When oftentimes the young aerial beau Spans on bright arch the glittering wheels below, Why to yon upland turns the ’cycling eye, Whose misty outline mingles with the sky? Why do those tracts of soberer tint appear More meet than all the landscape shining near? ’Tis _distance_ sends enchantment to his view, And lures the mounted with its azure hue. From _Lyra Bicyclica_, by Joseph G. Dalton. (Hodges and Co., Boston, 1885.) ――――:o:―――― Amongst the various other imitations of Campbell’s style the following are noteworthy:―― In “Rival Rhymes in honour of Burns,” by Samuel Lover (London, 1859), is a long poem entitled “A Spirit Lay from Hades,” imitating “The Battle of the Baltic,” it commences thus:―― Of Scotia and the North A loving son would sing, And to laud surpassing worth Would wake the silent string, Untouch’d since it sank to the tomb; But bardic fires still burn In the ashes of the urn, And glimmering back return Through the gloom. For BURNS this spirit lay Is wafted to the earth, In honour of the day That gave the poet birth. * * * * * “Rejected Odes,” edited by Humphrey Hedgehog, Esq., published by J. Johnston, London, 1813, a dreary little book, which was, no doubt, brought into existence in consequence of the success of “The Rejected Addresses,” contains poems which are supposed to bear some resemblance to those of Lord Byron, Walter Scott, Wordsworth, Southey, and others. Specimen the Ninth is devoted to the description of the sorrows of Ireland, written after the style of Campbell’s Exile of Erin. In “The Maclise Portrait Gallery” (Chatto and Windus) there is an excellent portrait of Campbell, who, comfortably seated in an arm chair, is enjoying a long pipe and a glass of whisky toddy:―― “There’s Tom Campbell in person, the poet of Hope, Brimful of good liquor, as gay as the Pope; His shirt collar’s open, his wig is awry, There’s his stock on the ground, there’s a cock in his eye. Half gone his last tumbler――clean gone his last joke, And his pipe, like his college, is ending in smoke. What he’s saying who knows, but perhaps it may be Something tender and soft of a bouncing ladye.” W. MAGINN. Robert Burns, _Born January_ 25, 1759. _Died July_ 21, 1796. [Illustration: T]he date of the birth of Burns has been variously given as January 25 and January 29, the former date is probably correct judging from the lines: “Our monarch’s hindmost year but ane. Was five and twenty days begun, ’Twas then a blast o’ Janwar win’ Blew hansel in our Robin.”