(perhaps not even of his genius) one who might yet have atoned to his country and to literature for the errors of his youth, by producing works which would place his name incontestibly still nearer those of Milton and Shakspeare, by no longer affording a pretext to cant and cavil, and interested sycophancy."— Herald. "The death of Lord Byron, is an event which we little expected tó record. It falls on the public ear like a shock of deep, private misfortune. He has sunk to rest in the prime of his days, and in the zenith of his fame; he has left the world when his services could ill be spared, and we may add with truth, when they cannot be supplied. A more calamitous event could not have happened to Greece; all his aid, personal and pecuniary, all the energies of his body and of his mind, were put forth for the restoration of her freedom; to her cause his loss is irreparable. Lord Byron's genius was of the very first order: he was one of those characters from whose existence new eras date their commencement: that fresh career of society which is beginning in Europe wanted the stimulus of a mind like his, to carry it onward to happiness and to glory: he was no lover of revolutions; he looked only to the improvement of which the political condition of mankind was capable, by the diffusion of knowledge, and the just estimate of independence. It was with these views that he aided Greece to the utmost of his means, to rescue herself from the claims of her oppressor, and rise again to life and liberty. We are not yet sufficiently recovered from the painful feelings with which the sudden intelligence of his death has impressed us, to enter into any detail of observation on his genius as a poet, or his character as a man. Now that his days are numbered, the world will do justice to both."-British Press.

"It is with much regret we have to announce the death of that wayward, but highly-gifted genius, Lord Byron, which took place at Missolonghi, on the 19th ultimo. "There is a tear for all

that die," as this noble poet observes in his elegy on the death of one of his friends; and whatever may have been his errors, he must be a rigid moralist indeed, who does not breathe a sigh for the fate of a poet, who, possessing talents of a transcendent nature, has perished in devoting them to the emancipation of Greece for in this cause he has fallen, and deeply indeed will his loss be felt.

"Although it would be impossible to defend some of the recent

publications of Lord Byron, yet to us his failings always rather appeared those of education, and a yielding to the immediate society in which he mingled, than errors of the heart; and there are many acts of his, which not only do honour to his rank in life, but to humanity. His memory will, however, live in his works, and in his exertions in the cause of Greece, when his failings will be forgotten."-Star.

"England is thus deprived of the man to whom even those who have felt the most violent enmity towards some of his recent writings, have not denied the title of the first poet of the age. His death is the more melancholy, at a time when he devoted himself to a cause in which, in common with all generous minds, he felt the deepest sympathy-a cause of which it is enough to say, that it would have been worthy of his muse. The character of Lord Byron has already been the subject of very strict and not very friendly investigation; but it will be acknowledged, that if he fell into some of these errors which those who have too early an opportunity of gratifying all their wishes can scarcely escape from: and if in his mind there was occasionally something of that bitterness which arises in the very fountain of the Graces, he is now entitled to be remembered for the great qualities in which he excelled all men of his age and rank-not for the failings which he has shared with so many of them. His brilliant talents, and his careful cultivation of them, his benevolent heart, his aspirations for the happiness and liberty of mankind; and finally, his noble devotedness in the noblest struggle which this age has witnessed, will cause him to be numbered among the great men of whose memory England is proud, and whose premature loss it has been her fate to lament."-Globe and Traveller.

"How strong and how universal is the melancholy sensation produced by the death of a man of genius! Every reader of his immortal writings is, at the least, an acquaintance-often au ardent and sympathising friend. The favourite passages imprinted on the memory recur at such a moment, and touchingly remind us, that we have lost one who had been a companion in so many interesting hours, and had enriched our minds with so many beautiful and ennobling associations. Throughout Great Britain, North America, and our colonial dominions, will this event produce a sensation not weakened by distance or locality; and in a less degree in France, Germany, and all the more en

lightened countries of Europe, to which the poet's genius had been communicated by translations. In Greece, indeed, the shock is probably more felt than even in England. Admiration and gratitude had combined to make Lord Byron, when present there, the object of a sort of personal affection; and his death is to the Greeks a sudden blighting of political hopes, a dark cloud overshadowing their glorious prospects, the loss of valuable substantive aid, and the more sensible loss of the lustre which his great name shed upon their cause.

