Bear the inmates-hope is riven;— But the sybil now is sailing On the fire flashing wings of the merciless storm, Though gale and surge are wildly wailing The last dirge of Arva, of the paragon form; And the beauty's golden tresses Mark her form on the phosphoric billows of night, And, anon, a father blesses His relic of pleasure, and her guardian bright. From some transitory gleams, a sort of twilight of cominon sense, which glimmered in three or four pieces in the "Poems," it seemed possible that Mr Fairfield, whose zeal was very apparent, might in time come to write tolerable poetry. On the sight of the "Lays of Melpomene," we abandoned this supposition; the sucking butterflies, spoken of in the following extract quite overcame us, and we cordially joined the author in the exclamation at the close. To gain a name, and be the thing the world Groans wrung from bleeding hearts:-to toil and sigh 'Mid vigils of strained thought, and feel the breath Of waking nature stealing o'er the fires Of the hot brain, and hear the morning air Threads spun in paradise and knit and linked To think, toil, fancy thus, and yet to know That we but frame an Eden for base worms, Serpents of venom, reptiles foul, and things Beneath all name-'tis vile, oh, very vile! In many passages of this work we have been reminded of two noted productions; to wit, Nat. Lee's elegiac verses, which he used to recite with much pomp of enunciation in Bedlam, and the Dirge of Drury, by Laura Matilda, in the "Rejected Addresses." We have been at the pains to mark a few parallel passages for the satisfaction of our readers. Lee's verses, if we remember rightly, began something in this wise; Percy's Reliques; but comparing it with the Night, ebon night, veils every scene O'er my fond heart's magnolia bower, No gilding rays of orient glow, Down-winged sylphs no longer dye The pale dead rose of buried love; The air-wove forms of transport's eye Float not o'er sorrow's cypress grove. Upon cerulean pinions borne, 'Mid opal waves of spheral light, O'er my dark spirit, lost, forlorn, Comes one dear shade of dead delight. We A kiss that dooms the soul to death? Oh that my lungs would bleat like buttered peas, we have room for, writes thus, Methinks there is a mighty power within * * * * But Night, at man's unholy madness wroth, Had we met with the poem from page 36, to p. 40, of the Lays of Melpomene, any where else, we should have thought it to be an imitation of some of the mad-songs in We now proceed to pluck a few flowers of poetry from this last production of Mr Fairfield; the first savours strongly of Laura Matilda. The sun's last beam of purple light Now we beg our readers to look at this, and consider it well. The last beam of the sun's purple light looks with a smile of melody over Lusita nia's sea. What in the name of nonsense is "looking with a smile of melody? And many a strain is heard from far To her who would his honour prove. This we presume is highly metaphorical, but its meaning is too deep for us to fathom. Within whose solitary cells Tearless despair forever dwells, Reposes in its sacred shame, While deeds unweened by him of hell This doubtless means that worse things were done in the convent than the devil ever thought of. Feelings suppressed and thoughts untold * * * Oh, spirits that sail on the moonlight sea We are not so well acquainted with natural history as Mr Fairfield, but we believe we have seen these birds;-we always called them rose-bugs; but though their wings be streaked, it would require very poetical fancy to see the hues of the rainbow upon them. Twas soft Campania's evening hour, Sate gazing on the horizon bright, Where white clouds float and turn to gold, Far waving o'er those high dominions. Here again we are surpassed in chemical knowledge, as in other branches of science, by Mr Fairfield. We thought at first that as logwood was brought from Campeachy, and logwood made a blackish dye, it was an oversight of our author, and the lines should or Like garments in Brazil wood rolled; of a Small Colleger," of which we gave a Like clothes in Nicaragua rolled; but upon reflection, we concluded not to offer our emendation, lest we should have the mortification of hearing that Mr Fairfield had a patent for extracting yellow from a preparation of Campeachy wood. lished variations of the verbs of that lan-, tion. Every auxiliary does it in the same Our grammars inform us, that "Mood is a particular form of the verb, showing the manner in which the being, action, or passion is represented." Mr Murray attempts to explain the nature of a mood, by saying, that it consists in the change which the verb undergoes, to signify the various intentions of the mind, and various modifications and circumstances of action." We must stop here, pressed both by time space. It is with feelings of regret that we have thus performed our duty to the public in exposing the waste of time, paper, and printers' ink, consumed in these works. It is with feelings the reverse of aught unfriendly, that