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<head>132 THE EXAMINER.</head><lb/>-----<p>And what is the use of my authorship,<lb/>Though it gain me a short-lived éclat,<lb/>If I'm soon to become an old bachelor,<lb/>And you, coz, a grandmamma?</p><p>But 'tis thus that time flies on, sweet coz,<lb/>One month after another;<lb/>And every month is as like the past,<lb/>As a brother is to a brother.<lb/>O! very little variety, coz,<lb/>Is strew'd upon manhood's path;<lb/>Truth flings its pebble at Fancy, coz,<lb/>And she falls like Goliah of Gath.</p><p>The skies wore the purple of summer, coz,<lb/>And the days were bright and long.<lb/>And the streams ran prattling merry things,<lb/>And the groves were alive with song—<lb/>When last I heard the music, coz,<lb/>Of that golden voice of thine,<lb/>Awaking feelings in my heart,<lb/>Which died, and made no sign.</p><p>And now we have nothing but winter, coz,<lb/>With its wind, and mud, and sleet;<lb/>And people with noses as blue as plums,<lb/>And chilblains, and damp feet;<lb/>And hazy gas lamps glimmering, coz,<lb/>And dinners at half-past six;<lb/>And hackney coaches rattling, coz,<lb/>Through a forest of stones and bricks.</p><p>And then there are evening parties, coz,<lb/>Where girls with curly hair<lb/>Dance in a style that would make you smile,<lb/>If it did not make you stare;<lb/>And very polite young gentlemen,<lb/>In coats that are nicely cut,<lb/>Simper a heartless compliment,<lb/>And through the apartment strut.</p><p>And of course there are ices and negus, coz,<lb/>And tongues of chicken to boot,<lb/>And jellies and creams innumerable,<lb/>And cheesecakes and dried fruit;<lb/>And if you are very pressing, coz,<lb/>And have an engaging way,<lb/>Perhaps some damsel will kindly squall<lb/>The ballad of "Alice Grey."</p><p>Good Lord! is this society, coz?<lb/>Are these the delights of life?<lb/>I wish from my heart I was buried, coz,<lb/>Or married to some old wife—<lb/>And living away on a far hill side,<lb/>With a garden, a cow, and a pig,<lb/>A happy and simple cottar, coz,<lb/>With a Bible and Sunday wig.</p> | <head>132 THE EXAMINER.</head><lb/>-----<p>And what is the use of my authorship,<lb/>Though it gain me a short-lived éclat,<lb/>If I'm soon to become an old bachelor,<lb/>And you, coz, a grandmamma?</p><p>But 'tis thus that time flies on, sweet coz,<lb/>One month after another;<lb/>And every month is as like the past,<lb/>As a brother is to a brother.<lb/>O! very little variety, coz,<lb/>Is strew'd upon manhood's path;<lb/>Truth flings its pebble at Fancy, coz,<lb/>And she falls like Goliah of Gath.</p><p>The skies wore the purple of summer, coz,<lb/>And the days were bright and long.<lb/>And the streams ran prattling merry things,<lb/>And the groves were alive with song—<lb/>When last I heard the music, coz,<lb/>Of that golden voice of thine,<lb/>Awaking feelings in my heart,<lb/>Which died, and made no sign.</p><p>And now we have nothing but winter, coz,<lb/>With its wind, and mud, and sleet;<lb/>And people with noses as blue as plums,<lb/>And chilblains, and damp feet;<lb/>And hazy gas lamps glimmering, coz,<lb/>And dinners at half-past six;<lb/>And hackney coaches rattling, coz,<lb/>Through a forest of stones and bricks.</p><p>And then there are evening parties, coz,<lb/>Where girls with curly hair<lb/>Dance in a style that would make you smile,<lb/>If it did not make you stare;<lb/>And very polite young gentlemen,<lb/>In coats that are nicely cut,<lb/>Simper a heartless compliment,<lb/>And through the apartment strut.</p><p>And of course there are ices and negus, coz,<lb/>And tongues of chicken to boot,<lb/>And jellies and creams innumerable,<lb/>And cheesecakes and dried fruit;<lb/>And if you are very pressing, coz,<lb/>And have an engaging way,<lb/>Perhaps some damsel will kindly squall<lb/>The ballad of "Alice Grey."</p><p>Good Lord! is this society, coz?<lb/>Are these the delights of life?<lb/>I wish from my heart I was buried, coz,<lb/>Or married to some old wife—<lb/>And living away on a far hill side,<lb/>With a garden, a cow, and a pig,<lb/>A happy and simple cottar, coz,<lb/>With a Bible and Sunday wig.