character. The delightful and impressive | He was not found to be happy in himself, or genuineness of that character is perceived, communicate lasting happiness to another; felt, and acknowledged, by all poetical read- his heart was feverish, and his brain giddy; ers, at least by those who are not too eccen- he had too much sensibility, and too little tric to speak their minds fairly and candid-discretion. He was an honest man, with very little moral virtue; and a truly good ""Oh! may the prayer for misery's child A Final Appeal to the Literary Public rez lative to Pope. By the Rev. W. L. Bowles, A.M. Hurst, Robinson, and Co. 8vo. pp. 190. GOLDSMITH'S pedagogue who, though vanquished, would argue still, has certainly left a numerous race of decendants, gifted with all the pertinacity and assurance of their illustrious ancestor. Primo avulso, non deficit alter. But no one of his race appears, in these peculiar excellencies, to surpass the reverend author of the pamphlet be. fore us. He is as recalcitrant, if not so in IT is scarcely necessary to remark, that the " Childe Harolde" of this romance is the late Lord Byron. Such of our readers as delight in the "scandalous chronicles" of the age, will find abundant gratification in the genious, as Walter Shandy himself; and volumes of Lieut. Bedford; for they con- Mr. Roscoe's admirable defence of Pope, in tain most of the anecdotes, amorous, heroic, his late edition of that poet, has again brought and literary, which public rumour has at- forward Mr. Bowles, to attempt a last kick tributed to the extraordinary genius, whose at the bard of Twickenham. We had, in " sayings" and " doings" have recently far- common we believe with most persons, imnished such ample materials for the public agined that the matter was set at rest, and that press; together with some sketches, which, the reverend gentleman's estimate of Pope, to us at least, have the recommendation of as well as his "invariable principles of poetoriginality. The author's opinion of Lord ry," had been fairly consigned to the tomb Byron, and the spirit of the general work, of the Capulets, after the severe and salutamay be at once perceived from the following ry castigation inflicted by Lord Byron. But short extracts, with which the third volume closes : no! we were mistaken. Mr. Bowles is in the field again, and, like the renowned Witherington, though his legs are smitten off, he fights upon his stumps. With regard to Mr. B.'s principles of poetry, it is not surprising that he should endeavour to establish such as, if admitted, could entitle even him to the name of a poet. "Thus ended the wanderings and the loves of Childe Harolde. He drank deep of the cup of misery, he quaffed long and often from the mantling bowl of pleasure and joy. He luxuriated in love; he looked upon the world as made for man to enjoy, and set no bounds to his pursuits of enjoyment. But we fear his case is hopeless. He will He did not distinguish between rational and never succeed in convincing his readers, licentious delights. He was the author of either that objects drawn from nature are all his own misfortunes; by aiming to pos- necessarily poetical, or that those drawn sess too much, he failed to enjoy the certain from art are necessarily otherwise. The little in his power. His fancy was always common consent of mankind, as well as the raising edifices with hopes, and kicking opinions of the really judicious, sufficiently them down in despair. He had a better establish the fact; that the chief beauties opinion of the frail part in the female crea- found in the highest productions of the poet tion than reason justified; he had a worse opinion of mankind than they deserved. All his vices were tinged with the hues of virtue; all his virtues sullied by the gloom of vice. ic art-those confessedly exquisite emananations of human genius " crowned with the laurel of assenting time," originate, not in descriptions of those parts of nature which form the immediate objects of our outward senses, and which, when faithfully given and happily expressed, may certainly be numbered among the beauties, though by no means the highest beauties of poetry, -but in an accurate delineation of character, a profound knowledge of human nature; in the judicious adaptation, the appropriate introduction, and the happy combination of objects derived, as the theme requires, both from nature and art, so that " each gives each a double charm;" in the art evinced in the disposition, and the talent displayed in the execution of the whole. Our readers, we are sure, will not blame us for declining to enter into an analysis of this somnolent piece of criticism, which is not inferior to any of the controversial opiates that have before proceeded from the pen of the same author. It is however but justice in concluding, to thank Mr. Bowles for his kind assurance, that his appeal is final, and his address valedictory. This asrance is as consolatory to us, as it is