generosity; and then he is astonished to find his property inadequate to his expenditure. In one of those fits of illhumour with the world, which are by no means uncommon to persons who have reason to be out of temper with themselves, he goes into the army, under the assumed name of Fitzjohn, not choosing to acknowledge his own whilst he is obliged to hold a secondary rank; by which we presume that his modest ambition meant to content itself by being made commander-in-chief. His high sense of honour, however, does not keep him from excesses and disgraceful company; though he is rescued from the consequences of misconduct, by a timely friendship which he forms with one more sedate, of the name of Norville; with whom he talks on themes of love, and exchanges compliments as to which of them is by nature most favoured with requisites to captivate the yielding fair. An engagement, however, puts an end to these matters of discussion. Bertram is left for dead upon the field; and the first canto closes with an eulogium upon his virtues by Norville, the truth of which we have not had the sagacity to discover. In the second canto we find Norville married to Lucasta, the long-cherished object of his affection, who seems to accept him as many other ladies accept lovers, because no one whom they like better is immediately at hand. She accompanies him, however, like a good wife, wherever his military duties call him; and listens to his rapturous accounts of Bertram till she begins to fancy he would have made a more agreeable husband than her own. At length they learn that Bertram is still alive, though immured in captivity; which, after some months of severe suffering, is lightened by the tenderness of the gaoler's daughter-an incident borrowed from Beaumont and Fletcher's Two Noble Kinsmen," though narrated without either their spirit or delicacy. On hearing this, and finding his letters unanswered and his messengers detained, Norville forms the extraordinary resolution of sending his wife to gain tidings of his friend, and, if possible, to procure his release. This is effected, on her part, by treachery-the grand mover on such occasions. She cultivates an intimacy with the gaoler's daughter; is introduced by moonlight to the object of the damsel's affections, who has suffered himself to be led about by her for so many months like a pet-lamb; and then embraces the first opportunity, (and it is somewhat odd that one was so long in occurring,) to leave her to mourn over ber credulity, and the perfidy of her new acquaintance. It 66 would be against all the rules of romance for Bertram not to fall desperately in love with the fair companion of his flight ; and against all the rules of nature for Norville not to begin to blame himself for his excess of folly in exposing the safety and virtue of his wife, and the integrity of his friend, to trials of so severe a nature. The wanderers are now deliciously miserable; benighted, drenched in rain, stuck fast in the mud, scared with lightning, yet cheered with Platonic raptures, and ever and anon sinking into each other's arms, to renew their vows of inviolable chastity and unblemished honour. Unfortunately, Norville's dreams were treacherous enough to shew him the text without subjoining the comment. Influenced by them, he rushes forth to ascertain the truth; is driven by the same storm to the same cottage which has sheltered his wife and friend; and arrives at the very moment when, unluckily, the lady had just dropped asleep before the fire, and the gentleman, indulging himself in a long and unrestrained gaze upon her charms, is just raising her hand to his lips. We are told by the poet, that Lucosta at that instant was devoted, even in sleep, to her husband; and that the rapturous kiss of Bertram was only the pure tribute of respect to her impregnable virtue; but Norville was in no mood to judge their conduct or regulate his own by rules of chivalry. He saw and believed; and furiously running upon Bertram with his drawn sword, plunges it by accident into the bosom of his wife, and then sheaths it in his Bertram returns in despair to the hall of his fathers, and devotes himself to the melancholy for which he had early evinced a kind of prophetic predilection; and the poem concludes with the following moody truth, which no one can deny, and no one wishes to have forced upon his conviction oftener than he can help. "Not to the rich is happiness assign'd; Not to the high belongs the peaceful mind; Our readers will perceive that such a story has neither novelty nor probability to recommend it. The characters are drawn with a pomp which the circumstances in which they are placed are not sufficiently important to justify; and even the versification, though professedly on the model of the most easy and harmonious of all our poets, is often cramped by inversions and weakened by auxiliaries. At the end of the poem is a short account, which will be read