</p><!-- The text in this column to this point is left indented. --><p>The answer is in an equally light and agreeable vein. It begins<lb/>thus:—</p><p><!-- The next three paragraphs are left indented. -->I think I could write you a letter, Hal,<lb/>In the style of your letters to me,<lb/>With a little sense, and a little rhyme,<lb/>And a <hi rend="underline">very</hi> little <sic>poetrie</sic>.<lb/>You know when I was a girl, Hal,<lb/>I scribbled some brilliant things—<lb/>At least I remember you used to say,<lb/>"They should only be read by kings."</p><p>That was a flight of fancy, Hal,<lb/>And we both have changed since then;<lb/>Yet still when I write to you, dear Hal,<lb/>My heart is in my pen:<lb/>I have taken my seat in the arbour, Hal,<lb/>In the midst of the bees and the flowers;<lb/>And the summer winds and odours, Hal,<lb/>Recall many long-lost hours.</p><p>I wish you would pack your portmanteau, Hal,<lb/>And fling yourself into the mail—<lb/>It will take little more than a day and night<lb/>To bring you to Langley Dale.<lb/>'Tis the sweetest spot in the world, Hal,<lb/>And just for a poet like you;<lb/>A lovelier scene of hill and grove<lb/>No painter ever drew.</p><p>The "<hi rend="underline">Favorite Actress</hi>" is a poem of some merit. As a matter of<lb/>taste, we object to Mr. Bell's preference to "chestnut locks," of which<lb/>he makes such a perpetual mention. We also object, on the same<lb/>ground, to his constant reference to clasping, grasping, folding,<lb/>embracing, and twining round his Leilas and Julianas; it is scarcely<lb/>decorous, and certainly is not consistent with the lofty and visionary<lb/>tone assumed by the author in all other points. The practical part<lb/>of wooing is in its place in the honest verse of Burns; but Mr. Bell is<lb/>far too seraphic a writer to claim such indulgence.</p>-----<p><hi rend="underline">Klauer's German Manual. Simpkin and Marshall.</hi><lb/>The immense strides of German literature, during the last sixty<lb/>years, have attracted the attention of students, both in this country<lb/>and in France, to that language. Our government, however, has ever<lb/>had such a dread of the importation of continental sedition, as to<lb/>impose a nearly prohibitive duty on foreign books, which makes the<lb/>study of German in particular, a very expensive pleasure. Mr.<lb/>Klauer's work will be found a great acquisition, as the first volume<lb/>contains a large and very well chosen selection from the most<lb/>distinguished German writers. The Germans themselves are exceedingly<lb/>clever in learning modern languages without assistance of a master;<lb/>and there are instances on record of the English language having been<lb/>mastered by them with the sole aid of one book, such as the <hi rend="underline">Vicar of<lb/>Wakefield.</hi> Mr. Klauer has proposed the same view to himself in his</p><pb/>two volumes. The system which an impudent quack in London,<lb/>some two years ago, designated as "the Hamiltonian," but which has<lb/>been known in Germany for ten or eleven centuries, has been adopted.<lb/>The manual contains also a collection of dialogues, rules for<lb/>pronunciation, a grammar, and a section on that most important<lb/>subject of information to the traveler in Germany, <hi rend="underline">German titles, <sic>stile</sic>,<lb/>and address</hi>, which Mr. Klauer terms the title-mania of his countrymen.<lb/>The whole is preceded by a lucid introduction, which contains<lb/>a good exposition of the quackeries of sundry language masters; and<lb/>we have no doubt the work will soon supersede the hitherto orthodox<lb/>but confused grammar of Dr. Noehden. | ||
132 THE EXAMINER.
-----
And what is the use of my authorship,
Though it gain me a short-lived éclat,
If I'm soon to become an old bachelor,
And you, coz, a grandmamma?
But 'tis thus that time flies on, sweet coz,
One month after another;
And every month is as like the past,
As a brother is to a brother.
O! very little variety, coz,
Is strew'd upon manhood's path;
Truth flings its pebble at Fancy, coz,
And she falls like Goliah of Gath.
