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• Adam,' said he, “You alone have were alarmed. The soldiers rushed in, been kind to me, and therefore, to all was noise and confusion. I felt you I shall leave all that I have; it is then compunction for what I had all in “The CheST IN THE CORNER;" | done, and endeavoured to stop the take it-keep it-and be happy. As slaughter, but in vain. At a distance for me, forget that ever I was in the I saw Ulysses, with his troops, makworld. I am going to a place where I ing tremendous havock. As he apshall be as happy, as I have been des- proached me, instead of the Ithacentitute here:' he sunk down on his pil- sian hero, it was Adam Earnest. low," and " Adam could not get “ Adam," said I, as he hobbled by out the next word-—“And died,” said me, sheathed in armour, with a tall I.—“Yes," said the old man, resum- plume in his helmet, “What is the ing more fortitude, “poor fellow, he's matter with you?” He made no regone!

Well,” said I, “my good ply, but by a stern look, and flourishold friend, I am much obliged to you ing his sword, exclaimed to his solfor your story.”—“Stop," said he, diers, “Be men, O Grecians, and “I have a favour to request, and that revenge the blood of the great Achilis, that you will go down to Oliver's les, and of the heroes who have fallen hut with to-morrow morning, in the war.”. So saying, he passed by when, as it is Good Friday, you will me, and mingled in the crowd. As have a holiday.”—“True,” said I, soon as I left him, I met Paris, “ Vil

Adam; and so to-morrow morning, lain Paris,” exclaimed I,“ turn and about nine o'clock, I will go with you meet your fate.” So saying, I struck to your friend's hut.”

him a violent blow with my sword, During our conversation, we had and awoke from fictitious war to real left the ruin, and had by this time tumult. My little doy, upon hearing nearly got to the town, and after a few me call Paris, which is his name, had minutes more, we arrived at my apart- put his paws on my knee, and I had ments. I entered, and invited the old discharged a violent blow on bis head man in with me: we walked into my with my pipe, which immediately little parlour: the fire was burning broke to pieces, and set my little bright, my candle lighted on the table, fellow barking. I soothed him, turned and my little dog lying on the hearth. him into his kennel, and snatching up I desired Mrs. Mannil, my landlady, my candle, which was almost burned to procure some ale for the old man, to the socket, made off to bed. which he soon drank, and left me to

(To be continued.) my cogitations. I had long since given over suppers; in lieu of which, I gene- ON THE SHADES OF DIFFERENCE IN THE rally read some passages out of a good

HUMAN CHARACTER. author, and digested them with a whiff of tobacco. I lighted my pipe, and MR. EDITOR. stretching out my hand to my book case, Sir-I should be much obliged if you took down my Virgil, and began to would insert the following Essay in read that part of the Second Book of your entertaining Magazine. the Eneid, where Eneas describes the

I am, Sir, &c. sacking of Troy. I had been very

HENRY JOHNSTONE. much engaged during the former part of the day, and I rather apprehend In characters that bear the greatest that this was the cause, that very soon resemblance to each other, the skilful after I had sat down, I fell asleep, and eye can easily trace well-marked and dreamt that the following curious oc- distinct features of difference. Concurrence happened to me.-

sider the human species where we will, I thought that the eventful night, of we shall always observe a peculiar which I had been reading, was return- cast of mind distinguishing every part ed, and that I was a principal actor of it. The similarity of occupations in those scenes ; I descended the and interests, which consolidates a wooden fabric, which looked to me number of persons into one plan of more like a ship than a horse. I action, cannot, even though it conlighted my torch; and, sheathed in re- tinues to operate for a considerable fulgent armour, rushed to the first period, entirely efface the impression house I saw, and set it on fire. set upon us at our births by the formThe flames rose, and the inhabitants ing hand of nature. Were we to asso329 Remarks on An Essay on Modern Poetry.530 ciate two children from their tenderest | pre-direction of our faculties which we years, in a fellowship of amusements cannot control. and pursuits, and constantly endea- Born with us, our companions in vour to induce a belief that they were the cradle and in the nursery, they to remain thus united throughout, there must continue unconquerably active, would nevertheless, I am persuaded, even to the conclusion of our sojournbe found in the physiognomy of their ing on earth. Arbitrary habits cansouls a very perceptible contrast, both not destroy them, nor the attacks of as to colouring and formation. Look adversity shake them off: we may as narrowly as we may among our strive to flee them, but they will follow fellow creatures, we shall find none of us as the shadow the body; we may them twins in every circumstance; use efforts to dispossess them of our there may be a general, but there bosoms, but they will maintain their cannot be a perfect similitude. empire till the frail fleshy coil is min

