race-pathos of expression-Virgil-beautiful imagery-Homerpoetry of nature-Longinus-do not imagine-exalted powersnevertheless-venture to observe-metaphysical-speculative castword be, for instance-following extract illustrate our remarks-we think-Tasso-We imagine-Ariosto-beg pardon-Cicero.

(For a work on Mineralogy.) Creation of the world—deluge— Mosaical account-fossil remains-Cuvier-horizontal strata-earthquakes-gradual arrangement of crystalline particles-alluvial formations-proof of our theory-Brogniart-Sir Humphrey Davyto return to our author-we hope-we think-we expect to conclude―.

(For a work on Theology.) Liberal inquiry-enlightened views -spirit of religion-reformation, grand thing-Luther-St. Paul— fanaticism-Bible-flood of light-excellent book-our authorfollowing beautiful extract---we remember----we look forward---we are confident----.

(For a work on Education.) Peculiar spirit of the age---march of mind-----Monitorial system of instruction---Pestalozzi----infant schools---Boston high school for girls---Mr. Bailey---Warren Colburn---Hamiltonian system---accounts which---children who---deep, practical importance---theory---experiment----mental disciplineRound Hill School----Cambridge University----.

(For a work on Philology,) Author---one of those men who--cares of anxieties of-----work which----German Universities---German criticism---Wolfe---Schweighauser---Schleusner---Hayne--Grammatical profundity---but the work which--folio edition---oriental---Rabbi Ben Melech---Schultens---Gensenius---De Sacy---to return to our author---modern philology---we promise ourselves---In fine we cannot but hope----.

(For any book of Travels.) Adam and Eve probably the first travellers---Noah---Shem, Ham, Japheth---Cadmus---Jason---Golden fleece---Aristotle---to continue our remarks---Columbus a great traveller----Captain Cook----circumnavigation of the world at that time very difficult business----German travellers----Burkhardt----to continue our researches---Africa very bad for travellers---Mungo Park---Ledyard---Sparks's Life very good book---Our author---&c.

&c. &c. &c.

THE FIRST DAYS OF AUTUMN.

How beautiful thy mien

O Autumn! while the laughing sun yet beams
Upon the hills and vales, and golden gleams
Light up the heavens serene.

The breath of the sweet WestHow gently too it lifts the drooping flowers That linger yet within their summer bowers, And joy to be carest!

The plashy meads are green;

And where the harvest of the future year
Peeps forth, the tender germs as bright appear
As if Spring deck'd the scene.

The verdant mantle too,

Which the gay seasons spread o'er all the woods,
Seems still to cast amid their solitudes

The same dense shade it threw.

But the young copse betrays

The frost's cold kiss; while the pale leaves that cling Yet to the clustering vine, now only bring Remembrance of bright days

And every fitful blast

That issues from its secret mountain-caves,
To sweep the vale, and vex the trembling waves,
Proclaims the summer past!

Yet be not thou in haste,

Wild Autumn! to o'ercloud the briefer day;
Nor from the grove its glories bear away,
To strew them on the waste:

And in the hedges warm,

And open glades, that in the sun yet smile,
Let the soft winged tribes disport awhile
Before the coming storm.

Rifling the thistle's seed,

And scattering its bright down upon the air,
The yellow bird, with sprightly chirp, is there,
Nor seems my step to heed:

While 'mid the stubble bare,

The quail, quick startled, slily scuds along ;
And all beside, regardless now of song,

The season's bounty share.

To these the rolling year

Is full of joy; for when in wintry gloom

Our fields are wrapp'd, they fly where others bloom To their young hearts as dear:

But ah, how sinks my own,

When I the scene, yet beautiful, survey,

And think how on the eye 'twill fade away,
As all I lov'd hath done!

X.

CHATTERTON.

To the literary men of England it would (if they knew the fact) appear somewhat surprising that the name and writings of Chatterton are not more extensively known among American readers. The general mass of our belles lettres readers have scarcely heard of the name of Chatterton, a name which ought to be cited as one of the proudest remembrances of the power of youthful genius which ever existed a name, too, which, though its owner died at the early age of eighteen, arrayed the antiquarian research and the learning of England on differing sides in one of the warmest literary contests which has occurred for many years. The controversy with regard to the poems of Ossian, which Macpherson gave to the world, was one of much the same nature, and one which, though perhaps of more importance to literature and history in general, did not in its day excite a greater interest.

Both these contests were struggles between the old world and the new, between the past and the present. Undoubted talent, rich poetic fancy, were the subjects in controversy. These points were allowed; they were, indeed, the very ground work of the dispute. The only question was, what age was to have the merit of these productions. Whether they were to be ascribed to the untutored genius of antiquity, or to the more polished and refined efforts of modern poets. When we speak of the latter, we of course refer to the general advance of the literature of the age, and the indirect influence which that advance had upon the authors who were subject to its power; for with regard to Chatterton, at least since the poems which he published have been decided by the unanimous voice of the literary world to be his own forgeries, we must admit that his writings were the mere outpourings of his own wonderful mind, to which an accidental course of reading had given a peculiar and most beautiful coloring, and one which was altogether unassisted by the advantages of a liberal education.

