TICKLER; By the by, North, do you know the cause of what is called the want of a musical ear Reb695-95 Toung premys Yooli TICKLER. OTR THAT TICKLER. : And if it should so happen which it not unfrequently does that the one ear is finer or coarser let me rather say-than the other the two together make sad work of it and on their tympanums there can be no concord.o 999 7m k [8. : Aye? But supposing the wretch in question has a musical ear, so far as be in that respect on the ordinary level of humanity, and becomes an amateur. By the time he plays upon the fiddle with half the taste and quarter the execution of the common run of blind cat-gut-scrapers at penny weddings, he presumes to find fault with Finlay Dun! He leads a concerto, perpetrated by a gang of murderous amateurs in a private parlour -and thenceforth expresses a poor opinion of Paganini ! Catalani squalled Pasta yelled Sontag shrieked and Wood squeals, He lays down the law # 199 a, al sda gin193 of ‚olis' UNORTII. 9206|i'sds of tud bro» 7 1 The Fa-La. it ai qe mo- osb 51mil) VerICKLER.' And while a vast audience, entranced in delight, are still as death, he purses up his small disgusting round hole of a mouth, wrinkles his hairless eyebrows, perks his captious ears contemptuously towards the orchestra, and at the close of the strain divine, from lip or string, cheeps" Poor! poor! poor!" though St Cecilia herself seemed to sing, and to harp Apollo 49 Equally loathsome is your amateur in painting and in sculpture. Nothing makes even the most distant approach to his beau ideal. He is discontented with even Wilkie's portrait of our late noble King. Yet 'tis equal to the best of Vandyke's 2020h an either in conception or execution. No more glorious Highland chieftain ever trod the heather. Gazing on him, you feel the lines of Campbell, "Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trod, mas vòd à To his hills that encircle the sea.” The harmony of the colouring is perfect-so is the drawing-and the attitude is regal. There he stands, All plaided and plumed in his tartan array;" every inch a king." The amateur lisps "'Tis too effeminate"-having no idea of a hand but a bunch of brawn, or of a foot but a brogueful of muscle. Graceful, elegant, magnificent! or outs; (dige leeastās Chantrey's statue is distinguished by dignity and grandeur. With what natural and habitual grace the King holds his left arm across his breast, supporting the folds of drapery and on the right how lightly leans the sceptre! The advanced right leg and thigh is majestic and commanding, and the whole figure that of a monarch standing proudly before the gaze of his loyal subjects in the metropolis of his happy dominions. The head crowns that bold broad bust with an air of empiry-and from shoulder to heel, the e robes have that wavy flow well becoming the princely wearer, easy in his state, and unencumbered by its pomp, as if 'twere the garb of his daily life. TICKLER. Chantrey in a bumper. (Looks all over the Circular in amazement.) Where's the wine? NORTH. I am a member of the Temperance Society. TICKLER. So am I but not of the Abstinence. A man, surely, may drink a few glasses, without running the risk of swallowing a couple of bottles? NORTH. Not without running the risk. At least you will allow, Timothy, that there is less danger of swallowing a couple of bottles, if you have no bottles to swallow. TICKLER (ringing the bell violently.) Enter AMBROSE. The Raws! (Exit AMBROSE.) NORTH. TICKLER. Ambrose-Ambrose-hollo,-you deaf devil-a riddle of claret! NORTH. You may as well shout upon the wind, in a calm night. You may have a pot of porter, or two-but neither wine nor spirits shall wet your wizan this night, Tickler. Remember, I am-by agreement-Lord Paramount of this Noctes-there-read the RECORd. TICKLER. I wonder what this wicked world will come to at last! The Noctes Ambrosianæ converted into a Monthly Meeting of the Temperance—the Abstinence Society! (Enter PICARDY, MON. CADET, KING PEPIN, SIR DAVID GAM, TAPPYTOUREY, the PECH, and the Novice, bearing on their heads the Board of boards.) NORTH. Behold the Procession introductory to the Feast of Shells! TICKLER. They stagger not, neither do they faint in their courses. AMBROSE. Halt! make ready! Lower! Deposit! (The Household deposit the Board of