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Mm Jrink spirits; and lei him that prefers manjfm. <.ikr inaajun; and let not the one party give any ijle or provoking language to the other.' Sume sal down to spirits, some to rnanjim. The party went on for some time tolerably well. Baba Jan Kahtizi had not been ir, the boat; we had sent for him when we reached the royal tente. He chose to drink spirit». Terdi Muhammcd Kipchàk, too, was sent t т. and joined the spirit-drinkers. As the spiritdnnkeraund maajiln-takers never can agree in one party, the spiril-bibing party began to indulge in ViUhand idle conversation, and to make provoking remarks on maajun and maajun-takers. Baba

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тегу snort time he was mad drunk. Whatever nertiona I could make to preserve peace, were all liuwailing; there was much uproar and wrangling. Tin: party became quite burdensome and unplea«am, and soon broke up."

The second day after, we find the royal Mcchanal still more grievously overtaken:

11 We continued drinking spirits in the boat till bed-lime prayers, when, being completely drunk, «<• mourned, and taking torches in our hands came i! l'iil gallup back to the camp from the river-sjde, ü ing sometimes on one aide of the horse, and «omeiimea on the other. I was miserably drunk, and next morning, when they told me of our having Sloped into the camp with lighted torches in our '¡vul*. I had not the slightest recollection of the uivimstance. -After coining home, I vomited plentifully."

Even in the middle of a harassing and desultory campaign, there is no intermission of this excessive jollity, though it sometimes puts the parties into jeopardy,—for example : —

"We continued at this place drinking till the sun <ru on the decline, when we set out. Those who •ml been of the party were completely drunk. ?»ed KtiMtn wag so drunk, that two of his servants »его obliged to put him on horseback, and brought Ыш to the camp with great difficulty. Dost Muhimmed Bàkir was so far gone, that Amîn Muhimmed Terkhân, Masti Chehreh, and those who «nre along with him, were unable, with all their tiemons, 10 get him on horseback. They poured i great quantity of water over him, but all to no parpóte. At this moment a body of Afghans appeared in eight. Amîn Muhanimed Ferkhân, being тегу drunk, gravely gave it as his opinion, ibat rather linn leave him, in the condition in which h? wae, to fall inlo the hands of the enemy, it was better ai once to cut off his head, and carry it 6»ay. Making another exertion, however, with much difficulty, they contrived to throw him upon • horse, which they led along, and so brought Kim off."

On eome occasions they contrive to be drank four times in twenty-four hours. The cillant ptirice contents himself with a strong uaojiai one day; bat

"N'iit morning we had a drinking party in the >-чт tent. We continued drinking till night. On '•i'- !'i¡¡uwiri¿ morning we again had an early cup. a»d. getting intoxicated, went to sleep. About

•'4-day prayers, we left Istâlîf, and I look a pe^on on the road. It was about afternoon prayers bffore I reached Behzàdi. The crops wore ex'>me!y good. While I was riding round ihe har'"'•ficlds, guch of my companions as were fond '•I «me began to contrive another drinking-bout. Arhoueh 1 had taken a maajûn. yet, on the crops ""' «ttmmnonly fne! we sat down under sonic :«> 'hat had yielded a plentiful load of fruit, and **pm to drink. We kepi up the party in the same

place till bed-time prayers. Mull Mnhnnid îihalîf-h having arrived, we invited him to juin us. Aiidalla, who had eol very drunk, tnmie ¡in u'.i.^erv;i;i'iu which affucied Klialîleh. Without neu]] rti:;g thul Mulla Mahmud was present, he repeated the verse,

(Periian.î Examine whom you will, you will find him suffering from the »ame wound.

Miilly Mahmud, who did not drink, reproved Abd'jlla for repeating this verse with levity.* AbdalU, recovering his judgment, was in terrible periurbalion, and conversed in a wonderfully smooth and sweet strain all the rest of the evening."

