The Press. — London, England, 1857-08-22 00:00:00

Dorman Newman, at the King's Arms, in the Poultry), we could find no passages in it to justify the allusions. We place the foregoing poem before our readers as a literary and historical puzzle, and we should be glad to see it explained. Here is a capital piece which •has long been a favourite of ours. To some of our readers it may be new, and we shall extract it entire SMOKING SPIRITUALISED. !AZT I. This Indian weed, now withered quite, Though green at noon, cut down at night, Shows thy decay ; All flesh is hay : Thus think,land smoke tobacco. The pipe so lily-like and weak, Does thus thy mortal state bespeak; Thou art e'en such, — Gone with a touch : - - - _ Thus think, and smoke tobacco. And when the smoke ascends on high, And thou behold'st the vanity Of worldly stuff, Gone with a puff: Thus think, and smoke tobacco. And when the pipe grows foul within, Think on thy soul defiled with sin ; For then the fire It does require: Thus think, and smoke tobacco. And seest the ashes east away, Then to thyself thou mayest say, That to the dust Return thou must : _ _ Thus think, and smoke tobacco. PART 11. Was this small plant for thee cut down? So was the plant of great, renown, Which Mercy sends For nobler ends: _ Thus think, and smoke tobacco. Doth juice medicinal proceed From such a naughty foreign weed? Then what's the power Of Jesse's flower ? Thus think, and smoke tobacco. The promise, like the pipe, inlays, And by the mouth of faith conveys, What virtue flcws From Sharon's rose : Thus think, and smoke tobacco. In vain the unlighted pipe you blow, Your pains in outward means are so, Till heavenly fire Your heart inspire : Thus think, and smoke tobacco. The smoke, like burning incense, towers, So should a praying heart of yours, With ardent cries, Surmount the skies : Thus think, and smoke tobacco. Mr. Bell prefixes the following statement to it : This old poem was long ascribed, on apparently suffi cient grounds, to the Rev. Ralph Erskine, or, as he desig• need himself, " Ralph Erskine, V.D.M." The peasantry throughout the north of England always call it " Erskine's song," and not only is his name given as the author in numerous chap-books, but in his own volume of " Gospel Sonnets," from an early copy of which our version is transcribed. The discovery, however, by Mr. Collier, of the First Part in a MS. temp. Jac. 1., with the initials G.W. affixed to it, has disposed of Erskine's claim to the honour of the entire authorship. G.W. is supposed to be George Withers, but this is purely conjectural, and it is not at all improbable that G.W. really stands for W.G., as it was a common practice amongst anonymous writers to reverse their initials. The history, then, of the poem seems to be this : that the First Part, as it is now punted, originally constituted the whole production,being complete in itself; that the Second Part was afterwards added by the Rev. Ralph Erskine, and that both parts came subse quently to be ascribed to him, as his was the only name published in connection with the song. The Rev. Ralph Erskine was born at Monilaws, Northumberland, on the 15th March, 1085. He was one of the thirty-three chit• dren of Ralph Erskine of Shieldfield, a family of repute, descended from the ancient house of Marr. The following is new to us, and is certainly pretty. It is called THE GARDEN GATE. The day was spent, the moon shone bright, The village clock struck eight; Young Mary hastened, with delight, Unto the garden•gate; But what was there that made her sad ? The gate was there, but not the lad, Which made poor Mary say and sigh, " Was ever poor girl so sad as I?" She traced the garden here and there, The village clock struck nine ; Which made poor Mary sigh, and say, "You shan't, you shan't be mine ! Yon promised to meet at the gate at eight, You ne'er shall keep me, nor make me wait, For I'll let all such creatures see, They at'er shall make s fool of me :" HE PR She traced the garden here and there, The village clock struck ten; Young William caught her in his arms, No more to part again : For he'd been to buy the ring that day, And 0 ! he had been a long long way ; Then, how could Mary cruel prove, To banish the lad she so dearly did love? Up with the morning sun they rose, To church they went away, And all the village joyful were, Upon their wedding-day : Now in a cot, by a river side, William and Mary both