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Avranches, did actually plan the possibility of making a nut-shelf edition of Homer; but as the thing has never been done, it was rather a work of supererogation in Mr. Moss to notice it,the hint, however, may possibly not be thrown away on Mr. Pickering. Clarke's edition is spoken of in terms of just praise. The edition by Ernesti, founded on Clarke's, is the best edition we have of the entire works of Homer. The excellent Heyne, one of the most tasteful and judicious editors that has ever fallen to any poet, we are happy to find still retains his high rank in this country; and the person who has not read the Iliad in his edition has but an imperfect idea of its sense and its beauties. Would that another Heyne arose to devote his labours to the Odyssey! The Glasgow edition of 1756 -1758 is noted for its typographical accuracy, each proof-sheet having been read six times. Bishop Lowth detected but one error in it. The opinion is becoming pretty prevalent that the Iliad and Odyssey are not the productions of one mind: this has been pushed very far by the learned Wolf, who holds that of the two works a part only was composed by Homer; that the remainder was the production of the Homerida and other bards, and that Pisistratus and his family were the first who arranged them. This is, perhaps, going too far. R. P. Knight supposes that the Iliad was composed by one person and the Odyssey by another, and various additions made to each by the rhapsodists. The omission of the very curious edition of the two great Homeric poems by this gentleman, in what he conceives to have been their original form, with all their digammas and the spurious passages omitted, is perfectly inexcusable in our learned bibliographer. Mr. Moss has been rather negligent, too, on the subject of the Hymns: he has passed without notice the separate editions of the Hymn to Ceres (a poem conceived to be so fraught with mystery by Creuzer and others) by Ruhnken and Metzcherlick. It seems also to have escaped him that the Batrachomyomachia, Hymns, and Epigrams were published with the scholia at Oxford in 1815. With the translations of Homer, notwithstanding the high poetic merit of some, we are by no means satisfied. Unlearned readers are still without the means of forming a just conception of the character of his poetry. Can it be that the English language is incapable of giving back his likeness, or may we still hope to see the adventure achieved?

Mr. Moss opens his second volume with Horace, to whom he has devoted a most disproportionate share of the work, not less' than 109 pages; by which injudicious proceeding we afterwards find Virgil, who is certainly deserving of a more detailed account, huddled into 23, and Xenophon into three. We would with pleasure have exchanged his long notices of the Italian translations of Horace, for a little more detail on these last. Considering, however, that the editions, translations, and commentaries of Horace

have been so multiplied, Mr. Moss appears to have succeeded tolerably well in his enumeration.

For any information concerning Isæus, the student will consult

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In the article on Juvenal and Persius, we noticed the omission of the curious old. Juvenal printed at Paris in 1493 by George Vuolf Cadensis. It is improperly called by Mattaire a French translation, though its title is Textus Juvenalis sine Commento. We also missed Cramer's Commentaries on the Satires of Juvenal. In 1825 a new edition appeared of Juvenal, with notes by Weber.

The account of Livy seems very complete. There was a new edition of Drachenborgh's edition, and edited by Kreysig, published at Leipzig in 1823, and another by Goeller, with his own notes and those of Jacobs, in 1822.

Could Mr. Moss have been ignorant that there was an edition of Lucan by Schrevelius? It was published in London in 1818. He also takes no notice of the Leipzig edition by Weber in 1822, in 2 vols. 8vo.

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There are various editions of parts of Lucian, all of which are unnoticed, such are those by Leeds, Stock, Walker. We may add to Mr. Moss's account of this lively writer, that a new edition, with various readings, notes, and scholia by Lehmann, is in the course of publication: 5 volumes have already appeared.

