four pounds. Daniel Lambert would, probably, have borne half a hundred weight or more. The writer of this paragraph, who very easily moved forwards with twenty-three pounds on his chest, weighs about thirteen stone, which is less than a quarter of the weight of Daniel Lambert.

In a recent Mercury we copied from the Sussex Advertiser a very interesting account of the rescue of a vessel's crew, by means of a Newfoundland dog, which swam with a rope through the surf, and thus formed a communication between the vessel and the shore. This circumstance brought to our recollection a plan for the rescue of drowning persons, which has long been the subject of conversation amongst our friends, and which we shall briefly describe, as we are more convinced of its utility the more we reflect upon it. Its importance, under particular circumstances, will be immediately recognised by those who know any thing of the subject.

Those persons who have ever attempted to rescue a drowning man, must be well aware of the extreme peril of the undertaking;-the struggler, almost unconscious of what he is doing, is apt to seize the arms, or clasp the body of him who attempts to save him; and without much caution, presence of mind, and address, instead of one life

being saved, two may be sacrificed.

Having, several times in the course of our lives, had personal experience of the difficulty and peril to which we here allude, we may be permitted to offer an opinion on a subject which will be admitted on all hands to be of great interest and importance.

The plan we are about to propose is not intended for general, but for particular occasions, as it is not likely that two dogs could always be at hand upon a sudden emergency. There are, however, places of great public resort for bathers, such as the Serpentine river, where the means of rescuing drowning persons, which we wish to propose, would be the very best that could possibly be adopted, for reasons which we shall presently explain.

The dogs kept for this purpose should wear strong collars, into which hooks or staples should be fixed, in order that upon an emergency the animals may be instantly yoked together, by a connecting stick, or bamboo, which would keep them a yard or more asunder in swimming. When a person is discovered in the water in danger from fright, debility, cramp, or any other cause, the dogs should be immediately despatched to his assistance. When they reached him he would naturally seize hold of the connecting rod, as represented, which would be much more safe and effectual than laying hold of the dogs themselves, as he would be apt to do if they were sent out to his rescue without the connecting rod. The hands and arms of the man would, by this means, be kept immersed in the water, so that it would require but little effort to sustain him, and we have no doubt that two stout dogs, yoked as here represented, would buoy up as many men as could grasp the connecting rod.

We once had in our possession a fine water dog, which would swim, although slowly, with a man holding at each ear, although they made no effort themselves.-What then

would two dogs effect, when yoked as we propose? We prefer a rod or bamboo to a connecting rope, because it obliges the animals to swim at sufficient distance apart to admit of a man, or more, between. Besides, if a rope were used, when the person to be rescued grasped it, his hands would not be kept near the surface, as is represented in the sketch, and his chin would be apt to get under water in the act of being borne ashore.

At such a place as the Serpentine, or wherever a great number of persons congregate for the purpose of bathing, a couple of dogs trained for the purpose, and ready to be sent into the water on a sudden emergency, might be the means of saving many lives. They would reach a drowning person sooner than any other means of rescue could be adopted ; and as dogs are wholly without fear, they would never hesitate for a moment to obey the word of command.

ECHO.

[WRITTEN IN AUGUST 1824.]

TO THE EDITOR.

SIR,-A few evenings ago I chanced to cast my eye over a jeu d'esprit entitled "Address to the Echo," which appeared, I believe, originally, in the London Magazine of this month, and has thence found its way into a multiplicity of our public journals. It may be the height of presumption to criticise any composition emanating from the literary galaxy of the metropolis, and it is, therefore, with fear and trembling that I presume to offer it as my humble opinion, that the aforesaid address to Echo is not absolutely perfect. The nymph, who has condescended to reply to the interrogatories of the rhyming lover, must have been that identical

Irish echo, who, when asked "How do you do?" replied "Very well thank you!" To my ear, at least, such a response is fully as legitimate as the following selected from the dialogue under consideration:-"Celibacy, silly Bessy -Common dressed, come undressed-Appease her, seize her-Compel her, excel her." It may be the fault of my ear, but I cannot for the life of me reconcile those accommodating responses, as all the echoes I have conversed with are most scrupulously faithful in replication.

Well, Sir, after reading, or, I believe, in the very act of reading the jeu d'esprit in question I fell asleep, and had a strange dream, which I shall briefly relate.--Methought I was sauntering by moonlight in a romantic wood, in which there was a remarkably fine echo, when I perceived a female pass into the most shady part of the grove. She entered into a dialogue with Echo, which, as it was very brief, I was enabled to transcribe entire, after I awoke. The damsel, although I could not very clearly distinguish her form, must have been of low degree by her provincial accent, and the rustic names of her admirers. With this preamble, I shall proceed to narrate the dialogue, which was as follows:

Sweet Echo, no longer I single will tarry,
Of all my admirers, pray which shall I marry?

:

No, rather than that I'll remain single still,
How shall I succeed if I marry my Will?

(Echo)-Harry.

(Echo)-Ill.

Strange! Echo, that thus thou should still thwart iny whim,
Pray, would you advise me to marry young Tim?

(Echo)-Him?

And why not? for Tim has the good ready penny;
Of my lovers, who's better, pray, out of the many?

What say you to John-Au estate he has got,
And none in profession of love is as hot.

(Echo)-Any.

(Echo)-He's a sot.

Then there's Hodge, and there's Rodger, and Lubin, and Joe,
Shall I turn a deaf ear to them all, and say no?

(Echo)-Say no.

Cruel Echo, to one further question reply,
Tell me, truly, if I an old maiden shall die?

Ah! Echo, my feelings so sorely you mangle,
On yon weeping willow I'll forthwith go dangle!

(Echo)-Ay.

(Echo)-Go dangle.

Methought that the desponding damsel, upon uttering these words, rushed forwards, in frantic despair, towards the aforesaid weeping willow. I attempted to pursue her, to prevent the fatal catastrophe, when I fell into a quagmire, and awoke well nigh suffocated with mud and sympathy.

DIABOLICAL MALEDICTION.

A wretch, whose infamous character had rendered him so obnoxious to his fellow-townsmen, that by common consent his society was avoided, at length found himself compelled, by public opinion, to decamp from his native spot, to the great joy of his neighbours. He set out one morning very early, and when he had reached the summit of a hill, which afforded him the last glimpse of the spot he was about to quit for ever, he burst out into the following singular and demonical soliloquy. It is so unique in its character that I have endeavoured to versify it, as a specimen worthy of Cain, or of Milton's devils.

Adieu, accurs'd land of my birth!

I thus "shake your dust from my feet!"*
In some remote corner of earth,
I'll seek a less loathsome retreat.

My hatred's so deadly, so deep,

This curse as my legacy take,

May those who're awake-never sleep,

And those who're asleep-never wake!

"And whosoever will not receive you, when you go out of that city shake off even

the dust of your feet as a testimony against them."- 1 uke ix, 3.