descend to posterity: for our parts, we conceive that literary is the most dangerous of all prophecy, but where the united voice of the public concurs with the unanimous judgment of the learned, there can be little risk in predicting the immortality of the bard, and Mr. Moore has long been destined in the opinions of the European literati, as well as by every lover of the Muse, to occupy a principal compartment in the Temple of Fame, and to shine as one of the first of the modern poets of the lyre. It would be superfluous at present to enter into any analysis of Mr. Moore's writings, or to discuss the characteristic features of his genius; these have been already pourtrayed with ability and are appreciated by the public, but we may be indulged in the pleasure of repeating, that no lyric writer of the moderns can equal Mr. Moore in brilliancy of imagination, in harmony of rhythm, or in melody and all that relates to the structure of verse.*

When it was announced that Mr. Moore was writing a poem on the Loves of the Angels, we must confess that we were amongst those who regretted that he had selected such a theme, for, although the subject is highly susceptible of those beauties of the imagination which Mr. Moore can so peculiarly give, it is totally incapable of pathos, or of being adapted to the highest order of poetic composition to which alone a writer of Mr. Moore's genius ought to devote his Muse. Angels may be objects of pious contemplation, but it is not in our nature to hold any sympathy with them; and an author, who selects such a subject for a poem, is constrained to divest his Angels of their heavenly attributes, or at least (like Milton and others) to degrade them by ascribing to them human passions, and to represent them acting after the manner of mortals. We believe there is no man, however intelligent, who, by a mere change of names, might not read pages or even books of the Paradise Lost, and

conceive himself reading a Heathen Mythology divested of its grosser fancies; and it is on this principle that we object to such subjects being made the foundations of lyric or even of epic poetry. They being the pious representations of the scriptures, if not on a level, at least in too close an association with the machinery of Homer and the mythology of the ancients; and create in the unwary and sceptical reflections highly dangerous to the sublime truths of our Divine Revelations. There is, however,another objection which has been urged against Mr. Moore's selecting this remarkable passage of Scripture as the subject of his poem; it has been thought dangerous to excite the public attention to such a passage at all. Mr. Moore himself appears to have had some misgivings upon this point, but for our parts we can not conceive that the objection is valid or even worthy of serious attention; at all events, the decision of the question lies in a very narrow compass. The passage is either apocryphal or it is not; if it be apocryphal, it is no part of our religion, and may be selected for poetry, in common with any passage from history or from any other source; if it be not apocryphal, it is a part of Divine Revelation, and the error of the poet would be not in selecting, buț in treating it irreverently; an error from which Mr. Moore's good sense would have preserved him. We hardly need observe that the pas sage must from its very nature be spurious or apocryphal, and we are inclined to agree with those who view it as a fragment of the barbarous religion existing in the time of Moses, and which, by some unfortunate chance or error, was originally interpolated into the Book of Genesis, (Chap. vi.) and whence it was copied into the book of Enoch.

To leave, however, a point of no consequence but to the schools; we may observe that Mr. Moore never writes upon any subject without previously investigating it with

more of learning than poets generally possess, and with more of industry than poets generally choose to exert. Thus, in the present work, he gives evident proofs of his having diligently canvassed the writings of commentators and of the primitive Christians, and Mr. Moore appears to have the faculty of almost intuitively penetrating into the most complex subjects, and of arriving as intuitively at the conclusion of the deepest controversies; and his notes to this poem are a fine specimen of the facility with which an elegant scholar and a man of genius can seIlect what is beautiful, or discover what is ridiculous even in the ponderous writings of the fathers.

The poem is divided into three Cantos, in which the three Angels tell their own Loves; the first Canto being preceded by a few stanzas introducing the characters and subject, and representing

One evening in that time of bloom,

On a hill's side, where hung the ray Of sunset sleeping in perfume,

Three noble youths conversing lay. Of Heaven they spoke, and, still more oft,

Of the bright eyes that charm'd them thence;

Till, yielding gradual to the soft

And balmy evening's influenceThe silent breathing of the flowers→→→ The melting light that beam'd above, As on their first, fond, erring hours,

Each told the story of his love,
The history of that hour unblest,
When, like a bird from its high nest
Won down by fascinating eyes,
For Woman's smile he lost the skies.

