208 Monthly Review of Literature. 



Plucked as they came to hand, my bark doth dare 

 The dangers of the wild unstable deep 



Of public opinion: few are there 

 Who, when the gales of criticism sweep 

 Its restless surface o'er, their sails aloft can keep. 



No spars are hers, bedecked with flaunting pride, 



Nought is there in her cargo to allure, 

 The Corsair of the literary tide, 



That dread of vent'rous Authors, hight Reviewer ! 



Whose raking fire not many may endure, 

 And mine the least of any ; may she sail 



On, in her insignificance secure, 

 Nor be her progress stayed by that fierce hail, 

 At which the stoutest crew and bravest captains quail. 



As yet 'mid friendly states her course has lain, 



Close along-shore, where Storms nor Rovers come ; 

 But now, complete her lading, o'er the main, 



The wide unsheltered main, she far must roam ; 



A bubble cast upon the ocean's foam, 

 A feather floating in a stormy sea, 



Commissioned, should she reach that distant dome/ 

 To offer at the shrine of Poesy, 

 This wreath from One, the Nine's most humble devotee. 



A nut-shell amid Navies, may she ride, 



E'en as the Nautilus, in safety o'er 

 The wave, nor from her course be turned aside, 

 By mightier vessels bearing to that shore, 

 Where Fame erects her temple ; long and sore 

 Must be her buffetings : oh ! may her state, 



So weak and helpless, mid the tempest's roar, 

 Compassion, in some feeling breast create, 

 To stretch a helping hand, ere yet it be too late. 



To those who lent their aid to build my Bark, 



And launch her forth, my grateful thanks are due. 



And, of my gratitude a trifling mark, 

 SUBSCRIBERS ! do I dedicate to you 

 These untaught lays; full soon shall I renew 



My "grey goose quill," and strive my verse to mend, 

 "Till then, to one and all, I bid adieu ! 



And many a prayer will Nemo upward send, 



That health, and every blessing, may on you and yours attend. 



We know not who NEMO may be, but nobody will ever mistake him for a 

 poet. If he will take our advice, ne sutor ultra crepidam, he may do well. t 



Two Thousand Five Hundred Recipes in Family Cookery. By 

 JAMES JENNINGS. Post 8 vo. pp. 476. Sherwood. 



LET no one say that a book on cookery is to be passed over as one of no im- 

 portance. What would a Frenchman be without his cuisine ; and what would 

 a burly English alderman be without the dainties provided by scientific cook- 

 ery? Let no one say that the kitchen has not produced its literary characters; 

 for Dr. Hunter thought it not below him to write his witty " Culina," nor 

 did Dr. Kitchener, that Prince of Dilettante, disdain to study the mysteries, 



