bably, intrude upon his useful and rational enjoyments.

To correct the sanguine expectations which young authors are too apt to form, or to divest of their too enchanting hues the dangerous and delusive pictures sketched in early life, may have its use; but it is little to be apprehended, in the present day, that the wild workings of poetic imagination should lead to that obliquity of idea, which may terminate in derangement. Philosophy and science have now taken too deep root for such credulity to recur, nor is the general character of our poetry that of enthusiasm. What we have said may, however, account for the mental irregularities of a Tasso and a Collins, though, perhaps, little applicable or essential to any modern bard, The subject, nevertheless, is curious, and will, probably, be thought not altogether destitute of entertainment.

Can music's voice, can beauty's eye,
Can painting's glowing hand supply
A charm so suited to my mind,
As blows this hollow gust of wind;
As drops this little weeping rill,

Soft trickling down the moss-grown hill;

While thro' the west where sinks the crimson day,

Meek twilight slowly sails, and waves her banners

grey?

MASON.

To meliorate the sufferings of unmerited calamity, to enable us to bear up against the pressure of detraction, and the wreck of ties the most endearing, benevolent Providence hath wisely mingled, in the cup of sorrow, drops of a sweet and soothing nature. If, when the burst of passion dies away; if, when the violence of grief abates, rectitude of conduct, and just feeling be possessed, recollection

points hot the arrow of misfortune, it adds not the horrors of guilt; no, it gives birth to sensations the most pleasing, sweet, though full of sorrow, melancholy, yet delightful, which soften and which calm the mind, which heal, and pour balm into the wounded spirit. The man, whose efforts have been liberal and industrious, descrving, though unfortunate, whom poverty and oppression, whom calumny and ingratitude have brought low, feels, whilst conscious innocence dilates his breast, that secret gratulation, that self-approving and that honest pride which fits him to sustain the pangs of want and of neglect; he finds, amid the bitterest misfortunes, that virtue still can whisper peace, can comfort, and can bid the wretched smile. Thus even where penury and distress put on their sternest features, and where the necessaries of life are, with difficulty, procured, even here are found those dear emotions which arise from purity of thought and action; emotions from whose influence no misery can take away, from whose claim to possession no tyrant can detract, which the guilty being deprived of, sicken and despair, and which het who holds fast, is comparatively blest.

But where the mind has been liberally and elegantly cultivated, where much sensibility and strength of passion are present, and the misfortunes occurring, turn upon the loss of some tender and beloved connexion, in this case, what may be called the luxury of grief is more fully and exquisitely displayed. That mild and gentle sorrow, which, in the bosom of the good, and of the feeling, succeeds the strong energies of grief, is of a nature so soothing and grateful, so friendly to the soft emotions of the soul, that those, whose friendship, or whose love, the hand of fate has severed, delight in the indulgence of reflections which lead to past endearment, which, dwelling on the virtues, the perfections of the dead, breathe the pure spirit of melancholy enthusiasm.

ask the faithful youth

Why the cold urn of her, whoin long he loved,
So often fills his arms, so often draws

His lonely footsteps at the silent hour
To pay the mournful tribute of his tears?
Oh, he will tell thee, that the wealth of worlds
Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego
That sacred hour, when, stealing from the noise
Of care and envy, sweet remembrance soothes,

With virtue's kindest looks, his aching breast,

And turns his tears to rapture!

AKENSIDE.

Here, every thing which tends to soften and refine the mind, to introduce a pensive train of thought, and call the starting tear, will long and ardently be cherished. Music, the solace of the mourner, that food of tender passion, which, while it sweetly melts the soul, corrects each harsh and painful feeling, will ever to the wretched be a source of exquisite sensation. Those writers who have touched the finest chords of pity, who, mingling the tenderest simplicity with the strongest emotions of the heart, speak the pure language of nature, have elegantly drawn the effects of music on the mind; the Fonrose of Marmontelle, the Maria of Sterne, and the Julia de Roubignè of Mac- · kenzie, but more especially the Minstrel of Beattie, sweetly evince this delightful and be-' witching melancholy which so blandly steals upon the children of sorrow.

That the contemplation of nature, of the various features of the sublime and of the beautiful, often lead to reflections of a solemn