To the brink of the Dorian deep.
'Oh, save me! oh, guide me!
And bid the deep hide me,
For he grasps me now by the hair.'
The loud ocean heard

To its blue depths stirr'd
And divided at her prayer;
And under the water

The earth's white daughter
Fled like a sunny beam.
Behind her descended
Her billows, unblended

With the blackish Dorian stream.
Like a gloomy stain
On the emerald main
Alpheus rush'd behind,

As an eagle pursuing
A dove to its ruin

Down the streams of the cloudy wind.
Under the bowers,

Where the ocean powers
Sit on their pearled thrones;
Through the coral woods
Of the weltering floods;
Over heaps of unvalued stones;
Through the diin beams
Which amid the streams
Weave a network of color'd light;
And under the caves

Where the shadowy waves
Are as green as the forest's night;
Outspeeding the shark
And the swordfish dark
Under the ocean foam,

And up through the rifts
Of the mountain clifts,

They pass'd to their Dorian home."

We now quote the Astleian-Spanish ballad :

"The Courtship of our Cid.

"What a pang of sweet emotion
Thrill'd the Master of the Ring,
When he first beheld the lady
Through the stabled portal spring!
Midway in his wild grimacing

Stopp'd the piebald-visaged clown,
And the thunders of the audience
Nearly brought the gallery down.
Donna Inez Woolfordinez!

Saw ye ever such a maid,
With the feathers swailing o'er her,
And her spangled rich brocade?
In her fairy hand a horsewhip,
On her foot a buskin small;
So she stepr 'd, the stately damsel,
Through the scarlet grooms and all.
And she beckon'd for her courser,

And they brought a milk-white mare;
Proud, I ween, was that Arabian

Such a gentle freight to bear:
And the master moved towards her,
With a proud and stately walk,
And in reverential homage,

Rubb'd her soles with virgin chalk.
Round she flew as Flora flying

Spans the circle of the year;
And the youth of London, sighing,
Half forgot the ginger-beer-
Quite forgot the maids beside them;
As they surely well might do,

When she raised two Roman candles
Shooting fireballs red and blue!
Swifter than the Tartar's arrow,
Lighter than the lark in flight,
On the left foot now she bounded,
Now she stood upon the right.
Like a beautiful Bacchante,

Here she soars, and there she kneels; While amid her floating tresses,

Flash two whirling Catherine wheels! Hark! the blare of yonder trumpet!

See, the gates are open'd wide!
Room, there, room for Gomersalez-
Gomersalez in his pride!
Rose the shout of exultation,

Rose the cat's triumphant call,
As he bounded, man and courser,
Over master, clown, and all!
Donna Inez Woolfordinez!

Why those blushes on thy cheek? Doth thy trembling bosom tell thee, He hath come thy love to seek? Fleet thy Arab-but behind thee He is rushing, like a gale; One foot on his coal-black's shoulders, And the other on his tail! Onward, onward, panting maiden!

He is faint and fails-for now By the feet he hangs suspended From his glistening saddle-bow. Down are gone both cap and feather, Lance and gonfalon are down! Trunks, and cloak, and vest of velvet, He has flung them to the clown. Faint and failing! Up he vaulteth, Fresh as when he first began; All in coat of bright vermilion,

'Quipped as Shaw the Life-Guardsman! Right and left his whizzing broadsword, Like a sturdy flail he throws; Cutting out a path unto thee, Through imaginary foes. Woolfordinez! speed thee on ward! He is hard upon thy trackParalyzed is Widdicombez,

Nor his whip can longer crack;
He has flung away his broadsword,
'Tis to clasp thee to his breast.
Onward! see, he bares his bosom,
Tears away his scarlet vest,

Leaps from out his nether garments,
And his leathern stock unties-
As the flower of London's dustmen,
Now in swift pursuit he flies.
Nimbly now he cuts and shuffles,
O'er the buckle, heel and toe!
And, with hands deep in his pockets,
Winks to all the throng below!
Onward, onward rush the coursers,
Woolfordinez, peerless girl,
O'er the garters lightly bounding,
From her steed with airy whirl!
Gomersalez, wild with passion,
Danger-all but her-forgets;
Wheresoe'er she flies, pursues her,
Casting clouds of somersets!

