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At Arzilla, Sir Arthur was visited by a Moorish saint, whom he treated to the favourite beverage of his people -green tea. The repast being over, the story proceeds

thus:

"The things were now about to be taken away, after many marks of admiration being bestowed on the cups and saucers, which were not very agreeable to my ears, when the old man requested me to give him one of the De teaspoons, which I accordingly did, thinking myself lucky at the time to escape so well. I was, however, mistaken; for as I was slyly conveying the teapot out of sight, the old man, who kept the eye of a hawk on it, desired he might look at it. It was of queen's metal, and such a one had never been seen before by any of them. Its shape was first discussed, and its good qualities for pouring, drawing, and making tea, were so loudly praised, that I began to tremble, when the saint concluded, to my horror, by begging me to give him the teapot; and, at the same moment, his cunning coadjutor gave me a most signifi

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cant look on no account to refuse the saint what he asked

for. I had now to get out of the scrape as well as I could. It was impossible I could part with the teapot; it was the comfort, nay, very existence, of us all-I had but this one; and, besides all this, it was not mine own, having been lent me, as well as the contents of the canteen, by my friend, Mr Duguid of Gibraltar. All these excuses I enforced, as I thought, with such seeming reasonableness, that the saint appeared satisfied, and said no more."

round, who should I see but the saint's deputy come for his master's teapot, which he had already repented having lent me, as fearful he should not get it back again. The fellow actually seemed to haunt me; and I felt so provoked, that, if it had not been safely packed at the bottom of my baggage, I would have returned it by breaking it with infinite satisfaction over the rascal's head."

For teasing pertinacity, Sinbad's old man of the sea was nothing to this tormenting incubus. One other specimen of African saints, and we have done :

"One of the mad sectarians above mentioned, whose name was Tyer Symock, and who, before he became about one day by himself, came to a shop kept by a Moor converted, was a good, quiet, honest baker, rambling named Salem Ben Joseph, and proceeded to exhibit some Upon this the shopman began of the pranks of his sect. to remonstrate with the disciple, by telling him that none but bad men would act so, and speaking at the same time in no very respectful terms of the followers of Ben Essa. During the time the altercation was going on, the follower had worked himself up to a tolerable degree of frenzy, which was greatly increased when he heard his holy sect thus reviled. The revenge he bethought himself of was whimsical enough, for he forthwith proceeded to devour every article in the poor man's shop, soap, oil, butter, figs, raisins, walnuts, the whole of which proceeded down his throat, to the astonishment and horror of the shopkeeper, occasioning him a loss of one hundred and fifty dollars. After he had made this singular clear

The old gentleman, however, returned to the charge ing of the poor shopkeeper's goods, the latter posted up before his departure :

"The old man sat like a rock on the floor, with a most immovable countenance, for near three hours, to my utter despair, when he suddenly rose, seeing, probably, that there was nothing else to be got from me. He did not, however, take his departure without making another most direct attack upon the teapot, which I parried as well as I could. When about leaving the house to return home, his chief hypocrite, whom I have before noticed, begged his blessing, or, in other words, entreated him to favour him by spitting in his face; with which request the holy man immediately complied with the greatest liberality and benevolence. I had by this time such a surfeit of saints, that I never wished to set eyes upon one again."

Notwithstanding his surfeit, Sir Arthur was obliged to swallow another mouthful:

to the governor to complain of the severe loss he had sustained through the gourmandizing and revengeful appetite of the fanatic. The governor accordingly sent two soldiers to bring him before him, and which was done as soon as the fellow was in a fit state to make his appearance. Upon his being asked the reason for his behaviour in having eaten up the whole of the poor man's stock in trade, the man replied, it was to avenge the injury his saint had sustained from the impious language of the shopkeeper. The bashaw, upon this, wishing to put to a further trial his supernatural power of swallowing, ordered his attendants to prepare an enormous dish of kouskous; and, accordingly, a tub, containing one hundred pounds weight of kouskous and a whole sheep, was brought smoking hot before the monster. The bashaw, upon this, told him it was necessary that he should offer an ocular proof to all present of the power of his saint, by devouring instanter the mouthful of victuals he saw before him, if so, all well and good, and his saint would Should he, however, fail in this per

"Although I was up at an early hour the following morning, the saint was beforehand with me; for on put-be a great man. ting my head out of my chamber door to examine the state of the weather, I found his disciple patiently sittingformance, he would not only be obliged to pay for the loss he had occasioned the shopkeeper, but would receive

on the steps, and learnt that he had been there some time.

