miscreants to obtain their livelihood for the moment by stationing
themselves at Temple-bar, after the rebellion in 1745, with
magnifying-glasses, that the spectators might more nicely discriminate
the features of those unfortunate gentlemen whose heads had been fixed
over the gateway. No London populace, however tumultuary, would now for
a moment tolerate such an outrage upon all that is decent and
humane--(From a clever letter in _the Times_ of April 12, by Colonel
Jones.)

* * * * *

THE SELECTOR AND LITERARY NOTICES OF _NEW WORKS._

* * * * *

THE ALTRIVE TALES.

By the Ettrick Shepherd.

Mr. Hogg proposes to collect and reprint under the above title, the best
of the grave and gay tales with which he has aided the Magazines and
Annuals during the last few years. The Series will extend to fourteen
volumes, the first of which, now before us, preceded by a poetical
dedication and autobiographical memoir. The poem is an exquisite
performance; but the biography, with due allowance for the Shepherd's
claim, is a most objectionable preface. It is so disfigured with
self-conceit and vituperative recollections of old grievances, that we
regret some kind friend of the author did not suggest the omission of
these personalities. They will be neither advantageous to the writer,
interesting to the public, nor propitiatory for the work itself; since
the world care less about the squabbles of authors and booksellers than
even an "untoward event" in Parliament; and if the writer of every book
were to detail his vexations as a preface, the publication of a long
series of "Calamities" might be commenced immediately.

To our way of thinking, the pleasantest part of the Shepherd's memoir is
his reminiscences of men of talent, with whom his own abilities have
brought him in contact. Thus, of

_Southey._

"My first interview with Mr. Southey was at the Queen's Head inn, in
Keswick, where I had arrived, wearied, one evening, on my way to
Westmoreland; and not liking to intrude on his family circle that
evening, I sent a note up to Greta Hall, requesting him to come down and
see me, and drink one half mutchkin along with me. He came on the
instant, and stayed with me about an hour and a half. But I was a
grieved as well as an astonished man, when I found that he refused all
participation in my beverage of rum punch. For a poet to refuse his
glass was to