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(Jnla, 18Ü4.)

The Life and Posthifwms Writings of William Cowper, Esq. With an Introductory Lcltci tu the Rigkt Honourable Earl Cowper. By William Haylkv, Esq. Vol. III. 4to. pp. 416. Johnson, London: 1804.

This is the continuation of a work of which we recently submitted a very ample account ал<1 a very full character to our readers: On that occasion, we took the liberty of observing, that two quarto volumes seemed to be almost as much as the biography of a secluded scholar was entitled to occupy; and, with "a little judicious compression, we are still of opinion that the life and correspondence of Cowper might be advantageously included in fomewhat narrower limits. We are by no means disposed, however, to quarrel witli this third volume, which is more interesting, if possible, than either of the two former, and will be read, we have no doubt, with general admiration and delight.

Though it still bears the title of the life of Cowper, this volume contains no further parliculars of his history; but is entirely made up of a collection of his letters, introduced by a long, rambling dissertation on letter-writing in general, from the pen of his biographer. Tuis prologue, we think, possesses no peculiar merit. The writer has no vigour, and very little vivacity; his mind seems to be '•ultivated, but not at all fertile: and, while he always keeps at a safe distance from extravagance or absurdity, he does not seem to be uniformly capable of distinguishing affectation from elegance, or dulness from good judgment. This discourse upon letter-writing, in short, contains nothing that might not lave been omitted with considerable advantage to the publication; and we are rather inclined to think, that those who are ambitious of being introduced to the presence of Co«-per, will do well not to linger very long in the antichamber with Mr. Hayley.

Of the letters themselves, we may safely assert, that we have rarely met with any similar collection, of superior interest or beauty. Though the incidents to which they leíate be of no public magnitude or moment, ind the remarks which they contain are not ''.niformly profound or original, yet there is ^mething in the sweetness and facility of the ilietion, and more, perhaps, in the glimpses they afford of a pure and benevolent mind, thai diffuses a charm over the whole collection, and communicates an interest that is not often commanded by performances of greater dignity and pretension. This interest was promoted and assisted, no doubt, in a considerable degree, by that curiosity which always •^ks to penetrate into the privacy of celebrated men. and which had been almost entirely frustrated in the instance of Cowper, till the appearance of this publication. Though his writings had long been extremely popular, fc author himaeif was scarcely known to the

public; and having lived in a state of entire seclusion from the world, there were no anecdotes of his conversation, his habits or opinions, in circulation among his admirers. The publication of his correspondence has in a great measure supplied this deficiency; and we now know almost as much of Cowper as we do of those authors who have spent their days in the centre and glare of literary or fashionable notoriety. These letters, however, will continue to be read, long after the curiosity is gratified to which perhaps they owed their first celebrity: for the character with which they make us acquuimed, will always attract by its rarity, and engage by its elegance. The feminine delicacy and purity of Cowper's manners and disposition, the romantic and unbroken retirement in which his innocent life was passed, and the singular gentleness and modesty of his whole character, disarm him of those terrors that so often shed an atmosphere of repulsion around the persons of celebrated writers, and make us more indulgent to his weaknesses, and more delighted with his excellences, than if he had been the centre of a circle of wits, or the oracle of a literary confederacy. The inteiet-t of this picture is still further heightened by the recollection of that tremendous malady, to the visitations of which he was subject, and by the spectacle of that perpetual conflict which was maintained, through the greater part of his life, between the depression of those constitutional horrors, and the gaiety that resulted from a playful imagination, and a heart animated by the mildest affections.