On enquiring the reason of his early visit, he merely replied that he was come for my teapot. I now saw that the saint was determined not to give up his point; and as, from his power, he could annoy me in a more serious manner, and even prevent my proceeding on my journey; I thought it prudent to comply with his wishes, and therefore sent word back, that if he would lend me one I would make him a present of mine. The messenger was not long in returning, and carried away my poor teapot in triumph, leaving in its place an old earthenware one not worth a sixpence, but, singular enough, of English manufacture, and which, having been cruelly torn in its early days from its birthplace in the potteries, had been fated to linger out its existence in so villainous a country The poor thing was now released from slavery, as it was my firm intention to carry it back to its native country, and preserve it as a memorial of my holy friend at Arzilla."

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the additional punishment of the bastinado, as a warning

for the future.

The hungry fanatic, upon hearing this, began to work himself up in the same manner which had before been attended with so fatal a result to the poor man's stock in trade; his countenance turned black, and

his eyes looked like blood, and vowing that, if necessary, he would not only eat what was placed before him, but the bashaw and his attendants into the bargain, to work he went at the loaves and fishes, and in a short time cleared up every thing before him, to the astonishment of all present, and the satisfaction of every one except the poor shopkeeper, who was now convinced that the devil himself had borrowed the man's inside for his wicked ate up all the grass about the bashaw's door, as a salad purposes. The story goes, that the fanatic afterwards after his meal, and was dismissed with honour and

credit."

Sir Arthur speaks of Africa as a good hunting country. We recommend the hint to Mr Lloyd of Skidore and bear-shooting notoriety. It befits the nation whose home is on the deep, to have her sporting grounds coterminous with her empire.

The History of England. By the Right Honourable
Sir James Mackintosh, LL.D., M.P. Volume the
Second. (Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopædia.) London.
Longman and Co. 1831.

bours, in a mild and equitable government, of which the

habitual influence had abated the ravages of a contest
between incensed faction, and deprived intestine commo-
tions of a great part of their horrors. In England,'
says Philip des Comines, a soldier and a traveller, 'the
evil of war falls on those only who make it.' Sir John
Fortescue, an English lawyer, long resident in France,
contrasts the operation of absolute monarchy, in impo-
verishing and depressing the people of that kingdom,
with that more free government which raised up the race
of English yeomen, qualified by their intelligence, and
by their independent situation, as well as spirit, to take
an important part in dispensing justice as jurors;-an-
accession to popular power, which spread more widely
over ordinary life, than perhaps any other; and while it
fostered the independence of the people, contributed, by a
happy peculiarity, to interest their pride, in duly execu-
ting the law, and taught them to place their personal
importance in enforcing the observance of justice."

In adverting to the appearance of the second volume of Sir James's history, we consider ourselves as merely announcing its appearance to the reader-reporting progress as it were. We refrain from pronouncing judgment upon the work until we have it wholly before us. This, however, we may say, without infringing our resolution, that like every work of its distinguished author, it will be found to contain much that is excellent. The short passage which we extract from the present volume will show, that, with true philosophical spirit, he does not confine himself to telling the story of princes and nobles, and retailing the scandal of courts. He looks into the structure of society, examines the thewes and sinews-ay, and the spirit of the nation. The passage to which we allude is also curious as a fragment of Parliamentary history. We should not wonder to see it quoted by Sir Charles Wetherell, at the meeting of Par-history with the utmost acharnement on account of liament, as an unanswerable argument against the Reform

bill!

"When the civil war was approaching, we first clearly discern, from the private and confidential correspondence of the Pastons, a family of note in Norfolk, the frequent interposition of the grandees in the elections of commoners, or rather their general influence over the choice. In the year 1455, we find a circular letter from

the Duchess of Norfolk, to her husband's adherents in that county, apprising them of the necessity that my lord should have at this time in the Parliament such persons as belong unto him, and be of his menial servants,' and therefore entreating them to apply their voice unto John Howard and Roger Chamberlayne, to be knights of the shire. On this passage, it is only necessary to observe, that 'menial' at that period was a word which had scarcely any portion of its modern sense, and might be applied with propriety to any gentleman bred within the walls of the duke's castle. By another short dispatch from Lord Oxford, in the autumn of the same year, it appears that Sir William Chamberlayne and Henry Grey were to be supported by the two dukes as candidates for the county of Norfolk. In 1742 also, the Dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk, after a conference on the subject, agreed to have Sir Richard Harcourt and Sir Robert Wingefield to represent the county, and to recommend Sir John Paston to be elected for the borough of Maldon, and obtained from the burgesses of Yarmouth a promise to support their candidates for that borough, who were Dr Alleyne and John Russe.