Onward, onward rush the coursers,
Bright is Gomersalez' eyes;

Saints protect thee, Woolfordinez,
For his triumph, sure, is nigh!
Now his courser's flanks he lashes,
O'er his shoulders flings the rein,
And his feet aloft he tosses,

Holding stoutly by the mane!

Then, his feet once more regaining,
Doffs his jacket, doffs his smalls:
And in graceful folds around him
A bespangled tunic falls.
Pinions from his heels are bursting,

His bright locks have pinions o'er them;
And the public sees with rapture

Maia's nimble son before them.

Speed thee, speed thee, Woolfordinez !
For a panting god pursues;
And the chalk is very nearly

Rubbed from thy white satin shoes!
Every bosom throbs with terror,

You might hear a pin to drop;
All was hush'd save where a starting
Cork gave out a casual pop.

One smart lash across his courser,

One tremendous bound and stride,
And our noble Cid was standing

By his Woolfordinez' side!
With a god's embrace he clasped her,
Raised her in his manly arms;
And the stables' closing barriers

Hid his valor and her charms!"

For the sake of exhibiting the ludicrous contrast, we cannot refrain from setting beside the conclusion of this ballad the closing lines of Shelley's Arethusa :

"And now from their fountains

In Enna's mountains,

Down one vale, where the Morning basks,
Like friends once parted
Grown single-hearted,
They ply their watery tasks.
At sunrise they leap
From their cradles steep
In the cave of the shelving hill,
At noontide they flow
Through the woods below
And the meadows of asphodel;
And at night they sleep
In the rocky deep
Beneath the Ortygian shore,
Like spirits that lie
In the azure sky,

Where they love but live no more."

Whoever has marked the soldierly attitude, heard the short, sharp, abrupt sentences, and the military tones of the Great Duke in addressing the House of Lords, cannot fail to be much amused with the following::

Where the grim despot muttered, 'Sauve qui peut!'

And Ney fled darkling.-Silence in the ranks!
Inspired by these, amidst the iron crash

Of armies, in the centre of his troop
The soldier stands-unmovable, not rash,
Until the forces of the foemen droop;
Then knocks the Frenchmen to eternal smash,
Pounding them into mummy. Shoulder, hoop!"
Here is a specimen of an imitation of the roll of
Macaulay's long lines:-
;-

"Fytte the First.

"What news, what news, thou pilgrim gray,
What news from southern land?
How fare the bold conservatives, how is it with
Ferrand?

How does the little Prince of Wales? how looks our lady queen?

And tell me is the gentle Brough once more at Windsor seen?'

'I bring no tidings from the court, nor from St. Stephen's hall!

I've heard the thundering tramp of horse and the trumpet's battle-call;

And these old eyes have seen a fight, which England ne'er hath seen,

Since fell King Richard sobbed his soul through blood on Bosworth Green.'"

Here are next two right funny specimens of the absurd facility of Tennysonian verse :—

"Caroline.

"Lightsome, brightsome, cousin mine! Easy, breezy Caroline!

With thy locks all raven shaded,
From thy merry brow up-braided,
And thine eyes of laughter full,
Brightsome cousin mine!

Thou in chains of love hast bound me-
Wherefore dost thou flit around me,
Laughter-loving Caroline?

When I fain would go to sleep
In my easy-chair,

Wherefore on my slumbers creep?
Wherefore start me from repose,
Tickling of my hookéd nose,
Pulling of my hair?

Wherefore, then, if thou dost love me,
So to words of anger move me,
Corking of this face of mine,
Tricksy cousin Caroline?

When a sudden sound I hear,
Much my nervous system suffers,
Shaking through and through-
Cousin Caroline, I fear,

'T was no other hand but you
Put gunpowder in the snuffers,
Springing such a mine!
'T was no other but yourself,
Wicked-trickéd, little elf,
Naughty cousin Caroline!"

The second specimen is entitled, "The Biter Bit.

