of the most splendid reveries from the Excursion. The Power of Music," " Laodamia," the "Old Cumberland Beggar," the "Happy Warrior," the "Ode to Duty," and many others full of the same deep feeling and original fancy, claim our old acquaintance. Then we have that beautiful picture of the "Fe`male Vagrant," which offers for our contemplation more of the power and tenderness of the great poet's spirit than any other piece with which we are familiar. If we inclined to carp at any part of this lovely book, we should say that it preserves with too much care some earlier effusions, in which the poet seems to have given way to the self-illusion of a mind of extraordinary sensibility, and to have connected his most lofty and impassioned conceptions with objects and incidents which many of his readers will probably be induced to term childish, vulgar, or unin teresting. But this trifling blemish, if blemish it may be called, does not interfere with the unity of design and feeling which pervades the numberless beauties of this volume, which we earnestly recommend to all who have any interest in the welfare of youth. We know nothing that will impress on them more surely what Wordsworth has himself so beautifully expressed, that "Books are a real world, both pure and good, Round which with tendrils strong as flesh and blood, Our pastime and our happiness may grow!" But But we must tear ourselves from our old and valued friend, William Wordsworth; for a group of strange faces (and of the irritabile genus) wait our greeting, and we must hasten to them. We could have chatted hours away with the great poet; would that we had such confidence and security in our new acquaintances. it has been too truly said, that "new fangled poems are generally like made dishes; they are for the most part little else than hashes and rifaccimentos of what has been served up entire, and in a more natural shape, at other times." This is prejudging, however,-let us examine them. "POEMS, BY WILLIAM DANBY, ESQ." We cannot pronounce this exactly a production of the "divine infusion.' There is a sort of inspiration about it-we don't deny that-but it is not exactly of that kind which can strictly be called desir Poems, by W. Danby, Esq. Edinburgh: Constable. 1831. able. The author strains too hard; he overleaps himself: he reminds us of Sir Philip Sidney's poets, who make "things better than nature bringeth forth, or quite new forms, such as never were in nature." We venture to say, that none, except those so gifted, would have hazarded the -line "But the warder he laughed like a hell- It was not a laugh of mirth !”— p. 23. yet Mr. Danby will do this and more: he entertains a very philosophical disregard for decoruin in these matters; he uses gesticulations by far too boisterous, and his whole volume shows an evident want of controul. The truth is, he seems to strut and stand on tiptoe, as if to shew other subordinate poets "How tall His person is above them all." We mention these things for correction, inasmuch as we fancy he possesses not a little merit, though at present wholly obscured by his gaudy pretensions. "PORTRAITS OF What have we next? THE DEAD, by H. C. DEAKIN."-Alas! criticism is disarmed of its sting—the author is beyond reach of praise or censure: to use his own words, "the terrible ordeal has been passed through,"-this is his second edition. Why has this book been sent to us?-was it in the way of defiance? Be that as it may, we congratulate Mr. Deakin. Though he has many cold conceits, and absurd sprinklings of imagery, we admire the sustained equability of feeling which is pleasingly evident through his writings; and there is a sweetness and tenderness about some of his pieces, such as "The Poet's Tomb," which are not the less pleasing that they are touched with mournfulness. "Edith" is perhaps the best of his poems; and though often incorrect in its imagery, it possesses much grace and touching beauty. In the volume of our female candidate for acquaintanceship, Mrs. Prowse, we find many gentle and amiable fancies. In her" Autumnal Musings" there is occasionally beauty and power of language; and "The Guerilla Bride" is written throughout in a style of pure and sustained feeling, though with an incorrectness of versification which does not appear in the smaller Portraits of the Dead, by H. C. Deakin, Second Edition. London: Smith, Elder & Co. 1831. + Poems, by Mrs J. S. Prowse. London : Smith & Elder, 1830. pieces, many of which, scattered at random through this volume, are charmingly written. Another new face. We doubt much whether our canons of poetical criticism apply to "The Rambler on the Rhine." We learn from the preface that the object aimed at in Fitz Raymond has not been so much the descriptive, properly so called, as to make rhythm subservient to historical recollections, and such "politico-moral indications as were suggested on contemplating the revolutions of Empires, and the tempestuous aspect of the present times " So far as this is developed in the volume now before us, we think it deserving of high praise. Caledonnicus is not deficient in poetical spirit; and there is one quality he seems to possess in perfection, which makes him an excellent tourist,-that of suffering nothing to escape him. Each separate stanza contains something distinct and perfect in itself. It has been often said, that one great beauty in a poet is to remark and detail minutie that escape vulgar eyes. If this be so, Fitz Raymond takes easy precedence above those to whom we have just introduced our readers. But whom have we here, long and thin, in such a sober garb? "THE SOLITARY."