am presenting to the world, what few, perhaps, of its readers may think worthy of interesting them sufficiently, to determine whether the pictures be or be not according to nature. Whatever the reception of it may be, however, of one thing at least am sure, that I have had too many opportunities of judging of the grounds of literary favour, and of the circumstances which direct opinion, to feel any astonishment or indignation, if my poem should be valued less highly, than, with an author's partiality, I may conceive it to deserve. It is far more pleasing to me, to write, how. ever inadequately, according to my own notions of excellence, than after models which I know to be more likely to please; and, with perfect knowledge, therefore, of the disadvantages to which it exposes me, I submit willingly to the penalties of my choice. There is this comfort, too, always left in such a case, that, while he who writes with the expectation of wide and immediate applause must soon feel his disappointment, if he fail to obtain it, he who, with less, or perhaps equal or greater vanity, writes chiefly for a few, may, even though he should not be honoured with the approbation to which he aspires, at least always flatter himself, that it has been ob tained by him." There is, we are persuaded, a very graceful flow in Dr Brown's prose. He knows more, perhaps, of the mechanism and operations of mind than any living expositor of the laws of human thought. Of course, whenever he has to expound any dogma of taste, or to account for any of the fleeting phenomena of opinion, he not only traces ideas through all their shadowy contrasts and untangible resemblances, but clinches, by a sort of metaphysical antithesis, the language in which he clothes them, and gives to the medium in which he conveys them that sort of dramatic reality which results, under the ordinary management of his public and didactic appearances, from the speaking features, the moral glow, and the softened voice of an oral teacher, who asserts so mildly, and yet so persuasively, the prerogatives of truth, as to appear at once an instructor and a companion. ANALYTICAL NOTICES. FOREIGN JOURNALS. On the number of Vegetable Species on the Globe. By M. DECANDOLLE. (Bibliotheque Britannique.) NOTHING is more remarkable in science than the rapid increase in the number of known vegetable species. In 1763, when Linnæus published the second edition of his Species Plantarum, he reckoned only 7500 species. In 1784, Murray raised them to 9000, which, for this period of twenty years, gives less than a hundred plants dis covered in the year. In 1806, M. Persoon (in his Enchiridion) includes 21,000 species, without reckoning cryptogamous plants, which may be estimated at 6000, making in all 27,000. M. Decandolle, who, during the last two years, has made assiduous researches in books, and in the collections of the different cities of Europe, finds the number increased in an extraordinary manner. In six families, taken at random, it is raised from 391 to 827. Supposing all the families to have increased in an equal ratio, this would give 57,000; at least we may consider ourselves safe in supposing, that the whole number included in Now, it is to be considered that Eubooks and collections exceeds 50,000. rope, which is only a thirteenth part of the globe, is the only region explored with any degree of diligence, (nore than a third of the plants in M. Persoon's list being European,) that even there, vast countries, such as Spain, Dalmatia, Russia, and, above all, Turkey, have been examined in a very imperfect manner. In the other parts of the globe, besides that scarceÎy any have been diligently explored, there are immense tracts that remain entirely unknown. 1. Brazil, which, from its extent and position, ought to contain at least 8000 or 10,000, does not present, in our catalogues, more than 200. 2. The Flora of Mexico, even after the labours of Sesse and Mocino, is very far from well known. 3. The north-west coast of America is so entirely unexplored, that we do not know if it shares the vegetation of the United States. 4. The centre of Africa is completely unknown. 5. The centre of New Holland is in the same condition. 6. Thibet, and the interior of China and Cochin-China, are almost entirely unknown. From all these considerations, M. Decandolle infers, that the total number of vegetable species existing on the globe may be expected very considerably to exceed a hundred thousand. Journal of a Tour through England in 1815 and 1816. (Ibid.) Two travellers, who appear to be persons of rank, take their departure from Boulogne. Here they observe that traces are still seen of Napoleon's camp. The scaffolding for the pyramid which was to be erected still exists. On both sides of the town there are forts, surrounded with water at high tide. The basin of the harbour was dug by order of Napoleon; he created every thing which exists at present-yet, notwithstanding all these works, the entry of the harbour continues to be difficult. It is easy to judge how tedious it must have been to make so many vessels sail out, filing one by one. Of all these preparations we see only the basis of the fortifications, the works of the harbour no longer kept in repair, and two large flat-bottomed boats half rotten. This