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thousand souls. Inside the fort there is nearly an equal number of houses, but not one-half so many people, who are chiefly soldiers. The principal manufactures of Hyderabad are of various kinds of arms, such as matchlocks, spears, swords, &c. and embroidered cloths. The former alone are stated to afford occupation to onefifth of the inhabitants of the suburbs, and some of their workmanship is hardly to be distinguished from that of European artists." (p. 371.)

We applaud the courage of Lieut. Henry Pottinger and his companions, that has procured for us the materials of these travels; but he certainly did not possess those endowments which are calculated to render such expeditions diffusely instructive. It may, however, be said, that the countries he visited were so simple in their principles of government, so uniform in their manners, and so limited in their natural productions, that profound skill in either moral or physical science would have had a very restricted circuit in which it could be employed; and it would scarcely be expected, or perhaps wished, that men so eminently qualified should engage their strength of mind or body in such unpromising situations.

The work is elegantly printed, and is provided with a map on an extensive scale; yet the geographical descriptions, as far as they depend on Mr. Pottinger, are those in which we have the least confidence, as they are under no circumstances prepared from actual surveys of the regions he traversed, however desirable might have been such a scientific mode of proceeding in these terra incognita.

ART. VIII.-Essays in Rhyme, on Morals and Manners. By JANE TAYLOR, Author of " Display," a Tale, &c. London, Taylor and Hessey, 1816. 12mo. pp. 174.

We have not had an opportunity of seeing any of the productions of Miss Taylor but that before us, and we regret it on account of the pleasure we have received in the perusal of these Essays in Rhyme. The title, whether we take the word Essay to mean an attempt, or a species of discourse, is equally unpresuming; and the motto from Gresset, reminds us of an author whose lively facility Miss Taylor has, in some degree, successfully rivalled. In a graver moral style she is sometimes not less happy, without any of the affectations of deep thought, which are often nothing better than acknowledged truisms,-and of pro

found sagacity, generally not exceeding the penetration of the half-educated teacher of a boarding-school. There have been very few writers, in modern times, who have not formed their style upon some model or other: as in the occupations of active life success generally depends upon suiting the employment to the habits and inclinations of the individuals, so in the business of authorship it is often secured by the choice of a proper object-not of servile copying, but of legitimate imitation.

Cowper appears to us to have been the person to whose matter and manner Miss Taylor has endeavoured to make her subjects bear a resemblance: perhaps our phrase is too strong, when we say that she has endeavoured to do so, for the similarity is not the effect of design; but warmly admiring, as she appears to do, the works of that delightful author, it is, perhaps, the almost unconscious result of the pleasurable emotions received from them. Miss Taylor, we are confident, judging from what is before us, has too much good sense not to know that she is inferior to her model in many particulars; but the chief difference is this, (and as to the effect of both it is important,) that though Miss Taylor, like Cowper, has a mind imbued with religious feelings, yet he in his poems did not make them quite so obvioushe left the moral often to be drawn by the good sense of his reader; while Miss Taylor dwells long upon it, and sometimes with a display of a little too much of sectarian tenets. In general, however, we admit that her notions of morality, and its great source, religion, are enlightened and liberal.

Miss Taylor possesses a degree of acuteness, of goodnatured shrewdness, and of humorous observation, seldom exceeded: several specimens of it are to be found in the volume before us, to which we shall proceed without further general remarks. The observation in the preceding paragraph does not at all apply to the subsequent piece upon an old subject, but treated with much truth and pleasantry.

-We took our work, and went, you see,

To take an early cup of tea.
We did so now and then, to pay

The friendly debt, and so did they:

Not that our friendship burnt so bright
That all the world could see the light;
'Twas of the ordinary genus,
And little love was lost between us:

We lov'd, I think, about as true

As such near neighbours mostly do.

"At first, we all were somewhat dry;—
Mamma felt cold, and so did I:
Indeed, that room, sit where you will,
Has draught enough to turn a mill.'
I hope you're warm,' says Mrs. G.
'O, quite so,' says mamma, says she;
'I'll take my shawl off by and by.'---
This room is always warm,' says I.

"At last, the tea came up, and so,
With that, our tongues begun to go.
Now, in that house you're sure of knowing
The smallest scrap of news that's going;-
We find it there the wisest way

To take some care of what we say.

