THE HUMMING-TOP AND THE HOBBY-HORSE. shadow, what is? What a pity, in such cases it seems, as Dr. Johnson said of a certain musician's execution of some wonderful passages on the violoncello, that they were not impossible. The same writer to whom I have reverted observes, that it must have cost Smollett some labour and scratching to have christened his novels. I should not be surprised if the observation is true, for Roderick Random, Peregrine Pickle, and Ferdinand Fathom must own alliteration for their godfather. The literary labourers-I cannot help the infection myself-of the present day, are, however, very disciples to the fortuitous flourishes, and the fantastic flashes of my theme. Our periodicals are the very garners of its riches, our new books are absolutely the reservoirs of its ingenuity, and it is not now who will produce the best volume, or the ablest article, but who will fit the one with the aptest appellation, and the other with the most tantalizing title. Mais n'importe, it will be the same were I to preach till doomsday, la bagatelle will exist to a greater extent, or lesser, long after we are gathered to our fathers; and were my voice as "potential as the duke's," I fear I should fail in persuading my alliterative brotherhood, that a man who has wise things in his head is never curious about words, unless it be those which express his meaning quickest and clearest. THE HUMMING-TOP AND THE HOBBY-HORSE. Of all the diversions to which children, whether of three or six feet stature, are generally addicted, we know of no two that are so prevalent as those of the humming-top and the hobby-horse. In saying this, however, we mean not to put these favourites upon an equal footing, The hobby is a pretty toy; but then he is but of limited power, carries only moderate weights, and is generally employed upon less momentous, though agreeable and useful, occasions. It is true, that though all men have not the art to manage that charger, as we may call it, the hummingtop, nor even the good fortune to possess one, every man can boast of his hobby: but then, besides that this little, freakish palfrey is often restive, and will dash out of the high road of reason and good policy, the humming-top keeps its ground, always turns upon the main point-the pivot of cunning and interest and while it amuses, enriches, and not unfrequently even ennobles, its owner. Not like the hobby-horse, a mere source of a some what profitable amusement, the top, 163 while it entertains, makes emolument the principal result of its rotation; though played with, it plays upon the world, and while turning on its own centre, turns the penny. With respect to the comparative antiquity of these two distinguished conveniencies, though it has been made a subject of dispute, the advantage of the humming-top in this particular is as certain as that its benefits are greater and more substantial than those of the hobby. Its origin was coeval with that of the world. The human race had scarcely commenced its career, when the prince of darkness sported his humming-top to the infatuation and discomfort of Eve; and she, in turn, played off its enchantment upon her credulous spouse. From the first family it descended to the second, thence to the third, and so on, traversing with the spread of population the four quarters of the globe, humming as it moved, and deluding and deceiving age after age, and nation after nation. Without the humming-top, the Greeks had never introduced their warriorloaded hobby into deceived Troy. Without his humming-top, Philip of Macedon had never quizzed the Grecian confederation, Mahomet the Arabians, nor Peter the hermit the rulers of christendom. To come down to more modern times, without his humming-top, John Law of Edinburgh, had not been able to hoax both the court and the people of France; nor had the South-sea speculators, without theirs, procured such thousands of English dupes to be ruined and laughed at; nor again, unaided by their hummingtops, would the bulls and bears of the present day succeed so well in bubbling the public, and tricking one another. Even trade and commerce depend, in a degree, on one humming-top-the round of fashion; and government itself did owe a part of its revenue to its humming-topthe lottery wheel. How evident, then, that in utility, as well as antiquity, the humming-top is superior to the hobby-horse! that while the hobby-horse often runs his rider into