boards on the Circular. It creaks.) NORTH. "Flowers of all hues, and without thorn the rose!" Have you numbered the city? TICKLER. AMBROSE. f A gross and a half, sir; Mr North bid me leave a broad border, sir. TICKLER. O you sucking turkey! Yes-sweet are the shells. How sappy, Kit, the sea-juice! Mm-Mm-Mm-Mm-Mm! NORTH. TICKLER. Intense power of palate. NORTH. Verra. TICKLER. Two dozen in two minutes. One-every five seconds or thereabouts. Twelve minutes-at that rate-to the gross! NORTH. Don't-Mm-Mm-Mind-Mm-Me-Tickler-eat-Mm-Mm-Mm Mm-away-Tim, TICKLER. Mm-Mm-Mm-(he lays down his watch on the Board of boards.) NORTH. The porter. Hark you, my dear Tickler-(drains the junior silver tankard.)—Did you hear my ears crack? Now I'll sing you an appropriate song STANZAS TO MUSIC. Where are thy fountains, music, where the deep mysterious tide There is a spell of harmony, that reigns o'er earth and sky, Oh! Nature hath a thousand songs-a thousand varied lays, That send to Heaven's eternal throne the harmonious strain of praise; The murmuring streams-the whispering woods-have each their own bright song, And the mighty ocean proudly rolls in melody along. There's music on the breath of eve, when, fading in the west, The summer sun adorns the skies with bright and gorgeous vest- There's music in the glorious morn, when, waking from repose, Nor less when all is dark, and clouds the angry skies deform- The thunder's diapason voice, the wind's tumultuous song, But yet, oh! sweeter far than these-kind feeling's power can call Yes, minstrel, wake the impassion'd lyre, invoke the heavenly Nine, "A childish treble !" TICKLER, NORTH. I am not one of the Bohemian chatterers. Yet at a simple lilt TICKLER. You do trill like the lintie on the thorn. Allow me, sir, to repay the pleasure you have now imparted, with-the Last Oyster. Open your gab. (NORTH opens his gab, and TICKLER plops in the last of all his 'race,) These civilities touch! NORTH. TICKLER. 'Twas but a-beard. Such is the selfishness of the most generous, that the Last Oyster is little more than a name. NORTH. Tip us a stave, Tim. 297 Das −bajinnd at tum dag, zn TICKLER. I will. Small sirs, so melancholy In patriotie wee, un 49-85 83 To know the wind and weather 164ts 11 10 Will make the salvion spring siis bus- DoriTo know the spot of heather763 get 219unov ofThat hides the strongest wing; s HTS To tell the moon's compliance to 29q0i bongWith hail, rain, wind, and snow_▲ oge of Ha, ha, this is the science76 27914 tis dolte liv Of Roger- Goodfellow.Inio es tug 2ndered silt toods 201793tuh pol to 2 wa27 20: 97 Julħq 79nt bogboh-fat said moni ti rizonte zid des of being For wine, to think nought of it,imiq zo 78 bibe With jolly good ale when lined t Nor Ma'am my lady covet,--\{/} While of each old state-housewife, he housewife Joan be ki kind o At field the earliest whistling The stoutest on the green Doth nothing ask to know Of bag-off Roger Goodfellow. Round Roger's cabin dangle, All wonders of the angle, To say, "O mighty Maker, I bless thee, that thou here 970 ī Hast made me thus partaker All mysteries of gins tid at 97 Of love and lusty cheer While in his cupboard niche, ist was case 9)As older, stil, oh, gayer, bùues vão pewter pot or so Totoriedo is stand jollier may I grow drod an or Ha, ha, these are the riches 78 7ourt 191 Hajgtis a worthy prayerznoityofs mui ***Of Roger Goodfellow. robant bus dors Of Rogers Goodfellow, bus anos THI دور altermos Puitzibal of 1979 (medo qni wolg sevis,fulitused noiealna « ut doda damedo- Las Demouth 96 29719amos enquoda silɔ wala, Sude, & mi lade s Ho, ho, ye wheezing whiners;imorq insit egaind „546 ns -45entiusy got to Ye kill-joys of the land kuubs bibue omk sir sutele jant howartoómu org State-malady-diviners; 9 iodo 9dt ui apousiganos zi ednio ritsoq te imaob on Yarn-spinners out of sand bog lulea999ne deeg! vi ut our Bobook to 958TY On common sense who'd trample on zsi poljnaza 190 370m 297il 9d2 18 And lay religion lowis ganoy 7197 si 9da ind-ensuse For God's sake take example est bas—fik 190 to 22971erg „dunt boug ai bts By Roger Goodfellow, en Goodfellows ‚099d 284 sde es gauteng, „dz 1 dane voď to lioz 9dt-uoitenigs(NORTHS) & 2nd guiod zqqsd bas st Thank you, sir, you have outdone the Frenchman.Heavens! Tickler, what a burst of literature