffer talkers by profession to talk Whiggism, but he is a good sound Tory in his heart, and he shows it by regularly dropping the Whigs and their profligate nonsense without any ceremony whatever. Thus, though the Radical papers should be as cheap as the dust, he leaves them to perish, while the generation of Almanacs has become boundless as motes in the sun-is, like them, constantly rising before the eye— is, like them, of all shapes, sizes, and colours—and, like them, often gilded and glittering. We now have them at all prices, beginning with the popular penny Almanacs for the trader, the politician, the poet, the sailor, the stargazer, the gentleman, the lady, the courtier, the citizen, the lawyer, the lover, the punster, and the philosopher. The multitude of them is so prodigious, that the Government duty on the mere paper is said much to exceed the former stamp.

And thus undoubtedly a good has been done, though it as undoubtedly never entered into the heads of those

wise personages, who, singing their old chorus of " Ca Ira," longed only to see new editions of "Insurrection made Easy," and "Every man his own King." We have been led to speak of those useful little publications by having just met one of them, in the shape of a collection of pleasantries. Time, like adversity, brings us acquainted with strange bed-fellows. But we were not prepared for this curious combination of the merry and wise, of the chronicle which reminds us of the flight of our years, and of the wit which makes us forget its existence. This work is the "Comic Almanac for 1837; or, an Ephemeris in Jest and Earnest." The engravings, from sketches of oddity, absurdity, and character, by Cruickshank. Every month has its appropriate engraving, with verses equally suited to the scene. July has its mad dog, with the following metrical receipt for that formidable phenomenon :--

HOW TO MAKE A MAD DOG.

"Tie a dog that is little, and one that is
large,

To a truck, or a barrow, as big as a barge;
Their mouths girded tight with a ragged

old cord (or

They'll put out their tongues), by the ma-
gistrates' order;

So you'll save them the trouble of feeding,
I think,

And the loss of your time by their stopping

to drink.

If you've nothing to draw, why, yourselves let them carry (sons

Of she dogs); or else they'll be drawingcomparisons.

With a stick or a kick make them gallop

away,

The faster the gallop the hotter the day; More than all, don't allow them their noses to wet, it

Will keep them alert, by the wish they may get it.

All pleasures must end when they drop head and tail,

And their muzzles are frothed like a tan

k rd of ale;

Turn them loose in the road with a whoop

and a hollo,

And get all the boys and the boobies to follow.

'Tis a piece of high sport for the rabble

you'll find,

With the mad dogs before, and the sad dogs behind;

Till they bite the king's lieges, and peace is restored

To you by the doctor, to them by the cord.”

and the Revolutionist, who, uniting the infidel with the robber, openly proclaimed the coming of the day of overthrow, now will not venture to stand forth and be seen, even in the most rabble gathering of the suburbs while Conservatism comes forward with her thousands and tens of thousands, the virtuous, the known, the honoured, the intelligent of the land, followed too by the loyal multitudes of those humbler classes who were once regarded as the sure allies of subversion.

In that timely and important publication, the CONSERVATIVE," put forth by the great Conservative Association of London, we find the remark made on those meetings, that they have exhibited not merely manliness and British spirit, but also unexpected ability and constitutional knowledge.

"Among the speeches on those occasions," says The Conservative, "we find individuals whose names were hitherto unheard of in public life or literature, coming forward with strong evidence of their fitness for the achievements of both. But England has never fallen short of the necessities of the day of trial. When the hour comes for the struggle, she will always be seen casing her limbs in the armour hung up in her halls since the last triumphs of the Constitution; and those limbs, too, will be able to bear it. Even those trials may be permitted for the express purpose of urging this most favoured of all kingdoms to the periodic exercise of her strength. The foundation may be suffered to sweep the land, only to teach us to build the rampart, and thus reclaim a broader shore for posterity. The tempest may hurry away the surface of the soil, only to awake us to the exhaustless depths of treasure which lie below. We have seen, in the most heated and ambitious assemblages of Europe, the Chambers, the Cortes, the Clubs, no specimens of general ability equalling the spontaneous eloquence and knowledge displayed by even the humbler ranks in the Conservative meetings. This then is the time to save ourselves. There must be no relaxation, no security, no surrender. We speak it solemnly, as in the presence of the nation, and of a higher power than the nation, that we regard the empire as exposed to perils which nothing but an exertion of all its virtues, guided by all its wisdom,

