eye 6 thrown himself upon the sofa in his library, and was recovering in some measure from his fatigue. Entering the room, as he lay there with closed eyes, I gazed upon his features with strange emotions. Seizing his passive hand, 'Welcome, cousin Charles!' I exclaimed; come, rouse yourself enough to read this precious bit of scribbling.' With an indifferent air he took the marriage-certificate, glanced carelessly over it, then handed it back with a languid query as to its meaning. Will you read this?' and I handed him the certificate of his father's birth. His had scarcely fallen upon it, when he sprang upright; he forgot his lassitude; his hand grasped mine with nervous force. 'What does this mean? For God's sake, Hoffman, don't mock me; is this real?' His voice was husky, his hand swept wildly over his brow, the philosopher was overcome, and he sank back upon the sofa. I took my seat beside him; I told him that it was all true; that his father, the unknown discarded child, the adventurer, had in his veins prouder blood than I could boast for mine; that from the same ancestor as myself he could trace his own lineage, without stain upon his father's birth. I told him how a good PROVIDENCE had put it in my power to repair the deep wrong done by my ancestor to his child; that there were yet other papers in my possession which should now be his; and, bringing them, I left him alone, absorbed in their perusal. In a few days my happy visit was ended, and I returned to my cityhome some months have passed since then. When last I heard from Russell, he was in England. A notice had accidentally met his eye, of the decease of the last member of the family which inherited the Hartley estates. He writes that, by the best lawyers in Britain, the evidence he brings is regarded as incontrovertible; and that, in all probability, his claim will be allowed to the name of Hoffman, and the estates of the Hartley family. His good fortune he bears with his accustomed philosophy; and, indeed, I more than doubt whether he would not joyfully hail the rival heir who should rid him of the burden of that high position he will so well sustain before the world. A few cards are scattered on the table where I write, and my wife is busily directing a huge heap of envelopes at her stand in the corner. The cards run thus: LITERARY NOTICES. THE ODOHERTY PAPERS OF THE LATE WILLIAM MAGINN, LL.D. Annotated by Dr. SHELTON MACKENZIE, Editor of 'SHEIL'S Sketches of the Irish Bar,''The Noctes Ambrosianæ,' etc. In two volumes: pp. 757. New-York: J. S. REDFIELD, Number 34, Beekman-street. Second Notice. MAGINN was a scholar, a sage, a poet, a wit, (somewhat RABELESIAN,) a critic, a socialist, (in the best sense of the term,) whose nature craved and who apparently enjoyed to the full the convivial nectar and ambrosia of intercourse among congenial friends. In short, he was a combination rarely to be met; one whose true character might not probably be discerned by the superficial and shallow reader of these collected papers of his, which may appear to him from a hurried glance so vain, trifling, and evanescent. Nevertheless we are inclined to peruse them differently, and with sufficient appreciation to find out the good sense, the philosophy, and satire which gleam on their surface as we are borne pleasantly through them, like the coruscating waves of the sea. Had they not smacked of these qualities and been instinct with real merit, they would not so long have met a cordial welcome from Maga at a time when glorious Christopher presided at the festive board. That they have lost something of their former zest is true. If they derived any thing from peculiar adaptations, the effect is of course diminished; moreover, we are in a measure indisposed to turn back to the good things of this nature which made a hit in their day; for they invariably borrow some hue from occasions or circumstances for which we now care not; they lack the interest and sympathy which arise from their being the common talk. We must have new facetiæ, new essays, new settings of thought adapted to the current whim, although they may not be half so good as the old. The most popular papers are thus quietly disposed on the shelves for the mere sake of possession or occasional reference, after they have once served their turn, and meet no more the eager eye and cordial welcome which they once enjoyed. They can not be so well served up anew. Those who supply the ephemeral press labor under this necessity, that they are incorporated in a tide which, however lively and dimpling it may be as it passes, is inevitably setting toward the gulf of oblivion. They know it, and do not pretend to write for eternity. The present has some claim to be served, while those who write for eternity have to wait to all eternity before their merits are found out. Moreover, we think that papers of this kind do not appeal to us on the score of merit quite so plausibly in their collected form. They are too light and buoyant to be amassed. The book finds us in a mood to criticise, but we snatch the magazine or newspaper with a desire to be pleased. Nevertheless, the editor has done an acceptable work in bringing together, with much industry and research, and we believe for the first time, the scattered memorials of the renowned ODOHERTY. The author probably never contemplated such a thing, but while many who have done 'nothing to speak of,' treasure up scrupulously every scrap and fragment of their own, of which they are the rigid custodiers, he with the carelessness and prodigality which are common to true merit, ushered his thoughts before the world; and when they had once gone