(BEING THE FIFTEENTH OF A NEW SERIES.)

WHERE LETTERS ARE PARTICULARLY REQUESTED TO BE SENT, POST-PAID

AND SOLD BY JOHN HARRIS AND SON (SUCCESSors to mrs. newBERY),

AT THE CORNER OF ST. PAUL'S CHURCH YARD, LUDGATE STREET;

OF ST. PAUL'S CHURCH Ang

TO SYLVANUS URBAN, Gent.

ON COMPLETING THE SECOND PART OF VOLUME XCII.

HAIL! generous URBAN, hail! whose varied page
Shews the bright mirror of the passing age.
SYLVANUS, say why Scotia's sons rejoice,
Why banner'd trumpets raise their piercing voice,-
Why colours stream,-why acclamations rise,
That, borne on Echo, fill the vaulted skies?-
Look to the waves that roll on Leith's fair strand,
Where countless numbers long-expectant stand, b
And see the Royal Squadron make the shore,
Known by the signal of the cannon's roar.

The Monarch lands-around him Triumphs wait;—
To Holyrood he moves in Regal State;

There Highland Chiefs and Barons wend their way,
And to great GEORGE their willing homage pay:
While the gay Fair of Caledonia bloom

Amid the splendour of the Drawing-room.

From the brass cannon cast, whose thund'ring sound At Victory aim'd on Salamanca's ground,

Pelides' brazen form colossal stands,

Inscrib'd to Britain's brave and martial bands.
The British Fair, enraptur'd with their fame,
This trophy rais'd to consecrate their name.
Where loud the Hyperborean tempests roar,
Driving the icebergs huge from shore to shore,
The gallant Parry, with his chosen train,
Braves the deep horrors of the Polar main.
But thro' the world his glorious deeds shall spread,
And ever-verdant laurels crown his head.
Round Franklin's brow immortal bays shall twine,
And his compeers with equal honours shine
Who bore the keenest sufferings undismay'd,
And the vast tracks of Arctic coasts survey'd.
Intrepid souls! who brav'd each Winter's blast,
Your arduous toils were recompens'd at last.

;

Herschel, alas! great Astronomic Sage,
Has sunk in death, yet full of honour'd age.
Thro' widest space the heavenly Orbs he view'd,
The Comet's track and Stars unnumber'd shew'd.
Ouranus first he saw, with all its train,
And fires volcanic found in Luna's plain.

The Muse might wander to Verona's State,
Brasilian strife, and Spanish feuds relate;
Between the Greeks and Turks the conflicts sing;
But here she reins her flight and drops her wing,
Bids cull the past from URBAN's varied store,
Hyblæan sweets! till Time shall be no more.

Teversal Rectory, Dec. 31, 1822.

WILLIAM RAWLINS.

QUE REGIO IN TERRIS NOSTRI NON PLENA LABORIS ?atautoms and

IN addressing the Publick, we feel ourselves in the situation of one who has been long absent from his choicest friends. If he has pleasant tidings to communicate he experiences the most exquisite delight in recapitulating them; but if, unfortunately, he has had to struggle with untoward circumstances, or to encounter the frowns of adverse fortune, he recurs to the past with emotions rather of pain than of pleasure. Experiencing encouragement, as we do, beyond all precedent, with what pleasing satisfaction, then, must we greet our old friends, and accost our new acquaintances? We may perhaps be allowed, without presumption, to apply to ourselves, in some degree, the words of the Trojan hero, as adopted for our motto: for whereever the English language is known, whether in the Eastern or Western world, the GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZINE may be found as a flattering memento of our humble labours. But while more important objects engage our attention, we will not dwell on our own affairs longer than to state, that the editorial and typographical arrangements adopted in the current volume, and fully noticed in our last half-yearly Address, have received considerable approbation, and, we trust, given general satisfaction. For proof of the variety of our literary stores, we appeal with confidence to the different Indexes of the Work.

E

AM

However gratifying it may be to expatiate on our own labours, and their successful result, we revert with still higher satisfaction to a more momentous subject,the situation of the KINGDOM, and the NATIONAL FINANCES. To Britain and her glorious deeds may we venture to apply our motto, in its widest and most unlimited extent; for "what land (where any features of civilization exist) is not full of her labours"-from the Cape of Good Hope to the frozen seas of the Arctic climes from Hudson's Bay to Cape Horn? To those who truly love their native country, and feel an interest in her prosperity, divested of all secondary politics, it must be satisfactory to perceive the real state of her affairs stated in a plain and intelligible manner. A Pamphlet, fully answering this end, has been just published, entitled, "Administration of the Affairs of Great Britain, Ireland, and their Dependancies, at the Commencement of the Year 1823." Work is evidently demi-official; at least it may be so presumed, if we are to judge from the critical precision and consummate ability with which the whole is executed. It presents a systematic account of the

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