In the letters now before us, Cowper displays a great deal of all those peculiarities by which his character was adorned or distinguished; he is frequently the subject of his own observations, and often delineates the finer features of his understanding with all the industry and impartiality of a stranger. But the most interesting traits are those which are unintentionally discovered, and which the reader collects from expressions that were em. ployed for very different purposes. Amor.g the most obvious, perhaps, as well as the most important of these, isthat extraordinary combination of shyness and ambition, to which we are probably indebted for the very existence of his poetry. Being disqualified, by the former, from vindicating his proper place in the ordinary scenes either of business or of society, he was excited, by the latter; to attempt the only other avenue to reputation that appeared to be open, and to assort the real dignity of the talents with which he felt that he was gifted. If he could only have mustered courage enough to read the journals uf the House of Lords, or been able to get over the diffidence which fettered his utterance in general society, his genius would probably have evaporated in conversation, or been contented with the humbler glory of contributing to the Rolliad or the Connoisseur.

As the present collection relatée to no particular set of subjects or occurrences, bot exhibits a view of the author's miscellaneous correspondence with the few intimate friends he had retained, it is impossible to give any abstract of its contents, or to observe any order in the extracts that may be made from it. We shall endeavour, however, to introduce as great a variety as possible.

Though living altogether in retirement, Cowper appears to have retained a very nice perception of the proprieties of conduct and manners, and to have exercised a great deal of acutenese and sagacity upon the few subjects of practical importance which he had occasion to consider. The following sketch is by a line and masterly hand; and proves how much a bashful recluse may excel a gentleman from the grand tour in delicacy ofobeervation and just notions of politeness.

"Since I wrote liai, we hed a visit from —. I did not feel myself vehemently disposed to receive him with thai complaisance, from which a stranger generally infers that he is welcome. By his manner, which was rather bold than easy, I judged that there was no occasion for it; and that it was a trifle which, if he did not meet with, neither would he feel the want of. He has the air of a travelled man, but not of a travelled gentleman ; is quite delivered from that reserve, which is so common an ingredient in the English character, yet does not open himself gently and gradually, as men of polite behaviour do, but bursts upon you all at once He talks very loud; and when our poor little robins hear a great noise, they are immediately seized with an ambition to surpass it—the increase of their vociferation occasioned an increase of hie; and his, in return, acted as a stimulus upon theirs—neither side entertained a thought of giving up the contest, which became continually more interesting to our ears during the whole visit. The birds, however, survived it,—and so did we. They perhaps flatter themselves they gained a complete victory, but I

believe Mr. would have killed them both in

another hour."—pp. 17, 18.

Cowper s antipathy to public schools is well known to all the readers of his poetry. There are many excellent remarks on that subject in these letters. We can only find room for the following.

"A public education is often recommendexl аз (he most effectual remedy for that bashful and awkward restraint, so epidemical among the youth of our country. But I verily believe, that, instead of being a cure, it is often the cause of it. For seven or eight years of his life, the boy hi« hardly seen or conversed with a man, or a woman, except the mails at his boarding bouse. A gentleman or a iady, are consequently such novelties to him, that he is perfectly m a logs to know what sort of behaviour ne should preserve before them. He plays M it h his buttons, or the strings of his hat, he blows liis nose, and hangs down his head, is conscious of his own deficiency to a degree that makes him quite unhappy, and tremblée lest any one should speak lo him, because that would quite overwhelm him. Is not all this miserable shyness the efleci of his education? To me il appears to be so. If he saw good company every day, ne would never be terrified at '.he sight of it, and a room full of ladiee and gentle

men, would alarm him no more than the chain they sit on. Such is the effect of custom."—p. 60.

There is much acuteness in the following examination of Dr. Paley's argument in favour of the English hierarchy.

"He says first, lhat the appointment of vwiooi orders in the church, is attended with this good consequence, lhat each class of people ia supplied with a clergy of their own level and description, with whom they may live and associate on terms of equality. But in order to effect thia good purpose, there ought to be at least three parsons m every parish; one for the gentry, one for the traders and mechanics, and one tor the loweet of the vulgar. Neither is it easy to find many parishes, where the laity at large nave any society wiih their minister at all: this therefore is fanciful, and a mere invention. In the next place, he says it gives a dignity to the ministry iiself; and the clergy shire in the respect paid to their superior«. Much giwd may such participation do them! They themselTe» know how little it amounts to. The dignity a curate derives from the lawn sleeves and square op of his diocesan, will never endanger his humility Again—' Rich and splendid situations in the church, have been justly regarded as prizes, held out to invite persons of good hopes and ingenious attainments.' Agreed. But the prize held out in the Scripture, is of a very different kind; and our ecclesiastical baits are too often snapped by the worth less, and persons of no attainments at all. They are indeed incentives to avarice and ambition, tuf not to those acquirements, by which only the ministerial function can be adorned, zeal tor the salvition of men, humility, and self-denial. Mr. Paky and I therefore cannot agree."—pp. 172, 173.

