The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1843-10-10 00:00:00

L. S. D., by Samuel Lover, continues to amuse and
interest. The illustrations to the present number are

admirable

Martin Chu=leteit.—Tn the number for October, we
return from the Backwoods and Brother Jonathan to
" the Pecksniffs" and Jonas, who is married to Miss
Merry, and promises to make a most amiable partner.
The picture of the transformed Bailey, of Todgers's
Commercial Boarding-house, into the rakish sporting
groom of a West End exquisite, is in Mr. Dickens's
best style. He is never, by the way, so happy as when
depicting some of the thousands of oddities to be met
with in London.

A New Series of Catechisms, on the same System as
Blair's. By the Rev. T. Wilson. London : Darton
and Clark. We have in these excellent publications a
valuable addition to our nursery literature. The first,
second, and third " Catechisms of Common Things" are
admirably adapted to fill the mind of an observant child
with a knowledge of the origin, elements, and uses of
the objects which he sees around him, the explanations
and descriptions being neither too detailed nor too bare.
They are, in fact, justly adapted for the juvenile com-
prehension. We have also a Catechism of the History
of England, a first Catechism of Geography, a first
Catechism of Bible History, and a first, second, and
third Catechism of Natural Philosophy. When the se-
ries is complete, it will afford a most valuable aid to the
instructors of our youth.

Leisure Hours : a Series of Early Poems. By C. B.
Greatrex, jun. 2nd Edit. London : Tilt and Bogue ;
Liverpool : Grapel.—This small collection of oddities
strung together appears actually to have reached a se_
cond edition. As we do not see the merits the public
appears to appreciate by encoring the slender perform-
ance, we can only regret the impaired state of our visual
organs. There may he beauties—we don't say there are
not ; but we should like to have them pointed out. We
would not withhold the meed of fair praise if we could
sincerely introduce the author and the public to each
other ; but really we don't see how we can. Poetry is
a fickle thing. The mere gift of rhyming may be mis-
taken for the possession of poetical ideas ; and when au-
thors can persuade themselves that rhyme is poetry,
they can furnish any quantity, like a tailor's suit of
clothes, at a few hours' notice ; and so the frog, swollen
with rhyming fecundities, seems rapidly in its own eyes
to rival the giant ox in bulk—of volume at least. By
the kind help of the printer, this can he done nowa-
days ; and the author " hugs the dtar deceit." For
our own part, we think that prose is a much more re-
spectable department of authorship in which to make
our debut, at least, on the stage of literary transcription;
and if young authors would be persuaded to " think
soberly, as they ought to think," reserving their green
ears, which may promise well at first, until their crude
juices shall have been matured into the full fruitage of
golden grains, ripened by the genial noon of reflection,
and frosted even for a few nights by the nipping process
of self-criticism,—then would their labour stand better
in the shock of public review, and might be garnered
into the treasury of the republic of letters, without the
risk of moulding from greenness or dry-rotting.