of such an expression any wilful disrespect was intended. I have often heard owners and drivers of public vehicles declare that they regretted my retirement. The Italians have a very current phrase,[19] which attaches delight to the total absence of employment. I never could appreciate idleness as pleasurable; and I believe that numerous instances of mental aberration have originated in the want of occupation. I am disposed to insert in these pages a few productions of my first year of unrelished leisure. If their perusal is pleasing to a reader, they require no apology; and if they are considered unworthy of attention, they may serve as a warning to others against being induced to waste their time in similar attempts. A REVIEW. A gentleman of literary tendencies, and for whom I had a great personal regard, mentioned to a small party of friends his intention to publish a semi-monthly periodical in Dublin, under the title of "The Irish Review." I stated that whilst wishing the utmost success to his undertaking, my hopes were extremely slender, and adduced what I considered cogent reasons for the opinion expressed. None of the others coincided with me, and one of them jocularly remarked that a penance should be imposed on me by requiring me to write the preface. With this proposition the others fully agreed, and although I steadfastly declined to comply with their requisition, I expressed a willingness to attempt a contribution of a prefatory nature, the topics and composition being completely left to my own discretion, or perhaps I should say, indiscretion. The production was sent and published, and although the periodical was not ultimately successful, a better result may possibly attend the next attempt to establish an enlightened and impartial organ of literary criticism in the Irish metropolis. My contribution was headed-- AN IRISH REVIEW. When Albion, proud Albion, heard threats of invasion, Her spirit and energy met the occasion; She call'd on her sons, and they readily back'd her, And perhaps for that reason, no foes have attack'd her. Of Ireland, it seems, there were doubtings and fears; From us they declined to demand volunteers; They thought that if bay'nets and muskets we got, We'd exchange with each other a thrust or a shot. They thought Tipperary could ne'er meet Tyrone, And part in whole skin without any sore bone, That lads from old Galway or Southern Tralee; With Derry's apprentices might disagree. We've no volunteers, and we'll not have a fight, Our colors are peaceful, they're plain black and white; But without volunteers in green, scarlet, or blue, We're determined on having AN IRISH REVIEW. A review--where a mere moral force we demand, A review--at which Intellect takes the command, A review--where each Science delights to combine, A review--where Wit's facings appear in the line.