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lential heats beneath the Line, or faced the ice and rigors of the
wintry Baltic ; whether the soldier marched on the plains of In-
dostan, amidst the burning sands of Egypt, or the chilling fogs
of Zealand and Copenhagen; whether the rocks of Malta, the
wastes of Arragon, or the summits of the Pyrenees, resounded
with the din of arms and the uproar of battle, the wonted vigour
and valour of our unrivalled combatants never deserted them, but
ensured, in every field, and on every theatre of action, the well-
earned wreaths of conquest and of glory. No want of cordiality
and union in the leaders and followers of the two services, the bane
of many noble enterprizes, betrayed itself; but each man contri-
buted his full share to the common end, as if the event depended
on his single arm. In a word, to use a phrase of the immortal
chief, whose memory and example will never be forgotten when
this subject is discussed, every man ‘did his duty” with a prompti-
tude and alacrity, which deserved, while it ensured, the victory.
“These auspicious preparatives, tranquillity at home and victory
abroad, conducted us, as might easily be anticipated, Thirdly, To
the wished for result, ultimate success, in an honourable and w
hope a lasting peace.
“As to our own country, it is raised to a pinnacle of greatness
and glory, which it never attained before. Magnanimous and en-
lightened in policy, and invincible in arms, Britain sustains the
high character of being the refuge and avenger of afflicted nations;
she alone was able to stem the torrent, which must otherwise have

, overwhelmed them, owing, as they do, their existence to her aid

and to her example.—We have only to bless God for the happy repose and respite which we have gained, and to “eat our bread in patience and peace.’”

We gladly insert in our pages these just and worthy sentiments, which we are persuaded will recommend the discourse itself, written in the humble retirement of a country village, more strongly than any words we could possibly use.

ART. X. Thoughts on Charitable Institutions. By Catharine
Cappe. 8vo. pp. 110. 3s. Longman and Co. 1814.

MRs. Cappe, as we collect but too strongly from her writings, is a dissenter; but as we are always ready to acknowledge merit wherever it is to be found, we are happy in recommending this publication to all governors of old charity-schools, foundlinghospitals, and asylums for female orphans. The chapter which recommends the appointment of a committee of ladies in all hospitals and infirmaries to superintend the female wards, is peCuliarly worthy the attention of the directors of those institutions.

- - - - - - - - - - - - The

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The address to females of the rising generation is distinguished for its practical good sense. All those indeed who are actually employed in alleviating the miseries and in promoting the happimess of their poorer fellow-creatures, will find in this publication many useful hints and directions. Mrs. Cappe appears to understand thoroughly the practical part of that benevolence, which has the education and the preservation of females for its ob

t. We are bound at the same time to protest against some portions of the work, and especially the Appendix, as containing many absurd and mischievous opinions respecting the religious part of charitable education. Mrs. Cappe's opinions, however, are too openly stated to mislead any, but the weakest; the separation of the good from the bad is not a difficult task, we trust therefore that it will be made.

ART. XI. Familiar Poems, Moral and Religious. By Susannah Wilson. 18mo. pp. 16i. Darton. 1814,

Of the beneficial consequences which arise from educating,

and giving religious feelings and habits to the poor, the author

of this little volume affords an incontestible and striking proof.

Though the laudable attention paid by her mother to these

essential points, has not made her a poet, it has enabled her to

become an estimable member of society: it has taught her to

perform her duties with correctness and cheerfulness, and to

lighten her toils by intellectual amusement. In the preface, her

uneventful, but not uninstructive history, is given by the gentle

man who has published her verses, under the idea that they will be “read with pleasure and edification by the juvenile part of

the community.” Susannah Wilson is of humble parentage :

her father was a journeyman weaver, and her mother a very

pious woman, who was anxious that her children should have an early acquaintance with the important truths of the bible;

from whence it is evident that Susannah has drawn most of her

sentiments and reflections. Susannah was born in Kingsland

road, in the year 1787. She learned to improve her reading at a Sunday school, and to write at an evening school. Her father,

though industrious and provident, was rather averse to her mother's religious principles, yet left her to follow her own inclination in the education of her children, which she was assiduous

in doing, to the best of her ability. For many years past, they lived in a little cottage in St. Matthew's, Bethnal Green, reared by her father, on a spot of garden-ground, which he hired 3. OW

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low rent, and where two of the daughters still reside, and pursue the weaving business, to which they were all bred. While thus engaged, she says, verses spontaneously flowed into her mind, which she took every opportunity of committing to paper. The cultivation of his little garden was a favourite employment of her father at leisure intervals, and afforded him a grateful relief from the labours of the loom. To use her own language, her “ father was so fond of vine-dressing, that his sittle cottage was covered with fruitful vines:” for many years he ‘lived under his own vine,’ and under it he died;” at which period her parents had been married forty-six years. Her mother survived him only one year and sixteen days. Confined almost exclusively to the narrow range of her own family circle, Susannah worked at her father's business till about three years since ; when, owing to a bad state of health, from excessive application to a sedentary business, she was recommended to seek a service, for the sake of more active employment. Providence directed her to the family at Hackney, with whom she still remains, and fulfils the domestic duties assigned her, with conscientious fidelity. Hitherto her reading had been almost entirely confined to her Bible, Dr. Watts's Hymns, and two or three other religious works; but, as she advanced in years, she took every opportunity of procuring books, and Milton, Young, and some other authors, fell into her hands, which she read with great avidity. She likewise had the advantage of acquiring a little knowledge of English grammar. This was a stimulus to poetical exertions, and she devoted almost all her leisure time to writing verses. * The verses of Susannah Wilson are sufficiently flowing; and the sentiments which they express are uniformly pious and benevolent. The following poem may be taken as a fair speCln1611.