Have made thy name a terror and a fear

To all the nations. Witness Ebro's banks, Assaye, Toulouse, Nivelle, and Waterloo,

And the melody of woodland birds is stirring in

springing fair,

the air;

'My heart is sick, my heid is sair,
Gie me a glass o' the gude brandie:
To set my foot on the braid green sward,
I'd gie the half o' my yearly fee.

'It's sweet to hunt the sprightly hare On the bonny slopes o' Windsor lea, But O, it's ill to bear the thud

And pitching o' the saut, saut sea!'"

In conclusion, it is scarcely necessary for us to remark that the effusions of Bon Gaultier in this volume are merely the results of high spirits and a few leisure hours of one of the first scholars

of the day, and one of the very best original writers in prose and verse.

But though we have spoken the farewell to our gentle reader, the word that ever has been and must be, let us claim to be allowed the Hibernian privilege of one word more, and it will be to show the versatility of Bon Gaultier's genius, frolicksome and ludicrous, without the stain of ribaldry, in l'Envoy to this Book of Ballods— the plague-spot of ill-nature. He who tells us "I am he who sang

or

Of Mr. Colt, and I am he who framed
Of Widdicombe the wild and wondrous lay,"

is, at the same time, one of the best translators of the loose and passionate gentleman Catullus, the mystic Goethe, and the towering Schiller; and he

looked for gold;

He said I did not love him-that my words were few and cold;

He said I kept him off and on, in hopes of higher

energy, and vigor, which clearly point him out as
a man who might prove himself a capable and
worthy translator of the mighty Florentine's
works into our vernacular: "Si illi ullum tribu-
eretur vacuum tempus et liberum: neque enim
occupatâ operâ, neque impedito animo, res tanta
suscipi potest: utrumque opus est et curâ vacare
et negotio." We give one specimen, a short one,
from a canzone of Dante's, of Bon Gaultier's per-
fect mastery of pure, rich, old English, ere it be-
came mountebanked by sesquepedalia verba, founded
on the stilted Latin of the orators-of his perfect
and peculiar familiarity with and capability of
adopting in our tongue the rhythm of Dante, and
of his power of entering into the depths of Dante's
soul, and giving utterance to its inspirations :-
"Yes, Beatrice is gone to yonder heaven,
To realms where angels dwell and are in peace;
You ladies hath she left with them to stay,
She was not hence like other mortals riven,
By chill or calenture, or such disease,
But for her mighty worth was borne away.
For her meek nature shed so bright a ray,
It beamed to heaven, and with a light so blest,
As woke amaze in the Eternal Sire,
And kindled sweet desire

To call a soul so lovely to his rest.
Then made He it from earth to Him to aspire,
Deeming this life of care and sorrowing
Unworthy of so fair and pure a thing."

INCOME TAX.-The number of persons who return themselves to the income tax as having 150l. per annum and no more, is 200,000. Thus, then, one fifth of the five millions is paid to this odious tax by exactly the very class who can least afford it.

From Chambers' Journal.

BOOKSELLING ABROAD.

IN treating of any subject respecting books, it is difficult to get away from Germany. There modern literature first took root, and, nurtured by the press, branched off into the uttermost corners of the earth." There also literary commerce has been reduced to a system more complete and effectual than in any other country in which "the trade" flourishes. It is to Germany, therefore, that our present notices of the book-trade must be for a while confined.