"Cut off in the prime of life, and in the very summer of his mental power, his death is on that account rendered additionally painful in itself; yet he certainly could not have died under circumstances more favourable to his fame. He had already established a reputation as the great poetical ornament of his age: and he had acquired, in spite of the prejudices of rank and wealth, that honour and esteem from mankind, which are ensured by a strong sensibility to their wrongs, and a vivid indignation against their oppressors. He was pursuing a career of glory, labouring hand and heart in the purest cause of modern times, on the most illustrious soil in the world. His celebrity as a patriot was bidding fair to rival his reputation as a poet-a rare conjunction of honours! He had the fortune which he thought Napoleon's reputation so much wanted, when he reproached him with not dying in the field of battle."-Examiner.

EPITAPH ON A BAKER.

RICHARD FULLER lies buried here-
Do not withhold the crystal tear;
For when he liv'd, he daily fed

Woman, and man, and child, with bread.
But now, alas! he's turn'd to dust,
As thou and I, and all soon must;
And lies beneath this turf so green,
Where worms do daily feed on him.

Mirror.

WOMAN.

I've read their histories full oft, I vow,

And always thought them vain-I know so now.
There's Jane, she wears a smile from morn to night,
Because she's dimples, and her teeth are white;
Eliza sports her hundreds at the ball,

But starves her household in the servants' hall-
Whilst Ann in public at deceit will faint,
Yet hide her face in ringlets and in paint.
Kitty will feast abroad, to fast at home,
And go to Bath, and swear she hates to roam;
Whilst Ellen, quite a blue-with Lady Di,
Exalts some flasah author to the sky.
The confab ended, lo! his pages fair
Lights Ellen's lamp, or curls my lady's hair.
Clarissa swears she never can sing more-
She took three lemons just two hours before,
And sent a note to her dear friend, Miss Long,
To say she'd bring and try the last new song.

*

*

*

*

*

A woman's love--that holy flame,
Pure as the mighty sun,

That gladdens, as with torch of fame,
The heart it shines upon.

It faints not in the blast of woe,

Nor in misfortune's hour,

At open hate, a covert blow
For pride, for pomp, for power.

It conquers time, it mocketh pain,
And deathless is its will;

And when all earthly hopes are vain,
It feeds on memory still.

Yes!-as this brittle record stands
A footing frail we find,

A sigh shall shake our house of sands,
And leave no wreck behind.

But woman's love shall fall the last,

And like clos'd flowers at night,
It shall but sleep till that is past,
Then burst to deathless light.

Ay! we do see our friends fall fast away,
Nor feel their merits till they're lock'd in clay;
And then, with sad regret impress'd, we sigh
That so much worth and rectitude should die.
Untimely knowledge! learned at our cost;
We feel true virtue only when 'tis lost!

European Magazine.

"BOARD AND LODGING.

"A FEW respectable Boarders and Lodgers would be taken at Mrs. Carew's, Dean-street, St. Barry's. Terms, Gentlemen, 501.; Ladies, Forty Guineas per annum. To be found in Punch and Porter, with the advantage of a large wellstocked garden, for pleasure and exercise. Cork Paper.

t April 27, 1824."

There is an air of rurality about this, which is pleasing and pastoral-ladies and gentlemen sporting about a well-stocked garden, in search of pleasure and exercise, in the cool of the evening, after having taken their allowance (à discretion, as the French give their bread) of punch and porter. One thing strikes us as remarkable-we mean the difference of the rate of drinking between the gentlemen and the ladies-it amounts to no more, in the long-run, than fivepence farthing per diem.

John Bull