we beseech Mr Fairfield to write no more verses. Can it be probable, that he will ever gain fame by it, and is it not squandering what little talent he may possess in a pursuit worse than vain? If there be any thing that he can do of use to himself and society, let him turn himself to that ere it be too late; a poet, we may surely say, without exposing ourselves to a charge of presumptuous prophecy, he will never be, until his intellectual nature bemit of scarcely any change. To save the wholly changed. trouble of proving this, we request those who are interested in the inquiry, to go through the conjugation of a regular verb, In the next place. we say, that modes of and to mark all the changes which it admits. action are not denoted by the five moods of In naming the second person singular, we the verb. I walk, walk, I may walk, if I recommend that the familiar style be sub- walk, to walk, express no modes of the acstituted for the solemn, or Quaker style. tion of walking. This is so plainly a matter be called a mood, is in the termination of The "modifications and circumstances of acThe only variation which has any claim to of fact, that every grammarian must see it. the third person singular of the indicative tion" are commonly expressed by adverbs, present; where we say, he loveth or loves, or by nouns and prepositions: as I walk instead of love. Let the abettors of the fast, I walk with rapidity; he speaks fluentpresent system make the most of this soli-ly, he speaks with energy; he lives in a very tary variation; it will furnish them but an unhappy situation. incompetent and ludicrous reason for all their display of the conjugation of the verb through five moods. Now it is certain that the above examples and a great number of others, do not come under the definition of any of the five moods; and yet they are as distinct in their character as important in their signification, and of as frequent occurrence, as those which A moment's consideration will show any are included under the common enumeration grammarian, that English verbs are not va- of moods. If the reader will pursue this inried to express these varieties of intention quiry, he will find that the five moods defined and action. The verbs of many other lan- in our grammars, do not express half of the guages are varied. but in English, they ad-"various intentions of the mind," and he cannot fail of remarking, that the verb undergoes little or no change in expressing any of them. ERRORS OF THE PRESS. IN the first column of the article upon Buchanan's Sketches of the North American Indians, in our last number but one, the word "Miltiades" is printed for "Mithridates." We may mention, as an amusing coincidence, that precisely the same mistake occurs on the 66th page of the American edition of Medwin's Conversations of Lord Byron. In that instance, Byron is supposed to be speaking of the individuals, and converts the Athenian commander into the Pontic monarch, by the same error, which, in our review, miscalls Professor Adelung's great work. We would also notice the omission of the proper signature, “j," to "The Gladiator," in the same number. MISCELLANY. ON THE COMMON SYSTEMS OF ENGLISH In a previous number, we promised to resume the subject of moods and tenses. It was our intention to offer some criticisms on the systems advanced in our grammars, encyclopædias, and philosophical treatises; but a critical examination of them, which we made some time ago, afforded so little useful information, and so few principles which we could esteem as correct, that our Jabour of reading was followed by a degree of disgust which we know not how to overcome; and we feel incapable of repeating the drudgery with any advantage to our selves or others. The most, therefore, that we shall attempt, will be to illustrate and apply the principle which we formerly stated, that the number of moods and tenses which should be recognised in the grammar of any language, is so many as are expressed by the regular and estab. If it were true that the five moods, as formed with the help of auxiliaries, express all "the various intentions of the mind," and all the various modifications and circumstances of action;" or if they expressed nearly all these circumstances of intention and action, leaving only trifling exceptions; we should then admit that they ought to be retained in treatises on philosophical grammar. But the more we seek for any ground in the philosophy of language for this division into moods, the more apparent it will be, that no such ground exists. If the reader will be patient enough to follow us in the inquiry, we shall endeavour to show that very few of the common modes of intention and action are definitely expressed by what are termed the five moods of verbs; and that those modes of intention and action which either of the several moods of verbs is supposed to denote, are very frequently expressed by the other moods with equal precision. In the first place, let us inquire, whether the various