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no part of their character; on the contrary, they generally speak in a mild and drawling tone, which gives the highest idea of indifference, and almost of a disinclination to the trouble of opening their mouths.”

The vice of gambling, we are sorry to find, is as prevalent in the best cultivated part of the province as in the interior. Parties formed on purpose, are to be seen at the Posados (inns) from morning to night, and all the agitation excited by this miserable vice is daily displayed. Even the planters forsake their tranquil Occupation and the beautiful scenery around them, to immerse themselves in painful alternations of hope and fear. Those who live remote from towns make their way to the pulperia, a rude country establishment which combines the different characteristics of a shop, a farm, and an inn. These houses are generally kept by natives of Biscay or Catalonia, who begin their Transatlantic career by selling victuals, liquors, and clothes, but, in progress of time, find means to move into town, and to devote themselves, as their circumstances improve, to more reputable business in the sale of manufactured goods.

From the description of local scenery and manners, Mr. Semple passes to the events of the late revolution in Caracas. A party has long existed in that province, determined to embrace the first opportunity of establishing their independence, and of withdrawing all allegiance from the King of Spain. The irruption of Bonaparte into the peninsula, presented too flattering an opportu nity to pass over; and, after having prepared the public mind, step by step, the Congress of Venezuela issued, on the 1st July, 1811, a decided declaration of independence. On this event, many functionaries attached to the mother-country, resigned their offices; and several inhabitants of the same way of thinking quitted the country: while, of the lower ranks, some were so imprudent as to become parties to conspiracies. The plots were discovered, the ringleaders were executed, and a pretext was unfortunately afforded to the democrats for imprisoning and banishing many colonists of Spanish birth. These measures were followed by a declaration of open war against Coro, a city of consequence, and, in former ages, the metropolis of the province. Ever since its loss of sovereignty, a serious animosity has continued to subsist between it, and its successful rival, Caracas. Next followed the siege of Valencia; which, though terminating successfully for the democrats, must be regarded as sowing the seeds of future discontent and hostility. The male population of Caracas is now regularly armed and exercised; all hereditary titles are dropped, and the appellation of citizen is generally adopted. Like other Spanish Americans, they arc fond of appealing to the United States as an example, and seem

inclined to imitate closely the form of their constitution. It must be confessed, however, that they are by no means equally well fitted for the enjoyment of independence: in proof of which we need go no farther than the history of their respective revolutions. In North-America, during a long struggle, no blood was shed but in the field; while, in the South, we have seen, in the short space of three years, legal executions both precede and follow the slaughter of the battle. Europe, says Mr. Semple, will soon lose her despotic sway over America, but we must not flat. ter ourselves that the era of American happiness is therefore about to commence. Revenge rankles between neighbouring provinces, and is likely to be kept up by the unfortunate distinction of classes. Spanish America will, in all probability, be divided into a variety of petty states and governments: a wide field will be opened to the exertion of military and diplomatic talents; and the restless Europeans will be tempted to enter on the career of ambition, in the hope of obtaining rewards almost equal to those of the first conquerors.

Mr. Semple has subjoined to his narrative an appendix, containing the official despatches relative to the insurrections in Venezuela. In considering these, and the other broils in different quarters of Spanish America, he is induced to ask what, during all this contention, has been the language of Great Britain? Merely, "let us trade with you." All our negociations in South America may be reduced, he adds, to this single object; which, in his opinion, is by no means worthy of the high rank that we hold. We must not, therefore, be surprized, he observes, if our conduct should hereafter be attributed to the calculating prudence of a commercial people. The idea of not interfering in any way was magnanimous; but it should, says Mr. Semple, have been strictly maintained or abandoned only for objects of the first necessity. He concludes with some hints to our government on a method of acquiring influence over the new states of South America, by pursuing a course wholly different from that which we have hitherto judged to be politic with respect to colonies. Agreeing with him that our colonial policy is founded on very mistaken principles, we are disposed to go a step farther, and to express an opinion that it is not our interest to covet any political influence in Trans-atlantic states; since, distant as they are, their alliance or co-operation cannot be subservient to the promotion of any projects that are either necessary or salutary to Great Britain. However dignified the attitude we may hold towards the Continent of Europe, all that we should desire of America is commercial connection-a connection not to be kept up by diplomatic dexterity, but by the plain business-like rule of making it their interest to deal with us. Now the way and the only

way to do this, is to supply them with manufactured goods as cheap as any other country, and at long credit; points in which we are as yet superior to our European neighbours, in spite of the indefatigable exertions of those bold politicians among us who are not satisfied with a twenty years' continuance of hostility, but would disdain to listen to peace till they had exhausted “ every resource of warfare and taxation."

The effects of the recent earthquake, though greatly exaggerated, have been very serious both at Caracas and La Guayra.The loss of lives appears not to fall short of 3000 in the former city, and 1500 in the latter. Valencia, Victoria, and Puerto Cabello, have sustained, we understand, little damage.

FROM THE EDINBURGH REVIEW.

The Isle of Palms, and other Poems. By John Wilson. 8vo. p. 415. Edinburgh and London. 1812.