One of the most remarkable things in this volume, is the great profusion of witty and humorous passages wbjch it contains; thousi they are usually so short, and stand so much connected with more indifferent matter, lhat it is not easy to give any tolerable notion of them by an extract. His style of narrative is particularly gay and pleasing, though the incidents are generally too trifling to bear a separation from the whole tissue of the correspondence. We venture on the following account of an election visit.

"As when the sea is uncommonly agitated, the water finds its way into creeks and holes of rocki. which in in calmer state it never reaches, in like manner (he effect of these turbulent times is fell even at Orchard-side, where in general we live a undisturbed by ihe political clement, as shrimp« or cockles that have been accidently deposited in wrr.t hollow beyond the water-mark, by the usual dnshing of the waves. We were sitting yesterday altrr dinner, the two ladies and myself, very composed!)'. and without the least apprehension of any such intrusion, in our snuz pnrlour, one lady knitting, 'he other netting, and the gentleman winding worsted. when, to our unspeakable surprise, a moo appeared before Ihe window, a smart rap was heard at the door, the boys halloo'd, and the maid announced

Mr. G . Puss* wns unfortunately let ont of her

box. so that the candidate, with all his good friend« at his heels, was refused admittance at the grand entry, and referred to ihe back door, as the only possible way of approach.

"Candidates are creatures not very susanm!"" of affronts, and would rather, I suppose, climb in at the window than be absolutely excluded. I" * minute, the yard, the kitchen, and ihe parlour were

filled. Mr. G , advancing toward me, »h"°k

me by the hand with a degree of cordiality tn»i *«' extremely seducing. As soon as he, and as

Hit tara- hare.

u ceñid find chaire were seated, he began to open the intent of his visit. I told him I had no vote, for which he readily gave me credit. I assured him I bad no influence, which he was not equally inclined

to believe, and the lees no doubt because Mr. G ,

addreiang himself to me at that moment, informed me that 1 had a great deal. Supposing that I could not be possessed of such a treasure wii nout knowing it, I ventured to confirm my first assenion, by saying, that if 1 had any, I was uttcrjy at a loss to imagine where it could be, or wherein it consisted. Thus ended the conference. Mr. G squeezed me by ihe hand again, kissed the ladies, and withdrew. He kissed likewise the maid in the kin-hen; »nd Hemed upon the whole a most loving, kissing, kind-nearied gentleman. He is very young, genie«), and handsome. He has a pair of very good tytt in his head, which not being sufficient as it fhuuld ae«m for the many nice and difficult purposes of a senator, he had a third also, which he wore suspended by a riband from his button-hole. The boys halloo'd, the dogs barked, puss scampered; the hero, with his long train of obsequious followers, withdrew. We made ourselves very merry with the adventure, and in » short time settled into our former tranquillity, never probably to be thus interrupted more. I thought myself, however, happy in being able to affirm truly, that I had not that infljenee for which he sued, and for which, had I been possessed of it, with my present views of the depute between the Crown and the Commons, I must have refused him, for he is on the side of the t >rmer. It is comfortable to be of no consequence in a world where one cannot exercise any without d «obliging somebody."—pp. 242—244.