with pleasure by the lovers of elegant literature, of the works which have issued from the author's private press at Lee Priory. This is an intellectual luxury, which was first indulged in by Archbishop Parker, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth, at his palace at Lambeth; where he printed most magnificently a few copies of his own celebrated work on Ecclesiastical History. Horace Walpole followed so laudable an example, at his villa at Strawberry Hill; and the late Mr. Johnes of Haford has likewise given the public many interesting performances through the same kind of medium. We cannot conclude this article better than in the elegant language of Sir Egerton Brydges, who offers for literature an apology, which, though we cannot for a moment allow it to stand in need of one at any time, is so exquisitely expressed, that we should be glad to see assailants rise up against it, could we always insure it a champion as able in its defence. "Whether literature be the pursuit to which it is wise to dedicate so large a portion of life as the editor has dedicated, may, perhaps, be strongly questioned. With him, it has been from very childhood a passion which, like all other passions, has left long intervals of languor and regret. It has thrown seductive flowers in the way of his ambition, and driven him away from the hard and unbending perseverance of business. But the past cannot be recalled; and though it may be acknowledged in the exquisite words of Cowley, that "Where once such fairies dance, no grass doth ever grow," yet it must be recollected that weeds also have been thus kept from springing up: and that he whose amusements have been at once innocent and refined, may look back without shame or great dissatisfaction." Sir Egerton Brydges has no reason to be ashamed of any of his productions; for even their singularities are the effect of laudable, though perverted feelings; and the expression of them arises from sincerity, and never from malevolence, or that bitterness of feeling, which their strength and poig nancy may sometimes cause one to suspect him of harbouring. He must look upon many of his productions with sufficient gratification to enable him to submit to the mortification of occasional failures; among which we think, upon a maturer degree of consideration, his own candour will not refuse to rank the poem of Bertram. 303 ART. XI.-The Nithsdale Minstrel; a Selection of Original Poetry, chiefly by the Bards of Nithsdale. Preacher and Co. Dumfries; Baldwin and Co. London. 1815. THE title of this volume gave us at first an undue prejudice against its contents. Poems of a mere local nature, have commonly but little to interest the general reader; and whatever reputation they may have possessed in the district which gave them birth, like certain plants, they lose their beauty and fragrance when transplanted from their native soil. Our prejudice was, however, at once ill-natured and unjust.The name of Nithsdale has a thousand poetical associations connected with it-its streams, its mountains, and its picturesque ruins, have been immortalized by the muse of Burns. It was here that this favoured child of genius and of nature poured forth his parting lay; it was here that his talents were encouraged and rewarded; and it is here that his ashes repose. But, it will be asked, can this confer any intrinsic value on a volume of anonymous poetry? certainly not; and had not the volume possessed merits of its own, we should not have given it a place here. Of these merits we shall present the reader with a few specimens. After a spirited dedication, in verse, to the ladies of Nithsdale, we come to the first class of poems, which consists of odes. This is generally allowed to be the most difficult species of composition. The great obstacle to it appears to lie in the imperfect nature of our lyric measure. Short stanzas of all kinds are too nearly allied to the ballad style; and the regular and irregular Pindarics require so nice an ear, so much attention and judgment in the mixture of the metres, so much warmth and energy to raise them above prose, and so much prudence to keep them from degenerating into mere bombast; that few have succeeded in writing thein. Among those contained in this volume, "The Triumph of Ulysses' is entitled to rank as chief in point of merit; it is a very chaste and classical compositiou, and is, on every account, worthy of commendation.-It is night, and the bark of Ulysses nears the island inhabited by the Syrens. The scene is painted with much picturesque effect. "Pale night had slowly drawn her robe Rest, weary sailor!-rest thy oar,- The measure changes, and the temptation to indulge in the rites of Bacchus is thus described : "But then arose a lighter strain, Joyous, brisk, and breathing pleasure; Instant appeared a jovial train, Dancing to the sprightly measure. Sang-the sullen chief upbraiding. "Whither, warrior, dost thou fly, |