“On a Flower opening to the Sun.

“Sweet flower behold the rising sun–
Scarce has his morning race begun,
When thou dost ope thine eye;
What gentle voice or whisper soft,
Tells thee to rear thine head aloft,
And greet him in the sky :

* What secret power impels thy leaf
To close, and pass the time in grief,
When he has gone his round?
In vain the beauteous orbs of night,
The moon and stars in vain unite,

To raise thee from the ground. . . . . 9. TàIS6 the grou Astonished

“Astonish'd now, I stand and view-
Hast thou both sense and feeling too?
What wonders I behold!
The flower, I thought, would droop and die,
When darkness veil'd the midnight sky;
Now its fair leaves unfold!

“Thus conscions is my opening mind, -
When the reviving rays I find - *
Of my more glorious sun; - -
My hopes revive, my spirits rise,
My faith salutes the smiling skies,
And thinks her warfare done.

“But when the evening shades return,
And I am left the light to mourn,
My spirit droops again:
Nor men, nor angels, all combin'd,
Could e'er relieve my burden'd mind,
:Or ease me of my pain.”

Apr. xii. The Lay of the Poor Fiddler; a Parody o the

Lay of the Last Minstrel, with Notes and Illustrations. By an Admirer of Walter Scott. Small 8vo. PP. 167.

Crosby. 1814.

OF that kind of burlesque which, endeavours to degrade and

throw ridicule on those things and feelings, which are in them. selves virtuous and sublime, we confess that we are no admi". Nor, of course, do we think that the spreading of a tao for it i..'ai to be desired. We fear, however, that this taste “h” increased,” and “is increasing,” and if it have and be so, we are quite sure, that it “ought to be diminished.” Of its increase the numberless songs, parodies, and travesties, which have ap: peared of late years, seem to us to furnish an irrefragable proof. No sooner does a poem of merit issue from the press, than fifty doggrel writers are at work to produce a ludicrous imitation.

Even Shakespeare himself is not safe from these profane jack

puddings; a fact to which ample testimony is borne by some recent travesties of his finest plays. It would not at all surprize us, were we soon to see the Paradise Lost treated in a similar mannes. . . . -- . . . . . - - In spite of the general favour with which works of this kind are received, we conterid that they ought not to be enco.

and even that the encouragement which is given to them reflects - . . . . . . . . .

disgrace

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disgrace on those who give it. Nothing that elevates, or
softens, or purifies the mind, ought to be made the theme of
vulgar mirth. The fine affections, the dignified emotions,
should be religiously kept sacred from all contamination. They
are like female honour, which, in some degree, suffers im-
peachment, merely from its possessor being seen in the company
of those persons, the spotlessness of whose honour is doubt-
ful. When the mind is accustomed to associate light and low
ideas with great ones, the latter will inevitably be regarded with
less reverence than they should be ; and from diminished re-
spect to utter contempt the distance is small and speedily passed
over. In our opinion, every thing that is in itself essentially
serious, is an improper object of ridicule. It is not laughter
that we object to, for, in defiance of Lord Chesterfield, we
can laugh as heartily as most men; but we think that there is
an abundance of laughable subjects, which may be fairly treated
in a burlesque style; and that there is as little necessity to vio-
late dignified subjects, as there is propriety of feeling and delicacy
of taste in those who do it.
The hoary sinner, who calls himself Peter Pindar, was one
of the first, and we believe the very first, of late years, to in-
dulge in the hateful practice of which we complain. There is
scarcely a tender or pious sentiment which he has not stre-
nuously laboured to render ridiculous. We remember reading,
long ago, with extreme disgust, a part of one of his poems, in
which he draws a deeply-pathetic picture of a consumptive
* husband, on the verge of the grave, lamenting in the dead of
night his approaching separation from a beloved wife, and,
while he deems her asleep, breathing his fondest prayers over
her; upon which she turns round in bed, and, muttering to her-
self, “wenders the filthy fellow is not dead.”
Examples of folly and vice are never long unimitated. We
have since been inundated by a deluge of similar brutal pro-
ductions. It is with a blush for the thoughtlessness, to give it
no harsher a name, of playhouse audiences, that we call to
mind the bursts of laughter which have been excited by the
vulgar doggrel of “Miss Bailey.” The charm of this song we
are wholly at a loss to discover. What are the subjects of this
delightful ditty P Seduction, consequent suicide, remorse of
conscience, and the appearance of a guilty disembodied spirit.
Excellent food indeed for risibility | When this trash was first
sung, had those who applauded it had a proper sense of their
duty, they would have hooted it indignantly from the stage.
It may, perhaps, be said, that as we dislike this species of
burlesque, we are incapacitated from doing justice to it when, in
its way, it really has merit. This we deny. We may not like, for
- instance,

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