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by his biographer that nearly the whole of them were composed before the author was nineteen years of age. Considering then, that a mind which had not, according to the course of nature, attained its full maturity and strength, amidst the perplexing varieties of studies inhospitable to the flights of the Muse, thus divided and worn down by application so intense, and debilitated by sickness, exhausted from want of repose so imperiously claimed, and so rigorously denied; considering all this, does it not furnish a basis for conjecture, that if poetry was made his master study, we might have anticipated still more vigorous sallies of his genius?

With regard to the biography by Mr. Southey, it has the common fault of other compositions of this class; it does not enter deeply enough the life and manners of the boy. What we want is not the panegyric of the writer, nor his bare unauthen. ticated narrative of character: fact is required to illustrate and invigorate assertions.

Whatever a man's predominant character is, it is betrayed by his actions, it is interwoven in all his manners; and by com- .bining the evidence afforded by these, our own hearts pronounce the eulogy.

Plain and perspicuous narrative takes us by surprise; it brings us into the company of the stranger, and, without informing us what we are to anticipate, leaves us to form our own conclusions by the evidence afforded by his actions.

When the fame of his character is emblazoned at the outset, the stranger enters like a saint, with his head surrounded with such a blaze of biographic glory.

We do not, however, make this remark as applicable to the present biography, which affords no evidence of exaggeration whatever: indeed the poet's own letters bear out these panegyrics to their utmost extent, and if more had been said, more would have been justified by such evidence.

Our objection is, that the eulogy is occasionally indiscriminate; and that fact is sometimes neglected for panegyric, while a minuter investigation of incidents would have given a more vivid and equally pleasing impression of the author's character. Yet we scarcely know how to censure these venial errors, into which

the affection of the biographer has betrayed him, since we ourselves, indifferent and distant strangers, have dwelt so long and so fondly on these memorials of genius. We shall therefore conclude our present strictures, by quoting two specimens of tributary eulogy to the manes of White. They both form a part of the present volumes: the first is from the pen of lord Byron, and has been already quoted in our review of that poem;-the second is from the more prosaic genius of Capel Lofft.

“ Unhappy White! while life was in its spring,
And thy young Muse just wav'd her joyous wing,
The spoiler came; and all thy promise fair
Has sought the grave to find a refuge there.
Ah! what a noble heart was here undone,
When Science self destroy'd her fav’rite son!
Yes, she too much indulg'd the fond pursuit;
She sow'd the seeds, but Death has reap'd the fruit.
'I'was thine own genius gave the fatal blow,
And help'd to plant the wound that laid thec low.
So the struck eagle stretched upon the plain,
No more 'midst rolling clouds to soar again;
View'd his own feather on the fatal dart,
And wing'd the shaft that quiverd in his heart:
Keen were his pangs; but keener far to feel,
He nurs'd the pinion that impeil'd the steel;
While the same plumage that had warm'd his nest,
Drank the last life drop of his bleeding breast."

“ Master so early of the various lyre,
Energic, pure, sublime! thus art thou gone?
In its bright dawn of fame, that spirit flown,
Which breath'd such sweetness, tenderness and fire!
Wert thou but shown to win us to admire,
And veil in death thy splendour? But unknown
Their destination who least time bave shewn,
And brightest beam'd.-When these th' eternal Siren
Righteous and wise, and gooit are all his ways
Eclipses as their sun begins to rise;
Can mortal judge for their diminish'd days,
What blest equivalent in changeless skies,
What sacred glory waits them? His the praise:
Gracious whate'er he gives, whate'er denies."

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The accompanying view represents a water spout, which, with ten others, was seen on the 24th July, 1806, between the hours of one and two P. M. at Smithville, the summer residence of his excellency Benjamin Smith, governor of North Carolina.

The appearance of these spouts was preceded by a dead, gloomy calm, during which, not a bird was to be seen. The sky was overcast with the blackest clouds. At one o'clock, eleven water spouts appeared, moving from south to north. The one I have sketched is represented at the entrance of Cape Fear river, opposite to Fort Johnson and Smithville; and between Baldhead and Oak Islands; on the former of which stands Cape Fear light-house.

The haste with which this sketch was made must plead au cxcuse for its slovenly execution; should you think it worthy of contributing to the embellishment of your elegant miscellany, you will probably receive more from one of your



AND the principle of the pyramid is so well preserved "and then there is all the colouring of Titian–the grace of Ra*phael—the purity of Domenechino--the Corregiescity of Cor"regio- the learning of Poussin-the airs of Guido--the taste * of the Carrachis the grand contour of Angelo—and he is a

colourist so worthy of the Lombard school

"il degno colorir di Lombardia,” and his draperics are so flowing and “moelleux"--and in his

vol. VII.

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