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That Nature's genuine sympathies awoke,
And he almost forgot himself in her.
Oman! lost man! amidst the desolation
Of goodness in thy soul, there yet remains
One spark of Deity,-that spark is love."

p. 105-109. The mother murdering her infant is finely conceived, and most pathetically expressed.

"I saw a woman, panting from her throes,
Stretch'd in a lonely cabin on the ground,
Pale with the anguish of her bitter hour,
Whose sorrow she forgat not in the joy,
Which mothers feel when a man child is born;
Hers was an infant of her own scorn'd sex:
It lay upon her breast;-she laid it there,
By the same instinct, which taught it to find
The milky fountain, fill'd to meet its wants
Even at the gate of life,-to drink and live.
Awhile she lay all passive to the touch
Of those small fingers, and the soft, soft, lips
Soliciting the sweet nutrition thence,
While yearning sympathy crept round her
heart:

She felt her spirit yielding to the charm,
That wakes the parent in the fellest bosom,
And binds her to her little one for ever,
If once completed;--but she broke, she broke it.
For she was brooding o'er her sex's wrongs,
And seem'd to lie amidst a nest of scorpions,
That stung remorse to frenzy:-forth she

sprang,

And with collected might a moment stood,
Mercy and misery struggling in her thoughts,
Yet both impelling her to one dire purpose.
There was a little grave already made,
But two spans long, in the turf floor beside her,
By him who was the father of that child:
Thence he had sallied, when the work was
done,

To hunt, to fish, or ramble on the hills,

Till all was peace again within that dwelling, -His haunt, his den, his any thing but home! Peace? no-till the new comer were despatch'd Whence it should ne'er return, to break the stupor

Of unawaken'd conscience in himself.

"She pluck'd the baby from her flowing breast,

And o'er its mouth, yet moist with Nature's

beverage,

Bound a thick lotus-leaf to still its cries;
Then laid it down in that untimely grave,
As tenderly as though 'twere rock'd to sleep
With songs of love, and she afraid to wake it:
Soon as she felt it touch the ground, she
started,

Hurried the damp earth over it; then fell
Flat on the heaving heap, and crush'd it down
With the whole burthen of her grief; exclaim-
ing,

"O that my mother had done so to me!'
Then in a swoon forgot, a little while,

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"Art thou a woman?—so am I; and all That woman can be, I have been, or am; A daughter, sister, consort, mother, widow. Whiche'er of these thou art, O be the friend, Of one who is what thou canst never be! Look on thyself, thy kindred, home and country,

Then fall upon thy knees, and cry, "Thank God,

An English woman cannot be A SLAVE!"

"Art thou a man?--Oh! I have known, have loved,

And lost all that to woman man can be;
A father, brother, husband, son, who shared
My bliss in freedom and my wo in bondage.

-A childless widow now, a friendless slave, What shall I ask of thee, since I have nought To lose but life's sad burthen; nought to gain But heaven's repose?—these are beyond thy power;

Me thou canst neither wrong nor help;-what then?

Go to the bosom of thy family,

Gather thy little children round thy knees.

Nor son nor daughther born within her empire, Shall buy, or sell, or hold, or be a slave."-p.

256, 257.

Throughout all these compositions there is a high tone of moral feeling uniformly kept alive. The muse in her excursions rarely fails to discover God, a future state, and the importance of those actions on which the felicities or miseries of a future state depend. But we must take our leave of this volume, strongly recommending it to the attention of our readers, and to all lovers of genuine poetry.

By his former productions, Mr. Montgomery has attained on the Parnassian mount, a niche of considerable elevation. Here, as in his native element, sustained on buoyant pinions, he has again been enabled to soar and expatiate, a and in the archives of his future fame, his "World before the Flood," will find a rival of its imperishable character, in the immortality of his Pelican Island.

From the Same.

IDOLATRY; a Poem, in four Parts. By the Rev. William Swan, Missionary at Selinginsk, and Author of Memoirs of Mrs. Paterson. 12mo. pp. 160. Glasgow. For Holdsworth, London. 1827.