Lucretius has not had many editors. They are all, we believe, enumerated, but some reprints are omitted, as, for instance, that of Creech, by the Foulis, and that in the Regent's Classics. Mr. Moss, we find, announces a new edition of this most original of Latin poets as preparing for publication by himself. We were actually surprised at the jump from Lucretius to Martial. Did Mr. Moss never hear of such names as Lycophron, Lysias, and Macrobius? They surely are not writers on science. Of the first, besides the famous edition by Archbishop Potter, there is a good edition by Reichard, containing the commentary of Canter, in 1 vol. 8vo., Leipzig, 1788, and another published at the same place in 1812, edited by Thrillitzch and Müller. Lysias was published by Taylor at Cambridge in 1740, and by Auger, in 2 vols. 8vo., Paris, 1783. He has also been published by Reiske. The best editions of Macrobius are the Variorum of 1760, and the same work published by Zuenius, with the addition of his own notes, in 1774.

Mr. Moss observes, that a good edition of Martial is a desideratum. We agree with him, and we are certainly amazed how he can have so long escaped the Germans.

Two or three pages would have been quite enough for Cornelius Nepos, and then Mr. Moss need not have passed over Nonnus, the author of that curious poem the Dionysieca, which, with all its extravagance, is well worth reading. The editio princeps is a

folio, printed at Antwerp in 1569, and the editio optima is in 8vo., Hanover, 1610. A new edition has been undertaken by Græfe, one volume of which only has, as yet, appeared. We looked in vain also for the names of Nemesianus, Nicander, and Oppian, who are certainly as deserving of a place in the Manual as Musæus.

The space allotted to notices of translations are frequently out of all compass. Those of Ovid occupy upwards of 30 pages. Mr. Moss has taken no notice of Mitzcherlick's edition of the works of Ovid, of Schönberger's of the Metamorphoses, and Mathia's of the Festi, and many others, while he cheerfully devotes half a page to a Spanish or German version that no one cares about.

Petronius Arbiter is unnoticed: the best edition is Burman's, in 2 vols. 4to., Amsterdam, 1743.

To Mr. Moss's account of Plato we shall add that the learned Ast, after having tried his strength in the editing of the Republic and the Laws, (which, by the way, are omitted, with some others, in the Manual,) has proceeded to an edition of the entire works of this philosopher, of which seven volumes have already appeared. A splendid reprint of Bekker's edition, with the notes of Heindorf, Wyttenbach, Buttman, Ast, Routh, and others in 10 vols. 8vo., is announced by Priestly, a work which promises to be the most valuable edition of Plato ever published. Mr. Moss, it would seem, does not know that the entire works of Plato (with the exception of what had been already executed by Sydenham) has been translated by the celebrated Thomas Taylor. But, indeed, we cannot blame him for being unacquainted with what few have ever heard of. The man who explains Plato by Proclus and Plotinus cannot expect to be read in this age. Mr. Moss seems also unacquainted with the French translation of Cousin.

Mr. Moss's profound feeling of delight on inspecting the editio princeps of Pliny, his admiration of the glossy texture of the paper, the delicacy of the type, and the blackness of the ink, his hearty congratulation of those who possess so inestimable a production, and his description of its whiteness, which almost equals that of "riven snow," would be apt, we fear, to excite a smile in those who are not initiated in the mysteries of bibliography.

It was our intention to have made some observations on Mr. Moss's account of some of the remaining writers of eminence, but on looking back on what we have already written we find we have exceeded our limits. We shall therefore conclude by expressing our regret that our bibliographer should have so woefully miscalculated as to be obliged to devote but two pages to Thucydides and the same number to Xenophon, when in the earlier part of the volume he so freely bestowed page upon page to worthless and unknown translations. But as we trust the book will see a second edition, when Mr. Moss shall have attained more years

and experience, we look forward to the removal of all imperfections, and now take our leave of Mr. Moss, by assuring him of our conviction that he has made a useful book, though by no means so important or so valuable a one as he seems inclined to think.

ART. V. 1. Friendship's Offering. A Literary Album. Edited by Thomas K. Hervey. 12mo. Lupton Relfe. London. 1826.

