Notes of the Month

1831 The National Magazine  
Known as the Early Journal Content, this set of works include research articles, news, letters, and other writings published in more than 200 of the oldest leading academic journals. The works date from the mid--seventeenth to the early twentieth centuries. We encourage people to read and share the Early Journal Content openly and to tell others that this resource exists. People may post this content online or redistribute in any way for non--commercial purposes. Read more about Early Journal
more » ... ntent at JSTOR is a digital library of academic journals, books, and primary source objects. JSTOR helps people discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content through a powerful research and teaching platform, and preserves this content for future generations. JSTOR is part of ITHAKA, a not--for--profit organization that also includes Ithaka S+R and Portico. For more information about JSTOR, please contact I love to roam in the pathless wood, When the red leaf swims on the autumn flood; When the forest wind hath a wailing tone, And the blossoms of summer lie sear'd and strown: Each bird that pines on the leafless spray, Seems telling of joy which hath pass'd away ;-Each leaf that floats on the troubled stream, Whispers of peace which hath fled like a dream. I love to sit by the smiling light Of a social hearth, on the wintry night, When the icedrop hangs on the frozen bough, And the snow lies deep on the mountain's brow : Oh ! who would not turn, in that fearful hour, When the storm is abroad in its lawless power, From the driving sleet, and the fitful din, To the glances of friendship which brighten within But thou art more welcome, and dearer to me, Than the flowery turf of the vernal lea ; Thy smile to my soul is more soothing and sweet, Than the west when the sun and the waters meet : Thy voice to mine ear is more musical, Than the breeze of the wood in its dying fall ; And thy truth, like a shelter to save and to shield, When the might of the tempest is loos'd on the field. Notes of the Month. 101 NOTES OF THE MONTH. BY TWO HERMITS IN LONDON. Nov. 23d.-Hastened to Westminster-Hall to see Lord Brougham on the woolsack, having heard him deliver rather a weak argument the preceding Saturday on the " Lex Domicilii," in the Exchequer-the last he ever delivered. We thought of Lord Bacon's taking his seat upon the Chancerybench, attended by a splendid train of nobles and congratulating friends: there was this difference between the two cases, Bacon filled minor offices, and was solicitor-general before he was created lord chancellor-whereas Brougham, from being a practising barrister, was lifted at once to the highest judicial situation in England. We were disappointed, for the court was closed; so we turned in to the vice-chancellor's court, to take a peep at the new law-officers. Mr. Horne, the solicitor-general, is an intelligentlooking man, and much liked by the bar--especially by the juniors, for his courtesy and kindness; he makes wry faces, which, it will be admitted, is an unpleasant habit, and is inconceivably prolix, which is another unpleasant habit. Shadwell, the vice-chancellor, is the most fidgetty man we ever beheld: he looks as though he were sitting on spikes. Paid a visit to the king's-bench-saw a little black man with twenty horrid volumes before him; heard him cite one hundred cases; discovered he was a conveyancer come to argue the construction of a devise: we prepared for flight. Our attention was arrested on perceiving the most singular pedant in existence preparing to reply, writing notes in hieroglyphics. We had long been anxious to hear " Preston on Estates," so we remained; and he, poising his spectacles on the thinnest and sharpest nose in the world, began his dry argument thus:-" My Lord, it is now 44-6-8 years since I entered the profession, and thirty years since I argued the case which introduced me to the notice of Mr. Justice Bayley-an event which I shall ever cherish in my fondest recollections." We thought this would have been considered absurd in Dublin. He next modestly observed-" He knew more upon the subject than any man in the profession." And then quoted his own books with infinite pomp; worked himself into a phrenzy of delight about tenants