THE attachment which a man feels to the productions of his own mind, and the commendations which friends are willing to bestow, are generally sufficient reasons for the publication of a work. In the prescent instance the unanimous wish of friends is stated to have been the cause of publication. The author, however, has been relieved from the necessity of giving his own attestation to their partiality, since they may be considered as coming forward with Dr. Greville Ewing at their head, to declare their approbation of the poem. Dr. Ewing is the writer of the preface, where the occasion of the work, and the circumstances in which it is offered to the public, are briefly stated.

In the beginning of the year 1826, Mr. Swan sent to his friend a picture of the Mongolian god, Shigemoni, surrounded by a group of inferior gods; and his chief motive in sending them home, was "to excite in the minds of Christians greater abhorrence of idols, and tenderer and more operative compassion for their deluded worshippers."

The manuscript of the poem before us was received in the end of the same year: the following extract is taken from a letter which accompanied it:

tive parts of the sketch. I am aware, i there are some who have no taste fo in the shape of poetry; to whom, t would be doing neither themselve kindness to show them. But I am that those, who can appreciate true be able to give me credit for little good intention; and in that case, t stance of my descriptions of idolatr and reflections upon them, wearing dress, will be a real disadvantage away all their chance of usefulness

It has been observed, that the m writer must ever remain a secret, b dency of what he writes is capable certained. Perhaps the evident t

work is some proof of an autho whilst it certainly affords a confirm professions. If the design appear thy, a candid and serious reader fec sition to approve, admire, and com moreover, a perusal of the work ex ration, the strength of that admirat in proportion as worthiness of int pears in the writer: a discovery motives in the whole plan and main s ought to exhilarate the reader's min severity even when exercised towa every beauty with additional charms

On this ground the poem before a kind reception at the hands of the for it appears to be the offspring passionate mind, the effort of a animate the hearts and increase the brethren in the cause of missions.

"I have often, (he observes,) tho were it possible to bring the idolat tices-the low depravity-the gross

the unblushing sensuality-of t actually under the eye of Christians a very different degree of impressio the effect; and a very different me ertion from that which obtains would become the standard of since sistent attachment to the Christia

p. v.

"I shall be glad if what I now ser have the effect to assist any one in better knowledge of this part of S pation,-(I mean this country,)—a deeper conviction of the obligation, every Christian, to labour, accor ability, to dispossess the enemy, and news of freedom to his captives."

The subject which Mr. Swan ha his poem, and which has been in so forced upon him by his allotment not in our opinion derive from power to move pity in the mind and ardent Christian: the interes spiritual degradation and misery, simple knowledge of the matter;

"The sheets herewith sent, may be considered as an accompaniment to the pictures of the gods formerly transmitted to you; and, as my intention in sending these, was not merely to gratify curiosity, but, by the actual exhibi-edness so horrible as that of heat! tion of the objects of heathen worship, to excite in the minds of Christians a deeper abhorrence of the evils and absurdities of idolatry, and to rouse them to greater zeal in the cause of Christianity-so it is with the same view I presume to send you this production. Some of the friends to whom you have shown the gods, may perhaps have their conceptions assisted upon the subject, by the perusal of the descrip

which presents features of deepe and subordinates to itself whateve sensual, devilish,' need only be st words, and it will communicate w of a true Christian as speedily as medium of poetical embellishme viewed in some aspects, as a stat from God, and as an infringemen mand, is scarcely fit for the exerc

taste considered in such a view, whatever splendours of imagination may be directed towards it, the subject has a character far too dark and gloomy to reflect their brightness.

But all have not that sensibility in respect to human misery, which is inflamed and hurt by a simple knowledge of human depravity; and it is necessary to please, in order to move and instruct such as are indifferent. We imagine it is for these characters that Mr. Swan has put his thoughts into "the shape of poetry." Topics are introduced in the poem which generally find an easy access to the heart. When the author enlarges on the impressions made by the objects of nature, the reader will probably recur, and perhaps with increased attachment, to Beattie's Minstrel.

