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MONTHLY CATALOGUE.

DIVINITY.

A Delineation of the Parables of our Bleed Saviour : to which is prefixed, a Differtation on Parables and Allegorical Writings in General By Andrew Gray, D. D. 8vo. 45. Murray.

IN

'N this work the author ranges the Parables under different claffes, according to the different fubjects which they are intended to illustrate. Under the firft clafs he places thofe that relate to the nature and progrefs of the gofpel difpenfation: as the parable of the Sower, that of the Tares, and fome of the fhorter ones. Under the fecond he includes thofe, that have for their object the rejection of the Jews, and the calling of the Gentiles: as, the Murmuring Labourers, the Cruel and Unjuft Hufbandmen, the Barren Fig-tree, and the Marriage Feaft. Under the third clafs he comprehends all thofe that are intended to convey more general inftructions: as the Good Samaritan, the Generous Mater and unforgiving Servant, the Unjult Steward, the Rich Man and Lazarus, the Ten Virgins, the Talents, the Prodigal Son, the Loft Sheep, the Unjuft Judge, the Pharifee and the Publican, and fome others.

This work, though not diftinguished by many new remarks, is the production of a learned and accurate writer, and may be perused with advantage by thofe who read for the fake of moral improvement.

MEDICAL.

A Differtation on the Inoculated Small Pox. By John Mudge. Small 8vo. 2s. 6d. T. Davies.

The author of this treatife endeavours to afcertain the real caufes which render the inoculated fmall pox much more mild and fafe, than the fame difeafe when produced in the natural manner. We hardly meet here with any new obfervation on the subject; but the arguments advanced are juft, and tend to eftablish the usefulnefs of inoculation, now almoft univerfally practifed.

POETRY.

The Defolation of America: 4to. A Poem. 1s. 6d. Kearfly.

The poem before us is called the Defolation of America; but it might have been called fimply Defolation, fince, till the final diffolution of this great globe itfelf, and all which it inhabit,' it will do perfectly well for the defolation of any country, or any quarter of the globe, Europe,' Afia, Africa, or America, which fhall ever be defolated. We learn that, in America, men, women, and children are deftroyed; flocks are driven away; cities

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are

are burned; the harvests fadden; and fhepherds cease to whiftle

Nor breath of mufic floats along the glade,

Nor maiden's fong foft trilling through the fhade.'

We are truly forry, as well as this good-natured gentleman; but all thefe ills and misfortunes generally attend large armies when they invade inimical countries. Nor do happiness and mirth any more follow the American, than the British, camp. The juftice and propriety of fending this defolating armament, do not at all caufe our author's imagination to relent. With them he had nothing to do. As the boon companion must have his joke, fo muft we have our rhyme at any rate.-Poetry, if the want a fubject for her tears, might, with more propriety, thed them over poor Germany, who is fo abused at present for felling men to fubdue America. How often has that torn and mangled country been the horrid theatre of war and ruin and defolation ! But from poems we do not expect argument, any more than we expect poetry in the pleadings of a lawyer. This publication has its merit; though the author feem pretty well acquainted with Pope, and ftill better with Goldfmith's Deferted Village. -The plan and the beginning and the end, are bad-the outlines of the poem were sketched either haftily or unskilfully; but they were filled up by the hand of a master.

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The following extract does not difgrace its author, though it only prove that ladies do not particularly like a battle.

Ye western maids! that pale and trembling wait

The mournful tidings of your country's fate;

Or, led like me by defp`rate fear, explore
The midnight foreft, and the defert fhore;
O, let your bofoms catch the noble fire,
And emulate the virtue you admire!

