dious and disagreeable. Ireland is entered by the Bay of Dublin, which has been often compared to that of Naples. The scene is thus described: "Dublin bay is six Irish miles in breadth at its mouth, measuring from the Hill of Howth, the Northernmost point, to Dalkey Island, the most southern, and seven in depth from the entrance to the mouth of the Liffey. The inner part, called the Harbour, is divided off by a stupendous stone pier, which stretches altogether three miles from the shore, beginning at the village of Ringsend upon the bay, The former part, from Ringsend to the Pigeon-House, was begun in 1748, and finished in less than seven years; the remaining mile and quarter from the PigeonHouse to the Lighthouse, was begun about the year 1760, and was completed in eight years. The Lighthouse, by which it is terminated, and which stands nearly in the centre of the bay, is a circular stone building rising eighty feet above the pier, and one hundred above low water-mark. A gallery with an iron balustrade, encircles it on the outside, about half way up, the ascent to which is by a narrow steep winding stone staircase, also on the outside. From this gallery is the best point for taking a survey over the bay and the fine In order to obviate the country round it. objection to the scanty foundation on which this structure was of necessity to be raised, it is built on empty woolpacks, an idea for which the engineer was indebted to the ingenuity of his wife. The great sand bank called the Bar, runs from the end of the pier to the North shore of the bay; a flag is kept flying upon the top of the Lighthouse during the time it may be passed, so that a vessel, immediately on entering the bay, knows the state of the water." The Author, in the third Chapter, treats of the origin of the city of Dublin and of its name, present extent of the city, the national Bank, the Custom House, the four Courts, Trinity College, the Fagel Library, the Manuscript Room, the College Chapel, the Museum, and the new Botanic Garden. It would be impos sible for us regularly to attend this rambler to the numerous objects described in this Chapter, or to notice the multitude of objects on which she descants; we shall deem it sufficient to select the account of the Fagel Library in Trinity College: "The principal room is a very fine one, two hundred and seventy feet in length by forty in breadth; a length exceeding any other single room for the reception of books in the united kingdoms. It is fitted Along up entirely with the dark old Irish oak, "But very soon after a discovery was made of a large sum of money due to the College, till then unknown to them, and it was agreed to appropriate this sort of deodand to a purchase which had not been declined without great reluctance and regret. Buonaparte was then at the head of the French Government, and had just about the same time sent over a commision to have the most select works in this collection purchased for the national Library at Paris; but the University of Dublin proposing to take the whole, the bargain was concluded with them for the sum originally proposed. The collection consists of about twenty thousand volumes, among which are a number of very valuable classical and historical works in a great variety of languages. There is a brated drawings of the insects of Surinam. very fine copy of Madame Marian's celeThis collection was made by three successive heads of the family of Fagel; the son of the last, whom the necessity of the times compelled to part with it, has visited Dublin since the books were tranferred thither. He expressed himself greatly consoled under the mortification, which he could not but feel at seeing this monument of the taste of his forefathers transferred to a foreign country, in reflecting that the collection was preserved entire, and occupied so conspicuous a station in so noble a University." When the Author visits the Cathedral of St. Patrick's, Dean Swift-becomes of course a prominent object. His epitaph is not copied, but the melancholy reverse of his brilliant genius is an unavoidable source of reflection with a literary character; the line in which his fate is so feelingly described, "And Swift expires a driveller and a show," occurs not in Pope's works, as is generally supposed, but in Johnson's "Vanity of Human Wishes." Near Swift's monument is one to Stella, and another erected by the Dean to Alexander Magee, a faithful servant of his, who died in the year 1722. A bust of the Dean has been put up by Mr. Faulkner, the nephew and heir of George Faulkner, the Dean's book seller, and the publisher of his Works. The see of Dublin has two Cathe drals attached to it, St. Patrick's and Christ Church. The original foun dation of the latter is ascribed to the son of one of the Danish Kings of Dublin early in the eleventh century, more than a hundred and fifty years before the foundation of St. Patrick's. It was then a College of regular Canons, dedicated to the blessed Trinity, but was converted into a Chapter at the Reformation. Neither the Antiquary nor the Architect will derive much information from the Author's description of these Cathedrals; this was a subject evidently out of her reach, and disappointment must of course ensue. Of the Parochial Churches which adorn the Irish capital, it appears that St. Werburgh is the principal; the Lord Lieutenant and the Court used formerly to attend divine service here. St. George's is a new-built Church, Over the portico is inscribed, ΔΟΞΑ ΕΝ ΥΨΙΣΤΟΙΣ ΘΕΩ. St. Andrew's, or the Round Church, is remarkable for its circular form, which, from the Author's description, appears somewhat to resemble the Temple Church in London, but no very correct idea can be formed of it from this meagre detail. Besides these, there are sixteen other parish churches which are sweepingly dismissed with the parting conclusion of not being "particularly worthy of notice !" Dublin also contains sixteen Meeting-houses for Protestant dissenters, ten Catholic chapels, six friaries, and six nunneries, but no synagogue