Much of what is said on the connexion of idolatry with sin, may be thus summed up, with reference to the idolaters,

"In whom all turbulent vices were let loose; While conscience, with their impious creed accurst,

Drunk, as with wine, had sanctified to them
All bloody, all abominable things."

Although it would be wrong to claim for Mr. Swan that admiration which is due to one, in the riches of whose intellect we witness "the pomp and prodigality of heaven," yet there are many parts of his work characterized by vigour both of sentiment and language.

There are forty-nine notes appended to the poem for the sake of illustration. They are instructive and important, and must interest all who feel with earnestness in the missionary cause. The following extract from note 27, page 134, is forcible, and affords an urgent motive to zeal and perseverance in propagating the gospel:

"I have often been vexed and astonished to find that Christian authors, and some of them of the very first rank, express themselves so improperly on the subject of the present state and character of the world as contrasted with the past. How common is it for the Christian writer to congratulate himself and his readers that the times of ignorance have passed away -that "the light of science, and the purer and brighter light of religion, now illumines the world"-and so forth-as if Great Britain and one or two of the neighbouring countries were the whole world! It would be well for such writers to sit down and calculate the comparative extent and population of countries blessed with the light, and of those sitting in darkness even at this very day; and then let them set themselves with all their might to promote the shining of the light, instead of vaunting as if the darkness were already past."

We give these two verses as a specimen of our author's manner.

"Like the now mellowing-enchanting hues,

The fields where childhood rov'd are always green,

And brighter were its suns than ever since have been.

"For then all things were lovely, and to me,
So new-so cheerful-so harmonious all-
I lov'd to catch the poct's reverie,
And fancy this vast million-peopled ball,
Which sprang from nothing at its Maker's call,
Did in a ceaseless hymn his praise rehearse;
Then, echoing to the winds or waterfall,
Or distant roar of ocean, my weak verse,
The mighty chorus join'd of the wide universe."

We think that whoever reads this little work, though he may be pained by the miseries dehe will read a forcible lesson in the science of scribed, will be pleased with the author; that human nature, and be incited to adore the Supreme Being for the advantages which, in this country, are so full and so accessible.

From the Winter's Wreath. THOUGHTS ON THE USES AND CONDUCT OF RELIGIOUS SOCIETY AND CONVERSATION.

The counsellor of our doubts, the clarity of our minds, the emission of our thoughts, the exercise and improve ment of what we meditate.-Jeremy Taylor.

THESE words form the conclusion of a very beautiful summary of the benefits and blessings of true friendship; and we think them happily expressive of the motives which should regulate our communications with one another on that which is the noblest object of thought, and the best subject of meditation. It is scarcely possible to rate too highly the value of such communing among believers. "Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh," and that travellers who journey the same road, and partake of the same difficulties, and share in the same hopes, should never converse with one another of the "better country" to which they are going, of the Hand that guides them, and the Eye that watches for their deliverance, or of the mercy of Him who hath provided a rest for his people, would be a circumstance strange and anomalous indeed. It is not so.-It could not have been so intended when the Almighty gave (along with affections and desires) the power of speech to His intelligent creatures; and we cannot, therefore, consider any society in a safe or happy state in which the name of God and the things belonging to His kingdom appear an unwelcome and chilling intrusion. We cannot help believing that if one of the angel inhabitants of heaven were transported into the midst of such a society on earth, he would feel that the conversation there (however diversified by talent, or dignified by the results of learned

[graphic]

cup poisoned with base ingredients, there not be much reason to fear that a circle where prayer has formed pa evening's occupation, and where sa jects have been on every tongue, we be contributing to train up "lovers of more than lovers of God?"