straits and difficulties, the humming-top constantly leads to success and prosperity! that while turning itself, it turns the credulity of others to the advantage of its whipper, guards him against the operations of other humming-tops, protects him from surrounding perils, and ensures to him all his golden wishes! Friend, therefore, as I am to hobby-horses, when rode with a tight rein, I cannot deny the higher virtues of the humming-top. It is true, that many are made wofully sensible of its power-that its rapid turnings are apt to give as rapid changes to the affairs of those who feel its effects, especially of those who keep hobbies,-but that, we would say, is their fault: we must not convert the want of common sense in the hobby-riders into culpability in sporters of the humming-top. If its whippers, by virtue of their skill in making it spin, are enabled to make their neighbours spin, not they, but the unwary sufferers are to blame. Review and Analysis. ODES AND ADDRESSES TO GREAT PEOPLE. 12mo. LONDON, 1825. BALDWIN, CRADOCK, AND JOY. Ir is a debatable point, whether society is most benefited by writers who make us laugh, or those who make us think. The toil of thinking is ultimately intended to be remunerated by laughter; or, if that be rather too broad for "ears polite," to produce a demure, exhilarated feeling, which is internally the same, though not expounded in "broad grins." The agreeable compound before us is intended to operate in the latter way, and is well made up for its object. It is a witty, pleasant, good-humoured little volume; though not quite equal, we think, in cleverness and raciness of humour, to the "Rejected Addresses," of which it is an imitation, yet it is a worthy member of that sprightly family. The Odes are fifteen in number, and are inscribed to divers well-known personages; to Graham the aëronaut; M'Adam the road reformer; Richard Martin, M. P. the Pythagorean; to Champion Dymoke'; the Great Unknown; the Steam Washing Company; Dr. Kitchener; Secretary Bodkin, &c. Our lively Satirist has shown a correct judgment of the merit of his effusions, by placing the best first-with which we shall commence our selections; TO MR. GRAHAM THE AERONAUT. A few more whiffs of my segar Have with thee for the skies:- Away!-away!-the bubble fills- Ah, me! my brain begins to swim!→ Do, Graham, let me have a quiz, That little world of Mogg's I Are those the London Docks?-that channel, Little indeed!-my eyeballs ache Their tolls upon my trust!— And where is mortal labour gone Mac Adamized to dust! ? Look at the horses!-less than flies!→→ What is the honour ?-none at all, And there's Guildhall!-'tis far aloof Methinks, I fancy thro' the roof Its little guardian Gogs, Like penny dolls-a tiny show!~ Well, I must say they're ruled below By very little logs! Oh! Graham, how the upper air Alters the standards of compare; Would cover London all aboutNay then-let's even empty out Another brace of bags! One of our silken flags Think! what a mob of little men Like mites upon a cheese! Oh! what is glory?-what is fame? 'Tis nothing but a hum!— "The world recedes!-it disappears! Think now of Irving!-shall he preach ODES AND ADDRESSES TO GREAT PEOPLE. Come-what d'ye think of Jeffrey, sir? Is Gifford such a Gulliver In Lilliput's Review, That like Colossus he should stride Look down! the world is but a spot. On clouds the Byron did not sit, And shall not we? Let's think aloud! Graham, we'll have our eyes We felt the great when we were less, But we'll retort on littleness Now we are in the skies. O Graham, Graham, how I blame My name is Tims.-I am the man I am the very P. A. Z. The London Lion's small pin's head Campbell-(you cannot see him here)→→ Have thrust my poems by ! What else?-I'm poor, and much beset An inch of cloth on trust! What's Rothschild here, that wealthy man! Oh, Graham, mark those gorgeous crowds! Like birds of Paradise the clouds Are winging on the wind! But what is grander than their range? More lovely than their sun-set change?— The free creative mind! Ah, me! I've touch'd a string that opes The airy valve !-the gas elopes Down goes our bright Balloon!Farewell, the skies! the clouds! I smell The lower world! Graham, farewell, Man of the silken moon! The earth is close! the City nearsLike a burnt paper it appears, Studded with tiny sparks! Methinks I hear the distant rout Of coaches rumbling all about We're close above the Parks ! I hear the watchmen on their beats, It is upon the earth to light! 