under God, can avert. We are in the hands of a Government which is itself in the hands of a faction, and that faction is Popery! It is no longer a choice of party, but a struggle for existence. The Lords have hitherto stood between us and ruin. But what is to stand between the Lords themselves and ruin? Let faction once triumph, and we are undone, rich and poor alike; Churchman and Presbyterian alike; landowner and merchant alike;-hopelessly undone; Protestantism stricken to the heart, and Popery avenging its long exile on the people, the religion, and the Constitution of the empire."

In an article in the same paper, on the late Glasgow election of the Lord Rector, as an evidence of the loyal feeling of the College, it observes, that nothing could be a stronger test of the change of public opinion, from the circumstances of the individuals proposed.

"There is not a Scotsman, Minister, or Radical alive, who could come forward with more advantages for favouritism than Sir John Campbell in a canvass in Glasgow. In two of his qualities he had a measureless superiority over Sir Robert Peel. As a native of the country, and rising to the highest station of the English Bar, all national prejudice must be on his side. As a member of Government, and possessing the patronage that necessarily belongs to a Minister, the reflection, that a son of Scotland was a man of great English influence, could at least do him no harm, nor indeed ought to do him any. Sir John, too, had not suffered the public recollections of himself or his office to die away; for within the month he had been promenading Scotland, attending public dinners, and making long harangues; the whole operation probably having this election in view as much as Ministerial apology. But Sir John was a Whig-Radical-one of that Cabinet which had bound itself neck and heels to the footstool of faction. This settled the question at once. Though Sir Robert Peel's name was not proposed until the last moment, and though he appeared neither in person, nor by substitute, the Englishman and the Ex-Minister swept before him all the influence of the Scotsman and the master of patronage, and Sir Robert Peel was elected by a majority of 100 321 to 221.

"It is true that this was but an affair

of students; yet many of those students, equally from knowledge and years, are to be regarded as men, and all capable of forming a much clearer judgment of public men and things than nine out of ten of the general constituency. The especial point of view in which we quote the transaction, is for its evidence, and most satisfactory evidence, of the recovered state of national feeling. The Radical journals will talk, of course, of the results as a matter among boys. If it had turned out otherwise, we should have heard nothing but panegyrics on the public spirit of the Glasgow College, and triumphs in the Radicalism of the rising and educated generation. But the students have shown that their studies have been wisely directed, that their principles are those of honest men, and that they will not sacrifice truth to nationality, honour to patronage, nor religion to faction. The mere election may be a thing of the hour; but the mind which it has exhibited deserves to be a solid source of congratulation to every well-wisher of the Empire."

In all this we fully agree. The election of Sir Robert Peel for the

Lord Rectorship has done honour to
the College. Scotland has among her
sons many a gallant, many a learned,
and many a noble name, worthy of
that honour or any other. But the
choice of the Ex-Minister on this oc-
casion must show in its strongest light
the sincerity of the rising youth of the
country in the cause for which Scot-
land struggled so long, so bravely, and
so triumphantly. She will not be a
slave, whatever hand may attempt to
fix the manacle; she will not be a
hireling, though the bribe should come
from a son of her own; nor will she
stoop to degrade the purity of her re-
ligious faith, by suffering it to follow,
even in gilded chains, the car where
Popery and Superstition move in tri-
umph over the civil and religious li-
berties of mankind. We regard the
whole transaction as not merely, in the
words of the "Conservative,'
"giv-
ing evidence of the renovated state of
national feeling," but, as what we next
value, doing honour to Scotland. We
shall soon have Sir Robert Peel among
us, and then we shall see how the
genuine spirit of our country can
sympathize with his eloquent cham-
pionship of the Constitution.