reside; And she blesses the night that she did wait For her absent swain at the garden-gate. We doubt whether " The Old Man's Song " could be appreciated by " the peasantry ": If I live to grow old, for I find I go down, Let this be my fate in a country town : May I have a warm house, with a stone at the gate, And a cleanly young girl to rub my bald pate; May I govern my passions with absolute sway, And grow wiser and better as strength wears away, Without gout or stone, by a gentle decay. In a country town, by a murmuring brook, With the ocean at distanoe on whioh I may look; With a spacious plain, without hedge or stile, And an easy pad nag to ride out a mile, May I govern, &c. With Horace and Plutarch, and one or two more Of the best wits that lived in the age before; With a dish of roast mutton, not venison or teal, And clean, though coarse, linen at every meal. nay I govern, dsc. With a pudding on Sunday, and stout humming liquor, And remnants of latin to welcome the vicar; With a hidden reserve of good Burgundy wine, To drink the king's health in as oft as I dine. May I govern, dm. It is a "jolly " production, and Mr. Bell i f right in conjecturing it to be the original o " The Downhill of Life." Of " The Lincolnshire Poacher " Mr. Bell says : This very old ditty has been transformed into the dialects of Soluersetehire, Northamptonshire, and Leicestershire ; but it properly belongs to Lincolnshire. Nor is this the only liberty that has been taken with it. The original tune is that of a Lancashire air, well known as " The Man- cheater Angel;" but a florid modern tune has been salmi toted. " The Lincolnshire Poacher " was a favonrite ditty with George IV., and it is said that he often had it sung for his amusement by a band of Berkshire ploughmen. He also commanded it to be sung at his harvest-homes, but we believe it was always on such occasions sung to the "play house tune," and not to the genuine music. In the first canto of " Childe Harold " there is the following stanza, the latter part of which is obscure to many readers : Some o'er thy Thamis row the ribboned fair, Others along the safer turnpike fly ; Some Richmond-hill ascend, some wend to Ware, And many to the steep of Highgate hie. Ask ye, Boeotian shades ! the reason why ? 'Tis to the worship of the solemn horn, Grasped iu the holy band of mystery, In whose dread name both men and maids are sworn, And consecrate the oath with draught, and dance till morn. Mr. Bell explains at length the curious cere mony of " swearing in at Highgate," and gives the verses used on the occasion. The piece is curious, but we have not room to extract it. The harvest-home songs in the volume have rather disappointed us ; and we think that on the whole the matter of the volume does not belong to "peasant minstrelsy," but it con tains some choice popular and national pieces, and is one of the most curious volumes of English verse published for a long time. Autobiography of Lutfullah, a Mohamedan Gentleman. Edited by Edward B. East wick, F.R.S., F.S.A. London: Smith, Elder, and Co. AN original autobiography, quaintly written in English by a Mohamedan gentleman, who details " his transactions with his fellow creatures," interspersed with remarks "on " the habits, customs, and character of the " people with whom he had to deal," pos sesses at least the charm of novelty. But Lutfullah has greater claims to our considera tion; his autobiography details the events of a life sufficiently varied to be interesting, and exhibits the author as a shrewd observer of ' events, as an acute tactician in the conduct of his own affairs, and as an able and agreeable writer. Then, again, his book, ably edited, abounds in all the charm and spirit of that mixture of enthusiasm, good sense, and sim plicity so peculiar to Orientals, while it is especially interesting and instructive to us, in 825 detail, as illustrating in some degree the nature of the regard felt for the English by the natives of Hindostan. Lutfullah, with a pedigree told on the title page as tracing direct up to Adam, was born in Malwa, in 11 4 02. His ancestors were men of saintly consideration, and had enjoyed special privileges and a fine property till within a hundred years of his birth, when, by one of those abrupt changes of rule at that period common to all India, his family was plundered by the Marattas and brought to beggary—to use his Eastern metaphor, " the " light of day