We had sketched in imagination a neat little paragraph expressive of the pleasure we feel in beholding our Attic Circle again assembled, and in finding that neither illness, fogs nor frost, have been able to with the foliage, to dim the brilliancy or blight the buds of their poetic laurels. One of our ingenious correspondents has however, obligingly relieved us from this part of our labors by a neat imitation of our Editorial remarks. By what means he became acquainted with a great part of the contents of our coffer we are at a loss to comprehend, but his remarks tho’ short, are appropriate. Indeed we cannot help suspecting that some wicked little Fairy has been sporting with the credulity of ourselves and our friends. Of the advertisement for an Attic Poet-Laureate we know nothing, but from whatever quarter it originated we cannot be displeased at a fraud that has filled out coffer with gems of such brilliancy as those that sparkle in the addresses of the various candidates.
Miss Jenny Wren is a welcome little warbler. The Pye is now open and she is at liberty to sing as long as she pleases. St Valentine is past, and we are all impatience for her promised budget. The wit of our long esteem’d correspondent, Mr Fudge, does not appear to have been at all obscured by the thick fog in which his Ode was written. A clear day and a brilliant sun might have sent his imagination soaring to regions where we should be unable to follow him. The Address of Moth and of M. S. Jun. (we presume Martinus Scriblerus) like all their former favors, are easy and elegant. But we might have spared ourselves and our correspondents these animadversions, as they have been anticipated in the remarks of the Pseudo Editor before mentioned.
We are in great anxiety respecting the fate of our long admired contributor Atticus Scriblerus. His son has given us a pathetic account of his father’s death, and of the distress to which himself and his mother have been reduced in consequence, and at the same time we find him among the candidates for the Attic Laurel. If he be really dead, the Ode was certainly dictated by the very spirit of his Muse.
The Institution of Positive House promises to furnish us a fund of amusement, not exceeded even by that which we derived last year from the Annals of Tabby Hall. We are glad to meet our friend Electromagus once more, and heartily wish success to himself and his pupils.
We are great admirers of the poetic beauties of the Hermitage and its attendant legend, but wish it had not been quite so Byronical both in the form and obscurity of the story. However as it appears to be merely a commencement, criticism is not fair, and the sequel may contradict our remarks.
In order to produce some variety in our evening entertainments, the Editress proposes to give a short account of the lectures delivered at the Royal Institution by Dr Roget, whose clear elucidation of Cuvier’s animal system has rendered the study of comparative physiology at once instructive and delightful.
We return thanks to many of our correspondents for favors which the want of room and the pressure of more immediate business alone prevents us from introducing in our readings this evening.