intentions of the mind are designated by the several moods of verbs. Take, for example, the verb walk. By which of the moods are the following dispositions of the mind expressed? I desire to walk; I expect to walk; I am afraid to walk; I think of walking; I hope to walk. These are particular affections, dispositions, and intentions of the mind, in relation to the action, signified by the term walk; and they are distinctly expressed by the aid of auxiliaries. In the first example, for instance, the verb desire is the auxiliary; and why is it not as suitable an auxiliary as can or may? It may be said, that desire changes the verb to the infinitive mood. But this is a mere decep Our last assertion was, that the changes and modifications of being, intention, and action, supposed to be expressed by either of the five moods, as formed by the common auxiliaries, are frequently expressed by the other moods with equal precision. We might add, that they are still more frequently denoted by other forms of expression, which do not come under the definition of either of the moods. Take, for example, the following sentence. I think that I shall walk. This is in the indicative mood; but it is equally well expressed by the infinitive, I expect to walk, or I purpose to walk, or I intend to walk. So the imperative, walk, is expressed by the indicative, you shall walk; by the infinitive, I command you to walk; and by the potential, you must walk instantly. These examples might be multiplied indefinitely. In like manner, I can walk signifies no more nor less than, I have the ability to walk; the verb is the same in both cases; and can it be pretended, that the use of different auxiliaries changes the mood, while the sense and form of the verb remain the same? If so, what is the meaning of mood? We do not see that any thing needs to be added against the common division and definition of English moods; for, if we mistake not, we have analyzed them fairly, and shown, that English verbs have no moods in form, that is, by variations of the verb, and that the ideas and intentions which verbs express, have an almost infinite number of modes, which are not comprehended under the definition of any of the five moods. We shall leave the subject here, till we learn some good reason for resuming it ;reserving our remarks on tenses for another number. W. LETTERS FROM A TRAVELLER. No. VI. MY DEAR FRIENDS, the unlucky village which had hitherto pile of picturesque ruins, where all around is still as the graves of the mighty, who slumber beneath, except from the occasional cawing of the rooks, that have fixed their residence about its buttresses and spires, and resent the intrusion of strangers into the precincts of their" ancient, solita ry reign." "We sat us down on a marble stone," with the monk of St Mary's aisle and William of Deloraine, and, as far as bodily vigor is concerned, B- is no bad resemblance of the knight, though the parallel would scarce hold, in regard to their respective companions. The pillared arches were over our heads, formed us, that we had, by missing the miles further, on the banks of the Tweed, road, past the object of our pursuit. The and near the base of the Eildon hills, stand question which naturally arose in this the ruins of the lordly monastery of St case, was, whether to remain where we Mary; at the sight of which we forgot were, or to retrace our steps in search of alike the mist, the mud, and the pickled On leaving Dr Hope's room, after Middleton; the appearance of the house herrings, and hastened on to obtain a nearhis introductory lecture on Wedneday last, decided us in favour of the latter course, er view of this magnificent object. I was agreeably surprised to hear the mono- and we turned back accordingly. After We employed several hours in examinsyllabic agnomen by which I have been floundering in the mud for about a mile, we ing the remains of the abbey, which are usually designated, pronounced by a voice became sensible, from a sort of splashing worth a voyage across the Atlantic, were from among the crowd of students,-I turn-in our vicinity, that we were passing a mov-there nothing else to be seen in Britain. I ed, and exchanged greetings with B- -,ing object of some kind. It proved to be had never before conceived of the effect who had lately arrived from London. The a man, who advised us not to proceed to produced on the mind by such an immense pleasure I enjoyed at this encounter can only be conceived by those who have met, at an unexpected moment, with a familiar face in a strange land. As the lectures were, soon after their commencement, to be interrupted by the season of Holy Fair, we agreed to improve the opportunity for a pedestrian excursion to Melrose, which is about thirty-five miles to the southward. In pursuance of this plan we left Edinburgh last Thursday by the way of Salisbury Crags, and directed our course towards Libberton, a village which you will recollect as the residence of Reuben Butler. The preceding day had