"In the next instance, after the Duke of Norfolk found it impracticable to return his son-in-law, Mr Howard, for the county, an intimation is thrown out, of means by which an indefinite extension of influence in the elections of other towns, and in the revivals of disused franchises, might be obtained. If ye miss to be burgess of Maldon, and my Lord Chamberlayne will, ye may be in another place: there be a dozen towns in England that choose no burgess, which ought to do it; ye may set in for one of those towns, and ye be friended.'

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"A curious illustration of the habitual exercise of the

influence of the crown, as well as of the nobility, in elections, may be seen in a familiar letter contained in the same collection. 'Sir Robert Coniers dined with me this day, and showed me a letter that came from the king to him, desiring him that he should await upon his well-beloved brother, the Duke of Suffolk, at Norwich, on Monday next coming, for to be at the election of knights of the shire; and he told me that every gentle man in Norfolk and Suffolk, that are of any reputation, hath writing from the king in likewise as he had.'

Some word-catchers attacked the first volume of the

sundry sentences, which they alleged were clumsily

constructed. There must be owls and cats in this world to hunt down "rats and mice, and such small deer," and acknowledging the necessity of their existence, we leave them to pursue unmolested the duties of their important vocation.

The Mythology of Ancient Greece and Italy, intended chiefly for the use of Students at the Universities, and the higher Classes in Schools. By Thomas Keightley, Author of the "Fairy Mythology." With twelve Plates, etched on Steel by W. H. Brooke. 8vo. Pp. 491. London. Whittaker, Treacher, and Co. 1831. We have here a learned and judicious work, and one which has long been a desideratum in this country. England boasts of her classical scholars; and if, by the desiguation, we are to understand men who have mastered the intricacies and niceties of the two languages to which the epithet is applied par excellence, and have drunk deep of the generous spirit and elegant taste which breathe throughout the authors who have given them immortality, the boast is not unjustifiable. It is the more to be wondered at, that a country where these languages are more esteemed an indispensable acquisition on the part of every well-educated man than in any other, should, in what concerns a sedulous investigation of those antiquities which elucidate them, and in the direction of this research by a philosophical spirit, lie behind every nation in Europe.

Mr Keightley tells us, in his titlepage, that his work is intended chiefly for the use of advanced schoolboys and young collegians. To them it will be an invaluable acquisition. It will enable them to start on their career of classical investigation untrammelled by those crude and contradictory accounts which have been the sole guides of their predecessors. But we are much mistaken if the benefits of the work stop bere. It will serve to unravel the perplexed thoughts of many literati of older and higher standing.

The systems of classical mythology hitherto published The acin our language are puerile in the extreme. counts of various deities have been culled, without the aid of a sound criticism, indifferently from all Greek and Roman authors alike from those who, like Homer, gave a plain credulous description of them, and from the latter Platonists, who distorted their histories into all sorts of fantastic and mystical allegories. The authorities have been regarded as of equal authority, and the most dissonant and contradictory opinions have been made to stand side by side in the same narrative. On the con"It was in this period of civil war, that two writers tinent, however, and particularly in Germany, a better of sagacity describe England as superior to her neigh-spirit has sprung up of late years. The mythology of

each author has been first studied apart, then in connexion lishing in Constable's Miscellany. We sincerely trust with that of his contemporaries, and finally, as it bears that Captain Brown will meet with that liberal acceptupon that of his immediate predecessors or successors. ance and remuneration, at the hands of the public, which The investigations of the artist-those of Winkelman his enterprise merits. for example; of the antiquary-Count Caylus and his followers; of the historian-Niebuhr, have all been referred to for additional light. And thus, by dint of patient and sagacious enquiry, a trustworthy history of the birth and growth of "the intelligible forms of old religion" has been composed.

Mr Keightley professes himself a disciple of the sound rational school of German mythological students, in opposition to a crazy sect, who find unutterable meanings in the breeches of Jupiter, and profound philosophy in the stomacher of Juno. He has furnished us with an able digest of the discoveries of Voss and Lobeck. He prefaces his work with an introductory chapter on mythology in general-traces it to its varied sourcesassigning to the products of each its characteristic fea

tures.