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So then we laugh'd, and drank our tea.***

"Miss F.' says I, is said to be
A sweet young woman, Mrs. G.'
'O, excellent! I hear,' she cried;
O, truly so!' mamma replied.

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How old should you suppose her, pray?-She's older than she looks, they say......

Really,' says I, she seems to me

Not more than twenty-two or three.'
'O, then you're wrong,' says Mrs. G.
'Their upper servant told our Jane,
She'll not see twenty-nine again."'
'Indeed, so old! I wonder why
She does not marry, then,' says I;
So many thousands to bestow,
And such a beauty, too, you know.'
A beauty! O, my dear Miss B.
You must be joking, now," says she;

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"Miss F.' says I, I've understood,
Spends all her time in doing good:
The people say, her coming down
Is quite a blessing to the town.'
At that our hostess fetch'd a sigh,
And shook her head; and so, says I,
It's very kind of her, I'm sure,
To be so generous to the poor.'
No doubt,' says she;

true;

'tis very
Perhaps there may be reasons too:-
You know some people like to pass
For patrons with the lower class.'

"And here I break my story's thread,
Just to remark, that what she said,
Although I took the other part,
Went like a cordial to my heart.

"Some inuendos more had pass'd,
Till out the scandal came at last.
Come, then, I'll tell you something more,'
Says she, Eliza, shut the door.

I would not trust a creature here,
For all the world, but you, my dear.
Perhaps it's false I wish it may,
-But let it go no further, pray!'
'O,' says mamma, · you need not fear;

We never mention what we hear.'
'Indeed, we shall not, Mrs. G.’

Says I, again, impatiently:

And so, we drew our chairs the nearer,

And whispering, lest the child should hear her,

She told a tale, at least too long

To be repeated in a song;

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We panting every breath between
With curiosity and spleen.
And how we did enjoy the sport!
And echo every faint report,
And answer every candid doubt,
And turn her motives inside out,
And holes in all her virtues pick,
Till we were sated, almost sick."

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(p. 108-114.)

The Germans have a saying, (and other nations too, per haps,) that "there is but one bad wife in the world, but every man thinks it his own; so, as applied to the poem

above inserted, we may say, that every mother thinks there is but one family in the world where scandal does not form a part of the amusement, and that family is her own. People in general would imagine, that such a piece as this would tend materially to diminish this love of characterkilling, but, from the self-delusion of poor human nature, it has rather an opposite tendency: all equally despise Mrs. Candour in the "School for Scandal," but all easily persuade themselves that, between her and themselves, there is not the slightest resemblance; and warranted by this conviction, they pursue their malignant occupation with redoubled ardour: we can all point out families in our own circle to whom such satire as that extracted applies, but we never can discover that the cap fits ourselves. We have seldom met with two characters drawn more to the life than the following, of the mayor of a country borough and his wife:

"In yonder red-brick mansion, tight and square,
Just at the town's commencement, lives the mayor.
Some yards of shining gravel, fenc'd with box,
Lead to the painted portal-where one knocks:
There, in the left-hand parlour, all in state,
Sit he and she, on either side the grate.

But though their goods and chattels, sound and new,
Bespeak the owners very well to do,

His worship's wig and morning-suit betray
Slight indications of an humbler day.

"That long, low shop, where still the name appears,
Some doors below, they kept for forty years:
And there, with various fortunes, smooth and rough,
They sold tobacco, coffee, tea, and snuff.
There labell'd draw'rs display their spicy row,-
Clove, mace, and nutmeg: from the ceiling low
Dangle long twelves and eights, and slender rush,
Mix'd with the varied forms of genus brush;
Cask, firkin, bag, and barrel, crowd the floor,
And piles of country cheeses guard the door.
The frugal dames came in from far and near,
To buy their ounces and their quarterns here.
Hard was the toil, the profits slow to count;
And yet the mole-hill was at last a mount:
Those petty gains were hoarded day by day,
With little cost, (nor chick, nor child, had they,)
Till, long proceeding on the saving plan,
He found himself a warm, fore-handed man ;
CRIT. REV. VOL. IV. Sept. 1816.

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