Melancholy and dejected men often amuse themselves with pursuits that seem to indicate the greatest levity. Swift wrote all sorts of doggrel and absurdity while tormented with spleen, giddiness, and misanthropy. Cowper rompoetxl John Gilpin during a season of most deplorable depression, and probably indited thf.' rhyming letter which appears in this collation, in a moment equally gloomy. For the amusement of our readers^ we annex the concluding paragraph, containing a simile, of •>hieh we think they must immediately feel the propriety.

'• I have heard before of a room, with a floor laid '¡pon springs, and such like things, with so much '«, in every part, that when you went in, you was ! Teed to begin a minuet pace, with an air and a Race, swimming about, now in and now out, with i deal of state, in a figure of eight, without pipe or 'ring, or any such thing; and now I have writ, in • rhyming fît. what will make you dance, and as \na advance, will keep you still, though against )'<iur will, dancing away, alert and gay. till you comf to an end of what I have penn'd ; which lhat You тат do, ere madam and you, are quite worn »at, witii jiggling about. I take my leave ; and here >ou receive a bow profound, down to the ground, 'rim your humble me—W. C."—p. 89.

As a contrast to this ridiculous effusion, we *iid the following brief statement, which, notvith«amlirig its humble simplicity, appears ч a* to be an example of the true pathetic.

"You never ttaid a better thing in your life, than •*Hen you aeourrd Mr. of the expedience of a

IlÍÚ of bedding <o the poor of Olncy. There is no r-r.t «ride of this world's comforts wilh which, as Fulttaff says, ihey are so heinously unprovided. When a poor woman, whom we know well, carried Vome two pair of blankets, a pair for herself am: hujiand. and a pair for her six children, as soon as tb» children saw them, they jumped put of their finir, caught them in their arms, kissed them. b<Med idem and danced for joy. Another olc

woman, а тегу old one, the first night that «he bund herself so comfortably covered, could not sleep a wink, being kept awake by the contrary emotions, of transport on the one hand, and the tear of not being thankful enough on the other."

pp. 347 348.

The correspondence of a poet may be expected to abound in poetical imagery and sentiments. They do not form the most prominent parts of this collection, but they xx-ur in sufficient profusion; and we have been agreeably surprised to find in these Inters the germs of many of the finest passages in the "Task." There is all the ardour of poetry and devotion in the following passages.

14 Oh! I could spend whole days, and moon-light nights, in feeding upon a lovely prospect! My eyes drink the rivers as they flow. If every human being upon earth could think for one quarter of an hour, us I have done for many years, there might perhaps be many miserable men among them, but not an unawakened one could be found, from the arctic to the antarctic circle. At present, the difference between them and me is greatly to their advantage. I delight in baubles, and know them to be so; for, rested in, and viewed without a reference to their Author, what is the earth, what are ihe planets, what is the nun itself, but a bauble ( Better for a man never to have seen them, or to see them wilh the eyes of a brute, stupid and unconscious of what he beholds, than not to be able to say, ' The Maker of all these wonders is my friend!' Their eyes have never been opened, to see that they are trifles; mine have been, and will be, till they are closed for ever. They think a fine «state, a large conservatory, a hot-house rich as a West Indian garden, things of consequence; visit them with pleasure, and muse »pon them with ten times more. I am pleased wilh a frame of lour lights, doubtful whether the few pines it contains will ever be worth a farthing; amuse myself wilh a greenhouse, which Lord Bute's gardener could lake upon his back, and walk away with; and when I have paid it the accustomed visit, and watered it, and given it air, I say to myself—This is not mine, 'tis a plaything lent me for the present, I must leave it soon."—pp. 19, 20.