there will be after the burial of the Reform Bill Í All the genius of the land has been bottled up for a year and more—and must be in a state of strong fermentation Soon as the pressure has been removed by the purification of the atmospheres the corks will fly up into the clouds, and the pent-up spirit effervesce in brilliant aspiration.git be Not poetry. "The wine of life is on the lees," in that department. We must wait for the vintage. -HIROZ NORTH. All the great schools seem effete. In the mystery of nature, the number THOR of births by each mind is limited-and we must wait for fresh producers Scott, Wordsworth, Southey, Coleridge-all the Sacred Band-have done their best-their all-but on the horizon I see not the far-off coming light of the foreheads of a new generation of poets. That dawn will rise over our graves—perhaps not till the forlorn "hic jacet" on our tombstones is in green obliteration. The era has been glorious-that includes Cowper and Wordsworth, Burns and Byron. From what region of man's spirit shall break a new day-spring of Song? The poetry of that long era is instinct with passion-and, above ally with the love of nature. I know not from what fresh fountains the waters may now flow-nor can I imagine what hand may unlock them, and lead them on their mazy wanderings over the still beautified flowers and herbage of the dædal earth the world of sense and of soul. The future is all darkness. -I Mighty fine. But how should you? In that case you were the very poet whose advent has not yet been predicted-and which may not be haplyfor a hundred years. Are there no younkers? 90 ; wollstbook) Tegoll 299m6") sonBilqmos a moom sdt (1st »NORTH. nin teil ti read ag avd A few but equivocal. I have good hopes of Alfred Tennyson But the cockneys are doing what they may to spoil him-and if he suffers them to put their bird-lime on his feet, he will stick all the days of his life on hedgerows, or leap fluttering about the bushes. I should be sorry for it-for though his wings are far from being full-fledged, they promise now well in the pinions and I should not be surprised to see him yet a sky-soarer. His "Golden Days of good Haroun Alraschid" are extremely beautiful. There is feeling and fancy in his Oriana. He has a fine ear for melody and harmony too and rare and rich glimpses of imagination. He has genius. TICKLER. tivno-9187 ble dass 10 sHL7 Affectations or des gnistor dro€ 20quroling out ziť od 8H NORTH. Too many. But I admire Alfred—and hope-nay trust—that one day he prove himself a poet. If he do not-then am I no prophet. will TICKLER. usdatu6q zudi s obam rec NORTH. So do I-and being old gentlemen, we may blamelessly make the public our confidante. There is a passionate purity in all her feelings that endears to me both her human and her poetical character. She is a true enthusiast. Her affections overflow the imagery her fancy lavishes on all the subjects of her song, and colouroit all with a rich and tender light which makes even confusion beautiful, gives a glowing charm even to indistinct conception, and when the thoughts themselves are full-formed and substantial, which they often are, brings them prominently out upon the eye of the soul in flashes that startle us into sudden admiration. The originality of her genius, methinks, is conspicuous in the choice of its subjects they are unborrowedand in her least successful poems as wholes there is no dearth of poetry. Her execution has not the consummate elegance and grace of Felicia Hemans—but she is very young, and becoming every year she lives more mistress of her art-and has chiefly to learn now how to use her treasures, which, profuse as she has been, are in abundant store; and, in good truth, the fair and happy being has a fertile imagination,-the soil of her soul, if allowed to he fallow for one sunny summer, would, I predict, yield a still richer and more glorious harvest, is love Miss Landon for in her genius does the work of duty the union of the two liss beautiful exceedingly and virtue is its own reward; far beyond the highest meed of praise ever bestowed by critic though round her fair forehead is already wreathed the immortal laurelillind ni 9969779fts niniga quanaq sit bus ¿bool” sai Throughout. NORTH. This morning gives us promise of a glorious day." za |