is all that remains of that immense enterprise which cost France more than three hundred millions. The travellers did not stop in London, but proceeded to the country, chiefly with the view of observing the economical establishments. They surveyed with admiration the agricultural arrangements at Beachwood, and those of the Duke of Bedford at Woburn; but the description of them contains nothing new. They proceeded to the Marquis of Anglesey's seat of Beaudesert, on which they observe, "We acquired, during our stay here, an idea of the life led in the country by the rich English proprietors. No one appears till nine in the morning. At ten, the family meet in the drawing-room, where they find a copious breakfast, composed of tea, bread and butter, toast, eggs, &c. This breakfast lasts an hour; after which they separate, and each employs or amuses himself as suits his inclination-till dinner,-which is fixed at six or seven in the evening. The company meet, half an hour be fore, in the library or drawing-room. In the morning you may appear in boots, but in the evening you must be dressed as in town. The ladies also are very finely dressed. After "Dinner presents all the best dishes that a good kitchen can furnish, served on very handsome plate. the soup, cold punch (qu?) is offered. wine, according to the choice of the The custom is then to take a glass of lady of the house, and drinking her health; after which, when any one wishes to drink, he invites his acquaintances, or those who are near him. Each helps the dish which is before him. The ladies rise at the dessert, the servants withdraw, and the claret begins to circulate. The gentlemen afterwards join the ladies in the drawing-room or library; they converse together, and separate when they please. "The chief amusements are riding on horseback and hunting, in the former of which the ladies join. As all rich proprietors spend a great part of the winter in the country, parties are formed between neighbours and relations, and these are so numerous, as to make them not feel the want of town amusements. The tone of society which prevails is very agreeable→→ free, but decent; and there is a species of hospitality, and of simple and benevolent politeness, which must please those who are capable of appreciating it. In these chateaux you find united all that can conduce both to bodily comfort and to the cultivation of the mind. The conversation of women, who are, in general, very well informed, often more so than the men, affords an ample fund of entertainment. If we join to this the perfect freedom of living, it will easily be understood how agreeable a residence in the country is, and why the great English lords should reside in London only during the sitting of Parliament." The Arabian Nights Entertainment. (In Arabic.) 8vo, Calcutta, 1814. By M. SILVESTRE DE SACY. (Journal des Savans.) M. DE SACY begins by complaining of the irregular manner in which the oriental works printed at Calcutta are transmitted to Europe, and of the enormous price which they bear, exceeding even that of manuscripts. As they are thus rendered accessible to very few readers, he proposes to give an analysis of these works as they ap pear. The origin of these celebrated tales is still wrapt in very deep obscurity. It seems certain, however, that the original collection was of much smaller extent than that which we now possess, and that tales were successively added by different authors. Doubts are even entertained whether the claim of Arabia to them be well-founded. Several of the learned trace them to Persia; and Masudi, a celebrated Persian author, represents India as having first given birth to them. But wherever the original nucleus may have been formed, large additions, and probably alterations, were doubtless made by the Arabian writers. This work affords full means of estimating the manner in which M. Galland has executed the translation which has become so popular throughout Europe. It appears to be in the main faithful; though he has omitted various pas ages, which appeared likely, from one cause or other, to revolt an European reader. These blanks he has filled up from the stores of his own invention, but with an imitation so faithful of the oriental style, that they can scarcely be distinguished from the original. On the whole, the editors of this work have conferred an obligation on the lovers of oriental litera ture. Report to the French Institute on Vaccination. By Messrs Berthollet, Percy, and Hallé. (Memoires de l'Institut.) 2. Is the vaccine inoculation apt to be followed with disease or injury to the constitution?-This is a question difficult to answer very positively, because, if disease or weakness occur soon after vaccination, it is difficult to decide, whether there was any connection between the two or not. The reporters have met with a number of judicious and credible persons, to whom vaccination appeared to have been followed by such consequences. The instances, however, were few in comparison of the whole number. When a disease is lurking in the constitution, any shock upon the system, a blow, a fall, a fright, will be the means of bringing it into action; and there seems no reason to think that vaccination can have any farther influence. 