In a year or two after this, when he seems to be in a course of unusual indulgence, we meet with the following edifying remark: "As I intend, when forty years old, to abstain from wine ; and as I now want somewhat less than one year of being forty, 1 drink irine most copiously!" When forty comes, however, we hear nothing of this sage resolution —but have a regular record of the wine and maajun parties as before, up to the year 1527. In that year, however, he is seized with rather a sudden fit of penitence, and has the resolution to begin a course of rigorous reform. There is something rather picturesque in his very solemn and remarkable account of this great revolution in hie habits:

"On Monday the 23d of the first Jemâdi, Г had mounted 10 survey my posts, and, in ihe course of my ride, was seriously struck with the reflection that I had always resolved, one lime or another, to make an effectual repentance, and that some traces of a hankering after the renunciation of forbidden works had ever remained in my heart. Having sent for the gold and silver goblets and cups, with all the other utensils used for drinking parties, I directed them to be broken, and renounced the use of wine—purifying my mind! The fragments of the goblets, and other utensils of gold and silver, I directed to be divided among Derwîshes and the poor. The first person who followed me in my repentance was Asas, who also accompanied me in my resolution of ceasing to cut the beard, and of allowing it to grow.t Thai night and the following, numbers of Amirs and courtiers, soldiers and persons not in the service, to the number of nearly three hundred men, made vows of reformation. The wine which we had with us we poured on the

S'ound! I ordered that the wine brought by Baba ost should have salt thrown into it, that it might be make into vinegar. On the spot where the wine had been poured out, I directed a wain to be sunk and built of sinne, and close by the wain an almshouse to be erected."

He then issued a magnificent Firman, announcing his reformation, and recommending its example to all his subjects. But he still persists, we find, in the use of a mild maajun. We are sorry to be obliged to add, that though he had the firmness to persevere to the last in his abstinence from wine, the sacrifice seems to have cost him very dear; and he continued to the very end of his life to hanker after his broken wine-cups, and to look back with fond regret to the delights he had ab

*"This verse, I presume, is from n religions poem, and has a mystical meaning. The profane application of it is the ground of offence."

t " This vow was sometimes made1 by persons who set out on a war nsainsl the Infidi-l». They did not trim the beard till they returned victorious. Some vows of a similar nature mav be lound in Scripture."

jured for ever. There is something absolutely pathetic, as well as amiable, in the following candid avowal in a letter written the very year before his death to one of his old drinking companions :—

•• In a letter which I wrote to Abdalla, I mentioned that I had much difficulty in reconciling myself to the desert of penitence; but that I had resolution enough to persevere,— '.'l'.irí.i verte)

I am distressed since I renounced wine; I am confounded and unfit for business,— Regret leads me to penitence, Penitence leads me to regret. Indeed, last year, my desire and longing for wine and social parties were beyond measure excessive. It even came to such a length that I have found myself shedding tears from vexation and disappointment. In the present year, praise be to God, these troubles are over, and I ascribe them chiefly to the occupation afforded to my mind by a poetical translation, on which I have employed myself. Let me advise you too, to adopt a life of abstinence. Social parlies and wine are pleasant, in company with our jolly friends and old boon companions. But with whom can you enjoy the social cup? With whom can you indulge in the pleasures of wine? If you have only Shîr Ahmed, and Haider Knlli, for the companions of your gay hours and jovial goblet, you can surely find no great difficulty in consenting to the sacrifice. I conclude with every good wish.

We have mentioned already that Baber appears to have been of a frank and generous character—and there are, throughout the Memoirs, various traits of clemency and tenderness of heart, scarcely to have been expected in an Eastern monarch and professional warrior. He weeps ten whole days for the loss of a friend who fell over a precipice after one of their drinking parties ; and spares the lives, and even restores the domains of various chieftains, who had betrayed his confidence, and afterwards fallen into his power. Yet there are traces of Asiatic ferocity, and of a hard-hearted wastefulness of life, which remind us that we are beyond the pale of European gallantry and Christian compassion. In his wars in Afghan and India, the prisoners are commonly butchered in cold blood after ihe action—and pretty uniformly a triumphal pyramid is erected of their skulls. These horrible executions, too, are performed with much solemnity before the royal pavilion: and on one occasion, it is incidentally recorded, that such was the number of prisoners brought forward for this infamous butchery, that the sovereign's tent had three times to be removed to a different station—the ground before it being so drenched with blood and encumbered with quivering carcasses! On one occasion, and on one only, an attempt was made to poison him—the mother of one of the sovereigns whom he had dethroned having bribed his cooks and tasters to mix death in his repast. Upon the detection of the plot, the taster was cut to pieces, the cook flayed alive, and the scullions trampled to death by elephants. Such, however, was the respect paid to rank, or the indulgence to maternal resentment, that the prime mover .if the whole conspiracy, the queen dowager, is merely put under restraint, and has a con

tribution levied on her private foitune. The following brief anecdote speaks volumes as to the difference of European and Asiatic manners and tempers :—