He then traces the developement of mythology from the primitive times, when it is an article of implicit belief, till the advanced periods of rational refinement, when it becomes spiritualized and allegorized. He then proceeds to treat in detail, first of the gods of Greecethen of those of Italy; and brings before us in succession each object of the idolatrous worship of these two countries. He presents the student with a distinct local and chronological chart of their religion.

The illustrations of the volume, spiritedly etched by Brooke, from genuine antiques, we regard as by no means the least important feature of the work. He brings the deities of the old world before the eye of youth in all their grandeur and beauty; they give him a finer feeling of classical fiction—they help at once to form his eye and taste for the beauties of art.

We regard Mr Keightley's book as the most important addition that has been made to the auxiliaries of classical education in our time.

Travels and Discoveries in Northern and Central Africa, in 1822, 23, and 24. By Major Denham, Captain Clapperton, and Dr Oudney; with a Short Account of Clapperton's and Lander's Second Journey, in 1825, 26, and 27. In four vols. 16mo. London. John Murray. 1831.

THE narrative of the discoveries effected by our latest and most enterprising explorer of Africa, is now presented to the public at a moderate price, in an elegant and portable form. These volumes are uniform with the small editions already published by Mr Murray of Parry's and Franklin's Voyages, and form with them a proud record of what British daring and perseverance have effected in the regions of extreme heat and cold.

Illustrations of American Ornithology; including Representations of the principal Insects, Forest-trees, and Fruits of America, Drawn, Etched, and Coloured under the Superintendence of Captain Thomas Brown, F. L. S. Part I. Edinburgh: Henry Constable. London: Hurst, Chance, and Co. 1831.

THESE illustrations are intended to comprise the whole of the birds published by Wilson and Charles Bonaparte, with the addition of numerous recently discovered species, as also representations of the principal insects, fruits, and forest-trees of America, now for the first time introduced. The birds are in many instances larger, and in none smaller than in the original works. The plates contained in the part now before us equal, in fidelity and spirit, the original works, and do not cost more than one-sixth of their price. They form an appropriate accompaniment to the elegant edition of Wilson and Bonaparte, now pub

MISCELLANEOUS LITERATURE.

THE BYSTANDER.

· No. III.

LIVING IN VAIN.

WE feel little sympathy with those who die in infancy, and little with those who die full of years and honour, or after having achieved some mighty conquest in literature, or more worldly business. Our intensest sorrow is for genius nipped in the bud—for one who, having just shown that he is capable of doing much, drops off before he can fulfil his promise. Our sorrow, however, is tame when contrasted with the agony of him who is thus The fate of Tantalus was bliss untimely called away. compared to his before whom life, with all its ecstatic emotions and inspiring labours, are displayed-only that he may guess how much he is deprived of by a premature The blossom may wither on the stalk, and leave death. no fruit behind-it is unconscious; but to relinquish love, friendship, honour-not enjoyed but anticipated— is a fearful doom.

Few of those who were the companions of my boyhood now remain, and of the few it is more than probable that not one remembers the name of Wentworth. He was left an orphan at an age too young to know his loss. The gentleman to whose care he was confided—a busy politician-was too much engrossed by his own ambitious projects to devote much attention to a sickly boy, a relation so distant as scarcely to have a claim upon his love in the eyes of the world. Let me do this man of the world justice: he saw his charge intrusted to the care of a preceptor who, he knew, would care for his physical comforts and his education—he was exemplary in the management of his ward's fortune, but he saw him rarely, and when he did, lavished upon him none of those

caresses which conciliate the confidence and open the hearts of the young. Wentworth's schoolmaster was in like manner a conscientious man, but not gifted with the finer feelings of humanity. The boy was sedulously, instructed, but his young heart was fated to encounter none which beat sympathizingly with his own.