SKETCHES AMONG THE POOR.

No. I.

IN childhood's days, I do remember me
Of one dark house behind an old elm-tree,
By gloomy streets surrounded, where the flower
Brought from the fresher air, scarce for an hour
Retained its fragrant scent, yet men lived there,
Yea, and in happiness; the mind doth clear
In most dense airs its own bright atmosphere.
But in the house of which I spake there dwelt
One by whom all the weight of smoke was felt.
She had o'erstepped the bound 'twixt youth and age,
A single, not a lonely woman, sage

And thoughtful ever, yet most truly kind :
Without the natural ties, she sought to bind
Hearts unto hers, with gentle, useful love,
Prompt at each change in sympathy to move.
And so she gained the affection, which she prized
From every living thing, howe'er despised-
A call upon her tenderness whene'er

The friends around her had a grief to share ;
And if in joy the kind one they forgot,
She still rejoiced, and more was wanted not.
Said I not truly, she was not alone,

Though none at evening shared her clean hearth-stone?

To some she might prosaic seem, but me
She always charmed with daily poesy,
Felt in her every action, never heard,

E'en as the mate of some sweet singing-bird,
That mute and still broods on her treasure-nest,
Her heart's fond hope hid deep within her breast.
In all her quiet duties, one dear thought
Kept ever true and constant sway, not brought
Before the world, but garnered all the more
For being to herself a secret store.

Whene'er she heard of country homes, a smile
Came brightening o'er her serious face the while;
She knew not that it came, yet in her heart
A hope leaped up, of which that smile was part.
She thought the time might come, ere yet the bowl
Were broken at the fountain, when her soul
Might listen to its yearnings, unreproved
By thought of failure to the cause she loved;
When she might leave the close and noisy street,
And once again her childhood's home might greet.
It was a pleasant place that early home!
The brook went singing by, leaving its foam
Among the flags and blue forget-me-not;
And in a nook, above that shelter'd spot,
For ages stood a gnarled hawthorn-tree,

And if you pass'd in spring-time, you might see
The knotted trunk all coronal'd with flowers,

That every breeze shook down in fragrant showers;
The earnest bees in odorous cells did lie,

Hymning their thanks with murmuring melody;
The evening sun shone brightly on the green,
And seem'd to linger on the lonely scene;
And if to others Mary's early nest

Show'd poor and homely, to her loving breast

A charm lay hidden in the very stains

Which time and weather left; the old dim panes,

The grey rough moss, the house-leek, you might see
Were chronicled in childhood's memory;

And in her dreams she wander'd far and wide
Among the hills, her sister at her side-

That sister slept beneath a grassy tomb

Ere time had robb'd her of her first sweet bloom.
O Sleep! thou bringest back our childhood's heart,
Ere yet the dew exhale, the hope depart;
Thou callest up the lost ones, sorrow'd o'er
Till sorrow's self hath lost her tearful power;
Thine is the fairy-land, where shadows dwell,
Evoked in dreams by some strange hidden spell.
But Day and Waking have their dreams, O Sleep,
When Hope and Memory their fond watches keep;
And such o'er Mary held supremest sway,
When kindly labours task'd her hands all day.
Employ'd her hands, her thoughts roam'd far and free,
Till sense call'd down to calm reality.

A few short weeks, and then, unbound the chains

Which held her to another's woes or pains,

Farewell to dusky streets and shrouded skies,

Her treasur'd home should bless her yearning eyes,
And fair as in the days of childish glee

Each grassy nook and wooded haunt should be.
Yet ever as one sorrow pass'd away,
Another call'd the tender one to stay,

VOL. XLI. NO. CCLV.

D