"We keep no bees; hut if I liyed in a hive, I should hardly hear more of their music. All thu bees in the neighbourhood resort to a bed of mignonette, opposite to the window, and pay me fnr the honey they get out of it, by a hum, which, though rather monotonous, is as agreeable to my ear, as the whistling of my linnets. All the sound* that nature utters are delightful, at least in this country. I should not perhaps find the roaring of lions in Africa, or of bears in Russia, very pleasing; but I know no beast in England whose voice I do not account musical, save and except always the braying of an ass. The notes of all our birds and fowls please me, without one exception. I should not indeed think of keeping a goose in a cage, that I might hang him up in the parlour, for the sake of his melody; but a goose upon a common, or in a farm yard, ie no bad performer. And as to insects, if the black beetle, and beetles indeed of all hues, will keep out of my way, I have no objection to any of the rest; on the contrary, in whatever key they eing, from the knat's fine treble to the bass of the humble bee, I admire them all. Seriously, however, il strikes me as a very observable instance of providential kindness to man, that such an exact accord has been contrived between his ear and the sounds with which, at least in a rural situation, it is almost every moment visited. All the world is sensible of the uncomfortable effect that certain sounds have upon the nerves, and consequently upon the spirits; and if a sinful world had been filled wilh such as would have curdled the blood, and have made the sense of hearing a perpetual inconvenience, I do not know that we should have had a right to complain.-There is somewhere in infinite space, a world that does not roll within the precincts of mercy; and as it is reasonable, and even scriptural, to suppose that there is music in heaven, in those dismal regions perhaps the reverse of it is found. Tones so dismal, as to make woe itself more insupportable, and to acuminate even despair. But my paper admonishes me in good time to draw the reins, and to check the descent of my fancy into deeps with which she is but too familiar. pp. 287–289.

The following short sketches, though not marked with so much enthusiasm, are conceived with the same vigour and distinctness.

“When we look back upon our foresathers, we seem to look back upon the people of another nation, almost upon creatures of another species. Their vast rambling mansions, spacious halls, and painted casements, their Gothic porches smothered with honeysuckles, their little gardens and high walls, their box-edgings, balls of holly, and yew. tree statues, are become so entirely unfashionable now, that we can hardly believe it possible that a people who resembled us so little in their taste, should resemble us in any thing else. But in every thing else, I suppose, they were our counterparts exactly; and time, that has sewed up the slashed sleeve, and reduced the large trunk-hose to a neat pair of silk stockings, has left human nature just where it found it. The inside of the man, at least, has undergone no change. His passions, appetites, and aims are just what they ever were. They wear perhaps a handsomer disguise than they did in days of yore ; for ol. and literature will have their effect upon the exterior; but in every other respect a modern is only an ancient in a different dress.” p. 48. “I am much obliged to you for the voyages, which I received, and began to read last night. My imagination is so captivated upon these occasions, that I seem to partake with the navigators in all the dangers they encountered. I lose my anchor; my main-sail is rent into shreds; 1 kill a shark, and by signs converse with a Patagonian,—and all this without moving from the fire-side. The principal fruits of these circuits that have been made around the globe, seem likely to be the amusement of those that staid at home. Discoveries have been made, but such discoveries as will hardly satisfy the ex. ense of such undertakings. We brought away an ndian, and, having debauched him, we sent him home again to communicate the infection to his country-fine sports to be sure, but such as will not defray the cost. Nations that live upon bread. fruit, and have no mines to make them worthy of our acquaintance, will be but little visited for the future. So much the better for them ; their poverty is indeed their mercy.”—pp. 201, 202.

Cowper's religious impressions occupied too great a portion of his thoughts, and exercised too great an influence on his character, not to make a o figure in his correspondence. They form the subject of many eloquent and glowing passages; and have sometimes suggested sentiments and expressions that cannot be perused without compassion and regret. The following passage, however, is liberal and important.

“No man was ever scolded out of his sins. The heart, corrupt as it is, and because it is so, grows angry if it be not treated with some management ...; good manners, and scolds again. A surly mas. tiff will bear perhaps to be stroked, though he will growl even under that operation; but if you touch him roughly, he will bite. There is no grace that the spirit of self can counterfeit with more success than a religious zeal. A man thinks he is fighting

for Christ, when he is fighting for his own notions. He thinks that he is skilfully searching the hearts of others, while he is only gratifying the malignity of his own; and *...of supposes his hearers destitute of all grace, that he may shine the more in his own eyes by comparison.”—pp. 179, 180.

