the basins, which now form circular valleys, or elevated plains surrounded by mountains, have been furrowed by the currents of the sea. Each country on the globe has its peculiar physiognomy; but amidst these characteristic features which bestow such a richness and variety on the face of nature, we are struck with the resemblance of form, founded on an identity of local causes and circumstances. When we sail amid the Canary Islands and observe the basaltic cones of Lanzerota, of Alagranza, and of Graciosa, we seem to view the group of the Euganean mountains, or the Trappean hills of Bohemia. The granites, the micaceous schists, the old sand-stones, the calcareous formations which mineralogists designate under the names of formations of the Jura, of the High Alps, or transition lime-stone, give a particular character to the outline of the great masses, and to the breaches formed on the ridges of the Andes, the Pyrenees, and the Uralian mountains. The nature of the rocks has every where modified the external form of the mountains." Vol. 1. p. 117.

Another interesting feature of the work is the information it affords relative to various tribes and nations, respecting which but little was previously known; and whose very names are as strange to the European ear, as their residence is distant from the European shore. But as this information arises from the discussion of a variety of topics, it must necessarily be obtained from the work itself; the perusal of which will yield an ample gratification to him who is engaged in the study of the mythology, the manners, and the genius of nations, or in tracing the first unfoldings of the faculties of Man, and developing the ancient migrations of our species. We shall, therefore, conclude our observations with presenting M. de Humboldt's account of the method he has pursued in these "Researches."

"In the description of the monuments of America, I have attempted to keep an equal tenor between the two methods followed by those learned men who have investigated the monuments, the language, and the traditions of nations. Some, allured by splendid hypotheses, built on very unstable foundations, have drawn general consequences from a small number of solitary facts: they have discovered Chinese and Egyptian colonies in America; recognized Celtic dialects and the Phenician alphabet; and, while we are ignorant whether the Osci, the Goths, or the Celts, are nations emigrated from Asia, have given a decisive opinion of all the hordes of the new continent. Others have accumulated materials without generalizing any idea; which is a method, as sterile in tracing the history of a nation, as in delineating the different branches of natural philosophy. May I have been happy enough to avoid the errors which I have now pointed out! A small number of nations, far distant from each other, the Etruscans, the Egyptians, the people of Thibet, and the Aztecks, exhibit striking analogies in their buildings, their religious institutions, their division of time, their cycles of regeneration, and their mystic notions. It is the duty of the historian to point out these analogies, which are as difficult to explain as the relations which exist between the Sanscrit, the Persian, the Greek, and the languages of German origin; but in attempting to generalize ideas, we should learn to stop at the point where precise data are wanting." Vol. 1. p. 9.

ART. V.-The Cossack: a Poem, in three Cantos, with Notes. 8vo. pp. 85.- London: Baldwin and Co. 1815.

THE superabundance of practitioners in the learned professions --of field preachers, to wit, charitable attorneys, and nostrum mongers, has often been considered a great evil in the country. But the superabundance of poets is an evil as great and alarming as any with which we are acquainted. Never, indeed, was there an age so prolific as the present, of men and women, boys and girls, all desperately devoted to the muses: and, what is remarkable, most of them really write well, though wondrous few of them usefully. In the portion of the present century already passed, more poems have been published than during any entire century of our history. And it is probable that if Scott, Southey, and Wordsworth, with their respective imitators, be spared but a few years longer, few libraries will be capable of containing the poems that will be written. The Roman citizens built till all their corn-fields were covered with villas: the British poets will go on writing till it will be impossible for mankind either to buy, or read, or find room for their productions.

The performance before us has considerable claims to praise. It is written in Lord Byron's style, and is nearly equal to most of that nobleman's productions. It contains many beautiful passages, and is full of rich and pathetic description. The story of it is as follows.

Kouteskoff, a Cossack chief, is sent by his hetman to a brother chieftain, to inform him that he is engaged in a war with the Tartars; and the poem opens with a description of Kouteskoff and his followers ascending Mount Caucasus, with speed that mocks the eagle's flight.' They halt at the top of the mountain, before a peasant's cottage, who receives them kindly, and entertains them with milk, fruit, &c. Whilst they are at supper, the peasant's daughter, Zamasta, enters the room. The description of her is very pretty.

"What meets his view?-what vision bright
Now bursts upon his ravish'd sight?

A female form with azure eye,
With long and auburn hair,
A skin of snow's unspotted die,
A mild enchanting air;

A robe of fur her form embraced,
A rustic zone enclasp'd her waist
With neat unstudied care:
There was a something in her face,
That seem'd as if the softest grace

Had lov'd to linger there."-p. 8.

Kouteskoff is struck with her beauty, and falls deeply in love with her. Next morning he and his companions rise to pursue their journey. They travel all that day and part of the next, when they are attacked by a party of Tartars, whom they put to flight, having killed their chief and a great number of the men. They then once more continue their journey, and arrive in the evening at the place of their destination. They find the hetman engaged in a feast, of which he invites Kouteskoff to partake, but the thoughts of Zamasta fill his bosom, and prevent him from enjoying the festivity. Next morning Kouteskoff and his companions set out on their way home, the idea of Zamasta still engrossing his whole attention. They reach the peasant's cot on Mount Caucasus, just as

"The last beam of ev'ning was sinking away

In a calm, in a golden delight;

It scem'd as the orb that commanded the day
Had hung up his mantle on night,

As linger'd on west the soft gleam of his ray
In the fairest protraction of light."-p. 52.

