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nite; and other rocks of primitive formation are situated in its vicinity. Be this as it may, the disturbance must arise from some such inasses; and they must be situated to the north of Arbury Hill, because we have seen that, at a very

small distance in a southerly direction, the force ceases to act. Another effect of these disturbing forces will be to attract the plumb-line northward : in which case the observed latitude will be less than the true ; consequently the length of the degree computed from the arc between Arbury Hill and Dunnose will exceed, and that deduced from the arc between Clifton and Arbury Hill, will fall short of the true latitudes. This difference between the real and apparent latitudes, sufficiently accounts for the variance which seemed to exist between the lengths of the degrees and the latitudes, in the statements of the Trigonometrical Survey.

We have extended this account of Captain Kater's paper so far, that we have left no room for any additional remarks. The Appendix to his Report contains all the observations from which the results were derived which we have now analyzed. These observations are arranged in distinct Tables, according to the different places of observation. To persons who may be engaged in similar inquiries, they cannot fail to be of the greatest use; while they are the best vouchers of that extreme accuracy which gives to the author's own conclusions the whole value that belongs to such investigations. This is not to be attained, indeed, without the greatest labour and perseverance : But we should be infinitely mistaken in supposing that very great ingenuity is not also required, both in planning the operations, and conducting their details.

ART. IV. Poems.


London, 1820.

8vo. pp. 280.

HOUGH there is much that is pleasing in this little volume,

the thing that has pleased us most about it, is to learn that it is the work of a Quaker;—and that, not merely because a Quaker poet is a natural curiosity, but because it is gratifying to find that the most tolerant and philanthropic and blameless of all our sectaries, are beginning to recommend themselves by the graces of elegant literature, and to think it lawful to be distinguished for their successful cultivation of letters as well as of Science. The interdiction of all light and frivolous amusements, and of all those pastimes which merely dissipate the mind, and distract the affections, ought never to have been conmay

strued as extending to that pursuit which not only implies the most vigorous exercise of the intellectual faculties, but be truly defined to be the art of recommending moral truth, and making virtue attractive. Poetry has been commonly supposed, indeed, to aim more at the gratification than the instruction of its votaries, and to have for its end rather delight than improvement; but it has not, we think, been sufficiently considered, that its power of delighting is founded chiefly on its moral energies, and that the highest interest it excites has always rested on the representation of noble sentiments and amiable affections, or on deterring pictures of the agonies arising from ungoverned passions. The gifts of imagination may no doubt be abused and misapplied, like other gifts; but their legitimate application is not, for this, less laudable or blameless ;--and much of the finest poetry in our language may unquestionably be read by the most rigid moralist, not only with safety, but advantage.

To a Quaker poet, it is perhaps true that the principles or prejudices of his sect would oppose some restraints, from which other adventurers are free; and that the whole range of Parnassus conld not be considered as quite open to his excursions--some of its loftiest, as well

as some of its gayest recesses, being interdicted to his muse.

The sober-mindedness which it is the great distinction and aim of the Society to inculcate and maintain, will scarcely permit him to deal very freely with the stronger passions : and the mere play of lively and sportive imagination, the whole department of witty and comic invention, would, we suspect, be looked upon as equally heterodox and suspicious. They have no reason, however, to complain of the scantiness of what remains at their disposal ;--all the solemnity, warmthi, and sublimity of devotion-all the weight and sanctity of moral precept--all that is tender in sorrow-all that is gentle in affection--all that is elegant and touching in description, is as open to them as to poets of any other persuasion; and may certainly afford scope for the most varied as well as the most exalted Song. When employed upon such themes, and consecrated to such objects, it is impossible, we should think, for the most austere sectary, to consider poetry as a vain or unprofitable occupation, or to deem amiss of an attempt to recommend the purest sentiments, and enforce the noblest practice, by all the beauty of diction, and all the attractions of style. The Society was for a good while confined to the lower classes; and when it first became numerous and respectable, the revolting corruptions of poetry which took place after the Restoration, afforded but too good an apology for the prejudices which were conceived against it; and as the Quakers are peculiarly tenacious of all the maxims that have been handed down from the patriarchal times of their institution, it is easy to understand how this prejudice should have outlived the causes that produced it. It should not however be forgotten, that W. Penn amused himself with verses, and that Elwood the Quaker is remembered as the friend and admirer of Milton, and the man to whose suggestion the world is indebted for the Paradise Regained. In later times, we only remember Mr Scott of Aimwell as a poetical writer of the Society.