forth, gave himself no more concern about them. We are inclined therefore to go into a somewhat farther examination of these papers, considering that we shall thereby do a good service, because, while they are too recent to have passed away from the recollection of those who have read BLACKWOOD, there are many readers of this generation and on this side of the water unacquainted with the name or genius of the late Dr. MAGINN. He had the learning and ability to have done far more for himself than will be conceded to him by the present collection; but as mere literary ambition was not his object, we only judge him from what we have received at his hands. Those who gathered with him at the social board are now the sole possessors of the opima spolia, the very best treasures no doubt of his varied and versatile acquirements. But alas! how few of them remain! Afflicted and broken-hearted, having at least fallen upon the evil days when the 'grasshopper' became 'a burden' and desire failed,' the genial-hearted, generous, noble WILSON passed away, and the blood which leaped from the warm heart of Scorr is dried in all its channels, and who is left to breathe with kindred zest the mountain air, or dash aside with such a cheerful step the dews upon the Scottish heather? First, we will introduce the Doctor as a classic, for there is enough scholarship, good, sound, ripe, and mellow, in these collections to retrieve them at all events. His paper entitled 'Pandemus Polyglott' opens with these true remarks, which will commend themselves to the common-sense of all whom they concern: 'Ir has been well observed by some body that any man could make an interesting book, if he would only give, honestly and without reserve, an account of such things as he himself had seen and heard; but if a man should add to this a candid history of his remarkable friends and acquaintance, how infinitely would he enhance the interest of his own. Some folks call this method of biography prosy. HEAVEN help their unphilosophical short-sightedness! Wherein consists the charm of BENVENUTO CELLINI'S account of himself, which no body can deny to be the ne plus ultra of all conceivable auto-biographies? Why, it clearly arises from these two sources: first, from his not scrupling to give a straightforward narrative of every shadow of an adventure he lighted on; and secondly, from the number of persons he introduces his reader to, from the magnificent FRANCIS to the unhappy engraver (I think) whom he dispatched in so judicious a manner by that memorable thrust of his dagger into the back of the poor man's neck, whereby he so scientifically separated the vertebræ, and interrupted the succession of the spinal marrow to the immediate attainment of his laudable ob. ject to wit, the release of his fellow-stuner from his worldly sorrows,' Acting up to this useful suggestion, he proceeds to make us acquainted with his remarkable friend, 'PANDEMUS POLYGLOTT, LL.D., Sugd. Bat. Olim. Soc.,' etc., 'a living character, as fine a specimen of an octogenarian as may be met with in a June day's march, yet he has not done winning to himself those bright scholarly honors which so safely insure to their possessors an enviable obscurity with reference to the generality of people.' 'POLYGLOTT' will insist that there is nothing modern of any value which has not been stolen bodily from the ancients. 'I read him from the Anti-Jacobin, CANNING's Knife-Grinder.' "The varlet!' cried the Doctor,' 'reach me volume seventeen of the MSS.'' By the bye, these masterly sapphics of CANNING are the best adaptation of incorrigible English to a use from which its genius is averse, to a classic metre, that has yet been accomplished in our tongue. It is a perfect triumph of ingenuity, to say nothing of the cutting sarcasm which it involves. To show the dexterous facility with which it is given back again to the ancients, we append a few verses of the original, with the Latin sapphics. We should prefer to quote the Greek, which are more curious, but to prevent mistakes, will be contented with the Roman : 'The Friend of Humanity and the Knife-Grinder. 'FRIEND OF HUMANITY. 'NEEDY knife-grinder! whither art thou going? 'Weary knife-grinder! little know the proud ones, Road, what hard work 't is crying all day, 'Knives and 'Have you not read 'the Rights of Man,' by TOM PAINE? 'PHILANTHROpus. 'Hinc ita quonam, Faber o egene? 'O faber languens, patet hand superbis, 'Nonne nosti Jura Hominum' PAINI? 'KNIFE-GRINder. 'Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, Sir, 'Constables came up for to take me into 'I should be glad to drink your honor's health in FABER. 'Fata Dii Magni! nihil est quod edam, 'Pacis occurrunt mihi tum ministri, 'Iamque gaudebo tibi si propinem 'FRIEND OF HUMANITY. 'I give thee sixpence! I will see thee damned first! Spiritless outcast!' 'PHILANTHROpus. 'An tibi nummun ? potius ruinam; Very toothsome is the Latin translation of JUDY CALLAGHAN, of which the editor (whose knowledge and research is most praiseworthy and remarkable in all which concerns contemporary men or things) remarks that after having vainly sent to England for a copy, he at last found it in an old number of the 'Southern Literary Messenger.' Here is the chorus, for which we must find room: Here, too, we find our old friend and favorite, 'Back and side go bare, go bare,' done into Latin in the identical, peculiar, particular metre of the original, which we learn for the first time, in a note by the indefatigable editor, was written by JOHN STILL, Bishop of Bath and Wells, who flourished in the reign of ELIZABETH, and died in 1607. The chant was sung by ODOHERTY at the Noctes: |