ture of the country through which it passes, but the general calculation is about £100. a mile, pretty nearly the same as that of a common turnpike road, and the repairs are considerably less. The expense of horses being £14,400 greater as it is, than it would be by means of a rail-way, it will be seen that the saving in horse-labour will, in the space of about ten years, cover the expense of making two railways, one for going and the other for returning, even at the rate of 8 coaches only on the same road. In how much shorter time the expense would be defrayed from Bristol or Liverpool, or some other large town, to London, where the number of coaches daily passing is so much greater, may be easily calculated; and if the saving in horselabour be so very considerable, a better toll could be afforded by the proprietors of coaches, consequently there must be a much earlier return of the principal, than on a common turnpike-road. Another consideration which comes within the compass of this plan, and certainly a very important one, is humanity to those wretched animals which are goaded to death by the merciless drivers of stage coaches. The late Bishop of London, Dr. Porteus, that excellent man urged the necessity of observing the rest of the sabbath from motives of humanity to those poor cattle which were worked so hard every other day in the week. What then must be the advantages of a plan which almost entirely dispenses with their services? Unhappily for these animals the people of this country do not believe in the doctrine of transmigration, otherwise they would show more mercy to them, lest they themselves should hereafter suffer the penalty of their evil deeds, in the shape of a coach-horse.

It is to be understood that rail-roads are designed for the EXCLUSIVE use of stage-coaches, which must be so regulated with regard to time, as not to come in contact with each other; and this may be done with very trifling inconveniency. It will in some instances, no doubt, be impossible to carry a railroad from one town to another owing to hills and valleys; but the plan might be adopted in those stages where it is practicable; and it will be sometimes necessary to go some way about, but the expedition will make up for the

*£14,400. multiplied by 10, is £144,000. 72 miles multiplied by 2, is 144.

distance. Canals are equally liable to such difficulties. It will, perhaps, be further objected, that now coaches take up and set down passengers at their doors, which could not be done in this instance. To this objection, I answer, when a ship comes in at low-water, how are the passengers taken on shore? Might not small vehicles be contrived to meet the coaches at the end of the rail-road, and take them to different parts of the town?

Let me again impress it on the mind of the reader, that whatever objections may be raised against this plan, canals are liable to the same, as being precisely on the same principle; and if any advantages accrue to the country from the latter, they would in a much higher degree proceed from the former; forasmuch as the expense of making a canal is six or seven times greater than that of making a rail-way; and, after all, a canal is but a matter of speculation at best, as the quantity of articles to be conveyed from one place to another is precarious and uncertain; whereas a rail-way is a matter of certainty, since so many coaches are known to pass daily, and the returns to answer the expenditure. Let it be further remembered, that rail-roads are found to be very useful near coal works and mines; so that the plan is only new in the application, which it is suggested to be made of it, and not in principle.

In this great commercial country, few improvements would perhaps be attended with more beneficial results. It would in the first place be the means of rendering useless a vast number of horses, which are now a heavy burden on the community, and thereby reduce the price of provisions, the price of labour, and tend to increase the population without overstocking the country, as that portion of land now producing fodder, might then produce corn for the use of man.-It would be the means of reducing the fare of passengers; goods might be conveyed at a much cheaper rate, and distance would be diminished, and places which are now far apart, would in a manner, be brought near each other, by facilitating the communication between them::in a word it would spread plenty, industry, prosperity, and happiness throughout the land.

This plan has only simplicity and usefulness to recommend it: let me, therefore, once more entreat the curious reader not to give his judgment too

hastily;

SIR.

HA

AVING seen your print of the house in which this celebrated character drew his first breath, near Bedford, I felt interested in obtaining some further account of him after he settled in London.

From the life of John Bunyan, prefixed to Heptinshall's edition of the Pilgrim's Progress, it appears that this celebrated personage preached at a meeting-house in Zoar-street, Gravellane, near Bank-side. In Manning and Bray's History of Surry, it appears that Dr. Barlow, Bishop of Lincoln, provided this meeting-house for Bunyan to preach in; a circumstance which derives no small confirmation from the well authenticated historical fact of the same prelate having before that period interposed successfully for the delivery of Bunyan from Bedford gaol, where he was imprisoned twelve years. This liberal and catholic spirit in a bishop, is truly admirable, and the knowledge that the remains of this meeting house were considerable, lately induced a gentleman to visit Zoar-street to ascertain the truth of the report. This ancient building he had no difficulty in finding. The larger portion of it has been occupied about twenty years by a working mill-wright, the rubbish of whose dilapidated machinery reposes in silence with the dusty pew doors, and fractured wainscotting of the old meeting; part of the gallery yet remains with the same wooden pegs still sticking in its front, which once held the uncouth hats of those whom the gallant cavaliers of a former period, pointed out to public contempt, under the designation of Round heads and Puritans. All these have long since forgotten their mutual feuds and passed to their eternal account. The double doors of entrance to this building remain in their pristine state, and a small portion of the edifice is employed for the instruction of children. The entrance to this school formed the side entrance of the meeting, and the present door and architrave are the same

as have always been there. The front towards the street, is entirely devoid of interest, from the circumstance of the windows having been boarded up for the purposes of his trade.