was withdrawn, and the shadows "of night had gathered round them " How ever, in course of time his grandfather amassed a little money, and at length the most impor tant event in our hero's career occurred—he was born. As a boy, Lutfullah passed his youth like most boys; he played tricks at home till ho was sent to school, and then con tinued them there. He used, he tells us, to put frogs into the ladies' work-baskets, and enjoyed their screams much when the frogs jumped out. He set fire one day to the beard of a venerable old soheik, for which he was flogged by his master, and into whose coffee next he put a powerful purgative out of re venge ; and he tells us with much gusto that, upon seeing the old gentleman suffering " strange qualms," he took his leave from school that day with " the tear of sorrow " in one eye and " the light of satisfaction " in the other. Before the boy is ten years of age his father dies, and then the old story of domestic life is repeated. His mother marries a man who illtreats her boy, and the young Lutfullah takes wing one night for Agra. After a series of adventures, in which he falls into the hands of a Thug, spends a year with a robber-band of Afghans and Bheels, and then studies medi cine for another twelvemonth or so, the young Lutfullah at length obtains an appointment in the British service, as special postmaster of Dharampuri, near :dhow. The necessity for the appointment ceasing in a few months, Lutfullah proceeded to Nlllow to render up his accounts and resign his office ; while en route an incident common enough in India occurred, but it is so graphically told that we select it as a fair specimen of our author's descriptive powers : The darkness of the evening, on account of the cloudy weather, came on with rapidity ; and I advised that each man should, alternately, lead the way, with a burning log of wood in his hand to scare off the ravenous beasts, as was usual when charged with the post. Being out of the service, my words were not only disobeyed. but actually had no longer any weight with them. They ridiculed my fears, and said," Pray come on quietly, if you wish to accompany us ; if not, you may return and do as you like." This was the first insult that pierced through my heart, and I never spoke to any of them again. It was about eleven o'clock at night, when fatigue of the much and the cool of the night rendered my brain heavy, and my feet unwilling to move ; but I strolled on still with the people. The moon sometimes extended ber calm splendour over us, and sometimes was overshadowed with dark clouds. Suddenly, upon the left side of our road, a crackling was heard among the bushes: all of us were alarmed, and in an instant a tiger, rushing out of the jungle, pounced upoit the one of the party that was fore most, and carried him off in the twinkling of an eye. The rush of the animal, and the crush of the poor victim's bones in his mouth, and his last cry of distress, " Ho hai !" involuntarily re-echoed by all of us, was over in three seconds ; and then I know not what happened, till I re• turned to my senses, when I found myself and companions lying down on the ground, as if prepared to be devoured by our enemy, the sovereign of the forest. I find my pen incapable of describing the terror of that dreadful moment. Our limbs stiffened, our power of speech ceased, and our hearts beat violently, and only a whisper of the same " Ho hai !" was heard from us. In this suit) we crept on all fours for some distance back, and then ran for lite, with the speed of an Arab horse, for about half an hour, and fortu nately happened to come to a small village of about fifty huts, into which we rushed, heedless of the barking of the dogs, which roused the inhabitants, who, taking us to be a gang of robbers, hooted and shouted with all their might to drive us away. The rush of the tiger, the appalling " Ho hai !" of the poor coolie, the crush of his bones, the crackle of the jungle as the tiger bounds in with his victim, and then the terrified and in voluntary whispers of the men crouched on all fours and repeating the/cry, is a perfect word painting. And now a fair career was about to open to the young Lutfullah, for, tired of his roving life, he became moonshee or teacher of Hin doostane to a British officer. He first lived for a few months " under the generous protec tion " of Lieut. McMahon, " a tall, thin young SS, AUGUST 22, 1857.