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illuminates the mind, the anecdotes entertain the fancy, and allure the young reader to proceed in his pleasing task. This work deserves a place in every juvenile library.

REVIEW.-The Sacred Harp, a Poem. By Samuel Bromley. 8vo. pp. 22. Baker and Fletcher. London. 1825. FROM a note at the conclusion of the two cantos submitted to our inspection, we learn, that this poem is to be continued through several others, so that in its present state it is incomplete. The first canto is argumentative and metaphysical, tending to prove the being and attributes of God. The second is historical and descriptive, recounting the wickedness of the antediluvian world, the disasters of the deluge, the peopling of the earth after the catastrophe, and the call of Abraham. Of the unpublished parts we have no anticipation.

Among the poetical compositions with which we are acquainted, Blackmore's "Creation" is that to which this bears the nearest resemblance. The author's talents are highly respectable; and, although we do not find many bright and sparkling thoughts, it is evident that he is not a stranger to Parnassus. We have nothing figurative, personified, or metaphysical, but his muse never descends to ask the assistance of expletives to fill the vacancies in his lines.

REVIEW.-The Stranger at Home, a Poem; to which are added other Poems and Pieces. By the Rev. Thomas Martin. 12mo. pp. 126. Devonport. J. Johns. 1824.

THIS Volume is the production of an amiable man, whose object, we believe to be, that of forwarding the best interests of mankind; such, at least, we conceive to be his prevailing characteristics, so far as we are enabled to gather from the sentiments interspersed through this volume. But the critic's duty is often extremely repulsive; yet that circumstance alters not the stern necessity which is laid upon him, to expose the errors of those whose productions it is his duty to examine, at the same time that he endeavours to elicit to strike forth any slumbering sparks of beauty or energy which are therein concealed.

The work before us, although no way deficient in words and tinkling phrases, is in reality poor and meagre. The "Stranger at Home," is dragged unmercifully through four cantoslong, dry, and generally beneath mediocrity. In fact, a considerable portion of the work abounds with expletives; but it is pleasing to add, that these are counteracted by several redeeming qualities. The lines written on the ruins of Netley Abbey, are accompanied with a fine flowing cadence, but they smell too strongly of Gray's church-yard. From among the favourable pieces in this volume, we, with pleasure, select the following, entitled, "The Death of Herod," the language of which, although the thoughts are tame, is highly respect. able, and the diction harmonious.

"THE DEATH OF HEROD.

"'Twas on a festal day,
Beneath a tranquil sky,
When Sol's unclouded ray
Shone glorious from on bigh:
That deck'd in robes of state,
Imperial Herod sate,
Upon a dazzling throne,
In majesty alone.

A glittering crown he wore;
His hand a sceptre bore;
In purple, and in gold array'd,
In all the pomp of power display'd:
The diamond bright, the ruby fair,
Seem'd mingling rival brightness there,
To match the glorious sun.
The crowd with ravish'd eyes,
Beheld the Monarch's pride;
With fix'd surprise
They saw him rise,
Nor own'd a god beside.
Soft were the sovereign's words,
Address'd to listening lords;

Enchanting and beguiling,

Now frowning, and now smiling,
The trembling, or rejoicing crowd,
The soft oration heard ;
With praise profanely load,

The fancied god rever'd;
'Tis not the voice of mortal man,
Nor sound of human tongue;
A god-a god-exulting ran
Through all th' enraptured throng.
Offensive was the praise,
And blasphemous the cry;
And heaven its wrath displays,
In judgments from on high.

A sudden paleness shades
The fainting monarch's face;
His dazzling glory fades,
And sinks in sad disgrace.

A vengeful angel flies,
Swift to rebuke his pride;
Commission'd from the skies,
His folly to deride.
And now with anguish wounded,
By slaves no more surrounded,

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It should be observed, however, that this is a palpable, though spirited, imitation of Dryden's Alexander's Feast.

A word or two as to the getting-up of this volume. The paper is, we presume, of nearly the same quality with that used by grocers and chandlers to enfold their wares; the verses being excessively close and crowded, are very inconvenient to be read; and the type is such as to suggest its being composed of the worn-out and cast away letters of a country printer. This, we must say, is most unhandsome usage.