The particular incidents of the life of Chatterton, except so far as they are connected with his writings, are of little importance at present. He was born in the city of Bristol, in the year 1752. His father was in very narrow circumstances, being, at the highest of his fortunes, but the master of a free school in his native city. The

biographer of Chatterton, in the Collection of the British Poets, remarks, "It is not quite uninteresting, although in any other case it might seem ridiculous, to add, that Chatterton was descended from a long line of ancestors who held the office of sexton of the church of St. Mary Redcliffe; for it was in the muniment room of this church, that the materials were found from which he constructed that system of imposture, which has rendered his name celebrated and his history interesting." He went through the usual school routine, at first with very little indication of the powers which he was afterwards to exhibit; but, towards the close of his course, he became fond of particular kinds of reading, and turned his attention to the study of antiquated and obsolete words. "He acquired," says his biographer, " at school, some knowledge of music, drawing and arithmetic, and with this stock was bound an apprentice to an attorney at Bristol for seven years." A most promising preparatory education for mastering the laborious technicalities of English legal practice! He was then in his fifteenth year. He remained with little profit in his profession for nearly three years, when, at length, his vague threats of suicide induced his master to dismiss him from his service. Left thus to himself, at an early age, without employment, and with no means of subsistence but his pen, he adventured forth upon the wide world of London, full of confidence in himself, and indulging in the wildest imaginings of the royal road to wealth and fame, which his unassisted and wonderful genius had laid open for him. How cruelly he was deceived, either in himself or his pretended patrons---how fatally his hopes were blasted, appear too plainly by the closing scene. He remained but four short months in London, at times imagining that affluence and honor were already secured, at times overpowered by poverty and despondence, when he made for himself a voluntary grave, as the only refuge from the bitterness of his disappointment.

While he yet remained at Bristol, he became very diligent in collecting a variety of old parchment manuscripts from an ancient chest in the church before mentioned. These parchments contained, as he pretended, poems and ballads, written in the time of the ascendancy of the house of York in England, and more particularly during the reign of Edward IV., to the events of which some of them refer.

There does not now exist a doubt that this story was framed for the purposes of the young poet, and that from his own mind were coined the seeming riches of the iron chest. And a most fruitful treasure-house did it become to him! Whatever wild vagary entered his own mind was presented to the world without risk of responsibility, under the protection of long hallowed antiquity. It proved to him as kind a friend as the angel whom Mahomet "beck43

VOL. I.-NO. V.

oned from above" to consecrate every unallowed passion with the sanction of the Deity. It contained a lay suited to every emergence---its power was narrowed or extended at the will of the master-spirit, as the magic tent in the Arabian tale was equally suited to a royal hunting party, or the unnumbered hosts of an Eastern army. The greater proportion of the poems of Chatterton were probably written before he left Bristol. For we must rate his genius according to a more extravagant standard than has almost ever fallen to the lot of man, to suppose that all his writings, in the preparation of which he must have disturbed so often and so extensively the dust of antiquity, could have been completed during the short course of his London career, especially as, during that time, his soaring fancy must have been continually weighed down by the calls of penury. He probably removed to London for the purpose of enjoying, as he thought, the undoubted fruits of his past labors. That his expectations were too highly raised, was shown by the result; but it may well be a question to his readers of the present day, whether the presumption of Chatterton or the injustice of the literary world was most in fault. It must be a severe trial to one who feels burning within his own bosom a mental superiority over the generality of his fellows, to be compelled to see its light unable to penetrate the mists in which the accidents of fortune have enveloped him, and at the same time to feel that, pent up as it is, it must turn for want of sustenance, and prey upon the mind which has nourished it into strength.

The far greater part of his productions, then, both in prose and verse, are from the pen of a boy of seventeen, without any education but such as the children of the poor received in England sixty years ago, and the desultory knowledge which could be gained from the very limited collection of books (both as to number and merit) which a boy in his humble situation can be supposed to have had access to. He had, however, read about seventy volumes of history and romance. How his attention was first turned to the study of Antiquities we know not. Perhaps we should not be far from truth in saying that his choice was the result of accident or boyish whim. He was most certainly a self-taught genius. There was no encouragement from powerful patrons, there was no one to whisper to him the flattering tale of his intellectual superiority, and, above all, there was no skilful hand to direct his effusions into their proper channel. The stream, lost as it was in the beginning of its course, was one of profound depth and impetuous strength; but its wanderings were as capricious as those of the mountain torrent which divides and loses its power in being diverted by the slightest obstacles to its path.

His plan too was original as far as he was himself concerned. The walk of literature which he chose to follow was indistinctly