165 We must protest against Mrs. Fry being placed in Mr. Merryman's satirical gallery. Topics of ridicule are not so scarce that there is an absolute necessity to fall on the philanthropists: though some of them may not adopt the best possible plans for doing good, yet the purity of their intentions consecrates their labours, and throws a sort of sacredness about their persons. At all events, they are volunteers; they make no charge to the public; on the contrary they make considerable sacrifices, and have an unquestionable right to pursue their own course in rendering their gratuitous services. We would leave, therefore, unannoyed, Mr. Brougham to superintend the dame schools, Mr. Place to keep a sharp look out on the balance of christenings and burials, and the worthy President to disseminate universally chemical and mechanical knowledge. There are some pleasant conceits and happy imaginings in the "Epistle to the Great Unknown:" Joseph, farewell! dear funny Joe! We met with mirth,-we part in pain! Then follows an epistle to the venerable Sylvanus Urban, gent.-" the Old Parr of periodicals"-with a bit of pleasant banter on his never-dying A, B, C correspondents, and his old-fashioned gossip on country churches. The "Letter of Remonstrance from Bridget Jones to the Noblemen and Gentlemen forming the Steam Washing Committee," is excessively facetious but we can only spare room for a plaintive and more serious stanza from the "Address." Ah, look at the laundress, before you begrudge Her hard daily bread to that laudable drudge When chanticleer singeth his earliest matins She slips her amphibious feet in her pattens, And beginneth her toil while the morn is still grey, As if she was washing the night into day With her hands like a sponge, and her head like a mop Quite a living absorbent that revell'd in stop She that paddled in water, must walk upon sand, And sigh for her deeps like a turtle on land! The "Ode to Captain Parry" is spirited and fanciful: Parry, my man! has thy brave leg On which the world is spun ? Perchance thou'rt now-while I am writing Feeling a bear's wet grinder biting Oily, and underdone, and stale, But I'll not dream such dreams of ill- Safe cellar'd in the snow,- Cheering that dismal game where night Or smitten by some fond frost fair, * Query, purly?-Printer's Devil. ODES AND ADDRESSES TO GREAT PEOPLE. But ah, ere thou art fixt to marry, Think of a six months' gloom- ever saw. There are some complete failures as well as the happiest hits in these jeux d'esprits among the former we class the effusion to Elliston, and the " Address to Maria Darlington:" the first is totally unworthy of notice, and the last is the poorest, cockneyfied, namby pamby thing we Indeed, our Democritus is clearly not au fait to the merits of Maria Darlington; and we are more surprised at finding him so purblind, in this case, after the good sense and penetration evinced in investigating the political economy of Mrs. Fry. We push on, however, to the great prince of gastronomy and music, Dr. Kitchener, who is thus invoked : Hail! multifarious man! Thou wondrous, admirable, kitchen Crichton! Born to enlighten The laws of optics, peptics, music, cooking Master of the piano-and the pan As busy with the kitchen as the skies! Now looking At some rich stew thro' Galileo's eyes,- 167: Or Fridays, from the pens, and raise his breath 'Gainst cattle days and death,Answer'd by Mellish, feeder of fat beeves, Who swore that Frenchmen never could be eager For fighting on soup meagre"And yet, (as thou wouldst add,) the French have seen A marshall Tureen !" Great was thy evening cluster! grac'd often With Dollond-Burgess-and sir Humphry 'Twas there M'Dermot first inclined to Taste, There Colburn learn'd the art of making paste For puffs-and Accum analysed a gravy. Colman-the cutter of Coleman-street 'tis said Came there,-and Parkins with his ex-wisehead, (His claim to letters,) — Kater, too, the Moon's Crony, and Graham, lofty on balloons,There Croly stalk'd with holy humour heated, (Who wrote a light-horse play, which Yates completed) And lady Morgan, that grinding organ, And Brasbridge telling anecdotes spoons, of Madame Valbrèque thrice honour'd thee, and came With great Rossini, his own bow and fiddle And even Irving spar'd a night from fame, And talk'd-till thou didst stop him in the middle, To serve round Tewah-diddle !* *The doctor's composition for a night-cap. |