This place was so popular in Bunyan's time, that if only one day's notice was given, the meeting-house would not hold half the people that attended. Three thousand have been collected in this remote part of the town, and not less than twelve hundred at seven o'clock in a dark winter's morning, even in the week days.

After the death of Bunyan it was not always the fate of this place to be filled with characters equally sincere in their profession of religion. About the year 1766, the once celebrated Thomas Bradbury was the pastor of a congregation that occupied this meeting. From some unseemly traits in the conduct of this gentleman towards a young man, who was his constant companion, he was accused of indulging some disgraceful propensities, but though not legally convicted, he was frequently molested by the populace whilst preaching at this place; and they at one time carried their resentment so far as to break in upon him, and being provided with a rope, some of the most daring attempted to ascend the pulpit stairs with the manifest intention of getting it round his neck, but in this they were frustrated by the united efforts of his friends.

A Mr. Gunn, not the late Rev. Alphonsus Gunn, afterwards preached in this meeting in Zoar-street. He was a man of warm passions, and having become attached to the wife of one of his hearers, probably from the fear of interruption in his pleasures, at length went away with the victim of his seduction, and was never heard of after. W. H. REEd.

it is our wish, as far as we are able, to encourage merit and to check presumption. But care must be taken lest the critic's undiscerning or unskilful hand should pluck up the wheat with the tares. Better, far better, would it be to let them grow together till the harvest-till the period when popular opinion, which, in exercising its judgment, is rarely to be biassed, and almost never to be corruptly perverted, shall assign to every one his reward, according to his deserts.

It is really delightful to consider the vast quantity of poetic talent which exists in the country, and the liberal encouragement which it receives from the public. To what cause, we would enquire, shall these effects, so glorious, and so honourable, be attributed by the calm and philosophical enquirer? To the freedom of the press, and to the diffusion, now general, of the rudiments of education among, what are commonly called, the lower orders." No one, we believe, will deny that freedom is essentially necessary to the very existence of a literary character among the people. At what period did the polite arts, the litera humaniores, flourish with the greatest lustre among the Romans? Surely not under the domination of the despotic emperors. No: from the age of Augustus, who, like our Elizabeth, maluit esse quam videri 'potens,' and exercised the absolute authority with which he was in reality in vested, only upon considerable occasions; and who, though he took care that the senatus-consulta, should ever be conformable to the Imperial Orationes, yet, in appearance, ever acted in conformity with their advice;-from this period till the fall of the empire we scarcely discover six names worthy to be rescued from the waters of oblivion. True it is, indeed, that as an exception, but one which most completely proves the rule, under the effeminate and contemptible Honorius the spirit of poetry did break forth in the productions of a Claudian, like the departing glory of a setting sun, but it was only to

Give one bright glance, then total disappear;

and by the contrast with its superlative

* See some remarkably beautiful and spirited remarks upon this subject in the article upon John Dennis's Works, in the first volume of the Retrospective Review, p. 317-322.

brilliancy, to render that "darkness" which followed its departure more “visible," and more painful.

Our preliminary remarks have already run out to an extent far beyond what we had in any manner prepared for and intended, and it is now time to direct our attention to the publication before us. This, as we have already intimated, is evidently the production of a young and inexperienced writer. His errors are those of youth, and not of dullness, while his merits are such as induce us to look for much improvement from his future exertions. The contents are classed under the various heads of Pastoral, Narrative, Epistolary, &c. (we would call them Miscel laneous,) and poems on Particular Occasions, to which are to be added Translations from Ovid, Virgil, Horace, and Martial. Of each of these, save the Narrative, we propose to extract a specimen. There is nothing very remarkable in the style of his poetry. It has none of those fiery flashes, those extravagant eruptions, which, in opposition to the practice of the most approved poets, characterize too large a portion of the productions of the present day; but it possesses much that is gentle, sweet, and harmonious, resembling more strikingly the placid rippling of the softly flowing rivulet than the headlong, but tremendous and unequal thundering of the boisterous cataract.

Our first extract will be from the

pastoral poetry. The poem selected is that entitled "A Wish," which, though it does not so nearly resemble the melody and naïveté of Shenstone, as some other pieces of this class, is yet highly creditable to Mr. Bonney's genius; and as it is not too long for extraction as a whole, we give it the preference to others, perhaps more deserv ing of our notice.

Oft let me wander through the lonely dell,

Where silence calm and contemplation dwell;

Secluded far from all the world's alarms,

To revel unrestrain'd in Nature's charms Through woods impervious to the sultry ray,

While softest music charms from ev'ry spray;

Where flow'rs around a thousand sweets exhale,

And health and vigour breathe in ev'ry gale;

Where fruits that perfect form and taste combine,

The velvet peach, transparent nectarine,

And

scene,

The fields of golden corn, the meadows green,

And mountains fading in the azure sky, With contrast apt shall charm my ravish'd eye.