meritorious to him; and, if he will but adhere to his promise, we freely pardon all the tediousness he has heretofore lavished upon us, in consideration of so cheering a prospect. The Improvisatrice and other poems. By L. E. L. London, 1825. Although this work has been some time before the public, we cannot deny ourselves the pleasure of giving it a passing notice. There is so much of the soul of poetry in Miss Landon's strains, she has so much strong sensibility and romantic feeling, she is so young, and yet has written so much and so well, that we cannot withhold this late tribute of applause. The burden of her song is love-indeed of what else, at her age, can woman sing? The theme too is inexhaustible in the hands of our Improvisatrice. She paints in a thousand bright colours all the varieties of devoted and passionate feeling, she glows with all the fervours of affection, and she mourns in all the solitude of despair. The tone of her mind is naturally melancholy, and it mingles in all that she writes-in a majority of her poetical tales " the course of truelove" does not "run smooth," it leads to sadness, to ruin, and the grave. We forbear to extract from the volume, but we present our readers with two of her late productions, the first of which is as true a picture of delicate and warm attachment mingled with pride, as was ever painted. VALEDICTORY STANZAS. Thy voice is yet upon mine ear, I flung me on my couch to sleep, I caught a sound, then blush'd to think I nam'd aloud thy name: That is the only blush, whose red Had there been one to see. I hear thee nam'd by those who keep Thy image in their heart; How very dear thou art. I blush not when I hear thy name; I sigh not for thy sake: And though my heart may break, yet still 'Tis strange, how in things most remote Love will some likeness find; It is as an electric chain Were flung upon the mind- I fly myself, as crowds could steal Wearied I turn to solitude; But all the dreams are gone, I look upon the poet's page, My tear-fill'd eye grows dim; I heard him once their numbers breathe, And now they breathe of him. Less present to mine eye than ear, His silver voice is all I hear. Farewell! go join the careless world, Lights only to consume its shrine. One word, although that word may pass One word to breathe of love to thee, I would I were a favourite flower, I would I were a tone of song, A rose's breath, that, borne along, I do not wish thy heart were won ;- In this little pamphlet, the "Ancient" proves himself to be but a novice, in endeavouring to adduce arguments against the expression of public feeling, on the subject which has lately interested the Dramatic world. He may as well attempt to check the hearty laugh which humour excites in the mirthful moments of John Bull, or repress his sympathy in a tale of woe, as seek to silence the voice of indignation, which he raises against immorality. The feeling, we trust, is not evinced against the offender, because he is an actor:-but, "it is the cause:"-and we conceive it would be equally evinced against any other offender, whose error was as notorious, be his station what it might, should an opportunity occur. If public men please, they do not despise public approbation; if they offend, they must expect public censure. It is a wholesome castigation, and should never be repressed, unless it exceeds its bounds. The ruin of the individual cannot benefit the community, but the character of the public (and we hope we shall ever have reason to respect it,) would be lowered, were even a favorite, who has sinned, to be greeted with the same applause as if he had shown no blemish. Mr. Kean himself will have no reason to regret the hint he has received, that he cannot err with impunity: and we shall rejoice if it produces such an effect, that his future conduct will drive from the memory of the most fastidious, the frailty of to-day; and enable them to admire, unmixed with any other feeling, the talents which have raised him to the eminence he holds. - Lond. Crit. Gaz. M. Sgricci, the celebrated Italian improvisatore, having improvised a tragedy, (subject, the death of Mary Stuart) the recitation of which occupied nearly two hours, so delighted the Grand Duke of Tuscany, his family, and court, that H. R. H. not only presented him with 2000 francs, and a pension of 2400 francs per annum, but gave him a patent of nobility of the first order, which his native city, Arezzo, had solicited as the reward of his genius. EPIGRAM. From "Le Ramelet Moundi," by Godelin, a poet who wrote in the dialect of Thoulouse, early in the 17th century. The gay, who would be counted wise, Think all delight in pastime lies; Whilst they pass time-Time passes them. FOR THE ten have I slept unsound, because my proNEW-YORK LITERARY GAZETTE. perty accumulated so rapidly that I could TALES FROM CROSSBASKET. By Francis Topic. PER. "It seems, Sir, you know all. I have some general notions. I do love INTRODUCTION. Ben Jonson. AFTER a residence of