"Another of his wives was Kalak Begum, »bo was the foster-sister of ihis same Terkhau Bejrum. Sultan Ahmed Mirza married her for love. He v& prodigiously attached to her, and she governed him with absolute sway. She drank wine. During her life, the Sultan durst not venture to frequent any other of his ladies. At last, however, if jiiiiaerl» death, and delivered himself from ihis reproach"

In several of the passages we have cited, there are indications of this ambitious warrior's ardent love for fine flowers, beautiful gardens, and bright waters. But the work abounds with traits of this amiable and, with reference to some of these anecdotes, apparently ill-sorted propensity. In one place be says—

"In the warm season they are covered wiihthe ckekin-lalek grass in a very beautiful manner, did the Aimaks and Turks resort to them. In the skirts of these mountains the ground is richlr diversified by various kinds of tulips. I once directed them to be counted, and they brought in thirty-two or thirty-three different sorts of tulips. There « one species which has a scent in some degree ¡ike the rose, and which I termed laleh-eul-bvi (the rowscented tulip). This species is found onlyintkt Desht-e-Sheikh (the Sheik h's plain), in a «nail ff-i of ground, and nowhere else. In the skins of the same hills below Ferwan, is produced the ЫеЛ-иаberg (or hundred-leaved tulip), which is like» к found only in one narrow spot of ground, и >( emerge from the straits of Ghurbena."

And a little after—

"Few quarters possess a district that can rinl Istàlîf. A large river runs through it, and on either side of it are gardens, green, gay, and beautiful Iti water is so cold, that there is no need of icing it; and it is particularly pure. In this district is a g" den, called Bagh-e-Kilan (or the Great Garden), which I'lugh Beg Mirza seized upon. I paid tin price of the garden to the proprietors, and receiwd from them a grant of it. On ihe outside of ibe garden are large and beautiful spreading pi«« trees, under ihe shade of which there are agreeable spots finely sheltered. A perennial stream, lirif enough to turn a mill, runs through the garden; and on its banks are planted plnnes and other trees. Formerly this stream flowed in a winding and crooked course, but I ordered its course to be altered according to a regular plan, which added gréai ly to the beauty of the place. Lower down than these villages, and about a koss or a kosstnd a half above the level plain, on the lower skint of the hills, is a fountain, named K/itcajeÀ-tek-fa"'' (Kwâjeh three friends), around which there irc ihree species of trees ; above the fountain «re na ) beautiful plane-trees, which yield a pleaean; f\<*¿? On the two sides of the fountain, on small ешь nences at the bottom of the hills, there are anewber of oak trees; except on these two spots, »bet* there are groves of oak, there is not an oak to be met with on the hills lu the west of Kabul. In tw.1. of this fountain, towards the plain, there are nun.' spots covered with the flowery Arghwin* tie«,and besides these Arghwan plots, there are none elf« in the whole country."

We shall add but one other notice of tais

"The name Arghwanis generally applied to the anemone; but in Afghanistan it is given to a beautiful flowering shrub, which grows nearly to tbc size of a tree."

elegant taste—though on the occasion there mentioned, the flowers were aided by a less delicate sort of excitement.

"This day I ate a maajun. While under its influence, I visited some beautiful gardens. In different beds, the ground was covered with purple and yel'.ow Arghwàn flowers. On one hnnci wtre ht<U of >ellow flowers in bloom ; on the other hand, red flowers were in blossom. In ninny places tht-y »prang ap in the same bed, mingled together as if they had been flung and scattered abroad. I look my seat on a rising ground nenr the camp, to enjoy ihe vie* of all the flower-pots. On the six sides of this eminence they were formed as into regular bed*. On one side were yellow flowers; on another lie purple, laid out in triangular beds. On two othr-r «dee, there were fewer flowers; but, as fnr x« the eye cmild reach, there were flower-gardens of a similar kind. In the neighbourhood of Perihawer. durine the spring, the flower-plots are exqui«i'ely beautiful."

We have, now enabled our readers, we think, to judge prelty fairly of the nature of this very curious volume; and shall only present them with a few passages from two letters written by the valiant author in the last year of his life. The first is addressed to his favourite son and successor Hùmàiûn. whom he had settled in the government of Samarcand, and who was at this time a sovereign of approved valour and prudence. There i* a very diverting mixture of sound political counsel and minute criticism on writing and composition, in this paternal effusion. We can give but a small part of it.

