NOTES OF A READER.

THE LONDON UNIVERSITY MAGAZINE, No. 1.

It is seldom that we "turn critics;" but our very bile rises at the ill-timed dedication of this work to the King, as the "first fruits of the combined exertions of a few of your majesty's subjects, educated within the GROSSLY misrepresented UNIVERSITY of LONDON." It is quite unnecessary for us to explain why this Dedication deserves the epithet we have chosen: it stands with the signature of "the Proprietors," and we hope is not the act of the editors; but for the credit of the University, the publishers, the proprietors, and editors, we recommend their friends to cancel the leaf bearing this very offensive inscription, whether they care or not for the golden opinions of all sorts of people.

If the present Number be a fair sample of the London University Magazine, we can promise the reader but little amusement in our "Notes" from its pages. It may prove useful enough to the students of the University, but it wofully lacks the attractive features of a Magazine for the public; it may suit the library-table, but not the "excellent coffee room," or the "retired cigar room" of the University Hotel. "On a general Judgment—A new System of communicating Scientific Information in a Tabular form—On the Study of the Law and Medicine—On Apoplexy," and the general business of the University, are very grave matters for little more than 100 pages. "On the Metamorphosis of Plants," by Goethe, is more attractive; but Magazine readers do not want the lumber of law and medicine—the dry material of parchment, or the blood and filth of the physiological chair. How different too, is all this from the pleasantry and attic wit of "The Etonian," into whose volumes we still dip with undiminished gratification.

As we have enumerated the least attractive of the papers in the London University Magazine, we ought also to run over the lighter portions of its pages. These are "A young head, and, what is still better, a young heart,"—discursive enough—"A Tale of the Irish Rebellion—the Guerilla Bride, a Poem," beginning

—and a Sketch of the Irish Exchequer Court. A description of the University, with a Vignette view, and ground plan, is perhaps, the most interesting of the whole Number; but as dramatic critics sometimes say of a new performer, we had rather see him in another character before we form an estimate of his talents—so we wait for better things from the London University Magazine.

THE EDINBURGH JOURNAL OF NATURAL AND GEOGRAPHICAL SCIENCE, No. 1.

We expected much from the announcement of this work, and are not disappointed in its first Number. It contains original papers—scientific Reviews—geographical and natural History Collections—and an abundance of scientific intelligence—somewhat on the plan of Mr. Loudon's excellent Magazines. We have not at present room for extract; but the Number before us will furnish several interesting Notes for a portion of our next publication. A Tour in the Island of Jersey is one of the most amusing articles we have read for some time, and we hope to abridge it for our columns.

THE FOREIGN REVIEW.

The Eighth Number of this valuable Journal is just published, and its table of contents is exceedingly attractive. Among these are Phrenology—a characteristic article on Germany—the French and Italian Drama—anecdotical papers on Napoleon and General Jackson and the United States of America, and the History of the Cid. Ours will be a pleasing task to "note" through this Number.

UNPUBLISHED LINES ON DR. JOHNSON.

By the late Dr. Wolcot. (Peter Pindar.)

New Monthly Magazine.

GAS LIGHTS.

We have now been so long accustomed to this new light in the streets, that, like all other terrene goods, we have almost become insensible to its blessings. Yet let him who desires to know what he owes to chemistry and "Old Murdoch," turn into any of the streets still lighted with oil, and then come back to the nocturnal day of the Strand or Pall Mall. The parish oil lamps were like light-houses on the ocean; guides, not lights; the gas has become a perpetual full moon; and it may assuredly be pronounced one of the most splendid and valuable applications of chemistry. Why has not old Murdoch his statue? He deserves it even better than his master; for the master was well paid in solid pudding. In other days, that statue would have equalled the Colossus at Rhodes, and the demi-philosopher would have breathed flame like the Chimera; in the fabulous ages before that, he would have come down to us a god, or a demi-god, the rival of Prometheus, Hercules, and Atlas. Why not cast him in Achillean brass, the rival of the great hero of gunpowder and Waterloo, and make him breathe gas like the Dragon of Wantley, to illuminate the triumphal arch. Ingrata Patria!