thirty years in America, I returned to my native village of, with a fortune sufficiently large to satisfy my ambition, and a constitution able to enjoy itthanks to my prudent habits! I had not returned many days till old General Poun not devise a channel in which to occupy my capital: then felt I the justness of happy Patie's words, "He that hath just enough can soundly sleep, The overcome only fashes folk to keep." My ambition being satisfied, I remitted my money to London, wound up my business, and returned again to dear Scotland. Arrived at my native village, I was introduced to the friends of my youth; we met as strangers, for in the weather-worn face of the man, the features of the boy could be but indistinctly traced; yet, all met me as a bosom friend, some I knew, or thought I knew, and many I guessed at. My parents did not live to see this day; I had long before been advised of their dissolution, and I was an only child: I had therefore few derbolt died. He was owner of a beautiful relations to meet. The circumstance of my estate, called Crossbasket, which had been return soon spread abroad, and their was in possession of his family for a long length not a prating old wife nor lisping, child, of years, though never entailed; but he be- who did not speak of my youthful ading the last of his race on the male side, and ventures and present riches, all of which leaving an only daughter, who was married were magnified beyond even a probability to a gentleman in London, of violent antipa- of truth. I need not name how I was pointthy to Scotland, there was not a doubt but ed at,-how my name furnished tea-table the mansion of the Pounderbolts, would be chat for all the village; which forced Mr. sold to stranger hands. In the beautiful Kingwell, the crier, to confess, that had I walks of Crossbasket, have I loitered away not arrived at the moment I did, the tongues my infantile hours, or fishing in its burn, have of the village gossips would have rusted I spent many a summer day, and many for want of a subject to discourse upon. I a moonlit night have I sat upon the "pil- need not tell how many young ladies blushed low rock" and listened to the sweet sounds as I cast my eyes upon them, or were quite of Calder's waterfall: then, have I often ungirled if I spoke to them; for be it rethought it murmured pleasing tales-it membered I was then unmarried: nor need seemed to speak a language to my soul, deep I say how fond every mother was to have me felt, though inexpressible, and fancy made it at her tea table who had a marriageable whisper many a story of my future weal- daughter to dispose of, nor how many that the days were coming when I could call this delightful place mine own. Then, thought I, could I only be called "Laird o' Crossbasket, and see my name enrolled in the annals of the parish," Francis Topic, Esq., of Crossbasket, like some of the foxhunting and rum-drinking nabobs in the neighbourhood-I would not envy the king upon his throne. I had not a thought beyond this; than this, the loftiest flights of my imagination never pictured a greater felicity; power, fame, or wealth never had a moment of my castle-building hours. The idea of Laird of Crossbasket, constantly haunted my youthful dreams,--was the companion of many an after-thought, and a thousand times have I imagined it inspired me to speculations and adventures in my mercantile life, and to various operations, which in calmer moments, I wondered why I embarked in. Be the cause what it will, I made money faster and grew richer than I ever anticipated; it is a remark among merchants, that every thing some men touch turns to gold-I was such a man, and of church-going matrons begged to me "to take a seat in our pew on Sabbath;" not even excepting Mrs. Pulpitwise, the minister's wife; on these things I need not dwell, for every person must imagine more than I can possibly describe. The old General 'being dead, a burst of joy flashed on my mind; and, I must swear, though I seldom do such a thing, that I never went to a wedding with more joy than I followed the old man's remains to the family vault; for then, the thought pressed upon me that all my youthful anticipations might now be realized, far beyond a doubt. For reasons before named, Crossbasket, that fairy land, that paradise of my thoughts, which my long absence had never effaced, would be brought to sale. It was even so. In a short time an advertisement appeared that it was to be offered at auction. I soon made up my mind to purchase it, and was more fascinated by the day of sale, than ever the General was by a bombshell. I thought of nothing but Crossbasket, yet I kept still, nor hinted my intentions to any one. I was sometimes afraid to move or speak, or even ❘ vitation to make me a visit, for it was the to breathe, fearful that I would lose the op- summer season. He came. Whoever has portunity of purchasing it, and a thousand been in similar circumstances, may guess forebodings daunted my