Premising thus then, it should gled with the original dust. seem, that to a certain extent singularity forms a part in the composition of us all. Indeed, were it otherwise, Remarks on “ An Essay on Modern a disgusting sameness would prevail

Poetry.in every link of the mental chain. We should proceed from century to cen- MR. Editor. tury in the dull and confined walk of Sir,-You will oblige one of the readour ancestors, without once desiring | ers of your Magazine, by inserting the to deviate from the beaten track with following Remarks on a paper that the daring step of originality. Genius appeared in the number for April, would then be fettered in its exercise; 1822, (col. 338,) entitled “ An Essay the charms of novelty would fail to on Modern Poetry.” give it expansion; and the yet unat

Your's, respectfully, tained summits of glory, be barren of

SIGMA. attraction. Now, as every soul is Bucks, May 3d, 1822. formed in a mould, in some particular peculiar to itself, there is, by In offering a few remarks on the spiconsequence, ardent inclina- rited paper referred to above, I shall tion to fathom the unfathomed, and begin by observing that I agree in exceed the unexceeded, always ac- general with G. M. in his sentiments tive.

respecting poetry. The present race There is a predisposing impulse in of poets stands justly chargeable with every human breast, that will eventu- the literary crime of sacrificing every ally conduct, though many stumbling- thing to effect, or rather to eclat.

To blocks should intervene, to the point startle, surprise, and astonish,-to of its decision. It is in vain to at- torture the feelings with violent lantempt to alter the work of the Supreme guage, monstrous characters, and disArchitect, for though it be possible to tressing accidents, and to lead the ruin it, it is impossible to reform or reader on in breathless expectation, better its constitution. Education, it from one scene to another, to some has been said, may effect much, and disastrous conclusion, seems to be this I have never doubted. It can the object of the fashionable bard, raafford to uninformed genius, instruc-ther than to create what is beautiful tion as to the best route of that jour- and abiding, and which, like the harney it thirsts to commence, by setting monies of nature, is ever the same, but before it the collected labour of ages, always lovely. Our contemporary the glorious results of foregone wis- poetical authors produce in the minds dom, and the inestimable treasures of their readers, strong sensations, handed down to posterity from the which are directly forgotten; like ancient world. It can doubtless mar- some popular preachers, who stoop to shal its ideas, and give them a regu- vulgar tricks to excite the feelings of larity essential to success; but I deny their auditors, without that genuine that it can at all amend the previous eloquence which wins over the underbias of the mind. The powerful pre- standing, and persuades the will. possessions which we so tenaciously I agree with G. M. in thinking that cherish-the as powerful antipathies it requires more thought and more which we cannot overcome---prove a imagination to make common objects

an

interesting in their natural colours, too deeply seated in human nature and unexaggerated forms, than to ever to be destroyed. In spite of all awaken attention to what is wild and the critics in the world, the reader romantic; and that success in the for- will love what delights him, without mer is the true test of fine poetical ge- knowing why, or caring wherefore. nius. The pure inspirations of nature, With respect to Moore, though he the transparent stream of imagination, flutters about and about Parnassus, whose clear bottom shews the precious like the humming-hird sipping dew stones of thought and wisdom richly and honey as he flies, yet there is a spread,-is a manifestation of a far beauty on his wings, and a sweetness more exalted genius, than the skill in his song, so exquisite, that the shown in narrating the wonders of lovers of elegance, fancy, and melody, some tale, the materials of which are “will not willingly let him die.” And easily found.