been rainy, the aspect of the present one was threatening, and the roads were vilely muddy; but we were not to be discouraged by such trifles as mud and rain. Our route, after passing Libberton kirk, which is about three miles distant from the city, lay by the Pentland, Braid, and Blackford hills; and our progress was but indifferent for some hours, for Bis a botanist, and was continually arrested by some weed or moss, which he was pleased to think interesting. Moreover, we wandered out of the direct road into the village of Lonehead, of which I know nothing remarkable, except that Baron courts are held there, or at least were so in the days of Bartoline Saddletree. From thence, by a cross road, we came to Laswade, where are the remains of an old kirk, of a very interesting appearance, but we could learn nothing of its history. Just beyond, we crossed the North Esk, and enjoyed some very picturesque views-one in particular of Melville Castle. Further on was Newbottle Abbey, the seat of the Marquis of Lothian, and here we passsed over another beautiful river, the South Esk. By this time it was past four o'clock, and, as the days are now very short, it began to grow dark. We had determined, at the outset, to stop for the night at Middleton, about twelve miles from Edinburgh,--and we had yet hardly accomplished ten. We turned our attention therefore from flowers and views, and pushed on as well as we might; which was not very well, as it soon became dark as Egypt, and miry as the Slough of Despond. We were not fated to reach Middleton that night, for my travels, like those of Johnie Hielandman from Crieff to London, are full of small adventures, and if there is a bad road, or a wrong road, I am pretty sure to happen upon it. The aspect of the following morning was inauspicious. It rained violently, and there was every prospect of its continuing to do But the changeable nature of Scotch weather was now a point in our favour. It ceased to rain about eleven, and heroically determining to pursue our original plan, in defiance of mire, we sallied forth and soon reached the Galla-water (or river.) Our road lay along its banks, and was sufficiently solitary. We scarcely saw a house, or a human being, but there were many picturesque views and some interesting plants. The Galla is a pretty river, or, as we should call it, brook, which flows into the Tweed a few miles below Melrose. The weather was misty and the walking horrible; but B- was sure that he had met with a road, somewhere in the state of New York, that was quite as bad, which was very consolatory. Nothwithstanding the experience of the former day, we loitered considerably, and were consequently again benighted, at some distance from our proposed resting place; but, on this occasion, we were less fortunate than before, for our accommodation for the night was very indifferent. Our route on Saturday morning was comparatively pleasant, for, though the weather was cloudy, it did not rain, and to the mud we had become accustomed. Continuing along the banks of the Galla, about four miles, we reached Galashiels, a tolerable place, where we breakfasted, in a After groping along for more than an very satisfactory manner, by the assistance hour, we reached a house, which proved to of a few boiled pickled herrings, which are be a sort of inn, the tenant of which in-among the delicacies of this land. Three I do not intend to attempt a particular description of St Mary's Abbey, for many reasons. Suffice it, that we saw the tombs of kings, prelates, and warriors; the wizard's grave, the stone on which "the moon through the east oriel shone;" the sepulchre of Douglas, who fell at Otterburn, &c. &c. Not the least among the beauties of Melrose is the east oriel, or window, itself, with its "Slender shafts of shapely stone, By foliage tracery combined: Thou wouldst have thought some fairy's hand, "Twixt poplars straight, the osier wand, In many a freakish knot, had twined; Then framed a spell, when the work was done, And changed the willow-wreaths to stone." But as I can neither talk of Melrose without spouting Scott's verses, nor write about it without quoting them, I think it best to leave it for the present, only pausing to copy, for you, the following inscription from an old tomb-stone in the church-yard: "The Earth goeth on the Earth glist'ring like gold; The Earth goes to the Earth sooner than it wold; The Earth builds on the Earth castles and towers; The Earth says to the Earth, All shall be ours;" and to observe, that I should think I had not come to Scotland in vain, were it only for the feelings with which I surveyed these magnificent remains, and those which will forever be associated with Scott's inimitable description of them. Leaving "St David's ruined pile" about two o'clock, we passed through Newstead, crossed the Tweed by an ancient and beautiful stone bridge, from which we enjoyed some delightful views; cast a lingering look at the abbey, and then pursued our route towards Auld Reekie, along