Yet common critical fairness demands, that we should give an impartial account of its merits and defects.

In the first place, too many pieces have been allowed to go forth into the world; a judicious editor would have made a far more careful and select choice. The thought has frequently obtruded itself upon us, during our perusal of this volume, that many pieces have found insertion merely for the sake of increasing its bulk. We refer to sundry minute and meagre illustrations of passages of scripture, &c. &c.; and almost every one of the stanzas entitled "Written during Illness." But to counterbalance these defects, (for which, after all, the editor's imprudence is mainly responsible,) we will turn to the more pleasing part of our duty. The lines (and it is a highly poetical title) "On seeing a dark Wave beam," though brief, are very elegantly transiently gilded by an evening Sunwritten; and those "On Lulling a Sick Infant to Sleep," are very im

REVIEW.-Poems appropriated for a Sick or a Melancholy Hour. 12mo. pp 230. Scatcherd & Co. London. 1824. REALLY, we hardly know what to make of this volume. It is so over-pressive and affecting, although they run with a squeamish sentimentality, and so garnished with redundancy of language and conceit, yet occasionally displays such elegant and affecting versification, that it is extremely difficult to express an opinion of it in few words. From the tone of many of the pieces, and their inscription, &c. we gather the fair authoress to be Mrs. B-- the unfortunate and discarded wife of a Major B--. We subjoin the following affecting note, which occurs under the first poem :

"Major B- was an officer in the British service; and never did a finer face and figure, more captivating manners, or a more intrepid heart, adorn His Majesty's service. In the course of events, he became acquainted with the writer of the following little poems; a mutual attachment was the consequence; and in a short time they were united. But love matches (such is the old adage) do not, in general, end happily: and soon had the beart of the now widowed wife to mourn over the wiles and seductions of Miss L a young

lady of rank and fashion."--p, 1-2.

And from a second notice, towards the close of the volume, we are given to understand, that Mrs. B- is dead. How can we be severe on such an authoress, who wrote in such sorrowful circumstances, and whom the hand of death hath released from all mortal

responsibility? We bear in mind

the line of Dr. Johnson,

"Forbear to hiss!-the poet cannot hear!"

afford examples of careless revision. We will conclude our remarks with two sea-pieces; in which the vast ocean is apostrophized and described under two very different aspects; a mild, still sunset; and a dark, howling, and tremendous midnight storm.

"LINES WHICH OCCURRED AT TWILIGHT BY THE SEA-SIDE.

"AT the twilight's mild hour, when the ocean's high billows

Shall quietly sink to the calmness of rest; When the rock's dark recess on its marble bed pillows

The bird of the night which has flown to its

nest:

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"But, cheer'd up again with the sweet contemplation,

The prospect so bright as before me it lies, That be for believers has purchas'd salvation, And died to secure them a place in the skies!" p. 115 to 117.

The second piece we have select

ed, is

"THOUGHTS,

Which occurred during a Storm at Midnight by the Sea Side.

"When darkness, midnight darkness, reigns
around,

And all is wrapp'd in silence most profound;
When not a star points out yon ocean's caves,
Nor e'en a moonbeam gilds the foaming waves;
When Boreas, from his wild and fabled bed,
Harls fierce destruction on the sailor's head;
When Death, triumphant, marks his watery
grave,

No friend to pity, and no hand to save;
When sweeping surges throw, with mighty
shock,

Their foaming spray high o'er the frowning

rock :

At such a time, in such an awful hour,

feel, O Lord, thy great and wondrous power;
I hear thy voice; it thunders in the storm;
And on the raging waves I view thy form,
Thy form enwrapp'd in such refulgent light,
That night, so awful, ceases to be night;
Nor darkness, nor the furious ocean's roar,
Now thou art with me, can affright me more ;
But, sooth'd by knowing thou art near my bed,
Resign'd to sleep I'll lay my wearied head:
And O, thou God of mercy, God of peace,
When Death shall bid this throbbing heart to

cease,

Sunk in a calm and tranquil sleep like this,
O may I waken in the realms of bliss!"-p. 176.
The pieces of which this volume is
composed, have all the appearance of
having emanated from a wounded
heart, deeply imbued with pious feel-
ings, and cheered with the prospect of

a better world.