as to Southey and Scott, there is imaI can also cheerfully subscribe to gination and poetical invention enough G. M.'s opinion of Wordsworth, by in them, to make twenty of many far the most original and imaginative, such poets as have been admitted into and, in a word, the most poetical poet the list. of the present age, and indeed, with I can say amen to G. M.'s praise of a very few exceptions, of any other. | Campbell's chaste, coy, and healthy But I think G. M. has treated our muse. Campbell is the most accurate modern bards with injustice. Let him and spotless of all our modern bards; reprobate their taste as much as he but he must not be compared in genius pleases, but let him not deny them and power with some of those whom (for his silence does) powerful and G. M. has slighted. Criticism can be enchanting genius. Scott, Southey, of no use unless it is just : let all have Byron, and Moore, have committed their due, and let us not contemn faults; but they are more splendid mighty genius, because it is not corand poetical in their faults, than many rect, nor unduly exalt inferior genius admitted English poets are in their because it is. most accurate and elaborate passages. For my part, I would plead for no exclusive taste in poetry ; the roman

POETRY. tic has its cbarms as well as the classical, and it will always be popular

STANZAS with the greatest number of readers.

The romantic poetry of England is infinitely preferable to the correct and WHEN spring approaching decks the green, cold declamation of the French poets,

And cheers with smiles the length’ning day, who avoid every thing romantic in we turn from Winter's dreary scene,

Aud feel, and own, the genial ray. poetry, tanquam scopuli. May our poets go on romancing to the end of But winter, too, can charm the soul; the world, rather than turn back to

Though frosts and storms are in bis train,

And blust'ring Eurus' sullen howl the insipid prettiness, and endless

Proclaims his unrelenting reign. self-imitation, of the school founded by Boileau and Pope.

Though scarce one songster greet the dawn,

Nor Sol long ling'ring cheer the night, As we have no reason to expect I will not mourn the silent lawn; that the people of England will ever I will not sigh for absent light. become philosophers and critics, we

The gentle Redbreast's morning song have no need to prophesy that Scott,

Shall well supply the tuneful choir; Southey, Moore, and Byron, will ever While ev’ning sees a social throng, be forgotten. Ariosto and Wieland, With me sarround the cheerful fire. and other romantic poets, have long | And O when o'er the southern hill, been the favourite authors of the suc- Cynthia ber silver lamp displays, cessive generations of Italy and Ger- Who, but would wish 'twere winter still?

While o'er beav'n's broad expanse they many. The tawdry Darwin, and the feeble Hayley, have indeed been po

gaze. pular, and will be so no more ;-but Yet, if beneath the furious blast

We almost wish the season gone, did they ever affect and enchant our

Mark! when the bitter storm is past, minds like Scott and Southey ?

How sweetly smiling spring comes on. The popularity of the poets whom

J. R. G. M. depreciates, arises from causes Hexham, Feb. 28th, 1822.

IN ADMIRATION OF WINTER.

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A FRAGMENT.

My soul then sicken'd, and I lost the gem

That sooth'd my sorrow, and that check'd my Palida mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum

fear. tabernas,

Ah! when I turn with retrospective view Regumque turres.

HORACE. To years, to days, to moments, that I dread,

That, wing'd with pleasure, ever gaily flew, TIME rides upon the chariot-wheels of death, When pass'd with him I now lamentas dead; Crashing its millions at each revolution ! When I refer to ev'ry sanguine wish Saul_slew his thousands, and the mighty That fir’d our bosom with unfading joy, David

The birds we snar’d, or caught the tangled Bade the cold moral shiver light upon

fish, A host more mighty still

And each enjoyment of the raptar'd boy; But this insated monarch’s vengeful pow'r, Sudden a tear, that childish may be deem’d, Like the ambitious Roman Emperor,

Starts as a tribute to an early friend, Gluts his capricious rage alike on all.

