3P8 Notes of the Month on [Sevt. 



As for Lord Grey and his coadjutors, we wish them well. We cer- 

 tainly have not the slightest wish to see Sir Robert Peel and the Peels 

 in their places. For that hero of the " atrocious bill" we have feelings 

 which not fifty nor fifty millions of his anti-reform speeches can dimi- 

 nish. Let others praise him if they will for his repentant harangues ; 

 but WE believe him to be still the man, who, after fifteen years of solemn 

 protestation /or the constitution, inflicted the most deadly blow that ever 

 fell upon that constitution — and until he can shift his identity we must 

 hold our opinion. The j^ilthiop cannot change his skin with such happy 

 facility ; and therefore, say we, let England beware of Sir Robert Peel. 

 We have no objection to his destroying whiggery by his alliance, but 

 toryism must never suffer the peril of his partizanship again. 



One word more : if the bill should, by hocus-pocus, work its way to 

 ihe Lords, they need waste no time in thinking how to get rid of it. 

 The shortest way is to apply it to the lamp that burns under the chin of 

 Sir George Rose's deputy, and throw the ashes to swell the dust that 

 envelopes the Marquis of Londonderry in his more energetic moments. 

 Thei/ may rely on ike nation! To a man, the nation is sick of the whole 

 affair already; sick of the long speeches, the tiresome gnawing through 

 the alphabet, the wearisomeness of the topic at dinner, the stagnation 

 of business, and the general groan of bankruptcy among the legislative 

 landholders, from ten pounds to ten shillings per annum. Ca ira, as 

 singeth the Dublin candidate, with the green rope — Ave beg pardon, 

 " ribbon" — about his neck. 



Every one who honours literature, honours Sir Walter Scott. But 

 all the rescripts from his own romantic town have lately conspired to 

 put him to death once a week, luckily with the happy reverse of restor- 

 ing him to perfect health by return of post. The Edinburgh Literary 

 Gazette has thus delivered itself on the subject : — 



" Sir Walter Scott is about to set off on a tour to the Highlands, in company 

 with Mr. Lockhart. We take this opportunity to express a sentiment (enter- 

 tained by us in common with all our respectable contemporaries) of disgust at 

 the teasing and persevering folly with which certain underlings of the press have 

 of late kept retailing every stray lie respecting the health enjoyed by this revered 

 individual. Is Sir Walter to be put out of the pale of humanity, because he is 

 so immeasurablj' above these creatures, and his own and his family's peace dis- 

 turbed by impertinent curiosity, which can only be fitly rewarded with a horse- 

 whip ?" 



This is rather glowing language for the crime. But it is curious 

 enough that the game continues, and we are still kept in doubt whether 

 the baronet is to writ-; more novels, or to be content with writing his 

 own epitaph. 



But why do not his friends send him to travel ? A tour in the High- 

 lands, and so forth, is very well for the Scotch or London cockney ; but 

 Sir Walter ought to go further. Germany may not just now be in the 

 happiest position for the traveller. But Italy still sleeps ; all is quiet, 

 fat, and frolic, from the Alps to the sea. Let Sir Walter wait but till 

 September is past, and then go forward, trusting boldly to the protec- 

 tion of the Nine, conscious that the ladit^s of Helicon will look to his 

 relays, his coach-springs, and his postillions ; and in six months he will 

 have seen Rome, Naples, the Pope's toe, and the Pretender's tomb ; will 

 have written " The Red Hand of Benevento, a Romance of Italy, in 



