and all who have paid the least attention to the subject know that this is as uncertain as the "deviation" in the computation of which, it would, by this process, become a necessary element. In proof of this we need only mention that two of the most recent writers on the subject, M. Biot and our author, have several times shifted the supposed position of the poles, and after all differ much from each other, and probably from the true state of things.

Dr. Young places the magnetic N. pole, in lat. 75° N. lon. 70° W.; M. Biot, lat. 78° N. lon. 2310 W.

What confidence can possibly be due to any principle of computation, in which an essential datum is so extremely doubtful; and which, even in those cases where the dip has been properly observed gives rise to errors of considerable magnitude? In the example selected by Dr. Young with respect to the Isabella (an example, we may remark, which is as favourable as he could well have chosen for his purpose), had he taken the deviation observed by Captain Sabine when the dip was 84° 8', he would have found an error of 61° in 20°; and if the dip were computed instead of being observed, the error would not, we believe, have been less than 12 degrees in 20! After this exhibition of a series of sources of uncertainty in Dr. Young's method, we conceive that none of our scientific readers, any more than ourselves, will be inclined to say with the learned author "we may employ it, with some confidence, for our assistance in correcting the errors arising from the disturbing force of the ship in all ordinary cases." No adequate judge, after due examination, can hesitate to pronounce this method decidedly inferior to that of Mr. Barlow.

The importance of the subject before us must furnish an apology for the extent of the present article, as well as for the freedom of our strictures. These strictures are not, we trust, at variance with the spirit of philosophy, or with a better spirit than mere philosophy ever produces. We shall rejoice if our remarks contribute to draw to this subject the attention of men of science, and, we would humbly add, of men whose elevated situations enable them to correct the practical defects detailed at the beginning of this analysis. Every thing which tends to throw new light upon things long known, or to develope new facts, and trace out the chain which connects them with those already established, has its value; and when the discoveries brought forward relate to matters of daily and extensive use, it is the fault of the nation among whom they are first promulgated, if they are permitted to remain unproductive of permanent and general benefit.

3

ART. XIV.-MRS. HEMANS'S POEMS.

1. The Restoration of the Works of Art to Italy: a Poem. By Mrs. Hemans. 8vo. pp. 37. Oxford, 1816.

2. The Sceptic, a Poem. By the Same. 8vo. pp. 38. Lon·don, 1820.

WE know not whether the Authoress of these Poems will consider it a compliment, or otherwise, when we state that in examining her "Modern Greece" for review (see our work for August, 1817); we conceived it to be the production of an academical, and certainly not a female, pen. It is not to disparage either sex to say that as they usually live in different worlds, so they must naturally write in different styles. Mrs. Hemans's productions, however, possess much of that chaste correctness and classical spirit which characterize Pope's Messiah, or Heber's Palestine, poems which have furnished a sort of accredited model for our university prize compositions. From being early and deeply imbued with the elegant literature of Greece and Rome, the poetry of men of education, even when it does not rise much above mediocrity in other respects, often evinces an elaborate finish which does not usually fall to the lot of female writers. Perhaps we may be thought incorrect both in the fact and its solution; but we have been surprised to observe how few female poets adorn our national collections, and how little really first rate versification has come from a quarter so fertile in other fruits of elegant literature, especially fictitious narrative. We are not willing to refer the deficiency, for certainly we think there is a deficiency, to any disparaging cause. We would rather impute it to their mode of education, their reading, and their habits of life. While our sons are drinking deep in their very childhood at the fountains of classical literature, and forming their taste on the purest models of poesy, our daughters are spending their best hours in very different occupations. Even music itself, which seems naturally akin to poesy, far from being always in modern times" married to immortal verse," is content too often to "hobble" on its way, united with the most meagre assemblage of words that can be called the expression of thought, in the most doggeril measure that can be called versification. We might indeed forgive merely technical defects, such as false rhymes, and Kangaroo lines and measures, which shuffle, or skip, with one leg longer than the other; nor would we be over fastidious at the occasional exhibition of the common fault so well defended, and so appro→ priately exemplified, in the well-known couplet,

"One line for sense, and one. for rhyme,

Is quite enough at any time."

If we exclude those; the immoral tendency of which countervails their poetical merit, how little remains in the musical port-folio of most young ladies that can justly claim the appellation of poetry.

In most respects the education of women is unfavourable to the cultivation of the higher branches of poetry. The standards with which they are most conversant are usually defective; and they do not learn early in life that mental discipline which true poetry requires even when it seems most unconstrained. We might perhaps add to this that the mind of women is not usually favourable to that deep-toned emotion which constitutes the very essence of the higher kinds of poetry. Tenderness, which is a very necessary quality of poetry, will not of course be denied to that sex, one of whose characteristic epithets, in common parlance, is that of" tender;" but poetry is in truth a thing of study; strong feeling is indeed necessary to its perfection; but it is the feeling of a spectator rather than of a sufferer. Those who feel most acutely, are least able to analyse their sensations; nor are the ladies usually in the habit of examining so closely into the springs of human emotion as to touch them at their pleasure. Some of the most tender writers whom we have known have been persons who rather observed than felt; and who thus acquired the power of affecting others while strangers themselves to the sensibilities they excited.

