consumed by steam-engines; the effect of a given power on roads, rail-ways, and on canals; the effect of horse power in similar cases; the strength and weight of cast-iron and malleable iron rails; and the bulk and weight of different species of goods.

The work concludes with a description of the plates, and a full index to its contents. From the tables, we select the sixth, shewing the maximum quantity of labour a horse of average strength is capable of performing, at different velocities, on canals, rail-ways, and turnpike-roads.

In a former number we took a review of a treatise by the same author, on the principles of warming and ventilating public buildings, hot-houses, &c. where he entered into some minute and judicious calculations on the power of steam, and the application of that power to the purposes therein mentioned. In the work before us, Mr. Tredgold recommends the use of the steam-engine either stationary or locomotive. In the former case he has shewn the medium distance at which the stations should be placed, which he calculates at from eight to ten miles; but he prefers eight miles as being most effective, because at the distance of ten miles there will be a loss of one-fifth of the power. In the latter case he shews when the power of friction becomes inefficient and the rack wheel is rendered necessary. In all his calculations he exhibits a familiar acquaintance with the higher branches of the mathematics; and we have no doubt but his labours will be duly appreciated by the public, and especially by the civil engineer. As by his former publications, which have become standard works and books of reference in the department of

literature to which they belong, the author has established his reputation of being a man of great scientific research, and possessing a considerable share of practical knowledge, as well as being an acute observer and a correct calculator, we have availed ourselves of the earliest opportunity to notice the present work; and, without hazarding the charge of presumption, we venture to predict that it will soon experience the fate of his recent, though celebrated, work, which passed under our review with some favourable remarks, and which we perceive has already reached a second edition.

The Remains of Robert Bloomfield, Author of the Farmer's Boy, &c. 2 vol. foolscap 8vo. Vol. 1. pp. 186. Vol. 2. pp. 216. Published for the exclusive benefit of his family. -London. Baldwin, Cradock, and Joy.

A MAN of worldly wisdom would scarcely desire to be a poet: where nature has implanted the germ of poetry in the soul, fate has too often decreed the fruit to be gathered in bitterness of heart. There is something in this divine art, that seems to doom its votaries to be marked men: the rule, if it be one, of course has its exceptions; some splendid modern instances of which might be cited, were it needful; but, it can scarcely be denied, that the majority of bards have been unfortunate and unhappy. Some of the brightest geniuses that ever tracked the region of thought, have found it charged with tempests, and dank with clouds, and have sunk down to the grave with Fame, for which they panted and toiled, has too often abandoned them in life, and has only alighted on their tomb: they have even "asked for bread, and have received a stone." Continuous poverty has been the lot of hundreds; and, from others, riches have made themselves wings and fled away. Alliance has, from some fatality, seldom been formed between poetry and prudence. Ever looking on high, poets have been above the grovelling arts that have raised inferior men to affluence; and the very dullest of mankind, in the comparison, have been happy; while they, with all their capacity of enjoyment, have pursued the phantom in vain. Some, who have contributed so much to the felicity of the world, have found little in return; while others, the fever of whose genius might have blazed far and high, have only seen it illumine their own desolate apartment: it has never burned for the gaze of others: their innate fire has been smothered: their light has been eclipsed by fate

untoward fate: and, though stars of the first magnitude, they have set in clouds, unseen, and unadmired. How few, how very few, have met with distinguished success?—the number of those who could have secured even the necessaries of life, by devoting their time to the muses, has been small indeed: they are bad furnishers of the table, and know not how to fill the cellar. When plenty and peace are found to be their attendants, then, and not till then, let those who have no other means of support, rely upon their promises. Even the few who have been pre-eminently distinguished, have found the sweets of fame alloyed by many bitters: every little neglect, every variation of public favour, has been a source of disquietude to their oversensitive minds. Take the following picture, drawn by one of themselves, and say if there be not too much truth in the delineation :

“But ah! how many of that fated race

Have left their bones where nothing marks the place ;
Save the wild flower that blooms above their head,
And drops the only tear that's o'er them shed.
Often like meteors shooting through the night,
They lighten on the world, and sink from sight!
Too oft', like spirits of another sphere,
Wand'ring they find no kindred being here—
Strangers amidst the crowd they battle through—
Absorbed in fancy's intellectual view—
Scorning and scorned by traffic's sordid crew;
They breathe-they move-as if they lived alone;
Or in a wild creation of their own!

Scarce of the earth that bears their alien tread;

They live in storms, and tempests wrap their head;
With thoughts, and hopes, and feelings, none can share,
They start away and perish in despair."- Deserted City.