REVIEW. The Pleasures of Piety, with other Poems. By Eleanor Dickinson. pp. 156. London. Sherwood and Co. 1824.

"THE Pleasures of Piety" form the subject matter of a very pleasant,

mild, and pretty piece of religious
writing, wherein are several well-
turned lines, harmonious rhymes, and
neat antitheses; but originality of
design or illustration, is either totally
lost sight of or despised: in fact, Miss
Dickinson, (whom we presume to be
a member of the Society of Friends,)
never seems to aim at it; or if she
does, she is utterly unsuccessful. We
cordially wish the first poem success,
and this is all that our candour per-
mits us to say. Many of the minor
pieces are possessed of considerable
merit, both of thought and language;
and yet there is a want of energy
throughout, which casts a sickly hue
upon the whole-palling upon the mind.
We are pleased with the following;
it is an airy and elegant trifle, from
the hand, we hope, of a beautiful
lady.

"THE LARK AND ROBIN.
"One sunny morn, when all was gay,
And Nature woke the hymn of day,
A Lark, that long on soaring wing
Had made the distant ether ring,
Chanc'd, lowly perch'd on sylvan spray,
To hear a Robin's modest lay;
And soaring the retiring bird,
Whose silver notes were scarcely heard,
Cried-Pray forbear that idle strain;
Your warblings, friend, are all in vain;
You'd better listen at your ease,
Since vain are your attempts to please.

Indeed, (quoth Robin, undismay'd,)
To please you they were never made;
For well I know that hope was vain,
Enamour'd of your own sweet strain ;-
But judge not all delight to hear
Your loud responses through the air.
Some far prefer the gentle swell
That floats within the woody dell;
And, surely, all may offer free
Their gift, 'mid Nature's jubilee ;-
Since He who gave your song to rise
Melodious through the lofty skies,
Gave, too, the modest humble lay,
That warbles from the twittering spray."

Before we conclude our notice of this work, we must animadvert upon the silly affectation displayed in adjoining "Notes" to the first poem. It is all frivolous pretence. For instance, when the names of Mrs. Fry, Mr. Reynolds, Mr. Howard, and other such well-known persons are mentioned distinctly, on the score of philanthroferring to the "notes," where a further py, we have "(a)” “(b)” “ (c)” &c. reallusion is made, very little to the purpose. Should this work live to a second edition, we advise Miss D. to expunge the whole of these useless "notes."

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REVIEW.-Christ's Victory and Triumph in Heaven and Earth, over and after Death. In four parts. By Giles Fletcher. With an original Biographical Sketch of the Author, &c. Also some Choice Pieces from the Poetical Writings of the Rev. George Herbert. pp. 128. 12mo. London. Richardson. 1824. WE do most heartily rejoice, that the more acute and discriminating of our countrymen are disgusted with the vapidness of contemporaneous literature, which the press, like a huge and most unseemly monster, doth continue to pour upon us, usque ad nauseam, and that they display a more manly, sober, and dignified desire after solid and permanent instruction. Now,

one of the distinguishing features of this change, our readers will find illustrated in the volume under review. We have thus the pearls and diamonds of English composition, stripped of the encrusting rubbish which time, in his solemn march, had silently accumulated around them, and see them sparkle with their original lustre.

Giles Fletcher, we are informed, was born about the year 1580-educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, -obtained a degree of Bachelor of Divinity-and died at Alderton, in Suffolk, in 1623. He is a poet of sterling merit, although his language is somewhat uncouth, and his figures are sometimes fantastically strained; but there is a graphic terseness about him, which amply rewards the reader who undertakes the perusal of his poems. Nay, we do not go too far, when we say, that there is frequently most beautiful and powerful poetry in the volume before us. Every stanza, with all its blemishes, speaks its author a man of great mental energy. He has consecrated his powers to a noble end: and he will now reap his reward, in the steady and continuing admiration of posterity. The two poems of Giles Fletcher will not admit of an extract to advantage; but there are appended some "Choice Pieces," by Herbert, which are many of them, though of rather rude versification, very excellent. We will subjoin

"THE STAR..

