ssion pensive, and the entire
propriety of the toilette disarranged and _degagee_. The stuff that
he has perpetrated is happily no longer present to his memory, and
neither placeman's sophistry nor patriot's rant will be likely in
any way to interfere with his repose. Intense fatigue, whether
intellectual or manual, however, is not the best security for sound
slumber at any hour, more particularly in the morning.

Even at this hour the swart Savoyard (_filius nullius_) issues forth
on his diurnal pilgrimage, "remote, unfriended, melancholy, slow," to
excruciate on his superannuated hurdy-gurdy that sublime melody, "the
hundred and seventh psalm," or the plaintive sweetness of "Isabel,"
perhaps speculating on a breakfast for himself and Pug, somewhere
between Knightsbridge and Old Brentford. Poor fellow! Could he
procure a few bones of mutton, how hard would it be for his hungry
comprehension to understand the displeasure which similar objects
occasioned to Attila on the plains of Champagne!

Then the too frequent preparations for a Newgate execution--but enough
of such details; it is the muse of Mr. Crabbe that alone could do them
justice. We would say to the great city, in the benedictory spirit of
the patriot of Venice,--_esto perpetua!_ Notwithstanding thy manifold
"honest knaveries," peace be within thy walls, and plenty pervade thy
palaces, that thou mayest ever approve thyself, oh queen of capitals,

"Like Samson's riddle in the sacred song,
A springing sweet still flowing from the strong!"

_Blackwood's Magazine_.

* * * * *

THE SKETCH-BOOK.

* * * * *

SCOTTISH SPORTING.

_From the letters of two sportsmen; with recollections of the Ettrick
Shepherd._

(_For the Mirror_.)

After visiting Thoms, the sculptor, "Burns's cottage," "Halloway
Kirk," Monument, &c., in Ayrshire, we toddled on over to Dumfries,
and had a _crack_ with poor "Rabbie Burns's" widow, not forgetting
McDiarmid the author; thence to Moffat, and up that dismal glen, the
pass of Moffat, to the grey mare's tail, a waterfall, so called from
its resembling the silvery tail of a grey mare; and truly, if the
simile were extended into infinitude, which from its sublimity it
would admit of, we might compare its waving, silky stream swinging
over the broad face of its lofty grey rock, to the tail of the pale
horse of Revelation, over the chaos of time. It was a sombr