desirous of revenge, Burke was merely ambitious of renown; and though he was sometimes irritable, yet the milk of human kindness never seemed in him, as it did in Junius, to have been turned into gall.

'All moralists,' says the writer before us, agree that the author of an anonymous work has a right to deny it; because no person has a right to question him on the subject.' What an absurd assertion! We deny the fact, and we protest against the doctrine; for if such a rule of morality prevailed, a libeller has only to send his effusions into the world without a name, and neither to his conscience, nor to the violated laws of his country, shall he be responsible! We instance this piece of ethics as a specimen of the reasoning with which this author has favoured us; and in taking our leave of him we may be pardoned for adding, that we have seldom seen sixty-four pages of paper and print more foolishly misapplied, than in conveying to the world the crude and puerile ideas which are embodied in his production.

ART. XIV. Ulric of Aymer, and other Poems. 8vo. pp. 55. London. Hatchard. 1826.

Ir these poems be the production of a young mind, as we suspect they are, they afford a favourable promise of talents which we hope to see more extensively cultivated. The author seems to be conversant with the deeper shades of those feelings which are at all times capable of agitating the human breast, and which never can be exhausted, whatever be the texture of the story with which they are connected, provided they be touched by the wand of a true enchanter. This depth of feeling, or at least the power of reaching it, is the first requisite of a poet, without which facility and beauty of versification are but mere empty sounds.

Ulric of Aymer, which is divided into three short cantos, is founded on the often-told tale of faith plighted, hope delayed, and ultimately disappointed. The suffering, as usual, is on the weaker side, and terminates only in the grave. It is indeed a tale often told, but not more often than is justified by similar incidents in real life, which pass over us without notice. The author slightly glances over such parts of his tale as are merely subsidiary to the principal events of which it is composed, and dwells chiefly upon those scenes that are best calculated to fix the attention. We think that there is a considerable degree of beauty and truth in the following passage:

Painful the task, not mine to trace
The slow advance of falsehood's race;
Seek ye the latent cause to scan?
One word will answer all - 'tis Man.

Sweet Woman's lord, foul passion's prey,
The slave of gold, and lust, and sway,
Pampered with power, more jealous still
If ought resist his craving will,

With feelings blunted, seared and coarse,
By habit's long resistless force,

Knows not, nor dreams, how pure, how kind,
How firm in right is Woman's mind,
How high suspicions breathe above!
How changeless in her early love!
How slow to blame, content to live,
How ever ready to forgive!

How blest when he may proudly bear
The honours which she must not share!
How dauntless - when contempt is hurled,
With him to stand against a world!

Her's is that beauty of the soul

Which thinks no evil,

'tis the whole
Of that which forms the Christian creed,
The purity of thought and deed.

'As when the whirlwind strikes the oak,
And some huge limb perchance is broke,
It still stands rooted where it stood,
The healthful monarch of the wood,
Once more, as meets the closing skin,
All fair without and sound within ;
Whilst the mild rose-tree, slight to view,
Which 'neath its sheltering branches grew,
May seem, the tempest's fury o'er,
Awhile to flourish as before,
Till wasting as by inward grief
It slowly withers leaf by leaf;

'Tis thus in love, Man's sorrow rages,
His heart is rent, and time assuages,
And Woman thus submissive lies,
In silence droops, and thus she dies.'

pp. 30-32.

The letter of the forsaken maid is framed in a tone that wins its way at once to the heart. It contains not an image, or even an expression, which disturbs the pathetic and tender flow of her feelings.

"One word, one little word from thee,
My love," my Mary," this

Is all I ask

enough for me

To gaze on, and to kiss

Oh! pressing to my lips that line,

The purest peace of Heaven were mine.
"Now as I write, the glimmering ray
Plays o'er the distant hill,
As sinks to rest the closing day,
'Tis breathless all and still;
Such was that fatal eve, and so
My tears flowed on as now they flow.
"Methought as evening's shadow grew,
And ocean's blue more pale,
Where last mine had fancied you
eye
And caught the sinking sail,
Another sun would ne'er be seen,
Eternity seemed placed between.
"But other suns in beauty rose,
To gladden sea and shore,
This heart alone hath no repose,
Still weeping as before;

And now that year is nearly past!
Oh God, what will be mine at last!

There kneeling, weeping, as the dew
Be mine the tear, the for you."

prayer

pp. 37-39. We have no room to notice this poem more in detail, or any of the shorter pieces by which it is followed. In an age so prolific of poetasters as the present, it is a rare good fortune to meet with such an unpretending and agreeable little volume of verse as the one before us; and we commend it in the hope that the author will soon again claim our attention by a more important exercise of his talents.