From Homer, down to Camoens and Otway, and Chatterton, the picture has been but too well identified. We wish we could say that the writer, whose remains are now under our notice, had been an exception to the general rule; but the fact is notoriously the opposite. Few have enjoyed more unqualified success than Bloomfield obtained by his first production. The intrinsic merit of the "Farmer's Boy;" the peculiar circumstances in which it was written; and the unpretending modesty of the author, all combined to render it, as it deserved to be, an immediate favourite. It has been said that the profits of this work, during the first year, exceeded a thousand pounds; beside which, it introduced Bloomfield to the notice and friendship of some of the first persons in the kingdom. "Rural Tales" followed, with almost equal eclat; and yet, after the first ebullition of popular applause had ceased, but a small

number, comparatively, was called for annually; and the mind of the poet, who had refused for these productions a yearly competency, which he could once never have dreamed of possessing, became soured and unhappy. His expectations unduly exalted, perhaps, by the aid of injudicious friends, as well as by the intoxication of success, were far from being realized; and his disappointment and mortification were proportionate. But the fact was, that the "Farmer's Boy," great as its real merits were, was exalted, even above its due level; every human production may be so: as some never attain their deserved height, so others may be raised above it: in such cases, though the former may fail to rise, the latter are sure to sink. In literature, there are not many instances of a work maintaining long an exaltation to which it is not entitled. It is truly a republic; and though fashion may for a time do much, yet, in the end, its smiles are found to be as fickle as the nature of the being who bestows them: then the temporary idol must fall into its proper place, it may even descend below it. We do not wish to detract in the slightest degree from the merit of Bloomfield; nature made him a poet, and, unfortunately, fate stamped the accustomed seal upon his destiny. It is not for us to say how the hand of adversity came to press upon him, it is known that it did so: we should think prudence and foresight might have averted it, but the fact remains. Perhaps he shared the constitutional indifference of poets to worldly wealth; that he was generous to his relatives is not doubted; but that he should have died poor, and, what is worse, embarrassed, is deeply to be deplored. It is doubtful whether he would not have been a happier man had he never written at all, but gone on with the plodding herd, undistinguished but for success in business, and unknown, save in the circle where his best interests were centred. We speak this only as supposing that Bloomfield might have been happier had such been his destiny. We would not be understood to wish that he never had written: we should be sorry to see his works struck out of the circle of English literature. We have been led into the foregoing observations, by the unpropitious circumstances in which he died; which we lament in common with every admirer of real genius, whether it has burst forth by its own native energy, unaided and untutored, or whether it has been developed by the improving and fostering hands of culture and patronage. It is the circumstances alluded to above that have led to the publication of the volumes before us. The very title, "Remains," is touching; it comes upon us, and vibrates in our ears, like the last words of some dear departed friend; it is like a relic, presented to us by the dying hand of one whom we loved and admired; and

the certainty that we can receive nothing more from that individual, imparts a value to it beyond its real one. Death stamps a sacredness on the last words of one who spoke but to delight us; and the last work of him who laboured but for our benefit. It is this feeling which will lend a charm to these "Remains," and constitute, perhaps, the chief pleasure they will impart. Truth compels us unwillingly to say, that we fear they will not add much to the fame of their author: but, happily, that rests on higher and better ground; but we do indulge a hope that they will in part accomplish that which is more needed, the production of benefit to his family. We invite every admirer of the "Farmer's Boy," and "Richard and Kate," to assist in forwarding so desirable an object. It is much to be regretted that one who has contributed so much to the pleasure of his countrymen, should leave nothing to his posterity but the empty honours of his name; that they should suffer privations, while we are still enjoying the fruits of their father's talents: and it becomes, still more, an imperative duty in the public, to contribute to assist the children for the parent's sake; because, owing to the defective laws of copyright in this country, they must soon be deprived of the profit which would accrue from his best productions. Verily, this stain on our laws, this obstacle to literary exertion, ought to be removed. We can see no reason why a perpetual property should not exist in respect to the labour of the mind, as well as the labour of the hand: who can have so great a right to the advantages resulting from any thing, as he who in a manner is its creator. One conclusion is at least certain, that if it would be impolitic to make a perpetual property in literary productions, the term of its enjoyment ought to be extended considerably to the heirs of the author. Years often roll away, before a work of merit becomes so established in public estimation as to be of any value in a pecuniary point of view; and when it has become so, why should individuals, who would take no part in the original risk, be allowed to defraud the real owners of their just right? This want of protection must also have a tendency to deter men, who might do honour to the literature of their country, from employing their time and talents in producing that which may be of no benefit to their children; and will induce them rather to devote themselves to acquire a better secured property, which they may bequeath with more certainty to those whom they wish to benefit when they shall be no more.

We cannot do better than quote, for the approbation of our readers, the following passages from the Preface to these two volumes, which is modestly and sensibly written.

"The poetical merits of Robert Bloomfield have been long .esta