The following, too, is in a fine style of eloquence.

“We have exchanged a zeal that was no better than madness, for an indifference equally pitiable and absurd. The holy sepulchre has lost its importance in the eyes of nations called Christian; not because the light of true wisdom had delivered them from a superstitious attachment to the spot, but because he that was buried in it is no longer regarded by them as the Saviour of the world. The exercise of reason, enlightened by philosophy, has cured them indeed of the misery .." an abused understanding; but, together with the delusion, they have lost the substance, and, for the sake of the lies that were grafted upon it, have quarrelled with the truth itself. Here, then, we see the ne plus ultra of human wisdom, at least in affairs of religion. It enlightens the mind with respect to non-essentials; but, with respect to that in which the essence of Christianity consists, leaves it perfectly in the dark. It can discover many errors, that in different ages have disgraced the faith; but it is only to make way for the admission of one more fatal than them all, which represents that faith itself as a delusion. Why those evils have been permitted, shall be known hereafter. One thing in the meantime is certain; that the folly and frenzy of the professed disciples of the gospel have been more dangerous to its interest than all the avowed hostilities of its adversaries.”-pp. 200, 201.

There are many passages that breathe the very spirit of Christian gentleness and sober judgment. But when he talks of his friend Mr. Newton’s prophetic intimations (p. 35.), and maintains that a great proportion of the ladies and gentlemen who amuse themselves with dancing at Brighthelmstone, must necessarily be damned (p. 100.), we cannot feel the same respect for his understanding, and are repelled by the austerity of his faith. The most remarkable passage of this kind, however, is that in which he supposes the death of the celebrated Captain too. have been a judgment on him for having allowed himself to i. worshipped at Owhyhee, Mr. Hayley assures us, in a note, that Cowper proceeded altogether on a misapprehension of the fact. The passage, however, is curious, and shows with what eagerness his powerful mind followed that train of superstition into which his devotion was sometimes so unfortunately betrayed.

“The reading of those volumes afforded me much amusement, and I hope some instruction. No observation, however, forced itself upon me with more violence than one, that I could not help making, on the death of Captain Cook. God is a jealous God; and at Owhyhee the poor man was content to be worshipped! From that moment, the remarkable interposition of Providence in his favour, was converted into an opposition that thwarted all his purposes. He left the scene of his deification, but was driven back to it by a most violent storm, in which he snffered more than in any that had preceded it. When he departed, he left his worshippers still infatuated with an idea of his godship, consequently well disposed to serve him. At his return, he found them sullen, distrustful, and mysterious. . A trifling theft was committed, which, by a blunder of his own in pursuing the thief after the properly had been restored, was magnified ю an affair of the last impüriance. One oí tfteir favourite chiefs was killed, loo, by a blunder. Nothing, in short, but blunder and mistake attended him, till he fell breathless into the water —end then all was »mouth again! The wurld indeed will not take notice, or see that the dispensation bore evident marks ol divide displeasure; but a mind. I think, in any degree spiritual, cannot uverluo* them."—pp. 293, 294.

From these extracts, our readers will now be able to form a pretty accurate notion of (he contents aiul composition of this volume. /¡schief merit consists in the singular ease, elegance, and familiarity with which every tlini^ is expressed, and in the simplicity and sincerity in which every thing appears to be conceived. Its chief fault, perhaps, is the too frequent recurrence of those apologies for dull letters, and complaints of the want of subjects, that seem occasionally to bring it down to the level of an ordinary correspondence, and to represent Cowper as one of those who muke every letter its own subject¡ and correspond with their friends by talking about their correspondence.