Hafte, rush with me to yonder fatal field,
Where flaughter rages, and the valiant yield !—
Be no foft wreath around your temples roll'd;
No filken bands your tender limbs infold;
Throw every lighter ornament afide,
Which luxury affords to female pride,

When heighten'd beauty fhoots her keenest rays,
And lovers catch fresh transports as they gaze..
Now torn and fordid be the robes you wear,
Such as befit the daughters of defpair!
Bid your loofe trefles float diforder'd round,
Your throbbing bofoms bare to every wound !—
With all the eloquence of female fears,
Perfuafive accents, and refiftless tears;
The frantic gefture, and the panting breast,
That fwells with woe too great to be exprefs'd!-
Thefe are the only arms which nature gave
Your feeble fex ;-yet thefe may win the brave.
Go then, ye wretched mourners !-nor difdain
To dash your tender bodies on the plain,
Although polluted with the crimson flood

Of thoufands flain, and wet with kindred blood.

Meet

Meet the stern warrior in his dreadful way,
And bid the bloody tide of conquest stay!
And oh! though nature fhudder at the deed,
Embrace their knees, their cruel hands impede!
Till the wide weft behold its hopes reftor'd,
And half mankind deliver'd from the fword.—
The fubfequent lines contain fome good painting.
In vain, for food, the dying infant cries,
With ghaftly vifage, and befeeching eyes:-
The pious mother deom'd to certain death,
For his dear fake, retains the flecting breath
But while, with fatal tenderness, the drains
The milky treafures, and exhaufts her veins;
She fees her breast deny its balmy flood,

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And fills his guiltless mouth with streaming blood :
Then with a bursting heart from pain retires.
Looks up to heaven, and on her babe expires.'

One other extract will prove that, only taking a few premises
to be granted, America is certainly the country for true poetry.
O gen'rous fouls, renown'd through every age,
Vain were your labours, vain your patriot rage;
Vain the great deed, when prodigal of blood,
Ye ftem'd oppreffion, and repell'd the flood.
-What! though eternal fame display'd her meed ?
And earth admir'd, and heav'n approv'd the deed?
When freedom reaffum'd her awful reign,

And juftice triumph'd in a Stuart flain?
Again, exulting in their country's woes,
A long fucceffive race of tyrants rofe-

Fall'n, but not cruth'd, the monster rais'd his head,
With renovated poifons from his bed.

With tenfold rage he rear'd his creft on high,

And fable wings that darken'd all the sky;
Bent the wide ealt with unrefifted (way,
And blafted 'every virtue in his way.-

And now, no more by nature's bounds confin'd,
He spreads his dragon pinions to the wind.
The genius of the weft beholds him near,
And freedom trembles at her last barrier.
In vain the deem'd in this fequefter'd feat.
To fix a refuge for her wand'ring feet;
To mark one altar facred to her fame;
And fave the ruins of the human name ;-
He comes, he comes, exulting in his force-
He comes, and defolation marks his courfe:
Gloomy as night, ftern as the kindred forms

Of hell, and fiercer than a thousand storms.-'

Befides the pleasure we have received from fome lines in this poem, we are to thank its author for not giving us the trouble to mark any more than two bad rhymes throughout; "deathbeneath," and "unaw'd-God."

The Ciceroniad. A Poem, infcribed to William Earl of Mansfield: With a Dedication to his Lordship. 410. 25. Bew. This appears to be the production of fome Scotch ftudent of the law, who would do better to ftudy Coke upon Littleton than

to

to write fuch poems as thefe. Indeed, we fhrewdly fufpect the young gentleman of a misnomer.

Our author tells us in his title-page, from Horace,

Sunt quibus in fatyrâ videar nimis, acer.

Now this we deny imprimis, unlefs acer fignify dull and ftupid. -That the noble lord whom he celebrates deferves all the praise which he bestows upon him, is most true; but most true it is alfo, that the glare of lord Mansfield's reputation does not borrow fplendour from fuch a twinkling light as this. After all, his lordship owes thefe compliments, perhaps, more to his country than to his abilities. Of that country and its inhabitants, hear our author rhapfodize.