"In many of your letters you complain of separation from your friends. It is wrong for a prince to indulge in such a complaint.

''There is certainly no greater bondage than that in which a king is placed; but it ill becomes him to complain of inevitable separation.

"In compliance with my wishes, you have indeed written me letters, but you certainly never read them over; for had yon attempted to read them, yon must have found it absolutely impossible, sod would then undoubtedly have put them by. I contrived indeed to decipher and comprehend the meaning nf your last letter, but with much difficulty. I' is excessively confused and crabbed. Who ever saw a MoSmma (a riddle or a charade) in pr.jse t Your spelling is not bad, yet not quite correct. You have written iltafat wilh a loe (in«'ead of a let, and kultnc with a be (instead of a Imf). Your letter may indeed be read; but in consequence of the far-fetched words you have employed, the meaning is by no means very Intelligiiile. You certainly do not excel in letter-writing, and chiefly because you have too great a desire ^o «how your acquitements. For the future, you «hmild write unaffectedly, with clearness, using ptain word«, which would cost lésa (rouble both to the writer and reader."

The other letter ¡в to one of his old companions in arms ;—and considering that it is •*rittenby an ardent and ambitious conqueror, from the capital of his new empire of Hinrlnstan, it seems to us a very striking proof, oot only of the nothingness of high fortune,

but of the native simplicity and amiableness of this Eastern highbinder.

'• My solicitude to visit my western dominions is boundless, and great beyond expression. The affairs of Hindustan have at length, however, been reduced into a certain degree of order; and I trust in Almighty God that the time is near at hand, when, through the grace of the Most High, every thing will be completely settled in this country. As soon as matters are brought into that state,'I shall, God willing, set out lor your quarter, without losing a moment's lime. How is it possible that the delights of those lands should ever be erased from the heart? Above all, how is it possible for one like me, who have made a vow of abstinence from wine, and of puriiy of life, to forget the delicious melons and grapes of that pleasant region? They very recently brought me a single musk-melon. While cutting it up, 1 felt myself affected with a it rang feeling of lonelinei», and a tenue of my exile from my «alive country; and I could not help shedding tears while 1 was cmiiig il!"

On the whole, we cannot help having a liking for "the Tiger"—and the romantic, though somewhat apocryphal account that is given of his death, has no tendency to diminish our partiality. It is recorded by Abulfazi, and other native historians, that in the year after these Memoirs cease, Hùmàiùn, the beloved son of Baber, was brought to Agra in a state of the most miserable health:

"When all hopes from medicine were over, and while several men of skill were talking to the emperor of the melancholy situait >n of his son, Abul Baka, a personage highly venerated for his knowledge and piety, remarked to Haber, that in such a case the Almighty had someiimes vouchsafed to receive the most valuable thing possessed by one friend, as an offering in exchange for the life of another. Baber, exclaiming that, of nil things, his life was dearest to Htímniíin, os Hiïmàiûn's was to him, and that, next to the life of Hiimmun, his own was what he most valued, devoted his life ю Heaven as a sacrifice for his son's! The noblemen around h;ni entreated him to retract the rash vow, and, in plnce of his first offering, to give the diamond taken at Агга, and reckoned the most valuable on earth: that the ancient sages had said, that it was the dearest of our worldly possession« alone that was to be offered to Heaven. But he persisted in his resolution, declaring that no stone, of whatever value, could be put in competition with his life. He three times walked round the dying prince, a solemnity similar to that used in sacrifices and heave-offerings, and, retiring, prayed earnestly to God. After some lime he was heard to exclaim, 'I have borne it away! I have borne it away!' The Mussulman historians assure us. that Hùmàiûn almost immediately began to recover, and that, in proportion as he recovered, ihe health and strength of Baber visibly decayed. Baber communicated his H ving instructions to Khwâjeh Khalî'eh, Kambrr Ali Beg, Terdi Beg, and Hindu Beg, who were then at conn commending Hùmàiûn to their protection. With that unvarying affection for his family which he showed in alf the circumstance» of his life, he strongly besoucht Hnmnmn to be kind and forgiving to his brothers. Hùmàiûn promised—and, what in such circumstance* is rare, kept his promise."


(fflarcl), 1819.)