Piracy and fraud are as old as bookselling itself. The ingenious devices of the dishonest kept pace with the extensive development of the book-trade by the printer's art; and as soon as a publisher became famous for the correctness and legible neatness of his editions, his name and "marks" were fraudulently forged by inferior typographers, to insure a readier sale for works than their own merits would have procured. We must here digress for a moment, to say a word concerning the symbols adopted by the old booksellers, who were (and by the book-fancier still are) so well known by the devices they placed on their titlepages, that neither their name nor place of residence was necessary. Of these marks, the best known are as follows:-The anchor, the sign adopted by Raphelengius of Leyden; an anchor, with a dolphin twisted round it, was the symbol of the Mavutti of Venice and Rome. The Stephenses of Paris and Geneva put forth the olivetree; and the Elzevirs of Amsterdam adopted the same symbol. The signs of the Zodiac were likewise appropriated as marks by some publishers; while others constructed rebuses. Thus, Richard Harrison, an English printer, who died in 1562, printed on his title-pages a hare, a sheaf of rye, and a representation of the sun. William Norton, who, besides a bookseller, was treasurer of Christ's Hospital, (1593,) had a "sweet William" growing out of a tun, inscribed with the word nor. Others equally puerile might be cited. The literary pirates, who forged the marks of the best booksellers, chiefly resided in Geneva and Vienna. In the last-named city, one J. Thomas Edler Von Trattner made himself as famous in the book-trade by the daring boldness of his piracies, as the Sallee rovers did amongst the shipping interests of the civilized world. No sooner had a printer put forth a carefully-prepared edition of some valued classic, than these forgers set their presses to work, and produced an exact imitation of it at a much lower price. This system had risen by the year 1765 to a pitch so ruinous to the regular trade, that the German publishers entered into a confederacy to put a stop to it. Erasmus Reich, one of the partners in the Weidmannsche Buchhandlung, (an extensive publishing concern,) called a meeting at Frankfort, and proposed certain laws and regulations, the chief object of which was to tie down the booksellers of Germany not to sell any copies of the spurious editions. To this agreement fiftynine booksellers subscribed. By the year 1797, the association spread its influence throughout the country, and ever since the latter year, no person can sell a book without being a member of the German booksellers' association (Deutschen Buchhandlers Verein) of Leipsic, to which place the book-trade has since been concentrated. By means of this concentration, improvements have radually been made in the organization of the

book-trade, until formed into the system it is at present an explanation of which will be found interesting.

66

The book-trade of Germany is divided into three distinct branches-1st, That of the publisher (Verlagsgeschäft); 2d, The booksellers' business (Sortimentshandel); 3d, The agencies (Commissionsgeschäft). The first two branches are fre quently united, and often all three are carried on together. The business of the publisher needs little description. He buys the manuscript from the author, and gets it printed, either by his own presses, or by other parties for his account, and sends copies to such booksellers as he thinks likely to sell the work. The invoice is fastened on the outside of the parcel, half folded up, so that only the head, bearing the name of the bookseller to whom it is directed, and the name of the publisher from whom it comes, is to be seen. The parcels are all put in one bale, and sent to the publisher's agent in Leipsic, who distributes them to the different agents in that town. Every respectable bookseller of Germany employs an agent in Leip sic. Such copies of new works are called "Nova;" on the invoice is put "pr. Nov." (pro Novitate.) They are sent on condition," (à condition,) that is, with the option to keep them or to send them back. The returned books are properly called remittiren, though more frequently and jocosely krebse (crabs.) By such conditional consignments, private persons have the advantage of being able to look into the merit of a work before they are called upon to buy it, whereby new publications get to all parts of the country, and at the same price as at the place of publication-a system which is quite peculiar to the German book-trade, and which has certainly contributed much to the diffusion of knowledge in Germany. The prices are put down either at the shop price or net price. On the shop price (ordinair) a discount of one third, or thirty-three and one third per cent., is usually allowed by the publishers to "the trade" for books, and for prints and journals one fourth, or twenty-five per cent. Books which have been published for some time are seldom sent out "on condition," but must be ordered, which is done by sending a small slip of paper (Verlangszettel)—containing the name of the publisher, tho name of the bookseller who orders, and the title of the work-to the agent of the publisher, who transmits the work by the first opportunity, and, if quickly wanted, by post. Every publisher of note sends some copies of his publications to his agent in Leipsic, in order that he may execute without delay any orders which may come in; so that the shortest and cheapest way of procuring a work is generally by sending to Leipsic for it.

At the New Year, at Easter, and at Michaelmas, the fairs before alluded to* are held at Leipsic, exclusively devoted to the sale of books. Of the three, however, the grand concentration of the trade takes place at Easter (Jubilatemesse); for that is the time when all accounts are, or should be, closed between the booksellers of various parts of Germany, who either attend the fair personally for that purpose, or send some confidential clerk.

Although the book-trade of Germany is centralized in Leipsic, yet it must not be supposed that it is exclusively conducted at the fairs. New publi

* See p. 392 of our last number.