2. Janus; or, the Edinburgh Literary Almanack. 8vo. Oliver and Boyd. 1826.

THE elegant cabinet volume first on our list belongs, it is scarcely necessary to premise, to the same delightful class of annual publications as the Literary Souvenir, which we noticed in the last Number but one of our Journal. We have in both the same lavish display of distinguished names to grace the list of contributions; in both the same interwoven variety of treasure, the same exuberance of wealth, scattering the choicest flowers of poetry amidst a motley profusion of prose-romance and narrative-humour. Of these prose stories, however," many a tale of love, and ne'er a true one," we have, perhaps, something too much. Even in a common fault, therefore, the similitude holds between the Literary Souvenir and the volume before us; and we have here to repeat the objection which we raised against the prose-matter of the former work:- that the proportion of mere flimsy tales is far too great, to the exclusion of essays of a higher and more literary character, whether sportive, serious, or speculative.

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Where the character of this volume so closely corresponds to that of the Souvenir,' that our general remarks may apply to either, we shall not care to dissect minutely the division of its contents; but shall take a few specimens as they happen to present themselves. In the first place, then, we shall turn, as we believe every reader will naturally, to the pieces which are illustrated by the engravings. But here, indeed, the Friendship's Offering has very decidedly yielded the place of vantage to its rival. The pencil and graver have in this volume seldom achieved their share of the enterprise they have scarcely rendered a fitting homage of embellishment in most cases, to the creations of poetic fancy which attend

them.

Was there ever

Hindoo Girl, from a Groupe, by Westmacott. any thing more coarsely turned than this figure, -more thoroughly and robustly un-eastern? Was ever drawing worse than that right foot which affronts the sense, lying in such shapeless opposition to the eye, that we know it neither for sole nor instep? Does that goitred throat, and brawny arm, and clumsy form, tell of the grace which (faded) beauty ever leaves? Yet Miss Landon's lines are worthy of a far more graceful illustration.

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She leant beneath an alma tree, which flung
A shower of leaves and blossoms o'er her head,
But faded all of them: this made the place
A fitting temple for her; like her joys,
The fresh sweet flowers grew far above her reach ;
But, like her griefs, the withered ones were strewed
Beneath her feet, and mingled with her hair,
Her long black hair, which swept round like a cloud,
And had no other wreath than those sad leaves.
Her brow was bowed upon a marble urn,
Pale as its cold, white pillow; on her cheek
Lingered the grace which beauty ever leaves,
Although herself be gone; her large dark eye
Was as a picture's, fixed and motionless,
With only one expression. There are griefs
That hunt, like hounds, our happiness away;
And cares that, ivy-like, fix on our hopes.
But these are nothing though they waste the heart
To when one single sorrow, like the rod,
The serpent rod, has swallowed up the rest.

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Her history was on every lip; they told,
At first, a common tale ;- she loved, was loved,
And love was destiny and happiness.

But red war was abroad; and there are charms
In the bright sabre, flashing to the sun,
The banner, crimson as the morning sky
It seems to meet, the thunder of the drum,
The clashing atabal, the haughty steed
Impatient for the battle, and the ranks,
Glittering and glorious in their armed array;
Aye, these have charms but not for woman's dreams.
The youth went to the warfare, where he fell,
Unknown, unnamed, unmissed; it is the fate

Of thousands swept away like autumn leaves,
Young, brave, with heart and hand, and all that makes
The hero, but in vain. And where is she;
His lovely, lonely one? Not in her bower,
Not in her father's hall; no more they see
Her white veil floating on the evening air,
The moon-light shining on the mystic bark
She watched so anxiously. Again she came;
But not the same, as when, with summer flowers
And scented lamp, she sought the river side;
But pale and silent, like a shadowy thing
That has looked on the other world, and known
The secrets of the grave, but forced, awhile,
To linger on the earth it loathes. She held
Within her arms an urn; beneath the shade
Of the tree which had been the favourite haunt
Of her young lover, at the twilight hour-
For then they met - she placed her treasure down.
'It was a tale of wonder, and soon spread.

She had been to the distant battle field,

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