The new light! yes, much has been heard of its power and influence; but what has the new light of all the preachers done for the morality and order of London, compared to what has been effected by this new light. Old Murdoch alone, has suppressed more vice than the Suppression Society; and has been a greater police officer into the bargain than old Colquhoun and Sir Richard Birnie united. It is not only that men are afraid to be wicked when light is looking at them, but they are ashamed also; the reformation is applied to the right place. Where does vice resort? Where it can hide; in darkness, says the preacher, because its deeds are deeds of darkness. Seek it in Pudding-lane, and Dyot-street, and the abysses of Westminster. Why was not this new light preached to them long ago: twenty bushels of it would have been of more value than as many chaldrons of sermons, and taking even the explosions of the inspector into the bargain. But it is well, that this is at length to be compulsory; since it is never too late. Thieves and rogues are like moths in blankets: bring the sun to shine on them, and they can neither live nor breed. Let the Duke of Wellington place a gas-lamp at every door of these infernal abodes; and since they cannot be smoked out, make their houses as much like glass, on the principle of the old Roman, as we can compass. This is the remedy; at least till common sense will condescend to the better expedient of pulling down and laying open all these retreats of misery and vice; the disgrace and the nuisance of London, and not less a standing inhumanity to the poor themselves.—Westminster Review.

CAPE WINES.

The commerce at the Cape is wine; and the vine has already increased tenfold, since the colony became British. But unfortunately more attention has been hitherto paid to quantity than to quality, except on the farms which yield Constantia. The latter have an eastern exposure, and are sheltered from the south-west, the only injurious blast. The soil being a deposit from the neighbouring mountains, is light, but enriched by manure. The subsoil, which is even more important, is still lighter, being mixed with sand and broken stone; on the contrary, in Drachenstein, where the chief vineyards are at present, the subsoil being clay, the wine receives an unpleasant flavour, the idea of which is inseparably associated with the very name of Cape wine. It is unnecessary to enter into the subject of its manufacture. If the subsoil be bad, so will the wine be. The vine does not require a rich subsoil. In Italy, flags are laid to prevent the roots from penetrating into clay; and in England, rubbish is thrown in to make a subsoil that shall not be so rich as to produce leaves, instead of fruit. It would be advantageous were premiums offered for wine that had not been produced from clay of subsoil, but had been reared in trellis, as requiring less labour than the standard, and made on a pure and good system, instead of being mixed with Cape brandy, or sulphuric acid, &c. Notwithstanding all these disadvantages, Cape wine is generally sold in England under the names, and at the prices, of Madeira, Sherry, Teneriffe, Stem, Pontac, and above all, Hock.—Gill's Repository.

A VIEW OF LONDON.

The finest view in London is from the top of Whitehall Place, looking towards the river; but then you must see it as I did, at the same hour, and under similar circumstances.

NEW YORK.

The distant view of New York, almost free from smoke, is singularly bright and lively; in some respects it refreshes a recollection of the sea-bound cities of the Mediterranean. The lower parts of the interior, next to the warehouses, resemble Liverpool; but the boast of the city is Broadway, a street that, for extent and beauty, the Trongate of Glasgow, which it somewhat resembles in general effect, alone excels. The style of the Trongate is, if the expression may be used, of a more massy and magnificent character, but there is a lightness in that of Broadway which most people will prefer. Those who compare the latter with Oxford-street, in London, do it injustice; for, although the shops in Oxford-street display a richer show of merchandize, the buildings are neither of equal consequence nor magnitude. Regent-street in London, is of course always excepted from comparisons of this kind.