The volume before us has all the purity, the piety and gentleness, of the Sect to which its author belongs—with something too much perhaps of their sobriety. The style is rather diffuse and wordy, though generally graceful, flowing, and easy; and though it cannot be said to contain many bright thoughts or original images, it is recommended throughout by a truth of feeling and an unstudied earnestness of manner, that wins both upon the heart and the attention. In these qualities, as well as in the copiousness of the diction and the facility of the versification, it frequently reminds us of the smaller pieces of Cowper,--the author, like that eminent and most amiable writer, never disdaining ordinary words and sentiments when they come in his way, and combining, with his most solemn and contemplative strains, a certain air of homeliness and simplicity, which seems to show that the matter was more in his thoughts than the manner, and that the glory of fine writing was less considered than the clear and complete expression of the sentiments, for the sake of which alone he was induced to become a writer.Though the volume contains sixty or seventy different pieces, and almost every variety of versification, there is something of uniformity in the strain and tenor of the poetry. There is no story, and of course no incident, nor any characters shown in action. The staple of the whole is description and meditationdescription of quiet, home scenery, sweetly and feelingly wrought out--and meditation overshaded with tenderness, and exalted by devotion—but all terminating in soothing and even cheerful views of the condition and prospects of mortality. The book, in short, is evidently the work of a man of a fine and cultivated, rather than of a bold and original mind—of a man who prefers following out the suggestions of his own mild and contemplative spirit, to counterfeiting the raptures of more velement natures, and thinks it better to work up the genuine though less splendid materials of his actual experience and observation, than to distract himself and his readers with more ambitious and less manageable imaginations. His thoughts and reflections, according's, have not only the merit of truth and consistency, but bear

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the distinct impress of individual character--and of a character with which no reader can thus become acquainted without loving and wishing to share in its virtues.

We open the volume almost at random for a few specimens.
The first piece consists of "Verses written in a Quaker Burial
ground;' and contains, among other things, this justification
of their disallowance of sepulchral monuments.
« Could we conceive Death was indeed the close

Of our existence, Nature might demand
That, where the reliques of our friends repose,

Some record to their memory should stand,
To keep them unforgotten in the land :-
| Then, then indeed, urn, tomb, or marble bust,
By sculptor's art elaborately plann'd,

Would seem a debt due to their mouldering dust,
Though time would soon efface the perishable trust.
But hoping, and believing; yea, through Faith,

Knowing, because His word has told us so,
That Christ, our Captain, triumph'd over Death,

And is the first fruits of the dead below ;-
That he has trod for man this path of woe,

Dying-to rise again we would not grace
Death's transitory spell with trophied show;

As if that “ shadowy vale” supply'd no trace
To prove the grave is not our final dwelling-place.'
Then, be our burial-grounds, as should become

A simple, but a not unfeeling race:
Let them appear, to outward semblance, dumb

As best befits the quiet dwelling-place
Appointed for the prisoners of Grace,

Who wait the promise by the Gospel given,--
When the last trump shall sound,—the trembling base

Of tombs, of temples, pyramids be riven,
And all the dead arise before the hosts of Heaven !
Oh! in that awful hour, of what avail

Unto the “ spiritual body” will be found
The costliest canopy, or proudest tale

Recorded on it?--what avail the bound
Of holy, or unconsecrated ground?

As freely will the unencumber'd sod
Be cleft asunder at that trumpet's sound,

As Royalty's magnificent abode:

pure its inmate rise, and stand before his God.' pp. 2–8.
The following extract from Verses on the Death of a Youth
of great promise, will remind the admirers of Cowper of some
of that author's smaller pieces.


• We had hopes it was pleasure to nourish,

(Then how shall our sorrow be mute ?)
That those bright buds of genius would flourish,

And burst into blossoms and fruit.
But our hopes and our prospects are shaded,

For the plant which inspir’d them hath shed
Its foliage, all green and unfaded,

Ere the beauty of spring-time hath fled.
Like foam on the crest of the billow,

Which sparkles, and sinks from the sight;
Like leaf of the wind-shaken willow,

Though transiently, beauteously bright ;-
Like dew-drops, exhal’d as they glisten ;

Like perfume, which dies soon as shed ;
Like melody, hush'd while we listen ;-

Is Memory's dream of the dead.' p. 70. The following, inscribed . To the Memory of Mary Fletcher," are nearly of the same character.

• Enthusiast, fanatic, and fool,

Many who read thy life will style thee;
And others, more sedate and cool,

Will pity, who dare not revile thee.
For me, I feel, on laying down

The volume, neither power nor will
To ape the critic's frigid frown:

To fatter thee were idler still.
While living, praise of man to thee

Was nothing : o'er thy mouldering earth,
Its empty echo now would be

But mockery of thy Christian worth!
Yet there are those, with whom the test

Of truth is not the Gospel creed;
To whom thy life will be a jest,

Thy path-a parable indeed!
And these, perchance, to show their wit,

Will heap thy name with obloquy;
And o'er thy hallow'd pages sit,

“ Drest up in brief authority. ”
To thee it matters not; but those

Who honour and revere thy name,
May be allow'd to interpose,

And vindicate thy well-earn’d fame.
Not for thy sake alone, but theirs

Who tread the path which thou hast trod; ' &c. pp. 76-78.

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