reader, in this series of devotional poems, are drawn from the great fountain of intellectual purity, the Gospel; and to the poet in his character of a Christian monitor, we may justly and gratefully apply the following verses from his poem on Charity

When one, that holds communion with the skies,
Has fill'd his urn, where these pure waters rise,
And once more mingles with us meaner things,

"Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings;
Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide,

That tells us, whence his treasures are supplied.

In the extensive and admirably varied poem on Conversation, the poet shines as a teacher of manners, as well as of morality and religion.

It is remarkable, that in this work he is particularly severe on what he considered as his own peculiar defect, that excess of diffidence, that insurmountable shyness, which is so apt to freeze the current of English conversation.

Our sensibilities are so acute,

The fear of being silent makes us mute.

True modesty is a discerning grace,

And only blushes in the proper place.

But counterfeit is blind, and skulks thro' fear,
Where tis a shame to be asham'd to appear;
Humility the parent of the first,

The last by vanity produc'd, and nurs'd.

The circle form'd, we sit, in silent state,

Like figures drawn upon a dial plate.

Yes ma'am, and no ma'am, utter'd softly show,
Every five minutes, how the minutes go.

This poem abounds with much admirable description both serious and comic. The portrait of a splenetic man is, perhaps, the most highly finished example of comic power; and the scene of the two disciples on their way to Emmaus, is a perfect model of solemn and graceful simplicity, I cannot cease to speak of this very attractive poem, without observing that the author has inserted two passages intended to obviate such objections, as he conceived most likely to be urged against the tendency of his writings. Ile was aware, that the light and vain might suppose him a gloomy fanatic, and as a preservative against such injurious misconception, he composed the following just and animated lines.

What is fanatic frenzy, scorned so much,
And dreaded more than a contagious touch?

I grant it dang'rous; and approve your fear;
That fire is catching, if you draw too near;
But sage observers oft mistake the flame,

And give true piety that odious name.

He then draws an excellent picture of real fanaticism, and such a picture as could not have been painted by one of her votaries.

Again, to vindicate the cheerful tendency of the lessons he wishes to inculcate, he exclaims

Let no man charge me, that I mean

To cloath in sables every social scene,
And give good company a face severe,

As if they met around a father's bier!

I will add a few verses from the close of the poem, because they appear a just description of his own eloquence, both in poetry and conversation, when he conversed with those he loved.He is speaking of a character improved by a proper sense of religion.

Thus touch'd, the tongue receives a sacred cure
For all that was absurd, prophane, impure

Held within modest bounds, the tide of speech

Pursues the course that truth and nature teach;
Where'er it winds the salutary stream

Sprightly, and fresh, enriches every theme,
While all, the happy man possess'd before,

The gift of nature, or the classic store,

Is made subservient to the grand design.

For which Heaven form'd the faculty divine.

The poem on Retirement may be a delightful and useful lesson to those, who wish to enjoy and improve a condition of life which is generally coveted by all, in some periods of their existence. The different votaries of retirement are very happily described; and the portrait of Melancholy in particular, has all that minute, and forcible excellence, derived from the faithful delineation of nature; for the poet described himself when under the overwhelming pressure of that grievous malady. The caution to the loyer is expressed with all the delicacy and force of the most friendly admonition; and the fair

sex are too much obliged to the

poet to resent his bold assertion,

entitled to absolute adoration.

tenderness of the

that they are not

This poem contains several of those exquisite, proverbial couplets, that I have noticed on a former

occasion. Verses like the following are fit to be

treasured in the heart of every man.

An idler is a watch, that wants both hands,

As useless if it goes, as when it stands.

Absence of occupation is not rest;

A mind quite vacant is a mind distrest.

Religion does not censure, or exclude,
Unnumber'd pleasures, harmlessly pursued.

The very sweet close of this poem I will not dwell upon at present, because I mean to notice it, in collecting, as I advance, the most remarkable passages of the poet, in which he has spoken of himself.—I must not however, bid adieu to his first volume for the present, without observing, that of the smaller poems at the end of it, three are eminently happy, both in sentiment and expression; the verses assigned