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ing and Signification." It must be evident that this table is neither more nor less than an early provocation to punning; the whole mystery of which vain art consists in the use of words, the sound and sense of which are at variance. In order, if possible, to check any disposition to punning in youth, which may be fostered by this manual, I have thrown together the following adaptation of Entick's hints to young beginners, hoping thereby to afford a warning, and exhibit a deformity to be avoided, rather than an example to be followed; at the same time showing the caution children should observe in using words which have more than one meaning.
My little dears, who learn to read, pray early learn to shun That very silly thing indeed which people call a pun:
your aunt an ant may kill, and Bill may pay the bill.
Read Entick's Rules, and 'twill be found how simple an offence
good friends accept our greeting,
until we do explain.
however vulgar they;
his profits from his panes :
So poets can't the baize obtain, unless their tailors choose;
when spring is in its prime; if you are tied for time. the way to make a pun; years, should sedulously shun: for wheresoe'er 'tis found, the sense is never sound. one single meaning prove,
We suppose there are few who, having read some of these extracts, will refuse to join in the question, Why, when there are in the country men able and willing to contribute such things to literary pocket-books, there is no one production of this class which it is possible to point out as distinguished throughout for its literary excellence? Are the classics of our age to continue to see their beautiful fragments doled out year after year in the midst of such miserable and mawkish trash as fills at least nineteen pages out of every twenty in the best of the gaudy duodecimos now before us? It is admitted on every hand that there are few good painters among us, and very few good engravers; and it is admitted by all but the editors of the 'pretty pocket-books* themselves, that there are not many good writers. Why should publishers of eminence go on year after year encouraging that busy mediocrity in letters, which even the humblest of their brethren would blush to patronize in the arts? Why should not some one bookseller make the endeavour at least to combine the efforts of a few of the masters, and present us with the result, undebased by any admixture of those vulgar materials, of which the utmost that can be said is, that fine prints, and a small sprinkling of true poetry are able to carry off a certain number of copies of the books they load and deform-in spite of them?
They are running a race that their German brothers of the trade have run before them, and in which, we beg leave to inform them, more publishers have been ruined than in almost any other literary speculation of modern times. Success under the present system depends on the merest chances-coming out a week or two sooner than a rival-at best, the luck of procuring leave to engrave some particular picture, or a few scraps from the portfolios of men of letters, who take no sort of interest in the works in which these are to be all but buried. These pocket-books are, in fact, ornamented annual magazines. Why should not the history of the monthly magazines afford sound hints as to the proper —we mean, of course, the ultimately profitable method of getting them up?
There is nothing so serviceable to the public as competition; but why should all the coaches take the very same road, when there are twenty that might conduct with equal certainty, and not very dissimilar speed, to the wished-for goal?
Why should not different publishers choose different departments, both of art and literature? Why should we not have an ornamented annual magazine of antiquities; another of natural history; a third of poetry; a fourth of biography; a fifth, perhaps,
• One of these gentlemen has given us, by way of embellishment,' fac-similes of the autographs of, we think, thirty living English poets. O fortunati nimium, sua si bona norint, Anglicola!
of romance; and why, above all things, should we not have one in which the writing should refer strictly to the fine arts of this country?
We scatter these suggestions, in the hope that some one of them, at least, may be taken up and acted on.
At present, the best literary pocket-book is like a room in Somerset-house, containing here and there a fine picture, but covered in the main with daubs. It is very well to walk through the exhibition; but who would wish to give house-room to half the things he sees there, even if he could have them for nothing?
ART. V.-Narrative of a Journey through the Upper Provinces of India, from Calcutta to Bombay. By the late Reginald Heber, D.D., Lord Bishop of Calcutta. 2 vols. 4to. London. OF all the foreign possessions of England, India is, we think,
the most important; assuredly, it is the most interesting. A body of our countrymen are employed there, whose zeal, talents, and accomplishments are beyond praise-a set of functionaries, civil and military, whose general deserts have not been surpassed in the history of any independent state, ancient or modern; while, to seek for any parallel example in colonial annals, would, it is admitted on all hands, be vain and ridiculous. Literature of various kinds is widely and profoundly cultivated among a large portion of these meritorious officers, during their stay in the East; and not a few of them are every year returning to spend the afternoon of life, in well-earned competence and leisure, in their own country. Under such circumstances, it is impossible not to reflect, without some wonder, that the English library is to this hour extremely poor in the department of books descriptive of the actual appearances of men and things in India; of the scenery of regions where almost every element of the beautiful and the sublime has been scattered with the broadest lavishness of nature's bounty; of cities, on the mere face of which one of the most wonderful of all human histories is written, through all its changes, in characters that he who runs may read-where the monuments of Hindoo, Moslem, and English art and magnificence may be contemplated side by side; of manners, amongst which almost every possible shape and shade of human civilization finds its representative; where we may trace our species, step by step, as in one living panorama, from the lowest depths of barbarian and pagan darkness, up to the highest refinements of European society, and the open day-light of protestant christianity.