Specimens of the British Poets; with Biographical and Critical Notices, and an Essay on £ngbtt Poetry. By Thomas Campbell. 7 vols. 8vo. London: 1819.

If he were like most authors, or ever, i k most critics, we could easily have pardoned this; for we very seldom find any work too short. It is the singular goodness of hie criticisms that makes us regret their fewness; for nothing, we think, can be more lair, judicious and discriminating, and at the same time more fine, delicate and original, than the greater part of the discussions with which he has here presented us. It is very rare to nv so much sensibility to the beauties of poetry, united with so much toleration for its faultand so exact a perception of the merit* >л every particular style, interfering so lir.a" with a just estimate of all. Poets, to be «.y are on the whole, we think, very indulgrat judges of poetry; and that not so much, v > verily believe, from any partiality- to their own vocation, or desire to exalt their fraternity, as from their being more constantly a!iv> • those impulses which it is th(» burines: cl poetrv to excite, and more quick to eatcli .•-• to follow out those associations on which in efficacy chiefly depends. If it be Inn :• we have formerly endeavoured to show. v. •:. reference to this very author, that poetrv produces all its greater effects, and works its more memorable enchantment?, not so rr.u.'. by the images it directly presents, as Ъ\ ;:.' which it iVKTcs/s to the lancy; and melts « inflames us less by the fires which it apr:•• from without, than by those which it kindi« within, and of which the fuel is in ooro«i. tx>soms,—it will be readily understood hv-i these effects should be most powerful in :;.• sensitive breast of a poet: and how a spark, which would have been instantly qnenchtii in the duller atmosphere of an ordinary brain, may create a blaze in his combustible ¡rr.:.. • nation, to warm and enlighten the worM The greater poets, accordingly, have aime»! always been the warmest admirers, ar.iî inmost liberal patrons of poetry. The ima.i-' only—your Laureates and Ballad-moriïiT'— are envious and irritable—jealous even ot :!dead, and less desirous of the praise of otbfr» than avaricious of their own.'

But though a poet is thus likely to be » gentler critic of poetry than another, and, by having a finer sense of its beauties, tu itbetter qualified for the most pleasing ar.d important part of his office, mere is another requisite in which we should be afraid b*

Wk would rather see Mr. Campbell as a poet, than as a commentator on poetry :—because we would rather have a solid addition to the sum of our treasures, than the finest or most judicious account of their actual amount. But we are very glad to see him in any way: —and think the work which he has now given us very excellent and delightful. Still, however, we think there is some little room for complaint; and. feeling that we have not got all we were led to expect, are unreasonable enough to think that the learned author still owes us an arrear: which we hope he will handsomely pay up in the next edition.

When a great poet and a man of distinguished talents announces a large selection of English poetry, i; with biographical and critical notices," we naturally expect such notices of all, or almost all the authors, of whose works he thinks it worth while to favour us with specimens. The biography sometimes may be unattainable—and it may still more frequently be uninteresting—but the criticism must always be valuable: and, indeed, is obviously that which must be looked to as constituting the chief value of any such publication. There is no author so obscure, it at all entitled to a place in this register, of whom it would not be desirable to know the opinion of such a man as Mr. Campbell—and none so mature and settled in fame, upon whose beauties and defects, and poetical character in general, the public would not have much to loarn from such an authority. Now, there are many authors, and some of no mean note, of whom he has not condescended to say one word, either in the Essay, or in the notices prefixed^ to the citations. Of Jonathan Swift, for example, all that is here recorded is "Born 1667—died 1744:" and Otway is despatched in the same summary manner—''• Born 1651—died 1685." Marlowe is commemorated in a single page, and Butler in half of one. All this is rather capricious:—But this is not all. Sometimes the notices are entirely biographical, and sometimes entirely critical. We humbly conceive they ought always to have been of both descriptions. At all events, we ought in every ease to have had some criticism.—since this could always have been had, and could scarcely have failed to be valuable. Mr. C., we think, has been a little lazy.

would generally be found wanting, especially in a work of the large and comprehensive nature of that ПОЛУ before us—we mean, in abflute fairness and impartiality towards the different schools or styles of poetry which he may have occasion to estimate and compare. Even the most common and miscellaneous reader has a peculiar taste in this way—and has generally erected for himself some obscure but exclusive standard of excellence. by which he measures the pretensions of all thai come under his view. One man admires wiity and satirical poetry, and sees no beauty in rural imagery or picturesque description; whue another doats on Idyls and Pastorals, and will not allow the affaire of polite life to form a subject for verse. One is for simplicity and pathos; another for magnificence and splendour. One is devoted to the Muse of tenor; another to that of love. Some are all fur Wood and battles, and some for music and moonlight—some for emphatic sentiments, and some for melodious verses. Even those •.ihos« taste is the least exclusive, have a leanins to one class of composition rather than to another; and overrate the beauties which fall in with their own propensities and associations —while they are palpably unjust to those which wear a different complexion, or spring from a different race.