The conduct of Christians, in their with one another (as well as in all the fices and relations of social life) is so f dwelt on by the writers of the New T that we could be at no loss to add " line, and precept upon precept" co it; but we have a still more power conveyed to us on that subject in book, by the example of Christ Among the many points of internal which, in reading the Gospel history witnessing in beautiful agreement to of Christianity, few, we think, are portant than the character of uncom faithfulness maintained by its divine His conversational intercourse with ples. Though poor, and a wanderer the midst of enemies-yet do we with faithful and watchful diligence, every fault as it appeared in his followers; never holding forth a sing ment to the vain or selfish feelings lingered in their hearts; never acce in His service as a substitute for mer enemies, or approving any protestatio to Himself, however strong, when p place of that humility, and self-distri must lie at the very basis of religi heart of a sinner. It may well be sa shall vainly seek amongst all the hi friendship upon earth for one so inti so endearing as this;-so full of t and so free from flattery; but let us supposing that such an example without a moral purpose, and let u upon it so often in vain. May He, fice it is to guide and purify the h truly desire his presence, assist then this lesson of the Saviour, and may lift up in sincerity the prayer of Psalmist, "Let the words of my m the meditation of my heart, be acc Thy sight, O Lord, my strength, an deemer."

abruptly it may seem) to dwell on the dangers | to the youthful convert, the waters of attending religious intercourse, we trust that it cannot be held to be from any cold or invidious feeling, but from a very high sense of its value, when rightly conducted, that we do so. It will not, we think, be denied, that in all collective bodies there is a strong tendency to lose sight of the object which first led them to associate; and that the spirit of party is often called in to aid the declining spirit of usefulness, or benevolence, or whatever else might have been their original bond of union. Now we dare not hope that this principle of decay, which seems to cleave to all human institutions, is suspended, even with regard to those societies which have for their professed bond of social union a more devoted love to the Saviour, and a warmer interest in his service, than is to be found among the ordinary followers of the world. Amongst the members of such societies, there is an evident danger that the earnest pursuit after personal holiness may be diminished from its being understood to be the pursuit of all; and that a habit may be acquired of taking it for granted that there is a progress made in the life of religion in the heart, when that progress may be only in some points of religious knowledge gained by the understanding; or in some fluency of expression on religious subjects acquired by the lips. Against so fatal a consequence as this, a guard, so far as it depends on ourselves, is provided by a practical application of our Lord's impressive words. What I say unto you, I say unto all, Watch." This is a duty which it must be admitted every human being owes to himself, even in the most favourable moral circumstances, at the peril of his soul if it be neglected-and the duties we owe to one another, most peculiarly in the societies now spoken of, may be summed up in those words of an Apostle, few in number, but of great meaning, "speaking the Truth in love."-If this were faithfully taken as the motto in all Christian intercourse, it might indeed be full of benefit, and free from all danger; for we should then be perfectly gentle to one another, without being in any degree false. It is by a neglect of the first requisite contained in that holy admonition, in its full meaning, that we think evil is often done-to the young espocially in the circles of the religious. An allowance is given, and an excitement afforded to the vanity of their age, and its love of stimulus, that are but too much calculated to increase the disease; and if a malady, so fatal to purity of motive and integrity of purpose, be increased, or if some real advance be not made in its cure, to what purpose is it that we change the outward circumstances of the patient? The real danger of worldly intercourse and of varied amusements, consists in their tendency to lead away the mind from God, to make self the idol, and human applause the object of chief desire, and the motive to exertion. If, therefore, in seeking to make converts to a more religious mode of passing some evening hours than the ball room or the theatre afford, we do not at the same time seek to repress those dispositions which give to worldly amusement all its dangerous influence, are not our efforts worse than vain do we not present

From the Particular Baptist Ma The Desolation of Eyam-the Emig of the American Woods--and ot By William and Mary Howitt, aut Forest Minstrel, and other Poems Wightman and Cramp, 1827, fo 336 pages.

SINCE the days of Solomon, the p never ceased to be repeated, "there new under the sun." And yet, h velty-for whoever, till now, heard Quakers, husband and wife, writ of the very first water? poetry Southey, Wordsworth, Campbell, would be proud to put their name

Society of Friends could indeed previously boast that they had among them a Bernard Barton, and a J. H. Wiffen, poets whom any denomination might justly be entitled to glory in possessing; but in William and Mary Howitt, they have a treasure which enriches them indeed!

"Dear hearts! This brings you the doleful news of your dear mother's death-the greatest loss which ever yet befel you! I am not only deprived of a kind and loving consort, but you also are bereaved of the most indulgent mother that ever dear children had. We must comfort ourselves in God with this con

what is our sorrow is her gain. The consideration of her joys, which I do assure myself, are unutterable, should refresh our drooping spirits."

