would be evidently disconcerted if he did not sit by her, desired Ellen to go next him, as he, of course, sat by the lady whom he had handed down stairs, and she tried to be happy. But Charles did not, as he used to do at R-, turn his back

for her sake on the lady, whoever she was, that sat on the other side of him, and she felt glad when the ladies retired, that she might go to her own room, and relieve her full heart by weeping.

(To be concluded in our next.)

OFTEN as the subject of Poetry has undergone disquisition, we do not know that any writing ever met our eyes, in which its composition is as it were chymically analized, and its different component parts exposed and laid bare to the view. It shall be our study, therefore, to point out those regular parts which naturally go to the structure of Poetry, and which present in themselves the means, by possessing which, a man may aspire to the dignified character of a poet. As the requisites which are in our contemplation are such as are decidedly of the first order, and have the greatest share in the interest excited in the mind, we think the title is not inappropriate which we have chosen for them-of the Features which captivate in Poetry.

We have ever considered the great ingredients of Poetry to resolve themselves into these three distinct heads-Sublimity, Simplicity, and Elegance. Beauty is the effect of the whole; Genius is the parent of all. Each of the three comprises, respectively, two parts, conception and expression; and these must never be divided. It is our intention to consider each head in its order. And first we turn to sublimity, because this is certainly the highest qualification of verse, and the greatest test of a poet's genius; for though it is not necessary in every species of verse, yet the species which does not require it is one of inferior order to that which calls for it.

As to sublimity, the writers on rhetoric, and on the dispositions of the human mind, are at variance about the definition to be given of it. Dr. Blair utterly rejects the idea

that sublimity in the visible world depends on greatness or immensity alone; and yet we argue that none can be shewn among the objects of nature, possessing the property or attribute of greatness, which does not raise great and lofty ideas in the mind. The theories of other rhetoricians throw no greater light upon the subject. Longinus, in general a man of great observation, sadly confounds its component parts; as, amongst the five springs* he assigns to it, he includes two which stand entirely independent of it, and which are plainly definitions of rhetoric in general. These are a splendid elocution and a magnificient composition, which he appends to the other sources, thus described, a happy boldness in the powers of perception, an impetuosity conceived and halfinspired feeling, and a peculiar use of figures.

To form our own opinion we should say, that sublimity in the visible world depends, not on the immensity of the object alone, but on the assistance which it meets in the ignorance of the human mind, or, to speak more soothingly, in the incapacity of the mind to comprehend, embrace or unravel it. When, therefore, we averred that there was no vast object in nature which did not awaken sublime thoughts in the soul, it was equivalent to our saying that there was none of those objects really great, which the intellect of man could wholly comprehend. Thus, in a clear night, we cast our eyes up to the vault of Heaven, and behold it studded with numberless surebalanced and well-arranged stars of different magnitudes, and "differing in glory," and our minds are

filled with amazement. But could we, but for a moment, imagine that the whole was the effect of art, that the sky was but a mere constructed machine, and that the stars were merely studs of silver placed in it, our astonishment would cease. But no-the span of the arch is too broad to be inspected by the eye at one view; and considering, as we do, that the things which we call stars are so many worlds, suspended by infinite wisdom, in an inconceivable manner, with continual revolutions, and that it is only owing to their prodigious distance that they ap pear so small to us, our wonder rises into admiration, and our minds are conscious of sublimity. It is the same with the contemplation of a stupendous mountain, or of the ocean it is the consciousness of our own littleness, compared with the wonders of nature, and weighed in the balance with the other great works which flow from the Creator's hand, which adds to the effect produced. It is the littleness of man which strikes us, and makes us feel surprised that, we so little and they so great, he should bestow his at tention upon us also.

He is fa

A reflecting person walking upon the beach of the sea is thoroughly awake to this feeling. Ocean is an object calculated to call up the most tremendous ideas. bled to be a sovereign, turbulent, resistless, and loud; his bounds are Do where visible, his waves are innumerable, and the force of his billows is, but in part, obvious to the view. We will add another instance from our own experience. We well remember, while we were yet very young, beholding a regiment of horse, a detachment of the hussars, enter our native town; the couriers, at some distance, preceded; the trumpeters and buglemen, four a-breast, brought up the van, blowing loud notes of war; the band also, mounted on chargers, followed, making concert with the trumpeters: then came the commanding officers a-breast, men of noble port and manly appearance: last came the body of men, riding erect, with swords drawn, magnificently equipped, on steeds nobly caparisoned. As the horses paced and the martial strain resounded, our soul within us

was distended; we admired and wondered, and were distressed, and ultimately wept. Others in company with us were similarly affected. It occurred to us as very strange that such a spectacle should excite our tears, and we pondered over it, young as we were, for several hours. At last we concluded in referring it to sublimity, and explained it thus: that the mind, amazed at the sight of such grandeur, such power, and such awful preparations, and reflecting what great things they may perform, is lost in wonder as to the extent to which they may be effective; it traces their progress to a certain height, but its prospect is then bounded; and it is the feeling of restraint imposed upon the excursions of our souls which excites the agitation of the breast, and the effusion of tears. If this be a new theory, let it at least have the benefit of deliberate consideration.

It remains but to trace this effect, produced by objects amenable to the senses, onward, to the operation of such as consist in sentiment; that is, the sentiment conveyed in particular allusions, or forms of words: eternity, infinity, omnipotence, ubiquity, immensity of size, immensity of space, are all objects which involve sublimity; and these, if tried by the standard which I have proposed, will all be found to confirm its legitimacy. Hence also may be perceived the judicious choice which Milton made, when he attached himself to objects and things, which cannot be divested of the sublimity, which, in their nature, they carry with them.