But. if it be vlifficult or almost impossible to meet with an impartial judge for the «hole ,'reat family of genius, even among those 'НИР! and studious readers who ought to find >Mcht even in their variety, it is obvious that this bias and obliquity of judgment must bo $'.Л\ more incident to one who, by being himf"'i a Poet, must not only prefer one school of poetry to all others, but must actually beIns 10 it, and be disposed, as a pupil, or still mure as a Master, to advance its pretensions above those of all its competitors. Like the T'Jtan'ps or leaders of other sects, successful poets have been but too apt to establish exclusive and arbitrary creeds; and to invent articles of faith, th'e slightest violation of which effaces the merit of all other virtues. Addicting themselves, as they are apt to do, to the exclusive cultivation of that style to which the bent of their own genius naturally inclines them, they lo»k everywhere for those beauties of which it i* peculiarly susceptible, wd are disgusted if they cannot be found.— Lite discorerers in science, or improvers in art. they we nothing in the whole system but th'-:r own discoveries and improvements, and undervalit; every thing that cannot be connecte! with their own studies and glory. As the Chirese mapmakere allot all the lodgeable area of the earth to their own nation, and thru« the other countries of the world into little cutskirts and by-corners—so poets are disputed to represent their own little field of "•lertbn as occupying all the sunny part of Panussns. and to exhibit the adjoining regions inde- terrible shadows and most unmerciful foremorteninge.

With those impressions of the almost in«lUble partiality of poetical judgments in general, we conld not recollect thai Mr. Camp

bell was himself a Master in л distinct ecnoo. of poetry, and distinguished by a very peculiar and fastidious style of composition, without being apprehensive that the effects of this bias would be apparent in his work ; and that, with all his talent and discernment, he would now and then be guilty of great, though urintended injustice, to some of those v. ho>« manner was most opposite to his own. V, о are happy to say that those apprehensions have proved entirely groundless; and that nothing in the volumes before us is more admirable, or to us more surprising, than the perfect candour and undeviating fairness with which the learned author passes judgment on all the different authors who come before him; —the quick and true perception he has of the most opposite and almost contradictory beauties—the good-natured and liberal allowance he makes for the disadvantages of each age and individual—and the temperance and brevity and firmness with which he reproves the excessive severity of critics less entitled to be severe. No one indeed, we will venture to affirm, ever placed himself in the seat of judgment with more of a judicial temper— though, to obviate invidious comparisons, we musí beg leave just to add, that being called on to pass judgment only on the dead, whose faults were no longer corrigible, or had already been expiated by appropriate pains, his temper was less triecl, and his severities less provoked, than in the case of living offenders,— and that the very number and variety of the errors that called for animadversion, in the course of his wide survey, must have made each particular case appear comparatively insignificant, and mitigated the sentence of individual condemnation.

It is to this last circumstance, of the large and comprehensive range which he was obliged to take, and the great extent arid variety of the society in which he was compelled to mingle, that \ve are inclined to ascribe, not only the general mildness and indulgence of his judgments, but his happy emancipation from those narrow and limitary maxims by which we have already said that poets are so peculiarly apt to be entangled. As a large and familiar intercourse with men of different habits and dispositions never fails, in characters of any force or generosity, to dispel the prejudices with which we at first regard them, anil to lower our estimate of our own superior happiness and wisdom, so, a very ample and extensive course of reading in any department of letters, tends naturally to enlarge our narrow principles of judgment: and not only to cast down the idols before which we hail formerly abased ourselves, but to disclose to us the might and the majesty of much that we had mistaken and contemned.

In this point of view, we think such a work as is now before us, likely to be of great use to ordinary readers of poetry—not only as unlocking to them innumerable new springe of enjoyment and admiration, but as having a tendency to correct and liberalize thei» judgments of their old favourites, and to strengthen and enliven all those faculties by

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