The portico of the Bowery Theatre is immeasurably the finest morçeau of architecture in the city. It resembles that of Covent-Garden, but seems to be nobler and greater; and yet I am not sure if, in point of dimensions, it is larger, or so large as that of Covent-Garden. The only objection to it—and my objection is stronger against the London theatre—is the unfitness. In both cases, the style and order are of the gravest Templar character, more appropriate to the tribunals of criminal justice, than to the haunts of Cytherea and the Muses.—New Monthly Mag.

THE TRUE FORNARINA.

The account of a journey which was taken in the year 1664, by Cosmo, the son of Ferdinand II. de Medici, was written at the time, by Philip Pizzichi, his travelling chaplain. This work was published for the first time at Florence, about seven months ago. It contains some curious notices of persons and things, and among them, what will interest every lover of the fine arts. It is this—speaking of Verona, he mentions the Curtoni gallery of paintings, and says, "The picture most worthy of attention is the lady of Raffaello, so carefully finished by himself, and so well preserved that it surpasses every other." The editor of these travels has satisfactorily shown that Raffaelo's lady here described is the true Fornarina; so that of the three likenesses of her said to be executed by this eminent artist, the genuine one is the Veronese, belonging to the Curtoni gallery, now in the possession of a lady Cavellini Brenzoni, who obtained it by inheritance.—Monthly Magazine.

ITALIAN SCENERY.

Happy is the man, who, leaving the Alps behind him, has the plains of Lombardy on his right hand and on his left, the Apennines in view, and Florence as the city towards which he directs his steps. His way is through a country where corn grows under groves of fruit trees, whose tops are woven into green arcades by thickly-clustering garlands of vines; the dark masses of foliage and verdure which every where appear, melt insensibly, as he advances, into a succession of shady bowers that invite him to their depths; the scenery is monotonous, and yet ever various from the richness of its sylvan beauty, possessing all the softness of forest glades without their gloom. Towards Bologna, the landscape roughens into hills, which grow into Apennines, but Arcadia still breathes from slopes and lawns of tender green, which take their rise in the low stream-watered valleys, and extend up the steep ascent till met midway by the lofty chestnut groves which pale them in. To these gentler features succeeds the passage of the Apennines, which here, at least, are not as the author of "Italy as it Is," describes them, "the children of the Alps—smiling and gentle and happy as children should be," but, as we remember them, their summits form themselves into a wild, dreary region, sown with sterile mountain-tops, and torn to pieces by wind and storm; the only glimpse of peace is derived from the view on either side of the sea, which sometimes shows itself on the horizon, a misty line, half silver, half ether. This barren wilderness again softens into gracefully-swelling hills turned towards Florence. The fair olive tree and the dark cypress mingle their foliage with the luxuriant chestnut boughs, and the frequent marble villa flashes a white gleam from amid its surrounding laurel bowers. The sky is more beautiful than earth, and each symbolize peace and serene enjoyment.—Westminster Review.

MUSICAL MARVEL.

One of the most amusing stories in ancient history, of the successful and happy use of fine music, is told of Arion, who, when about to be thrown overboard by some mutinous sailors, begged leave to sing to his lute one funeral strain before his death. Having obtained leave, he stood upon the prow with his instrument, chanted with a loud voice his sweetest elegy, and then threw himself into the sea. A dolphin, as the story goes, charmed with his music, swam to him while floating on the waves, bore him on his back, and carried him safely to Cape Taenarus, in Sparta, from whence he went to Corinth. It would have been well for the mutineers if their taste for music had been as great as the dolphin's, for the history not only affords a grand instance of the power of music, but of retributive justice, as the sailors accidentally going to Corinth, paid the penalty of their evil intentions with their lives.

POPULATION OF AUSTRALIA.

Mr. Martin mentions a very curious fact. The increase of population, he says, has been most rapid, and is to be accounted for by the number of females born, the proportion being, with regard to males, as three to one! The great preponderating number of females brought forth among domesticated animals, will account for the countless herds of cattle which overspread the colony.—New Monthly Magazine.