Of this sublimity, when worked up into composition, be it prose or poetry, we will adduce a few specimens, and the first shall be from Thomson, in the exclamation with which he opens his ode to the memory of Sir Isaac Newton; an effort of genius alone sufficient, though he had written no more, to insure him immortality.

away;

The works of man inherit, as is just, Their author's frailty, and return to dust.

But truth divine for ever stands secure, Its head is guarded, as its base is sure. Fix'd in the rolling flood of endless years,

The pillar of th' eternal plan appears, The raving storm and dashing wave defies,

Built by that architect, who built the skies."

We have here sublimity of conception and sublimity of expression together, embodied towards the conclusion in a most noble and masterly figure.

But if we speak of sublimity in conception, none has yet appeared in the circle of poetry superior to that which Lord Byron has disclosed to the world in a late production; the thought of the carnivorous and rapacious vultures, receding from the glance of the human eye in Mazeppa, though his body lay exhausted and powerless an easy prey.

Were we asked to concentrate the poets of our own country most remarkable for sublimity of thought and expression, they would be pretty nearly the following. Milton, beyond question, occupies the first place among the poets, ancient or modern, who have adorned English poesy. Lord Byron makes his claim the next, and half disputes the palm. We should award the succeeding places to Thomson, Burns, and Cowper.

We come now to speak of simplicity as a characteristic in poetry; one which must be entirely inborn,

and depends not on art or study, for any attempts here at adventitious excellence sit unbecoming and unnatural on the individuals in whom they originate. A learned and venerable writer expresses the following sentiments respecting simplicity." In all the sciences, in every valuable profession, in the common intercourse of life, and let me add, even in the sublimest subjects, simplicity is that which, above every thing else, touches and delights; without it, indeed, all else is feeble and unaffecting. Where simplicity is wanting men may be dazzled for a moment. More splendour will strike them at first, but on reflection they will soon discover that splendour itself, like every other idol, is nothing. On the other hand where simplicity, the sister of truth, appears, the attraction is eternal.

The species of pleasure excited in the breast by simplicity is not such as overpowers, or astonishes, or subdues, but is in its nature gentle and mild; lively, indeed, but ever moderate; and is best expressed by the epithet of cheerful. Indeed, simplicity in external objects, and cheerfulness in the emotions of the soul, hold the same places; they are analogous, and answer correctly to each other.

We are inclined to think simplicity the most important constituent in poetry, for its presence is necessary where that of the others may be dispensed with. It is admissible into sublime and into elegant writings, and is indeed essential to the purity and effect of both. An ode may be deserving of admiration without sublimity, or without fine finishing; but it cannot be good if it want simplicity. Simplicity is the garment in which all writings should be arrayed; sublimity is a sumptuons robe only occasionally required.

We have sometimes seen a child engaged in the expression of endearments to its nurse, and have also read numerous admired dialogues of love, a comparison_between which has only served to show the inferiority of the latter to the impassioned strains of infancy. The words in which a child gives utterance to its affection, as it re

peats the frequent kiss, are-"I do so love you;' and to dilate on these were to destroy their effect. Dr. Johnson informs us, and our own judgment confirms his decision, that the much admired and brilliant lament of Milton, entitled Lycidas, is, in this view, inferior to the strains of sorrow which Cowley devotes to the memory of his companion Hervey; for we know not what meaning to attach to the account of Milton, a book-learned writer, and his friend, an illustrious member of the church, driving a-field together, tending their flocks on the plains, and penning them up at the approach of evening.

The most frequent and exquisite specimens of simplicity are to be found in the compositions of Burns; unhappy Burns, whom we could cite as a specimen of all the three ornaments. No better idea can be conveyed to one, to whom it is necessary to describe simplicity, than by pointing out to him the song of "Auld lang syne." How beautiful and natural is the circumstance of calling to recollection, that he and his companion had gone about the banks, and pulled the daisies; and that (so like children, with no other. care to distract their minds) they had paddled in the brook from breakfast to dinner time. The "Banks o'Doon" may well be placed side by side with this song. The hapless and deserted lover, in an exquisite strain of nature, appeals to the flowery banks, how they can so unfeelingly bloom, and the little birds how they can find in their hearts to chant, when she is so weary full of care. Then the succeeding burst" thou'lt break my heart, thou little bird," followed by the reason, that it reminds her of joys gone never to return, is a stroke that cannot be exalted. In a strain somewhat similar, the

person speaking in a sort of pastoral, by Mr. Henry Mackenzie, introduced in the "Man of Feeling," and entitled "Lavinia," asks with simplicity, how it comes to pass that the face of all nature is changed since his misfortunes commenced.

When I walk'd in the pride of the dawn,

Methought all the region look'd bright;

Has sweetness forsaken the lawn, For methinks I grow sad at the sight?

When I stood by the stream I have thought

There was mirth in the gurgling soft sound;

But now 'tis a sorrowful note,

And the banks are all gloomy around.

This is a very natural representation of the feelings of a person under such a state of depression. Well may Scotland make her boast of having given birth to bards who excelled in the first and distinguishing features of a poet.

But when we speak of simplicity, it were injustice to the manes of the unknown bard not to introduce to notice a piece of former times, the author of which has slided into the current of oblivion, but which it will be a merit in any publication to be the medium of restoring. It was on an occasion when we had ascended into the uppermost story of our habitation, and with the avidity of a Vampyre were devouring the musty records and various collected manuscripts which had been left there by the former inhabitants, the virtuosi of their age, when a corner of this paper met our eye; and we exulted in the op-' portunity of exercising our critical judgment, and determining the merit and beauty concealed under this humble garb. The song ran thus:---