Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, No. CCCXLII. Vol. LV. April, 1844

to his present position, and was perhaps the most multifariously occupied gentleman in her majesty's dominions. He was chairman of three companies,

new value when it came into contact with himself. He bought sets of china because they were artistic; changed his silver plate for a more picturesque pattern; employed Stultz for his clothes, and, above all, Bell and Rannie for his wines. His cook was superb; and, thanks to the above-named Bell and Rannie, there were fewer headachs in the morning after a M?cenatian dinner at Pitskiver's, than could have been expected by Father Matthew himself. With these two exceptions-wine and clothes-his patronage was more indiscriminate than judicious. In fact, he patronized for the sake of patronizing; and as he was always in search of a new miracle, it is no wonder that he was sometimes disappointed-that his Landseers sometimes turned out to have no eyes, and his musicians more fitted to play the Handel to a pump than an organ. But Pitskiver never lost heart. If he failed in one he was sure to succeed in another; he saw his name occasionally in the newspaper, by giving an invitation to one of the literary gentlemen who enliven the public wit

rd thinner, and infinitely paler, she could not have been one jot more sentimental. She cultivated sentiment, because it was so pleasant, and her father approved of it because it was genteel. Her enthusiasm was tremendous. Her ideas were all crackers, and exploded at the slightest touch. She had a taste for every thing-poetry, history, fine arts in general, philosophy, glory, puseyism, and, perhaps more than all, for a

mirror, she exclaimed to the agitated young lady represen

tear that

burning hear

give my li

more that b

grief-I fe

soul, it que

sunshine o

will not d

place where

s blasts in

e sadness co

the place? It

thin that g

ever hel

for one who f

n he can

ate! I enclose you the above lines, which Bristles says are better than any of Lord Byron's, and will publish next week in the Universal. Mayest thou like them, sweetest, for they are dedicated to thee, Thine ever-ALMANSOR." What she might have done beyond reading the lines and letter six times over, and crying "beauti

being low, and all that sort of thing; she don't move in the same circle of s

ject to Miss Hendy in the least. I love her of all

ew poet then? Tremendous they say; e

how I long

niversal-says he's a perfect-what do they call that pretty street in Southampt

let it be soo

genius. Curious we never heard of him before, for he was our neighbour, I he

above the poet now than some few years before. But, as if feeling called on to show his increased superiority by greater condescension

eason, and the

way, in which Mr Pitskive