Whose breast with gen'rous feelings always Age, sex, king, beggar, feel the direful teem'd. scourge,

Like his, perhaps my voyage soon will end; And more are sacrific'd without restraint Shortly, when number'd with the ballow'd Than e'er were immolate or bow'd beneath

dead, The superstitious car of Juggernaut!

Freed from its shackles, my blest soul shall 'Tis thus he rides; though not with mighty To realms whence sorrow has for ever fled,

Where pomp,

of parting will be felt no more.

pangs No pageant bears his bideous consequence,

Pupil of sorrow, though in years but young, Or vain parade forewarns of his approach.

Vers'd in this school, and burden'd by a load, No herald blasts the clarion's hoarser notes,

Long have I listen’d to the syren song To tell on whom be feasts his appetite,

That anguish still continues to forebode. Or where the dreary carnage rages most! I lost my father when an artless child,

Too young to feel bis value or his loss, 'Tis thus he drives-tho' silent as the forms My ardent soul was then as nature wild, Of fairy apparitions play upon

And blest if mounted on a wooden horse. The heated fancy of the fer'rish brain,

Perhaps some gambols had engag'd my At the lone hour of night's dim murkiness

thought, Or as the quiet shadow dances o'er

Some pleasing bauble, or some pastime dear, The silent lake, unknown, unnoticed! When the sad news some messenger had

brought, He mounts bis winged Pegasus of fate, And the eye glisten’d with a tender tear. Wand'ring in foaming majesty his course, Perhaps I still continu'd at my sport, Unaw'd and unrestrain'd from the brow serene And still was happy as I was before, Of heav'n's bigh top to the dark cave below, Nor knew the meaning of the dread report, Where nightly prowls the fierce banditti That my dear Alfred would return no more. forth.

Oh! could his spirit in my sight appear, Disease in palid state stalks out to bear And the lov'd shade but bless

me with a smile, His gloomy train, and Death, tho' last, not I'd freely tell my little history here, least,

And ev'ry sorrow in this world of guile; Closes in ghastly consequence the rear! That those I valued and esteem'd as dear,

R. L. Had feigo'd their friehdship with the vilest Lostwithiel, December 29th, 1821.

art, That ere my youth had reach'd its sixteenth

year,

It stung me deeply, and transfix'd my heart. LINES Written on the loss of a Friend, who died of the Androll their course o'er man's devoted

'Tis clear that, as the circling years proceed, Yellow Fever, in the Havanah.

head, What means this sad despondency of mind, Our former pleasures we no longer heed, These languid feelings and this drooping heart; And scenes once valu'd' with indifference That all my hopes are now as light as wind; tread. And nought of sunshine to my breast impart? In verdant groves and ever-blooming vales, Nature around in gayest vesture smiles, I've oft in childhood pass'd my happy hours, And yields her roses to the breathing air ; Play'd in the woodlands, sported in the dales, The birds are cheerful, and with artless wiles Lain on the herbage and the fragrant flow'rs; Indulge their feelings, and avoid the snare. But now the scene of beauty is decay'd, Then should not I by sympathy partake Lost is the lively verdure of the trees, The joys that fill the songsters of the spring ? The charms of pature in my senses fade, Ah no, the grief with which our bosoms ache And my soul sickens at the passing breeze. Too deeply fester and too quickly sting. Nor can the prospects darting on my sight Yet once, but ah! that once is distant now, Cheer the dark night that shades my gloomy Tis lost like years beyond the whelming flood, breast, Each festive pleasure did my breast endow, Though once, alas! they could bestow deQuicken'd my spirits, revel'd in my blood. light, But soon the flowers that grow on fancy's And yield to life a never-ceasing zest. stem,

When sorrows press upon my drooping soul Droop by degrees with every added year; With native ardour to that bourn it tends,

rays,

Pants to arrive at that celestial goal

ON SECRET SINNERS. Where ev'ry wisb in pure fruition ends.

Such men are like to owls; they take delight A gloomy mantle o'er my soul is cast,

To make the night their day; their day the While my dear Alfred in these regions strays,

night: And though my youthful moments are not They hate the san, and love dark corners best;

pass'd, I still must walk in solitary ways.