They find the cottage deserted.

-beneath the lonely shed

Reigns all the solemn silence of the dead."

They are informed by a boor that Zamasta had been carried off that morning by a party of Turks, to be placed in the Pacha's seraglio. A thousand feelings arise in Kouteskoff's breast on hearing this. He determines to pursue the Turks, and if possible to rescue Zamasta. He rides all night, and overtakes them in the morning; attacks them, routs them, and secures the beautiful object of his affections. The poem concludes with the following lines:

"Ask ye if in Cossack land

Kouteskoff claim'd Zamasta's hand?

Ask ye

if in vain he sued,

Or felt her bosom gratitude?

Ask ye if her constant smile

Met him in her native isle?

Go, gaze upon the fondest pair

That all the world contains,

You'll see an answer written there

More true than poet's strains."--p. 65.

The description of Mount Caucasus, with which the poem opens, is very beautiful and picturesque.

"What are yon heights where hills are piled

Majestically grand and wild,

Whose tops, snow-crested, towering high,
Appear commingling with the sky,"

Like some huge pass stupendous hurl'd,
For man to seek an upper world?
Hail, Caucasus! thy lofty range,
Unchanging still in ages' change,
Rear their white heads and proudly stand
Goliahs of a mountain land.

The scene is lovely to the eye,
There is a sweetness in the sky;
It bears the softest tinge of ev'n
That e'er to sinking day was giv'n;
No cloud--no speck-to meet the gaze,
Or break the sun's entranquill'd rays:
The calm serenity of hue,

That smiles on arch of azure blue,
Gives in this hour, ere evening's grey
Has stolen the vivid blush of day,
Those feelings which delight the mind,
So fair-so still-and so refined,
That few could gaze on such a scene,
So pregnant with its soft serene,

And feel not in that tranquil hour

Some little influence of its power." p. 1. 2.

We are also very much pleased with the account of Kouteskoff, just before the battle with the Tartars, with which we shall close this article.

"There is a fervor in Kouteskoff's eye,

That laughs at danger, joys at peril nigh:
In such an hour as this with fiery roll,
It glances forth the warrior's ardent soul;
The rage-the hope-the coolness in the fray,
The dauntless spirit that inspires dismay,
The look indignant at a meaner foe,
The varied passions it has power to shew :
The dark arch'd brow gave it a double power
To scowl at danger in the doubtful hour;
A demi-halo, round an orb of fire,
That rose in pleasure and grew dark in ire;
But telling still that love could constant rest,
And heaven-born pity linger in his breast.
His size his height-his brave and manly form
Would bid a foe-man wish to shun his arm,
Which oft in bloody fight has proved its strength
To poise and throw his lance's pond'rous length:
And bad it were for him at whom it flew,

So well to hit his mark its master knew!"--p. 31, 32.

ART. VI.-Osman, a Turkish Tale. 8vo. pp. 48.

Hamilton, 1815.

8vo. pp. 48. London,

THIS little Poem is said to have come from the pen of a young gentleman not eighteen, and we can readily enough admit the

fact; for the history of British poetry furnishes many instances of young men of his age, or even under it, having become consi derable proficients in this department of literature. The poem is short, but long enough to have afforded the author an opportunity of showing that he possesses talents for such composition. He writes in the heroic measure, and in general with a good deal of both spirit and melody. He says, in a note, "The difficulty of distinguishing between invention and memory is so great, that I trust the good-natured reader will admit it as an excuse for any seeming plagiarisms which may occur in the fol lowing tale; as I can assure him they are wholly unintentional." The meaning of this is, that by frequently meditating on the ideas of Lord Byron and others, many of them have become so completely his own, that he flatters himself he is employing his imagination, when it is only his recollection. This may be excused in so inexperienced a writer; but he must take care not to make such a mistake in future.

The poem opens with a description of evening in Turkey. Leila, the heroine of the piece, had been that day married to Selim. She is described sitting in great state, but is observed to be very sorrowful in the midst of the festivity. Although she had been obliged by the Pacha, her father, to give her hand to Selim, yet her heart was already possessed by another. Osman and she had loved one another from their childhood; he had gone upon his travels, and had been promised by Hassan, that if he return ed within three years, Leila should be his. But

"Moon follows moon-year rolls on years away,

And Osman comes not."-P. 24.

Meantime Selim, a wealthy young man, "of tall and noble frame," but with a black heart, seeks and obtains the hand of Leila. On the day of their marriage Osman returns.

"He reached old Hassan's dome-and all was gay;

Joy lit each eye-'twas Leila's bridal day.
Oh! how the tidings struck on Osman's soul,
As though his spirit had escaped control,

His heart grew chill, and on the marble floor

He sunk-and'aching memory viewed no more.'"-P. 29.

He enters the festive hall; on seeing him Leila faints away. All run to her assistance except Selim.

"Marvelled each wond'ring guest, that he, whose heart

By Nature's law should bear the readiest part,

Should silent sit, as though he joyed to see→→

Or recked not of this scene of misery:

But no! a different cause restrained his hand—

Far different thoughts his troubled breast command:

The form of Osman glared upon his sight,

As some dark demon from the realms of night."-P. 30.