The wag gonere tickleth the spleen of "The jailore came to bring me foode, the jailor, who How he turned uppe the white o' his eye, daunces ane Fandango. The tailore rushed into the roome, Fractured his skulle against the walle, !! د dente hap- nott. Morale. Such is the fate of foolish men, Of those, who list to waggoneres, POEMS BY A HEAVY DRAGOON. more THOUGH Our hair be gray 66 through toil than age," yet we have lived long enough in the world, and seen enough of its vicissitudes, to feel but little surprise at what are commonly called wonderful events. The escape of Bonaparte, the suspension of the Habeas Corpus, the battle of Waterloo, nay, even the appearance of the Chaldee Manuscript, were far from raising in our minds the same yulgar astonishment with which these memorable occurrences were generally regarded. Yet some events there are of a complexion so utterly unnatural -so entirely at variance with the nost probable calculation, which seem "to overcome us like a summer cloud," for the mere purpose of shewing the vanity of all human foresight and sagacity,—that we cannot possibly contemplate them without "our special wonder.” Even the calm, the abstracted, the philosophical Hamlet, to whom all the world appeared a stage, "and all the men and women merely players," was struck dumb with amazement at the appearance of his father's ghost, and we confess, our minds were not sufficiently wonderproof to encounter the present formidable quarto without the most unaffected astonishment. Highly as we are disposed to estimate the sagacity of our readers, we are quite sure none of them have anticipated the nature of the "psychological curiosity" which we are now about to introduce to them. This magic volume contains neither a treatise on cookery by the archbishop of Canterbury, nor a dissertation on cash payments by an Irish student, nor illustrations of the classics by Deacon Lawrie, nor a work on farriery by the Chancellor of the Exchequer, nor a collection of new waltzes by Mr Wilberforce, nor a treatise on common sense by the new member for Boroughbridge; but, in short, it consists, "risum teneatis," of an Heroic Poem, in four cantos, by a Heavy Dragoon! The author of this singular production is Lieutenant Edward Quillinan, who is described by Sir Egerton Bridges, the editor, as a young man of " pure genius." The extracts we shall have occasion to lay before our readers, will enable them to form their own judgment on this subject; and, in the meanwhile, we shall take the liberty of prefacing them with a few observations on military authorship. It is by no means our intention to enter on any prolix enquiry with regard to the present state of literature in the British army. We believe, on the whole, that the greater part of the officers possess sufficient learning to entitle them, in the ancient legal sense, to benefit of clergy. A considerable portion of them are conversant with the more simple rules of arithmetic, and all of them have read Moore's Poems, Tom Jones, and Dundas on the Eighteen Manoeuvres. In every regiment will be found individuals who can write the proceedings of a regimental court-martial, without committing any flagrant errors in grammar or orthography, and a few have even arrived at the literary distinction of being able to write a devilish good letter." Among gentlemen of such accomplishments, it is not surprising that the brilliant success attending the poetical debut of Ensign and Adjutant Odoherty, and the author of “ Johnny Newcome," should have excited considerable emulation. A new field appeared suddenly opened for their exertions, and to arrive at the distinguished honour of becoming a C.B. or a R.T.S. was no longer the sole object of their ambition. The poets' corner in the Star and the Morning Post, soon gave VOL. IV. convincing evidence of the industry of these military dilettanti; and the public were diurnally inundated with doggerel anacreontics and lamentations on the misery of half-pay. The parents and guardians of young ladies speedily began to regard this large addition to the already formidable aggregate of military attractions, with terror and dismay. Sad experience taught them, that in this case, poetry "Was but the poisoning of a dart The elopements from boarding-schools became daily more numerous, and many cruel and well-fledged widows fell melancholy victims to the insidious captivations of a warm love song, and a Waterloo medal. "Arma While the majority of the songsters restrained their inspiration within these profitable limits, there were others who ventured on a bolder flight. Virumque Cano" was their cry—not a battle took place but the brazen throats of an hundred Homers were opened to celebrate its glories; and " not a General reared his head unsung" in the tuneful lays of some inspired Aid-decamp, or musical Brigade-Major. It must be confessed, however, that these compositions in general, afforded more satisfactory evidence of the zeal, than the good taste of their authors. It was rather with repugnant feelings that we have occasionally listened to the glories of Waterloo, mellifluously chaunted to the tune of Roly, poly, gammon and spinnage ;" and ill-judged attempts to immortalize the name of the Great Wellington, in a new edition of the "Black Joke." Their efforts too were occasionally directed towards the stage, and it is but justice to state, that the public are indebted for the favourite farce of the Bee-hive, to the pen of a soldier. We were lately favoured with the perusal of a MS. tragedy, by an officer of "the gallant forty-second," which we understand is now under the consideration of the Drury-Lane committee; it is entitled "Alexander M'Pherson, or the Black Revenge,” and certainly displays considerable originality. The character of Alexander M'Pherson is intended for Mr Kean, and written with the express view of bringing