But they shall howl when day birds are at rest. Were I as bappy as my dearest friend, Pleasure would mark the progress of my days: Delight is his without alloy or end,

WRITTEN FOR MY PRAYER BOOK. Where spirits dwell adorn’d with brightest

Almighty Fountain of eternal bliss,

Great God! in tender mercy grant me this, But left behind in trouble and despair, That as I read this sacred book, inspire I mourn in silence for my Alfred dead,

My soul with ardent zeal, and heav'nly fire; Who now partakes the joys wbich angels Let me with faith thy holy truths pursue, share,

And keep my God for ever in my view. And views the tears surviving friendship shed. Thus, while the flow'r of ripening beauty dies, Sprüng from thy bounty, all I have is thine ; His body mingled with unconscious clay, O fill my breast with gratitude divine; Like righteous Samuel, taught, and early | Accept the contrite breathings of my heart, wise,

And what my weakness wants, may grace His spirit basks in everlasting day.

impart; But these events are hast'ning to a close,

Teach me to pray, and whatsoe'er I do, And wild romantic elegy must cease,

thou, my God, for ever in my view. The jaded spirit asks a short repose,

Trembling, I kneel before thy awful throne, And mercy whispers bappiness and peace.

To thee my thoughts and all my wants are JOHN WALTER, Bishopsgate.

known: O cleanse these thoughts, and pure affections

give, THE DYING BELIEVER.

And through thy mercy bid a sinner live.

And may thy Spirit inward strength renew, The following Lines were found in the Coat Pocket To keep my God for ever in my view! of Mr. William Mc Lean, of Edinburgh, who

HENRY POPE. died March 16, 1789, a man of exemplary piety. New York, March 2, 1821.

COME, stingless Death, heave o'er; lo here's
my pass,

EXTEMPORE LINES,
In bloody characters, by his band who was,
And is, and shall be. Jordan, cut thy stream,

On reading the Bible ;-written on board H. M. Make channels dry; I bear my Father's name

Ship Thames, Aug. 1810.-Ry W. B. Stampt on my brow. I'm ravish'd with my MYSTERIOUS Book! thou harbinger of joy, crown,

Sare solace of affliction's bitter draughts; It shines só bright. Down with all glory, Thy pages all our cancer'd cares destroy, down,

Ånd blunt the points of death's unerring That worlds can give. I see the pearly port, shafts. The golden street, where blessed souls resort, The tree of life, floods gushing from the Mysterious Book! by inspiration giv'n, throne,

To man unworthy such divine bequest; Call me to joys ; begone, short woes, be- Thy pages, offspring of the band of Heav'n,

Point out the way to be for ever blest. gone ; I liv'd to die, but now I die to live;

Why should I doubt? or why this erring soul I do enjoy more than I did believe :

Seek comfort or redress from other source? The promise-me, into possession sends, Great God! among thy saints my name enrol, Faith in fruition, hope in glory ends.

And to my present faith add tenfold force.

ON CONSCIENCE.

ON DANIEL IN THE LIONS' DEN. FIERCE lions roaring for their prey! and then

Daniel thrown in! and Daniel yet remain Alive!_There was a Lion in the den,

In the year 1820. col. 843, it was Was. Daniel's friend, or Daniel had been asked by Mr. B. of London, "What slain.

is Conscience?” To this question seAmong ten thousand lions I'd not fear,

veral replies were published in FebruHad I but only Daniel's Lion there.

ary, 1821, one of which was by a lady.

But our fair correspondent thinking ON THE GOSPEL.

that the subject has not been suffiOUR gospel thrives the more by foreign jars, ciently examined, begs that the obser

It overcomes in outward opposition ; Bat oh! it suffers still in civil wars,

vations subjoined, may be inserted. And loses honour by a home division :

The remarks thus connected with the If thou assist, I care not, Lord, with whom question, containing no animadverI war abroad, so I have peace at home. sions on what has preceded, the wri

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