The Festival of Nauruz, that beautiful poem which the want of time has twice reluctantly compelled us to defer, shall this evening commence our readings — for we should be sorry that any unforeseen accident should occasion it to be longer deferred.

We are happy to find that the Lost Muse produces so much amusement that we almost fear lest her discovery should put a stop to it. The Complaint of Aaron Harebrains against her his successful rival is excellent; but we are sorry to find her degraded to the Office of Housekeeper — though report has long stated her to be in the service of Fame, and fickle as is this Mistress it is thought she would not easily be persuaded to quit her for any other.

The Enigma said to be written by Lord Byron we have formerly been informed was the off-spring of another pen, and we shall be much obliged if one of our friends, who we have been told was present at its birth, will enlighten us on the subject. We have understood it to be the work of a young lady, and it is highly creditable to her ingenuity.

M. Leon, Ballet Master at the Opera House, is one of the most amusing correspondents we have had this Season. We are very sorry that our evenings should interfere with his; but as rivals are naturally tenacious, we cannot think of conceding the point. If however the gentlemen present are disposed to adopt his hint, and abandon their Attic Supper, we can have no possible objection to their regaling themselves with M. Leon’s ballet, instead of sandwiches and lemon-creams.

The Editress feels happy and flattered at the miraculous effects produced by her Norman Cap, and would be delighted at any time to act as a Milliner, could she hope to infuse with equal success, the inspiring fluid of electricity, and to elicit sparks of Genius so brilliant; but as in other cases of electrical excitation she fears that the species of electricity developed must depend on the nature of the body rather than of the exciting cause, and that other heads might either be totally insensible to the wonderful powers of the Cap, or disposed rather to retain than to transmit the energies induced.

We have indeed in a translation now in the Chest an illustration of the disposition of the mind to see every thing in a light most congenial to its own nature, and a proof that it is as difficult for an uncongenial soul to view each work of wit

“with the same spirit that its author writ.”

as for the eye to distinguish the real hues of objects through a coloured medium. We perhaps were also under the influence of prejudice, but we certainly understood the French Chansonette read in our last number to be of an amatory nature, while one of our correspondents discovers it to be a drinking song; and at the same time proves himself bit by that mania lately so prevalent of deriving everything from the East by declaring it a direct plagiarism from the Persian of Sadi, which we think we can certify for him, the Comte Léandre has never read.

The Lines on the different drawers of a lady’s jewel box are neat and well-turned — so are those written in the character of Lorenzo de Medici, which we think the title should have specified, for having read them with the impression that they were merely verses sent with a Copy of His Life, we did not at first rightly understand them.

Dr Brande’s translation of an Ode of Horace is so easy to correct that we hope to receive frequent favours form the same hand. We have compared it with the original and were pleased to see the clearness and fidelity of the reflected image throughout.

The Description of Rosamond’s Chest we can easily perceive to be beautiful, but we also perceive that it loses much by the absence of its context, and we wait till the whole is duly ushered to the public eye.

We have received the third Act of Allah ul Dien, but as the two former acts were found rather too long for one reading, we shall only produce a part of it.

Lucy and Mr Granger — with grief we speak it, must again be deferr’d, but we were unwilling to reject other Candidates whose expanding laurels we had already too long confined.