in Churchill, while it always displayed benevolence in Cowper. His satire is at once playful in its ridicule, and keen in its invective. The purest benevolence is conspicuous in his severest censures.

But we must bring this sketch to a close, which we shall do with two extracts; the one from the most delightful of our living poets, the eloquence of whose prose is nearly as enchanting as the witchery of his verse: and the other from the pen of the most celebrated critic of the age. -" Cowper's graphic touches are more close and minute than those of Thomson; not that Thomson was deficient or undelightful in circumstantial traits of the beauty of nature, but he looked to her as a whole, more than Cowper. His genius was more excursive and philosophical. The poet of Olney, on the contrary, regarded human philosophy with something of theological contempt. To his eye the great and little things of this world were levelled to an equality, by his recollection of the power and purpose of Him who made them. They are, in his view, only as toys spread on the lap and carpet of nature, for the childhood of our immortal -being. This religious indifference to the world, is far indeed from blunting his sensibility to the genuine and simple beauties of creation; but it gives his taste a contentment and fellowship with humble things. It makes him careless of selecting and refining his views of nature beyond their casual appearance. He contemplated the face of plain rural English life, in moments of leisure and sensibility, till its minutest features were impressed upon his fancy; and he sought not to embellish what he loved. Hence his landscapes have less of the ideally beauti ful, than Thomson's; but they have an unrivalled of charm of truth and reality." - Campbell's British Poets.

"The great merit of this writer" (Cowper) "appears to us to consist in the boldness and originality es of his composition, and in the fortunate audacity with which he has carried the dominion of poetry into reregions that had been considered as inaccessible to her

ambition. The gradual refinement of taste had, for nearly a century, been weakening the vigour of original genius. Our poets had become timid and fastidious, and circumscribed themselves both in the choice and the management of their subject, by the observance of a limited number of models, who were thought to have exhausted all the legitimate resources of the art. Cowper was one of the first who crossed this enchanted circle, who regained the natural liberty of invention, and walked abroad in the open field of observation as freely as those by whom it was originally trodden; he passed from the imitation of poets to the imitation of nature, and ventured boldly upon the representation of objects that had not been sanctified by the description of any of his predecessors. In the ordinary occupations and duties of domestic life, and the consequences of modern manners, in the common scenery of a rustic situation, and the obvious contemplation of our public institutions, he has found a multitude of subjects for ridicule and reflection, for pathetic and picturesque description, for moral declamation, and devotional rapture, that would have been looked upon with disdain, or with despair, by most of our poetical adventurers.

"The great variety and truth of his descriptions; the minute and correct painting of those home-scenes and private feelings with which every one is internally familiar; the sterling weight and sense of most of his observations, and, above all, the great appearance of facility with which every thing is executed, and the happy use he has so often made of the most common and ordinary language; all concur to stamp upon his poems the character of original genius, and remind us of the merits that have secured immortality to Shakespeare." -Edinburgh Review, vol. ii.

TABLE TALK.

Si te forte meæ gravis uret sarcina chartæ,
Abjicito.

Hor. Lib. i Epist. 13.

w

A. You told me, I remember, glory, built On selfish principles, is shame and guilt; The deeds, that men admire as half-divine, Stark naught, because corrupt in their design. Strange doctrine this! that without scruple tears The laurel, that the very lightning spares; Brings down the warrior's trophy to the dust, And eats into his bloody sword like rust.

B. 1 grant that, men continuing what they are, Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war: And never meant the rule should be applied To him, that fights with justice on his side.

Let laurels, drench'd in pure Parnassian dews, Reward his mem'ry, dear to ev'ry muse, Who, with a courage of unshaken root, In honour's field advancing his firm foot, Plants it upon the line that Justice draws, And will prevail or perish in her cause. 'Tis to the virtues of such men, man owes His portion in the good, that Heav'n bestows. And when recording History displays Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days; Tells of a few stout hearts, that fought and died, Where duty placed them, at their country's side; The man, that is not moved with what he reads, That takes not fire at their heroic deeds, Unworthy of the blessings of the brave, Is base in kind, and born to be a slave. But let eternal infamy pursue

The wretch, to nought but his ambition true;

A

Who, for the sake of filling with one blast
The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste.
Think yourself station'd on a tow'ring rock,
To see a people scatter'd like a flock,
Some royal mastiff panting at their heels,
With all the savage thirst a tiger feels;
Then view him self-proclaim'd in a gazette,
Chief monster that has plagued the nations yet.
The globe and sceptre in such hands misplaced,
Those ensigns of dominion, how disgraced!
The glass, that bids man mark the fleeting hour,
And Death's own scythe would better speak his pow'r;
Then grace the bony phantom in their stead,
With the king's shoulder-knot and gay cockade ;
Clothe the twin-brethren in each other's dress,
The same their occupation and success.

A. 'Tis your belief the world was made for man; Kings do but reason on the self-same plan: Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs condemn, Who think, or seem to think, man made for them. B. Seldom, alas! the power of logic reigns

With much sufficiency in royal brains;
Such reas'ning falls like an inverted cone,
Wanting its proper base to stand upon.
Man made for kings! those optics are but dim,
That tell you so-say, rather, they for him.
That were indeed a king-ennobling thought,
Could they, or would they, reason as they ought.
The diadem, with mighty projects lined,
To catch renown by ruining mankind,
Is worth, with all its gold and glitt'ring store,
Just what the toy will sell for and no more.

Oh! bright occasions of dispensing good,
How seldom used, how little understood!
To pour in Virtue's lap her just reward;
Keep Vice restrain'd behind a double guard ;
To quell the faction, that affronts the throne,
By silent magnanimity alone;
To nurse with tender care the thriving arts,
Watch every beam Philosophy imparts;

To give Religion her unbridled scope,
Nor judge by statute a believer's hope;
With close fidelity and love unfeign'd,
To keep the matrimonial bond unstain'd;
Covetous only of a virtuous praise;
His life a lesson to the land he sways;
To touch the sword with conscientious awe,
Nor draw it but when duty bids him draw;
To sheath it in the peace-restoring close,
With joy beyond what victory bestows;-
Blest country, where these kingly glories shine!
Blest England, if this happiness be thine!

A. Guard what you say; the patriotic tribe Will sneer and charge you with a bribe.-B. A The worth of his three kingdoms I defy, [bribe? To lure me to the baseness of a lie: And, of all lies (be that one poet's boast) The lie that flatters I abhor the most. Those arts be theirs, who hate his gentle reign; But he that loves him has no need to feign.

A. Your smooth eulogium to one crown address'd; Seems to imply a censure on the rest.

B. Quevedo, as he tells his sober tale, Ask'd, when in hell, to see the royal jail; Approved their method in all other things; But where, good sir, do you confine your kings? There-said his guide the group is full in view. Indeed!-replied the don-there are but few. His black interpreter the charge disdain'dFew, fellow!-there are all that ever reign'd. Wit, undistinguishing, is apt to strike The guilty and not guilty both alike. I grant the sarcasm is too severe, And we can readily refute it here: While Alfred's name, the father of his age, And the Sixth Edward's grace th' historic page. A. Kings then, at last, have but the lot of all, By their own conduct they must stand or fall. B. True. While they live, the courtly laureat His quit-rent ode, his peppercorn of praise: [pays