We commenced at college the same year. Although amiable, and pure in the inmost recesses of the mind, there was something about him the reverse of conciliatory. His character had developed itself in a moral solitude. His temper was naturally of that kind which requires to rest upon the affections of others; but he had known only those in whose presence, on account of their superior age or influence over his destiny, he felt awed, and his inclination to ingratiate himself, and seek to nestle in the hearts of those with whom he was brought in contact, was checked by an acquired timidity. He sought to colour this weakness, of which he felt ashamed, by an assumed brusquerie. His class-fellows felt alternately attracted and repelled by a gentleness that spoke out through his whole demeanour, and by a coldness and rudeness which met all approaches towards intimacy. He was deficient

His

His genius was great, but unequal. in that distinctness of perception which enables a man to distinguish himself by the acquisition of languages, or by He had a mastery over the details of physical science. little relish for the beauties of nature, and though of a warm temperament, was not alive to sentiment. strength was apparent in the subtle distinctions and concatenations of logic: and I have never met with one who had a more just feeling of severe moral beauty. His mode of expressing himself was akin to his mental character— it was concise, nervous, always in good taste, but simple

to a degree that in the eyes of the multitude bordered upon austerity.

A character so constituted appeared in the eyes of his preceptors, as well as of his companions, a strange medley of inconsistencies. He was diffident and retiring, yet selfwilled to such a degree, that it was at times impossible to decide to which feeling his conduct ought to be attributed. His loneliness had rendered him suspicious; and the shrinking from the advice and friendly approaches of others, which was often the mere consequence of timidity, was not unnaturally attributed to sullen stubbornness. The same cause prevented him from acquiring that tact, so necessary to the comfort of social intercourse, which teaches us to defer to the honest prejudices of others; and his wild expression of the scepticism of inexperience revolted many. His moral sense, too, it must be confessed, although pure and elevated, partook of the indecision of his whole character, and was insufficient to restrain him from occasional excess. To the temptations of inebriety he was peculiarly exposed, because when heated with wine he felt liberated for the moment from the bashfulness which so painfully constrained him in his cooler

moments.

I was more intimate with him than any of the rest of our contemporaries. Our favourite studies were the same. A distant connexion between our families gave us a certain claim upon each other. Being by these circumstances brought more closely in contact with him, I was better enabled to discover the veins of pure and sterling ore which ran through the coarser clay of his being. Still our friendship, if such it could be called, was far from being confidential or unreserved. However we might be at our ease over night, I was never certain that our meeting next morning would be free from reserve and stiffness.

Nearly a year elapsed before I had it in my power to repeat my visit. I was struck with horror at the change which had taken place in his appearance during the interval. He was pale and emaciated. It was with the utmost difficulty that he could walk across his parlour. He had broke a blood-vessel, he told me, a few months before. I enquired whether he had taken medical advice: he eagerly replied that he had consulted Dr, and Dr -; that they had given him encouragement. There was a convulsive eagerness in his language, which led me to doubt that he was not stating the opinions of these gentlemen correctly; and I afterwards learned that my suspicion was just. What a strange infatuation! to seek encouragement in blinding others to what he could not close his own eyes against. It was barely possible that, by strict abstemiousness, and avoiding all excitements to strong emotion, he might recover; but of this self-denial he was incapable.

Poor Wentworth! his last days were melancholy. The avenues to his affections were shut up-he could not repose on the attachment of any one—he existed in a solitude of the heart. Although no Atheist, he wanted that confiding love which alone can realize to the human mind the existence of the God who watches over the fall of a sparrow. He felt that anxious dread of death ever produced by the relaxation of the nervous system, He was irritated at the thoughts of leaving a world where he saw the capability of enjoyment, while he felt that he had never tasted it. Often in the dead of night has he been heard to lift up his voice and weep, alternately bewailing and cursing his destiny.

He survived my second visit only a few weeks.

There are few, I believe, in whom the union of strength and weakness exists to such a marked degree as in my poor Wentworth. And it is to be hoped, that few are exposed in childhood to that chilly moral atmosphere which withered his heart. Yet his fate may serve as a warning to more than is generally imagined. I would remind such, that a bold struggle may save even at the I last hour.

A train of events, which it is unnecessary here to recapitulate, obliged me, at the close of my college life, to quit the country for a time, and while abroad, I entirely lost sight of my wayward companion. When at length I returned, my first enquiries were concerning him. learned that with his small fortune he had purchased an annuity, upon which he had lived in retirement at a small village in the shire of I resolved to visit him.