+-How well the name corresponds with the appearance. But in truth the interior of this poem is still more appropriate to the outward and visible sign. It is full of a gloomy melancholy which proves the writer but too much in earnest. Though written palpably after the fashion of Lord Byron, we have yet been much struck with some passages of sterling and original excellence, that give fair earnest of future fame. It derives remarkable interest from a combination of strangely pow erful ethical imaginations with certain fanciful colourings thrown around them, and there is no want of passages through the poem, which, though somewhat false in colouring, and turgid, and inflated in diction, must be read with pleasure by all who love to listen to the appealing voice of energy and passion. But we have neglected an "old familiar face" too long -Dugald Moore. We are glad to see the little volume with which he has pre Fitz Raymond, or, The Rambler on the Rhine, by Caledonnicus. Black. Edinburgh, 1831. + The Solitary, by Charles Whitehead. London: Effingham Wilson, 1831. ↑ The Bridal Night, the First Poet, &c., by D. Moore, Glasgow: Blackie and Fullarton, 1831. sented us, it is more vigorously and purely written than his last. "The Bridal Night" teems with ardent and vivid delineations of intense feeling, which remind us forcibly of Lord Byron's Corsair, to which it probably owes its birth, and certainly is largely indebted. Zariff is vigorously drawn, and we have not read any thing for some time more admirable in conception and execution, than the catastrophe of his unhappy passion. Dugald Moore's poetry indeed abounds in "the stuff of which our life is made," and we wish he could amend some unpleasing faults. He clips and files his words too much; he does not write them down in their original and forcible sense; they are perverted, and the sense obscured. The volume before us would afford numerous instances of this, which might however be mentioned as even testing more surely the author's poetical talent, for they put his genius under considerable restraints and disadvantages, yet it bursts through them; they obscure his style, but the "vision and the faculty divine," still peeps forth. He may say with Shakespeare"There's a divinity that shapes my ends Rough hew them how I will." But here is a sombre looking little book, -it lies last in the row, and must be introduced to our readers. "TRANSLATIONS FROM HOMER*" by another hand. This is an adventurous game, begun by our young Oxford bachelor. Have old Chapman, glorious John, Tickell, Pope, Cowper, Sotheby, tried their hands in vain? Why is the present volume attempted? Does the author literally agree with the Muses' looking-glass" in thinking "There is no poetry but Homer's Iliad"surely he could have found other marks of "note and likelihood" to shoot at. We would advise him seriously not to meddle with the Iliad again, for he has really a certain talent and spirit which would be more advantageously employed elsewhere. His "Bacchus and the Rovers" is uncommonly striking, and the "Battle of the Frogs and Mice" is really a good translation of the best as well as the oldest burlesque in the world. From the deep and general interest taken in the Polish contest, it was scarcely pos⚫ sible for any compilation at all meriting the name of a History of Poland, to prove unsuccessful. Mr. Fletcher has furnished • Translations from Homer, by William John Blew. Oxford: Talboys. 1831. a work, which though not entitled to take rank with standard publications, is calculated to give a reasonable share of information on the subject of which it treats. The style, if defective in finish, is clear and animated, and the general tone of the sentiments is manly and independent. A modest little volume recommends itself to the notice of a very interesting part of the population on the score of unpretending utility. It is a catechism for pupils studying the pianoforte, and it contains in addition an explanation of musical terms so mysterious to beginners.t Mr. Brockeden, who is more familiar with the Alpine Passes than the most enterprizing Chamois-hunter, appears as the editor of a work which promises to be exceedingly useful to the public, and highly creditable to himself and his able coadjutors, Prout, Stanfield, and the Messrs. Finden. It is beautifully printed, the letter-press contains desirable information in perspicuous language, and the engravings, of which there are five, Dover, Calais, Abbeville, Beauvais, and the Place Louis XVI., are executed in an extremely effective and elegant style. Mr. Bernays, whose "Anthology" we had lately occasion to mention in terms of praise, has published "FAMILIAR GERMAN EXERCISES, " which forms an excellent companion to his " Compendious German Grammar." A Key to the Exercises is alone required to complete the series for the purposes of the student. "The GARDENS AND MENAGERIE OF THE ZOOLOGICAL SOCIETY DELINEATED,"¶ is a book worthy of popularity, and certain to obtain it. It contains accurate descriptions, and faithful resemblances of the birds and quadrupeds in the Repository in the Regent's Park. The Zoological Society, under whose superintendence it is published, are responsible for its scientific details; and the woodcuts, of which there is an abundance, engraved by Branston and Wright, from drawings The History of Poland, from the earliest period to the present time, by James Fletcher, Esq., vol. 8vo. London Cochrane and Pickersgill, 1831. + Elementary Questions and Answers for the Examination of Pupils studying the PianoForte, by T. H. Tomlinson. London: Metzler and Co., 1831. A new illustrated Road Book of the Route from London to Naples.