et my sight,
In any town, to left or right,
A little room so exquis_ite_,
With _two_ such couches soft and white;
Nor any room so warm and bright,
Wherein to read, wherein to write.'--p. 153.

A common poet would have said that he had been in London or in Paris--in
the loveliest villa on the banks of the Thames, or the most gorgeous
chateau on the Loire--that he has reclined in Madame de Stael's boudoir,
and mused in Mr. Roger's comfortable study; but the _darling room_ of
the poet of nature (which we must suppose to be endued with sensibility,
or he would not have addressed it) would not be flattered with such
common-place comparisons;--no, no, but it is something to have it said
that there is no such room in the ruins of the Drachenfels, in the
vineyard of Oberwinter, or even in the rapids of the _Rhene_, under the
Lurleyberg. We have ourselves visited all these celebrated spots, and
can testify in corroboration of Mr. Tennyson, that we did not see in any
of them anything like _this little room so exquis_ITE.

The second of the lighter pieces, and the last with which we shall
delight our readers, is a severe retaliation on the editor of the
Edinburgh Magazine, who, it seems, had not treated the first volume of
Mr. Tennyson with the same respect that we have, we trust, evinced for
the second.

'To CHRISTOPHER NORTH.
You did late review my lays,
Crusty Christopher;
You did mingle blame and praise
Rusty Christopher.

When I learnt from whom it came
I forgave you all the blame,
Musty Christopher;
I could _not_ forgive the praise,
Fusty Christopher.'--p. 153.

Was there ever anything so genteelly turned--so terse--so sharp--and the
point so stinging and _so true_?

'I could not forgive the _praise_,
Fusty Christopher!'

This leads us to observe on a phenomenon which we have frequently seen,
but never been able to explain. It has been occasionally our painful lot
to excite the displeasure of authors whom we have reviewed, and who have
vented their dissatisfaction, some in prose, some in verse, and some in
what we could not distinctly say whether it was verse or prose; but we
have invariably found that the common formula of retort was that adopted
by Mr. Tennyson against his northern critic, namely, that the author
would always

--Forgive us all the _blame_,
But could _not_ forgive the _praise_.

Now this seems very s