This stanza, although far from the best, and by no means a specimen of the beauties of the poem, is yet a very fair specimen of the structure of the versification, and of the richness of imagery and of metaphor which pervades the poem.

Of the three Cantos, we decidedly like the first less than either of the others. The angel is less heavenly in his attributes, indeed, the mortal whom he loves is the more angelic being of the too; there is moreover much objection to inebriation being unade the means of this angel's catastrophe, and finally the catastrophe itself is liable to be turned into ridicule. The angel is sent on a mis

sion to the extreme region of the East,

Where Nature knows not night's delay, But springs to meet her bridegroom, Day,

Upon the threshold of the skies. But this messenger on his passage beholds on our earth a beautiful The fair Lea, however, is always nymph and becomes enamoured. wrapt in heavenly visions and continues immaculate. At length the in the fervour of passion reveals to angel, returning from a mortal feast, her the word, the passport into heamortal ears he is bereft of his beatic ven, on the pronouncing of which to attributes, his wings become powerless; Lea assumes the word, and is transported into heaven, leaving the angel's hopes and desires without fruition. Some of the poetry of this stanza is so extremely beautiful as to compensate for the defect in the story. The description of the nymph bathing, in the first and second stanzas, and the angel's fervour in the last fatal scene are both exquisitely written, and we have read few lines more beautiful than the following commencement of a stanza in p. 21.

Oh, but to see that head recline

Á minute on this trembling arm, And those mild eyes look up to mine

Without a dread, a thought of harm!

These alone form a subject for an artist, although they are bereft of much of their beauty in our pages by standing without the context, and disjointed from the rest of the scene.

The second Canto is by far the finest, and is replete with the most fervid and glowing poetry. It opens with a beautiful description of the Creation of Eve, and of the Angels of Heaven having been summoned to witness this first of woman springing into life and existence. One of these attendant Angels subsequently is enamoured of a female, and the description of the object of his love, in page 49, is extremely beautiful, and contains several happy metaphors, particularly that "of a young tree in vernal flower."

The Angel first influences the attachment of the object of his affections by his power over her dreams, and the delirium of their mutual

tance of time, to attempt to ascertain in what country of ancient Europe or of Asia a particular nursery tale had its origin; and to assert, as many critics do, that because Jack the Giant-Killer was formerly a tale common both to England and Germany, it must have been imported into this country by the Saxons, is just as unsatisfactory as the assertion that Rowena imparted it to Hengist and Horsa, or that Cœur de Lion communicated it to his German companions in the Crusades. Most of such tales have probably originated in all countries without any inter-communication upon the subject. The idea of giants and dwarfs would most probably occur to every barbarous people, and that idea once acquired, such stories as Jack the Giant-Killer and Tom Thumb seem but a necessary consequence. It is a question of much greater importance whether such tales are injurious, or innocent as books of amusement to children; and although we hold as absurd Rousseau's idea, that a fable can permanently affect a child's morals, or create in him any lasting confusion between truth and falsehold; we åre yet of opinion that all stories, the interest of which is derived from terror or gloom, should be excluded from our younger studies; and unless ridicule and laughter can be excited by stories of ghosts, witches, and fairies, they should never be allowed to form part of the juvenile library. The practical good sense and sound morality of Miss Edgworth's writings for children, combined with her tact for amusing, have justly thrown the hooks of our younger attachment into disrepute. We wish a similar observation would apply to the works now in circulation among the poor. Here the old tales of nursery fiction have given way to absurd and pernicious stories of German romance, and the moral ballad of "Death and the Fair Lady," and the simple pathos of "Fair Rosamond," or of the "Children in the Wood," has yielded to religious tracts or to indecent ribaldry. Having confessed the superior utility of such works as Miss Edgworth's over those tales of ghosts and fairies, which used to make us hide our

heads under the bed clothes in our younger days, we may be indulged in the perversity of our nature, and allowed to cast one longing, lingering look upon that class of juvenile story which now seems fading from a thing of current use into one of record, or almost of antiquarian research. We have no doubt that some twenty years hence, a Christmas Carol, or Goody Two-Shoes will be a literary curiosity.

