Tales of Lyddalcross, No. V... 458 Patents, Markets, Stocks, &c.... 91-74

LONDON:

PRINTED FOR TAYLOR AND HESSEY.

[Entered at Stationers' Hall.]

THE LION'S HEAD.

Scriblerus, who relates "the Adventures concomitant with a Traveller's Life," has recounted such stories (Travellers' stories) of the depravity of women, as to make us regret that we cannot expose his own depravity, by the publication of his trash. We hope never to hear from him again; or, at any rate, if we must be witnesses to his marriage of folly and vice, we trust he will pay the fees. We had to pay 1s. 2d. for his present enormity.

G. Y.'s communication has been forwarded to the proper department.

H. L. is always correct in his rhymes, but sometimes with the sacrifice of his sense; for example:

Dark, dark is the sky, the thunder rolls,

The lightning follows,

The tempest hollows.

We would suggest also that Noah's three-decker was not provided, as in our naval arkitecture, with wings; and, besides, that it is contrary to all seamanship to say:

Spread, spread your sail, for there blows a gale.

The Authors of "Giralamo and Marcelia," and "Merlin and Ada” should choose pleasanter subjects even for tragedy.

The Essay on the Funeral Ceremonies of different Nations should be printed in the dead languages. We beg to decline it on the part of the English.

Lines to Boreas go rather "too near the wind."

Andrew Marvell's paper is left for him at our Publishers. It has been subjected to his own test.

The Gentleman who volunteered his services to do the Fine Arts and Volcanoes, will find, on reference to Mr. Weathercock's Letter, that "all that sort of thing" is already in good hands. The paper will be returned.

It would be more than our places are worth to give X. Y. Z. " a post in our invaluable Miscellany," but we will do our best to get his paper into the Two penny.

The Dead Ass is dispatched as the author desired, and "The Rose in a Shower" is under cover at our Publishers.

Mr. R. complains that we are "backward in forwarding his paper." Does he mean by the clause to take us for crabs?

Our readers, we believe, have already formed a pretty correct opinion on the subject of Y.'s paper.

We have received a second paper from Curio. The former, though it exhibits much talent, has scarcely established its Title to insertion. The latter is amusing, but too personal.

Our "Unknown" Correspondent has favoured us with the following; of which he says, although he wrote it on the pinnacle of St. Paul's, he

Stoop'd to Truth, and moralized his son.

MORAL REFLECTIONS WRITTEN ON THE CROSS OF ST. PAUL'S.

THE

London Magazine.

N° XXIX.

MAY, 1822.

VOL. V.

THE PRAISE OF CHIMNEY-SWEEPERS:
A MAY-DAY EFFUSION.

I LIKE to meet a sweep-understand me-not a grown sweeperold chimney-sweepers are by no means attractive-but one of those tender novices, blooming through their first nigritude, the maternal washings not quite effaced from the cheek-such as come forth with the dawn, or somewhat earlier, with their little professional notes sounding like the peep peep of a young sparrow; or liker to the matin lark should I pronounce them, in their aerial ascents not seldom anticipating the sun-rise?

I have a kindly yearning toward these dim specks-poor blots-innocent blacknesses

I reverence these young Africans of our own growth-these almost clergy imps, who sport their cloth without assumption; and from their little pulpits (the tops of chimneys), in the nipping air of a December morning, preach a lesson of patience to mankind.

When a child, what a mysterious pleasure it was to witness their operation! to see a chit no bigger than one's-self enter, one knew not by what process, into what seemed the fauces Averni-to pursue him in imagination, as he went sounding on through so many dark stifling caverns, horrid shades!-to shudder with the idea that "now, surely, he must be lost for ever!"-to revive at hearing his feeble shout of discovered day-light and then (O fulness of VOL. V.

delight) running out of doors, to come just in time to see the sable phenomenon emerge in safety, the brandished weapon of his art victorious like some flag waved over a conquered citadel! I seem to remember having been told, that a bad sweep was once left in a stack with his brush to indicate which way the wind blew. It was an awful spectacle certainly; not much unlike the old stage direction in Macbeth, where the " Apparition of a child crowned, with a tree in his hand, rises."

Reader, if thou meetest one of these small gentry in thy early rambles, it is good to give him a penny. It is better to give him two-pence. If it be starving weather, and to the proper troubles of his hard occupation, a pair of kibed heels (no unusual accompaniment) be superadded, the demand on thy humanity will surely rise to a tester.

There is a composition, the groundwork of which I have understood to be the sweet wood 'yclept sassafras. This wood boiled down to a kind of tea, and tempered with an infusion of milk and sugar, hath to some tastes a delicacy beyond the China luxury. I know not how thy palate may relish it; for myself, with every deference to the judicious Mr. Read, who hath time out of mind kept open a shop (the only one he avers in London) for the vending of this "wholesome and pleasant beverage,"

2 H