Besides the subjects, of which we have exhibited some specimens, it contains a good deal of occasional criticism, of which we do no! think very highly. It is not easy, indeed, to say to what degree the judgments of those who live in the world are biassed by the opinion? that prevail in it; but, in matters of this kind, the general prevalence of an opinion is almost the only test we can have of its troth; 4nd the judgment of a secluded man i* almost as justly convicted of error, when it rv.ns counter to that opinion, as it is extolled for saaacity, when it happens to coincide with il. The critical remarks of Cowper furnish us with instances of both sorts; but perhaps with most of the former. His admiration of Mrs. Macanlay;s History, and the rapture with which he speaks of the Henry and Kmma of Prior, and the compositions of Churchill, will not, we should imagine, attract the sympathy of many readers, or suspend the sentence which time appears to be passin« on those performances. As there is scarcely any thing of love in the poetry of Cowper, it is not very wonderful that liiere fiwiikl be nothing of it in his correspondence. There is something very tender and amiable in his affection for his cousin Lady Hesketh; bnt we tlo not remember any passage where he approaches to the language of gallantry, orappears la have indulged in the sentiments lhat might have led to its employment. It is also somewhat remarkable, that during the whole course of his retirement, though a good •teal embarrassed in his circumstances, and frequently vt'iy much distressed for want of wiplovmeiil. ne never seems, to have had an uleaof betaking himself to a profession. The solution of this difficulty is probably to be bund in the infirmity of his mental health: but there were ten or twelve years of his life, when he seems to have been fit for any exertion that did not require a public appearance, чн! to have suffered very much from the want of all occupation.

This volume closes with a fragment of a poem by Cowper. which Mr. Hayley was fortunate enough to discover by accident among some loose papers which had been found in the poet's study. It consists of something less than two hundred lines, and is addressed to a very ancient and decayed oak in the vicinity of Weston. We do not think quite so highly jf this production as the editor appears to do; at the same time that we confess it ',o be impressed with all the marks of Cowpers most vigorous hand: we do not know any of his compositions, indeed, that affords a more striking exemplification of most of the excellences anil defects of his peculiar style, or might be more fairly quoted as a specimen of his manner. It is full of the conceptions of a vigorous and poetical fancy, expressed in nervous and familiar language; but it is rendered harsh' by unnecessary inversions, and debased in several places by the use of antiquated and vulgar phrases. The following are about the best lines which it contains.

'Thou wast a bauble once; a cup and ball, Which babee might play with; and the thievish

jay

Seeking her food, with ease might have purloin'd
The auburn nut that held thec, swallowing down
Thy yet close-folded latitude of boughs.
And all thine embryo vastness, as a gulp!
But fate thy growth decreed; autumnal rains,
Beneath thy parent tree, mellow'd the soil
Design'd thy cradle, and a skipping deer.
With pointed hoof dibbling the glebe, prepar'd
The soft receptacle, in which secure
Thy rudiments should sleep the winter through."

"Time made thce what thou wast—King of the

woods!

And time hath made thee what thou art—a cave
For owls to roost in! Once thy spreading boughs
O'erhung the champaign, and the numerous flock
That grax'd it, stood beneath that ample cope
Uncrowded, yet safe-sheltered from the storm!
No flock frequents thce now; thou hast outliv'd
Thy popularity; and art become
(Unless verse rescue thee awhile) a thine
Forgotten, as the foliage ot thy youth!

"One man alone, the father of us all,
Drew not his life from woman; never gaz'd,
With mute unconsciousness of what he saw,
On all around him; Icarn'd not by degrees,
Norow'd anirulniion to his ear;
But moulded by his Maker into man
At once, upstood intelligent; eurvey'd
All creatures; with precision understood
Their purport, usée, properties; aesien'd
To each his name significant, and, fill'd
With love and wisdom, rendered back to heaven,
In prnise harmonious, ihe first air he drew!
He wns cxcus'd the penalties of dull
Minority; no tutor charg'd his hand
With the thought-tracing quill, or task'd his mind
With problems; History, not wanted yet,
Lcan'd on her elbow, watching time, whose cause
Eventful, should supply her with a theme."

pp. 415, 416.

On the whole, though we complain a little of the si/.e and the price of the volumes now before us, we take our leave of them with reluctance; and lay down our pen with no little regret, to think that we shall review no more of this author's productions.

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