Such is the subject which forms the groundwork of the Poem-entitled "The Desolation of Eyam," and it is introduced by a description of the Peak

"The land of green hills, and fairy dales,

Of fountains, and of streams,"

Having, through some unaccountable over-sideration, that the loss is only ours, and that sight, missed the opportunity of seeing "The Forest Minstrel, and other Poems" by the same authors, we were really taken by surprise when the volume before us reached our table. Every month brings us such a collection of third and fourth rate poetry, that when we saw the Desolation of Eyam advertised for publication, we anticipated nothing above the ordinary common-place of the day. The reader may, from this, judge of our disappointmentagreeable enough, certainly-when, upon dipping into it, we found in every page proofs of true poetical talent, delineations of nature at once original and beautiful, with sentiments and views of things which are characterized by truth and feeling, and described with a glowing ardour of correct and delicate expression. The contents of the volume are multifarious; but the longest of the articles are those specified in the title page; and as it may be gratifying to some of our readers to know what is meant by the "Desolation of Eyam," for we confess ourselves to have been at a loss what to make of it at first, we shall endeavour to explain it to them.

They must understand, then, that in the Peak of Derbyshire, there is a village, or country town which passes under the name of Eyam; (pronounced E'em, in one syllable) it was the birth place of the celebrated Anna Seward, afterwards of Litchfield. At this village, in the year 1666, the plague made its appearance, and out of seventy-six families, it swept away 259 persons, among whom was the amiable wife of the village curate, the Rev. W. Mompesson; and the Desolation, referred to in the title of the volume, relates to this awful tragedy. The clergyman himself, who appears to have been what it is to be wished that all persons who sustain the clerical character were; when he lost his excellent wife, gave himself up for lost, and under this impression, wrote several farewell letters, which happily escaped the ravages of time, and are printed by our authors as Notes appended to the Poem. They are heart-rending productions, and harrow up all the sensibilities of the soul. Reader, take a specimen-"The condition of this place," says the minister, "has been so sad, that I persuade myself it did exceed all history and example. I may truly say that our town has become a Golgotha, the place of a skull; and had there not been a small remnant of us left, we had been as Sodom and Gomorrha. My ears never heard such doleful lamentations, and my eyes never beheld such ghastly spectacles. Here have been seventy-six fami

Lies visited in mu parish out of which 950 nos.

from which we make a short extract as a speci-
men of the authors' style of versification. Af
ter painting in glowing colours the beauties of
the scenery around-they thus proceed.

Poets may dream-alas! that they
Should dream so wildly, even by day-
Poets may dream of love and truth,
Islands of bliss, and founts of youth;
But, from creation's earliest birth,
The curse of blood has raged on earth.
Since the first arm was raised to smite,
The sword has travelled like a blight,
From age to age, from realm to realm,
Guiding the seaman's ready helm.
Go! question well-search far and near,
Bring me of earth a portion here.

Look! is not that exuberant soil
Fraught with the battle's bloody spoil?
Turn where thou may'st, go where thou wilt,
Thy foot is on a spot of guilt.

The curse, the blight have not passed by
These dales now smiling in thine eye.
Of human ills an ample share,
Ravage, and death, domestic care,
They have not 'scaped. This region blest
Knew not of old its pleasant rest.
Grandeur there was, but all that cheers,
Is the fair work of recent years.
The Druid-stones are standing still
On the green top of many a hill;
The fruitful plough, with mining share,
At times, lays some old relics bare,
The Danish mell; the bolt of stone,
To a yet ruder people known;
And oft, as on some point which lies
In the deep hush of earth and skies,
In twilight, silence, and alone,
I've sate upon the Druid-stone.
The visions of those distant times,
Their barbarous manners, creeds, and crimes,
Have come, joys brightest thrill to raise,
For life's blest boon in happier days.
But not of them-rude race-I sing;
Nor yet of war, whose fiery wing,

From

with wasto and wail

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