the banks of the Leeder. Just below Melrose, the rivers Ettrick and Yarrow unite with the Tweed, and in the vicinity is the seat of Sir Walter Scott. Further on we entered the district or earldom of Lauderdale, passed near Cowden-knows, and plucked some of the bonny broom, which was then in flower; beyond this was Earlstone, or Ercildoune tower, the birthplace of Thomas the Rhymer, who figures in the "Scottish Chiefs." There were so many beautiful scenes in our route, that we were unable to divest ourselves of our incorrigible habit of loitering, and were, the third time, delivered over to the power of darkness, with its usual and very agreeable concomitants, mud and rain. We reached Lauder, however, in pretty good time, and with as little difficulty as was to have been expected. Lauder is a burgh of barony, the meaning of which designation I do not know. It interested me principally as the place where Archibald Bell-the-Cat hanged Cochran. It is ten miles distant from Melrose, so that we did pretty well this day, having walked seventeen miles, besides standing some hours in and about the abbey. Although this day was Sunday, we could not think of spending twenty-four hours in Lauder, and accordingly departed at nine o'clock. Near the village is Thirlestane castle, the seat of the Earl of Lauderdale, an ancient and odd-looking edifice, built, some five centuries ago, by Edward Longshanks. From thence we proceeded four miles, through rather an uninteresting country, still by the banks of the Leeder, here reduced to a very small stream, to Carfrae Mill. Leaving the Mill, we began to ascend the Lammermoor hills to Channelkirk, and from thence passed over the hills and a dreary, heathy waste, which extended, on each side of the road, as far as the eye could see in misty weather. Eight miles from Lauder brought us to the county of Mid Lothian. Here we began to descend and the country presented a more agreeable aspect, but the weather assumed a very different one. Excepting the village of Fala, which is the neatest that I have noticed in Scotland, we observed nothing remarkable for the next nine miles. Here we recrossed the Esk rivers, which are particularly beautiful at this point, and passed through Dalkeith, which is a considerable town. Near it stands Dalkeith castle, the seat of the Duke of Buccleugh, who is said to be the richest nobleman in Scotland. Six miles from Dalkeith, by Duddingstone, brought us to Edinburgh, which we entered exactly at six o'clock, having walked twentyfive miles in nine hours, including stoppages. The road, during the last fourteen or fifteen miles, had been quite good, com. pared with what we had experienced before, so that we were very slightly fatigued, though pretty well wet, and our garments somewhat the worse for the "samples of the soil," with which they had been adorned, in the various stages of our progress. Farewell. POETRY. THE LAPSE OF TIME. Lament who will, in fruitless tears, The speed with which our moments fly : I sigh not over vanished years, But watch the years that hasten by. See how they come, a mingled crowd Of bright and dark, but rapid days;Beneath them, like a summer cloud, The wide world changes as I gaze. What! grieve that time has brought so soon To see the blush of morning gone. With all her promises and smiles? The future!-cruel were the power Now we raise our glad voices-in gratitude raise, We thank thee for golden grain gathered in shock, Whose doom would tear thee from my heart. And we thank thee for limbs moving light to the Thou sweetener of the present hour! That makes the changing seasons gay, The months that touch with lovelier grace The years that o'er each sister land Shall lift the country of my birth, And nurse her strength, till she shall stand The pride and pattern of the earth; Till younger commonwealths, for aid, Shall cling about her ample robe, And, from her frown, shall shrink, afraid, The crowned oppressors of the globe. True-time will seam and blanch my browWell-I shall sit with aged men, And my good glass will tell me how A grisly beard becomes me then. And should no foul dishonour lie Upon my head, when I am gray, And smooth the path of my decay. B. And the reaper, as nimbly he felled the proud grain, And the wheat blade was tall, and the full, golden ear task, For hearts beating high, though unwarmed of the flask. Fill us, Lord, with just sense of thy bounty, and give Health to us, and to all in the land where we live. J. NIGHT.