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And yet Richard's tongue was remarkably smooth
Could utter a lie quite as easy as truth;
(Another bad habit he got in his youth ;)
And had, on occasion, a powerful battery
Of plausible phrases and eloquent flattery,
Which gave him, my boy, in that barbarvus day,
(Things are different now, I am happy to say,)
Over feminine hearts a most perilous sway.


He murdered their brothers,

And fathers and mothers, And, worse than all that, he slaughtered by dozens His own royal uncles and nephews and cousins; And then, in the cunningest sort of orations,

In smooth conversations,

And flattering ovations, Made love to their principal female relations ! 'Twas very improper, my boy, you must know, For the son of a king to behave himself so; And you'll scarcely believe what the chronicles show

Of his wonderful wooings

And infamous doings ;
But here's an exploit that he certainly did do

Killed his own cousin NED,

As he slept in his bed,
And married next day the disconsolate widow !


I don't understand how such ogres arise,
But beginning, perhaps, with things little in size,
Such as torturing beetles and blue-bottle flies,
Or scattering snuff in a poodle-dog's eyes,-
King Richard had grown so wantonly cruel,
He minded a murder no more than a duel ;

He'd indulge, on the slightest pretense or occasion, In his favorite amusement of decapitation,

Until “ Off with his head !"

It is credibly said,
From his majesty's mouth came as easy and pat
As from an old constable, “ Off with his hat !


And now King Richard has gone to bed;

But e'en in his sleep

He can not keep
The past or the future out of his head.

In his deep remorse,

Each mangled corse,
Of all he had slain, -or, what was worse,
Their ghosts, --came up in terrible force,
And greeted his ear with unpleasant discourse,

Until, with a scream

He woke from his dream, And shouted aloud for another horse ?"


But see! the murky Night is gone!
The Morn is up, and the Fight is on!
The Knights are engaging, the warfare is waying;
On the right-on the left—the battle is raging;

King Richard is down!

Will he save his crown? There's a crack in it now !-he's beginning to bleed I Aha! King Richard has lost his steed! (At a moment like this 'tis a terrible need!) He shouts aloud with thundering force, And offers a very high price for a horse. But it's all in vain—the battle is doneThe day is lost !--and the day is won ! And Richmond is King! and Richard's a corse!


ARCHIBALD ALISON, the distinguished Scotch advocate and historian, was born at Kenley in 1792. He has published several able works on Law, but is best known by his “ History of Europe from the Commencement of the French Revolution to the Battle of Waterloo.” He has been for many years, also, a large contributor to Blackwood's and other Magazines, and a selection from these papers has been published under the title of “Essays," His style is singularly animated and interesting.

François Argoste, VicomTE DE CAATEAUBRIAND, a French author and statesman, was born at St. Malo, in the year 1768. He died in Paris in 1848.

Sir WALTER Scott, the celebrated Scottish poet and novelist, was born in Edinburgh, August 15th, 1771, and died at Abbotsford, September 21st, 1832. He was made a baronet in 1820.



1. Though pursuing the same pure and ennobling career, though gifted with the same ardent imagination, and steeped in the same fountains of ancient lore, no two writers were ever more different than Chateaubriand and Sir Walter Scott. The great characteristic of the French author, is the impassioned and enthusiastic turn of his mind. Master of immense information, thoroughly imbued with the learning of classical and Catholic times, gifted with a retentive memory, poetical fancy, and a painter's eye, he brings to bear upon every subject tho force of erudition, the images of poetry, the charm of varied scenery, and the eloquence of impassioned feeling.

2. Hence his writings display a reach and variety of imagery, a depth of light and shadow, a vigor of thought, and an extent of illustration, to which there is nothing comparable in any other writer, ancient or modern, with whom we are acquainted All that he has seen, or read, or heard, seem present to his mind, whatever he does, or wherever he is. He illustrates the genius of Christianity by the beauties of classical learning, inhales the spirit of ancient prophecy on the shores of the Jordan, dreams on the banks of the Eurotas of the solitude and gloom of the American forests, visits the Holy Sepulcher with a mind alternately devoted to the devotion of a pilgriin,

the curiosity of an antiquary, and the enthusiasm of a crusader, and combines, in his romances, with the tender feelings of chivalrous love, the heroism of Roman virtue, and the sublimity of Christian martyrdom.

3. His writings are less a faithful portrait of any particular age or country, than an assemblage of all that is grand, and generous, and elevated in human nature. He drinks deep of inspiration at all the fountains where it has ever been poured forth to mankind, and delights us less by the accuracy of any particular picture, than the traits of genius, which he has combined from every quarter where its footsteps have trod. His style seems formed on the lofty strains of Isaiah, or the beautiful images of the book of Job, more than all the classical or modern literature with which his mind is so amply stored.

4. He is admitted by all Frenchmen, of whatever party, to be the most perfect living master of their language, and to have gained for it beauties unknown to the age of Bossuet* and Fenelon. Less polished in his periods, less sonorous in his diction, less melodious in his rhythm, than these illustrious writers, he is incomparably more varied, rapid, and energetic; his ideas flow in quicker succession, his words follow in more striking antithesis ; the past, the present, and the future rise up at once before us; and we see how strongly the stream of genius, instead of gliding down the smooth current of ordinary life, has been broken and agitated by the cataract of revolution.

5. With far less classical learning, fewer images derived from traveling, inferior information on many historical subjects, and a mind of a less impassioned and energetic cast, our own Sir Walter is far more deeply read in that book which is ever the same—the human heart. This is his unequaled excellence there he stands, since the days of Shakspeare, without a rival. It is to this cause that his astonishing success has been owing. We feel, in his characters, that it is not romance, but real life

* Bossuet (Bosswā), a most renowned pulpit orator of France, born in the year 1627, and died in 1704

† Fenelon, the celebrated Archbishop of Cambray, so renowned for his eloquence and his virtues, was born in 1651, and died in 1715.

which is represented. Every word that is said, especially in the Scotch novels, is nature itself. Homer, Cervantes, Shakspeare, and Scott, alone have penetrated to the deep substratum of character, which, however, disguised by the varieties of cli. mate and government, is, at bottom, everywhere the same; and thence they have found a responsive echo in every human heart.

6. Egery man who reads these admirable works, from the North Cape to Cape Horn, feels that what the characters they contain, are made to say, is just what would have occurred to themselves, or what they have heard said by others as long as they lived. Nor is it only in the delineation of character, and the knowledge of human nature, that the Scottish Novelist, like his great predecessors, is, but for them, without a rival. Powerful in the pathetic, admirable in dialogue, unmatched in description, his writings captivate the mind as much by the varied excellencies which they exhibit, as the powerful interest which they maintain.

7. He has carried romance out of the region of imagination, and sensibility into the walks of actual life. We feel interested in his characters, not because they are ideal beings with whom we have become acquainted for the first time when we began the book, but because they are the very persons we have lived with from our infancy. His descriptions of scenery are not luxuriant and glowing pictures of imaginary beauty, like those of Mrs. Radcliffe, having no resemblance to actual nature, but faithful and graphic portraits of real scenes, drawn with the eye of a poet, but the fidelity of a consummate draughtsman.

8. He has combined historical accuracy and romantic adventure with the interest of tragic events; we live with the heroes, and princes, and paladins of former times, as with our own conlemporaries; and acquire from the splendid coloring of his pencil such a vivid conception of the manners and pomp of the feudal

ages, that we confound them, in our recollections, with the scenes which we ourselves have witnessed.

9. Disdaining to flatter the passions, or pander to the am. bition of the populace, he has done more than any man alive to

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