nation against the tyrants and oppressors of mankind. Sir R. Lacy's patriotic effusions, full of invocations to the nymphs of Erin, the maids of Erin, and the sons of Erin, have hardly been exceeded by any of the parliamentary or forensic eloquence of that nation of orators.

A bitter and scornful tirade against French literature, a violent attack aimed apparently against the orator of Hatton-Garden: and the bold declaration 'I write to you upon the most famous day in the Annals of English liberty-the beacon day when it blazed forth to the uttermost parts of the earth'-that day being January 30th,-all manifest a determination not to court favour, by sparing either the prejudices or impassioned opinions of general readers.

8.-A Midsummer Day's Dream; a Poem, by Edwin Atherstone.

Fp. Svo. Baldwin & Co.

THAT a poem may be something more than tolerable, and yet not soar beyond the bounds of mediocrity, is a truth, in spite of the authority of Horace, which the writer of A Midsummer Day's Dream' is capable of proving whenever he pleases; and if he has failed to prove it in the present instance, it is because he has chosen a subject which nothing could render more than tolerable.

The work before us consists of an Introduction, which is most pleasingly and in many instances elegantly and poetically written, describing the various circumstances and sentiments which immediately preceded the "Dream" (which is the main subject of the volume), and which circumstances and sentiments may be supposed to have in a great measure caused it. Accordingly, we proceed to the Dream itself, with an expectation that it will, at any rate, in some way or other concern itself with our actual nature—that it will at least blend itself with the thoughts and feelings, the hopes and fears, of that "human heart by which we live." But we have not perused half a dozen pages before we find that the Dreamer, in " shuffling off this mortal coil," has taken a long farewell of all mortal interests, and is gone careering away, under the guidance of an angelic stranger, among "unimaginable" glories, and "inconceivable" grandeurs, and "ineffable" splendors; with which, by reason of the very applicability of the epithets which he unconsciously assigns to them, we have no concern or sympathy whatever. This, in a word, is the crying defect of the poem before us; and a defect which no poetical powers retaining the subject, could have remedied.-In regard to the execution of this defective plan, we are able to speak much more favourably. We conceive that, altho' the powers which that execution evince do not reach beyond a certain graceful mediocrity, they exist in very considerable quantity (if we may so express it, in distinction from intensity), and might have been employed, even on a subject very similar to the one in question, to very valuable effect. What the writer does imagine he imagines vividly, and describes clearly and forcibly; and if he would but take to imagining and describing imaginable and describable things, he would give us poetry of a very agreeable character, and of no contemptible order; and he would express it in language possessing considerable variety, and, occasionally, considerable

vigour. We are justified in pronouncing this opinion, even from the introduction alone of this poem-which includes many very pleasing and poetical descriptions of external nature, as it is modified by the medium of human associations through which it is seen. But the mo

ment the writer takes his flight, from the green earth on which we are happy to stand side by side with him, into the realms of illimitable space, we gradually lose sight of him, and the sounds of his voice come to us more and more faintly,till presently we miss him altogether, and are not sorry for it.

To shew that we have not miscalculated in our estimate of this writer's powers, when he applies them to real objects, we shall give one or two extracts from the introductory part of his poem. The following is a description of sun-rise, as seen from the summit of a cliff:

"A tender mist

Was round th' horizon, and along the vales;
But the hill-tops stood in a crystal air;
The cope of heaven was clear, and deeply blue,
And not a cloud was visible towards the east.
An atmosphere of golden light, that grew
Momently brighter, and intensely bright,
Proclaim'd the approaching sun.

Now now he comes!

A dazzling point emerges from the sea;
It spreads; it rises :-now it seems a dome
Of burning gold :-higher and rounder now
It mounts-it swells: now like a huge balloon

Of light and fire, it rests upon the rim

Of waters; lingers there a moment; then-soars up.-
Exulting I stretched forth my arms,

And hailed the king of summer, every

Put on a face of gladness; every tree

hill

Shook his green leaves in joy: the meadows laughed ;
The deep glen, where it caught the amber beams,
Began to draw its misty veil aside,

And smile and glisten through its pearly tears.

The birds struck up their chorus ; the young lambs
Scour'd over hill and meadow ;-all that lived
Look'd like a new creation, over-fill'd

With health and joy: nay, even the inanimate earth
Seemed coming into life.

But glorious far
Beyond all else, the mighty god of light
Mounting the crystal firmament: no eye
May look upon his overwhelming pomp:
Power and majesty attend his steps;
Ocean and earth adoring gaze on him :-
In lone magnificence he takes his way
Through the bright solitude of heaven."