He was apparently in delicate health, but uttered no complaints. The reserve which always characterised had gained upon him in retirement, and it was not till after dinner that he afforded me any insight into his mode of life. I remarked that he drank much and hastily. Under the influence of the wine, he grew gradually more communicative. I now learned that, unable to accommodate himself to the ways of the world, he had shrunk back into retirement. His was, however, a mind to which solitude was irksome, and he sought refuge from his own thoughts in such society as he could commandfor the most part of persons every way inferior to himself, because with such he felt more at his ease. When this resource could not be had, he not unfrequently turned to the bottle. The indulgence of this solitary sottishness, the converse with low and vulgar minds, and habitual indolence, had rendered him incapable of any persevering exertion. Something of his youthful tastes still adhered to him. The few books in his house were our most profound and chastest English classics. It was apparent that he still delighted to trace in his reveries the devious workings of his own mind. He spoke with a fearfully distinct consciousness of his own degraded condition; but it was with apathetic resignation to his fate. He felt that he never could do any thing; he expressed a conviction that he could not live long. I endeavoured to stimulate him to some exertion, but he only shook his head. It was with difficulty that I obtained permission to retire for the night. He entertained a childish terror at the thoughts of being left alone, and adjured me with tears to sit by his bedside till he fell asleep.

LITERARY SKETCHES AND PARALLELS.*

By Robert Carruthers.

COWPER AND WORDSWORTH.

L.

As poets, delighting alike in the description of rural life, scenery, and manners, Cowper and Wordsworth may be compared together. Both are mannerists-founders of separate and widely-dissimilar schools-yet both pos sess much in common. resemblance as well as contrast; and the Task and They present strong points of Excursion, to those who know them best, challenge comparison almost as forcibly as they do admiration. In the writings of both, a vivid and minute perception, or rather a deep and passionate sense, of the charms of external nature, shines out in every page. This is their chosen hallowed ground. They are high priests in the temple of Nature, ministering alike devoutly in the sunshine and the storm, and whose golden censers are filled with fire from on high. Their light, however, is turned to all the human race. No poets have evinced a closer sympathy with their kind-with the social charities, cares, joys, and griefs of humanity. Living in strict seclusion from the ordinary business of the world, both may be said to have specially devoted themselves to the service of whatsoever things are pure, lovely, and of good report. The cause of natural religion, piety, and inno

"Here's freedom to him wha wad write," is our motto; and when a contributor like Mr Carruthers comes, we do not ask whether our literary creeds agree at all points. We must say, however, that, cordially concurring in his judgment of Cowper, we dissent from his opinion of Wordsworth. In our estimation, Wordsworth stands alone of English poets on the same pedestal with Milton. He, too, was the first in our day to lift up the desecrated banner of English poetry from the dust.-E. L. J.

cent enjoyment, is largely their debtor. They have shed is cast. His poetical reveries have been fed by daily over the humble, sequestered walks of life, the light and contemplation of the most striking and magnificent objects grace of poetry, and have connected with some of its in nature, while (in keeping with the Jandscape) the commonest pursuits and occupations, images of surpassing tenants of his native dales and mountains still retain— beauty and tenderness, and associations of the most eleva-sufficiently at least for poetry—a patriarchal antique simted and touching character.

plicity of manners and originality of character. Objects like these, however frequently beheld, must have a tendency to elevate and abstract the mind, and hence a certain power in shaping the inspirations of the Muse. Rous

Cowper's female cottager, weaving at her own door, and happy in the possession of her Bible-the meek and modest pair who grew not rich with all their thrift, yet were blessed with mutual love and virtuous patience—seau, in a splendid passage of his Confessions, has borne his pictures of the simple holydays and carnivals of the poor, when spring calls the unwonted villagers abroad, with all their little ones,

"To gather kingcups on the yellow mead,"

his testimony to the ennobling, inspiring influence of the free air of the mountain tops; Byron drank deeply of this silent luxury, and even the most unimaginative person must have been impressed with the wild, solemn, and contemplative spirit breathed from a lofty range of

are all so many proofs of the lively interest and exulta-mountain scenery, with its accompaniments of lake, wood, tion felt by the poet in the joys and virtues of his lowliest neighbours. And perhaps this praise is as emphatically due to Wordsworth as to Cowper. All who have read and felt the "Excursion," must remember the thrilling interest and pathos of the story of the cottagers in the first book-that melancholy tale of the

"Last human tenant of the ruin'd walls," which, overgrown with matted weeds and wild flowers, 7 stood undistinguished by the road-side on the common. The narrative of the Vicar, in the same poem, which commemorates the virtues and characters of those who lie interred in the churchyard among the mountains, is marked by the same truth, individuality, and pathos. Cowper's pencil, graphic and inimitable as it was, could not have traced with greater distinctness and fidelity, or light-touched with finer hues, the following soft and beautiful picture :