-Part the First. London J. Murray, 1831. London: Treuttel and Co. 1831. ¶2 vols. 8vo. London: Tilt, 1831. by Harvey, speak for themselves. By visiting the Gardens and referring to these volumes, the young will acquire a better knowledge of Natural History in a month than they could obtain in seven years' dry application to the ordinary sources. As we were about to retire from the judgment-seat, one of the most dainty little volumes of its class that we have ever seen was insinuated between our palms. It is styled "THE PICTURESQUE COMPANION TO MARGATE AND RAMSGATE," ," and picturesque in its appearance, and pleasant in its companionship it assuredly is. The design of the work is to point out the various objects of interest which diversify the banks of the magnificent Thames and ornament the vicinity of the towns to which it acts as the cicerone. This has been effected in a manner to satisfy the most inquisitive voyager that ever embarked at London Bridge. Beautiful in typography, and embellished with a profusion of exquisite illustrations on wood, it is just the book we should like to see in the taper fingers of the fair companion with whom we made our summer visit to the popular wateringplaces whose attractions it describes. THE DRAMA. Drury Lane has closed, and CoventGarden will shortly follow the example of its rival. Neither of these establishments, we have been given to understand, has had, upon the whole, a flourishing season-the former, from the want of novelty and power; and the latter, from mismanagement. The whole thing is mismanagement. Of old we had but two theatres where the regular drama was performed; now we have half a score! You'll meet with Shakespeare at the Surrey as often as at Drurylane or Covent Garden. What is the meaning of this? A patent is something or nothing. If something, how come the minors to act Shakespeare in the face of one? If we cannot have the substance along with the form of a right, any one may have the form for us! We are the better for going without it. We know where we are; whereas, in the other case, we are obnoxious to continual disappointments and mortifications. This is a matter that has often puzzled us. We always thought that the patents of the great theatres secured to those establishments the exclusive right of performing the regular drama; yet the manager of the City Theatre heads his bill with the tragedy of 18mo. London: Kidd, 1831. Richard the Third-Richard, Mr. Kean. Now we are no friends at all to patents, in theatrical matters, but we are friends to consistency, and we admire the idea of a patent which allows a breach to be made in the privilege which it confers, as would appear to be the case. Or are the proprietors deficient in the spirit to enforce their right? We think or we dreamwe think that two or three months ago, we heard of a legal decision in favour of one of the patent theatres, and upon this very question; if so, why does the en. croachment continue; or is property so curiously protected in these countries, that when it is unjustly wrested from us, we lose more by trying to recover it than by letting it go? However, 'tis no affair of ours. The only question that concerns us is the fact, that there are more theatres now than two in which we can witness the representation of the regular drama; and what is the economy of the great theatres? Exactly the same as it was when they had not a single competitor except each other. Many people say that theatricals are on the decline. If so, how does London support five times the number of theatres that it did twenty years ago? But they are on the decline in the provinces; the provincial manager is to blame for this; he is seldom a man of substance, and hence is unable to give that effect to dramatic representations which is essential to attract and keep up an audience. In various populous places, such as Manchester, Birmingham, and Glasgow, theatricals have been injured in consequence of their building theatres four times the size of the old ones. The numbers that frequent places of public entertainment, constitute no inconsiderable share of their attraction. Provincial towns cannot afford a succession of large audiences, and hence their large theatres have been deserted. Starring, too, has cut them up. When the great luminaries depart, they take the light of the smaller ones along with them, so that nobody cares to look at the regular company of a provincial theatre. In Edinburgh, however, the theatre thrives; but then, who conducts it? Mr. Murray, the prince of managers -a man of system-one who combines enterprise with prudence-a manager who would be richly worth fifty pounds a week to either of our patent theatres, if either of them could get him for that sum. Liverpool also pays. Mr. Clark, the acting manager, is a consummate tactician, as well as a very kind-hearted gentlemanly man; the proprietors too are wealthy. But London is the question. If it supports now five times as many theatres as it did twenty years since, it is surely a pretty strong proof that theatricals are not upon the decline here. "Tis our two great theatres that are failing, and will fail, as long as we can get at the Surrey, for five shillings, what at Covent Garden and Drury Lane will cost you seven; and yet we understand, and from an authority which we cannot dispute, that the lesseeship of the latter was a profitable concern in the hands of Mr. Price; and that for the first half of the season which has just expired, his successor netted something rather handsome, although the game became a losing one. But the two great theatres are certainly not so well attended as they might be; and, as we think, from the following causes: extravagant prices, want of talent in the performers, neglect of the legitimate drama, and violation of public decency in the arrangements before the curtain. Upon the first of these defects we need scarcely add a word to what we have said already. If, with the exception of one or two of the characters, you can see Macbeth as well performed at the Surrey as at Drury Lane, while, at the same time, you save a couple of shillings by going to the former theatre, of course you will go to the Surrey; by doing which you gain in eye and ear, as well as in pocket; for you can hear and see far better. Our great theatres are more adapted to the