3. It is often observed, that smallpox produces a beneficial change on the constitution; is not this lost by the use of vaccination ?—On the contrary, the testimonies in favour of its beneficial effects are still more copious than in those of small-pox. Scrofula is almost always mitigated by it; and many other violent diseases have been either cured or alleviated. 4. Is vaccination a complete security against the occurrence of small-pox? -We must first distinguish between real and false vaccine; a distinction which the reporters conceive clearly to exist; and the not attending to it to have been one main cause of the distrust in vaccination. Next, there are certain slight variolous symptoms, called commonly the flying small-pox, which are not preventive of the common small-pox, nor it of them; no importance can be attached to the occurrence of these symptoms. These allowances being made, the reporters have, however, known six cases, in which there appeared to be small-pox after regular vaccination, but none of these were entirely free from doubt. There was only one case of a girl in 1. Is the vaccine inoculation apt to Paris, of the name of Emma Keroube accompanied with any serious or enne, who, after being vaccinated in dangerous symptoms, either internal the most complete manner, had, two or external? The affirmative of this years after, in December 1806, a full, question, which was attempted to be though favourable small-pox. Against proved in the early stages of the prac- these seven cases, there stand opposed tice, is now universally given up. If those of 2,661,672 persons, who are vaccination was ever attended with attested, in all parts of the world, to such symptoms, it was only from ac- have employed with success this recidental circumstances accompanying medy against the most fatal malady to it. which the species is liable. THESE gentlemen formed a commission appointed by the institute to inquire into this important subject; and their report comprises the examination of a series of questions, which may be all comprised under the following heads: ORIGINAL POETRY. MELANCHOLY. THE sun of the morning, And softness of heart, A moment to ponder,-a season to grieve,The light of the moon, or the shadows of eve ! Then, soothing reflections Of friends who were kind; And yet could decay; Of visions, whose splendour In all, that for brightness and beauty may My thoughts must be changed, and my heart must be frozen, If the stamp of thy love they could cease to retain. Once more could on earth such felicity be Then, all that employs, and ensnares, and bewitches, Fame, and fortune, and power, and ambition, and riches, Were wanting, when weighed in the balance with thee! Oh then there was scarcely a cloud in our clime; Our bosoms were light, and the landscape was yellowed With beautiful sunshine, whose hues now are mellowed By the delicate touch of the pencil of time. Yet what are the pleasures of earth but a dream! How short is their reign, and how few is their number; They melt, like the bright-woven visions of slumber, Or the bow that o'erarches the lapse of the stream. Are delicate feelings a bliss or a curse?I know not-I care not-but even from my childhood I hated contention, and flew to the wild wood; They made me alive to vexation-no worse For they kept me from all that entices the young: While others were social, I wandered all lonely, I loved but few friends, and of womanthee only, How well-hearts are dumb, and I trust not my tongue! To tell thee my feelings now, words were in vain As I look on thy face, as I think of the blessings- Gone-gone-when thou fondly would'st chide my caressings: Thou canst chide me no more--since we meet not again. The darkest and brightest of life have FROM THE SONG OF SOLOMON Chap. 2. My beloved spake and said unto me," &c. THE voice of my love-Come away, And the birds they are singing, each one. The voice of the turtle is heard, On the figtree the green figs are seen, Sweet the smell where the grape has appeared, Peeping forth from its light leafy screen. O come, my best love, come away, My dove, so retiringly shy, Let me hear thy sweet voice on its way, The light of thine eyes let me spy. 1 SLEPT, but my heart was awake, A voice! can it be thine, my love? Chill the drops of the night on my brows, To the door of my chamber I flew ! I called him-but answer was none I sought him-where can he have fled ? The watchmen who came at my cries, Smote and wounded me sore without pity; They tore off my veil from my eyes, As I wandered all wild through the city. Ye maids of Jerusalem, tell My beloved, if you meet him, that I Am sick, sick of love--is this well? Am sick, and am ready to die. COLD perspirations break upon my brow, And sad, and sorrowful, alone I lie, Counting each joyless hour that lingers by: My loved one! where art thou-ah! where art thou! Far otherwise had been thy lot, if Woe Had heart enough, or Sickness, e'er to seek For revel in the roses of thy cheek: Yet, I can still forgive thee well I know Thou hast a heart more merciful and meek Than not to feel with those, who feel too much. Though on the earth there be too few of such, Propitious friendship whispers-there are some. Ah! had'st thou known how much mine inward eye Was bent on thee, and longed-then Modesty Charity had bent, and thou had'st To come! |