mind that some individual would make an offer at private sale, and thus all my hopes be blasted: on this subject alone was I boy again. I did not think the old man had so much blood. Shortly before the appointed day, I applied to the village attorney, whom I knew well in my youth, and told him my intention, and instructed him to purchase it for me; I gave the pleasure of our meeting: there is a sweet bliss in grasping the hand of friends of early youth, after almost an age of absence. Many a happy hour did we spend together, talking of old times, and laughing at the battles we had lost and won, with a thousand other little things. To add to our pleasure, one morning, two gentlemen arrived at Crossbasket; in them I recognised two old of my youth: I felt happy that they could see me in my fairy castle, for this was the only one I ever in my day-dreams built. no limits, and when he asked how much he friends. Mr. Glendining and Mr. Rowardshould bid, I only replied, "buy it for me;" son: the meeting was as happy as unexyet charged him, as he valued my business pected. I felt proud to entertain the friends and patronage, to be silent on the subject, nor even hint until the purchase was made for whom he was bidding. Lawyers want business and understand hints, so he was quiet and faithful to his commission, for he bought Crossbasket at a much cheaper rate than I ever anticipated. Now my heart swelled too high for the bosom which contained it. I was on the highest pinnacle of my ambition-I had nothing farther in worldly affairs to wish for-I was satisfied. But not to detain my readers, if I have any, with too long a story, let me say it in a word. I had my house furnished, the grounds, the gardens, and every thing laid out and arranged to my heart's content, and in a few weeks found myself comfortably situated in the palace of my youthful aspiring, more comfortably and happily than ever man was before; at least I thought so: and all philosophers assert, that one half, ay more, of the world's pleasures are ideal, and created in our own bosoms. No mat ter how or why, I care not to inquire, I was -I am the happiest Laird in the country. The fame of my arrival and purchase soon spread about the country, and even reached London, for very soon after this, I received a letter from my old friend Edward Pomposity; he was quite my opposite-a great egotist, though a fine fellow, and I loved him well. Many a hard-fought battle were we engaged in, and many a black eye and bloody nose we gave and received on Saturday afternoons when the school was dismissed for the week, to obtain the mastery. We were in the same class; here also did we strive. Many a long hour have I stolen from my repose poring over my lessons, that I might excel him; he was equally industrious, and as he said himself, a better scholar than I; but he gave me this consolation, that he never knew one approach so near his excellency: this for him, was a great confession, for I never heard him acknowledge that any one, in any thing, approached near to him before; though in reality we had many smarter boys than he. I lost not a moment in answering my friend's letter, and giving him a warm in After dinner we took a walk into the arbour, and talked of our adventures; and I learned that we all had been in America, though it was a circumstance unknown to any of us before. Now satisfied as to our present condition, we began to recount old stories, and the hours passed passed fleet as a dream. No business pressed the departure of my guests, so I told them, that having met after so long an absence, I should not part with them soon, and they were not anxious to deny my request. In the evening Mr. Auldlochtan the lawyer, and Mr. Pulpitwise the minister, came to pay their respects to me; my guests were not unknown to them: We were soon seated over our punch, and for a while the joke and song passed merrily; and Mr. Pulpitwise, who never thought that austerity of countenance, or abstinence from innocent pleasures was a part of the christian creed, enjoyed the time as much as any of us. Suddenly Mr. Pomposity proposed a change in the conversation, and said lower, let us tell our histories and adventures as we did in the arbour, for I have left much untold. "Damn our histories," said my friend, Mr. Glendining, who sat on my right. "I hate egotism, and from the bottom of my heart despise all egotists." "You are right," said his left-handed neighbour. "That was not intended for me," said Mr. Pomposity; "but for you Mr. Pulpitwise:" but before the doctor of souls had time to reply, Mr. Glendining resumed. "I despise those who ever prate of themselves, those who are ever the heroes of their own story, with boastings of their deeds or misdeeds; we have all enough brains to give a colouring to the adventures in which we have only been spectators. We have all seen the world as the phrase is; we have been abroad, crossed the stormy seas, sandy deserts, or untrodden forests-we must all |