64 
which we were s0 much pleased, that we 
were tempted to have transcribed it entire ; 
only that we recollected Nathan’s parable, 
and were not disposed to rob the poor 
man of his only treasure. 
Dibdin’s Comic Tales, small 8v0.—To the 
jest-book readers, the title must sound very 
attractive ; and nearly half this volume con- 
sists of what are called Comic Tales, though 
many of them are rather “lame and impo- 
tent” essays at drollery, with more mag- 
gotry of the brain than genuine esprit, and 
more punning than wit. These minor re- 
quisites of waggery, however, Mr. Dibdin 
possesses in an eminent degree; and the 
rest of his work has claim to merit of a higher 
order,—the germs of poetry and imagination, 
—though not the flower matured, still less 
the mellow fruit. Those who are not scared 
by the title, will have their reward for skip- 
ping over the first parts, to the Chessiad, a 
mock-heroic poem, or burlesque battle of 
ehessmen. It is a good bombastic parody 
on parts of Pope’s Homer. As a specimen 
of the familiarity with which the author 
classes and burlesques the most beautiful 
and poetic descriptions with comparisons 
the most striking and ludicrous, we cannot 
refrain from quoting the following dozen 
lines from the commencement of the third 
Canto :— 
«* Now Morning, yawning, rais'd her from her bed, 
Slipp’d on her wrapper blue and ’kerchief red, 
And took from Night the key of Sleep’s abode ; 
For Night within that mansion had bestow'd 
The Hours of day; now, turn and turn about, 
Morn takes the key and lets the Day-hours out ; 
Laughing, they issue from the ebon gate, 
And Night walks in. As when, in drowsy state, 
Some watchman, wed to one who chars all day, 
Takes to his lodging’s door his creeping way ; 
His rib, arising, lets him in to sleep, 
While she emerges, to scrub, dust, and sweep.” 
But it is not on the above, we suppose, 
that Mr. Dibdin would wish to rest his 
pretension to poetry and imagination, though 
this travestie has claims to both. He would 
rather, perhaps, we should refer our readers 
to his ‘‘ Wreath of Loye,”’ and some of the 
little poems which conclude the volume. 
Illustrations of the Novels and Romances 
of “the Author of Waverley :—This ele- 
gant little specimen consists of a series of 
prints, principally from drawings, by J. M. 
Wright, engraved by R. Baker, J. Mitchell, 
C. Rothsey and J. Romney. Of the two 
first (from the Pirate and the Fortunes of 
Nigel); we cannot say much in commenda- 
tion; the back ground in the first is indis- 
tinet and woolly, and the figure of Nigel in 
the second is, not only, that of a boy, but of 
.a clown, while the face is too old for the 
figure. - The third, another scene from 
Nigel, is better executed ; the attitude of 
the half crazy daughter of the murdered 
Trapbois, and that-of the falling assassin are 
good; as is the general execution ; though 
the figure of Nigel is somewhat strained, 
and, there is, perhaps,-rather too much 
Literary and Critical Proemium. 
a 
{Feb. 1, 
light in the piece. Sir Geoffrey Peverit 
opposing Bridgenorth in his pursuit of the 
Countess of Derby. The head of the white 
horse appears disproportionably long, and 
that of the black one wants relief in the 
shadows. The attitude and countenance 
of Sir Géoffrey are striking. The meeting 
of Peveril and Alice interrupted by Bridge- 
north. This is a sweet and beautiful little 
piece ; the attitude and face of Alice are 
graceful and highly interesting, and the 
figure of Bridgenorth erect and manly. 
The artist has, however, thrown the coun- 
tenance of Nigel so completely into shade, 
as to give him almost the appearance of a 
blackamoor. Quentin rescuing Isabelle at the 
sack of Schonwaldt, is another beautiful little 
piece ; the expression of tenderness and 
gratitude in the eyes of Isabelle, as they are 
fixed on Quentin, who is raising her from 
her knees, in the little turret, is beautifully 
delineated, and as delicately preserved by 
the engraver ; and the softness of the fea- 
tures is well contrasted with the manly, 
though youthful countenance of Quentin. 
Quentin presenting to the Countess of Croye, 
on the point of his elevated lance, the letter of 
her aunt, is not inferior, to the two last, in 
execution. The idea is good in leaving a 
little distance between the letter and the 
hand of the countess: it keeps up the 
suspense of the beholder, and heightens the 
interest of the scene. 
Walladmor, freely translated into Ger- 
man, from the English of Sir W. Scott, and 
again freely translated into English, in 2 vols: 
—We give the full title, assuring our 
readers that in reading it, they peruse the 
whole of the interest the two volumes con- 
tain: for it is certainly one of the dullest 
specimens of inanity that ever issued from 
the London press ; nor would we now have 
noticed such trash, but that many of our 
readers may possibly have been led to ima- 
gine, from the advertisements, that this 
shameless catchpenny might really have 
been a translation of a forgotten work of 
Sir Walter’s former days. The writer 
makes a great preainble about not having 
hoaxed the public with a third volume, and 
professes to have selected all that was worth 
reading from the German translation, or, 
to use his own phrase, to have made “a 
silk purse out of a sow’s ear.” And the 
magic of this “ silk purse” consists of turn- 
ing one of the miserable Cato Street conspira- 
tors into the hero of a novel! . After stating 
this, we ought to blush, perhaps, at having 
iven so much space to the notice of such 
an absurdity. However, as we have given 
so much, we will give a little more ; just to 
let the author, in his own-words, pass judg- 
ment on himself. See the “ Postscript” at 
the end of the 2d volume, in which, half 
repentant of disguise, he seems to hint that 
this work is really no translation, but the 
produce of his own prolific brain, and yet, 
with strange fatuity, proceeds; ‘ I know 
not whether in thus accounting for my 
; omissions 
