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THE SECOND PART OF

WINDSOR CASTLE.

WITH A MAGNIFICENT ILLUSTRATION ON STEEL,

BY TONY JOHANNOT.

AND NUMEROUS WOODCUTS, OF THE LARGEST SIZE,

BY W. ALFRED DELAMOTTE.

To Correspondents.

COMMUNICATIONS are at our Publisher's for the author of Lelia-The Monk-The Translation from Schiller, (J. de B.) Also for A. B.-G. J.-J. A. O.—A.—J. E. -R. C. W.-and A. F. B.

us.

We have not had time to consider V. D. L.'s. poems-their length embarrasses

Declined with thanks-H. H. H.-Agnes-the clever translation from Boileau -O. B.-C. H. L.-Lough Erne-A Sketch from Life-To Rosalie-The Sister's Lament- The Student's Verses-Egroeg-G. K. T.- (who promises so well)Moonlight Thoughts-The pretty lines of F. A. M.-and A. E. P.

"Robin's" pretty translation would tempt us, if our rules admitted tales of that class. It is, with our thanks, at the publisher's.

The good-humoured letter from the LL.D., A.S.S., suggests fertile subjects, doubtless, but we fear to bespeak an essay on either of them-our arrears are still heavy.

We thank C. P. for his various hints; but he is certainly mistaken about the poem he mentions. Will he tell us where the original is to be found?

"Mushrooms" not forgotten-but they are a long time coming up. We beg the writer to write again.

We are much indebted to "Ivanoff," although we may not be able to introduce his communication.

The page referred to by Miss M. is not exclusively occupied, although usually crowded.

66

We are obliged to Philogonos;" but it is his communication that lies at our publisher's.

We are much obliged by the presentation copy of the "Festive Wreath," from Mr. John Bolton Rogerson, of Manchester, and trust to have an opportunity of noticing it hereafter. Its editor, however, is mistaken in supposing that the writer he refers to was born in Long Millgate, though he passed many happy hours in early childhood there. The house in which he first saw light was No. 21, Kingstreet. We recommend the poetic brotherhood to visit the Seven Stars in Smithy Door.

The subject on which we are addressed from Paget Priory, shall be immediately inquired into.

The Legend of A. C. is very reluctantly returned to the publisher's-being declined on grounds quite unconnected with its merits.

Edward Long's communications received-and" Amicus."

The correspondent from Manchester, who inquires about "Sir John Chiverton," is informed that the work is out of print.

O. P. T. will find his hint attended to.

M. A. is entitled to our sincere thanks; but we think that his enthusiasm for a delightful order of poetry has led him into some injustice. For the rest, he is aware that an editor is not responsible for every opinion a contributor may advance.

We are sensible of the kindness of "Incognita," but dare not at present invite her to increase our stock of contributions.

We are compelled to return to the publisher the sketch of E. F. R., on account of its want of incident-its painfulness-but it is written eloquently.

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Sir James Lenham," and the "Borders of the Drause," have been received, but

at too late a period to allow us to give an opinion upon them this month.

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We have received an excellent map of Afghanistan, designed to shew the movements of the Anglo-Indian army, and published by Mr. Wyld, Geographer to the Queen, Charing Cross.

We are obliged to Mr. Robert Rose, the bard of colour, for his attention. His lines at the end of the little volume he has sent us are written with great good feeling, and do credit to his heart as well as his head.

Our obliging correspondent, from Lynn, the "subscriber to all our publications," is very respectfully thanked. He shall have no cause to complain of us.

The very pretty lines "On a Portrait" are too flattering, and might turn the head of the original, if published.

66

Wisp" is thanked for his clever acrostic; but, gratifying as it is, we cannot publish it.

Will the author of "Mushrooms" oblige us with an address?" To her Raven" is accepted. Accepted, also, the poetical pieces by C. H. W.

Declined with thanks: G. H.-The Broken Hearted-C. H. L.-A CantabLeon-P. B. F.-W. M.-To a Friend at parting-Iota-J. B. W.-and M. M.Aspect of London at different Seasons"-"The Rich Heir."

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The verses of " Jane" hold out every promise of future success.

"Daft Bardie" has great merit, although, from pre-engagements, inadmissible. L. O. La M., received.

Communications are at our Publishers' for "Weld on Wildfire"-"J.*”—“ False Philanthropy," &c.-" The False Friend"-" The Penny-a-liner."

We decline, with thanks, the proposition of H. H.

We are yet undecided with respect to three or four Contributions, whose merits demand the space which it is so difficult to afford to them.

Not being able to find room for the subjoined verses in the body of the Magazine, we give them here.

CONTRASTS.-No. III.

BY M. Y. W.

"Where is the Briton's home?"-BULWER,

THE DISCOVERY.
FAIR was the scene to which our toils had led,
And Nature gave us, with her smiling face,
A silent welcome. Never did our race
Till now upon these hills and valleys tread ;-
No flocks upon these flowery plains were fed-
The idle river wander'd there at ease,
Or, curtain'd by the overarching trees,
Slept with a murmur in the quiet shade.
Not for rude tribes were all these treasures
made,

Who bound their labour by their present
need,

And roam the plain their scanty prey to seize;
But hither soon a higher race shall speed,
Win from the virgin soil the rich increase,
And spread around the happy arts of peace.

LITTLE Snowy button,
Glad I am to find you,

THE SETTLERS.

ONCE more upon that lovely land we gazed,
Where now no longer Nature dwelt alone,
Her treasures wasted, and her charms un-
known.
Thousands of flocks on those fair valleys
grazed

With lowing steers, and shepherds' huts were
placed

Beneath the sheltering hills-the crops had

grown

Rich beyond hope, beneath th' unfailing sun, And well might hardy Enterprise be praised! But oft the children of the soil are chased

Far from their river to the thirsty waste. Then, for the wrong which they, in turn, have done,

On to their bushy covert they are tracedThe helpless victims on the plains are strownAnd soon the strangers feel the land their own.

MUSHROOMS.

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Your origin we ask not,
We think but of your worth,

As, when a man of genius comes, we care not
for his birth!

The cook's proud skill we task not-
We always like you best

When (as the young and fair should be) you
are but simply drest!+

Yet Cook would be unable,
With all her skill, to spoil you;

Tho' she should fry, or fricassee, pickle, stew,
or boil you!

Be welcome to my table,
And welcome to my verse,
And, when I next have rhyme to spare, your
praises I'll rehearse!

A YOUNG HOUSEKEEPER.

*Keep your mutton for some time, and cat it with red currant jelly.
Put your mushrooms on the bar, with a pinch of salt.

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