The work before us is of 3 highly amusing description; it consists of three species of stories, stories in which beasts are the actors, stories where man is the prominent agent, and lastly, tales of the Rossicrucian description, in which the interest is derived from fairies and from enchantment. Most of these latter tales appear to us to want the gorgeous colouring of the Fairy Tales which delighted our boyhood, where the scenes were laid in the sunny climes of the east, and Mr. Tabart's collection of such Fairy Tales will at least rival the present volume in that class of its contents. Of the stories in the book before us many are interesting, and they are generally well told, preserving the homely simplicity adapted to a child's capacity and taste. The moral of these tales is generally good; we say generally, for in some few instances, such as in the story of the Golden Bird, it is so mixed with what is equivocal, or even bad, that a child might imbibe from it an admiration of successful roguery; whilst in many of the tales, such for instance as "Hans in Luck," and the "Travelling Musicians," the moral must be imperceptible to a child, and would require much of mamma's elucidation to make him conceive that there was any at all. The volume however, as a whole, has our approbation, and it forms a very useful and amusing addition to a child's book-case, and we doubt not that the fire-side and evening table of many a family circle have been enlivened by it, during this season when the weather congregates us round the social hearth, and compelseven the most fashionable adults to enjoy the charm of participating in the amusements of infantine innocence and simplicity. The work is embellished by twelve excellent

etchings, in which that eminent artist Mr. Cruikshanks has displayed his abilities as an engraver, as well as his unique talent for grotesque and humourous conception; a talent specifically different, but equal in degree to that of the late Mr. Gil

ray.

Outlines of Character. By a Member of the Philomathic Institution. London, 8vo. pp. 306.

So much of good sense, of virtue, and even of magnanimity, are said to be necessary to a candid confession of ignorance, that really a very wise man may be a pretender to ignorance from motives of vanity. We however must claim for our selves the credit of the first species of confession when we avow our ignorance of the pretensions of the Philomathic Society, and our unacquaintance with the name of the author of the volume now before us. We do not mean to cast any sneer upon the writer, and still less upon the society of which his titlepage so pompously announces him a member. Such associations are bighly commendable, and their establishment ought to be promoted by every editor or director of the public press. They wean men from dissipation, debauch and senseless revelry; they create a taste for the arts which chasten life, they diffuse a love of science, and beget the invaluable habit of making men resort to intellection for pastime and amusement. Associations for one common object of intellectual plea sure at once quicken the faculties, and create generous and kindly feelings; and although politics and revelation may, as the author states,be wisely excluded from debate, these important subjects must necessarily be indirectly benefitted by the im provement of intellect incidental to such societies. It is only from the collision of intellect that liberal notions and enlarged views can proceed, and where, as in country towns, communications of thought are limited, the inhabitants, even if studious, are less enlightened upon politics and religion than their bre thren of larger cities. Having thus given our cordial praise to the na

ture of the Philomathic Society, we may be allowed to caution the members of such institutions from suffering their partial admiration of each other to stimulate to the publication of that, which, although really creditable to their debating room, may yet be unworthy of forming an octavo volume for the public. These "Outlines of Character," as the productions of a private gentleman for a private society, are respectable; but they fall under our cognizance in their pretensions to the notice of the public at large. It is hardly fair in us to observe upon any thing in the author's preface,

as he tells us that it is addressed to those to whom, in our opinion, the outlines themselves ought to have been confined" a select few." The writer however challenges severer criticisms, by informing us that he is a professional gentleman, of course he is of the loquacious and litigious profession of the law, as he further informs us that the leading object of the essays was to promote and provoke discussion.

We should judge the author to be young, and better acquainted with the current literature of the day, than with the standards of English composition; for, although his cadences are often good and his style is fluent, yet it is loose and frequently inaccurate, with the youthful meretriciousness of reiteration and of redundant epithets. These epithets are often badly selected; and when they are numerous and immediately sequent, they are sometimes tedious from being synonymous, and often absurd from being contradictory. It is difficult to write upon such subjects as "The English Character," The Gentleman," "The Poet," "The Orator," the "Literary Character," &c. without committing plagiarism and descending to common place, and these difficulties the author has by no means overcome. We are bound in justice to observe that these faults which we have pointed out relate to the individual work before us, rather than to the character of the author's mind, who it appears possesses taste and knowledge, and who has produced an indifferent work only, we conceive, from his falling into the error of the present