We are not, however, maintaining that poetry of a high kind can be written absolutely without feeling; we would only discriminate between the species of feeling necessary for its production. Real and very intense feeling would prevent an actor from doing justice to his part in a pathetic play; yet it does not follow that an insensible character would be likely to perform it better. Perhaps in all instances of this kind we might make a useful distinction between what might be called sentimental emotion and passionate emotion. It is not perfectly true, that "he who would make me weep must first weep himself;" we would say, rather, that the moment of the poet's weeping is not the moment best suited for the exercise of his art. After the first emotion has subsided, or been mellowed down to an habitual feeling, the mind is in the fittest state for poetical pathos. Such was doubtless Cowper's case when he wrote that most touching of poems on his mother's picture; his was a grief softened by time, and like notes of harmony undulating through the calm air of a summer's evening, was by distance made 'more sweet." But who could thus have written at the first bitter moment of separation, and when his sorrows were sharp upon him?

Mrs. Hemans's productions certainly betray no want of labour

or finish; but are truly classical in their model, and evince a highly respectable share both of poetical and moral feeling.

"The Restoration of the Works of Art to Italy" has the misfortune to be founded on a temporary subject, and being published so long ago may be passed over with a comparatively slight notice. We will not, however, refuse to gratify our readers with a few specimens. The invocation is in the pensive and melancholy, yet rich and spirited, style which becomes the subject. It will strongly recal to the mind of the reader the invocation in Heber's Palestine; to which, and to Mr Grant's Restoration of Learning in the East, so many academical bards have been indebted.

"Land of departed fame! whose classic plains,
Have proudly echoed to immortal strains;

Whose hallow'd soil hath given the great and brave,
Day-stars of life, a birth-place and a grave;
Home of the Arts! where glory's faded smile,
Sheds ling'ring light o'er many a mould'ring pile;
Proud wreck of vanish'd power, of splendor fled,
Majestic temple of the mighty dead!

Whose grandeur, yet contending with decay,
Gleams thro' the twilight of thy glorious day;
Tho' dimm'd thy brightness, rivetted thy chain,
Yet, fall'n Italy! rejoice again!

Lost, lovely Realm! once more 'tis thine to gaze
On the rich relics of sublimer days.

Awake, ye Muses of Etrurian shades,
Or sacred Tivoli's romantic glades;

Wake, ye that slumber in the bowery gloom,
Where the wild ivy shadows Virgil's tomb;
Or ye, whose voice, by Sorga's lonely wave,
Swell'd the deep echoes of the fountain's cave,
Or thrill'd the soul in Tasso's numbers high,
Those magic strains of love and chivalry;
If yet by classic streams ye fondly rove,
Haunting the myrtle-vale, the laurel-grove ;
Oh! rouse once more the daring soul of song,
Seize with bold hand the harp, forgot so long,
And hail, with wonted pride, those works rever'd,

Hallow'd by time, by absence more endear'd." (P. 1–3).

Mrs. Hemans justly remarks how much the effect of the productions of art is diminished by their being removed from the spot with which they have been for centuries associated. Every person of taste or feeling must have viewed, not without a sensation of regret mixed with his pleasure, the classic fragments which have rendered our national museum the pride of our own country and the envy and admiration of foreigners. But what

VOL. XV. NO. XXX.

X

shall we say of our Gallic neighbours plundering the tombs of
the illustrious dead, to collect for public entertainment a
variety of monumental relics; the value of which was so religi-
ously local
A slab of the frieze of the Parthenon would be
valuable wherever found, on account of its intrinsic merit as a
work of art; though certainly it could not any where so power-
fully excite the sensations of the classical enthusiast or the
man of taste as in the very spot where Phidias placed it. But
to carry off mere blocks of stone, whose only value was that
they covered the dust, and were inscribed with the name, of
some illustrious personage, was a refinement of polished bar-
barism which none but Frenchmen could have devised. But
let us listen to Mrs. Hemans's congratulations on the restora-
tion of the works of art to their native seat.

"Oh! ne'er, in other climes, tho' many an eye
Dwelt on your charms in beaming ecstasy;
Ne'er was it yours to bid the soul expand
With thoughts so mighty, dreams so boldly grand,
As in that realm, where each faint breeze's moan,
Seems a low dirge for glorious ages gone;
Where 'midst the ruin'd shrines of many a vale,
E'en Desolation tells a haughty tale,

And scarce a fountain flows, a rock ascends,

But its proud name with song eternal blends!

"Yes! in those scenes, where every ancient stream,
Bids memory kindle o'er some lofty theme;
Where every marble deeds of fame records,
Each ruin tells of Earth's departed lords;
And the deep tones of inspiration swell,
From each wild Olive-wood, and Alpine dell;
Where heroes slumber, on their battle plains,
'Midst prostrate altars, and deserted fanes,
And Fancy communes, in each lonely spot,
With shades of those who ne'er shall be forgot;
There was your home, and there your power imprest,
With tenfold awe, the pilgrim's glowing breast;
And, as the wind's deep thrills, and mystic sighs,
Wake the wild harp to loftiest harmonies,

Thus at your influence, starting from repose,

Thought, Feeling, Fancy, into grandeur rose." (P. 7—9.)

Mrs. Hemans proceeds to describe with considerable spirit some of the principal statues which the French capital was made to disgorge. We shall give only a single specimen ;—the restoration of the celebrated horses of Lysippus, which once more adorn the city of Venice.

"Proud Racers of the Sun! to fancy's thought, Burning with spirit, from his essence caught,