for the Jews. In the next Chapter the Phoenix Park is described as "extensive, but there is nothing strikingly pretty in it. Here the Lord Lieutenant has a The account of the visit to the Giant's Causeway is very entertaining, and is evidently the best written part of the Volume; it may be observed able pains have been bestowed upon that throughout the work, considergeological pursuits, in the prosecution of which, and in making the drawings for the "Narrative," Miss Plumtre acknowledges her obligations to two gentlemen. An excellent engraving of the Giant's Causeway accompanies this description. We have only room for a short extract: "The usual description given of the Causeway is, that it is a mole projecting from the foot of a towering basaltic rock tion is very proper; but care should be some way into the sea; so far this descriptaken at the same time to explain that the mole itself is not towering, that it does not in any part rise to a considerable height above the water. The tallest pillars are in the group called the Giant's Loom, and none of them exceed thirty-three feet in height. Mr. Hamilton says that the Causeway runs from the foot of the rock some hundred feet into the sea; this is a very loose and indefinite mode of description. I had heard before I saw it, that it projected three quarters of a mile into the sea; estimating it at the utmost possible extent to which it could be taken, I believe it would be found scarcely to run a sixth part of that length. But the accounts are so extremely varied, that one thing only is to be inferred, which is, that yet been taken. no accurate measurement of it has ever many respects I found very intelligent, My guide, whom in seemed wholly at a loss when I questioned him on this subject. Indeed, in computing the length of the Causeway, the first thing to be determined is the point from which the measurement is to commence. The whole length from the foot of the rock is commonly comprehended in` it; whereas, in fact, the Causeway, properly so called, commences only at the range of low columns seen in the print to the contradiction in the accounts." the right-hence may very much arise We shall now extract the Author's highly coloured summary of the Irish character: "To me it ever appeared that the Irish are a people uncommonly susceptible of kindness. I have seen the countenances sometimes sometimes lighted up with such animation at the sound of but one kind word, that I have thought to myself, what might not be done with these people, if they were taken by the hands sincerely as brethren! That they are capable of the strongest attachment, their firm and steady adherence to their clans or septs has repeatedly manifested, and nothing can be warmer even now, than the attachment which I have seen manifested in the dependants of a family to the head, when they have been a long time in service. I must believe that the Irish are a kind and warm-hearted people, extremely disposed to show kindness themselves, and no less feelingly alive to receiving it from others." A considerable number of engravings embellish this Volume. Altogether, the performance is creditable to the Author (who, we regret to learu, has recently passed "to that bourne from whence no traveller returns *"). In the extracts we have made, we have carefully avoided any allusions to the Author's political prejudices, which are too well known to be insisted on here; and, finally, we apprehend that no good-humoured Reader will peruse this Volume with out being pleased, or without acknowledging his obligations to the Author. T. F. 23. Aonian Hours, a Poem, in Two Cantos, with other Poems. By J. H. Wiffen. pp. 180. Longman and Co. THIS is a Volume of very delightful poetry; and we do not hesitate to avow that, notwithstanding the fascination of its title, we have experienced greater pleasure than we had even anticipated from its perusal. We felt in laying it down, somewhat of that kind of regret which arises in all minds endued with the love of Nature, when they return again to the stage of being-where man must be an actor, and controul the full and free impressions of his heart, in order to play the part he has chosen in the great drama of Life,-from some still retreat in which they have had their hopes awakened, their passions softened, and their spirits invigorated, by a participation in the beauty of external forms, and the soul-elevating feelings they create. The love of Poetry, and the admiration of Nature, are so intimately blended, that it seems almost impossible for them to exist apart; an exquisite percep *See vol. LXXXVIII. ii. 571. our tion of the charms of loveliness-an union of fancy and feeling, forming in fact, the basis of all true Poetry. Hence, those who through the medium of verse, have most successfully pourtrayed the graces and sublimities of Creation,, are such as we most delight to peruse-to feed upon and to feel with ;-who are always seasonable and refreshing to our spirits, and from whom we derive the purest enjoyment with the least effort. Amid the necessary duties of lifeanxieties and disappointments - our strife and struggle, with untoward circumstances broken bonds, and severed affections,-this description of poetry steals upon the soul, softly and balmlily, like the breeze of the South in an hour of sultriness and suffering. Yet are we selfish beings, and love Nature, not for herself alone, but only inasmuch as she ministers to human wants and wishes-to humau affections and feelings; her pictures must respond to us, and hold intimate connection with our interests; and thus Poetry, purely descriptive, will always be more or less cloying, in proportion as the Poet mingles his own imaginings and the passions of his characters and himself, with his delineations of inanimate objects. It is this marked individuality which gives to Lord Byron's productions such deep and pervading interest. All passion is poetical, and most supremely sublime when evolved in the language of Poetry. The Noble "Childe" mixes himself up so strongly with his intellectual