THE ANT. No. I.-SATURDAY, 2d DECEMBER, 1826. Original. AT the commencement of our performances, we think it but right to put on record our promises, in the shape of the ORIGINAL PROSPECTUS. THE Publishers of the tiny periodical to which they have given the humble title of "THE ANT," have no pretensions to allege, and very few promises to make. Each Number will consist of twenty-four pages of Letterpress; one-third of which will be filled with matter which, if it scarcely deserve the name of Original in its best sense, will at least be there printed and published for the first time. The other portion is intended to consist of Selections, in prose and verse, chiefly of narrative pieces—the merit of which, as well as their perfect novelty, and their being previously unappropriated by compilers, together with the quantity given in each number, will make this department as Letterpress alone, amply worth the money paid for the whole. Indeed, the original contributions, whatever be their merits or defects, will be altogether thrown in as make-weights to the bargain—“ luck-pence" to the buyer -articles for which even their authors think the doorway of such a receptacle a decent enough shelter for these houseless offspring of their brains-unregistered illegitimates of their idleness. And, farther-that the wheat may be separated from the chaff-the different departments will be separately paged, so that the volume of selections may be bound up by itself- -and the sheets of original matter made any other use of the reader pleases. Gentle Public of this Glasgow, which two years ago boasted six hebdomadal publications, and now of them has not even a wreck behind "CONSIDER THE ANT, AND BE WISE." We trust the Public have considered: but, as to our future plans, we mean not to enlighten them by a long and laboured dissertation on the causes of the former failures of Glasgow periodicals, and the hopes of complete success in this,—since all that we could say on these heads is summed up in the two words-Presumption— Humility. Every one who has preceded us, attempted too much; we must succeed, because we promise literally nothing but a tolerable selection for the money-and some trifling originals into the bargain. Among those latter which are projected-mind, "my Public," projected only-are: A Chronological and Bibliographical Catalogue of Literary Periodical Works published in Glasgow during the Present Century. A Letter to the Lord Provost on the present state of the Drama and Dramatic Taste in Glasgow. Occasional Theatrical Notices. On some neglected Plans for the Amelioration of Society; peculiarly applicable to its condition in this City. On the efforts that have from time to time been, and still should be made to encourage the Fine Arts in the West of Scotland. Biographical Memoir of the late John Goldie, Esq. Editor of the " Spirit of British Song." The Glasgow Gossip: Reminiscences of one of the last Century. On the local capabilities of Glasgow for Architectural Embellishment, and how far they have been made use of, &c. &c. Reminiscences of Riddell, the Pye Poet. Drygate Tales. Nos. I., II., and III. Letters to the Literati of Glasgow. No. I. A Respectful Remonstrance addressed to the Dilettanti Society of Glasgow. Recollections of Literary Societies. By an Old Stager. The Picture Gallery. Nos. I., II., and III. Knowles's Plays. No. I. Virginius. Western Watering-Places. No. I. Gourock. No. II. Dumblane. No. III. Ardentinny. No. IV. Largs. No. V. Helensburgh. &c. &c. &c. IGLESIA S. * They drew him from their dungeon cells, They tie him to the hurdle's plank; They knew him,-every gazer knew The man of noiseless worth; And even the fierce or the crouching crew See his serene but lofty look,— Why should he weep or quail! He never his country's cause forsook,- He dies, but then his martyr place Shall yet be freedom's home: Do ye wonder, then, that his port and his pace Were proud as the Old of Rome? * See an account of the execution of Iglesias, a citizen of Madrid, in the French papers of April, 1826. SPECIMENS OF A SERIES OF NEW READINGS IN BAILEY AND JOHNSON. No. I. A. The key-note of all knowledge-the first sound infancy utters-the latest pain permits us to articulate. In the Scottish dialect, with an apostrophe, it stands for what it really is in every tongue-the all. It was the first whisper of language-the human noise that echo made her first essay upon, and it rushed over the lips of man, so soon as they had given way to the earliest respiration of existence. Abasement.-that congee of the soul which selfishness can teach a clown to make as well as a peer. To perform it requires neither the directions of a Chesterfield, the lessons of a Vestris, nor the example of the King; for it is he who bends lowest that bows best in this exercise. To Abash-A lost attribute of virtue which is supposed to have gone to heaven in search of some missing star. Baronet.-A title now conferred upon first-rate poetsand threatened to upholsterers. Beard.-A trophy boys long for every hour from twelve to sixteen, and men curse every morning from twenty to fifty. Cat.-An animal old maids love, because it gives out sparks when rubbed. A Case.-A human being's maladies-where surgeons lodge their instruments, apothecaries their drugs, and lawyers their long briefs. Dowry.-A name for those arithmetical sums, the real value of which is generally about one-ninth of the supposed. Draco.-The founder of our criminal code. Dun.-A more accurate time-keeper than ever Halley made. Dosing. The agreeable sensation enjoyed in perusingour present number. The Local Epigrammatist. No. I. On Nanny Nisbet's delay in serving Dinner. That Nanny's steaks are faultless I deny; And have two reasons, should you ask me why: Is there who's waited for and ate them, one Who thinks them not too slowly cooked, and yet too smartly done? A Natural Cause. "Confound it, Tom, the air is horrid chill; Though now as cold as a December night.' "Why," answers Tom, "the reason is, I fear, "The wind has crossed the iceberg face of Sneer!" A Weathercock. "Glasgow, I love thee," Nh prints to day; Which is the truth, I'll not pretend to say, Credit WITH Coats but not FOR them. You know Hugh Diddle?-Ay; who knows him not But t'other day he called on our friend John, |