"BRIGHT spark, shot from a brighter place, Where beams surround my Saviour's face, Canst thou be any where So well as there? 80.-VOL, VII.

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"The dishes of thy balance seem'd to gape, Like two great pits;

The beam and scape Did like some tott'ring engine shew; Thy hand above did burn and glow, Daunting the stoutest hearts, the proudest wits. "But now that Christ's pure vail presents the sight,

I see no fears;
Thy hand is white,
Thy sealer like buckets, which attend
And interchangeably descend,
Lifting to heav'n from this well of tears.

"For where before thou didst call on me,
Now I still touch
And harp on thee.

God's promises have made thee mine, Why should I Justice now decline? Against me there is none, but for me much." page 118.

31

REVIEW.-Grammar for Children, de-able as are the attainments of science,
signed for young Persons in general.
By Branston. 18mo. PP. 72.
Westley. London. 1825.

and important as is the investigation and discovery of theological truth; it is in society that we enjoy our wealth, and minds of others, that intellectual riches it is in compact and collision with the confer the greatest share of happiness.

That there are barriers to social en

FOR the use of children, and those who know nothing of the rudiments of their native tongue, we think this to be the most intelligible little gram-joyment, every one will admit; that mar that we ever saw. The sixth lesson, which treats of pronouns, seems somewhat obscure, and is certainly capable of emendation. But with this exception, the whole exhibits the elementary principles of the English language, with all the perspicuity of which they seem susceptible.

REVIEW. Advice on Playing the Piano
Forte, with Remarks on Singing.
18mo. pp. 70. Longman and Co.
London. 1825.

these might be removed, or at least diminished, by the attentive exercise of good principles, none will dispute; that it is of importance each individual should make some conscientions and persevering exertion thereto, none can deny. It becomes us then to inquire in what particular we err, and it will be pleasing to anticipate the advantages of pursuing a more consistent and honourable line of conduct.

Perhaps nothing would present itself to the inquiring mind more obviFOR those who have full purses and ously, than the prevalence of a want much time, this will be a pretty book. of candour, and absence of generous The author informs us, that "it may and charitable feelings; this disposibe read in three-quarters of an hour, tion of the mind has a tendency ruinand that its price is only three shil-ous to social happiness, and therefore lings, although it contains as much information as a finishing-master, during the same time, would charge a guinea for communicating." This being the case, the price is of little consequence, as the paper is not only excellent, but has gilt edges!

REMARKS ON CANDOUR. "Behold a Christian! and without the fires The Founder of that name alone inspires,

Though all accomplishment, all knowledge

meet,

To make the shining prodigy complete,
Whoever boasts that name-behold a cheat!"

COWPER.

it demands our serious consideration. It shews itself in a secret, though oftentimes ill-concealed propensity to think somewhat unfavourably of persons in general, in a suspicion of unfriendly intentions on the part of acquaintances, in a want of ingenuous frankness of manners. Persons of this turn are apt to misconstrue words and phrases, to become cool upon the supposed omission or trivial neglect their opinion of characters on account of attentive politeness, to form or alter of some unguarded weakness, some accidental failing, rather than by the tenour of a generally consistent conduct It would be well, perhaps, if we were and conversation. It may not, however, occasionally to leave the engagements be difficult to ascertain the cause of this of business, the pursuits of science, unpleasant tendency of the mind, for or the labyrinths of metaphysics, and composed as society is of individuals take into our consideration the more who differ so widely both in rank, humble, but not less interesting sub-character, and expectations, it can jects, connected with society and social intercourse, and endeavour, so far as our abilities may go, to promote the well-being of the circle in which Providence has called us to move, by correcting mistakes and reforming errors, which but too obviously exist, and by strengthening the ties which connect man with his fellow man. Nor is this unworthy the attention, either of the man of business, the philosopher, or the Christian: for necessary as is trade and commerce, desir

scarcely be wondered at, that the consequent conflicting interests should produce jarring discords, unpleasant strivings, and sometimes even perplexing animosities. For self-love, that strong instinctive feeling, which nature has wisely implanted within our bosom, if unchecked by reflection, and unrestrained by principle, soon puts a stamp upon the disposition, and displays itself in our words and actions. Perhaps a love of self is the secret spring of nearly all our move

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