Let here a peaceful cot adorn the plain,
Or nod the ruins of a mould'ring fane;
The regal palace there shall proudly rise,
And, like another Babel, dare the skies;
Or humble spire uplift the pious eye,
Yet prove but Earth how low and Heav'n
how high.

Nor seldom let the swiftly-gliding sail With white and swelling bosom court the gale,

Where hoary Thames his tide exhaustless

When hides the day behind the purpled? hill;

When now no more is heard the murm'ring rill,

And e'en the zephyr's gentle breath is still;

When hush'd is ev'ry bird's mellifluous note
E'en Philomela's sweetly plaintive throat;
When slumb'ring Nature veil surrounding
shades,

And not a sound her calm repose invades ;
But thank the Gop of all, and sink to
No more let me untimely vigils keep,
sleep.

And then, as on the world I close mine eyes,

Let other worlds the realms of Fancy rise, Where ev'ry bliss is perfect in its kind, And ev'ry blest enjoyment unconfin'd; Some wider views-that ever new appear; Some sweeter sounds—that never tire the

ear;

Some fairer flow'rs-that ne'er conceal a thorn;

Some brighter days-that beam with constant morn:

Till waking early-vanish'd all-I haste As much of real good as mortals can to taste.

After this long extract, we cannot, as we had originally intended, afford room for the interesting tale of Edwin and Ellen, which we had noted as a specimen of the author's talents in narrative poetry. This we regret the more, as it is one of the most beautiful pieces in the whole collection; but we cannot prevail upon ourselves to extract a part and not the whole; as that course, while it proved unsatisfactory to our readers, could not but be injurious to the talents of our author.

Of the miscellaneous poetry, the verses addressed "To a Stoic Friend," deserve especial notice. They are remarkable for that easy playfulness of construction, which is this gentleman's forte, of which we would recommend the assidious cultivation.

Stubborn is he that was never subdu'd; Proud is the spirit that never has sued; Dull is the eye that has never been charm'd;

Cold is the heart that has never been warm'd.

Then yield to the gentle dominion of love, And sue for his pleasures, all treasures above;

Illumine thine eyes at fair Venus's gaze, And kindle thy heart at young Hymen's pure blaze.

The verses On Hearing a Selection from the Messiah," are undoubtedly the best of the poems on Particular Occasions; but as these are too long for in

sertion

66

To the difficulties of translation we ourselves can bear grievous testimony; in addition to the ordinary claims of rhyme and reason," the author's spirit and sense is to be transplanted, without dilution, into a foreign language a thing almost impossible; besides which, persons who have read the poem in the original language, have their memories stored with its beauties, and those who have not read it can never appreciate the merits of a translation. Horace, in particular, is of all authors, save Homer and the Theban Pindar, the most difficult to translate. The curiosa felicitas, as Petronius Arbiter happily expresses it, the elegant playful sprightliness of the Roman, is so entirely his own, that we should conceive it to be scarcely possible to transfuse his thoughts into a foreign language without entirely destroying their characteristic beauty. We have not seen Mr. Wrangham's translation, but comparing Mr. Bonney's translation of the following poem, with that of Dr. Francis (hitherto considered the best translator,) we have no difficulty in awarding the palmam nobilem to the former. To enable the reader, however, to judge for himself, we have subjoined, first the original ode (the 30th of the 1st book,) then Dr. Francis's and Mr. Bonney's versions.

O Veuus, regina Cnidi Paphique,
Sperne dilectam Cypron, et vocantis
Thure te multo Glyceræ decoram
Transfer in ædem.
Fervidus tecum puer, et solutis
Gratiæ Zonis; properentque Nymphæ
MONTHLY MAG. No 361.

Of the other specimens of translated verse, we cannot present any opinion. The above is certainly the best, both for fidelity of translation and justness of expression; but we are certainly of opinion that Mr. Bonney's own productions are superior to his translations.

To conclude, his faults are almost always the consequence of negligence, not of design, and for this reason we hope to see them corrected in a subsequent edition. Edwin and Ellen, which we have already so favourably mentioned, contains some of the errors of the description we allude to. The epithet" cold," as applied to religion, for example, savours too much of the voluptuary and sceptic; and such we are sure Mr. Bonney would be sorry to be considered. The catastrophe, too, of the same poems, we considered to be in bad taste; nor indeed, as a painter would say, is it" in good keeping." The first error was perhaps excuseable, under the circumstances; but what shall be said of the second? Beside which, it is not at all probable, that a girl, so strictly devout and pious as the heroine is described to have been before the fatal evening, should have suddenly become so lost to all sense of religion and of duty, as to force herself unbid

It is remarkable that both the above translators have translated Juventas, (a name of Hebe, the Goddess of Youth,) as if Horace had written Juventa, the period of life preceding manhood. Vet. Schol. ad locum. We are not aware of any copies of this ode which authorize such reading. 3 G den