ART. XV. Literary Gems. In Two Parts. 8vo. pp. 483. 10s. 6d. Edinburgh. M'Lachlan and Stewart. 1826.

THIS is a compilation of extracts in prose and verse, selected principally from periodical publications, and consisting of controversial,

humorous, philosophical, pathetic, moral, and religious pieces. Some of these pieces are deserving of the preference which the editor has given them, though we hardly think that any of them deserve the title of Gems.' We presume that the volume is principally intended for "a parlour-window book," to while away the gloom of a winter's evening, or to provide the coffee-room with a resource for the traveller, after he has conned over the last newspaper from the beginning to the end. For such purposes this volume will be invaluable. Several of the selections are highly amusing; and, whatever be the turn of the reader's taste, whether he be in a playful or a serious mood, whether he desire a satire or a sermon, he cannot fail to find among the contents something to suit his temper.

We cannot, however, agree with the compiler in thinking, that he has wholly excluded from his collections pieces of mediocre merit. On the contrary, however amusing they may be, we think that by far the greater number are possessed but of a very ordinary degree of literary excellence. They may not perhaps be less acceptable to the reader on that account, at least to the general and the hasty reader, who is more likely to be attracted by the matter than by the style in which it is conveyed. If the editor intended his compilation for the use of schools, we regret that he did not exercise a more austere judgment in forming his selections. We should be sorry to see that ill-natured preface to the "Iron Chest" in the hands of any youth; still more should we regret to find him reading the account of the "Atheistical Club," or of Cooke's drunken scenes in Dublin. These are things more apt to beget imitation than aversion, and great care should be taken in presenting them to the observation of an untainted mind. We are ready to admit, that to these and several other papers of equally questionable character, there is a sufficient number of antidotes in this work. Indeed several of the moral and philosophical pieces are eminently instructive, while the poetical extracts evince considerable taste, as well as propriety of feeling.

ART. XVI. Devotional Verses; founded on, and illustrative of select Texts of Scripture. By Bernard Barton. 8vo. pp. 252. 6s. 6d. London. Holdsworth. 1826.

MR. BARTON in his preface informs us, that his primary object in constructing these verses has not been poetic effect, but the expression and inculcation of what has appeared to him scriptural truth.' This explanation of his intentions in publishing this little volume separates it at once from those works of literature which are subject to the ordinary canons of criticism. At the same time, we must bear testimony to the meek simplicity of expression, and the unaffected melody, by which these verses are in general charac

terised. They seldom indeed are marked by a high degree of poetic merit, but they are redeemed from the fault of tamenes, by the pure sentiments and the tone of universal charity which pervade them. We have not seen any where a happier version of the Lord's Prayer than that which Mr. Barton has given.

Father of all! who dwell'st above,

Thy name be hallowed here;

As in those realms of peace and love,
Where saints that name revere.
Thy kingdom come; Thy will, alone,
Be done by man below;

As spirits round thy glorious throne,
Their pure obedience show.

Give us this day our daily bread;
Not merely outward food,
But that whereon the soul is fed,
The source of heavenly good.

Forgive our trespasses, as we

In pardoning love abide;

Since none forgiveness win from Thee,

Who pardon have denied,

And lead us from temptation far;

From evil, Lord! restore;

For Thine the power, the kingdom are,

The glory evermore !'

pp. 251, 252.

We have no hesitation in recommending the volume, particu larly to those who are much in the habit of perusing the sacred writings. The illustrations which it affords of many of the most beautiful passages in those works will be peculiarly acceptable to minds that have been previously imbued with the sublime morality and the devotional tenderness which the Scriptures are so admirably calculated to inspire.

ART. XVII. A Visit to the Falls of Niagara in 1800. 8vo. pp. 313. 17. 11s. 6d. London: Longman and Co.; and Nichols, Wakefield. 1826. THE reading world, we fancy, would soon lose its appetite for tours, if they were generally written in the style which Mr. Maude has adopted in the journal before us. He has conceived, that the best mode of conveying to the public a faithful account of his visit to the celebrated Falls of Niagara, was to present them with a mere transcript of his original notes, such as they were made on the spot. He has not taken the trouble to digest or even to arrange them in any thing like a regular order; description, narrative, expenses, route, conversation, characters, are all mixed up together, as if his object had been rather to perplex than to inform or amusé his readers.