THIS is a new recruit to the company of lake poets ;-and one who, from his present bearing, promises, we think, not only to do them good service, and to rise to high honours in the corps; but to raise its name, and advance its interests even among the tribes of the unbelievers. Though he wears openly the badge of their peculiarities, and professes the most humble devotion to their great captain, Mr. Wordsworth, we think he has kept clear of several of the faults that may be imputed to his preceptors; and assumed, upon the whole, a more attractive and conciliating air, than the leaders he has chosen to follow. He has the same predilection, indeed, for engrafting powerful emotions on ordinary occurrences; and the same tendency to push all his emotions a great deal too far-the same disdain of all worldly enjoyments and pursuits and the same occasional mistakes, as to energy and simplicity of diction, which characterize the works of his predecessors. But he differs from them in this very important particular, that though he does generally endeavour to raise a train of lofty and pathetic sensations upon very trifling incidents and familiar objects, and frequently pursues them to a great height of extravagance and exaggeration, he is scarcely ever guilty of the offence of building them upon a foundation that is ludicrous or purely fantastic. He makes more, to be sure, of a sleeping child, or a lonely cataract and flies into greater raptures about female purity and moonlight landscapes, and fine dreams, and flowers, and singing-birds-than most other poets permit themselves to do,— though it is of the very essence of poetry to be enraptured with such things:-But he does not break out into any ecstacies about

spades or sparrow's eggs-or men gathering leeches-or women in duffle cloaks-or plates and porringers-or washing tubs

or any of those baser themes which poetry was always permitted to disdain, without any impeachment of her affability, till Mr. Wordsworth thought fit to force her into an acquaintance with them.

Though Mr. Wilson may be extravagant, therefore, he is not perverse; and though the more sober part of his readers may not be able to follow him to the summit of his sublimer sympathies, they cannot be offended at the invitation, or even refuse to grant him their company to a certain distance on the journey. The objects for which he seeks to interest them, are all objects of natural interest; and the emotions which he connects with them, are, in some degree, associated with them in all reflecting minds. It is the great misfortune of Mr. Wordsworth, on the contrary, that he is exceedingly apt to make choice of subjects, which are not only unfit in themselves to excite any serious emotion, but naturally present themselves to ordinary minds as altogether ridiculous; and, consequently, to revolt and disgust his readers by an appearance of paltry affectation, or incomprehensible conceit. We have the greatest respect for the genius of Mr. Wordsworth, and the most sincere veneration for all we have heard of his character; but it is impossible to contemplate the injury he has done to his reputation by this poor ambition of originality, without a mixed sensation of provocation and regret. We are willing to take it for granted, that the spades and the eggs, and the tubs which he commemorates, actually suggested to him all the emotions and reflexions of which he has chosen to make them the vehicles; but they surely are not the only objects which have suggested similar emotions; and we really cannot understand why the circumstance of their being quite unfit to suggest them to any other person, should have recommended them as their best accompaniments in an address to the public. We do not want Mr. Wordsworth to write like Pope or Prior, nor to dedicate his muse to subjects which he does not himself think interesting. We are prepared, on the contrary, to listen with a far deeper delight to the songs of his mountain solitude, and to gaze on his mellow pictures of simple happiness and affection, and his lofty sketches of human worth and energy; and we only beg, that we may have these nobler elements of his poetry, without the debasement of childish language, mean incidents, and incongruous images. We will not run the risk of offending him, by hinting at the prosperity of Scott, or Campbell, or Crabbe; but he cannot be scandalized, we think, if we refer him to the example of the dutiful disciple and fervent admirer who is now before us; and intreat him to consider whether he may not conscientiously abstain from those

peculiarities which even Mr. Wilson has not thought it safe to imitate.

Mr. Wilson is not free from some of the faults of diction, which we think belong to his school. He is occasionally mystical, and not seldom childish: But he has less of these peculiarities than most of his associates: and there is one more important fault from which, we think, he has escaped altogether. We allude now to the offensive assumption of exclusive taste, judgment and morality which pervades most of the writings of this tuneful brotherhood. There is a tone of tragic, keen and intolerant reprobation in all the censures they bestow, that is not a little alarming to ordinary sinners. Every thing they do not like is accursed, and pestilent, and inhuman; and they can scarcely differ from any body upon a point of criticism, politics or metaphysics, without wondering what a heart he must have; and expressing, not merely dissent, but loathing and abhorrence. Neither is it very difficult to perceive, that they think it barely possible for any one to have any just notion of poetry, any genuine warmth of affection or philanthropy, or any large views as to the true principles of happiness and virtue, who does not agree with them in most of their vagaries, and live a life very nearly akin to that which they have elected for themselves. The inhabitants of towns, therefore, and most of those who are engaged in the ordinary business or pleasures of society, are cast off without ceremony as demoralized and denaturalized beings; and it would evidently be a considerable stretch of charity in these new apostles of taste and wisdom, to believe that any one of this description could have a genuine relish for the beauties of nature-could feel any ardent or devoted attachment to another, or even comprehend the great principles upon which private and public virtue must be founded.Mr. Wilson, however, does not seem to believe in the necessity of this extraordinary monopoly ; but speaks with a tone of indulgent and open sociality, which is as engaging as the jealous and assuming manner of some of his models is offensive. The most striking characteristic, indeed, as well as the great charm, of the volume before us, is the spirit of warm and unaffected philanthropy which breathes over every page of it.—that delighted tenderness with which the writer dwells on the bliss of childhood, and the dignity of female innocence-and that young enthusiasm which leads him to luxuriate in the description of beautiful nature and the joys of a life of retirement. If our readers can contrive to combine these distinguishing features with our general reference of the author to the school of Wordsworth and Southey, they will have as exact a conception of his poetical character as can be necessary to prepare them for a more detailed account of the works that are now offered to their perusal.

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