P. 7. 8.

We will do Mr. Atherstone the justice to make another extract which will better perhaps than our criticism, shew the extent of his poetical powers, and the description of interest which his work is calculated to

excite. This description of the effects of a comet coming in contact with the earth-a striking subject, though not a new one, and not, perhaps, treated here without a constant reference to a prior poem, will give the reader a good idea both of the excellencies and defects of this volume

Then suddenly there came a fiery star,
Wandering from out its orbit, masterless.
The dwellers of the earth,-they were a race
Mightier than yours,-look'd nightly on the sky,

And their thoughts were troubled: night by night the star
Grew brighter, larger ;-waving flames shot out
That made the sky appear to shake and quiver.
Night after night it grew; the stars were quench'd
Before its burning presence ;-the moon took
A paler-and a paler hue;-men climbed
Upon the mountains every eve to watch
How it arose; and sat upon the ground
All night to gaze upon it. The day then
Became the time for sleeping; and they woke
From feverish rest at evening to look out
For the terrific visitor. Night by night

It swell'd and brighten'd:-all the firmament
Was kindled when it came. The waning moon
Had died away; and when she should have come
Again into the sky men found her not.

Still, still the heaven-fire grew !-there was no night
But to the day succeeded a new day

Of strange and terrible splendor. Darkness then
Became a luxury; and men would

go

To caves and subterranean depths to cool

Their hot and dazzled eyes. The beasts of the field
Were restless and uneasy, knowing not

Their hour for slumber: they went up and down
Distractedly; and, as they fed, would

And tremble, and look round, as if they fear'd
A lurking enemy. The things of prey,-
Monsters that earth now knows not,-came abroad
When the red-night sun had gone down; for day
With its mild light less glar'd upon their eyes
Than that fire-flashing firmament. Yet, yet
With every coming night the terrible star
Expanded men had now no thought but that:
All occupations were laid by the earth
Was left untill'd;-the voyagers on the deeps
Forsook their ships, and got upon the land
To wait the unknown event. O'er all the world
Unutterable terror reign'd. Men now

By thousands, and by tens of thousands, met-
Wond'ring and prophesying. Day and night
All habitable regions sent to heaven
Wailings, and lamentations, and loud prayers.

The ethereal shapes that peopled earth, as now,
Saw with astonishment, but not with fear,
This strange disorder ;-for the wreck of worlds
Injures not them. The spirits of the sun

Look'd wondering down, expecting what might come;
For right tow'rds earth the blazing Terror held
Its awful course; and all the abyss of space

Resounded to the roarings of its fires.

It rose on earthly eyes.

*

'Yet once more

*

One-fourth the heavens
Was cover'd by its bulk. Ere it had reach'd
Its middle course, the huge ball almost fill'd
The sky's circumference ;-and anon there was
No sky!-nought but that terrible world of fire
Glaring, and roaring,-and advancing still!

'Men saw not this:-th' insufferable heat
Had slain all things that lived. The grass and herbs
First died :-the interminable forests next
Burst into flames:-down to their uttermost deeps
The oceans boil'd,-spurting their bubbling waves,-
Rocking and wallowing higher than the hills:-
The hills themselves at last grew burning red;
And the whole earth seem'd as it would melt away.
'Intensest expectation now held all

The ethereal natures silent. From the heights
Of space they look'd, and waited for the shock;
For in right opposite courses the two orbs
Rush'd tow'rds each other, as two enemies haste
To meet in deadly combat. 'Twas a sight
Sublime, yet sad, to see this beautiful earth,-
Stript of all verdure, empty of all life,-
Glowing beneath the comet's terrible breath,
Like a huge coal of fire!

Rapidly rolling on they came

They now drew nigh: !. -They struck!

The universe felt the shock. We look'd to have seen

The earth shatter'd to dust, or borne away

By that tremendous fire-star; but they touch'd

Obliquely, and glanced off.

The comet soon

Shot swiftly on again :-the weaker earth,—
Jarr'd from her orbit,-stood awhile,-turning
Backward upon her axis,-vibrating

Down to her very centre ;-then went on
Faltering, swinging heavily to and fro

Upon her alter'd poles.

In conclusion, we would urge this writer, with no unfriendly voice, to be content with the real glories and the real grandeur that he seems willing as well as able to see every where about him, and leave the imaginary (or as he himself calls them the "unimaginable”) ones to dreamers and visionaries.

THE

WESTMINSTER REVIEW.

OCTOBER, 1824.

ART. I. Elements of Political Economy. By James Mill, Esq. Author of the History of British India. London. Baldwin, Cradock and Joy, 2nd Edition. 1824. pp.

THIS is a work, which all who have not read ought to read, and which all who have, should read again and again. To those who have studied the subject of which it treats, and to those who have not, it presents an equal fund of pleasure and instruction.

To those who are not yet acquainted with political economy, it affords the readiest means of acquiring a species of knowledge, without which it is now impossible to attain reputation in public life, and which it will soon be necessary even for a private individual to understand, before he can lay claim to the character of an instructed man. In this work they will find, to use the author's words," a school-book of political economy." They will find all the fundamental principles of the science concisely and clearly stated, with the demonstrations annexed. And if they read it as they would read Euclid, and not as they would read a novel, they will not rise from the perusal without having added to their stock of knowledge a number of new and important truths, such as they have rarely had it in their power to acquire from a single volume.

To those, again, if any such there be, who have studied political economy, but have not read Mr. Mill's Elements, we can only say that we envy them the agreeable surprise which they will experience on seeing into how small a compass all the subjects really belonging to the science have been compressed. They may now, for the first time, have a clear view of the intimate connexion between many important propositions, never before put in juxta-position, and may observe the effects of a masterly

VOL. II.W, R,