ht with advantage
be turned to "prettiness and favour?" But let our readers judge from the
following specimens. The first is from the album of Mrs. Jane Towers.

"Conjecturing, I wander in the dark,
I know thee only sister to Charles Clarke!"

Directions for a picture--

"You wished a picture, cheap, but good;
The colouring? decent; clear, not muddy;
To suit a poet's quiet study."

The subject is a child--

"Thrusting his fingers in his ears,
Like Obstinate, that perverse funny one,
In honest parable of Bunyan."

We were not aware of "Obstinate's" fun before.

An epitaph:--

"On her bones the turf lie lightly,
And her rise again be brightly!
No dark stain be found upon her--
No, there will not, on mine honour--
Answer that at least I can."

Or what is the merit of the ensuing epicedium?

[Quotes 48 lines beginning:--

There's rich Kitty Wheatley,
With footing it featly, etc.]

Mr. Lamb, in his dedication, says his motive for publishing is to
benefit his publisher, by affording him an opportunity of shewing how he
means to bring out works. We could have dispensed with the specimen;
though it is but justice to remark on the neat manner in which the work
is produced: the title-page is especially pretty.--_The Literary
Gazette_.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR

_Gebir; a Poem, in Seven Books_. 12mo. 74 pp. Rivingtons. 1798.

How this Poem, which appears to issue from the same publishers as our
own work, so long escaped our notice, we cannot say. Still less are we
able to guess at the author, or his meaning. In a copy lately lent to
us, as a matter we had overlooked, we observe the following very
apposite quotation, inscribed on the title-page, by some unknown hand:

Some love the verse----
Which read, and read, you raise your eyes in doubt,
And gravely wonder what it is about.

Among persons of that turn of mind, the author must look for the _ten_
admirers who, as he says, would satisfy his ambition; but whether they
could have the qualities of taste and genius, which he requires, is with
us a matter of doubt. Turgid obscurity is the general character of the
composition, with now and then a gleam of genuine poetry, irradiating
the dark profound. The effect of the perusal is to give a kind of whirl
to the brain, more like distraction than pleasure; and something
analogous to the sensation produced, when the end of the finger is