-A POEM. [Continued.] Oh why doth the spirit thus love to roam, Around the orb of the sleeping eye Recalling the scenes that had gone forever, The friends from whom we were doomed to sever, The smiling lip, and the sparkling eye, The bosom on which we were wont to lie, There is something there no power can bind, A living soul an immortal mind! A prisoner there-which waits the hour, Oh night! thou emblem of death's long sleep, *See Stewart's Elements of the Philosophy of the Human Mind, vol. I, chapter v, section 5. Yet, ere that day in its joy shall shine, By an angry storm, when his sails are set- (To be continued.) INTELLIGENCE. HENRY. which are attendant on public and private education; to collect the means, which should be brought to bear upon a large number of boys, and yet to maintain the exactness and the watchfulness, which may exist in a private family. subject, and having with him a son of a Immediately on his return, the plan of a school was proposed and discussed. Many parts of the outline presented gave satisfaction. It was no small subject of mutual satisfaction to both of these gentlemen, that nearly the same course of observation should have led them to nearly the same results. As a harmony existed in their opinions, they were soon led to take their measures jointly; and as the situation which they filled at the University, did not seem to them to offer the best sphere for exertion, they determined to try the experiment of what they could themselves THE SCHOOL AT NORTHAMPTON. WE consider it to be one of our duties to furnish the public with whatever information we can procure, respecting the means of education existing among us. This subject, at all times and every where interesting, is peculiarly so, now and here. It is not of new books only, that we would speak, but of all new things, which have any relation to the discipline and culture of youthful minds. We cannot pretend, nor can it be desired, that we should state opinions so much as facts. Let the public know what means and facilities for education are put into operation, and there is little reason to doubt that a correct judgment will be form-accomplish. ed of their wisdom and efficiency, and a It was a deep conviction of the imperfect right and adequate use made of them. condition of the means of liberal education Many of our readers must be aware that Mr in our country, which led them to engage Cogswell and Mr Bancroft, both of whom in this arduous business. They saw that recently held official situations in the Uni- our colleges needed a reform; and as they versity at Cambridge, have opened a school could not accomplish that, they held it a in Northampton, which they profess to con- worthy object to attempt the establishment duct upon new principles and in a new of a good school. The evils, which most manner. The establishment of this novel justly excite complaint in many of our ininstitution has awakened some interest in stitutions, are well known. A want of inthis vicinity, and, we believe, elsewhere; spection leads the pupil into mischief and it seems to us a circumstance worthy of vice by entrusting him to himself before he notice and attention, from its connexion knows how to take care of, or to value, his with the literature of our country; and, not own moral character. Mr Cogswell and Mr doubting that a portion of our readers-to Bancroft established for their first principle, say no more-would thank us for our that the discipline should be of a precautiontrouble, we have enabled ourselves to ac-ary nature; they would not so much punish quaint them with the views and purposes of these gentlemen, and with their riles and processes in the discipline of the school. Considering a knowledge of the modern languages valuable to every body, to the scholar, the merchant, the lawyer, and the man, they at once engaged Mr Hentz, an instructer of established reputation in the French language and literature. He was educated at the University of Paris, and is Several years ago, before Mr Cogswell's a scholar, an upright man, and a faithful residence in Europe, he had been engaged teacher. They have since written to their in instruction at Cambridge, and in that friends in Germany for one, who to a thorsituation had a favourable opportunity of ough knowledge of his own language might becoming acquainted with the condition and add an intimate acquaintance with ancient character of the principal schools in this literature. Through the attention of Heersection of the country. His thoughts were en, the eminent historian, the friend and fordirected to the subject of education, and, merly the instructer of Mr Bancroft, they during the years which he spent abroad, he have engaged a young man, Dr Bode, alhad every opportunity of inspecting the ready known to the public by a dissertation best institutions in Great Britain and on on the Orphic poetry (one of the most diffithe continent. Mr Bancroft completed his cult subjects in ancient literature), for which education at European Universities; and he gained the highest prize of the faculty at it was his particular object, in going thither, Göttingen. He is expected early in the to qualify himself as an instructer. During with good order. spring, and there is every reason for hophis residence in Germany, he repeatedly | In this way they endeavour to connecting to find in him an important acquisition. received letters, calling his attention to the the advantages, and avoid the disadvantages, Very recently a master of Spanish, whe faults committed, as labour to prevent the |