the extraordinary powers of that actor into full play. We venture to augur well of its success, and consider it 4 D The wag gonere tickleth the spleen of "The jailore came to bring me foode, the jailor, who How he turned uppe the white o' his eye, daunces ane Rejoicethe in Dreadeth The wag to whome ane small acci dente hap- "His threade of life was snapt; once more The people sung out' Gardyloo❜ As I ran down the streete. "Once more upon the broad highwaye, 66 Behold upon the western wave, Full fifteen miles to runne ; "And should the bailliffes hither come Said hee, and trotted onne." The tailore rushed into the roomie, Whereupon followeth the morale very proper to be had in minde by all Morale. Such is the fate of foolish men, POEMS BY A HEAVY DRAGOON. THOUGH Our hair be gray cr more through toil than age," yet we have lived long enough in the world, and seen enough of its vicissitudes, to feel but little surprise at what are commonly called wonderful events. The escape of Bonaparte, the suspension of the Habeas Corpus, the battle of Waterloo, nay, even the appearance of the Chaldee Manuscript, were far from raising in our minds the same vulgar astonishment with which these memorable occurrences were generally regarded. Yet some events there are of a complexion so utterly unnatural -so entirely at variance with the most probable calculation, which seem our spe "to overcome us like a summer calculated to afford an important ad-dition to the dramatic literature of the age. Still, however, we confess we were quite unprepared for the appearance of an heroic poem, in four cantos, and received it with much the same feelings as the authentic intelligence of the dissolution of the polar ice might be supposed to produce in the mind of Professor Leslie. It was, indeed, as astonishing to us to find lieutenant Quillinan attempting the character of an epic poet, as it would be to encounter Mr Wordsworth or Mr Coleridge tricked out in the helmet, the jack-boots, and other elegant appurtenances of the third Dragoon Guards. On the whole, we fear we cannot congratulate our gallant defenders on their success in the field of literature. They may, indeed, be poets among soldiers, we apprehend they must still continue mere soldiers among poets. It is not every corps in the service who, like "The brave Colonel Corbett and his riflemen, Can lay down the sword and take up the pen," and success. and wield both with equal dexterity Yet we think they have failed chiefly from attempting too much. Let them content themselves at present with the composition of a few drinking songs, or occasional stanzas on the death of a white mouse or a canary bird. When their wings become a little better fledged they may attempt a higher flight, and it will give us much pleasure to congratulate them on their success. But we must stick a little closer to Mr Quillinan. As a poet, we think he has been rather unfortunate in the department of the service of which he has made choice. The abstract idea which we form of a Heavy Dragoon is by no means a poetical one. We are led involuntarily to connect with him something of weight, clumsiness, and slowness of motion, utterly destructive, in our minds, of all grace and dignity of association. In depicting him, we figure to ourselves a decent jolly looking person, mounted upon something about the size of a coach horse, with a chubby good-natured countenance, and an enormous superfluity of breech. In short, there is too much of the Puddingfield and Beefington about him to allow him to find any grace or favour in the eyes of persons of a refined and delicate taste. It is somewhat unaccountable too, that, notwithstanding the very honourable manner in which that portion of his majesty's troops have always distinguished themselves against the enemies of their country, we are less apt mentally to represent them as charging in the bloody plain, and dealing deathblows from their dripping swords, than getting pelted with mud and rotten eggs in a meal mob, or scuffling with scavengers and butchers' boys at the Spafields meeting. About "The whiskered lancer and the fierce hussar," on the other hand, there is something of lightness of grace, and of celerity of motion, which redeem him from the same vulgar associations. The dark moustache gives a pleasing fierté to his countenance, and notwithstanding his red breeches and yellow Morocco boots, he is altogether a much more poetical personage. We are quite aware it may be urged against us, that the knights errant of old were all heavy horsemen, and that therefore a portion of the dignity of their character may be supposed to attach to their representatives in the present day. And if the analo gy were a little closer, and the dragoon guards were still apparelled in the chivalrous accoutrements of their ancestors, we will admit that the cuirass, the hauberk, the greaves, and cuisses, might go far to ennoble them in our iimagination. But alas, it is not so. With a fatuity somewhat ludicrous, the head of our dragoon (certainly the least vulnerable part of his body) is encased in brass, while his portly belly, and the magnificent expansion of his rear, are left wholly without defence. The most poetical looking corps which we ever chanced to encounter was certainly that of the black hussars of Brunswick. Their sable uniform, the death's head which they carried on their caps, the profusion of black horse hair which hung down overshadowing their hard featured countenances, altogether rendered them more impressively terrible than can well be conceived by a Cockney, accustomed only to gaze at the smooth-shaven chins of the life-guards. Those who know the importance of preventing, if possible, the very idea of death from occurring to a soldier in the moment of danger, will be able to appreciate the probable effects of the associations which the appearance of |