How many fons of Scotland's drear domain,
In love with glory, or in fearch of gain;
Have left their barren rocks and naked hills,
2 Their meagre paftures, and their fcanty rills;
And great in arms, or rich in learning, bore
Their arms and learning to a foreign fhore?
But now 'tis England tempts each Highland lad,
To quit the Scotifh plains, and Scotifh plaid-
No hoftile caftie on our frontiers stands,
To stop the progrefs of the roving bands.
No arm'd battalions now difpute their way,
Safely they pafs, and carol down the day :
And is this all that Scotland's foes can bring,
All that her caufelefs foes can fay, or fing?
Her fons, with high contempt and just disdain,
Behold the fcandal, infolent as vain;
Ungrateful Britons! mean you to deride

The men who fought and conquer'd by your fide?
For you, in danger's dreadful paths they ftood,
For you, in ev'ry clime, they fhed their blood,
Canadian bards, in future times, fhall tell,
How by their valour Quebec's fortress fell,-
In arins, in learning, none fuperior fhine ;
Then ceafe to rail, and make the virtues thine

The next hero. to lord Mansfield, in this author's temple of Fame, is a certain law officer of the Scottish nation.

The fub

fequent elegant praifes that gentleman will enjoy without a rival.

Not the foft zephyrs in the month of May;
Not the fweet gales that in Arabia play;
Not the fine notes that Philomela fings,
When the bemoans her love by cryftal fprings;
Where many an evening in a flow'ry dale,
Full oft' I've liften'd to the love-lorn tale;
And as the notes have fweetly trill'd along,
My heart, all pleafing, felt the penfive fong:
But not the notes, that Philomela fings,

When the bemoans her love by cryftal fprings,
Nor all the warblers in the vernal grove,
When nature wakes their little hearts to love;
Are half fo pleafing to th' enlightned mind,
As are thofe charms in W.

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we find,

Dare

Dare-avar, hone-orn, there-war, more power, faid beard, farce-afs, are now, we believe, for the first time, introduced to each other's acquaintance in this, which its author, perhaps, calls, The Ciceroniad,' becaufe Cicero fucceeded fo hockingly in poetry. If our author be at the British bar, he refembles the Roman orator in one inftance at least.

Not thinking that tear rhymes fufficiently to there, this writer fpells it tare. But we must leave the terrible conjuror, or in his rage he will overflow London, as the Neva lately overflowed Petersburg, or as Gulliver deluged Lilliput; for he fays,

Sure you must know, we poets can with eafe,
Make plains of cities, or make cities feas.'

Though we did not know this before, now that we do know it, we will behave qurfelves accordingly; for the fake of all our loving friends within the bills of mortality.-Suppofe the poet were to turn a cleaning ftream or two, which must be still more eafy, through the metropolis of his native country.

But our poet,

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To lose his own, or wafte his reader's time."

O that this worthy young gentleman had but fpoken truth!

Elegies. I..On the Death of Samuel Foote, Efq. II. On Ages By Thomas Holcroft. 410. IS. Bew.

Thefe Elegies are prefaced by an advertisement, which we fhall tranfcribe for our readers, because we humbly conceive it to be rather too pompous for a couple of twelvepenny elegies. The famous preface to the English Dictionary scarcely treads with fteps more ftately; and the Advertisement in question would have done for Milton's Epic Poem, whose worth remained fo long unknown.

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Every one who amufes himself with writing works of imagination, has a view to either profit or fame. Though the author of the following trifles does not pretend to be above fuch motives, yet he hopes his anxiety is not powerful enough to render him unhappy one moment, fhould he be entirely difappointed. He is fenfible how much fuccefs depends upon circumftances. A poem must be read before it can be admired; nay more, it must be read with fome fhare of that temper and fpirit in which it was written, or it will appear languid. A good character, or a bad one, given by thofe gentlemen who take upon themselves the office of public cenfors in literary matters, will frequently, at leaft for a time, determine its fate. As he is entirely unknown, he is not in any dread of a partial fentence. If thefe poems are worthlefs, let them reft in that oblivion which is the utmost happinefs unworthiness can know; if the contrary happens to be the cafe, he has no doubt but their merits will be feen and acknowledged by every one whom heaven has bleft with. tate and judgment fufficient to form the true critic.'

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