As the author has dedicated so large a part of his volume to immortalize his employments at school and college, we cannot possibly dismiss it without presenting the reader with a specimen of these ingenious effusions. In an ode with a Greek motto, called Granta, we have the following magnificent stanzas. 'There, in apartments small and damp, The candidate for college prizes, Sits poring by the midnight lamp, Goes late to bed, yet early rises. Who reads false quantities in Sele, Or puzzles o'er the deep triangle; Depriv'd of many a wholesome meal, In barbarous Latin doom'd to wrangle. Renouncing every pleasing page, From authors of historic use; Preferring to the lettered sage, The square of the hypothenuse. Still harmless are these occupations, That hurt none but the hapless student, Compar'd with other recreations Which bring together the imprudent.' p. 123, 124, 125. We are sorry to hear so bad an account of the college psalmody as is contained in the following Attic stanzas. 'Our choir would scarcely be excus'd. Even as a band of new beginners; All mercy, now, must be refus'd To such a set of croaking sinners. If David, when his toils were ended, Had heard these blockheads sing before him To us, his psalms had ne'er descended, In furious mood, he would have tore 'em.' p. 126, 127. But whatever judgment may be passed on the poems of this noble minor, it seems we must take them as we find them, and be content; for they are the last we shall ever have from him. He is at best, he says, but an intruder into the groves of Parnassus; he never lived in a garret, like thorough-bred poets; and 'though he once roved a careless mountaineer in the Highlands of Scotland,' he has not of late enjoyed this advantage. Moreover, he expects no profit from his publication; and whether it succeeds or not 'it is highly improbable, from his situation and pursuits hereafter,' that he should again condescend to become an author. Therefore, let us take what we get and be thankful. What right have we poor devils to be nice? We are well off to have got so much from a man of this Lord's station, who does not live in a garret, but 'has the sway' of Newstead Abbey. Again we say, let us be thankful; and, with honest Sancho, bid God bless the giver, nor look the gift horse in the mouth.--_The Edinburgh Review_. _Childe Harolde's Pilgrimage. A Romaunt_. _By_ LORD BYRON. The Second Edition. London: Murray, Fleet Street. 1812. 8vo. pp. 300. Price 12s.