beings, and lights them up so intensely with real emotion, that we are made immediately conscious of their truth, and the possibility of their existence. This species of selfism has been condemned by many; but we must confess that the earnest and eager participation we take in his Poems, arises from this very circumstance. like to see an author identified with his writings, especially in works of fancy and taste. We feel a greater pleasure and keener sympathy when we can trace the habitual tone and temper of his mind through the veil of language and fiction. There is, perhaps, too little of this in the Volume before us; but we will now proceed to make the selections by which our Readers may be enabled to judge for themselves: We "To "To wander at will," says the Author, in his Preface, "in the earlier hours of spring, is one of the sweetest and most refined enjoyments. The face of things, and the mind's feelings have then a fresher aspect, and a dearer sensation than at any other period of the year. It is only at the first starting of Nature from the repose of winter, that these emotions are forcibly excited; for, after we have been accustomed but for a few weeks to the prospect of buds and flowers, and the gladness of all things, the mind recedes into its habitual temper and tone of feeling. When these sensations are connected with other associations with the spot of our boyhood or our birth, or with the pleasures of maturer life; the charm becomes still stronger and sweeter; and we may truly say, as the Arabian prophet exclaimed of Damascus, This is almost too delicious.' From my earliest years were these expressions of Nature imprinted on my heart; from earliest memory my imagination has been teeming with particular images with which it was first and most intimately connected; and under these sensations, and to express these interesting associations, the following Poem was begun and finished." In the far streaky East the morning shines, The Iris of whose bursting glory lines With fire the firmament; distinct aud clear 'Gainst the white dawn proud Ridgemount high reclines His mural diadem: lo! from his rear The breaking mists unfurl, and Day has reach'd me here." XV. "In wonder risest thou, material Orb, Girt like a giant for the speed-the flight- He who hath ne'er invested Solitude Of melancholy o'er him; hath not felt This is followed by a very fine ad- The whisper'd love, the music which is dress to the Sun: * Aspley Wood, near Woburn, Beds. dealt Invisibly around us from the spheres, dise of tears! XXXIV. The ineffably serene, the kind regret Of thought without austerity, but yet spirit, and containing many trulypoetical passages, cannot be read by persons of moral and religious feelings without the most decided reprobation and contempt. It seems evident that the Bookseller, to whom it is said to have been con The features of an Angel-feelings grand-signed from abroad, did, not think Grand, and of incommunicable bloom, The growth of Eden;-O, he hath not spann'd The souls infinitude with an Archangel's 1 24. Don Juan. Printed by T. Davison, White Friars. 4to. pp. 227. THIS Work, which has been so mysteriously announced for some time, has at length been given to the Publick; and as our Readers will naturally be desirous of knowing something respecting it, we have to inform them, that it is obviously intended as a Satire upon some of the conspicuous characters of the day. It is written in the style of the Poem entitled "Beppo;" which was founded upon another, professed to be written by William and Robert Whistlecraft; and that evidently upon the manner of the late Peter Pindar, but without his humour, imagination, and poetical energy. "Don Juan" is as cribed to a Nobleman, whose poetical vigour and fertility have raised him into the highest rank of modern Bards. But the best friends of the Poet must, with ourselves, lament to observe abilities of so high an order rendered subservient to the spirit of infidelity and libertinism, so evidently manifested throughout the whole. The Noble Bard, by employing his genius on a worthy subject, might delight and instruct mankind; but the present Work, though written with ease and proper to be responsible for its contents, and therefore it is published without any bookseller's name. Indeed, we have heard that the bookseller to whom it was entrusted not only demurred on publication, but stated his objections to the author, The latter, however, according to report, was peremptory in his order that it should be published, and therefore it is now given to the world at large. 25. Harold the Exile. pp. 918. 3 vols. ANOTHER trick in the title-page of this Book, which, like " Don Juan," is thrown into the world without the usual recommendation of the bookseller's name! Whether the intention of the Publisher is to excite, by this omission, the curiosity of the Pubits contents, we are at a loss to guess. lick, or to waive the responsibility of As, in the first supposition, curiosity will not affect the common class of readers, who, taking this Book as coming from the manufactory of Leadenhall-street, will read it through, without making any application to the Noble Lord, whose life, or rather conduct, it is intended in some measure to justify. As to the latter supposition, the responsibility of the Bookseller for its contents, we confess that, after an attentive perusal of the three Volumes, we have not been able to discover any thing that could at all impeach the Publisher, in case he had thought proper to conform to the usual forms of the trade. Without pretending, however, to penetrate the true motives, we rather suspect that in this instance, as well as in that of" Don Juan," the Bookseller is acting under the direct and positive orders of his Employer, whose eccentricity will account for every deviation, and is sufficient to justify the Publisher. Harold the Exile, in which only a few of Lord Byron's events in life are related, is written with great force and energy; not, as might have been expected, with a minute and correct narrative |