This poverty, where so much wealth might have been expected,
is, nevertheless, easy enough to account for. The great majority of our Anglo-Indian adventurers leave their native land very early in life, and become accustomed to Indian scenery and manners before the mind is sufficiently opened and calmed for considering them duly. Ere such men begin to think of describing India, they have lost the European eyes on which its picturesque features stamp the most vivid impression. When they set about the work, they do pretty much as natives of the region might be expected to do that is, in writing for people at home, they omit, as too obvious and familiar to be worthy of special notice, exactly those circumstances which, if they could place themselves in the situation of their readers, they would find it most advantageous to dwell upon. They give us the picture, without its foreground-the scholia, without the text. The literary sin that most easily besets them is that capital error of taking for granted; and how fatal that error is, even where materials are most copious, and talents not unworthy of such materials employed on them, may be seen by any one who reads Pandurang Hari and the Zenana,-novels which, but for this radical defect, might have been almost as interesting and popular as Hajji Baba.
When men of riper years and experience repart to these regions, they go in the discharge of important functions, which commonly confine the field of personal observation to narrow limits, and which always engross so much time, that it is no wonder they should abstain from supererogatory labour of any sort. Those who under such circumstances have been led by extraordinary elasticity of mind to steal time for general literature from the hours of needful repose, have, in most instances, paid dearly for their generous zeal. Very few of those distinguished victims, however, have bestowed any considerable portion of their energies on the particular department which we have been alluding to. The history and antiquities of Indian mythology, legislation, and philosophy have appeared worthier of such high-aimed ambition; and he who once plunges fairly into that mare magnum of romantic mystery, is little likely to revisit, with all his vigour about him, the clearer, and, perhaps, with all reverence be it said, the more useful stream of week-day observation and living custom. It would be below the dignity of these learned moonshees and pundits to quit their Sanscrit and Persic lore, for the purpose of enlightening ignorant occidentals in regard to the actual cities and manners of Eastern men.
There is a circumstance of another kind, which it would be absurd to overlook. The intercourse which takes place between distinguished English functionaries in the military and civil service of the Company and the upper classes of the natives, is and must
be accompanied, on the side of the latter,, with many feelings of jealousy. It seldom wears even the slightest appearance of familiarity, except in the chief seats of government; and there, as might be supposed, the natives are rarely to be seen now-a-days in their pure and unmixed condition, either as to real character or as to external manners. Exceptions of course there are to this rule, as to most others; but we believe they are very rare. Of recent years, Sir John Malcolm furnishes by far the most remarkable instance;-but they who read Bishop Heber's account of Sir John's personal qualifications will be little disposed to draw any general inference from such an example.
It is strange, but true, that only two English gentlemen have as yet travelled in India completely as volunteers-Lord Valentia, and a young man of fortune, whom Bishop Heber met with at Delhi; and who is still, we believe, in the east. Perhaps, were more to follow the example, the results might be less satisfactory than one would at first imagine. Orientals have no notion of people performing great and laborious journeys from motives of mere curiosity; and we gather, that when such travellers do appear in India, they are not unlikely to be received with at least as much suspicion as any avowed instruments of the government.
Considering the lamented prelate whose journals are now before us merely as a traveller, he appears to us to have carried to India habits and accomplishments, and to have traversed her territories under circumstances, more advantageous than any other individual, the results of whose personal observation have as yet been made public. He possessed the eye of a painter and the pen of a poet; a mind richly stored with the literature of Europe, both ancient and modern; great natural shrewdness and sagacity; and a temper as amiable and candid as ever accompanied and adorned the energies of a fine genius. He had travelled extensively in his earlier life, and acquired, in the provinces of Russia and Turkey especially, a stock of practical knowledge, that could not fail to be of the highest value to him in his Indian peregrinations. His views were, on all important subjects, those of one who had seen and read much, and thought more-liberal, expansive, worthy of a philosopher and a statesman. In the maturity of manhood he retained for literature and science the ardent zeal of his honoured youth. The cold lesson, nil admirari, had never been able to take hold on his generous spirit. Religion was the presiding influence; but his religion graced as well as heightened his admirable faculties ; it employed and ennobled them all.
The character in which he travelled gave him very great opportunities and advantages of observation. His high rank claimed