The skies wore the purple of summer, coz,
And the days were bright and long.
And the streams ran prattling merry things,
And the groves were alive with song—
When last I heard the music, coz,
Of that golden voice of thine,
Awaking feelings in my heart,
Which died, and made no sign.
And now we have nothing but winter, coz,
With its wind, and mud, and sleet;
And people with noses as blue as plums,
And chilblains, and damp feet;
And hazy gas lamps glimmering, coz,
And dinners at half-past six;
And hackney coaches rattling, coz,
Through a forest of stones and bricks.
And then there are evening parties, coz,
Where girls with curly hair
Dance in a style that would make you smile,
If it did not make you stare;
And very polite young gentlemen,
In coats that are nicely cut,
Simper a heartless compliment,
And through the apartment strut.
And of course there are ices and negus, coz,
And tongues of chicken to boot,
And jellies and creams innumerable,
And cheesecakes and dried fruit;
And if you are very pressing, coz,
And have an engaging way,
Perhaps some damsel will kindly squall
The ballad of "Alice Grey."
Good Lord! is this society, coz?
Are these the delights of life?
I wish from my heart I was buried, coz,
Or married to some old wife—
And living away on a far hill side,
With a garden, a cow, and a pig,
A happy and simple cottar, coz,
With a Bible and Sunday wig.
The answer is in an equally light and agreeable vein. It begins
thus:—
I think I could write you a letter, Hal,
In the style of your letters to me,
With a little sense, and a little rhyme,
And a very little poetrie.
You know when I was a girl, Hal,
I scribbled some brilliant things—
At least I remember you used to say,
"They should only be read by kings."
That was a flight of fancy, Hal,
And we both have changed since then;
Yet still when I write to you, dear Hal,
My heart is in my pen:
I have taken my seat in the arbour, Hal,
In the midst of the bees and the flowers;
And the summer winds and odours, Hal,
Recall many long-lost hours.
I wish you would pack your portmanteau, Hal,
And fling yourself into the mail—
It will take little more than a day and night
To bring you to Langley Dale.
'Tis the sweetest spot in the world, Hal,
And just for a poet like you;
A lovelier scene of hill and grove
No painter ever drew.
The "Favorite Actress" is a poem of some merit. As a matter of
taste, we object to Mr. Bell's preference to "chestnut locks," of which
he makes such a perpetual mention. We also object, on the same
ground, to his constant reference to clasping, grasping, folding,
embracing, and twining round his Leilas and Julianas; it is scarcely
decorous, and certainly is not consistent with the lofty and visionary
tone assumed by the author in all other points. The practical part
of wooing is in its place in the honest verse of Burns; but Mr. Bell is
far too seraphic a writer to claim such indulgence.
-----
Klauer's German Manual. Simpkin and Marshall.
The immense strides of German literature, during the last sixty
years, have attracted the attention of students, both in this country
and in France, to that language. Our government, however, has ever
had such a dread of the importation of continental sedition, as to
impose a nearly prohibitive duty on foreign books, which makes the
study of German in particular, a very expensive pleasure. Mr.
Klauer's work will be found a great acquisition, as the first volume
contains a large and very well chosen selection from the most
distinguished German writers. The Germans themselves are exceedingly
clever in learning modern languages without assistance of a master;
and there are instances on record of the English language having been
mastered by them with the sole aid of one book, such as the Vicar of
Wakefield. Mr. Klauer has proposed the same view to himself in his
---page break---
two volumes. The system which an impudent quack in London,
some two years ago, designated as "the Hamiltonian," but which has
been known in Germany for ten or eleven centuries, has been adopted.
The manual contains also a collection of dialogues, rules for
pronunciation, a grammar, and a section on that most important
subject of information to the traveler in Germany, German titles, stile,
and address, which Mr. Klauer terms the title-mania of his countrymen.
The whole is preceded by a lucid introduction, which contains
a good exposition of the quackeries of sundry language masters; and
we have no doubt the work will soon supersede the hitherto orthodox
but confused grammar of Dr. Noehden.
Identifier: | JB/004/070/004"JB/" can not be assigned to a declared number type with value 4. |
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1831-02-27 |
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lord brougham displayed |
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the examiner / sunday, february 27, 1831 / no. 1204 |
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8 |
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(130-144) |
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[[notes_public::"john fonblanques eulogium on brougham" [note in bentham's hand]]] |
1991 |
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