spectacle than to either tragedy or comedy. To nine-tenths of the audience the human face divine is lost in them, and the voice is so attenuated, in consequence of the immense area over which it has to spread itself, that the performers are sometimes inaudible from even the sixth side box in the dress circle. As to the performers, at neither theatre is the company what it ought to be. The talents of the second, third, and fourth rate performers bear little or no proportion to those of the leading actors. How different was it in Kemble's time! Palmer, Barrymore, Caulfield, were the supporters of that actor. Those were the days for casting a tragedy or a comedy; every man then was obliged to do his duty. There was no such thing then as refusing a part, because it would not show off the actor to sufficient advantage! Authors were not under the necessity of cutting down important characters, to suit them to the imbecility of a fifth-rate performer, because a second-rate one did not think the part good enough. Yes; there was a different order of things then. Why, in those times we have seen men and women of first-rate talent cheerfully sustaining characters which some of our second-rates of the present day would turn up their noses at; the fault of the presiding headwant of system and firmness. A new play was brought out some six or seven years ago; the second male character was one of considerable power, and of great importance, as contributing to the general effect of the drama. There was only one gentleman in the theatre who was competent to perform it, but his assistance could not be obtained, because he did not like the part, and said, that if he was obliged to perform it, he must neglect a pantomime, the preparations for which he was superintending. The character was one of passion and action, and the author was obliged to give it to a gentleman who could not speak a single line of it! So much for half a year's anxious labour! Our great theatres are extremely deficient in talent; their conductors are any thing but laborious caterers for the public; why do they not have recourse to the judgment of some disinterested and experienced man, who would point out the defects of their establishments? Why have they not their agents to make the round of the provinces, and see if something better may not be found. They would find it to be neither a throwing away of money nor of pains. There is talent in the country-why don't they bring it up to town? or rather how can they, when they don't look after it? Actors are tolerated on their classic boards who would not be borne with upon the stage of many a provincial theatre. How do they know but they may light upon another Kean? For many a year was Kean a strolling actor; and all the while as great as in the zenith of his metropolitan popularity.— We know it. But the great theatres, instead of doing every thing in their power to cultivate a taste for the regular drama, seem assiduously to resort to every means of weakening its attraction. What have they to do with melo-dramas? What business has the Brigand to shew its face within their walls? It brings them money! Does it? That is a query. Are they sure that they do not lose in the one way more than they gain in the other? Do they imagine that feeding their audiences with melo-dramas is the way to improve their relish for Shakespeare? What is the effect of stuffing a child with sweetmeats? Why to destroy his appetite for solid food. Away with the pastry! These Parisian nicknacks, too, which they serve up to us, decked after the English fashion! They should leave such things for the minors, they are at home there, and can be got up a great deal better. And they talk of the encroachment of those establishments, but they never cast a thought upon their own encroachments. Let the great theatres lay themselves out for tragedy, comedy, opera, and farce-and nothing else-except, indeed, a Christmas pantomime, by way of dessert, out of compliment to our little kings and queens of holiday time.— Let us have no quadruped performers! In a word, the lessees should simplify their system. They would thereby reduce their expenditure-which is to gain—and more than probably increase their profits; and then we should say to one another, "If you want to see the regular drama acted, go to Drury Lane, or Covent Garden." But the economy of the audience part of those theatres! For shame! Except the dress circle and the family boxes, there is not a box in which a woman of improper character may not take her seat beside a man's wife or daughter! ay, and flirt with any gallant that chooses to accost her! What a feature in the arrangements of a great national theatre! No wonder that serious people should denounce establishments where so little respect is paid to common decency! Walk into the saloon of Drury Lane! There is a room for you-of glorious dimensions splendidly lighted--lined with mirrors from floor to ceiling-and for the reception of what description of company? What a lounge and refectory for the nobility and gentry between play and farce! But who are, in fact, its frequenters ? Women of the town and men of the town, to the exclusion of any part-female at least that would recoil from the threshold of a brothel. Would not any mau of common sense imagine, from the picture which that room, night after night, presents, that dissoluteness and profligacy were the best supports of our great national theatre? Was the room planned for such a purpose? Did the M. P's. and the honourables who inspected the draught of the building, contemplate the reception room of a bagnio as a necessary appendage of their establishment? The thing is so monstrous that it is incredible; yet there it is, staring you in the face. Let a particular portion of the theatre be set apart for such visitors, and do not allow them a common approach, a common seat, or a |