"Of that tall pine, the shadow of whose bare
And tender stem, while here I sit at eve,

Oft stretches towards me, like a strong straight path,
Traced faintly in the greensward; there, beneath
A plain blue stone, a gentle dalesman lies,

From whom, in early childhood, was withdrawn
The precious gift of hearing. He grew up
From year to year in loneliness of soul;
And this deep mountain valley was to him
Soundless, with all its streams. The bird of dawn
Did never touse this cottager from sleep
With startling summons; not for his delight
The vernal echoes shouted; not for him
Murmur'd the labouring bee.

When stormy winds
Were working the broad bosom of the lake
Into a thousand thousand sparkling waves,
Rocking the trees, or driving cloud on cloud
Along the sharp edge of yon lofty crags,
The agitated scene before his eye
Was silent as a picture: evermore

Were all things silent, wheresoe'er he moved."

We must not stop to finish the portraiture. Then there is the pastor himself, worthy of Chaucer or Herbert-the patriarch of the tale-the young peasant, beloved and regretted by all, whose eulogy is introduced by a most original and picturesque simile, conceived in the spirit of Spenser or Massinger :

"The mountain ash,
Deck'd with autumnal berries that outshine
Spring's richest blossoms, yields a splendid show
Amid the leafy woods; and ye have seen
By a brook side or solitary tarn,
How she her station doth adorn, the pool
Glows at her feet, and all the gloomy rocks
Are brightened round her."

and waterfall. Lord Bacon said, with a sort of pun, that he loved to study in a small chamber, because it helped him to condense his thoughts. But poets, who read the book of nature, and whose business is with the whole of this visible and material universe, cannot have too wide a horizon for their vision. Amid such scenes, Wordsworth grew up and was matured. What Cowper would have been among the vast mountain solitudes of Westmoreland-whether he could ever have been so effectually subdued and transformed by the genius of the place as Wordsworth-must be left to fancy; but nothing can be imagined more tame and prosaic than his "daily walks and ancient neighbourhood" at Olney. A miserable village, with as miserable inhabitants—a few-very few-friends-and a country flat and unvaried, though rich in cultivation, marked the poet's outward destiny. Yet how much has he not made of his slender, unpromising materials! What gems has he not dug out of a mine, into which no other poetical adventurer would have dreamed of sinking a shaft! The silent windings of the Ouse seem palpably before us-we see the spacious verdant meadows on its banks, "with cattle sprinkled o'er"-the elm-trees, hedges, styles, church-spire, and cheerful bells, with all the other simple adjuncts of the scene, the meanest of which was consecrated in his sight -and the

"Groves, heaths, and smoking villages remote,"

on which he gazed through the vicissitudes of yearssome of them long, dark, and painful ones-till the light of reason, of memory, and life had fled.

The glowing freshness, vigour, and brief fidelity of these delineations, constitute one of the chief glories of Cowper, and distinguish him not only from Wordsworth, but from Thomson, and most other descriptive poets. Nothing is inserted or sacrificed for effect-the scene is placed before us exactly as it is. In his poem of Retirement, there is a happy example of this excellence :

"The hedge-row shrubs, a variegated store,
With woodbine and wild roses mantled o'er,
Green balks and furrow'd lands, the stream that spreads
Its cooling vapours o'er the dewy meads,
Downs, that almost escape th' enquiring eye,
That melt and fade into the distant sky."

This is fact. A literal enumeration of objects which may be seen from hundreds of cottage doors in England, and which we in Scotland, who are somewhat lofty and fastidious on the score of scenery, would, perhaps, consider very flat and commonplace. Yet, who does not own that there is a charm, and even an originality, in the description? Who ever before heard of " green balks" in poetry? "Balk," says Johnson, "a ridge of land left unploughed between the furrows, or at the end of the field." It is in the latter sense that the term is

This is poetry. It is obvious that the bard of Westmore-used by the poet and a very pleasing feature these balks land has enjoyed a great advantage over the poet of Olney in the solitary grandeur, richness, and sublimity of the scenery amidst which his lot-a happy and dignified one

are in the common country landscape of the midland counties. They are excellent, soft, green, retired walks, often with a brook on one hand, fringed by a row of willow

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